Turning, I see Janet dragging her semi-conscious body towards me like a wounded Nec, clearly going for the meat cleaver. When she’s just an inch from the handle, I reach up and grab the top of the generator, which is resting directly above the washing machine. I drag it off and then step back as it drops down onto Janet’s head. The generator then rolls onto the hard floor, breaking the fuel cap, and spilling out a flood of petrol.
“Daddy,” Sammy calls out to me. “Are you all right?”
“I’m okay, Sammy,” I reply, picking up the meat cleaver, body still pumping with adrenaline. “Let’s cut those ropes off, and get you home.”
I start to saw through his restraints. His wrists and ankles are rubbed raw, and bleeding, but he’ll live. Thank God. “Now run up the stairs, Sammy. And get to the front door. But stay in the house. Whatever you do—don’t go outside.”
“Why, Daddy?”
“It’s not safe. I’ll be up in a minute, I promise. Daddy’s got to do something first, okay?”
“Come with me—I’m scared.”
I hug him, and then kiss him on the cheek. “Don’t be scared, boy. I’ll be right behind you. I promise. Now off you go. As fast as you can.”
His joints and muscles are clearly stiff and painful, as he gets up off the floor and hobbles over to the stairs. I clench up as he creeps past Janet’s body. “Don’t look at her, Sammy,” I warn him. “Just go quickly. And don’t go outside.”
Once he’s out of sight, I wedge the meat-cleaver between my thighs, and begin to vigorously rub my wrist ropes against it. After about a minute or so, I manage to free myself. Relief washes over me as I open and close my hands, trying to get a little sensation back into them. I then start to cut through my ankle ropes. The skin is a mess of blood and blister.
But I don’t give a shit. I’m finally free.
It’s only skin.
The petrol from the generator has now spewed all over the basement floor, right up to Sophie, Malcolm, and Jack. I walk over to Janet, reach into her deep dressing-gown pocket, and pull out her cigarette lighter. Can’t find the tranq gun. Must be upstairs. Or maybe she’s out of ammo. I climb onto the third step of the staircase, and then push the button on the lighter. The flame pops up, and I brace to throw it onto the Necs.
This time I won’t miss.
This time I’ll—
“Don’t do it,” I hear a faint, barely audible voice say, “Please.”
Looking down, I see Janet Webber lying on her side, staring up at me, her eyes barely open, blood running down over her face from her scalp.
“I have to, Janet.”
“Please. They’re my family…I need them.”
“I’m sorry, Janet. Your family is gone. They died a long time ago. Those things are just a disease. A disease that took them from you. You have to let them go.”
“I can’t.”
“I’m sorry, Janet. But they’re dead,” I throw the lighter over to the Necs, “and the dead must be burnt.”
The basement comes alive with blazing fire.
I watch as Janet crawls over to the burning Necs. She doesn’t scream when the flames take her. Not a peep. When she reaches her family, through the inferno I see her husband biting down onto her arm. And then Sophie and Jack claw at her sweltering flesh.
The heat becomes too much to endure, so I run up the stairs to the door. Once through the doorway, I quickly close it.
It’s daytime. Feels like morning. Have no way of knowing, though. So disorientating.
“Sammy!” I call out as I make my way along the hallway. “You okay, Sammy?”
“I’m okay, Daddy,” he tells me, just as I see him standing next to the front door, just like I told him to. “Good boy,” I say, as I get to him and hug him—tighter than I’ve ever hugged him before. I can’t believe we made it. It’s overwhelming.
But it’s not over yet.
Maybe we don’t have to. Maybe we could just ride it out until the cavalry shows up. But how long is that gonna take? Don’t fancy spending the night here with that fire burning. And what if the cavalry doesn’t show up? What then?
Have to find the tranq gun.
It’s got to be around here somewhere. I doubt if she’s out of ammo. She probably didn’t want to waste it on us. Especially when she’s got that bloody meat cleaver. Maybe it’s upstairs by the front window. Or in the kitchen. Need to search the—
The entire house shakes with the rumble of an explosion.
