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

Nerves
start to slither over me as I reach the steel gates. I can’t see any signs on
the building, which looks to me like a small warehouse, or a factory.
Strange
.
Pulling out the piece of paper from my jeans pocket, I double-check the
address.

This
is
the right place. Don’t panic.

I push the gate open; it
creaks noisily as the bottom scrapes against the concrete.

Inside the car park I see
a large white van and two cars. I walk over to what seems to be the entrance.
As I reach for the door handle, I can’t help but wonder if all this is just a
cruel prank and there is no actual job. I mean, who the hell would want
me
as a Cleaner, anyway? It’s not like I have any real experience in security. I
should have lied on my CV.
Everyone does it.
I should have told them
that I’d worked as a bouncer for a year or two. Made up some pub, maybe; one
that’s already closed down, in case they check up on me.

I push and pull the door
handle but nothing happens.
Locked!
This
is
a wind-up. But how
can
it be? The Job Centre gave me the address. Must be a different place then;
maybe it’s on the other side of Ammanford. I see a security keypad on the wall.
I push the button with the bell symbol on it, half expecting it not to work. I
can just about hear a faint buzzing sound echoing inside.

I wait.

I’ve got the wrong
place.

I’ve buggered up my
only
interview.
Nice one, Cath—you’ve blown your dream job before it’s even begun
.
How
dumb
can you get? After all the letters you sent, all the complaints
you filed that women could just as easily do the job—and you go and mess up the
bloody address.

Genius!

Walking away from the
doors, I pull out my mobile phone from my handbag. Job Centre didn’t give a
contact number, but I should be able to find it online, though. I remove my
woollen gloves, slip them into my coat pocket and push the
Internet
button. Just as it connects, I hear the door opening. There’s a tall man
standing in the doorway. He’s in his late-fifties, completely bald and wearing
a shirt and tie; his top button is undone.

“Catherine? Catherine
Woods?” the man asks, his voice deep and husky, his eyes telling me that I am
expected, but not welcome.

At least I’m in the
right place
.

He shakes my hand,
squeezing it way too tight. Not sure if it’s just a force of habit, or some
macho thing. I expect he does that to most men he meets, just to showcase
strength and authority. But what the hell would he get from doing it to a
woman? I think it’s already established from his size that he’s stronger than
me, that he could kick my ass in his sleep.

“Hi,” I say, prying my
hand from his grip, “you must be Mr Davies.”

“Yeah, that’s me. Did you
find the place all right?”

“I found it fine, thanks.
Just wasn’t sure that I got the right address. Couldn’t see any signs outside.”

“I know, it’s confusing.
We try to keep the place low-key. The Job Centre should’ve mentioned it.”

“It’s okay. No big deal.”

“Shall we get started
then, Catherine?”

I smile politely, but I’m
guessing he already hates my guts, thinks I’m not right for the job. But I’m
here now, no turning back. All he can say is
No, thank you. Better luck next
time
.

“So,” I say, trying to
break the silence as we walk along the grey corridors; my voice and footsteps
echoing, “do many people know what this building is used for?”

“No, not many. Well, apart
from the government, the staff, families, and probably a few others. I mean,
it’s not like Area 51
or anything. It’s almost impossible to keep
secrets these days. But it helps to stop the locals from freaking out. Last
thing we want is complaints, or idiots snooping around at night. It’s way too
dangerous.”

“Why’s that? I didn’t
think you kept any inventory at your base. I thought they got sent for
burning.”

Mr Davies stops at a door,
grasps the handle and then turns to me. “Not all the time.”

I follow him inside. He
takes my coat and scarf and directs me to a chair next to a wooden desk. I sit
down, my body rigid with anxiety, as he walks around to the other side of the
desk and sinks into a leather chair. Leaning back, he looks me straight in the
eye; his stare untrusting, like a cop trying to get information out of a
suspect. “So, Catherine,” he says, putting both his hands behind his head,
“we’ve got five hardworking Cleaners in our branch, so what’s the fascination
about becoming our sixth member? I mean, it’s dangerous, underpaid, and quite
frankly very unappealing for anyone—let alone a woman. There must be hundreds
of jobs out there for a pretty young girl like you.”

Nice.

“Well, Mr Davies—”

“Call me Roger, sweetie,”
he corrects me, his patronising tone causing my clammy fists to clench as they
rest on my thighs.

I force a good-mannered
smile. “Okay. Well…
Roger
, all my life I’ve wanted to be a Cleaner. Ever
since I was a little girl, I’ve wanted to protect people. And what better way
than to work in this field. I mean, there’s nothing like it. It’s the
frontline. The most important part of the fight.”

He nods along. I can tell
he thinks I’m full of shit, that I’m just talking the talk. He picks up a sheet
of paper from the desk, glances at it and then squints his eyes. “Says here
that you’re twenty-three years old. Is that correct?”

I nod. “Yes, that’s right
Mr—I mean, Roger. Twenty-three last month.”

