Read Online The Zombie Saga (Book 2): Burn The Dead (Purge) by Steven Jenkins - Free Book Online Page B

with
old-fashioned, brown, flowery furniture and there’s a large, swivel armchair
positioned in front of the TV, which is on, with the volume a little too high.
The foot of the low, narrow staircase is just opposite the living-room door.
Andrew gestures for me to follow him up. Logic suggests that I stay downstairs,
to cover all corners of the house. But I know he won’t let me out of his sight.
It’s too risky. Certainly not on my first official day.
    Each wooden step creaks
loudly as we make our way up the stairs. I can feel my muscles tense up. I
suppose that’s normal. Even Andrew must feel a little anxious walking up these
stairs, about to face a potential Nec. I take a glance at his arms as he points
his gun out in front. Steady as a rock.
    Then it’s just me then.
    At the top, there’s a
narrow corridor with two doors along the sides, and one at the far end. The
first door is already open—it’s the bathroom. Andrew edges inside. There’s only
room for one, so I hang back by the doorway. There’s a bath, sink and toilet.
No shower curtain for Mr Rosemont to hide behind. Thank God . I take a
step backwards as Andrew exits the bathroom.
    The second door is closed.
Andrew grasps the handle. “Be ready, Cath.”
    I nod, gun pointed firmly
at the door, ready to take down any Necs about to burst out.
    The door opens, revealing
a tiny box room. It’s completely empty apart from a few boxes of junk, an
ironing board propped up against the wall, and a chest of drawers with several
golf trophies positioned neatly across the top.
    “Last room,” Andrew
whispers as he slinks towards the third and final door.
    Reaching the bedroom, the
grip on my gun stiffens when I see that the door is slightly ajar. Andrew gives
it a gentle prod and it slowly swings open, my shallow breathing saturating my
helmet. This is it. My first real clean up. I’ve made it. It’s actually
happening. I’m actually here.
    And I couldn’t be more
terrified.
    Andrew’s large frame fills
the doorway, blocking my view of the room. I try to see past his wide
shoulders, but all I can see is a darkened room. Andrew steps inside,
unblocking my view. From the doorway, I see that the curtains are still closed
but there’s enough light coming in through from the landing to make out most of
the room. There’s a small wooden wardrobe to the left, and just under the
window, a chest of drawers, identical to the one from the spare the room. At
the centre of the room is a double bed. The quilt is ruffled high, with a stack
of various-sized pillows piled up by the headboard; at least six. Andrew walks
towards the bed, gun still aimed in front. “Mr Rosemont?” he quietly asks. “Are
you awake? We’re here to take you to the hospital.”
    No response.
    “Mr Rosemont?” he repeats,
this time a touch louder. “Can you hear me? My name is Andrew Whitt. I’m a
paramedic. I’m here with my colleague to take you to the hospital.”
    Still no answer.
    Using the tip of his gun,
Andrew nudges the raised quilt, but the gun pushes the quilt all the way down
to the mattress.
    The bed is empty.
    Shit.
    Where the hell is Mr
Rosemont?
    Andrew whips the quilt
completely off the bed to make sure. “We need to search this house fast,” he
says, his voice still low, filled with urgency.
    He pushes past me, and I
follow him down the corridor, back to the stairs. Slowly, we skulk down each
step, both guns aimed, ready for a sudden attack. At the bottom, Andrew peeps
quickly into the living room, but once again the room is clear. “Stay here,” he
orders. “I’m gonna check out the kitchen.” I nod and watch as he makes his way
down the hallway. The kitchen door is ajar, so he pushes it open with his
shoulder. As soon as it opens I can see that the back door is hanging wide
open.
    “Shit!” Andrew shouts.
“He’s slipped out! You need to go out the front door now and check on the
wife.”
    “Okay, I’m on it,” I
reply, my words broken by dread. Just as I