The basement! Must have burnt through a gas pipe!
Oh, shit!
I look down the hallway and see that the basement door has been blown completely off its hinges. Smoke and flames climb out of the doorway. Got to get out of here now!
“I’m scared, Daddy,” Sammy says, clasping at my legs. “The house is on fire!”
“Don’t worry, boy. Daddy’s here.”
Fuck, I wish I had that bloody tranc-gun.
Within seconds, the hallway is filled with smoke and flames. I quickly guard him against the scorching heat.
“We’re gonna have to make a run for it, Sammy,” I tell him, calmly. “I can carry you, but if you see some people outside, just close your eyes. I promise they won’t hurt you. Okay?”
Sammy nods, tears streaming down his face.
The fire is now inches away from us, spitting angrily at the back of my neck.
Picking him up off the floor, I wince from the searing pain in my wrists. I unlock the front door and then place my hand on the handle.
“Ready?” I say. “One…two…three!”
I leap out onto the pavement and then run onto the road. The cold winter breeze hits me straight away. But it feels good to be outside. To breathe fresh air. Away from the blaze.
Away from that fucking basement.
Just halfway across the road, I stop in my tracks. My heart sinks with horror at the sight.
An army of Necs is about twenty metres up from us.
Thank God Sammy’s head is over my shoulder, facing in the opposite direction. Can’t let him see this. Not after everything. It’s too much.
I’ve never seen so many gathered together, as if ready to charge at us like a stampede of bulls, pulsating with rage.
Must be a hundred of them.
How is this even possible?
The explosion?
Not sure whether I should make a run for it. Break into one of these houses. Any house. Or stay completely still.
Can’t think straight.
I’m frozen.
Can’t make a decision.
Have to…
“Look, Daddy!” Sammy cries into my ear. “Look behind you!”
I turn my body to look down Marbleview Street. Expecting to see yet another horde of Necs in the opposite direction, instead, I see something that makes me gasp with emotion.
Thirty, maybe even fifty, riot police are stood, all lined up in rows, armed with large, transparent shields—and guns.
Lots of guns.
The cavalry!
I race over to a parked car and duck down as the police charge at the Necs. The deafening sound of guns firing, and bodies crashing into riot shields causes me to pull Sammy in close and cover his ears from the noise.
But the noise doesn’t bother me. Instead, it fills me with hope. And an overwhelming sense of relief.
Never before have I been so happy to see so many police; to listen to the roar of helicopters above me; to hear the growls of a riot, just metres from my front door.
Any other day, I might have picked up a shield and joined the fight, to drive the dead from my home.
But not this time.
I gently stroke Sammy’s hair as I wait for the battle to be over. Wait for a chance to slip away to somewhere safer.
Anywhere but Marbleview street.
It’s time to get the hell out of here.
Fuck you, Crandale!
And fuck you, Janet Webber!
Epilogue
“Inspection’s
coming up again,” Stuart informs me. “Need to be on our best behaviour. Can’t let our standards slip now. The company’s been talking about merging us with Birmingham. And you know what that means—more job losses.”
“No worries, Stuart,” I tell him, only half-listening. “Will do.”
Stuart does a quick inventory count, pointing his pen at each stretcher. “Only twenty-six today, Robert. Not too bad then.” He smiles tightly, and then leaves the room.
“Yeah, wonderful,” I say, as I watch him disappear outside.
“Prick,” I whisper, when I’m positive he’s out of range.
I take a look at the stretchers, and then at the time on the wall. Twenty-six. Not the end of the world. I’ll be out by seven. Hopefully.
I grab a pair of safety-goggles from the shelf and slip them over my eyes, and then cover my mouth and nose with a plastic mask. I walk up to the control panel, turn the dial to green, and then flip the main switch. There’s a loud rumble as the furnace ignites. Instantly, I can feel the heat radiate from the sides of the heavy furnace door. The noise circulates around the room, causing the metal stretchers to roll and rattle into each other.
The first body bag is moving already. Bloody tranqs. Useless. Need to be stronger.
Cheap imports.
