She gives me a subtle nod, and then sniffs loudly.
“You’re a strong girl,” I continue. “I can tell. You’re the same as me. And us girls can survive anything—even a sexist job like being a Cleaner.”
“Sexist?” she asks, wiping away a tear as it rolls down her cheek. “How come?”
“Because apparently this is no job for a woman.”
“Why not?” she asks, dabbing her nose with the sleeve.
“Well, according to the countless letters of rejection I got from the government about hiring women, men are just better equipped in dealing with Necs. Women just don’t have the strength—physically or mentally.”
“But they gave you a job in the end.”
“Yeah—after I made sure that I was a big enough pain in the ass that they’d let me have an interview. And it worked. So the moral of the story is: never take no for an answer.”
“So what’s it like being a Cleaner?”
“To tell you the truth, Amelia, it’s hard. At first, I thought it would be the coolest job in the world: shooting monsters for a living. But the reality of it is seeing families ripped apart by this disease, danger all around you.”
“So why don’t you quit? Why stick it out for two years?”
Should I tell her the truth? Now’s a good enough time as any to come clean. No, it’s still too dangerous. No good can come of it. Best let her sleep tonight knowing that someone is watching over her. Even if it is a trainee. “Because I want to help people. Like you and your brother.” I give Amelia a playful nudge to her side. “But maybe I’ll quit tomorrow. When this is all over.”
Amelia returns the nudge. “Maybe you should. But not before. We still need you here.”
Beaming, I stroke her soft, bushy hair. “No worries.” I get up from the bed. “Jump back in bed. Keep your brother warm.”
“Okay,” she replies, getting up and then walking over to the other side of the bed. She climbs under the quilt, drapes her arm over her brother’s chest, and closes her eyes. “Goodnight, Cath.”
“Goodnight, Amelia,” I reply, returning to my previous position; head upright against the pillow, eyes wide open and fixed on the door.
Did I lock it after me?
Paranoia kicks in as I quickly get up and check it. Locked. Thank God.
Returning to the bed, I massage my aching knee. Feels a lot better now. It must have popped out and then popped back in. I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’ll have to start wearing my strap again.
I glance over at Amelia; looks like she’s sleeping already. I’m starting to feel a little tired myself. Can’t sleep, though. Too risky. Have to fight the urge to close my eyes. No matter how heavy my eyelids get. No matter how drained my body feels.
Have to fight it. For them.
18
I can smell bacon. Mum must be making breakfast. Is it Sunday already? Feels more like a Monday though. Haven’t had bacon in months. Forgot how good it smells. Even better than it tastes. Dad must have insisted on bacon, even though the doctor told him to lay off the fatty foods. He says it’s the good cholesterol that’s high with him, not the bad kind. Whatever the hell that means.
I should get up in a minute. I’m sure Mum’s been calling me. But it’s Sunday. At least let me sleep in a little. It’s only fair. That’s why God invented Sundays—a day to sleep off hangovers.
Did I go out drinking last night?
Must have. Why else would my head be so fuzzy? Must have been a good night if I can’t remember even going out. Those nights are always the best.
I try to pry my stinging eyes open. I can just about make out my bedroom, even though it’s still pretty dark in here.
Why is it so dark?
The curtains must be closed.
I can see Mum, hovering around by my bed. Probably trying to wake me. Fat chance with this headache, pounding against my temples. Unless she has a glass of water and two strong painkillers, she’s gonna have a fight on her hands.
What the hell is she doing, just wandering around my room? Probably scrutinising the epic mess that’s all around her feet.
What happened to that smell of bacon? Doesn’t smell as pleasant anymore. Almost rancid, like it’s gone off. Don’t even think Dad would eat it now. And he’ll eat anything.
My eyes burn as the room comes into focus. Still exhausted, still not ready to face the day yet. Another hour at least. Why hasn’t Mum opened the curtains yet? It’s not like her. It’s usually the first thing she does, just to wake me by blinding me with sunlight.
But this is not my bedroom.
And that is not my Mother.
My entire body freezes in horror when I see the female Nec stood in front of me.
