“Hello,” Andrew says, calmly. “We’re here to help.”
The boy and the man don’t respond. I try to make out their faces, but the light is too weak.
“Have you been bitten?” he asks; this time his voice is a little firmer.
Still no response.
“Is there anyone else in the house?”
Still nothing.
Not a good sign.
“Can’t we just shoot them in case?” I whisper to Andrew. “In the arm. It’s only a tranq.”
“Yeah, we can. But not the kid.”
“Why not?”
“Tranqs are too strong. It might kill him.”
Andrew fires his weapon, hitting the man in the left shoulder.
The man stays on his feet.
He then lets out a deep, guttural moan, and then drops facedown on the floor when Andrew unloads a tranq into his skull.
Suddenly the little boy bolts towards us, mouth wide, howling like a banshee, arms outstretched. Once he’s in the bedroom, I see his dismal eyes, his grey skin tone, the bite mark on his forearm. Without another thought, I shoot him between the eyes. From sheer momentum, the boy’s sedated body lunges towards me, knocking me backwards onto the bed.
Andrew heaves him quickly off me and throws him down on the floor with a loud thud.
“Are you okay?” Andrew asks, pulling me up onto my feet.
At first I think I am, but when I see the little boy, wearing just a blue T-shirt and a pair of Ninja Turtle pyjamas bottoms, his face buried into the carpet, I suddenly feel lightheaded, unsteady on my feet. I retreat to the bed, struggling to catch my breath.
“Take a sec, Cath” Andrew offers. “Have a little breather.”
“He was so young.”
“I know. But that’s the job, I’m afraid.”
“He was just a bloody kid,” I say, my words turning into a sob, “it’s not right.”
Andrew sits next to me, his arm over my shoulder. He removes my helmet and drops it on the bed behind me. He does the same for his own. “I hate these fucking things,” he says, clearly attempting the impossible task of lightening the mood. “They’re ugly, hot, and I can’t see fuck all.”
“It shouldn’t have happened to him,” I weep, my words barely audible. “Not to a child.”
“I know,” he replies, shushing me like a baby. “It’s horrible sometimes. Especially when there’s kids involved. But you know what? The way I look at it, for every kid we have to take out, we may save five in its place. Now I’m no maths expert, but I say that ratio sounds pretty good to me.”
I know he’s right. I know it’s the job, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Especially when all I want to do is go home. But I can’t. Not yet. I’m all the backup Andrew has. I could never abandon him. No matter how petrified, how low I get.
Sniffing loudly, I manage a thin smile. Not from happiness, or politeness, but of acceptance. I’ve got a job to do. These people need our help. I’ve gotta dig deep and suck it up.
This is a warzone, and I’m a soldier on the frontline.
“Let me tell you something, Cath,” Andrew says. “Something I’ve never told any of the guys before.”
“What’s that?”
“Dead people—they scare the living shit out of me.”
I let out a short chuckle.
“It’s not funny, Cath,” he says, playfully. “Yeah, after a few years they get a little more bearable. But I still hate the sight of them. They still freak me out. And fuck me do they give me nightmares. Even now.”
“Really?”
“Damn right they do. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve woken up in a cold sweat.”
“Well, that’s not exactly making me feel any better. I thought it was supposed to get easier.”
“Yeah, it does. In time. But my point is, it’s normal to be afraid.”
“Who says I’m afraid?”
Andrew snorts. “Cath, even with the visor on I can see how frightened you are.”
I shake my head. “That obvious is it?”
“Yeah, but only to me. Because I know how you’re feeling. But you wouldn’t be human if you didn’t get scared—if you didn’t get upset shooting down a kid.” He nudges me. “And I only like working with humans.”
I return a nudge. “Thanks, Andrew. You’re a good guy.”
“I know,” he gets up off the bed. “Just don’t tell the guys for fuck’s sake. Or my ex-wife for that matter.”
Getting up, I unclip a muzzle and cable-ties from my belt. “Let’s get these two in the van, and get the hell back to that church.”
“Sounds like a plan. If you want, I’ll secure the little boy.”
