The Zombie Saga (Book 2): Burn The Dead (Purge) (12 page)

“Oh, right. Not that long
then.”

Amelia shakes her head.
“No. We’ve been in foster care since Josh was a baby. Michael and Juliet were
our eighth family.”

“Eighth? Really?”

“Yeah. Social services
wanted to keep us together. So it’s been hard to find a family that wants two
kids. We’ve had to move around a lot. But it’s fine. You get used to it.”

“I bet you do. So what
happened to your parents?”

“Mum died of an overdose
just after Josh was born. And Dad? Well…who knows. Haven’t seen him in about
ten years. Last thing I heard he was living in Scotland with his new family.”

“I’m sorry.”

Amelia shrugs her
shoulders, dropping the ends of her lips as if it’s no big deal. “Doesn’t
bother us. We don’t need him.” She turns to her brother, taking his hand. “Do
we, Josh? We don’t need anyone. We’re better off on our own.”

“You’re right, you have
each other. Must be pretty cool having a brother or a sister.”

“Don’t you have one?” Josh
asks.

“No. Just little-old-me. I
always wanted one, though. I was always jealous of my school friends. Having
someone to talk to, to look out for.”

“What about your Mum and
Dad?” Amelia asks. “Couldn’t you talk to them?”

“Yeah. I suppose. But it’s
not the same. Like my Dad, for instance: he’s always wanted me to go to
university, get a normal job. He thought that me wanting to be a Cleaner was a
dumb idea, something only men should do. Even as a little girl, all I could
think about was being a Cleaner. I thought it would be the coolest job on the
planet.”

“Isn’t it?” Amelia asks.
“Shooting zombies all day? Sounds like fun to me.”

I shake my head. “It’s
not. You see some horrible things. Like you’ve both seen already. And it’s
dangerous. I lost a friend today.”

“What happened?” Josh
asks.

“He got bitten.”

“Did he turn?” Amelia
asks.

I shake my head. “I don’t
think so. I hope not.”

“That’s awful,” she says,
putting her hand over mine. “I’m sorry you lost your friend. What was his
name?”

“Andrew. Andrew Whitt,” I
reply, struggling to stop myself from welling up again. “But you’re safe with
me. You don’t have to worry.”

For the first time I see a
tiny smile on Amelia lips, softening that hard-ass exterior. “So how long have
you been a Cleaner?” she asks.

I pause for a moment,
before answering.
Do I tell the truth, that this is only my second day on
the job?
No, I can’t. It’ll scare the hell out of them. Can’t have them
panicking. Especially the boy. It’s too risky.

So I’ll lie.

“I’ve been a Cleaner for
about two years.”

“So is this the worst
outbreak you’ve had so far?” Josh asks me, leaning over his sister to look at
me, his eyes wide with obvious worry.

“No. This is nothing.”
More
bloody lies.
“We’ve had a lot worse outbreaks than this. We’re just a
little understaffed. That’s all. Nothing for you to worry about. This will all
be sorted by the morning.
You’ll
see.”

He nods and then lies back
on the bed, his head pressed against the white pillow. “What will happen to
them?”

“To who?” I ask, frowning
in confusion.

“Michael and Juliet. What
will happen to them when your friends come to save us?”

I can’t help but stutter
as I think of a more child-friendly way to say that they’ll be sent to a
furnace—and cremated to cinders.

“They get burnt, Josh,”
Amelia answers for me, her tone harsh, straight to the point.

“Really?” he asks with
raised eyebrows.

“
Yep
,” she
continues. “Everyone who’s infected gets burnt. The dead can’t be killed. It’s
the only real way to get rid of them.”

“What if
I
was
bitten? Would they burn me too?”

Amelia nods. “Well…
yeah
.
But I won’t let that happen. Nothing bad’s gonna happen.”

“You promise?”

She leans over her brother
and kisses him on the cheek. “I promise.” She then crawls beside him, pulling
him in close for a hug.

Poor girl
. She’s probably had to grow up so fast; had to be
a mother to him, trying to keep him safe.

Well now it’s my job.
And I won’t let them down.

I smile at the siblings,
as they lie there on the bed, almost oblivious to the danger that lurks
outside. Maybe I should just be straight with them. Lay my cards on the table.
Give them the honest truth—that I’m in
way
over my head—and know
Jack
shit
about being a Cleaner.

After a few minutes, I get
up and walk up to the window. Pulling open the curtains an inch or two, I peer
down onto the street. Seems quiet. Can’t see any Necs. Maybe things aren’t as
bad as I thought. Maybe the other Cleaners have got it under control. Moving
over to the other side of the window, something catches my eye. Just down the
street a little, I see a front door hanging wide open. A man comes running out.
Then a woman. The man trips up on the pavement and crashes down on the road,
facedown. The woman staggers towards his motionless body and mounts him. I
wince when I see her tear off his ear with her bare teeth. Then another woman
comes sprinting up the street, and starts biting into his hand, ripping off
most of his fingers in one wrench. I let the curtain go in disgust and return
to the edge of the bed.

“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.

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 about 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.