The Zombie Saga (Book 2): Burn The Dead (Purge)

by Jenkins, Steven

We stop at the white line, facing the six lifelike dummies. They’re about fifteen metres away, with muscular, skin-coloured rubber torsos attached to thick rounded bases. Each one has no arms or legs, just a lot of tiny holes across every inch of its body.

  “See this white line?” Andrew asks, pointing down to the floor by our feet. “Never cross it. And I mean never. Always stay behind. The government’s already on our backs about health and safety. None of us wants another inspection. So always stay safe—and stay behind the white line. Understand?”

  I nod, like a schoolgirl listening to their teacher. “Yeah, of course. Stay behind the line. Got it.”

  “Good. So, Cath, you ever shot a gun before?”

  “Yeah. I have. Back in the Territorial Army.”

  “Okay, well these shouldn’t be too much of a problem for you then. They’re a little heavier than a handgun, but much lighter than a rifle. They could be a little lighter, but, you know, budget cuts and all that bullshit.” He puts his left foot forward, lifts the gun up to shoulder height. “Okay, so you wanna hold this thing like you would a rifle, keep it close to your shoulder, look down the sight at the top. And then squeeeeeeze the trigger gently. There’s virtually no kickback, so don’t worry about bruising your collarbone.” He puts the gun into position, aims it towards the dummy, and pulls the trigger. I hear a faint thud as the tranq hits the rubber man, just above its nose.

  “Nice shot,” I say, excitement in my tone. “Right in the head.”

  “Always aim for the brain, Cath. Otherwise the tranq will have no effect.”

  “Of course,” I give him a cheeky, excited grin. “So, can I have a shot then?”

  Andrew looks down at me, his eyes suggesting that I’m probably the last person he should give a loaded weapon. “You’re keen,” he says.

  “Just eager to learn, that’s all.”

  He hands me the gun, points at the dummy, and then stands to one side. “Okay, Cath. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  One foot in front of the other, I put the gun up to my shoulder.

  “Just line up the sight,” Andrew says, “and then squeeeeeeze the trigger.”

  Closing one eye, I pull the trigger softly and feel a slight jolt when the tranq leaves the weapon. I lift up the visor to see where it hit.

  “Not bad, Cath. Not bad at all.”

  “Where did it hit? Couldn’t see.”

  “You hit his nose. That’s amazing. Well done. You’ve got a bloody good aim, Cath. And it’s hard first time, even with a little experience under your belt. Most people struggle with the helmet on. So hats off to you, Cath. Good job.”

  Beaming, I pull down the visor again. “Let’s go again.”

  5

  After lunch, I meet Andrew back at the training room. This time Roger’s with him, plus another Cleaner, all three in full-gear. Don’t know if I’ve seen this other guy before. Can’t tell with the helmet obscuring his features. Probably have, though. One of the guys from yesterday, sniggering from the side lines.

  “Andrew tells me you have a great aim,” Roger says, his tone brimming with cynicism. “Well done. You keep surprising me, Catherine.”

  “Thanks. I had a good teacher.”

  “I bet you did.”

  I scan the room, trying to guess what’s next on the agenda. Can’t see anything obvious, but the fact that Roger’s here at least indicates that it’s something important. Or dangerous.

  “This is Darren,” Roger says, pointing his hand in the Cleaner’s direction. “He’s just here to help keep you safe this afternoon.”

  “Hi, Darren,” I say, offering my hand for him to shake, “pleased to meet you. Cath.”

  He shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you, Cath. You ready for this now?”

  “I don’t know yet. No one’s told me what we’re doing.”

  “Well, Cath,” Darren says, “this is where the real training begins. This is what separates the men from the boys—so to speak.”

  I nod, my smile completely fake. “So should I get suited up for this part?”

  Darren looks at Roger, and they both laugh. “I should think so,” Darren replies, smugly.

  Assholes.

  * * *

  Once I’m kitted up—gloves, boots, and helmet, Darren hands me a gun and escorts me over to the white line, this time facing the three metal containers, shaped like telephone boxes.

  “Wait by the line,” he instructs me, and then walks over to the first container and starts to unlock the thick, padlocked door.