“Aren’t you a little bit
young
to be out on the frontline? Risking your life?”

“Well, if I may,
Roger
,
a lot of soldiers risking their lives on the frontline are younger than me.
Some as young as eighteen.”

“Yes, but you’re not a
soldier, Catherine.” He squints again at the sheet of paper, which is clearly a
copy of my CV. “Says here that you dropped out of the Territorial Army after
just two years of service.” He locks his eyes on mine again. “Why was that
Catherine?”

“I injured my knee playing
hockey,” I say, rubbing my left knee. “Twisted it pretty badly. Had to have
surgery. So I spent the next few years getting my strength back. But it’s fine
now. Good as new.”

“So why didn’t you just
re-join? I’m sure they would have been more than happy to take you back.”

“I wanted to, but I got a
full-time job in the restaurant, which meant working most weekends, so there
was just no way to commit to re-joining.”

“Okay, that’s
understandable, Catherine, we all need to work. However, you may have to carry
heavy equipment. Is that going to be a problem with a dodgy knee?”

“Absolutely not. As I
said, it’s as good as new. But I’ll be fine with any heavy inventory. I’ve been
training hard for the past few years; strength training, lots of uphill
running, cycling.”

“Some of the inventory
might be
extremely
heavy. Are my guys going to be stuck carrying your
workload?”

“No, Roger. I can carry my
own inventory. I promise.”

He groans, and then takes
another look at my CV. “Says here that you’re born and raised in Ammanford.
Will it be a problem for you travelling all around South and West Wales? Some
days we’re not back until the early hours of the morning.”

“Not at all. This is
something that I’ve always wanted to do. I know it’s a tough job, but that’s
one of the reasons why it’s so important to me. I love a challenge. And I’m not
scared of anything.”

“Well you
should
be. This job is not what the papers say. They make out that it’s all glamorous,
that it’s going in all guns blazing. But I can assure you, Catherine, that it’s
most definitely
not
. I’ve lost three good men over the past five years,
and every one of those men had families, friends. But one tiny mistake, one
unpredictable situation they couldn’t control, and that’s it.
Gone
,” he
clicks his fingers, “just like that.”

“I promise you, applying
for this job was not something I took lightly.”

“Well, you did a little
more than just
apply
for the job, Catherine. Thanks to your many letters
of complaint to the government, which were handed directly to me, we’ve had to
change our policy on employing women. Now I know it may
seem
sexist to
you, and probably to all women out there. But Catherine, let me tell you that
nothing is ever black and white. If our department feels that it’s necessary
that only
men
are employed, then that is for the safety of the public
and my team. I don’t give a shit if that comes across negative, or sexist, or
whatever
.
My only concern is the lives around me. Do you understand?”

“Yes I do, Roger. And I
completely trust that every decision you make is for the good of the team. But
I’m a very proactive woman. I saw an opportunity to make a change, to follow a
dream, to make a difference, and I took it.”

“Either way you look at
it, thanks to equality, I have no choice now but to open the doors to female
applicants. And seeing as you were the
only
woman who’s applied to this
branch,” he puts the CV down and gets up from his chair, reaching across the
desk, “welcome aboard.”

I smile and shake his
hand. “Thank you, Roger. You won’t regret it. I promise.”

He sits back down, groans
again, and then runs his hands over his smooth head. “I hope not, Catherine.
For your sake, as well as mine.”

“So
when does the training start?” Dad asks me, slurping his tea from across the
breakfast table.

“I already said, Dad,” I
reply, unable to disguise the impatience in my voice. “This weekend. Thursday
is a run through—meet the guys, kind of an intro. Plus, a fitness test. If that
goes well, the real training will start on Friday.”

“For how long?”

“Until Sunday.”

“Until
Sunday?
” he
blurts out, almost spitting out his tea. “That’s it?”

“Well, yeah. But it’s very
intense. And most of the important training is done out on the field. I’ll be
shadowing someone first. Then, maybe after a few weeks, maybe even a few
months, I’ll be having to deal with things alone.”

“One bloody weekend.
That’s scandalous. You’d swear you were training to work in a supermarket—not
working as a bloody Cleaner.” He takes a giant—almost
aggressive
swig of
his tea—and puts his cup down a little too hard on the table, spilling a
little. “All I hear on the News is how little money they get from the
government, putting up with shitty equipment, understaffing, and dangerous
working conditions. It’s just not worth the risk.”

“Tell that to the armed
forces then. They’ve always had to put up with budget cuts. And so has the NHS.
But we still need nurses and soldiers.”

“Well, I think you’re mad,
Catherine. I really do. And I don’t see what the big fascination is with all
this. Why can’t you just get an ordinary job like everyone else?”

“I know it’s risky, but
this is something that I’ve wanted to do since I was a little girl.
You
know that. So nothing’s changed. I still want to be out there, making a
difference in the world. Not
stuck
dealing with stupid customers at a
restaurant.”

“Yes, I understand all
that, but why does it have to be you? There are plenty of men already doing
this kind of thing. Let
them
take the risks.”

