“Leave him alone!” Amelia screams when she sees her foster mother’s jaws clamp down on her brother’s hand. Scrambling to my feet, I thrust the knife through the Nec’s left eye, into her brain, and then drive my leather boot into the Nec’s face, forcing her to lose her grip on Josh. Grasping his arm, I wrench him off the floor and out onto the landing. Still with the blade planted firmly in her skull, the Nec storms towards the doorway, so I plunge my heel into her chest, propelling her onto her back. Just before she’s up again, I slam the door shut, and frantically put the key into the lock. Her body crashes into the door from inside the bedroom, almost popping out the key as I twist it.
Locked.
Amelia’s screams of panic, Josh’s painful wailing, the wild roars and fists beating from the bedroom—it’s all too much to handle, to take in.
“He’s been bitten!” she yells. “He’s infected!”
“Shut up, Amelia!” I snap. “You’re not helping!”
Josh’s sobs increase.
“We have to stop the infection!” she yells. “We have to cut off his hand!”
“No!” he weeps. “You can’t cut my hand off!”
“Enough! You’re scaring him.”
“What the hell are we supposed to do then?” Amelia demands. “He’s been bitten.”
“Please don’t cut off my hand,” Josh yells out, tears and snot running down his face.
“No one’s cutting off your hand, buddy,” I tell him, taking hold of his arm and inspecting the wound. “It’s not that deep. We can use the antiviral shot. Stop the infection before it spreads.”
“Yes! The antiviral!” Amelia shouts out. “Where is it?”
I reach into my vest pocket only to find it empty. “Shit!” My stomach turns when I realise that I already used it on Andrew.
“What’s wrong?” Amelia asks.
“It’s gone.”
“What do you mean it’s gone?”
“I had to give it to my partner.”
“Get another one then.”
I shake my head, struggling to think straight. “I don’t have another one.”
“Well what the hell are we supposed to do now?”
I don’t have an answer.
The sweat is now dripping profusely down my face, stinging my eyes. I wipe it away as I look down at Josh. He has his hand clasped tightly with his other hand, blood seeping between his fingers, his face pale. Suddenly everything seems dreamlike, everything in tunnel vision. The Nec, Amelia’s words, the screaming, none of it feels real, like I’m in some horrible nightmare—a nightmare that I can’t seem to shake off.
But Amelia screaming the name Michael at the top of her voice pulls me back to reality, and I’m faced with the foster Dad, shambling towards us from the top of the stairs.
“Watch out, Josh!” I shout as I push past him, ramming both palms into Michael’s chest. The Nec crashes down onto the floor, his head smacking against the banister. Within a split second, I’m standing over the dead man, stamping my boot into his mouth with every ounce of strength I can summon. I watch his nose split, then become nothing more than a dark patch on his face. I watch his mouth fill with blood and broken teeth, his eyes disappear into his skull, his forehead split open, and his brain spill out like vomit.
But he doesn’t die.
He can’t die.
He’s already dead.
But he won’t be getting up. He won’t be hurting anyone tonight.
Not without a face…
19
“You need to get another one right now!” Amelia screams at me as she runs a cloth under the kitchen tap. “He’s infected.”
“Shut up, Amelia!” Josh cries from the table, clutching his wounded hand. “I’m not infected! Stop saying that!”
“Look,” I say, standing beside Josh, trying to sound as calm as I can, “I’ll go outside to the van. It’s parked up on The Mount. There’ll be spare antiviral bottles in the back. In one of the compartments.”
Kneeling down in front of Josh’s chair, Amelia gently cleans the gouge with the cloth. “Okay. You need to go now then,” she orders me, her words shaky, desperate. “Before it’s too late.”
I nod, and then wipe the sweat from my forehead. Can’t quite believe that I’m actually going back outside—back to that hell.
But I have to.
“What if something happens to you?” Josh asks, his eyes filled with apprehension, his face white as a sheet. Not sure if it’s from the shock or the infection. Please God let it be from the shock. “What if you don’t make it back?”
“It won’t come to that. I won’t let it. I’m fast. Faster than any Nec. I’ll get those bottles. And you’ll be fine. I promise.”
“You better go now,” Amelia says, “before it spreads.”
“Okay. I’ll go out the back door, through the lanes. It’s darker. Less chance of being seen.”
“What about the man in the garden?” Josh asks. “He’s still out there.”
“Don’t worry,” I reassure him. “He can’t hurt me.”
“You don’t have a weapon,” Amelia points outs. “You’ll be killed.”
“The spade’s still out there, yeah? I’ll use that.” I unlock the back door. “Just keep the pressure on the bite and I’ll be back in no time.”
“You promise?” Josh asks. “You won’t leave us?”
I turn to him with eyes of sincerity. “Never.”
“Take this with you.” Amelia hands me a key. “It’s for the front door. Just in case. But I’ll be waiting by the back door to let you in.”
I take the key and slip it into my pocket. “Thanks. You’re a smart kid.”
She gives me a slight nod. “Be careful out there.”
“I will. Keep the lights out and keep your eyes on the garden.”
Stomach twisted with nerves, I clutch the handle and start to pull.
