Snatchers (A Zombie Novel) (27 page)

Karen had underestimated the man, and now saw in the man's eyes a potential psychotic individual who was definitely something more than a petty criminal. She didn't want to appear to be intimidated by this man, even though she did disrespect him and he probably deserved an apology, which she told herself he wasn't going to get.

Karen raised her eyebrows and unflinchingly quizzed, "And three?"

"Three," Pickle began and looked around to see who was listening, David was almost asleep. "Yer don't have to worry about me personally. Yer attractive, any fool can see that, but yer not ma type."

Karen grinned and was unconvinced by Pickle's speech. "I probably wasn't Oliver's type either, but he forced himself on top of me."

"Who's Oliver?"

"Some guy I met in the woods, before I met you lot. Before I got to the woods, I got carjacked and was assaulted by two men, so I ran to the woods because there was nowhere else to go, and that's when I met Oliver. He seemed nice at first; shared his food and water when I needed it. We stayed in the woods overnight, and took turns sleeping while one stood guard. Then suddenly, he changed. I don't understand why. Anyway, I gave him a beating and he shot off."

Pickle understood Karen's paranoia more than ever after her brief story, and he felt that she needed to trust the group if ever they were to survive. His sympathy grew for her and his anger that boiled when she made the indirect threat had diminished completely.

Pickle tried to explain the Oliver situation to Karen, without sounding like he was justifying it. "Maybe he thought: here is an attractive woman who I could never get in the real world, I've probably only got days or weeks to live, and there's no law in the land anymore. So what the hell."

"Maybe," she sniffed, and could feel herself getting emotional. "It doesn't give him the right to do that, or anyone else for that matter. So forgive me if I seem a little paranoid about men at the moment. I know it should be the last thing I should be concerned about, considering what's out there."

"That won't happen here. Like I said, any man who rapes in this camp will be seriously dealt with."

"And how do I know I can trust
you?"

Pickle sighed and this time he took no offence. Instead, his face was warm and sincere and he ran his fingers through his short brown hair. He stared at Karen with his dark eyes and said, "Because…I'm gay."

Chapter Forty Six

June 12th

It was Tuesday, and their heads were extremely sore.

Jack Slade had had the unhealthiest weekend of his life. He had spent the weekend boozing before news of the outbreak was revealed and his nutrition and hydration hadn't been great since the panic had spread; but he was alive and was at least thankful for that. His host, Gary Jenson, had been a life saver, as Jack wasn't at all confident that a good night's sleep would have been achieved by sleeping on top of a garage, where below him only yards away, was a group of beings desperate to taste his warm flesh.

Making use of the electricity that was still working, they replenished their energy levels with breakfast. Two cups of tea and a cooked breakfast later, they hesitantly left the premises and both went to the red Porsche and was pleased that the street was empty. Gary suggested to Jack that maybe he should leave the bike, as it was a ridiculous way to travel considering the circumstances, he didn't look fit, and it seemed silly to use two vehicles and waste valuable fuel for the short trip to Rugeley. Gary didn't want to leave the house unattended in case Jemma contacted the house, but he wanted to go out to get one last fuel trip, and he also felt it was better to be out in numbers, which Jack agreed.

Jack had also agreed that both men going into the car was probably safer, as there was a big chance of getting snatched and pulled off if he took the bike—an experience that almost happened to him at Slitting Mill.

With his head not being in the best condition, he agreed that the bike, as well as his tender condition, could be a hindrance to their goal of getting petrol.

Jack shut the front door behind him and saw that the street was barren. He took his time getting into the Porsche as Gary waited patiently. Jack threw his head back and released a long sigh.

"Feeling rough?" Gary began to chuckle.

Jack smiled. "Just a tad."

"Here's a tip." Gary started the engine. "Don't drink two thirds of a whisky bottle the night before you have to go out and face man-eating creatures."

"It was the only way I could get some sleep. I just got carried away."

They headed out and the car had zoomed through the village; it headed toward Stile Cop and went onto the main road. Jack was in the passenger seat and looked to his right to see a white bulky prison van blocking the entrance of the beauty spot.

"I passed that place last night. Looks like some sort of camp," Gary said. "Maybe we should try in there. Maybe they might know where the girls are? I know it's a long shot."

"Okay."

