The Zombie Saga (Book 2): Burn The Dead (Purge) (6 page)

“And what happened next?
Did he wake all right? Was he aggressive at all to you? Anything unusual?
Cursing perhaps?”

“Absolutely not! Keith
would never use bad language. Certainly not in the house.”

“How is he this morning?”

“I’m not sure. He’s been
asleep all day. That’s why I called for an ambulance. Never seen him like this
before. It’s not like him to get sick. He’s as tough as old boots. So I left
him in the bedroom.”

Andrew glances over to me,
signalling with his eyes that it’s time to enter the house. My heart rate
starts to increase. I battle hard not to let it, but the apprehension is
overwhelming.

I can’t freeze. I can’t
let Andrew down. One Nec or not, it’s still dangerous no matter how many there
are.

“Mrs Rosemont,” Andrew
says, his tone firm, filled with authority, “for your own safety, I’m going to
have to ask you to wait outside while we examine your husband.”

“For my own safety? What
on earth are you talking about?”

I decide to step in, to
show that I’m not just here for the ride, that I can actually contribute. “Mrs
Rosemont,” I say, softy, “it’s safer that you stay outside. There’s been a
report of Necro-Morbus around here, so just as a precaution, we’re going to
take a look at your husband. It’s probably a false alarm, but we need to be
sure. We’ll be five minutes, I promise. Is that okay?”

Mrs Rosemont shrugs
stubbornly. “Well, I suppose.” She then steps out of her house. “He’s
upstairs—last room at the end.”

“Thanks,” I say, smiling,
ushering her over to the van. “He’s in safe hands. You don’t have to worry.”

Andrew gives me a slight
grin, clearly happy with my performance, and puts on his helmet. I return the
grin and slip mine on too.

Now my heart is really
racing!

Inside the house, Andrew
pulls out his gun; he whispers for me to do the same. He then slowly closes the
front door, and it quietly clicks shut. I wish he didn’t have to close it, I
wish we could leave it hanging wide open. The thought of not having a clear
exit fills me with such dread, such claustrophobia. But I understand why. We
have to contain him if he’s turned. Can’t have him running out of the house,
out of sight. It’s too dangerous.

“I want you to stay behind
me—no matter what,” Andrew whispers. “Only shoot if I give the order. Is that
clear?”

“Crystal,” I reply,
pointing my gun straight ahead, desperately trying to stop my hand from
quaking. Don’t think Andrew’s noticed. Have to keep it together.

Creeping down the hallway,
Andrew pokes his head into the living room. The room is filled with
old-fashioned, brown, flowery furniture and there’s a large, swivel armchair
positioned in front of the TV, which is on, with the volume a little too high.
The foot of the low, narrow staircase is just opposite the living-room door.
Andrew gestures for me to follow him up. Logic suggests that I stay downstairs,
to cover all corners of the house. But I know he won’t let me out of his sight.
It’s too risky. Certainly not on my first official day.

Each wooden step creaks
loudly as we make our way up the stairs. I can feel my muscles tense up. I
suppose that’s normal. Even Andrew must feel a little anxious walking up these
stairs, about to face a potential Nec. I take a glance at his arms as he points
his gun out in front. Steady as a rock.

Then it’s just me then.

At the top, there’s a
narrow corridor with two doors along the sides, and one at the far end. The
first door is already open—it’s the bathroom. Andrew edges inside. There’s only
room for one, so I hang back by the doorway. There’s a bath, sink and toilet.
No shower curtain for Mr Rosemont to hide behind.
Thank God
. I take a
step backwards as Andrew exits the bathroom.

The second door is closed.
Andrew grasps the handle. “Be ready, Cath.”

I nod, gun pointed firmly
at the door, ready to take down any Necs about to burst out.

The door opens, revealing
a tiny box room. It’s completely empty apart from a few boxes of junk, an
ironing board propped up against the wall, and a chest of drawers with several
golf trophies positioned neatly across the top.

“Last room,” Andrew
whispers as he slinks towards the third and final door.

