The Midnight Cleaning Company

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

When I emerged cautiously from my hiding place on the trolley, I realised the motivation for the Rogues to hurry. The sun had risen.

The windows were smeared with grease and the dirt of several years of neglect which fortunately kept out most of the sunlight, but it shone through in patches to illuminate sections of the floor.

Andre and I set about removing any evidence of the Rogue's assault on the blood stores of the morgue. We stuffed the naked, mutilated and drained corpse of the Human Thrall into one of the empty morgue drawers, but the disposal of the Cleaner morgue attendant, and the four dead Rogues was not as straight forward.

We could not leave these bodies to be discovered by the Humans. They had already begun to decompose into mummified remains in the same way as the late Richard.

We discovered a stash of body bags and forced the rapidly rotting cadavers inside. Since there were only two of us to carry the load, we squashed two head-to-toe into each, except the giant Rogue, who stretched the fabric enough on his own.

The bright morning sun presented further problems. Andre and I hoist the body bags onto our shoulders and walked apprehensively towards the exit. Blindingly bright light shone through the two narrow windows in the door.

"We're not going to burst into flame are we?" asked an anxious Andre.
"Don't be stupid", I replied as I pushed open the door.

Searing white light burst into the room, causing an immediate explosion of pain and nausea. We both dropped the body bags to the floor with heavy wet crunches.

Andre fell to his knees shielding his eyes, while I vomited my pig's blood lunch onto the floor. My head swam uncontrollably and thumped with an intense skull-splitting pain. Andre's body convulsed violently as it retched to expel the contents of his empty stomach. I pulled him up from his knees and dragged him by his arm, and the body bags by their stretched handles into the car-park outside.

The bastard Rogues had stolen our van.

Andre and I staggered blindly to the nearest car, dragging the body bags behind us. I smashed the passenger's side window, and reached in to unlock the rear doors to bundle the bags inside. Andre climbed into the drivers side and rapidly hot-wired the car.

"Looks like having a criminal on the team can be useful", I attempted to joke, but choked on the pig's blood rising in my throat.

It was fortunate being so early in the morning that there were very few cars on the road, as Andre drove erratically, nearly blinded by the white-hot and bright sunlight, his hands shaking feverishly from sun sickness and the bullet still lodged in his left leg making it painful to push down the clutch.

All exposed skin was bathed in sunlight, which caused it to itch terribly. It felt as if I were a rotting corpse, with maggots burrowing inside my flesh, gnawing their path to the surface. I was glad of the leather gloves I had retrieved from my jacket pocket, for they prevented my nails from clawing at my forehead. The more I rubbed my exposed face with my gloved hands, the more intense the unpleasant sensation became, and the more I wanted to rip the gloves off and tear into my flesh with my nails to relieve the itching.

I could see that Andre was suffering similarly. However he grasped the wheel as tight as a vice with both hands, trying desperately not to crash in these conditions.

Andre dry-heaved again and clutched his stomach in pain with one hand, while the other wrenched the wheel violently, driving the stolen car onto the pavement to pass a jam of stationary cars in the early morning commute.