The Zombie Saga (Book 2): Burn The Dead (Purge) (4 page)

“Okay,” Andrew says,
taking the gun from me, “now this is fully loaded. Ten may
seem
like a
lot, but you’d be surprised how fast you’ll use them up. And trying to clip a
magazine on when there’s five of them coming at you is pretty hard. That’s why
you always have back up. Going solo is
never
a good idea. You need one
of you reloading, while the other is
un
loading. Do you understand?”

I nod. “Always stay
together.”

“Exactly. Good girl—you’re
learning.” He makes his way towards the centre of the room. “Come with me.”

I follow him.

We stop at the white line,
facing the six lifelike dummies. They’re about fifteen metres away, with
muscular, skin-coloured rubber torsos attached to thick rounded bases. Each one
has no arms or legs, just a lot of tiny holes across every inch of its body.

“See this white line?”
Andrew asks, pointing down to the floor by our feet. “Never cross it. And I
mean
never
. Always stay behind. The government’s already on our backs
about health and safety. None of us wants another inspection. So always stay
safe—and stay behind the white line. Understand?”

I nod, like a schoolgirl
listening to their teacher. “Yeah, of course. Stay behind the line. Got it.”

“Good. So, Cath, you ever
shot a gun before?”

“Yeah. I have. Back in the
Territorial Army.”

“Okay, well these
shouldn’t be too much of a problem for you then. They’re a little heavier than
a handgun, but much lighter than a rifle. They could be a little lighter, but,
you know, budget cuts and all that bullshit.” He puts his left foot forward,
lifts the gun up to shoulder height. “Okay, so you wanna hold this thing like
you would a rifle, keep it close to your shoulder, look down the sight at the
top. And then
squeeeeeeze
the trigger gently. There’s virtually no
kickback, so don’t worry about bruising your collarbone.” He puts the gun into
position, aims it towards the dummy, and pulls the trigger. I hear a faint thud
as the tranq hits the rubber man, just above its nose.

“Nice shot,” I say,
excitement in my tone. “Right in the head.”

“Always aim for the brain,
Cath. Otherwise the tranq will have no effect.”

“Of course,” I give him a
cheeky, excited grin. “So, can I have a shot then?”

Andrew looks down at me,
his eyes suggesting that I’m probably the last person he should give a loaded
weapon. “
You’re
keen,” he says.

“Just eager to learn,
that’s all.”

He hands me the gun,
points at the dummy, and then stands to one side. “Okay, Cath. Let’s see what
you’ve got.”

One foot in front of the
other, I put the gun up to my shoulder.

“Just line up the sight,”
Andrew says, “and then
squeeeeeeze
the trigger.”

Closing one eye, I pull
the trigger softly and feel a slight jolt when the tranq leaves the weapon. I
lift up the visor to see where it hit.

“Not bad, Cath. Not bad at
all.”

“Where did it hit?
Couldn’t see.”

“You hit his nose. That’s
amazing. Well done. You’ve got a bloody good aim, Cath. And it’s hard first
time, even with a little experience under your belt. Most people struggle with
the helmet on. So hats off to you, Cath. Good job.”

Beaming, I pull down the
visor again. “Let’s go again.”

After
lunch, I meet Andrew back at the training room. This time Roger’s with him,
plus another Cleaner, all three in full-gear. Don’t know if I’ve seen this
other guy before. Can’t tell with the helmet obscuring his features. Probably
have, though. One of the guys from yesterday, sniggering from the side lines.

“Andrew tells me you have
a great aim,” Roger says, his tone brimming with cynicism. “Well done. You keep
surprising me, Catherine.”

“Thanks. I had a good
teacher.”

“I bet you did.”

I scan the room, trying to
guess what’s next on the agenda. Can’t see anything obvious, but the fact that
Roger’s here at least indicates that it’s something important.
Or dangerous
.

“This is Darren,” Roger
says, pointing his hand in the Cleaner’s direction. “He’s just here to help
keep you safe this afternoon.”

“Hi, Darren,” I say,
offering my hand for him to shake, “pleased to meet you. Cath.”

He shakes my hand. “Nice
to meet you, Cath. You ready for this now?”

“I don’t know yet. No
one’s told me what we’re doing.”

“Well, Cath,” Darren says,
“this is where the
real
training begins. This is what separates the men
from the boys—so to speak.”

I nod, my smile completely
fake. “So should I get suited up for this part?”

Darren looks at Roger, and
they both laugh. “I should
think
so,” Darren replies, smugly.

Assholes.

* * *

Once I’m kitted up—gloves,
boots, and helmet, Darren hands me a gun and escorts me over to the white line,
this time facing the three metal containers, shaped like telephone boxes.

“Wait by the line,” he
instructs me, and then walks over to the first container and starts to unlock
the thick, padlocked door.

