Burn The Dead Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Jenkins, Steven

  I carefully move Sammy’s sleeping head away from my chest, trying not to wake him, and then rest it on the floor. Twisting around, I can feel the ropes burn and dig into my wrists, cutting deep into my already suppurated and scorched flesh. I close my eyes tight to block out the searing pain as I place my feet onto the wall, trying to gain leverage.

  Come on, Rob. You can do this. You can fucking do this!

  I brace for a moment to ready myself, and then take hold of the rope tightly with both hands, before pulling on it as hard as I can. The pain in my wrists is unbearable. I can feel my strength start to fade already, my grip on the rope loosening.

  No. Come one, Rob. You’ve got to do this. For Sammy. For Anna. A sudden burst of energy fills my aching body. Pulling with everything I have, I listen out for the pipe, hoping to hear a cracking sound. But nothing. I keep tugging. My teeth grind hard, trying to swallow the pain.

  Please break. Please, God, let this be it!

  Please…

  But before my prayers get answered, before I’m embraced by sweet freedom, my body surrenders to defeat. I collapse against the floor, exhausted. Too tired even to scream out in agony from my torn up wrists.

  I’ve failed.

  Failed myself. And what’s worse, I’ve failed Sammy.

  Overcome with frustration, I start to cry. I try not to but can’t control my emotions; can’t control the hopelessness of the situation. The fact that even after finding Sammy, I still can’t protect him—still can’t get him home.

  God I wish I could turn back the clock. Even if it was after Anna got infected. Just go back to the morning before I left for work. I could have stayed and had breakfast with them. Watched cartoons with him—like a normal father. Instead of racing out the door, as usual, to get to some overworked, underpaid job. For Christ’s sake, if I’d spent half the time I took to moan about how hard my job was, how difficult my life is, then maybe I could’ve used that time to play with him a little more. Or tell Anna how much I loved her—how much I needed her.

  How thankful I was for every minute she gave me.

  And now look where I am. Rotting away in some psycho’s basement. Waiting to die.

  God help me!

  “Don’t cry, Daddy,” I hear Sammy whisper to me.

  His sweet voice pulls me out of my despair. I sit up and slide back over to him. Squeezing up as close as I can, I look down at him with a smile. “I’m not crying, Sam. Daddy was just laughing to himself.”

  “Why were you laughing?”

  “I was thinking about how silly you are.”

  Sammy chuckles; it sounds strained. “You’re silly, Daddy.”

  “Oh, I am, am I?”

  “Yes. You’re silly and smelly.”

  “What? And smelly? You cheeky-little-monkey.” I reach over and tickle him. My fingers barely function, but I still manage a small giggle from him.

  I almost forget where I am.

  I gently stroke the top of his hand, where his ropes are tied. Prodding with my finger, I try to feel how tight they are. Maybe she hasn’t bothered to tie them so well. Maybe he could wriggle his hands out.

  And what then? He unties me and we ride out like cowboys?

  No. There’s no point. He’d never be able to get me out of these. And I couldn’t exactly get him to make a run for it on his own. What if he got caught? She might drag him back down here; feed him to the Necs—just to piss me off. No, it’s too risky. Even if she did mean what she said about keeping him alive, there’s no telling what else she might do to him—especially pissed off.

  Forget about it.

  “Did you have a nice sleep?” I ask him.

  “No, Daddy.”

  “Why’s that, Sammy?”

  “My head hurts.”

  “Where does it hurt? All over?”

  “Yes. And I need to go to the toilet again.”

  “Okay, Sammy. Did you pee yourself before?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right. You may have to do the same again. But don’t worry about it. We won’t be down here much longer. I promise. Daddy’s gonna take you home soon. Okay?”

  “Okay, Daddy.”

  My body starts to tense up again. I start to fidget from anxiety. I can feel my chest tighten.

  Need to get him some food and water right now.

  “JANET!” I scream at the top of my voice. “WE NEED YOU!” The words seem broken and strained, so I cough loudly to clear my throat, and then cry out again. “JANET! WE NEED YOU DOWN HERE—RIGHT NOW!”

