Snatchers (A Zombie Novel) (15 page)

Davina remembered the footballer in an interview, while he was in hospital, thanking God for his survival and had said that the episode had furthered his faith if that was at all possible. Davina remembered David sitting watching the news when it came on, shaking his head and saying angrily: "What a slap in the face that is for the medical team. If someone on the operating table dies, the surgeons get the blame. If the person on the operating table survives, the families thank God. What a peculiar world we live in?"

Davina looked back as the car exited out of the street, and looked at the dead that sauntered around the streets, looking for more warm human flesh to devour, now that Sherree and her baby were no more.

Where was the husband? Work? Hiding? Dead?

Where's God now?

David had hit at least a dozen of the things as the family left the street in his Renault Clio, and turned onto Sandy Lane. David's third breakdown of the morning came as he drove, it was brief, but it was still a breakdown.

Chapter Twenty Six

The Vauxhall Meriva had been doing a hundred on its journey south. Jack Slade couldn't believe how empty the roads were; he had only passed three cars so far and put that down to the fact that people had either already got to their preferred destination, or they had decided that the safer option was to stay at home. He was expecting the motorway to be heaving, but it seemed that fear or maybe not knowing about what was happening was keeping the roads reasonably clear. He had seen a few cars on the forecourts of some garages he had passed, but other than that, nothing on his side of the motorway, but he had seen a few vehicles going the other way.

Why were some people heading north? Was it safer? Had they heard something?

There certainly wasn't any sign of the creatures making an appearance on the motorway itself, but Jack was sure that once the things decided that there was nothing left to eat in the towns and cities, that was when they would spill out into the countryside and motorways. It was animal instinct. If foxes found that there was nothing left to eat in the woods, they would risk themselves by trotting through the suburban streets in hope of a hearty meal. It was all about survival.

He had reached Blackpool and knew that in another two hours he would be in Rugeley. He took a glimpse at the fuel gauge and saw that it was a quarter full. He saw a sign coming up stating that the next service station was ten miles away. His foot slammed the gas pedal down and pushed the car a further twenty. In a matter of minutes, the service station was clear up ahead and Jack slowed down as he came to the entrance.

Apart from two cars dosing idly, there was nothing else on the car park at the service station. Normally, he hated these places; he always found them too expensive.

He got out of the car and held the cleaver. The service station was like any other; it was like a mini shopping mall. It had a Burger King, a cafeteria, a Starbucks, a newsagents and an amusement arcade.

The garage was separate and situated behind the service station. Jack found the door to be open and walked slowly by all the shops and nervously looked in every one of them. Happy that the place was empty, he decided to use the toilet.

Once he came out of the toilet, he walked into the newsagents and picked up a couple of packets of Marlboro and a handful of lighters.

"Fuck it, I might be dead tomorrow. If the lung cancer doesn't eat me alive,
they
probably will."

He lit up a cigarette and had to sit down once he took his first drag. He hadn't touched a cigarette in five years, and this one was making him feel giddy, as if he had just stepped off the waltzers, but in a good, relaxed way. He only finished half of the cigarette before stamping it out onto the floor. It was a bad idea.

He walked into the Starbucks area and helped himself to a pre-packed sandwich and a caramel cake. He made himself a cappuccino and sat down with it at the end of the café, with a double dip chocolate muffin.

His cleaver sat on the table next to his free purchases. He knew he was wasting time relaxing, but he had to be focused, and driving that fast with no hazards to look out for, was exhausting for the just turned forty-year-old.

He looked at his watch and informed himself that in two minutes time, he would move his derrière, top his car up and get back on the road. He got out of his chair and helped himself to a bottle of water, and headed back toward the entrance. He stepped outside and looked up to the grey army of puffy clouds, threatening to ruin the beautiful, yet macabre day.

He peeped over toward the large car park and could see the garage. He saw that behind the car park was a farmer's field. If he didn't need to be in Rugeley, he might have tried to stay at the farm. A farm would be the perfect place to be in this situation, Jack Slade thought.

They were in the middle of nowhere; there was cattle and poultry—so plenty of food. They would also be able to see the creatures coming from a mile away with all the flat land they had. Farmers were also well equipped with guns to shoot pesky foxes and they also had heavy duty machinery like tractors and combine harvesters, ideal to use to escape or even use as a weapon if they wanted to save on cartridges and run over gangs of the dead.

Jack deliberated on the idea of taking Kerry and Thomas to a farm once he arrived at Rugeley. Although a more negative thought that crossed Jack's mind, was that if
he
was the farmer, he would shoot any trespassers, not just creatures, but humans as well. It was all about survival now, things had changed and he was sure that the farmers would do anything to protect their family, and another mouth to feed would be detrimental to their food supply.

He looked to his left, away from the farmers' fields, and saw three of the fiends walking lazily around the empty car park where the HGVs usually parked. He hadn't noticed them before, and realized that they must have appeared when he was inside the service station.

But where did they come from? A house nearby? The farm itself? Or did they used to work in the service station?

