Back home I’m greeted by Beth as soon as I enter the kitchen. She jumps up on me, her sharp claws catching the cotton of my coat. “Down girl,” I whisper, not wanting to wake Mum and Dad. I sit down heavily on the chair. Beth rests her head on my thighs and I stroke it. She closes her eyes, clearly enjoying every moment of it. I smile at how cute she looks, how loyal and grateful she is. But then my smile disappears when I think of Genie and her insides pouring out of her torn stomach. It makes me gag, so I get up from the chair and pour myself a glass of water. I take a sip by the sink and hold onto the worktop, waiting for the nausea to pass. It doesn’t, and I throw up. Beth starts to bark at my loud retching. Please don’t wake Mum and Dad. Don’t want them to worry about me. This is normal. Of course, I’m going to be a little freaked out after seeing something like that. Who wouldn’t be? Doesn’t mean I won’t make a good Cleaner. It just means I’m human.
I swill out the sink, swallow down the rest of the water, and then exit the room.
Unable to look at my beloved dog.
10
Monday mornings still suck even without a weekend attached.
Didn’t sleep a wink last night, apart from maybe an hour of two. Couldn’t get the images of Mr Rosemont out of my head, and his poor wife.
The clock on my bedside table reads: 6:44 a.m. I close my eyes for a moment in disgust at how soon I’ve got to get up, and how completely shattered I am. Please don’t let today be too difficult. Don’t think my body and mind will take anything too tasking.
Once I’m showered, dressed, I head down to the kitchen for breakfast. Dad is sitting at the table eating cereal. Mum is standing by the worktop, buttering some toast.
“Morning, Angel,” Dad says, chirpily. “How was your first day on the job?”
I sit down. “It was fine. Just going through some training tactics, watched a couple of videos. Nothing special.” Don’t fancy going into the grisly details. Not yet anyway. Especially not after last night’s puking incident. Not only is it embarrassing, but it would raise too many questions. Questions that I’m just not ready, nor in the mood to answer.
“Anything dangerous?” Mum asks, handing me two slices of toast on a small plate. “Did you see any of those Necs?”
“Thanks, Mum,” I say as I take the plate from her. “No, nothing dangerous yet. It’s too soon for all that. Just boring stuff.”
Mum kisses the top of my head and then walks back over to the worktop. “That’s good, love. Can’t rush these things. That’s how accidents happen.”
“So what’s your day like today?” Dad asks as I take a mouthful of toast. “You working?”
I chew my breakfast quickly and then answer. “Back in for ten today.”
“You’re a busy little girl,” Dad says, taking a swig of his coffee. He then gets up off the chair. “Well, I’m off to work. I’ll see you two later. Okay.” He walks over to me and kisses me on the cheek. “You be careful today. Don’t do anything stupid, and listen to that boss of yours.”
“I will, Dad,” I reply. “Don’t worry. I’ll just be shadowing him. Nothing too risky. I promise.”
“Good girl,” he says, and then walks over to Mum and kisses her on the lips. “See you later, love.”
“See you later,” Mum says, buttering another slice of toast.
The radio is on at full blast as I drive to work, trying to block out thoughts of yesterday. I’m annoyed with myself for feeling like this. On the one hand, I never thought I’d feel anything but pure excitement at the prospect of catching Necs for a living. On the other, I’m mad with myself for not expecting that I’d feel so apprehensive about returning to work. Surely every newbie gets a little shaky after a first day. I wouldn’t be normal if it didn’t have an effect on my mood.
Once HQ is in my sights, I can feel those bloody butterflies again, the same ones that showed up on the day of my interview. But these have teeth—the teeth of a hungry Nec, gnawing at the walls of my stomach, trying to burst out of my abdomen. I try my best to drown them with heavy intakes of air, breathed in through my open window.
I could just turn back, tell them I’m sick—or just quit altogether. No one would blame me. My parents would be over the moon. I could just go back to my old job, spend my days serving rude customers.
I could.
But I won’t.