“Wait!” Josh sobs. “Don’t go!”
I release the handle and turn to him. “I’ve got to, buddy.”
“No. This is all my fault.”
“Don’t be silly,” Amelia says, a deep scowl of confusion on her brow. “How can any of this be your fault?”
“It was me!” he confesses, snot and tears streaming. “I did it! I left the bedroom door unlocked! When you were both sleeping…I went out for a pee. I was bursting. I must have forgotten to lock it.” He sniffs loudly. “I’m sorry, Cath.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” I reassure him. “If your foster parents could break out of the living room, then they could have got into the bedroom. So just forget about it. It wasn’t your fault. Okay?”
Amelia kneels beside her brother and pulls him in for a hug. “Just go,” she says. “We’re running out of time.” She kisses the top of his head. “Save my brother.”
“I will,” I reply, pulling the back door open. “Just stay in the house.”
I step out into the darkness of the garden.
I hear the door lock behind me, and the realisation that I’m alone again hits me. The garden is cold and silent. I can’t really recall being here; everything that happened seems unreal, like the memory of a faded dream, a nightmare. I remember my knee giving way, and then staring up at the stars.
My stomach roils when I remember the face of the Nec, glaring down at me, ready to tear my face clean off.
I see the spade lying on the ground next to a bucket. When I’m within reaching distance of it, I can clearly see that it’s not a bucket.
It’s a head.
I quickly pick up the spade, unable to avoid staring at the Nec’s face, still very much conscious, his jaws snapping at fresh air, his eyes wide with a hunger that can never be satisfied.
Not without a body.
Body.
What the hell happened to the body?
No time for curiosity. I’ve got to get that antiviral—and fast.
But what about all those captured Necs in the back?
And the one’s from the
front of the van? What if they’re all still there?
Just suck it up, Cath. What other choice do you have?
I check the time on my watch. It’s 11:05 p.m.
Feels much later.
Weapon in hand, I race along the garden, towards the lane entrance. Poking my head out, I check for any wandering Necs. Can’t see any, but it’s dark. I listen hard, but I only hear a slight, icy breeze in the air. I start to jog up the lane towards the street. I should go slower, plan out every step, but there’s just no time to spare. He doesn’t stand a chance if I’m not back soon.
What if I’m already too late?
At the end of the lane, I see a sign for Richmond. Street lamps dimly light the road and pavements. I can’t see any Necs yet. Maybe it’s all over. Maybe the other Cleaners have managed to take back Crandale. It’s been long enough.
Body hunched, I make my way along the pavement and then duck down by a parked car. The coast seems clear, so I bolt across the road and crouch behind another car. Still no Necs. This is promising. Just up the hill I see the church. Never again will I set foot inside one without imagining all those squirming bodies. I run up the road, directly opposite the church, heading towards The Mount. At the foot of the hill, I slow down to catch my breath. My knee is still sore, and the spade is starting to get heavy.
Just up ahead, I see my Cleaner van, the back door still hanging open. I can’t see any roaming Necs. They must have scattered, got tired of waiting. I start to creep towards the van, aware that a horde could come busting out of these houses at any moment. When I’m about twenty metres away, I see a few bodies dangling out, some squirming on the road, others with their torsos half in, half out of the van.
I check out the front of the vehicle. It’s clear, so I return to the back doors. Spade at the ready, I can see that each Nec seems to be still restrained—limbs tied, muzzles over mouths. The smell hits me like a cloud of toxic gas, causing me to shield my mouth, nose and watering eyes. I can’t quite believe that I’m back here. The last place I thought I’d see again.
Shit! Can’t remember which side the antivirals are stored: left compartment or right?
I’m sure it’s the left.
Using the spade, I push the dangling Necs off the van, and their limp bodies roll onto the road. I focus on Josh’s sweet, innocent face, as I climb up onto the van platform, stepping on the arm of a Nec in the process. As I let go of the spade and swim through the dead bodies, I imagine that it’s nothing more than having to fish out a set of car keys from a muddy drain. I’m not crawling through a small army of the living dead. It’s just a simple task, something that no one wants to do, but has to do regardless. That’s all. Nothing more.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that.
At the left side of the van, I try to reach the compartment, my arm rubbing between metal and a sedated dead woman. Most of her dress is ripped so it’s just cold flesh grazing against my hand. The stink is almost too much to stand, so I hold my breath as I work my fingers down. The weight of Necs is too great—I can’t seem to reach it. With every ounce of strength in me, I pull the woman’s body towards me, and manage to create a little more space. With just enough of a gap, I reach blindly, and I’m able to get the compartment open. It’s only about twelve inches deep and about the same in width, so I grab whatever the hell is in there. When I see only a pack of antibacterial wipes and a first-aid kit, I almost scream at the top of my lungs, in frustration, in absolute horror. But I stop myself, take a deep breath, drop the items, and start to move over to the other side of the van.