Jack didn't know the answer to the question, but he thought that the three would make good target practice if ever he were in possession of a gun.

His short daydream had been disturbed once a pair of glacial hands wrapped around his neck, and he instantly dropped the cleaver to the floor in fright and turned to see one of them face-to-face. He pushed it in the chest, but it stumbled back only a few yards, then it came at him with more ferocity. It was a large female and was wearing a Starbucks uniform.
Where did she come from?

Aware that the others were gaining on him, he tried to push the female thing away from him, as they wrestled in the car park. He was surprised how strong it was, and the decaying smell from its mouth was awful, its mouth and tongue was almost black. Jack wasn't sure if it was from feeding or decay.

He pushed the ex-Starbucks worker back again and ran to his car. He took a look behind him and saw that if he stayed around for another three seconds, the other three would have caught up and he would have been killed for sure.

He started up his car and floored the gas pedal, making the car squeal out of the car park. The girl smacked her hands on the back of the car and almost ran after him.

Jack shook his head at his stupidity. He couldn't believe how doltish and unvigilant he had been. His unnecessary daydreaming had cost him the cleaver, and could have easily cost him his life.

He slammed his hands on the steering wheel in frustration, and was flabbergasted at the unpredictability of those things.

In such a short space of time, he had experienced that they would stop at nothing to get to their victim; he also realized that they shouldn't be underestimated. At first glance, they looked slow, but once they had a victim in sight, the speed in which they approached soon changed in some of them. The last experience was a learning curve for the forty-year-old, and the way the last one almost ran after his car was a frightening episode. In his limited experience, he had never seen any of them move that quickly. If he wanted to stay alive for his son and be able to protect him, he needed to be sharp at all times.

I wish I had a gun
.

He then thought that having a gun in his possession could end up resulting in an accident, and the gunfire itself, would probably attracted others towards his presence.

He changed his mind about a gun the more he thought about it.

Maybe not.

He joked to himself that maybe a crossbow would be more beneficial, as at least it was quiet. But where was he going to get one of
them?
In most city or town centres probably, but the last thing he wanted to do was to drive into a populated area, to see if there was a gun shop.

The only populated area he had planned on going was the town where his son lived.

He was now in Stoke, and he was an hour away from his town, he was still trembling from his near-death experience. He suddenly heard a pop coming from outside, his steering became heavy and his car veered to the left down a bank.

Not now
.

He had a flat, and could feel himself losing control of the vehicle. He prepared himself for impact.

Chapter Twenty Seven

Pickle had managed to find a beam from the pub's roof that would take his weight. He jumped up and grabbed the beam and began his pull-ups. Now being out of the prison and having no gym to attend, he was going to try and exercise whenever he could. He knew that the lack of exercise would make him feel agitated eventually, and that was something that only affected
him
, and wasn't something the rest of the group was going to lose sleep over.

After finishing his five sets of fifteen reps, he urged Grass to go outside with him and join KP and Laz, who were sitting outside drinking almost their body weight in lemonade as Pickle had issued an alcohol ban until 7pm until the establishment was locked up. It was going to be their lodgings for the night.

Grass followed behind him and they entered outside into the warm, inviting sunshine, although the temperature had dropped somewhat. The sweat glistened on Pickle's forehead like a small army of pearly drops that refused to run down, and he welcomed the cool air that decreased his body temperature, and also welcomed that all around they could see for miles and there wasn't a single being in sight in the fields.

"Any signs?" Pickle walked over to Laz and KP who were sitting on the bank, staring into the River Trent.

"We just came back," Laz stated. "Checked the main roads, nothing."

"What about the wee garden centre over the road?"

KP sniggered, and looked up at Pickle. "What about it? We're not going inside a building that could be populated with those things, not until you give us the guns."

Pickle nodded and patted KP on the shoulder; he understood his concern, and wouldn't have entered the area himself if he had no sort of weapon on him. As he and KP found out by the garage, they were not easy things to kill, despite their lumbering ways. A head injury was the only way to put them down permanently, and a head injury with bare hands was a hard task to execute, as well as an exhausting one.

"I have a shotgun and four pistols," Pickle declared. "The shotgun's mine. I can't give that away."

"Don't worry about me," Laz expressed. "I don't want any gun, don't trust myself for a start. Besides, best thing about not having a gun is that I can just stay behind you whenever we enter buildings. I'm a coward, guys, always have been."

Pickle admired Laz's honesty. There was no point giving someone a gun if they didn't want one.

"What about you, Grass?" KP had a long blade of grass sitting in the corner of his mouth.

"Err…I dunno." He shifted uncomfortably and looked a bag of nerves.

"That's settled then." Pickle nodded. "KP, myself and the two officers get the pistols."

"Do I get the shotgun as well?" KP asked mischievously.

"No chance," Pickle snapped back, not picking up on KP's ribbing.

"Right then." KP got to his feet and began to brush himself down with the palm of his hands. "So you gonna show me how to use one?"

"Probably best if we wait till the officers wake up," Laz spoke, his wiry frame had sat down and begun sucking on a cigarette.

