“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 ask.
“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.”
“Yep. But it does get easier. That much I can promise you.” He pulls out a small plastic packet from his vest, around ten or twelve inches in height and width, and tears it open. He then unravels a compressed yellow-coloured, tarpaulin body bag, “Let’s get him packed away then.” He throws it over to me. “Gag ‘em ‘n bag ‘em.”
9
The back of the van is sealed off from the front by a metal wall, so I have no idea if Mr Rosemont is still sedated.
I’ve got to stop thinking of him as Mr Rosemont—especially since we’re on our way to burn him.
According to Andrew, the nearest furnace is Romkirk, situated just outside Bristol. He tells me that there are eight furnaces in the UK: Bristol, North Wales, Birmingham, London, Sheffield, Edinburgh, and Belfast. Swansea used to have a furnace, when the outbreak first started, but the locals protested to having one so near the city centre. So when that finally closed, the Welsh government never got around to building one nearer. They thought Bristol was close enough.
Typical government.
Apart from a brief history lesson on British furnaces, the fifty-five-minute journey into Bristol has been pretty quiet. Not sure if it’s just the effects of the adrenaline wearing off, the dreaded comedown, or something else. Maybe he’s still a little sore from talking about his daughter. Should I ask him what’s up? No, best let him be. For all I know this is how he is after every Nec drop-off.
To hell with it—I’ll ask him. I’m his partner and it’s my job to make sure he’s all right—whether he likes it or not.
Please don’t shout at me.
“Everything all right?” I ask him quietly.
Andrew doesn’t answer right away, his eyes firmly on the road ahead. “I’m fine.”
“You just seem a little quiet all of a sudden. Is there something I’ve done to piss you off?”
Andrew turns to me, frowning hard. “Absolutely not. You’ve been great today. Spot on. The way you took out that Nec, without any hesitation whatsoever. And the way you dealt with Mrs Rosemont—fantastic, Cath. I can’t fault you.”
“What’s up then?”
He lets out a drawn out breath, and then shakes his head. “It’s just me, Cath. I totally fucked up today.”
“How do you work that one out?”
“I let that bloody Nec pin me to the floor. He could have killed me. Both of us.”
“It wasn’t your fault. He caught us off guard.”
“Exactly. I should never have let some stupid dog distract me. I should have been watching the hallway, not ogling some animal.”
“Well we’re alive, aren’t we? We’ve got the Nec safe in the back of the van.” I give him a playful nudge. “And you’ve got me to watch your back. What more can you ask for?”
A small grin starts to form on his lips. “You’re right. Thanks, Cath. You’re gonna do well in this job. I can tell already.” Andrew turns down a country road. “Now let’s burn this fat fucker before the tranq wears off.”
The sun has long since descended as we reach the gates of Romkirk Limited. It’s smaller than I imagined it would be, no bigger than a school. Plain design—a single sign by the main entrance. Only one storey high, grey walls and a huge chimney at the side. Andrew flashes his ID badge to the security guard, a white barrier slowly lifts, and then we drive down a narrow road to the back; the sides of the van brushing past the bushes and low hanging trees. After about a hundred metres, we come to a stop outside a set of steel doors, with a security keypad on the right side. Being in such a restricted place really brings out the excited child in me—like I’m part of some covert operation or secret society, or I’ve somehow managed to wing a seat at the Prime Minister’s table.
“Okay,” Andrew says, shutting off the engine, and then unclipping his seatbelt, “let’s get this over with. I hate these places. They stink. Literally.”
Unclipping my seatbelt too, I follow him out of the van. Walking up to the door, Andrew pushes a button on the security panel. I hear a faint buzzing sound coming from behind the steel doors. A few seconds later, a voice comes out of the tiny speaker. “Hi, guys. Be with you in just a second.”
“Cheers, Rob.”
The door opens shortly and a man steps out through the doors, wearing a thick brown apron and gloves that go all the way to his elbows, and a set of safety goggles hanging around his neck. “Hey, Andrew. How’s it going?”
“Good, thanks, Rob. How’s the family?”
“Great. You?”
“Not too bad, buddy. Not too bad.”
“Just the one for me this evening then?”
“Yep. Just one.”
“Fantastic. Just the way I like it.”
Rob follows Andrew to the back of the van. “But he’s a big bastard,” Andrew points out, opening the doors.
Can’t help but think that’s a touch insensitive, but who am I to judge? Andrew’s been at this job for years. Of course he’s going to be desensitised. To him, it’s just a slab of gone-off meat—but to me he’s Keith Rosemont: husband, father, farmer, dog-lover.
Andrew climbs up onto the van, his weight bouncing the rear a little. “Sorry, Rob, I forgot to introduce my new partner: Catherine. She just started today. First Nec capture of many. And it was a hell of a catch.”
“Nice to meet you, Cath,” Rob says, removing his glove and shaking my hand. “This big guy looking after you, I hope?”
Andrew snorts. “More like the other way around, Rob. This bloody Nec had me pinned to the living-room floor, nearly crushed me to death. Lucky for me, Cath’s a crack shot. Right in the back of his head.”
Rob’s eyebrows rise. “Really? Well done. It’s more than I could cope with.”
“Just luck really. Right place, right time.”
Andrew starts to slide the collapsed stretcher out of the van. “She’s just being modest, Rob. Don’t let the blonde hair and pretty face fool you—she’s a hard-ass this one.”