“No, it’s all right,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ll do it.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”
“No, I need to get past this. I’ll be fine.”
Andrew smiles. “Good girl.”
Kneeling down over the boy, I start to turn him around. His eyes are closed, which makes him appear as nothing more than a sleeping child. Peaceful. Somehow it makes it a little more endurable. I think if his eyes were wide open I’d have to pass. I wrap the muzzle around his mouth and chin, and then buckle up the back. Once I’ve fastened his wrists together, I move down to his ankles. Just as I do, I hear a low growl coming from the doorway. Turning, I see Andrew on his back, out on the landing, pinned to the carpet by a woman. I leap to my feet, gun in hand and fire three tranqs into the back of her head. The woman goes limp over Andrew’s body. Racing over to them, I pull the woman off him.
I gasp in horror when I see the blood pouring out of Andrew’s neck.
“Oh my God!” I scream. “What the fuck!” Dropping to my knees next to him, I swiftly place both hands down on the bite, not even sure how much pressure to apply, or even if I’m meant to. But I do it anyway. It’s instinct. Andrew tries to speak but his words are a gurgling mess. I shush him, tell him not to speak, tell him that everything will be okay, that we’re going to get him to a hospital.
He’s not going to die on my watch.
But as the blood begins to seep through the thick fingers of my gloves, pooling under his head, only then does it dawn on me that his helmet is off. Glancing at the bed I see it, next to mine.
Please let him be all right.
Don’t let him die.
Don’t let him die because of me.
14
My vision blurs from the tears, coursing down my cheeks. Andrew’s eyes have started to close. “Stay with me!” Got to get him out of here. Right now. I put my gun back in the holster; Andrew’s weapon is on the carpet, the torch at the top still on. Pushing his limp body into a seated position, I hook my arms under his armpits. “You’re gonna be fine. I promise.” I drag his heavy body backwards, inch by inch, towards the stairs, looking over my shoulder for guidance. Got to get out of this fucking house. Out of Crandale. I make my way down the stairs, struggling to stay balanced with every step. “You’re doing great. Nearly there. I’m gonna get you to a hospital.”
My foot misses a step.
I plummet down the last half of the stairs, taking Andrew with me. My body crashes onto the hallway carpet, cracking my head as Andrew’s full weight lands on top of me.
Still conscious, I manage to push him off me. Just as I wriggle free, I hear him whisper something. “Say it again, Andrew,” I ask him, leaning over to listen.
“An…tiviral.”
Shit! The antiviral! I forgot!
I unhook my injection gun, and take out the bottle of clear liquid from the metal case. I clip the antiviral to the top of the gun, and pierce the needle into his neck, opposite his wound. I push the trigger and the bottle empties in an instant.
Please, God, let it work!
Just as I reach for his walkie-talkie to call for back up, the kitchen door flies open, and a flood of Necs come charging at me.
“Oh, shit!”
Standing with my back against the front door, I fire, emp
tying the tranq magazine in seconds. But there’re too many. Need to reload. Just before I can get the pack clipped onto the top, they’re perched over Andrew’s body. I fire another magazine of tranqs into the Necs, but it’s too late—his throat has been ripped clean out.
Too late to save him. He’s gone.
Have to leave him.
Four more Necs race towards me. One trips over Andrew’s body, the others step over him, arms thrust forward, teeth snarling. I swing my empty gun, hitting a dead woman in the face. I do the same to an elderly man. With Andrew’s blood still dripping from my gloves, the handle slips out of my grip when I swing the gun for a third time. Leaving the weapon on the floor, I open the front door and rush to the van. With no time even to slam the door behind me, they scramble out of the house, just a few feet away. On the lit up street, I can see another flock of Necs staggering towards me as I wrench the passenger door open and dive inside the van. I slam the door shut, trapping the fingers of a Nec.
Frantically locking each door, I see a swarm of bodies surround the vehicle, clawing at the curved bonnet, beating livid fists against the windows until their hands bleed, smearing congealed blood over the glass.
I’m suffocating!
Need to drive out of here.
I climb over to the driver’s side and reach for the ignition—but the keys are missing!