I didn’t come this far just to throw in the towel now. All those letters just to get an interview. All my research, all my studying just to show the world that a woman can do this job just as well as a man. If I turn this car ‘round before I’ve even made it two days out in the field, then I’m just a pathetic failure. To all these people I swore I’d help, all those families I vowed I’d keep safe from infection, from the dead. I could never live with myself if I didn’t at least give it my best shot.
These other Cleaners would love to see me hand in my notice, they’d laugh in my face. But it won’t happen. Not while I’ve still got some fight in me.
Catherine Woods is not a quitter!
The moment I pull into the grounds of HQ, I feel sick. Parking the car quickly, I hang my head out of the window, like a dog in need of fresh air. I hold this pose for maybe two or three minutes, taking in as much oxygen as my lungs will carry, until the nausea finally subsides and I once again feel human. Almost. The cold breeze feels nice against my face, almost sending me to sleep. But then the sound of the entrance doors opening with force, and a barrage of heavy boots and loud chatter pulls me out of my daze, and I open my eyes. I see Darren, Andrew, and three other Cleaners coming out of the building, all fully kitted, clearly ready to leave for a job. I quickly park my car and then climb out. “What’s happening, Andrew?” I ask, walking over to them. “Everything all right?”
“Oh, good, you’re here,” Andrew says, sounding flustered and agitated. “We need to get you kitted up right now because we’ve got an urgent job to get to.”
“What, all of us?”
“Yeah. All of us,” Darren shouts over, climbing into a van with another Cleaner. “We need every man and woman, out. Andrew, get her ready and we’ll meet you up there.”
Andrew nods and puts up his thumb as two vans pull off out of the grounds.
We sprint inside to get me changed. Once I’m kitted up, he does a quick check to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.
As long as I’ve got my gun, that’s the main thing.
We hop into the van and drive off. Andrew tells me that we’re heading back to Bristol.
To a place called Crandale.
Part III
Paved With Rot
11
Driving through Bristol City Centre, everything seems as it should be: people dressed in business suits walking along the pavement, teenagers loitering outside shops and bus stops. And the roads are as busy as you’d expect them to be on a Monday afternoon.
Andrew’s been quiet for most of the journey. He seems tense, worried. Which makes me worried. He says there’s been an outbreak, which has spread across the whole of Crandale—an area of Bristol that covers several large streets, a church, a primary school, and a community centre. We’ve been called in to assist, even though this is out of our jurisdiction. Apparently, it’s been contained. For now. Police blockades, the works. Nothing’s getting in or out.
Except us.
As we approach Crandale, I see police lights flashing. Looks like one of the blockades. There is an array of police cars and a portable steel wall, about three metres high, stretched across the entire width of the road, and held in place by a flat metal base positioned on both sides. And parked next to each base is a white van with a police officer on the roof, both armed with what looks like a tranq gun, aimed directly behind it—two makeshift watchtowers. The sight terrifies and excites me in equal measures, like sitting on a rollercoaster, moments before the track descends.
Just as Andrew nears the parked police cars, a female officer steps out onto the road, in front of us, waving her hands to stop us. Andre
w slows down to a stop. The officer walks around to Andrew’s window; he pushes the button and the window slides down. He shows his ID badge.
“Hi sorry, guys,” she says. She then shouts over to a male officer in front of us, his police car blocking our path. “Let ‘em through, Chris!”
The other officer moves his car to the side to let us pass.
“Thanks, love,” Andrew says. “Are all the walls in place?”
“Yeah. Most of them.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, we don’t have enough for the back lanes, so we’ve got the riot police and vans blocking them. The lanes are fairly narrow, though—nothing’s getting in or out.”
Andrew sighs, shaking his head. “Typical.” He starts to advance towards the steel wall.
“Good luck,” she says as he retracts his window.
As we near the barricade, my lips dry, my heart racing, all I can think about is Mum and Dad, sat in work, thinking that I’m just in some training exercise, safe and sound.