The dead woman’s stare is locked onto the bright streetlight, seeping in through the centre of the curtains; her long black hair soaked through with sweat; her arms slumped lazily against her sides.
Juliet?
Holding my breath, I can hear my heart thrashing against my chest; so loud the Nec must be able to hear. I slowly reach for the knife and grip the handle tightly. Turning my head as if my neck is held in a vice, I see the kids. Both siblings are still fast asleep.
Don’t think Juliet has seen us yet. How the fuck did she get in here? Did I leave the door unlocked when I went to the bathroom? No, I double-checked. Moving my head towards the door, I see that it’s hanging wide open. Impossible.
Swallowing hard, I prod Josh’s arm and then place my hand over his mouth. The moment his eyes open, the second he sees his dead foster mother, I can feel my hand filling with his muted scream. I put my index finger to the centre of my lips to shush him. Eyes wide, he nods, so I remove my hand from his mouth. The Nec wanders aimlessly over to the chest of drawers by the window. Reaching over Josh, I give Amelia’s shoulder a prod to wake her, once again managing to catch her scream of horror with my hand when she sees Juliet. I gesture for them to follow me off the bed. Josh shakes his head, his giant eyes filled with tears, his body trembling. Amelia takes his hand and starts to push him towards me. He resists for a moment, but submits when the Nec lets out a low, rasping moan. Taking Josh’s hand, I help him from the bed. Amelia crawls across the mattress and quietly steps onto the carpet. The Nec has her back to us, facing the window. I usher the kids out onto the landing, and then pull the key out of the door as I follow them. Just as I’m about to close the door, to trap the Nec inside, Josh suddenly slips past me, and races back inside the bedroom. I stop myself from calling out to him as I watch him reach over the bed and grab his Spider-Man toy. The Nec spots him and darts towards the bed, diving across the quilt, snarling. I leap out of the doorway, back into the bedroom. Josh screams when he sees how close his foster mother is. Taking hold of his jumper, I yank him away and drag his tiny body towards the doorway. But it’s too late. The Nec lunges off the bed and onto his back. Her weight pulls him onto the carpet, hauling me down with them.
“Leave him alone!” Amelia screams when she sees her foster mother’s jaws clamp down on her brother’s hand. Scrambling to my feet, I thrust the knife through the Nec’s left eye, into her brain, and then drive my leather boot into the Nec’s face, forcing her to lose her grip on Josh. Grasping his arm, I wrench him off the floor and out onto the landing. Still with the blade planted firmly in her skull, the Nec storms towards the doorway, so I plunge my heel into her chest, propelling her onto her back. Just before she’s up again, I slam the door shut, and frantically put the key into the lock. Her body crashes into the door from inside the bedroom, almost popping out the key as I twist it.
Locked.
Amelia’s screams of panic, Josh’s painful wailing, the wild roars and fists beating from the bedroom—it’s all too much to handle, to take in.
“He’s been bitten!” she yells. “He’s infected!”
“Shut up, Amelia!” I snap. “You’re not helping!”
Josh’s sobs increase.
“We have to stop the infection!” she yells. “We have t
o cut off his hand!”
“No!” he weeps. “You can’t cut my hand off!”
“Enough! You’re scaring him.”
“What the hell are we supposed to do then?” Amelia demands. “He’s been bitten.”
“Please don’t cut off my hand,” Josh yells out, tears and snot running down his face.
“No one’s cutting off your hand, buddy,” I tell him, taking hold of his arm and inspecting the wound. “It’s not that deep. We can use the antiviral shot. Stop the infection before it spreads.”
“Yes! The antiviral!” Amelia shouts out. “Where is it?”
I reach into my vest pocket only to find it empty. “Shit!” My stomach turns when I realise that I already used it on Andrew.
“What’s wrong?” Amelia asks.
“It’s gone.”
“What do you mean it’s gone?”
“I had to give it to my partner.”
“Get another one then.”
I shake my head, struggling to think straight. “I don’t have another one.”
“Well what the hell are we supposed to do now?”
I don’t have an answer.