I stop myself reaching for the zip. Have to fight the urge. I start to wheel the body over to the furnace door. Opening the heavy door, a gust of eyebrow-singeing heat hits me in the face. Despite the goggles, I close my eyes and wipe the beads of sweat from my forehead. I roll the body bag off the stretcher and onto the platform, and then push the platform inside. I slam the door shut and lock it. The furnace comes alive when I press the large red button, incinerating the yellow body bag in seconds.
One down. Twenty-five more to go.
Another day. Another dollar.
It’s a dirty job.
But someone’s got to do it.
BURN THE DEAD: PURGE
Prologue
Can’t sleep again. Too cold.
Dad won’t switch on the central heating, says it’s too expensive. He tells me to use the spare blanket. But I hate using that. It’s so itchy, and there’re spiders in the cupboard. Dad tries to teach me to face my fears, says I’m a silly little girl for being afraid of a furry bug. But he just doesn’t get it. I’m thirteen years old, and I’ll be fourteen in a month—so if I haven’t got over my arachnophobia by now, then I guess I’m stuck with it. For life.
I switch the TV on. Sometimes watching some shitty film manages to knock me out, but the volume has to be low. Can’t disturb Mum and Dad—Dad will kill me. He’s already threatened to take the TV away if I wake him again. He tells me that I’ll understand when I finally go out into the real world, working, earning a living. The usual grown-up crap.
At least I wouldn’t scrimp on the heating.
Another hour passes and I switch the TV off. There’s nothing on apart from shopping channels and weird reality shows. Not my cup of tea. Mum loves that kind of rubbish, but I can’t see the attraction. Most of the girls in my class watch them. But I guess I’ve always been a little different. I’d rather be watching action movies, or shows about police arresting drunks. The kind of junk Dad watches.
Almost four in the morning and I’m still wide-awake. Got school tomorrow. Can’t see me being too alert for maths first thing. I’ll have to sit in the back, try to avoid eye contact with Mr Morgan. I should be all right. He usually picks on the boys. Plus, he has a soft spot for me and Chrissie. He always smiles at us in the corridor. It’s not as creepy as it sounds. He used to live next door to Uncle Pete. It’s weird seeing teachers outside of school. Not sure why. It just is.
Need a pee. Not desperate but once the thought pops into my head, I’ll never get to sleep. Best get it done now rather than lying here thinking about it for another two hours, so I get up and tiptoe onto the landing. Mum and Dad’s bedroom door is half-open, so I move even slower, holding my breath as I get to the bathroom. Once inside, I lock it and sit on the toilet. So glad it finally has a lock on it. It took Dad ages to finally get one. He’s always been against locks in the house. Don’t know how many times I’ve asked him for one for my room. Can’t see that happening any time soon. Maybe when I’m twenty-five and married, with kids of my own.
I finish up, flush and start to wash my hands. The sink is directly under the window, which looks onto the garden. Most people have frosted glass in the bathroom, but of course Dad has to be awkward. Just pathetic, flimsy blinds that get tangled if you pull too hard. Dad says that there’s a knack to it, that I’m doing it wrong. Most of the time I just roll my eyes, (after he’s gone, obviously). Drying my hands with the towel, I look down at the pitch-black garden. Can’t see a thing apart from the thick oak trees and the outline of the shed. But the more I stare, the more my eyes adjust, the more I’m certain that I see a person standing next to the tree.
Can’t be.
I climb onto the bathtub and pull open the top window. Poking my head out into the cold air, I take a closer look. It still seems like a person, dressed in white, with a slim body, and not that tall; but it’s too dark to be sure. Maybe I should call Dad? In case it’s a burglar? No, he’d kill me; he’d tell me it’s just the trees and my lack of sleep playing tricks on me.
But what if he’s wrong? What if it is a burglar? And I didn’t say something?