Shit! Where the hell are they? Andrew! He still has them! I’m fucked! I squeeze the steering wheel tightly as the panic washes over me like boiling acid.
The radio!
Unclipping the receiver from the two-way radio, I bring it to my mouth, push the button on the side and speak.
“Come in, Darren,” I say, choking with panic. “This is Catherine Woods. Is there anybody there? Over.”
No response. Just static.
“Come in anybody. This is Catherine Woods. I need help. We have a Cleaner down. Please, someone. Anyone. We need help urgently. Over.”
Still nothing.
“Please. Darren,” I beg, my body cramping as the noise outside increases. “If you can hear me, I’m halfway up The Mount, still in Crandale. I’m in desperate need of assistance. Come in. Over.”
More static.
“Shit!”
Where the fuck has everyone gone?
I quickly change the frequency. “Come in, Control, this is Catherine Woods,” I tilt my badge up from my vest to see the details, “ID number 7762. I need urgent assistance. Over.”
“Roger that, Catherine,” a man’s voice replies through the speaker. “Reading you loud and clear. Over.”
I gasp in relief, closing my eyes briefly. “Oh thank God. I need help right away. Please. Over.”
“Are you still inside Crandale? Over.”
“Yes. I’m trapped inside the van, halfway up The Mount, and I’m surrounded by Necs. Andrew Whitt is dead. And I can’t get through to the other Cleaners. What the hell is going on? Over.”
“We don’t know what’s happened, Catherine. We lost communication about an hour ago. So you need to sit tight and wait for help to arrive. Over.”
“How long will that take? Over.”
“I don’t know yet. I’m sorry. For the time being, you’ll have to ride it out. Over.”
“That’s bullshit!” I snap, as I watch more and more Necs reach the van, drawn to the loud uproar. “You can’t just leave me here to die!”
“No one is leaving you anywhere. Help is coming, I promise you. But you have to keep calm—and keep your voice down. You’ll only draw more of them to you. Over.”
I stare at the radio, listening to the riot outside. “Over and out,” I say in defeat, dropping the receiver and watching it swing wildly above the dashboard.
I can’t breathe.
The sight of so many, loose, is too much to process, to stomach, and I can hear the captured Necs squirming in the back of the van. I want to just curl up into a ball and close my eyes tightly, and wait for the morning to come, for the nightmare to be over. I want Dad to tell me that there’s nothing to worry about, that monsters aren’t real, that they’re all in my head. But they are real. Very real. And they have teeth dripping with disease.
The van is juddering from the bulk of the Necs. I close my eyes and wait for it to all be over. Wait for the Necs to get bored and wander off to find someone else to feed on. Wait for the cavalry to come and rescue me.
Or simply wait to die.
I can’t block out the howls, can’t shut out the scratching, the thrashing. All I can do is nothing.
But then an electric shock of clarity hits.
My mobile phone!
I can call HQ. Maybe speak with Roger directly.
I pat myself down, hoping to feel its weight in my top pocket. Shit! It’s not here. Must have left it back at HQ when I changed. Andrew’s phone! I scan the dashboard, the cubbyhole under the stereo, and the side of the door. I don’t see it. Reaching across the gearstick, I open the glove compartment, scooping out its contents over the floor. A map. A tiny screwdriver set. A bottle of alcohol gel. Some tissues. No gun. No helmet. And no bloody phone. Exhaling loudly, I wipe the sweat from my forehead, unable to think of a way out of this hell. Wish I knew how to hotwire a bloody car.
These windows won’t hold forever. Need to get the hell out of here. Now!
Think, Cath!
I look up, hoping to see a sunroof, but there isn’t one. I look behind at the metal separating me from the back. Maybe I can detach it, and then escape through the back doors. I push on it hard, but nothing happens. “Shit!” At the centre, I notice a small rectangular panel, about twice the size of a cat-flap, with screws at each corner. I can get through there. Diving to the floor of the passenger seat, I pick up the screwdriver set. The screws are big so I pluck out the largest screwdriver I find, and it’s still about half the size it should be. But it’ll have to do. Slowly, I twist out each screw, letting them drop down to the floor. Once each one is out, the panel still doesn’t fall off. Removing my blood-soaked gloves, I dig my fingernails into the rim of the panel and start to pull.
