Burn the Dead

by Steven Jenkins

  “So what’s this got to do with Anna?” I ask, impatiently.

  “I’m getting to that, Rob,” she replies, shaking her head in annoyance. “So, anyway, Malcolm comes home, completely unaware that the old man was infected with Necro-Morbus. Christ, he even forgot he was bitten until I asked him about his hand when he got home. I mean, when he told me what happened, even I didn’t click the old man had it. I thought he was just some senile idiot who just went nuts. We both did. Anyone would. But then during the night, Malcolm got a fever. A really bad one. I thought nothing of it at first, until I saw his hand. It’d all swollen up, blackened, and was oozing with pus. And it looked like it was spreading up his arm. I bandaged it up and gave him a few painkillers. But then we both looked at each other. And I’ll never forget this until the day I die, but…we both knew what it was. And we both knew what was going to happen over the next few hours.”

  “So why didn’t you take him to the hospital. They could have given him an antiviral shot.”

  “What, so someone like you could burn him in a bloody furnace? Not a fucking chance!”

  “But it might have saved his life.”

  “It was too late for him. I couldn’t risk it. And if it were too late then they would have taken him away from us. And I wasn’t having any of that. No bloody way. Not with two kids that needed him.” Janet wipes her teary eyes with the sleeve of her dressing gown, and then sniffs loudly. “Sophie was the first to be bitten. When he started to get aggressive, I tied Malcolm down here, but I forget to lock the door. Sophie wandered down. I’d told her that her Daddy was on holiday with his friend. Only Jack knew the truth.”

  “How long was he down here before she found him?”

  “Not sure,” she replies, shrugging her shoulders. “Maybe two weeks.”

  “Jesus Christ. Two weeks?”

  Janet nods; her eyes filled with shame. “I had to. I even told her that he took the three dogs with him. I mean, I couldn’t exactly tell her that I’d fed them to her father now, could I? She’s only seven, for Christ’s sake. I had to protect her from the truth.” She looks at Sophie’s tortured, shrivelled face and starts to sob uncontrollably. “I’m so sorry, Sophie. I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you from this horrible disease!”

  The basement is silent for maybe a minute as Janet tries to collect herself. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Don’t like to cry in front of the children. Don’t like to show weakness around them. With everything that’s happened, they need me to be the strong one now, more than ever.”

  “You don’t have to tell me all the details, Janet. I know it’s hard.”

  “It’s all right. Need to tell someone. Got no one else to tell.” She sniffs loudly and then lets out a long sigh. “Sophie thought her Daddy was just sitting against the wall. And then…” Janet covers her face with her hand, clearly holding back her anguish.

  I almost feel sorry for her.

  “So why didn’t you take her straight to the hospital?” I ask. “Surely you had time with her?”

  “There was no hope with Sophie. Malcolm had bitten her legs so deep, that when Jack found her, she was passed out on the basement stairs—bleeding to death. He dragged her up to the living room. I was out picking up supplies from town. By the time I walked through the door, Sophie had bitten off three of Jack’s fingers.”

  Peeking over to her son, I notice his missing fingers; the stumps all dried out and black.

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” I tell her, genuinely, even though it pains me to say.

  She nods her head and smiles subtly. “Before I could even see to Jack—before I could even come to terms with the fact that Sophie had turned, I had to get her down to the basement—before she hurt anyone else. I dragged her body, kicking and screaming down the stairs. I just imagined that she was having one of her tantrums. I pretended that she’d been playing up and I had to drag her to her bedroom. It was the only way I could cope. The only way to get her to safety before anyone came knocking on the front door.

  “After I tied her next to her father, I ran upstairs to check on Jack. He was sitting on the floor, up against the sofa, holding his bleeding hand, staring down at his three bitten-off fingers. It was horrible. But fixable. So I ran into the kitchen, grabbed a plastic container from the cupboard, then filled it with ice. I grabbed the first-aid kit and a towel and went back in to see Jack. He was in shock by this point, white as a sheet. Shaking. Not sure if it was just the shock of losing his fingers, or the shock of seeing his sister like that. By the time I got his coat from the kitchen, I knew he was infected. The wound was black and swollen. And it was spreading up into his wrist. I knew I didn’t have long before…”

  Janet takes in a huge breath of air, and then exhales loudly, as if struggling to keep it together. “I knew I had to at least try to get an antiviral shot for him, so I wrapped the towel over his hand, then rushed him out of the house and into my car. I drove as fast as I could to the hospital. But the traffic was a mess. Once I reached the city centre, it was chock-a-block. And Jack was getting woozy. His eyes kept rolling back. And he kept swearing at me, calling me all names, using words I’ve never heard come out of his mouth. It was horrible. I tried to tell him to calm down, to keep pressure on his hand. But it was no use. By the time I reached the hospital, the infection had spread up his entire left side. I slammed on the breaks and drove back home.”

  “Why would you do that? You could have saved him.”