Frowning in confusion, I
turn back to see what Roger and Andrew are doing. Roger is stood between the
rubber dummies, gun in hand, aimed directly at the three containers. To my
right, I see Andrew, on one knee, his gun aimed in the same direction. Turning
back to Darren, I see that the padlock is off the first and second box, and now
he’s unlocking the third and final padlock. Once he’s done, he jogs behind me
to a small wooden desk. He crouches down next to it, his gun also aimed. He
puts up a thumb to both Roger and Andrew (but not me); both men return the
gesture and lock their focus back on their targets. Darren pulls out a small
piece of plastic, which, from here, looks like a TV remote. He points it at the
first container and then a large red light comes on at the top of it. I hear a
loud click as the door opens on its own. Hand trembling as I point my gun
towards it, I struggle to hold my aim as the sweat runs down my face; my heavy
breathing amplified inside my helmet.

I know damn well what’s
about to come out of that box!

I wince when I see the
male Nec bursting out, a black muzzle around his mouth, muting his vicious
snarls; his skin a greenish shade of brown, his dead eyes grey, drained of
life, bled of colour. My grip around the handle of the gun is tight and my
heart is thrashing hard against my chest. I want to run but my legs are frozen
solid. I can hear one of the guys yelling at me to shoot—to shoot the fucker in
the head, but all I can do is stare as he stumbles towards me, dragging his
withered ankle behind him.

I want to go home.

Back to Mum and Dad.

They were right—this
was a terrible idea.

I should never have
signed up.

I’m such an idiot.

Such an—

The Nec drops to the floor
the instant I let go of the trigger.

Everything seems
dreamlike. All the loud words of praise from the others are muffled by my own
blurry thoughts. I don’t even remember squeezing the trigger. I’m just about to
take my visor off, run to the toilet and puke, when something catches my eye.
The red light on top of the second container is glowing. So is the third one.
What
the fuck?
Two more Necs, both male, both just as mouldy as the first, come
storming out of their boxes, towards me. I can smell the decay as the first one
gets just a few metres from me. I squeeze the trigger. I hit his chest!
Shit!
The Nec is close. I shoot again, this time missing him completely.
Can’t aim
,
my hands are shaking too much. He’s too near.

I’m fucked!

He’s gonna get me.

Oh shit!

Then all of a sudden the
Nec drops, struck from the side of his head. Definitely wasn’t me. Just as I
line up the sight towards the third Nec, he’s struck between the eyes, dropping
to the floor, motionless.

I watch, in a daze as
Roger grabs the feet of a sedated Nec and drags him back into the box. Andrew
and Darren do the same for the other two. They slam the doors and click each
padlock back on.

I yank off my helmet and
drop it onto the floor, taking in the fresh air as if I’ve just been saved from
drowning.

“Are you okay, Cath?”
Andrew says as he walks over to me, his eyes wide with worry. “Can you hear
me?”

“
Yeah
,” I reply,
the haze fading. “I think so.”

“You had me worried there
for a second. Do you need to sit down?”

I nod. “Yeah. Okay.
Thanks.” He takes me over to the bench and sits me down. Exhaling, I run my
hands through my sweat-soaked hair. Darren hands me some water in a paper cup.
I manage a smile as I take it from him, swallowing its contents in record time.

“What happened?” I ask no
one in particular.

“You choked,” Darren
answers, bluntly. “That’s what happened. You shot the first square in the face,
but the other two? Fuck knows what happened.”

“Lay the hell off her,
Da,” Andrew interrupts. “This was her first time. What did you
think
would happen? She’s not trained in this yet. Everyone chokes.”

“Not me,” he replies. “I
didn’t choke.”

“Yeah, but you knew what
you were getting yourself into. She didn’t. No one told her what she was doing.
She’s barely had enough gun training, and we just threw her into the deep end.
It’s not bloody fair.”

“Look, it’s better that
way,” Roger says. “It lets us know what kind of a Cleaner she’ll be—one that
reacts quickly to danger, or one that falls apart after the first scare. I won’t
have her endangering the lives our men. Not while
I’m
in charge.”

“That’s bullshit, Roger!”
Andrew snaps. “And you know it!”

“Watch your mouth, Andrew!
Don’t forget who you’re talking to. This is a standard test, and since last
year it’s standard practise that anyone training for the job must be able to
cope with any type of attack. It’s the rules. I didn’t make them. You know that
as well as I do.”

“Look, guys,” Darren steps
in, “let’s all just calm down now. She failed the test, and that’s that.” He turns
his attention to me. “I’m sorry, Cath. I’m sure you’re a lovely person, but
it’s over. This job is too dangerous to have someone who freezes at the first
sign of trouble. It’s not only dangerous for you, but for the lives of the
other Cleaners.”