Two police officers unhook the giant latch at the centre of the wall, and start to pull it open like a gate-on-wheels, splitting the structure in two, using the giant hinges attached to each base. As the wall slowly parts, it reveals nothing more than an empty, everyday street. Fixed to the front of the first house, I see a sign for Rose Avenue. I grip my door handle tightly, trying to hide my trembling hands from Andrew. But he hasn’t noticed; his eyes are locked onto the road ahead.
From my window, I catch a glimpse of the officer as he holds the wall open. I can’t tell if his calm, emotionless face tells me that everything will be all right—or that I’m never coming out of here alive. I try to read Andrew’s expression, but it’s impossible. He’s got that built-in macho pride thing, the one that likes to show the world that nothing bothers him, that everything will be fine.
I’ll get there soon.
I hear the steel wall slam shut behind us—and the rollercoaster finally descends into the unknown.
12
We drive slowly up Rose Avenue. The street is deserted. Silent. Eerie. Like it’s the end of the world and every soul has either perished, or left the planet.
“So what happens now?” I ask Andrew.
“We need to get to the church at the top of Richmond, and meet up with the other Cleaners. It should be somewhere after this street.”
“And then what?”
“Well, I’m not really sure, Cath. We’ll have to go with the flow. If the infection is as big as they say, then…”
“Then ‘what’?” I ask; my words lined with worry.
“Then we need to be ready for anything.” He turns to me. “But don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”
He tweaks the dial at the top of the walkie-talkie, and then fastens it to his vest.
“Where’s my radio?” I ask.
“I’m sorry, Cath. This is the last one. Normally there’s enough to go ‘round, but three are still being repaired, and well, the other Cleaners have the rest. But you won’t need one, anyway. As long as you stick with me, nothing’s gonna—”
“Look out!” I scream. There’s a man standing in the middle of the road.
Andrew slams on the brakes, propelling us forward, stopped only by our seatbelts. But he’s too late. The man clips the side of the bonnet and is flung onto the pavement, landing on his side, hard, just a metre or so from my door. Can’t see if the man is still conscious; his head is facing away from us. I unclip my seatbelt and grab the door handle to go to the man.
“Stop, Cath!” Andrew orders.
I let go of the handle in fright, turning to Andrew.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asks. “You can’t go running outside recklessly. He might be infected.”
“But what if he’s not? He might need our help.”
Andrew lets out a slow sigh. “Put down your window halfway and then point your gun at him.”
I do as he says, checking that my gun is loaded before I aim it through the opening. I already know it’s loaded—I’ve checked twice—but I can’t help myself. I somehow manage to hold the gun steady as I inspect the man for any movement. “I think we killed him.”
“I doubt it. We only grazed him. He’s probably unconscious.”
“Should we call out to him? Try and get his attention? He might just be in a daze or something.”
“No, too risky. We could end up drawing out a swarm.”
“We can’t just leave him there.”
“Look, any other time and I would. But we’ve had fuck all Intel from the Bristol lot. We have no idea how many are infected. The place might be teeming with them. So we have to be cautious. At least until we get to the church and speak with the other Cleaners. They can fill us in on the extent of the outbreak. Then we can go back for him.”
“But it’s pretty big, right? I mean, all these streets closed off. That’s pretty big.”
“Yeah, it is. That’s why we stay in the van until we have a strategy.”
I give him a nervous stare, mixed in with a look of disappointment that we’re about to leave a potentially injured man on the pavement. Andrew spots this look.
“Fuck,” he says under his breath. “All right, we’ll check him out.” He puts his helmet on, opens the door, and climbs out. “But stay in the bloody van. I mean it, Cath. Don’t move a muscle. It’s too risky.”
I give him a nod.
Gun pointed in the direction of the man, Andrew moves slowly towards him. Just a foot or so away from him, he scans his surroundings, and using his right foot, he gives the man a gentle prod.
No response.
“Do you think he’s dead?” I whisper.
Frowning, Andrew shushes me. But just as he does, the man begins to stir. I clench up, ready to fire a tranq into the back of his head.
Andrew steps away. “Hello? Are you all right?”
A deep, guttural moan comes from the man.
“Are you all right?” he asks again. “Have you been bitten?”
