Burn the Dead

by Steven Jenkins

  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, boy?”

  “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.

  Got to get the fuck out of this house!

  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. 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. Need to leave 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 tranq 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, as calmly as possible. “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 clustered 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 to look down Marbleview Street, expecting to see another horde of Necs. But 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 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 fore
head. I roll the yellow 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 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.

  COMING SOON

  FROM STEVEN JENKINS

  BURN THE DEAD: PURGE

  BURN THE DEAD: RIOT

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Steven Jenkins was born in the small Welsh town of Llanelli, where he began writing stories at the age of eight, inspired by ’80s horror movies and novels by Richard Matheson.

  During Steven’s teenage years, he became a great lover of writing dark and twisted poems—six of which gained him publications with Poetry Now, Brownstone Books, and Strong Words.

  Over the next few years, as well as becoming a husband and father, Steven spent his free time writing short stories, achieving further publication with Dark Moon Digest. His terrifying tales of the afterlife and zombies gained him positive reviews, particularly his story, Burning Ambition, which also came runner up in a Five-Stop-Story contest. And in 2014 his debut novel, Fourteen Days was published by Barking Rain Press.

  You can find out more about Steven Jenkins at his website: www.stevenjenkins.com or on Facebook: www.facebook.com/stevenjenkinsauthor and on Twitter: twitter.com/Author_Jenkins

  OTHER TITLES

  BY STEVEN JENKINS

  FOURTEEN DAYS

  Workaholic developer Richard Gardener is laid up at home for two week’s mandatory leave—doctor’s orders. No stress. No computers. Just fourteen days of complete rest.

  Bliss for most, but hell for Richard… in more ways than one. There’s a darkness that lives inside Richard’s home; a presence he never knew existed because he was seldom there alone.

  Did he just imagine those footsteps? The smoke alarm shrieking?

  The woman in his kitchen?

  His wife thinks that he’s just suffering from work withdrawal, but as the days crawl by in his solitary confinement, the terror seeping through the walls continues to escalate—threatening his health, his sanity, and his marriage.

  When the inconceivable no longer seems quite so impossible, Richard struggles to come to terms with what is happening and find a way to banish the darkness—before he becomes an exile in his own home.

  “Gripping, tense, and bloody scary. The author has taken the classic ghost story, and blended it faultlessly with Hitchcock’s Rear Window.”

  COLIN DAVIES

  DIRECTOR OF BBC’S BAFTA WINNING: THE COALHOUSE

  “Fourteen Days is the most purely enjoyable novel I’ve read in a very long time.”

  RICHARD BLANDFORD

  THE WRITER’S WORKSHOP & AUTHOR OF HOUND DOG

  Available at:

  www.stevenjenkins.com,

  and all other book retailers.

  SPINE

  Listen closely. A creak, almost too light to be heard…was it the shifting of an old house, or footsteps down the hallway? Breathe softly, and strain to hear through the silence. That breeze against your neck might be a draught, or an open window.

  Slip into the pages of SPINE and you’ll be persuaded to leave the lights on and door firmly bolted. From Steven Jenkins, bestselling author of Fourteen Days and Burn the Dead, this horror collection of eight stories go beyond the realm of terror to an entirely different kind of creepiness. Beneath innocent appearances lurk twisted minds and scary monsters, from soft scratches behind the wall, to the paranoia of walking through a crowd and knowing that every single eye is locked on you. In this world, voices lure lost souls to the cliff’s edge and illicit drugs offer glimpses of things few should see. Scientists tamper with the afterlife, and the strange happenings at a nursing home are not what they first seem.

  So don’t let that groan from the closet fool you—the monster is hiding right where you least expect it.

  “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 BBC’S BAFTA WINNING: THE COALHOUSE

  Available at:

  www.stevenjenkins.com,

  and all other book retailers.

  ROTTEN BODIES

  We all fear death’s dark spectre, but in a zombie apocalypse, dying is a privilege reserved for the lucky few. There are worse things than a bullet to the brain—much worse.

  The dead are walking, and they’re hungry. Steven Jenkins, bestselling author of Fourteen Days and Burn The Dead, shares six zombie tales that are rotten for all the right reasons.

  Meet Dave, a husband and father with a dirty secret, who quickly discovers that lies aren’t only dangerous…they’re deadly. Athlete Sarah once ran for glory, but when she finds herself alone on a country road with an injured knee, second place is as good as last. Working in a cremation facility, Rob likes to peek secretly at the faces of his inventory before they’re turned to ash. When it comes to workplace health and sanity, however, some rules are better left unbroken. Howard, shovelling coal in the darkness of a Welsh coal mine, knows something’s amiss when his colleagues begin to disappear. But it’s when the lights come on that things get truly scary.

  Six different takes on the undead, from the grotesque to the downright terrifying. But reader beware: as the groans get louder and the twitching starts, you’ll be dying to reach the final page.

  “Utterly hair-raising, in all its gory glory!”

  CATE HOGAN

  AUTHOR OF ONE SUMMER

  Available at:

  www.stevenjenkins.com,

  and all other book retailers.