My heart sinks. I want to
stand up for myself, to fight my corner, but I have nothing. Nothing at all.
They’re right. I’m not fit to work here. Passing some fitness test has nothing
to do with the job.
This is the job. This is the real test.
And I
failed.
Miserably
. “It’s all right,” I say, my voice low, deflated. “I
understand. I fucked up. I’m sorry. I don’t know why. I thought I could do it,
but I just froze. Maybe if I could have a few more tries. You know, just a
little more practise.”

Roger shakes his head.
“I’m sorry, Cath, that’s it. There’s no second chances. This is elimination
training. One strike and you’re out.”

If my nerves weren’t
shattered, if my body wasn’t drained of any sort of spark, I might muster up
the strength to punch the bald bastard in the nose, tell him where he can stick
his stupid job.

But he’s right. And he
doesn’t deserve it.

The only person who needs
a punch is me.

Roger offers his hand for
me to shake it. “Unlucky, Cath. Better luck next time, yeah?”

I pause for a moment, but
then reluctantly shake his gloved hand. “Okay, Roger. Thanks for the
opportunity.”

“No problem. Pop off your
suit and I’ll meet you in the staff room.”

Andrew looks seething, so
I smile thinly and give him one of my ‘don’t worry about it’ shrugs. I then
start to remove my suit.

The biggest surprise today
wasn’t the rancid Necs coming at me, nor was it the fact that I failed—there
was always a chance that I wouldn’t make the cut. The biggest shock is the fact
that I haven’t broken down in tears. Not one.

They’ll probably come
later.

It’s
8:17 p.m.

I put my phone on silent
the moment I left HQ. Didn’t want to speak to any friends. All I’ve done since
coming home is tell my parents the news of my failure, and listen to them
struggle to find nice ways to say
I told you so
. But in the end, no
matter how they dress it up, no matter how many sympathetic smiles I get, the
bottom line is: they were right. Everyone was right. Everyone but me. Don’t
know what I was thinking.

I thought shooting one of
those Necs would have been the highlight of the day, the highlight of the
training.
My life
. Not some stupid sack-pulling race. I didn’t even get
the chance to celebrate taking the first one down with the tranq. I was too
dazed for it to even register. And for all I know, it was just a fluke. I can
hardly remember pulling the trigger. It’s a good thing that Roger failed me.
What possible use could I be in the field if I freeze at the first sign of
trouble? Back when I was a little girl, I thought shooting Necs for a living
would be the greatest and easiest job in the world.

Shit, was
I
wrong.

Greatest?
Maybe
.
Easiest? Definitely not.

But to rub salt in the
wound, I’ve got to go crawling back to the restaurant to get my old job back.
Why on the earth did I have to quit? I should have just taken a few days off,
done the training, and then told them where to go. At least then I wouldn’t
have to go back there, tail between my legs, with everyone knowing that I
failed miserably.

I was so sure that I’d
pass. So confident in my abilities.

Silly little girl.

I hear a gentle tap on my
bedroom door. “Come in,” I call out.

The door slowly opens and
in walks Dad, dressed in his shirt and tie, a compassionate smile on his mouth.
“How are you feeling, Angel? Any better?”

I shuffle up into a
sitting position. “I’m okay, Dad. Just dreading going back to that restaurant.”

Dad sits on the end of the
bed. “Do you think your boss will take you back?”

I shrug. “Hopefully. I’ve
worked there long enough. Just not looking forward to seeing that
smug
look on his fat face, that’s all.”

“Well, maybe you should
hold out for something else. Something better.”

“No, it’s all right, Dad.
Don’t want to stay in bed for the next two weeks, moping about some job I
didn’t get. Got to keep earning. Pay my way and all that.”

“That’s the spirit, Cath.
And look, maybe you could apply to the police instead.”

“I’ve already looked into
it. They’re not recruiting until next year. Not in Wales, anyway. And I don’t
fancy moving all the way to Birmingham on my own. It’s not for me. I’m a Welsh
Lass through and through.”

Dad beams. “That’s good to
know. I’d hate for you to leave us. Your Mum and I kinda like having you
around.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

He pats my leg. “You sure
you’re all right?”

“I’m fine. Just need a day
or two to get back on track. Who needs that stupid job anyway? Bunch of
Neanderthal, sexist assholes.
Good riddance
.”

“Yeah. Life’s too short to
dwell.” Dad gets up off the bed. “Right, well, I’m off to do some paperwork.
It’s not quite as exciting as catching zombies for a living, but it suits me to
the ground.”

“They’re called Necs,
Dad,” I correct him, chuckling. “Short for Necro-Morbus. Not zombies.”

“Same bloody thing,” he
replies as he exits the room.

Zombie
.

Never heard Dad refer to
them as that before.

Sounds pretty stupid out
loud.