  “No. It was too risky. I couldn’t take the chance. They would have taken him away from me. And what’s worse, they would have come for Malcolm and Sophie. There was too much to lose. You know how hit-and-miss those shots are. Even if you had one straightaway. Especially with bites.”

  I don’t answer because she’s right—it probably was too late for him. And they would have taken him away to be burned. And they would have definitely come for the rest of her family.

  But at least then I wouldn’t be in this mess.

  “So how does Anna fit into all this?” I ask.

  “When me and Jack pulled up outside the house, I struggled to get him out of the car. He could barely stand on his own two feet. I mean, he’s a big, strong lad, and he weighs a ton. So your wife saw me struggling, and she came over to help. She asked me what was wrong with him, and I told her that he hurt himself playing rugby. As we got him to the front door, he coughed up some blood over Anna’s face. I mean…she was a good woman. I’ve gotta say. She didn’t even stop to wipe it off until Jack was safely inside the house. Can’t fault her there. I really can’t.”

  I feel sick.

  This woman has taken everything from me. And for what? So she could have a few more days to watch her family rot? What kind of reason is that? No sane person would risk so much for so little in return. Surely the pain of seeing them like this is far greater than letting them die.

  Does she even see the state they’re in? Maybe she’s blocked it out. Repressed it. It’s possible.

  She’s crazy enough.

  But why didn’t Anna tell me? Why couldn’t she have just mentioned that she might have swallowed infected blood? I could have helped her; could have driven her to the hospital. Didn’t she know she was infected?

  Maybe she forgot to say. Maybe there was never a good time. All I went on about was how tough my fucking job was. Did I even ask how her day went? Did I even ask how she was feeling? Probably not. Maybe if I had, she might have mentioned what happened. Maybe I could have…

  “When I got Jack inside the living room,” Janet continues, “I left him to check on Malcolm and Sophie. I was only gone a minute or two. But by the time I got back upstairs, Jack was gone. He must have gone through the backdoor. Don’t even know if he’d turned when he left—but he was turned when I eventually found him.”

  “How long was he out there for?”

  “All night. I found him the next day. Well, I wasn’t exactly the one who found him. After I’d driven ‘round Crandale looking f
or him, the Cleaners were already here. I assume he killed a few people on the way to God knows where, otherwise, why else would they have come? They’d already brought him down with the tranquiliser gun, so I rammed them both with my car. Not sure if I killed them or not—didn’t hang around to find out. I just grabbed a gun and dragged Jack into the back seat of the car before anyone saw me. Then just brought him here. Home. Where he belongs.”

  I shake my head, completely stunned by her words. “That’s unbelievable. I had no idea what you’ve been through. No wonder you’re so stressed.”

  Nodding, Janet turns to her family, her eyes filled with unconditional love. “But they’re worth it. Every single one of them. Family is the most important thing in the world.”

  “I know. We’ve always been a close family. Not just Sammy and Anna. Mum and I are really close. Especially since my father died. It’s funny how losing someone can either destroy you or make you stronger. And that bond brought Sammy, me, and Anna closer as a family. Plus, Mum makes a pretty good babysitter—which is always handy.”

  Janet smiles, and then stands up. “Yeah, I know how hard it raising kids. You need all the help you can get. But the government shouldn’t help you. Got to do it yourself. Otherwise, what’s the point of even starting a bloody family? All these lazy spongers, living off the country. And it’s hard-working taxpayers like us who have to foot the bill. Bloody disgusting.”

  “Tell me about it. The idea of not working would never even cross my mind. My Dad would have kicked my ass.”

  “Yep. You’ve got to set an example for your kids. Family is everything.” Janet turns to her family and smiles tenderly, and then looks back at me. “Best say your goodbyes now, Rob,” she pushes the switch on the wall, and the basement is in darkness again, “because they’ll be getting hungry soon.”

  The sound of Janet’s footsteps going back up the stairs is like a dagger to the chest. “Janet. Wait. Tell me more about your family,” I desperately say, clinging to the hope that I was getting through to her. “Come on, Janet! Please!”

  But she doesn’t reply. And when I hear the door closing, I’m back in a state of panic. And now even more so. With Sandra gone, and no hope of any rescue, getting through to her compassionate side really was the last throw of the dice.

  I can feel my body bursting with tautness. The ropes dig in even deeper as I clench my fists tightly.

  I need to get out!

  Can’t take it anymore!

  I’m not gonna die down here!

  I’ll tear my own fucking arm off if I have to!

  I start to tug furiously on my ropes. I can feel the flesh around them twist and burn. But the pain doesn’t bother me. In fact, I can barely feel anything anymore. Not sure if it’s the lack of blood circulation in my hands, or the raging adrenaline pulsating through my body.

  I twist around again to face the metal pipe behind me. It’s too dark to see how the rope is tied, but I pull on it nevertheless. With my feet pressed against the wall, I wrench as hard as I can. I feel the blood vessels in my neck and head about to rupture, the skin around my wrists tearing. But I don’t care even if all I have left is bone! Janet Webber can have my limbs. She can take my blood.

  But she’s not taking Sammy!