The sweat is now dripping profusely down my face, stinging my eyes. I wipe it away as I look down at Josh. He has his hand clasped tightly with his other hand, blood seeping between his fingers, his face pale. Suddenly everything seems dreamlike, everything in tunnel vision. The Nec, Amelia’s words, the screaming, none of it feels real, like I’m in some horrible nightmare—a nightmare that I can’t seem to shake off.
But Amelia screaming the name Michael at the top of her voice pulls me back to reality, and I’m faced with the foster Dad, shambling towards us from the top of the stairs.
“Watch out, Josh!” I shout as I push past him, ramming both palms into Michael’s chest. The Nec crashes down onto the floor, his head smacking against the banister. Within a split second, I’m standing over the dead man, stamping my boot into his mouth with every ounce of strength I can summon. I watch his nose split, then become nothing more than a dark patch on his face. I watch his mouth fill with blood and broken teeth, his eyes disappear into his skull, his forehead split open, and his brain spill out like vomit.
But he doesn’t die.
He can’t die.
He’s already dead.
But he won’t be getting up. He won’t be hurting anyone tonight.
Not without a face…
19
“You need to get another one right now!” Amelia screams at me as she runs a cloth under the kitchen tap. “He’s infected.”
“Shut up, Amelia!” Josh cries from the table, clutching his wounded hand. “I’m not infected! Stop saying that!”
“Look,” I say, standing beside Josh, trying to sound as calm as I can, “I’ll go outside to the van. It’s parked up on The Mount. There’ll be spare antiviral bottles in the back. In one of the compartments.”
Kneeling down in front of Josh’s chair, Amelia gently cleans the gouge with the cloth. “Okay. You need to go now then,” she orders me, her words shaky, desperate. “Before it’s too late.”
I nod, and then wipe the sweat from my forehead. Can’t quite believe that I’m actually going back outside—back to that hell.
But I have to.
“What if something happens to you?” Josh asks, his eyes filled with apprehension, his face white as a sheet. Not sure if it’s from the shock or the infection. Please God let it be from the shock. “What if you don’t make it back?”
“It won’t come to that. I won’t let it. I’m fast. Faster than any Nec. I’ll get those bottles. And you’ll be fine. I promise.”
“You better go now,” Amelia says, “before it spreads.”
“Okay. I’ll go out the back door, through the lanes. It’s darker. Less chance of being seen.”
“What about the man in the garden?” Josh asks. “He’s still out there.”
“Don’t worry,” I reassure him. “He can’t hurt me.”
“You don’t have a weapon,” Amelia points outs. “You’ll be killed.”
“The spade’s still out there, yeah? I’ll use that.” I unlock the back door. “Just keep the pressure on the bite and I’ll be back in no time.”
“You promise?” Josh asks. “You won’t leave us?”
I turn to him with eyes of sincerity. “Never.”
“Take this with you.” Amelia hands me a key. “It’s for the front door. Just in case. But I’ll be waiting by the back door to let you in.”
I take the key and slip it into my pocket. “Thanks. You’re a smart kid.”
She gives me a slight nod. “Be careful out there.”
“I will. Keep the lights out and keep your eyes on the garden.”
Stomach twisted with nerves, I clutch the handle and start to pull.
“Wait!” Josh sobs. “Don’t go!”
I release the handle and turn to him. “I’ve got to, buddy.”
“No. This is all my fault.”
“Don’t be silly,” Amelia says, a deep scowl of confusion on her brow. “How can any of this be your fault?”
“It was me!” he confesses, snot and tears streaming. “I did it! I left the bedroom door unlocked! When you were both sleeping…I went out for a pee. I was bursting. I must have forgotten to lock it.” He sniffs loudly. “I’m sorry, Cath.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” I reassure him. “If your foster parents could break out of the living room, then they could have got into the bedroom. So just forget about it. It wasn’t your fault. Okay?”
Amelia kneels beside her brother and pulls him in for a hug. “Just go,” she says. “We’re running out of time.” She kisses the top of his head. “Save my brother.”
“I will,” I reply, pulling the back door open. “Just stay in the house.”
