“Can I put the TV on, Cath?” Josh whispers.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, buddy. It’s too risky.”
“I’ll keep the sound down. I promise.”
“It’s not just the sound. They’ll see the flickering lights from the window.”
“Okay, Cath. But what are we meant to do then?”
“Nothing we can do, other than wait.”
“Can’t we play a game?”
Amelia shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “Don’t be silly, Josh. We can’t play a game. We have to be quiet.”
“We can play a quiet game,” he offers, his young voice crammed with enthusiasm.
“Just try to get some sleep,” Amelia suggests. “We can play games when this is all over.”
“But it’s still early.”
“Tough.”
“Suppose we could play a game,” I say, still mulling it over. “Might distract us.”
“Yes!” Josh blurts out loudly.
Amelia and I both shush him simultaneously.
He bites down on his lower lip and then mouths the word: sorry.
I smile, almost forgetting about the horrors of today; the headless monster in the garden. Andrew. “Okay, Josh, what game do you want to play?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “I dunno.”
Amelia tuts. “I thought you had a game in mind.”
“No. I only know hide and seek, snakes and ladders, and PlayStation games.”
“You’ve never played games with your friends?” I ask. “Maybe on a sleepover, or camping?”
“Never had a sleepover. Or stayed in a tent.”
“Oh, right. So what kinds of things are you in to?”
“Spider-Man, of course,” he replies, holding up his Spider-Man soft toy, excitement in his voice, in his eyes.
“Well then, you’re in luck, because I just so happen to be the world’s biggest Wall-Crawler fan. And I’m about to kick both your butts in a game of superhero facts.”
Josh chuckles. “In your dreams. There’s nothing that I don’t know about him. Bring it on!”
“Okay then,” I say, “what was the name of Peter Parker’s uncle?”
“Huh, that’s too easy,” Josh replies, smugly. “Uncle Ben of course. My turn! My turn!”
“Okay,” I say, holding my hand out to silence him, “but you need to whisper.”
“Sorry, Cath.”
“It’s all right, buddy. What was your question?”
“What’s the name of The Green Goblin’s son?” Josh asks.
“Too easy,” I reply, a big arrogant grin spread across my face. “Harry Osborne.”
“Yeah, that was too easy. Your turn, Sis.”
Amelia shakes her head. “I don’t want to play.”
“We can play something else if you want,” I suggest. “Something to suit us all.”
“No. I don’t want to play any games,” Amelia replies. “I just want to go to sleep.”
“That’s fine if you’re tired,” I say. “We’ll try to be quiet.”
“I’m not tired.”
“Then why go to sleep then?” Josh asks. “It’s still early.”
Amelia gets off the bed, lifts the quilt and climbs under, lying on her side, facing away from her brother. “I just want morning to come quicker.”
“Are you mad with me, sis?”
“No. Of course I’m not,” she replies, lifting her head up and turning to look at him.
“Then play a game with us then.”
“No. I think it’s best if we get some sleep. Wait for the real help to get here.”
“But Cath is the real help. She’s come here to save us.”
“No, she hasn’t. She almost got killed outside, and she doesn’t even have a gun.”
“Look, Amelia,” I say, tempted to tell her that she’s completely right, that I’m not the real help. “We don’t need a gun. As long as we all stay together and stay locked up in the house, nothing bad will happen. Help is coming. We just need to be a little patient. But you’re right; maybe you should get some sleep. Both of you. “
“What about you?” Josh asks.
“I need to stay awake. Keep you safe. It’s my job.”
He smiles. “Okay, Cath. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it, buddy.”
“What if we need to use the toilet,” Josh asks, “in the middle of the night?”
“I’ll take you,” I offer. “But we need to keep that door locked at all costs. Just in case.”
“Okay, Cath.”
“Do you need to go right now?”
Josh shakes his head. “No, I’m fine. Just wanted to check.”
“Okay, buddy. Try to get some sleep now.”
He nods and smiles. “Goodnight.”
I return a smile. “Goodnight, little man.”