* * *

Once I’m showered, teeth
cleaned, I go back into my bedroom and pull out my hairdryer from my dresser. I
sit in the chair and stare into the mirror as I dry my hair. Even though the
steaming hot shower has woken me up, I can tell by my puffy, dark ringed eyes
that I’m exhausted. Definitely need an early night.

Don’t know how I’m going
to face setting foot in that restaurant tomorrow. Maybe Dad’s right. Maybe I
should hold out for something better.

Once my hair is dry and brushed,
I get up from the chair and walk over to my bedside table. I notice my phone,
still on charge, still set to silent. Pulling the cable out of the socket, I
see that I’ve had four text messages, two from Steph, one from my parents, and
one from Rachel. Can’t be bothered to read them right now. I know exactly what
they all say:
‘Hi Cath. How did it all go today? Did you pass? Have you
taken out any Necs yet?’
Don’t think I’m quite ready to tell them all about
my disastrous failure. Not right now anyway. I also see that I have four missed
calls: two from Dad and two from unfamiliar numbers. There’s voicemail. I click
the icon and put my mobile to speakerphone so I can finish dressing.

“
Hi, Cath, it’s your
Dad. How did it go today? Did you knock ‘em dead? No pun intended. Call us when
you’re done. Love you.
”

A second message comes
through: “
Hi, Miss Woods. Did you know that you might be entitled to
compensation? If you were miss-sold Payment Protection Insurance we can—
”
Don’t fancy listening to another second of that shit so I quickly delete it.

The final message begins
to play: “
Hi, Catherine, it’s Roger. Roger Davies? Can you give me a quick
call when you get this message? There are a couple of things I’d like to speak
to you about. Thanks.
”

Intrigued, I dial the
number. It rings for a few seconds before a voice comes through the speaker:
“Hello. Roger Davies speaking.”

“Hi, Roger, it’s
Catherine,” I answer, trying to conceal the apprehension in my voice. “Sorry I
missed your call; my phone’s been on silent. Everything all right?”

“Yes, yes. Everything’s
fine, Cath.” He clears his throat loudly. “Look, I’m sorry about today. I know
things got a little heated between me and Andrew, which was unprofessional.
Unfortunately, in a job like this, tempers can flare up, moods can swing, and
disagreements are commonplace. But this is always the way with a team like the
one we have.”

“It’s okay, Roger. I
understand. You have a job to do—you’ve got to look out for the staff. I get
that.”

“Good, good. I’m glad.
But, as Andrew pointed out, this job is a learning curve, and in spite of the
rule book the government has set out, it
is
my ship. And as captain I do
have a little power to do things in a way I see fit. So, I’ve spoken to Andrew,
and he’s agreed to let you shadow him for six months training. Out in the
field.”

What?

I’m nearly sick to my
stomach when I hear his words.

Did I
actually
hear
them? Or am I just half sleep?

“So, I know that three
months is the standard probation period,” he goes on, “but as a compromise I’ve
had to increase it to six. I hope you can understand that, Cath. I mean, this
wasn’t an easy decision to make. It took a lot of ear bending, particularly
from Andrew, but, well…what do you say? Are you in or out?”

If he could see the great
big smile spread across my face like
The Joker
, he’d know my answer. “Of
course I’m in, Roger. I’d love to. More than anything.”

“That’s great, Cath. Seven
tomorrow morning. Bright and early.”

“No problem, Roger,” I
reply, trying to rein in my exhilaration. “I’ll be there with bells on.”

“Okay then, Cath. I’ll be
leaving you in the safe hands of Andrew. Don’t worry, he may seem like a soft
touch, but he’s a tough Cleaner. Been at it even longer than I have. He’ll be
running you through the last of the training—gun practise, antiviral shots,
muzzles
—
those sorts of things. If there’re no call outs, I’ll even get
him to run you over to Romkirk furnace. You’ll get to see how all this ends.
Okay with you?”

“Sounds awesome, Roger.
Looking forward to it. Thank you so much for the opportunity. I promise I won’t
let you down.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,
Cath. Enjoy the rest of your evening and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Okay, Roger. And thanks
again.”

“Bye.”

I end the call and then
sit on the edge of the bed. Need a moment to absorb the crazy, unprecedented
news. It’s like Christmas, Easter, my birthday, and quitting my shitty job at
the restaurant, all rolled into one.

Leaping up from the bed, I
grab my phone, unplug the charger and slip it into my handbag. I just want to
scream the news from the landing, down to Mum and Dad like a kid excited about
a brand new toy. But I don’t even know how they’d take the news. They want me
to be happy—that much I’m certain of. But actually getting to be a
Cleaner—full-time? Who knows?

But more importantly—who
cares?

I’m going to be a Cleaner!

Me!

The girl Suzy May used
to pick on!

I ain’t such a pushover
now!

The dead had better stay
dead, because Catherine Woods is coming for blood!