  The Necs begin to stir again, yowling in the darkness like disrupted beasts.

  I hear the creaking of floorboards above me, and then the basement door opening. The floor vibrates as heavy footsteps come trudging down the stairs. I shuffle even tighter to Sammy, trying to sit slightly in front of him. Don’t know what kind of mood she’s in. Don’t know how late it is. I might have woken her up at four o’clock in the morning.

  The main light comes on. It blinds me as I half-close my eyes. When they adjust to the brightness, I see Janet standing next to the far wall.

  And then I see Sandra. What’s left of her, anyway. The Necs have managed to devour almost her entire body, apart from a few bones and lumps of muscle. The sight of her family sends a shudder of repulse through my body; their greasy, lifeless hair; their clothes soaked through with blood and bile; their brownish-grey skin, withered like a ninety-year old; and teeth, still gnawing the flesh around pieces of bone. I glance down at Sammy as I feel his body tense up, clearly terrified by their unsightly appearance.

  I don’t know what he thinks they are. Maybe nothing. Just a man and his two children tied down in the basement like him. Just as much a victim as we are. But their grotesque features are enough to make anyone frightened—even if he doesn’t understand.

  But I know exactly what they are; what they’re capable of.

  And it turns my stomach.

  “So, what is it?” Janet impatiently asks me.

  “We need some water,” I reply, my voice filled with conviction like a terrorist making demands to a negotiator. “My son isn’t going to last much longer without something to eat or drink. And he’ll be no good to you then. If you truly believe that your family need to feed on us to survive, then you’d better start looking after your food supply. We’re no good to you dead. You said yourself they only eat fresh meat. So I want some water and something to eat right now.”

  Janet doesn’t say anything. She then turns and stares down at her family as they lazily graze on Sandra’s remains.

  “You’re right,” she says, still peering down at them. “You’re absolutely right. I need to look after you better.”

  I can’t believe my ears. Finally, I can hear the voice of an almost rational person. “And we need to use the toilet. Sammy’s gonna get an infection if he pees himself again. We both are. It’s not a lot to ask—a little dignity.”

  Janet looks over to me, shaking her head. “You think I’m stupid. I’d never let you go to the bloody toilet. You’d try to escape the moment I untie you. You’ve proven that I can’t trust you, Rob.”

  “No, I wouldn’t try anything. Not with the chance of a meat cleaver in the back of the head. Or another round from the tranq gun. It’s too risky. And besides, if you let me go first, then I’m not likely to do anything stupid. Not while you still have Sammy.”

  Janet falls silent again, as if mulling over a decision. After a few seconds, she shakes her head. “No. It’s too risky. I can’t have you walking ‘round upstairs. If I had a bathroom down here, then I would. But it’s upstairs. So forget it. You can both piss and shit on the floor. It ain’t gonna kill you.”

  “Please, Janet,” I plead. “You don’t have to worry. At least let Sammy go. He’s not exactly gonna do anything. Please.”

  Sighing loudly, she scans the room, and then walks over to Malcolm. There is a shelf directly above him, with a plastic bucket at the centre. Reaching over him to grab it, I watch as the Nec s
louches forward to bite her. She sees this and moves away quickly. “It’s no good,” she says, leaving the bucket on the shelf. “I’ll get you some food and water—but that’s it.”

  I’m desperate to bargain a little more, but can’t risk her changing her mind about the water. Can’t push her. I’m in no position to call any shots.

  Janet takes a glance at her family, smiles and then disappears back up the stairs.

  The light is still on. Noticing my bloodied and seared wrists, I nearly heave from the sight. So instead I turn to Sammy. His face is dirty, and his lips are dry. Scanning his body, I see a large wet stain around the groin area of his pyjamas. I shake my head in disgust—disgust that anyone could be so cruel to a child.

  Poor kid. I hope to God he doesn’t remember this when he’s older.

  Older.

  The thought of him missing out on a future makes me nauseous. How could I let this happen to him? How could I let him endure such maltreatment? And literally right on our doorstep? How could I have been so careless? I’m his father for Christ’s sake. It’s my job to look out for him; keep him safe. Keep him away from lunatics like Janet fucking Webber!

