BURN THE DEAD
QUARANTINE
Written by
Steven Jenkins
BURN THE DEAD: QUARANTINE
BOOK ONE
Copyright © 2015 by Steven Jenkins
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The right of Steven Jenkins to be identified as the author of the Work has been asserted to him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in The USA in 2014
by Black Bed Sheet Books
Published in Great Britain in 2015
by Different Cloud Publishing.
www.stevenjenkins.com
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Free Book!
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
Coming Soon From Steven Jenkins
About the Author
Other Titles by Steven Jenkins
Fourteen Days
Spine
Rotten Bodies
“For Vicky.”
FREE BOOK!
“If you love scary campfire stories of ghosts, demonology, and all things that go bump in the night, then you’ll love this horror collection by author Steven Jenkins.”
COLIN DAVIES – Director of BAFTA winning BBC’s The Coalhouse.
For a limited time only, you can download a FREE copy of Spine - the latest horror collection from Steven Jenkins.
FIND OUT MORE HERE
www.stevenjenkins.com
1
Another day. Another dollar.
However fulfilling a job might be, nothing feels quite like finishing after a twelve-hour day.
I punch the six-digit code into the panel, and the steel door closes behind me, letting out a shrill, squeaking noise as it locks into place.
The late shifts are a killer—especially in the winter. There’s something very depressing and just plain wrong about starting and finishing work in complete darkness. Still, the extra cash is a plus. Money’s tight all ‘round. Vegas is just three short weeks away, and I still haven’t saved a thing. Not a single penny. And worse still, Tommy is on my back to settle up the flight costs.
Good luck with that Tommy-boy!
At the staff car park, I feel the cold air on my cheeks as I pull out my keys from my jacket pocket, buried deep among the loose change, petrol receipts, and expired lottery tickets. I climb into the car and check my phone; still no signal. Shaking my head in annoyance, I pull away, flashing my ID badge to Smithy at the gates, and then I’m off.
About a quarter of a mile from Romkirk, I hear my phone make a beeping sound in my pocket. Finally, a signal. I mean really, how can there still be places where you can’t get phone reception? For God’s sake, they can speak to a man on the bloody moon—surely Bristol shouldn’t be a problem. I contemplate reading the text, but know who it is: it’s Anna, wondering where the hell I am. Don’t want to waste any more time pulling over to read it. I just want to get home.
To bed.
*
I manage to make the thirty-five-mile drive to Crandale in less than fifty minutes, thanks to it being so late—but mainly thanks to breaking the speed limit for ninety percent of the journey. Lucky for me, I know exactly where all the cameras are—hidden or not.
Pulling up outside my house, I notice the blinds are closed in Sammy’s bedroom. Missed another bedtime. This’ll be the third this week, not counting the other six from last week. I sigh loudly as I climb out of the car and walk up to the house. I see Edith May from next door again, staring out of her living-room window. I give her my usual wave, and she returns the gesture. Nosy old cow. I bet she’s judging me, all these late finishes. I bet she thinks I’m a terrible father.
Is she right?
“You’re home late, Rob,” Anna points out as I enter the kitchen. “How was work?”
I fling my jacket over the back of the dining chair, and then walk up to her. “It was fine. Usual stuff. Just a bit tired.”
I wrap my arms around Anna’s thin waist and pull her close to kiss her. She then pulls away, making a face. “I think you need a shower, Hun,” she tells me. “You stink.”
I lift an arm up over my head and sniff my armpit. She’s right. Twelve hours stuck in that tiny little room with no air-conditioning will do that to you. “Yeah I know. Long day. You’d stink too.”
“Yeah, yeah, we know.”
“Did you find the bloody dog yet?”
Anna shakes her head. “No. I’ve looked everywhere. Me and Sammy walked the whole of Crandale. Can’t find her anywhere.”
“Shit. That bloody dog. I knew it was a mistake getting one for him. I knew it. What did I say from day one?” I run my fingers through my short brown hair and groan. Stupid dog. “How’s Sammy taking it?”
“How’d ya think? He’s devastated. I had to lie to him. I said she’s just playing hide and seek. I told him that she’ll get bored soon and come home.”
“Oh well, he’s only four. I’m sure he’ll forget. If not, we’ll have to buy him a new one. Preferably one without any legs.” I raise my arms up, yawning loudly. “I’ll help you look for her tomorrow. Not tonight though. I’m so tired my eyes are burning.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. I’m sure she’ll turn up somewhere. Have you eaten yet?
I let out a fake chuckle. “What do you think?”
“So that’s a no then I take it?”
“Yep. Well, unless you count the bar of chocolate I had at four-thirty.”
Anna shakes her head. “That’s not right. You should complain to your supervisor. They should hire someone to cover you. Or at least some admin staff. Take some of the paperwork off your shoulders. Doesn’t the law say that employers have to give you a break every four hours or something?”