Laz was referring to Jamie and Janine, who had found a welcoming bed when searching through the property. Jamie trusted Pickle, and it was the ex-inmate who suggested that the two officers, who had been on nightshift, should get a few hours in the afternoon because they looked dead on their feet.

"No need," Pickle said, and he nodded toward the entrance of the pub.

Jamie stumbled out, still wearing his work attire, but now with his creased white shirt hanging out of his black trousers. He covered his eyes with his hand, as the sun greeted him.

"Where's the other one?" KP grilled gently.

"Still sleeping, I guess. How should
I
know?"

"Oh…I thought you two…"

"No." Jamie smiled. "We're just work colleagues."

Jamie never thought about Janine in that way; he was never short of the female company and was in no way strongly attracted to the young woman. He hadn't been in a relationship in years, but always kept himself 'busy' with a female here and there, thanks to the dating websites he visited.

Janine was reasonably attractive, Jamie thought. She had short blonde hair and blue eyes, but Jamie was more of a brunette man and wasn't overly keen on short hair on women. Also, she was a little heavy for his liking. She was hardly obese, but her extra pounds were evident on her behind, and he also liked the fitness type.

Jamie knew it was down to taste, as Janine detested too much muscle on a man as she said it looked unnatural. Jamie was one of those men.

"Ready for yer first lesson?" Pickle waved the gun in his right hand. "I'll show Janine later tonight."

Jamie shrugged his shoulders, still tired.

Pickle took out one of the guns from the back of his trousers. "This is what the army used to use before we started using Glock 17s." He looked over to Jamie to make sure he was paying attention. "The slide-lock back, means it out of ammo. This gun is empty, but in times of apprehension, cock it, so it's ready."

Jamie pointed. "Does that hammer ever pinch anybody's hand? It looks awfully close."

Pickle shook his head. "I've shot it before. Never had any bother with it. This is one of the most accurate and smoothest recoiling guns ever made; it also has an amazing trigger. I know you're all novices, but if you can't hit something from ten feet with a hi-power, I don't know what gun would possibly help you."

Pickle handed it to Jamie to have a feel. Then Jamie handed it to KP.

He handed it back to Pickle, who put a magazine in, and said to them, "The down side to this gun is the magazine disconnect. Bad enough that it's even there, but it rubs against the face of the magazine every time the trigger is pulled. The finish of every magazine you have can alter your trigger pull, as can how the magazine locks up or is wiggled around by your hand."

The group all stared at one another; they had no idea what he was rambling about and Jamie decided to speak up. "All I want
you
to do," Jamie began, "is to show me how to reload, and show me where the safety catch is."

"Feeling pretty confident then?" KP giggled, stroking his thin dark beard.

"The only shooting I'll be doing is close range shooting. Besides, if we start shooting practice, what's the betting that those things start making their way over here? I don't know about you guys, but I'm looking forward to locking myself inside of that place tonight, drinking too much beer, playing cards, eating whatever I can get my hands on, and drinking even more beer after that for just one night. Because I don't know how long I've got left, and I don't know if I'll ever have another night like that. And I don't want it to be spoilt by being surrounded by those things banging on the windows to get in. Don't get me wrong, the windows are solid thick, but how are we supposed to escape if there's three hundred surrounding the pub?"

"Fuck," Pickle began to chortle. "That was some kind o' speech."

"Just show me the basics, and I'll show Janine myself once she wakes up."

"I'm already awake," she yawned and stepped out into the daylight. "How am I supposed to sleep with you lot making a racket?"

*

Time dragged on and the moment came at last, and by Jamie's watch it was 7:07pm. KP had rustled up a fine banquet from what was available in the kitchen and the only negative of the night so far, was when Janine wanted a decent bottle of red to go with her steak.

Pickle showed her where the cellar was and a scream later, he realised he had forgotten to tell the group about his experience with one of the people who used to work at the fine establishment.

After finishing the bottle in just under an hour, Janine had almost forgotten about the corpse she had witnessed with the head opened. If she was told about it beforehand, it wouldn't have bothered her, but because she wasn't given any warning, it came as a shock.

The men played poker for hours, and a bored Janine decided to go upstairs and watch an old DVD while finishing the second bottle before passing out on the bed. She noticed the bedroom had no lock, and never even asked about sleeping arrangements. She assumed that she would have the room that she used for her nap, and went there without telling any of the guys.

She placed the dressing table chair against the knob of the bedroom door. She trusted Jamie, but the other four individuals were prisoners, and they were prisoners who hadn't been with a woman for a while.

She kind of feared that if she got drunk within the company of the other five, sexual tension might be increased within the room. She knew she wasn't supermodel material, but was pretty certain that most men were animals and would sleep with anything with a pulse.

Once satisfied nobody could get in, she cried for ten minutes to release some pent up stress, before watching the DVD. Hours later, with a little help from the alcohol she had consumed, sleep had beaten her once again and the rowdiness of the men from the ground floor faded away.