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

by Jenkins, Steven

  We hop into the van and drive off. Andrew tells me that we’re heading back to Bristol.

  To a place called Crandale.

  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. Andrew 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 insta
ntly.

  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.”

  “Okay.” Grabbing his ankles, I start to pull him towards the gates. He weighs an absolute ton, but after that awful sack-pulling challenge, one Nec shouldn’t be that much of a problem.

  Inside the grounds, I follow Andrew up a narrow path, through an old, clearly disused graveyard. Couldn’t have found a more fitting place to be dragging a corpse. The route up to the church is steep, and the concrete is broken and rough. I have to stop three times before I’m even halfway up. The church is as ancient and neglected as the graves that surround it. There’s no way in the world that anyone still uses this place for worship. It’s a huge building—beautiful, in fact—with stained-glass windows darkened by dust and decay. Most of the natural grey stonework is cracked, either from wear-and-tear or vandalism, and vines climb its walls like blood vessels.

  Reaching the top of the path, we come to a corner. I follow Andrew around it and I see the church entrance, and a set of huge wooden doors, once again bruised and battered like the rest the place. I’m never getting married in one of these things. Way too depressing.

  And when I drag the man inside, and see the mass of sedated Necs all around me, I find yet another reason never to get married in a church.

  Gasping in horror, I drop the Nec’s legs, and go to place a hand over my mouth, only to find my visor instead. I want to scream but can’t; my mouth is too dry. My vocals have seized.

  Nearly every inch of the place, every pew, every space on the cold stone floor, is occupied by captured Necs. There must be at least seventy. Maybe more. Half sealed in yellow body bags, while others are loose, limbs tied, mouths muzzled. Scanning in revulsion, I spot a few squirming—sedation clearly worn off. The image is dismaying—disturbing—to see so many, so close. It’s overwhelming.

  “Don’t panic, Cath,” Andrew says as if I’ve merely walked through a cobweb. “You’re safe. They ain’t going anywhere.”

  When the walls stop closing in on me, when the tunnel vision starts to fade, when my mind begins to process what I’m witnessing, I manage to squeeze a sentence out. “What the fuck is this?”

  “It’s a morning’s worth of work,” a man says, from the direction of the nave, his voice echoing around the crumbling walls.

  As he approaches, I can see that he’s a Cleaner, his helmet under his left arm. Surely the last place it should be in a place like this.

  “Where’s the rest of the Cleaners?” I ask him.

  “Rounding up more Necs. It’s pretty bad out there. We’ve been at it for hours. We got most of the uninfected out this morning. But that wasn’t easy with bugger all staff.”

  “What do you mean? I thought you’d have a massive crew up here. Where are they?”

  The man snorts. “Massive crew? Fat chance of that. We don’t have the budget for it. Same as you lot down your neck of the woods.”

  “That’s why they called us, Cath,” Andrew cuts in. “None of us can cope alone with an outbreak this big. There just isn’t the staff for it.”

  “So why are we bringing them here?” I ask, suddenly aware that the Nec I just dragged in is still by my feet. Andrew sees me flinch and grabs the Nec’s arm and pulls him over to the aisle with the others.

  “Safest place for them while we wait for another lorry to pick ‘em up. Lorries can only store thirty at a time, and we can’t exactly spare any Cleaners to take them over to Romkirk. It’s just easier to keep them all in one place until we can ship them out.”

  “So where do you want us to start sweeping?” Andrew asks the man.

  “Well, I sent your guys down to Marbleview Street about fifteen minutes ago, so if you two can take The Mount.”

  “Where’s that?” Andrew asks.

  “Just right as you come out of the church. It’s near the primary school.”

  “What about the school kids?” I ask, seeing images of children running for their lives, being hunted by a pack of rotten Necs. “Are they still inside?”

>   The man shakes his head. “No, they’re out. That was our first protocol. But you’re gonna have to go door to door. Take your van, and fill the fucker up with as many Necs as it’ll hold. And get back here ASAP.”

  “What about the uninfected?” Andrew asks. “Are we getting them out, too?”

  “No. There’s no time. God knows when it’ll be safe for Control to send a bus in here. Just make sure each house is locked down, and concentrate on taking out the Necs.”

  “Okay. No worries.”

  The man points to a large box by the entrance. “Take one of those with you. You’re bound to run out.”

  I walk over to it, pull the cardboard flap open and see that it’s filled to the brim with muzzles and cable-ties. “Bloody hell, there’s a lot in here.”

  “Well, you’re gonna need a shit load,” the man replies. “As you can see we ran out of body bags a while ago, so you’ll have to make do with what you’ve got. Just bag up what you can and throw the rest on top.”

  Andrew lets out a long breath, clearly pissed off, and makes his way towards the entrance. “Fine.” He then gestures with his head for me to go with him. “Come on, Cath. Let’s get moving.”

  I pick up the box, my mind struggling to process what I’ve just witnessed, and what I’m about to do.

  But still I find myself leaving the church, behind Andrew, to round up a horde of flesh-hungry Necs.

  13

  As the name suggests, The Mount is a steep street with a row of terrace houses on each side. It stretches up further than my eyes can register, so I’m guessing that there must be over a hundred in total. We’re gonna need a bigger van. To the left of the junction is a primary school—the gates have been padlocked and there are no obvious signs of life through the windows. Thank God.

  Climbing out of the van, gun gripped tightly, helmet on, we make our way to the first house.

  “How should we do this?” I ask Andrew. “One side at a time?”

  “No. We zigzag. It’s easier.” He points his gun to the first door. “Okay, Cath, we stay methodical—start with number one. But more importantly, we stay together. Don’t make a move unless I say so, or you have no other choice. Agreed?”