“Probably. But you know what that place is like. Everything’s got to be done yesterday. And as for speaking to my boss, I’ve already tried. We all have. It’s just in one ear, and out the other with him. There’s nothing much I can do at the moment. I’ve just got to suck it up. But the worst thing about it is not taking Sammy to bed. Again. I mean, I can handle missing the odd meal and writing up endless reports. And I can even handle having a shitty boss. But not spending time with Sammy—it bloody kills me. It really does.”
“Yeah, I know. Must be horrible. Well, maybe you need to find another job then. Something with more sociable hours. Like a postman.”
I let out a small laugh and then shake my head. “No, it’s fine. I’m sure I’ll survive. It won’t be like this forever. And it is a great job. It’s just hard sometimes. Like most jobs.”
“Well, it’s not right.” Anna opens the fridge and pulls out a large container, and then places it on the kitchen worktop. “Still got some
pasta left over. But I wouldn’t have this if I were you.”
“Why?” I ask, peering down at the chicken, pasta and pesto. “Looks good. What’s wrong with it?”
“Well, I had some earlier and now my stomach doesn’t feel right. I think I may have undercooked the chicken. Better not risk it. I’ll make you something else. Maybe a jacket potato.”
“Did Sammy have any?”
“No, luckily. I made him a cheese omelette.”
I smile and then shake my head playfully. “What’s the point of watching all those bloody cooking shows if you can’t even cook a chicken?”
“Very funny,” she sarcastically replies. “Just get yourself a shower and scrub that stink off you. Otherwise, there’ll definitely be no action for you tonight.”
I smile. “Action. Well maybe I don’t want sex, anyway.”
“Yeah, right,” Anna says under her breath.
But oddly enough, and probably for the first time in years, I don’t care either way. I feel completely shattered—from my throbbing head, down to my blistered feet. But I’m not exactly going to turn down sex.
Seize every opportunity. That’s what Granddad used to say.
*
I’m lying in bed, texting Wayne about the transport arrangements for the airport. I was put in charge of the minibus. Me. Of all people. The same person who forgot to book the honeymoon suite for my own wedding. The guy who didn’t fill up the tank to drive his wife to hospital to give birth.
More fool them.
Anna is still in the bathroom—vomiting loudly. And she has been for at least twenty minutes. I try to block out the horrid retching noises by turning the TV up ever so slightly. Loud enough to block out the splashing sound of chunks hitting the bowl, but quiet enough not to wake up Sammy.
After a few minutes, I hear the noise of rushing water as Anna flushes the toilet. She then returns to the bedroom.
She looks terrible. Reddened eyes; sweat dripping down her forehead; her long brown hair stuck to the sides of her face; skin like The Incredible Hulk. She’s most certainly seen better days—which is a slight relief seeing as sex is now completely off the table.
“Bloody chicken,” she says, as she crawls into bed, sinking deep into the mattress and groaning. “Do you think you should sleep in the spare room tonight? Just in case? Don’t fancy spewing on you in my sleep.”
I shake my head. “Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine.” I kiss the top of her head. “Just don’t breathe on me when we’re having sex tonight.”
“Very funny,” Anna groggily replies; too drained even to smile. “At least I haven’t got work tomorrow. And if I’m still rough maybe your mother can watch Sammy for a few hours.”
“Yeah. Just give her a ring. I’m not working ‘til one anyway.” I turn to face the other way to go to sleep. “Good night, babe. Just give me a shout if you need anything.”
“Okay, Hun. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
As I lie there, too exhausted even to sleep, all I can think about, all that races through my overworked mind is: Please don’t be pregnant. Please don’t be pregnant. Please don’t be pregnant…
2
The toast pops just as another text comes through. This is now the seventh I’ve received in less than ten minutes. And all from the same impatient idiot: Stuart Rees. My boss.
I mean what’s the rush? The delivery isn’t exactly going anywhere.
“Hi, Hun,” I say, as Anna enters the kitchen, holding Sammy in her arms. She sits him down in his chair, stroking his arm as she walks away.
“Hi, handsome,” I tell Sammy, kissing the top of his velvet forehead. “Did you sleep all right?”
“Yes, Daddy,” he replies, his voice chirpy despite it being so early.
“Did Mammy read you a nice story last night?”
Sammy just nods, beaming.
“Which one was it?”
“Nelson the Teddy Bear.”
“Oh, really? That’s my favourite one. Maybe I can read you one tonight. And when I get back from work we’ll have another look for Susie. I’m sure she’s just found a really good hiding place and she’s just waiting for us to find her.”
“Okay, Daddy.”
I kiss him again and then ruffle his blond hair.
“How are you feeling this morning?” I ask Anna. “Still feel sick?