The man lets out another moan, this time much louder, prompting Andrew to step back even further. Using the hard pavement as support, the man starts to push himself up, still with his back to us. He slowly starts to turn his head towards us. I see his dead, soulless eyes, his teeth, smothered with brown blood, his light-green flesh, drained of all warmth and life. The Nec doesn’t have time to snarl, to attack. Andrew unloads a tranq into his forehead, dropping him instantly.
Pulling out a muzzle, Andrew straps it around the sedated Nec, and then secures his wrists and feet with the cable-ties. He doesn’t bother with the body bag and stretcher. There’s no time. Andrew just throws his arms under the Nec’s armpits, and yanks him up off the concrete as if he was lifting nothing more than a drunken friend. He drags the Nec to the rear of the van, the back doors squeaking as they open. The van judders as the body is thrown inside. I’m half expecting Andrew to slam the doors in anger, pissed off that I practically guilt-tripped him into going outside. But he doesn’t, he closes them softly, with just the small click of the lock. He’s smarter than that. Smarter than me. He wouldn’t risk drawing attention to us. He climbs back into his seat, closes the door, takes off his helmet, and continues up Rose Avenue.
“Close your window,” he says, coldly.
I hold down the button with my thumb and the window automatically ascends. “Sorry, Andrew. I didn’t mean to put you in danger.”
“It’s fine, Cath. Don’t worry about it. We did need to check on him. It’s our job. I just hate not knowing fuck all about a job. It’s not the way I like to work. It’s too dangerous. And where there’s one Nec, there’s usually a swarm just around the corner.”
“Well, we’re here now. We’ll find out soon enough.”
Andrew raises his eyebrows. “Yeah. Soon enough.”
At the top of the street, we stop at the junction. Attached to a wall, there’s a sign for Richmond. We check out the street up and down. I don’t see any wandering Necs. A
little further up I can see the church. Andrew sees it too so he sets off again, up the hill towards it, the van’s engine struggling noisily in such a low gear. Too noisy. I can see Andrew’s face recoil as he changes gear.
As we make our approach, I see another man hobbling towards us, his head slumped to one side. I can’t be sure from here, but my hunch tells me that this man died some time ago. Andrew stops the van just outside the church gate, and pops his helmet back on. “Stay here,” he orders as he climbs out, shutting the door behind him. He shoots the Nec and then disappears through the gate.
I try my very best to stay calm as I wait for his return. I put my helmet on just in case he doesn’t come back, and I’m stuck out here on my own.
Don’t be silly, Cath. He’s only been gone ten seconds. What’s the matter with you? Don’t be so overdramatic.
When a minute passes, and he’s still not back, I start to panic. I can’t stop my pulse racing, my erratic breathing.
Maybe he’s in trouble. Should I get out and look for him? What if he’s—
My body jolts in fright when I hear the driver’s door opening.
Relief washes over me when I see Andrew.
“Come on,” he says, confidently. “It’s safe. And take the keys with you. Can’t risk some idiot stealing it.”
“With all this going on? They’d have to be mad.”
“Remember what I said at the farm? ‘Scared people do dumb things’.”
I climb out of the van, gun still firmly in my grip, and walk over to Andrew. “What’s happening?”
“First, we need to get a muzzle on this Nec,” Andrew says, pointing to the man on the floor. “And then we drag him, and the other Nec, into the church.”
“Okay. Do you want me to secure this one?” I ask, pointing to the newly sedated Nec, lying on the pavement.
“Yeah. If you can. But be quick, Cath. I don’t wanna be out here any longer than we have to.”
“No worries.”
There’s plenty to worry about.
Kneeling down, I unclip a muzzle from my belt and place it over the Nec’s mouth before I even give myself a chance to freak out, to picture the Nec waking and biting me. I fasten the back buckle in record speed. By the time I’ve tied his limbs, Andrew has pulled the first Nec off the van and has started to drag him by the legs, through the gates, into the church grounds. “Follow me, Cath,” Andrew says, struggling to speak with the weight of the Nec. “I’m sure you’ll manage. Yours doesn’t look that heavy.”
Burn The Dead Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 24