Just as I reach the right side, I hear a loud hiss coming from outside. I freeze, playing dead, as if I’m nothing more than a captured Nec, and wait for the sound to disappear. But it doesn’t, instead it lingers. I contemplate leaping out, confronting the Nec, slicing its head off with the spade—but I don’t. It’s not worth it. Don’t know how many there are. There could be ten of them—and weapon or not, I wouldn’t stand a chance. The number of bodies this side of the van is much higher, with zero room to squeeze a hand down to the compartment, let alone open it. I’ll have to drag some bodies out of the van.
How the hell am I supposed to do that discreetly?
Please, God, give me a break!
The noise is getting closer, as if it can smell that someone is alive in here. Need to kill it if I have any hope of retrieving the bottles. Slowly working my body along the sea of infected, I lock my eyes on the road, through the gap between the doors. Still can’t see the Nec. I can feel my shoulders tighten as the fear starts to swallow me.
Got no time to be scared. The clock is ticking.
Reaching the opening, I grab the spade, take in a lungful of mouldy air, and leap out onto the road. The van door is blocking my view of the Nec so I quickly step forward to confront it, swinging the weapon blindly in the air.
When I see him— the rotten mess of a man—crawling on the concrete, I’m nearly sick to my stomach. Not because of the missing legs, the lifeless, cold eyes, and the thick trail of blood and gore being dragged along the ground. None of that matters. All I feel is a deep sense of loss, of sadness for this poor man. Andrew was my friend. And to see him like this twists and rips my heart in two. The sight is unbearable. My former mentor reaches up to me, his hand still wearing the company-issued gloves. There’s no strength in this Nec, no anger. Just a virus, trying desperately to cling onto its host—a host that barely has enough body to control. When he snarls at me through bloodied teeth, I don’t flinch. I don’t feel horror.
Instead I burst out into tears, just as I did when I shot the little boy. But this time I don’t have Andrew to ease my suffering, to reassure me that everything’ll be okay, that this job will get easier. Instead I’m all alone, stuck in this Godforsaken place, with the lives of two children in my hands.
“I’m sorry, my friend,” I sob, pointing the spade at Andrew’s half-eaten throat, “but I have no choice.” And then I drive the sharp metal through his neck, slicing his head clean off.
Taking in deep, measured breaths, I stop myself from screaming into the night, trying not to look at the severed head rolling down The Mount. Instead, I focus on reaching into Andrew’s vest pocket, and removing the antiviral case. I open it and see a bottle of clear liquid.
Undamaged.
A warm feeling of elation fills my stomach, rushing up to my chest, as I slip it into my pocket.
I don’t look at Andrew’s mutilated body, still very much alive, with hands still trying to grasp my legs. I don’t let myself. All I see is a big strong man, smoking his cigarette, smiling at me, rolling his eyes at all those other narrow-minded, dickhead Cleaners. Not this…thing.
I’m sorry I couldn’t save you today. But you saved us. You’ve saved Josh. Even in death.
Thank you, my friend.
Running as fast as I can down the hill, I throw thoughts of Andrew’s head to the back of my own. I can’t let it slow me down, not when I’m so close to saving Josh. At the bottom on the street I see the lane entrance—it’s teeming with Necs! There’s at least eight limping along the pavement as if somehow patrolling my only way in.
“Shit,” I mutter to myself as I squat down behind a parked car. I’ll have to go ‘round to the front of the house instead. Staying low to the concrete, I sneak across the road without them spotting me. From the top house on Marbleview, I peer down at the street. Everything seems quiet enough. Please let it stay that way. I sprint down, eyes darting back and forth for surprise attacks. Just a few houses away, I hear the sound of glass smashing. I quickly duck down by another car and wait to find out where it came from. Ahead, I see three Necs scrambling through someone’s shattered living-room window, unaffected by the dead flesh scraping against the razor-sharp pieces still in the frame.
My heart races even more as another two come charging out, as if they have no further use for whatever was in the house. Their moans are loud, causing another four Necs to stumble out of an open front door just across f
rom me.
There’re too many of them. I can’t risk them seeing me going into the house; they’ll storm the place, draw attention to it, and then there’ll be an army of Necs at the door. “Shit. Shit. Shit!” I say under my breath. I’ll have to wait it out.
But Josh doesn’t have time to wait!
A minute or so goes by and I watch with dismay as even more Necs join the pack. I count fifteen in total. Too many to take on with the spade. Maybe I should try the lane again—it could be clear by now.
Just as I’m about to retreat up the road, I hear an ear-piercing whistle coming from the bottom of the street. I turn my head and gasp in shock. Standing about thirty metres from the Necs is Amelia.
Where the hell did she come from?
“Come on, you rotten fuckers!” She screams at the top of her voice, gesturing with her hands for them to follow. “Come and get me!”
What the fuck is she doing? Is she nuts?
Without hesitation, the Necs start to charge down the hill toward her, snarling like starved animals. Within seconds, the front door is clear. I race to it, spade in one hand, key in the other. Please, God, let her be okay. When I’m safely inside the house, I quickly close the door and lock it, and then race into the kitchen. Josh is sitting at the table, holding up a bandaged hand; the colour drained from his cheeks.
“Did you get it?” he asks, groggily. “Did you get the antiviral?”
The Zombie Saga (Book 2): Burn The Dead (Purge) Page 13