Anna walks over to Sammy and places down a small bowl of cornflakes on the table. “Yeah. And drained.”
“I’m not surprised. Are you gonna be okay looking after Sammy this morning?”
“Yeah, of course,” she replies, yawning loudly. “But I thought you were off ‘til one?”
I pull out the two slices of toast and start to butter them. “Had a text this morning to come in early. There’s been another problem in Swindon.”
“Another? Jesus. Isn’t that like the third this year? I thought they’d sorted it.”
I shrug. “Obviously not. And now I’ve got to go in because Rich is still off with stress. I mean seriously. Stress. Everyone’s off with stress these days. It’s like the new get-out-of-jail-free-card. When my Dad worked down the mine, they’d have laughed right in your face if someone were off because of stress. Absolutely pathetic.”
“Well, that’s what you get for working in a place like Romkirk.”
“Yeah, well, if we all stopped work because of a little stress, the country would come to a standstill. It’s not fair to everyone else.”
I take a big bite of toast, leave the other one on the worktop, and grab my jacket from the back of the chair. “Right, I better get going. You take it easy today. Nothing strenuous now.”
“Yes, yes,” Anna replies, as she pours herself a coffee. “And make sure you get something to eat today. Put your foot down. Otherwise there’ll be nothing left of you to love.”
“All right,” I reply, grinning tightly. “I promise. I’ll get a sandwich from the vending machine.”
“Make sure you do. Can’t have you looking too slim for Vegas. Not with all those loose women on the prowl.”
I kiss her on the lips, and then playfully squeeze her ass. “You know you’re the only loose woman for me. Plus, you still owe me S. E. X.”
She smiles. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. Now get going or you’ll hit traffic.”
I walk over to Sammy, slipping my jacket on at the same time. “I’ll be home later to read you a story. All right, handsome?”
“Okay, Daddy. See you later.”
“Love you both,” I say as I leave the house.
Outside, the sun is beaming but there’s still a chill in the air. I shelter my eyes with my hand as I reach the car. Winter. Typical. The one day when it’s not raining, and I have to work.
I climb into my car and drive off down the street, eyes scanning for the bloody dog.
Stupid mutt. I don’t even like them. I never have. But no, he wanted a dog. Not a budgie, or a fish; not even a bloody hamster. No, it had to be a great big Alsatian.
A pug would have been something.
Just a few metres before Rose Avenue, I see one of my neighbours, the soaring six-foot-three Janet Webber, standing on the pavement, getting ready to cross the road. Every time I clap eyes on the woman, I feel inadequate about my meagre five-foot-nine stature. Wouldn’t fancy being married to that one. Way too tall. And at least forty-five. She seems to be in a trance, wearing just a white dressing-gown and blue slippers. Lazy cow. How hard is it to throw on a pair of jeans and a jacket?
For Christ’s sake. What’s the world coming to?
Maybe she’s seen the dog.
All of a sudden she starts to cross right in front of me.
I slam on the breaks, missing her by mere inches.
“Shit!” I shout in fright. The noise of tyres scraping against the tar snaps her out of her daze. She holds a trembling hand over her chest as she stares at me through the windscreen.
I push the button on the door to open the window. “You all ri
ght, Janet?” I ask her. “You nearly got yourself killed.”
She doesn’t answer.
“You all right, Janet?” I ask again. “Do you need some help?”
She then gives a smile and says, “I’m fine thanks, Rob. Just half asleep. I’ll be all right.” She gives a quick wave and continues crossing the road to her house.
Frowning in confusion, I return a wave and then close the window.
“Weird woman,” I say under my breath as I drive off.
Whole street’s full of them.
3
The smell coming from the room is enough to make anyone puke up their breakfast. But me, I’m used to it. It’s almost like becoming accustomed to the smell of your own baby’s nappies.
It’s amazing what humans will adapt to.
Slipping the apron over my head, I catch a glimpse of Stuart through the metal-gridded window. I put on my elbow-high gloves and watch as he enters the room—that smug look on his face; those eyes too close together, almost becoming one like a Cyclops, and those short, stumpy legs and bald head. Classic Napoléon Complex. He’s followed closely behind by two rather chunky-looking deliverymen.
“Just push them next to the wall,” Stuart says, a tone of arrogance in his voice. “And be careful.”
“Yeah, we know what we’re doing, mate,” one of the deliverymen replies. “We’ve been at this for twelve years.”
Ignoring his comment, Stuart scribbles something down on his clipboard. “There’s another sixteen outside, Robert,” he tells me, not even looking in my direction. “Shouldn’t take you too long. And make sure you sign off all the IL3 Forms. We can’t have any mistakes with the inspection coming up. For both our sakes.”
Forcing a polite smile, I take the clipboard from him and glance at the inventory. “Any details, Stu? I mean, any idea how this happened? Again?”
Burn the Dead Page 1