Blushing, I take the end of the stretcher and we pull it out of the van, the steel legs extending automatically.
I hear the faint sound of movement coming from inside the body bag. “Do you hear something?”
Rob puts his ear to it. “Sounds like he’s waking up.”
“Jesus? Already?”
“Well, he was a big fella,” Andrew says. “I’m surprised he didn’t wake sooner.”
We start to push the stretcher towards the building, Rob and I at the back, Andrew pulling from the front. “Fucking hell,” Rob blurts out, “you weren’t kidding when you said he was heavy.”
“And there’s a dog in there too,” Andrew points out.
“A dog? What’s a dog doing in there?”
“The guy tore it to shreds. Thought it was easier just to burn him with the Nec.”
Rob rolls his eyes and chuckles. “It better be dead, Andrew.”
“Of course he’s dead,” Andrew says, pushing the steel doors open with his ass. “I think.”
Rob shakes his head. “Very funny.”
The furnace room is exactly as I imagined it would be: hot, grubby, dark grey walls—with a smell of burned meat and that rancid stench of death. It reminds me of my first dog when I was seven, when Dad found him dead in the garden. That smell is etched in my memory for life. Lined up neatly in a row are about fifteen or so empty stretchers. There’s a small stool, a couple of spare aprons hanging up on wall hooks, and a shelf with several sets of safety goggles and gloves. But the main attraction to this dark, depressing room is positioned at the far end. The furnace. It’s a massive contraption, about four metres in height and about the same in width. To the left side of the thick, steel furnace door is a dial and a large red button.
“Well, Cath,” Rob says, his arms stretched out wide, as if about to give us the guided tour of his luxury penthouse, “this is the furnace. I spend most of my time in here, burning the dead. The rest of the building is pretty much off limits to us mere Burners. It’s all offices and training rooms, and all that bullshit. But here is where the real magic happens.”
I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic, or if he really does love working in this dump. Personally, I couldn’t think of anything worse. “Enjoy working here, Rob?”
“Well, it has its bad points—long, tedious hours, the smell, which I’m pretty sure you caught a whiff off when you walked in.”
I smile and nod in agreement.
“But these furnaces are vital,” Rob continues. “Just like your job. They’re the backbone of keeping everyone safe from infection. Without these furnaces, we’d have no way to dispose of them. Guns certainly don’t work, severing the head doesn’t work. Burning them to nothing more than dust is the only effective way. And I’m glad I’m a part of it.”
So he wasn’t being sarcastic then.
“Thought it might be good if she watched you use the furnace. Give her a little insight into the entire process of disposal. Is that okay, Rob? I know you’re pretty busy.”
“No, it’s fine,” he replies. “Be happy to. Just make sure you both stay back. It gets pretty hot.” He pushes Mr Rosemont over to the furnace doors. “Okay, Cath. The first thing we do here is get suited up.” He lifts his safety goggles up and puts them over his eyes. “Goggles, gloves, and apron. At all times.” Walking over to the furnace, he opens the steel door. He then slides out a large, gridded platform.
I can feel the heat blasting out even from here, causing me to shield my eyes with the palm of my hand. I watch as the body bag jerks up, as if he’s desperate to get out. Rob doesn’t flinch when he sees this. I guess he must be used to it by now.
Is that what’s going to happen
to me eventually? Is all this going to be nothing but a job?
“So now we get to the hard part,” Rob says, walking behind the body and placing his hands on it. “Pushing this big fella in.” Struggling at first, he manages to roll Mr Rosemont onto the furnace platform, and then starts to push him into the fire.
“Need some help?” Andrew asks.
“No, it’s fine. Best stay back. I’m used to it.”
Once Mr Rosemont and Genie the dog are both in the furnace, Rob slams the door shut and twists the handle to lock it. “Hardest part is over,” he says. “Now the easy part: burning him.” He twists the dial at the side of the door. “Turn it to green. And then push the red button.”
Once he pushes it, the furnace comes alive with a roar, causing me to stand back even further.
“And that’s how it’s done,” he says, proudly. “It’s not rocket science, just hard graft. Two thousand degrees Fahrenheit and he’s nothing more than dust.” Removing his goggles and his gloves, he takes a seat on the stool and wipes his brow with his sleeve. “It’s a dirty job…but someone’s got to do it.”
It’s a two-hour drive back to Ammanford. Andrew’s been driving all day so I’ve offered. I don’t mind taking the wheel; it’s kind of nice driving around in a van. Makes me feel big, powerful, like the bully of the road. I can see why there’s such a stigma with white vans: White-Van-Man.
Turning to Andrew, I can see he’s tired; his eyes are half-shut and he’s quiet. Been a long day. Don’t even know if we get paid overtime. Hope so—I was supposed to finish hours ago. Not that it bothers me. Well, not right now anyway. I’m sure I’ll be moaning when the novelty wears off.
“So what did you do before all this?” I ask him. “The army?”
He doesn’t answer. When I turn to him again, I can see that he’s fast asleep; his head against the window, his arms crossed.
Smiling, I focus on the road. It’s a long drive ahead, a lot of things flying through my mind. It’s going to be tough sleeping tonight. I knew today was going to be a real eye-opener, but I never thought I’d experience so much in one day.
I’m sure tomorrow will be a little easier. First days are always the hardest.
Burn The Dead Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 23