Reaching the bedroom, the
grip on my gun stiffens when I see that the door is slightly ajar. Andrew gives
it a gentle prod and it slowly swings open, my shallow breathing saturating my
helmet.
This is it. My first real clean up. I’ve made it. It’s actually
happening. I’m actually here.

And I couldn’t be more
terrified.

Andrew’s large frame fills
the doorway, blocking my view of the room. I try to see past his wide
shoulders, but all I can see is a darkened room. Andrew steps inside,
unblocking my view. From the doorway, I see that the curtains are still closed
but there’s enough light coming in through from the landing to make out most of
the room. There’s a small wooden wardrobe to the left, and just under the
window, a chest of drawers, identical to the one from the spare the room. At
the centre of the room is a double bed. The quilt is ruffled high, with a stack
of various-sized pillows piled up by the headboard; at least six. Andrew walks
towards the bed, gun still aimed in front. “Mr Rosemont?” he quietly asks. “Are
you awake? We’re here to take you to the hospital.”

No response.

“Mr Rosemont?” he repeats,
this time a touch louder. “Can you hear me? My name is Andrew Whitt. I’m a
paramedic. I’m here with my colleague to take you to the hospital.”

Still no answer.

Using the tip of his gun,
Andrew nudges the raised quilt, but the gun pushes the quilt all the way down
to the mattress.

The bed is empty.

Shit.

Where the hell is Mr
Rosemont?

Andrew whips the quilt
completely off the bed to make sure. “We need to search this house fast,” he
says, his voice still low, filled with urgency.

He pushes past me, and I
follow him down the corridor, back to the stairs. Slowly, we skulk down each
step, both guns aimed, ready for a sudden attack. At the bottom, Andrew peeps
quickly into the living room, but once again the room is clear. “Stay here,” he
orders. “I’m gonna check out the kitchen.” I nod and watch as he makes his way
down the hallway. The kitchen door is ajar, so he pushes it open with his
shoulder. As soon as it opens I can see that the back door is hanging wide
open.

“Shit!” Andrew shouts.
“He’s slipped out! You need to go out the front door now and check on the
wife.”

“Okay, I’m on it,” I
reply, my words broken by dread. Just as I head for the front door, something
catches my eye in the living room. The swivel armchair is moving. “Andrew!” I
shout over to him as he steps out the back door. He stops in his tracks and
turns to me. I wave him over. In an instant he’s next to me, so I point to the
armchair. He sees it move. On closer inspection, I see a small pool of blood
that’s gathered on the arm and the cream carpet. Silently, we both walk into
the living room, with me leading the way slightly. Andrew puts out his hand in
front of my chest to stop me going any further.

“Mr Rosemont?” Andrew
asks, calmly. “We’re here to help.”

No reply.

At the back of the
armchair, we both lean forward to examine the state Mr Rosemont is in. From the
rancid smell and the pool of blood, I’m guessing pretty bad.

But instead of seeing a
man, riddled with infection, we see a dog, with half its stomach ripped open,
blood clotting its cream fur, leaking over the chair. Its body is twitching,
eyes half-shut, hanging onto what little life it has left.

As I turn to Andrew, my
heart almost stops in horror. I see an obese Mr Rosemont—wearing just blue
pyjama bottoms—stumble into the living room, arms outstretched, his mouth open,
his teeth dripping with blood.

“Andrew!” I scream at the
top of my voice. “Look out!”

Andrew frantically turns,
but it’s too late—Mr Rosemont manages to knock him off balance. The two men
drop to the floor with the Nec on top of Andrew. The Nec is heavy, his weight
pinning Andrew to the carpet. The Nec’s jaws are merely centimetres from
Andrew’s throat, snapping and growling like a starving beast. Hand still
trembling, knees like jelly, I point my gun, aim it at the back of the Nec’s
head.

I squeeze the trigger.