  I look over at the Necs. The daughter and father are leaning back against the wall, eyes half-closed, as if exhausted and sated from the feast. Janet’s son is still rummaging around in a pool of blood and a concoction of fluids, still searching for something else to eat. Somehow, I pity them all. Maybe it’s the sight of their wasted, emaciated bodies; their relentless need to eat; the fact that they’re prisoners down here just like us. I can’t help it. I know the last thing I should be feeling is pity—especially in my current situation. But with Janet upstairs, believing that giving a captive four-year-old a glass of water is somehow charitable—I know damn well who the real monster is.

  “I want to go home, Daddy,” Sammy tells me. “I don’t feel good.”

  “Not long now, Sam. I promise. Daddy’s gonna get you home soon. And then we can play with your toys. Maybe watch a cartoon. How does that sound?”

  “Okay, Daddy.” He leans forward and kisses my hand. “Will Mammy be there too?”

  My heart sinks to the floor.

  The nausea returns and I close my eyes. “Of course she will, boy.”

  I pull him close and kiss his forehead, swallowing the angst like bitter medicine.

  I listen to the sound of footsteps above me as Janet rustles around, hopefully making good on her promise. I don’t hold out much hope of her changing her mind about letting us go. But food and water is a start. Maybe I just have to chip away at her good side. One step at a time. Try to get on her wavelength. Or close enough.

  But how long have I got? What if there is no time to chip away? Can’t let her take me, not in front of Sammy. If I knew he’d be safe, then I could handle it. Just. But the idea of him being left all alone in the same room as those rotting Necs is unthinkable.

  The basement door bursts open. My body tightens with every footstep I hear coming down the stairs.

  “There you go,” Janet says, holding a plastic bottle of water and a small bag of crisps. “This should hold you both.” She walks over to us and drops the items into my lap. “You can share. I ain’t wasting any more food on you. Got to keep my supplies up. There’s no predicting how long we’ll be here before this is all over.”

  I open the crisps and hand the packet over to Sammy. “I take it by we you mean you and your family, yeah?” I ask her.

  She walks over to her family and kneels down by her son. “Yes,” she replies, reaching out to touch his ankle. Just as she’s about to make contact, the Nec suddenly comes alive with rage and snaps his jaws down towards her hand. She pulls it away, broken teeth missing her exposed flesh by a centimetre. She quickly shuffles back, out of grabbing distance, but still near enough to smell the rancid stench of decay.

  “See, Rob,” she says, her voice clearly trying to mask her terror, “Jack’s got a few more feedings before he’s placid again. Not like Sophie.” She looks over to her comatose daughter and smiles. “She’s always been the easiest child. Never a peep out of her. But Jack, well, he’s a different story altogether. He’s always had a bit of a temper on him. But I suppose that’s being sixteen for you. Teenagers aye: never happy.” She glances at her husband. “He gets it from his father. He’s always had a bit of a temper on him. Oh, you wouldn’t wanna catch him on a bad day. I can tell you. But he’s a good man. Firm, but fair.” She touches his shoes. The Nec doesn’t respond. “And that’s why I love him. In spite of his flaws.”

  I open the bottle of water, take a small sip, and then hand it over to Sammy. “Just take a little sip now,” I whisper to him. “Save the rest for later.” He nods his head and then gulps down a huge mouthful, leaking some onto his pyjamas.

  Even though every droplet of water could mean the difference between life and death, I can’t help but smile a little inside as it runs down his chin. He hands the bottle back to me, so I screw the cap back on, and then set the water down to my right side. I let him finish the packet of crisps. I think about rationing them, but there’re so little of them in the bag that I don’t bother. What’s the point? Let him have this little pleasure.

  My stomach aches with hunger, but I push the pain to one side. I can handle it. I’ve gone without food before. It’s just mind over matter. Nothing more.

  As long as Sammy’s all right, I’d happily endure a lifetime of it.

  “So tell me, Janet,” I ask her. “Where did you find Sammy? Did you just snatch him from my wife?”