He climbs under the quilt, snuggles up to his sister, and then closes his eyes. I crawl up the bed next to him, prop up a pillow against the headboard, and sit back. Even though I feel emotionally drained of all life, all energy, sleep seems impossible at the moment. It’s too early and I have too many thoughts racing through my head. Wish I had a good novel to occupy my mind. Something funny. Without bloodshed. Without death. Anything to take me away from here; away from the isolation, the horror, the guilt of losing Andrew.
Can’t believe he’s gone. Didn’t even get a chance to get to know him, have a drink with him. But with everything I went through, all the emotional stress, the training, the farmhouse, somehow it feels like I’ve known the guy for years. He looked out for, stuck up for me.
The only one who did.
I look down at Josh, next to his sister, still clutching Spider-man. Never seen siblings behave like these two—so close, so in love. Normally brothers and sisters are at each other’s throats, bickering, complaining about eating habits, sharing things. I’d love a little brother or sister. Someone to look out for, to pass down little nuggets of life lessons, tips, things to avoid.
Necs being top on the list.
17
I glance at my watch. 8:34 p.m.
I’m bursting for a pee. Didn’t think it would be something to worry about. But it is, and it’s very annoying. I should have gone before I locked the door. We all should have. I scan the bedroom, looking for something to pee in. Can’t see anything obvious, like a large bowl or a bucket. I’m not squatting over a bloody bucket. Not just yet, anyway. I can hold it until morning. It’s just mind over matter—mental discipline. My bladder is big enough. It’s not going to explode.
I’ll just have to avoid thoughts of water, dripping taps, and rainy days. I’ll just have to focus on what happens next—what the plan of attack is. I mean, how long is everyone expected to wait until help shows up? A day? Two days? A bloody week? That’s not right. And if all the Cleaners have been wiped out, what then? The police? The Army? Cleaners from other parts of the UK? Someone will have to step up. They can’t just let everyone fend for themselves. There’re too many infected.
This is so screwed up.
I check the bedside cabinet for a telephone. There isn’t one. I should have called Mum and Dad when I had the chance, told them that I’m all right, that everything is going to be fine. That I love them more than anything in the world. Even more than becoming a bloody Cleaner!
It’s probably best that I don’t speak to them. No point worrying them. If they found out what had happened, where I was, they’d be at the barricade, Dad in his 4x4, ready to ram the wall. No, best not to think about them. This’ll all be over by morning. The kids will be fine; their foster parents will be dealt with and I can go home, back to my family. Back to the real world of nights in, watching TV, and nights out with the girls, enduring drunken guys, slobbering over anything with a pulse. Instead of having to deal with an army of cannibals that don’t even have a bloody pulse!
I feel so helpless, just lying here, waiting for the coast to clear. Never thought my day would end like this. I had so many high hopes ab
out this job, being out there, making a difference, saving the world from the undead—not holed up in a bedroom, waiting for a big strong man to come and rescue me. Pathetic.
Really need a pee.
Can’t hold it much longer. Staying awake is going to be hard enough without the added discomfort. I’ll have to go. Grabbing the knife from the bedside cabinet, I creep off the bed, biting my bottom lip as I try to avoid waking them. That’s if they are actually asleep. Haven’t heard a peep out of them in a while. The floorboards squeak as the weight of my boots press into the carpet. Wincing, I turn to the kids—no change. Josh is still cuddled up to his sister, and Amelia is still facing the other way. At the door, I twist the key and then slowly pull the handle. The door hinges whine even louder than the floor, but it doesn’t disturb them. They both must be so weary, all that stress and adrenaline. Decapitating that man.
Poor things.
My heart rate increases when I step out onto the landing. I half-expect the foster parents to be standing in front of me, or that Nec from the garden, his severed head under his arm. Hand shaking with the knife pointed, I slink across the landing and into the bathroom. In the darkness, with the door wide open, I unzip my suit, pull it down to my ankles and sit on the toilet. I close my eyes in relief as my bladder empties. Don’t think I could have held out all night. The noise of urine hitting the water in the bowl is too loud. Should have put some paper down to absorb the sound. Too late now, I’m in full-flow. Nearly done anyway. When I’m finished, I have to stop myself, just inches from pressing down on the toilet flush.