“That’s exactly the point:
Men
. It’s one of the only jobs left in this country that has a
No
Women Policy
. It’s dated
and
sexist and now
I’ve
changed
that.
Me
. Your daughter. All by myself. And you were the one who said
that I should write to the government. You’re the one who taught me to fight
for what I believe in.
You
.”

Dad shakes his head,
clearly struggling to justify his actions. He reaches over to the centre of the
table and takes the last slice of toast from the plate. “Look, Cath, I know
what I said, but—”

“But nothing. It’s obvious
to me that you only encouraged me to write those letters because you thought
that I wouldn’t stand a chance. Well, now I’ve got through, and I’ve got the
job and I plan on keeping it for as long as possible. And I plan on setting an
example to all the other women out there who have to live in a world with
sexist
pigs like you
.”

“Catherine!” Mum shouts
from the sink. “Don’t speak to your father like that. He’s only saying what
needs to be said.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t
mean to say that—but that’s how it’s coming across.”

“Just because your dad
thinks that something is dangerous,” Mum continues, “doesn’t make him sexist.”

“Look, Cath,” Dad says,
his tone a little softer, “I just want you to be safe. Your mother and I both
do. I just happen to think that some jobs are better suited for men and some
better suited for women. That’s all. That’s not sexist, it’s just life. We’re
not all the same. We have lots of differences. And if you can’t see that, well,
then…more fool you.”

Mum walks over to the
table and stands behind Dad, her both hands on his shoulders, tea towel draped
over her arm. “Look, I tell you what, Catherine, why don’t you apply for
something a little less controversial?”

“Like?” I ask
patronisingly, knowing full well that she’s just going to reel off a list of
girlie jobs—like
nursing
.

Mum shrugs. “I don’t know,
maybe hairdresser, you know, something like that.
Or beautician
. I mean
there’s good money in that if you get in with the right salon.”

“I’ve
got
a job,
thank you.”

Dad takes a mouthful of
toast and then speaks; his words muffled: “Being a Cleaner doesn’t even pay
that well.”

“It’s not about the
money,” I retort, “it’s about the job.”

Dad swallows and then
sighs. “Well, I think you’re crazy. I really do. And you’ll only end up
changing your mind again.”

“What’s that supposed to
mean?”

“Cath, you’ve gone through
more career paths than I have—and I’m fifty-bloody-eight.”

“I haven’t had that many.”

“
No?
You sure about
that? What about wanting to be an English teacher?”

“So what? I was fifteen. I
was just a stupid kid.”

“Then it was a doctor.”

“Paramedic,
actually
,
Dad.”

“Okay, paramedic then.
Same thing.”

“It’s not the same thing,
and I only abandoned that because they were only recruiting in London.
Remember? And you were the one who talked me out of it. You said that I’d hate
living in such a big, dangerous city.”

“Can’t remember saying
that.”

I clench my fists under
the table, seething with frustration. “
Typical
—selective memory as
usual.”

“Oh yeah, and then of
course it was the Navy.”

“What, so you want me to
go off and fight in some shit-hole country then?”

Dad shakes his head. “No,
of course not. My point is: this Cleaner thing is just another one of your
little ventures. In a month, you’ll get bored, move on to some other career
path, and then you’ll be handing in your notice.”

I snort, struggling to
contain the outburst that’s brewing inside. “You don’t have much faith in me,
do you?”

“It’s not that, Cath. I do
have faith in you. I think you’re a smart girl, with a great future. I just
don’t want you to risk it on some flash-in-the-pan job that you think is
glamorous, and important.”

“It is important.
Very
important. In fact, I believe it’s just as important, if not more so, than a
teacher, a paramedic—even a frontline soldier. And yeah, maybe you’re right—I
haven’t exactly followed through with my career paths. But that’s only because
this
is my true calling. And now that it’s in the palm of my hand, I’m not going to
let it slip away. And that’s that, Dad.”

The kitchen falls
uncomfortably silent for a full minute.

 He finishes what’s left
of his tea and leans back on his chair, his eyes locked onto mine. “Okay,
Cath,” he says with a beaten-down sigh. “If it’s what you really want, then I
suppose there’s nothing we can do to talk you out of it.”

“No, there isn’t,” I say
firmly, shaking my head.

Dad moans loudly, clearly
unable to add anything productive. “Just be careful, for Christ’s sake.”

Beth walks over from her
pillow and rests her furry white head on my thigh. She knows when I’m pissed
off or stressed out, even if I’m not screaming the place down. Must be a dog
sixth-sense thing. Seeing those pitiful eyes always manages to calm me. “Don’t
worry, Dad,” I say with a thin smile, stroking the top of Beth’s soft head.
“I’ll be all right.”

Mum walks over to me and
kisses my cheek. “And make sure you don’t get bitten. Those things are bloody
vicious.”

“Okay, Mum,” I take her
hand, beaming. “I’ll try not to.”