  Frowning in confusion, I turn back to see what Roger and Andrew are doing. Roger is stood between the rubber dummies, gun in hand, aimed directly at the three containers. To my right, I see Andrew, on one knee, his gun aimed in the same direction. Turning back to Darren, I see that the padlock is off the first and second box, and now he’s unlocking the third and final padlock. Once he’s done, he jogs behind me to a small wooden desk. He crouches down next to it, his gun also aimed. He puts up a thumb to both Roger and Andrew (but not me); both men return the gesture and lock their focus back on their targets. Darren pulls out a small piece of plastic, which, from here, looks like a TV remote. He points it at the first container and then a large red light comes on at the top of it. I hear a loud click as the door opens on its own. Hand trembling as I point my gun towards it, I struggle to hold my aim as the sweat runs down my face; my heavy breathing amplified inside my helmet.

  I know damn well what’s about to come out of that box!

  I wince when I see the male Nec bursting out, a black muzzle around his mouth, muting his vicious snarls; his skin a greenish shade of brown, his dead eyes grey, drained of life, bled of colour. My grip around the handle of the gun is tight and my heart is thrashing hard against my chest. I want to run but my legs are frozen solid. I can hear one of the guys yelling at me to shoot—to shoot the fucker in the head, but all I can do is stare as he stumbles towards me, dragging his withered ankle behind him.

  I want to go home.

  Back to Mum and Dad.

  They were right—this was a terrible idea.

  I should never have signed up.

  I’m such an idiot.

  Such an—

  The Nec drops to the floor the instant I let go of the trigger.

  Everything seems dreamlike. All the loud words of praise from the others are muffled by my own blurry thoughts. I don’t even remember squeezing the trigger. I’m just about to take my visor off, run to the toilet and puke, when something catches my eye. The red light on top of the second container is glowing. So is the third one. What the fuck? Two more Necs, both male, both just as mouldy as the first, come storming out of their boxes, towards me. I can smell the decay as the first one gets just a few metres from me. I squeeze the trigger. I hit his chest! Shit! The Nec is close. I shoot again, this time missing him completely. Can’t aim, my hands are shaking too much. He’s too near.

  I’m fucked!

  He’s gonna get me.

  Oh shit!

  Then all of a sudden the Nec drops, struck from the side of his head. Definitely wasn’t me. Just as I line up the sight towards the third Nec, he’s struck between the eyes, dropping to the floor, motionless.

  I watch, in a daze as Roger grabs the feet of a sedated Nec and drags him back into the box. Andrew and Darren do the same for the other two. They slam the doors and click each padlock back on.

  I yank off my helmet and drop it onto the floor, taking in the fresh air as if I’ve just been saved from drowning.

  “Are you okay, Cath?” Andrew says as he walks over to me, his eyes wide with worry. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yeah,” I reply, the haze fading. “I think so.”

  “You had me worried there for a second. Do you need to sit down?”

  I nod. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks.” He takes me over to the bench and sits me down. Exhaling, I run my hands through my sweat-soaked hair. Darren hands me some water in a paper cup. I manage a smile as I take it from him, swallowing its c
ontents in record time.

  “What happened?” I ask no one in particular.

  “You choked,” Darren answers, bluntly. “That’s what happened. You shot the first square in the face, but the other two? Fuck knows what happened.”

  “Lay the hell off her, Da,” Andrew interrupts. “This was her first time. What did you think would happen? She’s not trained in this yet. Everyone chokes.”

  “Not me,” he replies. “I didn’t choke.”

  “Yeah, but you knew what you were getting yourself into. She didn’t. No one told her what she was doing. She’s barely had enough gun training, and we just threw her into the deep end. It’s not bloody fair.”

  “Look, it’s better that way,” Roger says. “It lets us know what kind of a Cleaner she’ll be—one that reacts quickly to danger, or one that falls apart after the first scare. I won’t have her endangering the lives our men. Not while I’m in charge.”

  “That’s bullshit, Roger!” Andrew snaps. “And you know it!”