If flushing the toilet got me killed, then I’d deserve everything I got.
Back on the landing, outside the bedroom, I push the door open, fighting off the urge to go back downstairs and into the kitchen, just to ring HQ again. Maybe some of the guys made it back to Ammanford, and they’re waiting for me to report back.
Yeah, in your dreams, Cath.
When I open the bedroom door and step inside, my grip on the knife tightens in fright when I see Amelia standing in the darkness.
“Jesus, Amelia,” I almost yell, holding a hand over my chest, “you nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Where were you?” she whispers, her tone ice-cold.
I close the door behind me and lock it. “I just needed to use the toilet.”
“You left us.”
“No, I didn’t. I was only gone a minute.”
“If you want to go, just go. We don’t need your help.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here to help you.”
“No, you’re not. You never meant to be in our garden. You said yourself you were chased.”
“I know that. But I’m only in Crandale to help. This isn’t even where I normally work. Bristol needed extra help, so we came. To help.”
Amelia sits on the bed, quiet for a moment. But then the silence turns to tears. Quickly putting the knife back in the bedside cabinet, I rush over to her side, arm around her shoulders. “Don’t cry,” I say, in the most motherly voice I can muster up. It feels unfamiliar to me. “Everything’s gonna be all right. You’ll see.”
She shakes her head. “No, it won’t be. It never is.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because nothing ever works out for us.”
I pull her closer to me. “Life is sometimes horrible and unfair. But, as long as there is breath in my lungs, I’ll keep those monsters away.”
“How the hell can you? You’re just one person—without a gun.”
“You’re right,” I reply. “I may have lost my gun, and my partner, but we’re gonna get through this by working together. And you and your brother will be all right. No matter what. Okay?”
She gives me a subtle nod, and then sniffs loudly.
“You’re a strong girl,” I continue. “I can tell. You’re the same as me. And us girls can survive anything—even a sexist job like being a Cleaner.”
“Sexist?” she asks, wiping away a tear as it rolls down her cheek. “How come?”
“Because apparently this is no job for woman.”
“Why not?” she asks, dabbing her nose with the sleeve.
“Well, according to the countless letters of rejection I got from the government about hiring women, men are just better equipped in dealing with Necs. Women just don’t have the strength—physically or mentally.”
“But they gave you a job in the end.”
“Yeah—after I made sure that I was a big enough pain in the ass that they’d let me have an interview. And it worked. So the moral of the story is: never take no for an answer.”
“So what’s it like being a Cleaner?”
“To tell you the truth, Amelia, it’s hard. At first, I thought it would be the coolest job in the world: shooting monsters for a living. But the reality of it is seeing families ripped apart by this disease, danger all around you.”
“So why don’t you quit? Why stick it out for two years?”
Should I tell her the truth? Now’s a good enough time as any to come clean. No, it’s still too dangerous. No good can come of it. Best let her sleep tonight knowing that someone is watching over her. Even if it is a trainee. “Because I want to help people. Like you and your brother.” I give Amelia a playful nudge to her side. “But maybe I’ll quit tomorrow. When this is all over.”
Amelia returns the nudge. “Maybe you should. But not before. We still need you here.”
Beaming, I stroke her soft, bushy hair. “No worries.” I get up from the bed. “Jump back in bed. Keep your brother warm.”
“Okay,” she replies, getting up and then walking over to the other side of the bed. She climbs under the quilt, drapes her arm over her brother’s chest, and closes her eyes. “Goodnight, Cath.”
“Goodnight, Amelia,” I reply, returning to my previous position; head upright against the pillow, eyes wide open and fixed on the door.
Did I lock it after me?
Paranoia kicks in as I quickly get up and check it. Locked. Thank God.
Returning to the bed, I massage my aching knee. Feels a lot better now. It must have popped out and then popped back in. I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’ll have to start wearing my strap again.
