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, emptying 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, shit! 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 scamper 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—ambling on the lawn. 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.
15
“Can you hear me? You need to get up. I think she’s dead…”
* * *
My head is a spinning mess of thoughts. Can’t focus on anything for more than a moment. I try to force my eyes open, but it gives me a headache. I can smell something. The scent of nostalgia.
It’s freshly-cut grass.
Feels so…familiar, like the first day of spring, or camping out with friends.
Where the hell am I?
“You have to wake up!” Andrew screams. He sounds pissed off with me. Haven’t seen him angry yet. What’s the problem? Am I late for work? Slept through my alarm clock? Wouldn’t be the first time.
“Come on, Josh! You have to get her inside!”
Who the hell is Josh?
Someone from the restaurant perhaps? One of the new guys? Can’t recall, but it’s tough keeping up with all those new faces. They all start to look the same.
“Are you bit?”
Bit? What’s that suppose to mean?
What the hell would have bitten me? The neighbours Rottweiler? No, he’s dead. They put him down last year.
“Get up!”
Yes, I can hear you. Stop going on at me. I’ll be up in a—
My eyes open and I’m in a garden. On the cold ground. It’s night time but everything is lit up by a bright light. There’s a young girl, thirteen maybe, standing just ahead of me, a spade in her hand. She’s got the sharp end pressed down on something.
Where the hell am I?
Someone is trying to drag me by my arms in the opposite direction. Tilting my head back, I look up at a little boy, about nine or ten, blond hair, his face bright red from the strain of my weight.
“Wake up!” the boy shouts.
After the girl has pulled the spade out of the man’s throat, she drives it down again, hard, nearly severing the head entirely.
This has to be a nightmare.
“Come on, Amelia!” the little boy sobs. “It’s dead! Leave it!”
She brings the spade down for yet another stab at the man’s neck, this time cutting the head off completely. “It’s not dead, Josh!”
“Yes, it is!”
“No, it’s not, Josh! It can’t die!”
The disorientation disappears and a sudden shunt of clarity hits me. I know exactly where I am, what I’m doing on the floor.
Scrambling to my feet, my knee gives way under my weight. I cry out in agony. The boy helps me to my feet, clutching my arm tight with his scrawny hands. The girl drops the spade and bolts towards us, shouldering me in the chest, trying to get me through the back door. I fly into the kitchen. As the door slams shut, I catch a glimpse of the Nec clamber back onto its feet, its head still on the path. The girl twists the lock on the back door and pulls down the blind, covering the glass panel.
The young girl and boy steer me through the kitchen. They lower me onto a chair and I sit, heavily, still not completely recovered from the concussion. “Turn the light off,” I say, groggily, pointing up at the bulb on the ceiling. “They’ll see us.” The girl races over to the wall by the back door and switches it off. The room becomes pitch black and silent.
My head cloudy, knee throbbing, I try to listen out for Necs.
Can’t hear any. I think we’re safe.
Suddenly a dim light comes on, lifting some of the darkness. I see the girl, standing to the left of me. There’s a thin beam of light coming from an extractor-fan, which is positioned directly above a large oven. “Is this too bright?” she asks me, her finger still on the button.
I shake my head. “No, it’s fine.”
She walks over to the cupboard, pulls a glass out, and fills it up with water at the sink. She places the glass on the table in front of me.
“Thank you,” I say, noticing for the first time her bushy red hair, her light-blue top and jeans—and the horror in her large, emerald eyes.
“Are you here to help us?” she asks me, leaning against the worktop, the boy huddled up close to her, his head just about reaching her chest.
“What do you mean?” I ask, the haze in my eyes still lingering.
“Well, you’re one of those Cleaners, aren’t you? You’re meant to help us.”
I glance down at my mud-stained uniform, and swallow the water down in one gulp. “Yeah. That’s right. I’m a Cleaner.”
“Have you come to help us?” the little boy asks, still cowering behind the girl.
I pause for a moment, almost forgetting my job, my whole reason for being in this Godforsaken hellhole. “Yeah. Of course I have. I’m Catherine—Cath. You can call me Cath. I’m a Cleaner.”
“Where’s the rest of you?” the girl asks. “I saw four vans drive past the house this morning.”
“We got into some trouble over by the church.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“We got ambushed by a large group of Necs. I got separated.”
Shit. I shouldn’t have said that
. They’re too young.
“But there’s more of you coming, yeah?” the little boy asks, his tone laced with worry. “They’re on their way, right?”
I rub my eyes, noticing that I no longer have my gloves on, or my helmet. It reminds me of Andrew’s contorted face, just before they killed him. I want to cry, but I can’t. Not here. Not yet. Not in front of the children. Everything seems so surreal and dreamlike. The journey from The Mount to here seems like it was days ago. Can’t seem to shake off this fog—being knocked unconscious, hurting my knee.
The Nec crawling over me…
“You saved my life,” I say, only now realising it. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing. We had to,” the girl says. “We couldn’t let that monster bite you.”
“But you could have been killed.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I can see that. How old are you?”
“I’m fourteen. And my brother’s nine,” she replies, pulling him even closer.
“Well, I’m glad you came out when you did.”
“That was Josh. He saw you from the window.”
I smile at the little boy. “Josh, is it? Thank you. You saved my life.”
“It’s okay,” he says, shyly. “My sister was the one with the spade.”
“Where did you find the courage to do something like that?” I ask her.
Amelia shrugs. “Just didn’t want that monster hurting anyone else.”
“Did he hurt you?”
The siblings shake their heads in unison. “Not us,” Josh says, his eyes welling up.
The Zombie Saga (Book 2): Burn The Dead (Purge) Page 10