The car stopped, and Gary reversed rapidly ten yards and pulled up at the side of the road opposite where the van was. Gary and Jack stepped out of the sports car and hesitantly crossed the road, unaware what could be greeting them. They stood behind the van looking for a way in without having to climb under it.

Their presence had been detected, however, and they were quickly questioned about their unexpected visit.

"Can I help you, my friend?" came a voice from behind the van, but they couldn't see the individual.

Gary elected himself as spokesperson, and began to speak. "We're not looking for refuge, we're looking for a girl called Kerry, a six-year-old boy called Thomas, and a girl called Jemma Marlow."

"There are eight people here, but no one by that name, I'm sorry."

"If anyone by that name does pop up, could you tell them that Jack Slade and Gary Jenson are looking for them, and we're in Gary's house on Barnaby Street."

There was brief pause. "I thought I recognised that voice."

Gary thought for a few seconds until his brain realised the voice did seem familiar. "Pickle? But…how?"

"Same as you, friend, we were let out, in fact we've got KP, Officer Thomson and Officer Perry here as well. Sorry we can't let you in, there're too many mouths to feed. We're gonna stay here for a few days before seeking refuge elsewhere."

"Don't worry about it, we don't want in anyway. Oh, do me a favour," Gary said.

Pickle replied. "What is it?"

"Tell Jamie and the girl, thanks. They didn't need to let us out, they could have just left us there to rot."

"Will do."

"Okay," Gary spoke with an excited tone his voice, knowing that some of his old inmates had made it. "Best of luck."

"You too."

The two men knew it was a long shot looking for them at the Stile Cop beauty spot, but at least that was one place less to look now. If ever Jemma or Kerry ended up at Stile Cop somehow, then at least now, either girl would know that they were looking for them.

Unaware that the car he was in belonged to Officer Thomson, Gary drove it down the steep hill passing the cemetery on the right; the two noticed a body lying in the side of the road and gently swerved round it in order not to damage the Porsche's wheels. The car had received a lot of dents in its bodywork from before, but luckily the engine and wheels hadn't been damaged thus far.

The vehicle turned left away from Draycott Park and headed toward Slitting Mill. Jack had advised Gary that although he had experienced a few of the things in Slitting Mill, Draycott Park was more heavily populated with them. There was only two ways to get into Rugeley from where they were, and the Slitting Mill route was agreed to be the safest, as it proved.

Jack and Gary sat silently as the car cruised through the road passing an abandoned car in a ditch, and half a dozen of the things could be seen in the woods at the perimeter of Cannock Chase, and another two roamed at the side of the road. They went by the dangerous area with no problems, and another half a mile later, they were in the town centre.

They passed a house that had a banner hanging from the bedroom window; it read:
Help! Alive inside!
Gary shook his head and knew that it was for the benefit of the army—or whoever else could turn up to rescue. He thought to himself that if bandits or desperados saw that, the family inside would be taken for everything they had.

The car came to an abrupt stop outside the park, which was situated opposite the bus station where the town centre began. Gary and Jack got out of the car and looked down the road to see many of them wandering aimlessly around the street. They were too far to notice the two men, but the scene was still unnerving all the same.

Gary looked up to the block of apartments that sat to the right of the park, and saw three sets of curtains twitching. Others were not so shy, as another two had pulled the curtains back and stared out to see what the two men were up to.

Gary thought, Poor bastards! Probably still living off the food that's left in their apartment.

He ruminated what would happen a few weeks or months down the line once the food began to disappear. Would people still stay indoors? Would they rather starve to death than risk going out and being a meal for one of those things? Or would they take the risk? Maybe some would decide that the world was too much of a horrific place to live in now, and decided to kill themselves.

Maybe some had already made that decision.

This wasn't their main concern. Their main concern was the pickup truck in the forecourt of the petrol station a hundred yards away from them, as well as the four men standing around with two of them donning shotguns as if they owned the place.

"It doesn't matter," Jack spoke, urging Gary back into the car.

"I know." Gary was calm.

"Let's go, before they spot us."

They drove away and the atmosphere was different to the one on the way there. They both engaged in conversation, despite the disappointment of the petrol station being occupied. They checked another two, but found that all pumps were drained. Gary still remained calm, despite the frustration of the lack of petrol. The car was reasonably okay, but a few jerry cans full of petrol could keep them going for weeks if need be. "We'll try again in a few hours. Any longer than that and I think these things will be impossible to avoid."