I glance over at Amelia; looks like she’s sleeping already. I’m starting to feel a little tired myself. Can’t sleep, though. Too risky. Have to fight the urge to close my eyes. No matter how heavy my eyelids get. No matter how drained my body feels.
Have to fight it. For them.
18
I can smell bacon. Mum must be making breakfast. Is it Sunday already? Feels more like a Monday though. Haven’t had bacon in months. Forgot how good it smells. Even better than it tastes. Dad must have insisted on bacon, even though the doctor told him to lay off the fatty foods. He says it’s the good cholesterol that’s high with him, not the bad kind. Whatever the hell that means.
I should get up in a minute. I’m sure Mum’s been calling me. But it’s Sunday. At least let me sleep in a little. It’s only fair. That’s why God invented Sundays—a day to sleep off hangovers.
Did I go out drinking last night?
Must have. Why else would my head be so fuzzy? Must have been a good night if I can’t remember even going out. Those nights are always the best.
I try to pry my stinging eyes open. I can just about make out my bedroom, even though it’s still pretty dark in here.
Why is it so dark?
The curtains must be closed.
I can see Mum, hovering around by my bed. Probably trying to wake me. Fat chance with this headache, pounding against my temples. Unless she has a glass of water and two strong painkillers, she’s gonna have a fight on her hands.
What the hell is she doing, just wandering around my room? Probably scrutinising the epic mess that’s all around her feet.
What happened to that smell of bacon? Doesn’t smell as pleasant anymore. Almost rancid, like it’s gone off. Don’t even think Dad would eat it now. And he�
�ll eat anything.
My eyes burn as the room comes into focus. Still exhausted, still not ready to face the day yet. Another hour at least. Why hasn’t Mum opened the curtains yet? It’s not like her. It’s usually the first thing she does, just to wake me by blinding me with sunlight.
But this is not my bedroom.
And that is not my Mother.
My entire body freezes in horror when I see the female Nec stood in front of me.
The dead woman’s stare is locked onto the bright streetlight, seeping in through the centre of the curtains; her long black hair soaked through with sweat; her arms slumped lazily against her sides.
Juliet?
Holding my breath, I can hear my heart thrashing against my chest; so loud the Nec must be able to hear. I slowly reach for the knife and grip the handle tightly. Turning my head as if my neck is held in a vice, I see the kids. Both siblings are still fast asleep.
Don’t think Juliet has seen us yet. How the fuck did she get in here? Did I leave the door unlocked when I went to the bathroom? No, I double-checked. Moving my head towards the door, I see that it’s hanging wide open. Impossible.
Swallowing hard, I prod Josh’s arm and then place my hand over his mouth. The moment his eyes open, the second he sees his dead foster mother, I can feel my hand filling with his muted scream. I put my index finger to the centre of my lips to shush him. Eyes wide, he nods, so I remove my hand from his mouth. The Nec wanders aimlessly over to the chest of drawers by the window. Reaching over Josh, I give Amelia’s shoulder a prod to wake her, once again managing to catch her scream of horror with my hand when she sees Juliet. I gesture for them to follow me off the bed. Josh shakes his head, his giant eyes filled with tears, his body trembling. Amelia takes his hand and starts to push him towards me. He resists for a moment, but submits when the Nec lets out a low, rasping moan. Taking Josh’s hand, I help him from the bed. Amelia crawls across the mattress and quietly steps onto the carpet. The Nec has her back to us, facing the window. I usher the kids out onto the landing, and then pull the key out of the door as I follow them. Just as I’m about to close the door, to trap the Nec inside, Josh suddenly slips past me, and races back inside the bedroom. I stop myself from calling out to him as I watch him reach over the bed and grab his Spider-Man toy. The Nec spots him and darts towards the bed, diving across the quilt, snarling. I leap out of the doorway, back into the bedroom. Josh screams when he sees how close his foster mother is. Taking hold of his jumper, I yank him away and drag his tiny body towards the doorway. But it’s too late. The Nec lunges off the bed and onto his back. Her weight pulls him onto the carpet, hauling me down with them.
The Zombie Saga (Book 2): Burn The Dead (Purge) Page 12