I step out into the darkness of the garden.
I hear the door lock behind me, and the realisation that I’m alone again hits me. The garden is cold and silent. I can’t really recall being here; everything that happened seems unreal, like the memory of a faded dream, a nightmare. I remember my knee giving way, and then staring up at the stars.
My stomach roils when I remember the face of the Nec, glaring down at me, ready to tear my face clean off.
I see the spade lying on the ground next to a bucket. When I’m within reaching distance of it, I can clearly see that it’s not a bucket.
It’s a head.
I quickly pick up the spade, unable to avoid staring at the Nec’s face, still very much conscious, his jaws snapping at fresh air, his eyes wide with a hunger that can never be satisfied.
Not without a body.
Body.
What the hell happened to the body?
No time for curiosity. I’ve got to get that antiviral—and fast.
But what about all those captured Necs in the back?
And the one’s from the front of the van? What if they’re all still there?
Just suck it up, Cath. What other choice do you have?
I check the time on my watch. It’s 11:05 p.m.
Feels much later.
Weapon in hand, I race along the garden, towards the lane entrance. Poking my head out, I check for any wandering Necs. Can’t see any, but it’s dark. I listen hard, but I only hear a slight, icy breeze in the air. I start to jog up the lane towards the street. I should go slower, plan out every step, but there’s just no time to spare. He doesn’t stand a chance if I’m not back soon.
What if I’m already too late?
At the end of the lane, I see a sign for Richmond. Street lamps dimly light the road and pavements. I can’t see any Necs yet. Maybe it’s all over. Maybe the other Cleaners have managed to take back Crandale. It’s been long enough.
Body hunched, I make my way along the pavement and then duck down by a parked car. The coast seems clear, so I bolt across the road and crouch behind another car. Still no Necs. This is promising. Just up the hill I see the church. Neve
r again will I set foot inside one without imagining all those squirming bodies. I run up the road, directly opposite the church, heading towards The Mount. At the foot of the hill, I slow down to catch my breath. My knee is still sore, and the spade is starting to get heavy.
Just up ahead, I see my Cleaner van, the back door still hanging open. I can’t see any roaming Necs. They must have scattered, got tired of waiting. I start to creep towards the van, aware that a horde could come busting out of these houses at any moment. When I’m about twenty metres away, I see a few bodies dangling out, some squirming on the road, others with their torsos half in, half out of the van.
I check out the front of the vehicle. It’s clear, so I return to the back doors. Spade at the ready, I can see that each Nec seems to be still restrained—limbs tied, muzzles over mouths. The smell hits me like a cloud of toxic gas, causing me to shield my mouth, nose and watering eyes. I can’t quite believe that I’m back here. The last place I thought I’d see again.
Shit! Can’t remember which side the antivirals are stored: left compartment or right?
I’m sure it’s the left.
Using the spade, I push the dangling Necs off the van, and their limp bodies roll onto the road. I focus on Josh’s sweet, innocent face, as I climb up onto the van platform, stepping on the arm of a Nec in the process. As I let go of the spade and swim through the dead bodies, I imagine that it’s nothing more than having to fish out a set of car keys from a muddy drain. I’m not crawling through a small army of the living dead. It’s just a simple task, something that no one wants to do, but has to do regardless. That’s all. Nothing more.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that.
At the left side of the van, I try to reach the compartment, my arm rubbing between metal and a sedated dead woman. Most of her dress is ripped so it’s just cold flesh grazing against my hand. The stink is almost too much to stand, so I hold my breath as I work my fingers down. The weight of Necs is too great—I can’t seem to reach it. With every ounce of strength in me, I pull the woman’s body towards me, and manage to create a little more space. With just enough of a gap, I reach blindly, and I’m able to get the compartment open. It’s only about twelve inches deep and about the same in width, so I grab whatever the hell is in there. When I see only a pack of antibacterial wipes and a first-aid kit, I almost scream at the top of my lungs, in frustration, in absolute horror. But I stop myself, take a deep breath, drop the items, and start to move over to the other side of the van.
Burn The Dead Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 29