  “Watch your mouth, Andrew! Don’t forget who you’re talking to. This is a standard test, and since last year it’s standard practise that anyone training for the job must be able to cope with any type of attack. It’s the rules. I didn’t make them. You know that as well as I do.”

  “Look, guys,” Darren steps in, “let’s all just calm down now. She failed the test, and that’s that.” He turns his attention to me. “I’m sorry, Cath. I’m sure you’re a lovely person, but it’s over. This job is too dangerous to have someone who freezes at the first sign of trouble. It’s not only dangerous for you, but for the lives of the other Cleaners.”

  My heart sinks. I want to stand up for myself, to fight my corner, but I have nothing. Nothing at all. They’re right. I’m not fit to work here. Passing some fitness test has nothing to do with the job. This is the job. This is the real test. And I failed. Miserably. “It’s all right,” I say, my voice low, deflated. “I understand. I fucked up. I’m sorry. I don’t know why. I thought I could do it, but I just froze. Maybe if I could have a few more tries. You know, just a little more practise.”

  Roger shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Cath, that’s it. There’s no second chances. This is elimination training. One strike and you’re out.”

  If my nerves weren’t shattered, if my body wasn’t drained of any sort of spark, I might muster up the strength to punch the bald bastard in the nose, tell him where he can stick his stupid job.

  But he’s right. And he doesn’t deserve it.

  The only person who needs a punch is me.

  Roger offers his hand for me to shake it. “Unlucky, Cath. Better luck next time, yeah?”

  I pause for a moment, but then reluctantly shake his gloved hand. “Okay, Roger. Thanks for the opportunity.”

  “No problem. Pop off your suit and I’ll meet you in the staff room.”

  Andrew looks seething, so I smile thinly and give him one of my ‘don’t worry about it’ shrugs. I then start to remove my suit.

  The biggest surprise today wasn’t the rancid Necs coming at me, nor was it the fact that I failed—there was always a chance that I wouldn’t make the cut. The biggest shock is the fact that I haven’t broken down in tears. Not one.

  They’ll probably come later.

  6

  It’s 8:17 p.m.

  I put my phone on silent the moment I left HQ. Didn’t want to speak to any friends. All I’ve done since coming home is tell my parents the news of my failure, and listen to them struggle to find nice ways to say I told you so. But in the end, no matter how they dress it up, no matter how many sympathetic smiles I get, the bottom line is: they were right. Everyone was right. Everyone but me. Don’t know what I was thinking.

  I thought shooting one of those Necs would have been the highlight of the day, the highlight of the training. My life. Not some stupid sack-pulling race. I didn’t even get the chance to celebrate taking the first one down with the tranq. I was too dazed for it to even register. And for all I know, it was just a fluke. I can hardly remember pulling the trigger. It’s a good thing that Roger failed me. What possible use could I be in the field if I freeze at the first sign of trouble? Back when I was a little girl, I thought shooting Necs for a living would be the greatest and easiest job in the world.

  Shit, was I wrong.

  Greatest? Maybe. Easiest? Definitely not.

  But to rub salt in the wound, I’ve got to go crawling back to the restaurant to get my old job back. Why on the earth did I have to quit? I should have just taken a few days off, done the training, and then told them where to go. At least then I wouldn’t have to go back there, tail between my legs, with everyone knowing that I failed miserably.

  I was so sure that I’d pass. So confident in my abilities.

  Silly little girl.

  I hear a gentle tap on my bedroom door. “Come in,” I call out.

  The door slowly opens and in walks Dad, dressed in his shirt and tie, a compassionate smile on his mouth. “How are you feeling, Angel? Any better?”

  I shuffle up into a sitting position. “I’m okay, Dad. Just dreading going back to that restaurant.”

  Dad sits on the end of the bed. “Do you think your boss will take you back?”

  I shrug. “Hopefully. I’ve worked there long enough. Just not looking forward to seeing that smug look on his fat face, that’s all.”

  “Well, maybe you should hold out for something else. Something better.”

  “No, it’s all right, Dad. Don’t want to stay in bed for the next two weeks, moping about some job I didn’t get. Got to keep earning. Pay my way and all that.”