The tranq disappears into
the mess of greasy, grey hair at the back of his head. The sedated Nec falls
still, and then slumps over Andrew’s body. Racing over to them, I attempt to
push him off Andrew. His weight has to be at least eighteen, twenty stone. My
hands sink deep into the exposed fat on his back as I push as hard as I can.
With the help of a crushed and almost suffocating Andrew, we managed to roll
the Nec off, onto the carpet. I grasp Andrew’s gloved hand and yank him up to
his feet. He grabs the top of the armchair for support, gasping for air.

“You all right?” I ask.

He nods, and then lets out
a small chuckle. “Fuck me he was fat. Almost crushed me to death.”

I smile. Can’t believe I’m
able to. I can feel the adrenaline, surging through my body. I look down at my
shaking hands, still holding onto the gun for dear life. “That was close.”

“Tell me about it. Need a
cigarette.” He unclips a muzzle and two cable ties from his belt. “Nice work
today. Great shot.”

“Thanks. I was worried I’d
freeze again.”

“
I
wasn’t. I knew
you’d come through.” He hands me the muzzle and ties. “You wanna do the
honours?”

“No problem,” I reply,
with a glimmer of apprehension in my voice, wondering where the hell my
enthusiasm went.

“You’ve got to practise,
Cath. You might have to do this in a hurry next time. So do it as fast as you
can.”

I nod, and then
reluctantly walk over to Mr Rosemont and kneel down beside his motionless body.
The sour stench of death invades my nostrils, making my eyes water, even with
the helmet on. His eyes are closed but his mouth is hanging open. Dried blood
is pasted to the sides, down his chin and neck. I can feel the nerves start to
build again as I quickly place the muzzle over his mouth and chin. I have a
horrifying image of his eyes suddenly springing open and his head lunging
forward, and his snarling teeth taking a chunk out of my throat. So I hastily
buckle up the back of the muzzle as tight as it can go and let out a long
exhale of relief.

“Good girl. Now the limbs.
Make sure they’re tight now.”

I pull the cable around
his wrists and fasten it tight—so tight that the plastic cuts into his bloated
flesh. For a moment, I feel bad for making him bleed. But he’s dead—and from
the smell, he has been for quite some time. I secure his ankles and stand up
with quiet pride. Last thing anyone wants to see right now is a victory dance.

“So what happens now?”

“First, we call it in.” He
pulls up the visor on his helmet, unclips his walkie-talkie from his belt and
holds it up to his mouth. “Come in, Control. This is Andrew Whitt, ID number:
2368. Over.”

“
Hi, Andrew
,” a
female voice replies from the speaker. “
What’s the situation? Over.
”

“We’ve just finished up
over here at Rosemont Farm. One Nec, detained. One female in need of testing.
Over.”

“
Roger that, Andrew.
We’ll have someone with you shortly
.
Over.
”

“Much appreciated. Over
and out.” He reattaches his walkie-talkie to his belt.

“How long is
shortly
meant to be?” I asked.

“Not long. They’ll send
someone from the nearest hospital. Disease Control has trained most of the
paramedics. And the hospital’s only a couple of miles from here.”

“Why call them now? Why
not before we got here?”

“Too many false alarms.
And it’s a safety issue. Can’t have paramedics under attack.”

“Oh, right. I see.”

“If Mrs Rosemont is clear,
she’ll need somewhere to stay. Maybe a relative, or a neighbour. Can you ask
her while I secure the area and get this one bagged-up? You’re probably better
at that stuff than me.”

“Okay. No problem. But
what do we tell her about her husband?”

“We tell her the truth,”
he says, sternly. “We’ve got no choice. It’s horrible, I know. But there’s nothing
else we can say.”

“And the dog? What should
we tell her?”

“The same. And they’ll
both need burning.”

“I thought dogs couldn’t
get infected.”

“They can’t, but we’ll
still have to burn it, just in case.”

I let out a slow sigh.
“Poor woman. Lost everything in one sweep.”

“I know. It’s pretty grim.
But you’re a Cleaner now, Cath. You have a job to do. You have to put on a
brave face and deal with it. No matter what.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just
gonna take a little getting used to, that’s all.”