  Still kneeling, Janet turns to me, shaking her head. “No. I didn’t snatch him. I didn’t have to.” She looks at Sammy and beams. “I saved him.”

  “What are you talking about? Saved him from what?”

  “I found him sat in your wife’s car. On his own. He was just sitting there, still strapped into the car seat.”

  “And where was Anna?”

  Janet shrugs her shoulders. “There was no one. Just a few wandering Necs. I took care of them. Brought them down with the tranquiliser gun. Then I just got him inside as fast as I could.”

  “You should have left him there,” I say with venom. “He would have been better off.”

  “Don’t talk rot! They would have eaten him in a matter of seconds.”

  “Not with the door shut. Necs can’t open bloody doors.”

  “No, but they can smash a bloody window,” she replies, sarcastically. “They’re pretty good at that.”

  I shake my head in loathing. “Maybe. But he’d still be better off than down here.” I glance at him as he crunches the last few crisps. “So how long was it?”

  “How long was what?”

  “Before you dragged him down the basement to meet the family?”

  “Maybe a few hours. Couldn’t risk him drawing any attention to the house. Plus, I needed him as a bargaining tool for Sandra and the Cleaner. Needed to give them a reason to stay.”

  “No. You gave them a reason to kill you.”

  “Well, it worked for Sandra. The very notion of any harm coming to him kept her in line. Most of the time. Not so much the other one, though. He was happy to push me, trying to call my bluff. Not a thought for your little boy. Selfish, really. Don’t you think?”

  “I doubt it. You talk as if he was to blame—but it was you who put us in this situation. No one else.”

  Janet stands up and walks over to Sophie. She carefully drops to one knee, reaches forward, and then starts to caress her daughter’s hair again. The Nec doesn’t flinch; it doesn’t seem to even register the contact. Eyes barely open, in some kind of a trance. Most likely preserving her energy.

  Until the next feed.

  “Well, you’ve still got him, haven’t you?” Janet says, eyes locked on her dead child. “He’s still him, isn’t he?” She shakes her head. “You may think you’ve got it bad. You think that seeing your child tied by his hands and wrists is the worst thing a father could witness. But you have no idea what re
al pain is. The pain of watching your entire family rot in front of your very eyes. Watching them ignore you. Being unable even to touch your own son!” She turns to me, eyes filled with angry tears. “At least you have that! Be thankful!”

  “Janet, I know what you’re going through. I understand your pain. I feel it every day. I felt it with Anna. The pain of her not recognising me. Seeing her skin like that. Her eyes lifeless and grey. I know what it feels like. Anna was everything to me. She really was. She was funny, loving—would do anything for anyone. Without a second thought. And the perfect mother. And to see all that disappear was—”

  I have to stop. It’s too much.

  But too hard to repress the memory of her death.

  Too clear in my head.

  The furnace.

  The screams.

  I battle hard to stop myself from tearing up again.

  It’s just…

  “I know how she got sick,” Janet tells me.

  “What?”

  “Your wife. Anna. I know how she got infected.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I always thought that knowledge was dead; burned away in the furnace with her. But now, this vile, putrid monster before me is about to tell me something that I’d rather not know. And in spite of her murderous actions, I’m pretty sure that if I asked her to keep it to herself, she’d probably listen. But there’s a voice in my head, whispering to me.

  It’s telling me to let her speak.

  “Malcolm’s a delivery driver for the hospital. At it for a good twenty-five years. At least. Anyway, he had a callout to pick up some blood samples from one of the nursing homes. Nothing unusual. He’s done it a million times before. It was late in the night, about nine-ish. There was only two staff on. And then they both were called to a resident’s room. Malcolm had to wait by the nurse’s station before he could leave. Think he had to get a signature or something. Anyway, maybe a minute or two passes and one of the nurses is screaming for help. So my husband runs as fast as he can to see what the problem is. When he gets to the room, one of the nurses is lying on the floor, and there’s blood pouring out from her throat. Of course, Malcolm is in a state of shock. He’s frozen. I mean, it’s not something you’re likely to see in a bloody old-people’s home, now is it?”