Best be certain before I wake him. If I can get the garden light sensor to come on, then I’ll be sure. Bending down, I pick up one of Mum’s fancy soaps, the ones she never uses, then push my head and shoulders out into the cold night air. I see the figure again. It creeps me out. It’s not moving so it might be some branches, or some rubbish that’s blown into the garden. The light sensor is to the left of me, so I launch the soap near it, praying that I don’t hit Mum and Dad’s window by mistake. The soap hits the wall and then drops down onto the grass below, with virtually no noise at all. But the sensor doesn’t catch it, and the garden is still in darkness.
Bloody hell!
Still leaning against the frame of the open window, I glare at the so-called figure. But the more I look at it, and the more it sways slightly from side to side, the more certain I am that it is a person. Still not sure enough to wake Dad. Not yet, anyway. I need more evidence.
I leave the bathroom and tiptoe downstairs. The last few steps are really creaky so I avoid them, lunging my leg past them to reach the bottom. Creeping into the living room, I automatically flick the light switch, but then immediately turn it off. I’ll see better into the garden without it. Over at the glass patio doors, I push a few blinds over to the side to see outside.
My heart judders as I stare into the pale face of a woman.
I let go of the blinds and dash out of the living room, heart racing, and scramble up the stairs to wake Dad. Opening the bedroom door, I poke my head through. They’re both still fast asleep, so I reach down and prod Dad on his shoulder. “Dad,” I whisper. “Wake up. There’s a woman outside.”
Dad begins to stir and then his eyes half-open. “Go back to bed,” he mumbles. “It’s just a nightmare, sweetheart.”
He shuts his eyes, so I prod him again. “Dad. Wake up. There is someone outside. I think it’s a burglar.”
Dad opens his eyes again, sits up in bed, and switches his bedside lamp on. “What are you talking about?”
“There’s a woman standing in our garden.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Dad. I’m positive. I saw her standing by the patio doors.”
He climbs out of bed, puts his slippers on and follows me out onto the landing. “Stay here,” he says firmly, and I watch him as he walks downstairs. From the landing, I can see him enter the living room. Can’t help but feel nervous. Dad could easily defend himself against anyone, especially a woman. But you never know. She might have a knife. Or a gun!
I’d better go help him.
Moving fast but quietly down the stairs, my mind fills with visions o
f Dad being shot by the burglar. Can’t think like that. Dad’s strong and he’s not an idiot. He’d never let it come to that.
Inside the dark living room, I see him pressed against the wall, with his head peering through the blinds. I creep over to him. “Can you see her?”
“Bloody hell!” Dad blurts out in fright as he turns to face me. “I told you to wait upstairs! Why don’t you ever listen to me?”
“Sorry, Dad.”
Shaking his head, he returns his attention to the window.
“Can you see her?” I repeat. “Is she still out there?”
“I can’t see anyone. Are you sure you saw someone? It’s pretty dark out there.”
“Yes, Dad. I’m sure. She was standing by the tree, and when I came down to the living room she was by the glass, looking right at me. I swear it.”
Moving away from the window, Dad walks past me and out through the doorway.
“Where are you going?”
He doesn’t answer, so I follow. He walks down the hallway and into the dark kitchen.
“Stay back now,” he orders. “I’m going outside to check. Maybe it’s just some drunk from town, wandered into the garden.”
“Shouldn’t we just call the police?”
“Not yet. And keep that light off.”
I nod as Dad opens the door. A sudden gust of cold air hits us both in the face. “Be careful,” I say, my stomach full of butterflies. Then he steps outside and closes the door behind him.
Standing in the kitchen, in silence, for what seems like an eternity, I listen out for something, anything. I can feel my hands shaking as I stare at the door handle. Please be okay, Dad.
As the seconds turn into minutes, I find myself edging closer and closer to the back door. Curiosity has always been my weakness, (or strength, depending on how you look at it). Maybe I should just open the door and pop my head out, just to check if he’s all right. Surely he won’t get mad. I won’t actually be following him—just having a nose.
Another minute or so passes and I’ve reached the handle, grasped it and started to turn it. Don’t know how much help I can be if Dad’s really in trouble, but I have to at least try. Chest tight, I slowly open the door, one inch at a time.
Burn The Dead Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 17