  “That’s the spirit, Cath. And look, maybe you could apply to the police instead.”

  “I’ve already looked into it. They’re not recruiting until next year. Not in Wales, anyway. And I don’t fancy moving all the way to Birmingham on my own. It’s not for me. I’m a Welsh Lass through and through.”

  Dad beams. “That’s good to know. I’d hate for you to leave us. Your Mum and I kinda like having you around.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  He pats my leg. “You sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine. Just need a day or two to get back on track. Who needs that stupid job anyway? Bunch of Neanderthal, sexist assholes. Good riddance.”

  “Yeah. Life’s too short to dwell.” Dad gets up off the bed. “Right, well, I’m off to do some paperwork. It’s not quite as exciting as catching zombies for a living, but it suits me to the ground.”

  “They’re called Necs, Dad,” I correct him, chuckling. “Short for Necro-Morbus. Not zombies.”

  “Same bloody thing,” he replies as he exits the room.

  Zombie.

  Never heard Dad refer to them as that before.

  Sounds pretty stupid out loud.

  * * *

  Once I’m showered, teeth cleaned, I go back into my bedroom and pull out my hairdryer from my dresser. I sit in the chair and stare into the mirror as I dry my hair. Even though the steaming hot shower has woken me up, I can tell by my puffy, dark ringed eyes that I’m exhausted. Definitely need an early night.

  Don’t know how I’m going to face setting foot in that restaurant tomorrow. Maybe Dad’s right. Maybe I should hold out for something better.

  Once my hair is dry and brushed, I get up from the chair and walk over to my bedside table. I notice my phone, still on charge, still set to silent. Pulling the cable out of the socket, I see that I’ve had four text messages, two from Steph, one from my parents, and one from Rachel. Can’t be bothered to read them right now. I know exactly what they all say: ‘Hi Cath. How did it all go today? Did you pass? Have you taken out any Necs yet?’ Don’t think I’m quite ready to tell them all about my disastrous failure. Not right now anyway. I also see that I have four missed calls: two from Dad and two from unfamiliar numbers. There’s voicemail. I click the icon and put my mobile to speakerphone so I can finish dressing.

  “Hi, Cath, it’s your Dad. How
did it go today? Did you knock ‘em dead? No pun intended. Call us when you’re done. Love you.”

  A second message comes through: “Hi, Miss Woods. Did you know that you might be entitled to compensation? If you were miss-sold Payment Protection Insurance we can—” Don’t fancy listening to another second of that shit so I quickly delete it.

  The final message begins to play: “Hi, Catherine, it’s Roger. Roger Davies? Can you give me a quick call when you get this message? There are a couple of things I’d like to speak to you about. Thanks.”

  Intrigued, I dial the number. It rings for a few seconds before a voice comes through the speaker: “Hello. Roger Davies speaking.”

  “Hi, Roger, it’s Catherine,” I answer, trying to conceal the apprehension in my voice. “Sorry I missed your call; my phone’s been on silent. Everything all right?”

  “Yes, yes. Everything’s fine, Cath.” He clears his throat loudly. “Look, I’m sorry about today. I know things got a little heated between me and Andrew, which was unprofessional. Unfortunately, in a job like this, tempers can flare up, moods can swing, and disagreements are commonplace. But this is always the way with a team like the one we have.”

  “It’s okay, Roger. I understand. You have a job to do—you’ve got to look out for the staff. I get that.”

  “Good, good. I’m glad. But, as Andrew pointed out, this job is a learning curve, and in spite of the rule book the government has set out, it is my ship. And as captain I do have a little power to do things in a way I see fit. So, I’ve spoken to Andrew, and he’s agreed to let you shadow him for six months training. Out in the field.”

  What?

  I’m nearly sick to my stomach when I hear his words.

  Did I actually hear them? Or am I just half sleep?

  “So, I know that three months is the standard probation period,” he goes on, “but as a compromise I’ve had to increase it to six. I hope you can understand that, Cath. I mean, this wasn’t an easy decision to make. It took a lot of ear bending, particularly from Andrew, but, well…what do you say? Are you in or out?”