"What if those guys are still here, sucking the place dry?"

"Nah." Gary shook his head. "I've got a feeling they're preparing themselves for a long journey."

The car turned a corner, away from the eyes of the men, and the vehicle casually did thirty along the main road.

"Shame our families weren't here," Gary said, stating the obvious.

"I know."

"At least then we could raid some shop, get a car full of food and water and then barricade ourselves in the house for a couple of months until this virus, or whatever it is, starts to die out as well as those things."

Jack was perplexed on Gary's confidence. "What makes you think those things are gonna die out?"

Gary sniffed and placed the car in a higher gear once he was round the sharp bend. Gary shrugged. "Think about it, why do people eat?"

Jack paused for a second and thought about the potential trick question. "Because they're hungry. To survive."

"Exactly, probably the same reason
they
do. You cut off the food supply, then surely they'll become weaker and die."

"Interesting theory; not too sure they're actually eating because of hunger, though."

"I heard a broadcast on the radio," Gary began a fresh story, changing the subject. "It told us that most of the UK is pretty much contaminated, so don't expect in a few days the British army coming in and helping us out. That ain't gonna happen; even our beloved Royal Family and Prime Minister have left the country. Fuckers! If the people of Britain get through this, then God help them. The surviving people of this country will set Buckingham Palace and Downing Street on fire. There'll be riots galore."

"I'm sure it's the same everywhere, in some other countries," Jack noted, trying to justify the disappearance of the countries' leaders.

"I was just thinking," Gary scrunched his face. "Surely if these things are classed as dead, apart from the brain itself, surely in hot countries like Australia, India, Iran and some areas of America, like Texas, must be able to contain the problem better than what
we
can?"

Jack looked at Gary who looked back and flashed him a smile. Jack shook his head. "That's if they've got this problem, I think it's mainly a UK thing, but explain."

"Well, if they're considered
already
dead, surely day by day they're rotting away? And in extreme heat, those things can't survive too long before they literally fall to pieces. It'd be like watching chicken falling off a bone."

"Interesting theory," Jack agreed. "But it doesn't help the likes of us and other mild countries, does it?"

"Well if they're dead, I'm sure they're still prone to rot, even as they shamble around the streets. I reckon as soon as you become one of them, thanks to bacteria, you automatically have an expiry date, then fall to the floor and never get back up again. Have you noticed some of those things are quite bloated?"

"Some I suppose, I've never really stood around long enough to check them out."

"Neither have I, but I think that's the bacteria. Dead bodies bloat because bacteria causes gases."

Jack added, "Sounds like you know your stuff. What else did this broadcast tell you?"

"A few things, but there was another station I managed to get a hold of. I think the reason why this contagious sickness has taken the country by surprise is because we hadn't been told about it and it's been going on for a week or so in isolated areas, but now it has multiplied. Think about it, you're out from the pub, you get bit or scratched by one of them thinking that the attack was by an insane drunk, then go to bed and think nothing more of it. Some might have gone to bed on the Friday or Saturday night unknowing they had it, some probably complained of feeling unwell. Then suddenly, by the early hours of the morning, that person wakes up reanimated and attacks the family, and then you've got a houseful of the things. Poor bastards. I bet some of the victims were probably sleeping in their beds when they were attacked by their own dad, mum, son…whatever."

Jack knew the reality, but it was something he didn't want to think about. His thoughts went back to the abandoned car he had found and the bloodied seat. Then he accepted what Gary had just said and a horrific film began to play in his mind of an infected individual attacking its family. There was no chance a baby could reanimate in such a situation.

When another human became bit, they would automatically try and fight off the attacker and run away with an infected bite, unless there was more than one of them. A baby, on the other hand, could not fight off such an attack, and even if there was just one of those things, a defenceless baby would be painfully ripped apart and devoured within minutes.

His eyes filled once the 'film' had stopped playing, and he thought about Thomas. He saw Gary in the corner of his eye looking at him. He wiped his eyes and cleared his throat quietly. A silence threatened to envelope them for the remainder of the short journey, but an upset Jack decided to keep the conversation going. "Do you think we'll get through this, y'know, humans?"

"For sure." Gary nodded confidently.

"What makes you so sure?"