  All of a sudden I can hear the sound of something cracking. The noise spurs me on to pull even harder. And harder. I’ve never felt so focused, so determined, like a world champion strongman pulling a truck up a hill. Nothing’s gonna stand in my way until I’ve split this pipe in two.

  Nothing!

  A sharp snapping sound propels me backwards, my head slamming onto the hard, concrete floor as I land on my back. Disorientated, I try to stand but can’t; my ankles still tied firmly. But I’m free. Free of the wall. I try to pull my wrists apart, but they’re still tied together. Maybe I can crawl, maybe find something sharp down here, in one of those boxes next to the washing machine. But it’s too dark. I’d be feeling about almost blind. Maybe I can get to the light switch.

  “Are you all right, Daddy?” Sammy asks. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s okay, Sammy. I’m fine. Don’t worry. Just stay as quiet as you can while Daddy tries to get us out of here.”

  “Okay, Daddy,” he whispers.

  “Good boy, Sammy. I won’t—” But before I can finish my sentence, something grabs my hair from behind.

  It’s a hand. It’s ice-cold.

  Another hand takes hold of the back of my collar, pulling me backwards. Choking me.

  “Oh, shit!”

  “Daddy?” Sammy calls out.

  I can hear the sound of Janet’s family, groaning excitedly just inches away. Using my tied wrists, I try to break the Nec’s grip. But it’s no use. I can feel my hair rip free from my scalp. Rolling my head frantically from side to side, I try to shake the hands off. I twist and wriggle on the floor, hoping to escape. But it’s impossible. And now I can feel a third hand grab my shirt at the shoulder. The ear-piercing shrieks of animal rage fill the basement. It drowns out Sammy’s cries of anguish from across the room.

  In spite of my desperate attempts to free myself, I can feel my body being pulled closer to the Necs. The sound of clacking teeth is edging closer by the second, and I blindly wait for one of them to tear a chunk out of my flesh.

  Not like this. Not now.

  Not in the darkness.

  Suddenly, the darkness vanishes and the basement has light once again. The distraction causes the Necs to loosen their grip, allowing me to pull away and roll to safety. But with Janet Webber standing at the foot of the stairs, with one hand on the light switch, and the other holding the meat cleaver, the very notion of safety is far from the truth.

  “You fucking idiot!” Janet screams. “You had to be clever, didn’t you? You had to try and get the better of me!” Before I can do anything, I see her blood-soaked foot driving towards my face. All I can do is close my eyes as it slams down into my nose. I can hear it break as the force rolls me towards Sammy. The pain is searing as I try to get to my feet. But then I feel the weight of her foot once again, this time at the side of my head. Suddenly the basement is spinning. The light in the room is fading. Lifting up my tied hands, I attempt to protect my head from another pounding. But they do nothing.

  I can just about hear the voice of Sammy. He’s pleading with her to stop hurting his Daddy. I see flashes of Janet’s foot coming down at me. Stomp after stomp.

  I feel myself slipping out of consciousness.

  I fight it.

  Now my eyes are closed.

  Need to stay awake.

  “Leave my Daddy alone!”

  Suddenly my eyes are open. But the room is still a blur. I blink several times, each one bringing my surroundings more and more into focus, like a Polaroid slowly forming.

  The sight of the meat cleaver swinging down pulls me back into the basement. I kick out hard, managing to ram my bound feet into Janet’s kneecaps. Dropping down to the floor, she screams out in agony. Before she can get back up, I scurry over to her. Reaching out, I’m able to grab her wrist, stopping her from taking another swing. She tries frantically to stand, but I manage to crawl on top of her, pinning her to the floor. I shake her wrist until the meat cleaver flies out of her grip, landing against the washing machine. Janet reaches up and wraps her fingers around my throat, choking me. Bringing my arms up, I break free from her strangulation. She tries again, so I slam my head as hard as I can down into her mouth. I hear the sound of teeth shattering as I bring my head down a second time. Janet’s mouth is filled with blood. Her eyes are closing. She tries to choke me again, but her grip is too weak, so I bring both my fists down into her face, splitting her nose easily. I do it again. And again. And again. Until her eyes are closed.

  Until she stops fighting.

  Until she’s fucking dead.

  I’m exhausted. I can just about catch my breath. I snap out of my frenzy. Suddenly, I’m aware of where I am—and what has just happened.

  Sam
my.

  I turn to him. He’s pressed tightly to the wall, hugging his knees into his chest, his eyes streaming with tears.

  I’m sorry he had to see such violence. But it was the only way. The only way to save him. I can worry about his state of mind when we’re out of this stinking basement.

  And home.

  I look down at Janet’s still face, and then roll off her.

  Meat cleaver.

  I know by now, from the events of the last few days, that smashing someone’s face in is never enough. So I painfully get to my feet, knees cracking, leg muscles hardly functioning, and I limp over to the washing machine. The meat-cleaver handle is poking out from under it. Just as I start to bend down to pick it up, I hear Sammy scream: “Daddy! Look out!”

  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 to me. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m okay, boy,” 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.”