The Zombie Saga (Book 2): Burn The Dead (Purge)

The Zombie Saga (Book 2): Burn The Dead (Purge) by Steven Jenkins

Book: The Zombie Saga (Book 2): Burn The Dead (Purge) by Steven Jenkins Read Free Book Online
Authors: Steven Jenkins
Tags: Zombies
“What’s happening?”
    “First, we need to get a
muzzle on this Nec,” Andrew says, pointing to the man on the floor. “And then
we drag him, and the other Nec, into the church.”
    “Okay. Do you want me to secure this one?” I ask, pointing to the newly sedated Nec, lying on the
pavement.
    “Yeah. If you can. But be
quick, Cath. I don’t wanna be out here any longer than we have to.”
    “No worries.”
    There’s plenty to worry
about.
    Kneeling down, I unclip a
muzzle from my belt and place it over the Nec’s mouth before I even give myself
a chance to freak out, to picture the Nec waking and biting me. I fasten the
back buckle in record speed. By the time I’ve tied his limbs, Andrew has pulled
the first Nec off the van and has started to drag him by the legs, through the
gates, into the church grounds. “Follow me, Cath,” Andrew says, struggling to
speak with the weight of the Nec. “I’m sure you’ll manage. Yours doesn’t look
that heavy.”
    “Okay.” Grabbing his
ankles, I start to pull him towards the gates. He weighs an absolute ton, but
after that awful sack-pulling challenge, one Nec shouldn’t be that much of a
problem.
    Inside the grounds, I
follow Andrew up a narrow path, through an old, clearly disused graveyard.
Couldn’t have found a more fitting place to be dragging a corpse. The route up
to the church is steep, and the concrete is broken and rough. I have to stop
three times before I’m even halfway up. The church is as ancient and neglected
as the graves that surround it. There’s no way in the world that anyone still
uses this place for worship. It’s a huge building—beautiful, in fact—with
stained-glass windows darkened by dust and decay. Most of the natural grey
stonework is cracked, either from wear-and-tear or vandalism, and vines climb
its walls like blood vessels.
    Reaching the top of the
path, we come to a corner. I follow Andrew around it and I see the church
entrance, and a set of huge wooden doors, once again bruised and battered like
the rest the place. I’m never getting married in one of these things. Way
too depressing.
    And when I drag the man
inside, and see the mass of sedated Necs all around me, I find yet another
reason never to get married in a church.
    Gasping in horror, I drop
the Nec’s legs, and go to place a hand over my mouth, only to find my visor
instead. I want to scream but can’t; my mouth is too dry. My vocals have
seized.
    Nearly every inch of the
place, every pew, every space on the cold stone floor, is occupied by captured
Necs. There must be at least seventy. Maybe more . Half sealed in yellow
body bags, while others are loose, limbs tied, mouths muzzled. Scanning in
revulsion, I spot a few squirming—sedation clearly worn off. The image is
dismaying— disturbing —to see so many, so close. It’s overwhelming.
    “Don’t panic, Cath,”
Andrew says as if I’ve merely walked through a cobweb. “You’re safe. They ain’t
going anywhere.”
    When the walls stop
closing in on me, when the tunnel vision starts to fade, when my mind begins to
process what I’m witnessing, I manage to squeeze a sentence out. “What the fuck
is this?”
    “It’s a morning’s worth of
work,” a man says, from the direction of the nave, his voice echoing around the
crumbling walls.
    As he approaches, I can
see that he’s a Cleaner, his helmet under his left arm. Surely the last place
it should be in a place like this.
    “Where’s the rest of the
Cleaners?” I ask him.
    “Rounding up more Necs.
It’s pretty bad out there. We’ve been at it for hours. We got most of the
uninfected out this morning. But that wasn’t easy with bugger all staff.”
    “What do you mean? I
thought you’d have a massive crew up here. Where are they?”
    The man snorts. “Massive
crew? Fat chance of that. We don’t have the budget for it. Same as you lot down
your neck of the woods.”
    “That’s why they called
us, Cath,” Andrew cuts in. “None of us

Similar Books

The Art of the Steal

Frank W Abagnale

Witch Silver

Anne Forbes

More Than a Memory

Marie James

Treasure

Megan Derr

Finding Love

Rachel Hanna

There May Be Danger

Ianthe Jerrold

Yesterday's Tomorrows

M. E. Montgomery