It finally pops off!
Looking through the opening, I see the mass of piled up bodies. Maybe there’s even more than thirty. The bottom layer of bagged-up Necs has been completely buried by the others. The tranqs have already started to wear off on a few. I watch in repugnance as they try to wriggle free from their restraints, their cries stifled by the muzzles. The sound of growls increases, and the van shudders even more from angry fists pounding at the doors and windows. Taking a few deep breaths, I scurry through the opening like a rabbit. Straightaway, I drop down onto a Nec. Luckily this one is still sedated. Crawling over another, then another, my knee digs into the cheek of an elderly lady. She’s fully awake; eyes wide with ravenous hunger. Need to keep moving. Don’t look at them. They can’t hurt me.
Suddenly, I hear the sound of a cable-tie snapping. “Oh, shit!” Got to move now! Reaching the door, I clasp the handle. This is it, Cath. You can do this. Come on! I take another deep breath.
One… Two…
Three!
I shove the door wide open. It slams into a Nec, launching him backwards onto the road. Without a second thought, I’m out of the van and running as fast as I can down the street, heading for the church. I don’t turn back, not for anything, not for anyone. Not even when I hear a horde of Necs chasing behind. Have to keep moving. Don’t stop.
Ahead, I see the school. As I pass the fence, heart thrashing against my chest, another two Necs spot me and join the pursuit. Don’t think I’ve run so fast in my life. My knee is throbbing, but it’s the least of my worries. I see the church in the distance. Can’t see any other Cleaner vans. At the gate, I scramble through, smacking my hip painfully on the frame as I enter the graveyard. Just as I’m about to sprint up the path, I see four Necs kneeling over a Cleaner’s motionless body. His helmet off, his throat spewing blood. Torn flesh is hanging from the mouth of a Nec, blood dripping from its teeth.
Oh, sh
it! We’ve lost control!
Before the Necs are able to spot me, I turn and scurry back through the gate. Once I step onto Richmond again, the herd of Necs is just behind me. Tearing down the hill, I head towards Rose Avenue and the barricade. Momentum forces me to slam my chest into the side of a parked car—knocking me backwards—but I somehow manage to stay on my feet. The car alarm starts to wail, front lights flashing, drawing attention to another group of Necs coming out of a house on Rose Avenue. I backtrack slightly down a pitch-black lane.
Exhaustion and the pain in my knee are slowing me down. Need to hide somewhere, let them pass me. Barging one of the lane doors open with my shoulder, I burst into a garden. As I’m about to slam the door behind me, the garden light-sensor comes on, and I’m met by another Nec—a man—standing on the lawn, his body slumped forward. He spots me and sprints towards me. I run to the neighbouring wall, but it’s too high to scale. Leaping up onto a plant pot, I’m able to reach the top of the wall, but then the Nec catches hold of my vest, dragging me backwards. Losing my footing, I crash-land on the Nec, its jaws clamping down on the thick fabric of my suit. I try to wriggle and twist free, but he’s too strong—too fresh. Too famished. Driving my elbow into his ribs does nothing. All I can do is squirm.
I’m tempted to scream for help. But I can’t. The garden door is hanging wide open. Can’t let the other Necs know I’m in here. With every ounce of strength I can gather, I manage to free myself from his jaws and roll away. My kneecap grinds as I get to my feet, heading towards the wall again. Leaping back up onto the plant pot, my knee gives way, and I slam my head against the wall.
Suddenly I’m lying on my back, looking up at the stars of the cold night sky.
My vision starts to cloud.
Can’t keep my eyes open.
Have to get up.
Need to get…
The pain in my knee fades to nothing.
The throb in my head vanishes.
All I feel is the weight of something crawling, slithering over me.
And the starry night sky is replaced by the eyes of a dead man.
Part IV
Marbleview Street
15
“Can you hear me? You need to get up. I think she’s dead…”
Burn The Dead Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 26
