Snatchers (A Zombie Novel) (9 page)

Chapter Sixteen

As he got to the top of the roof of his neighbour's house, David Pointer had stood up quite easily, putting too much faith in the roof tiles beneath his feet. He side stepped the short journey to his own skylight and took off the rucksack from his back; he knelt down and saw his wife playing with his daughter, and a languishing smile emerged on his face.

He gently knocked on the glass of the skylight and Davina stood up and opened it. David handed his wife the bag.

"Be back in two minutes," he announced to his now unhappy wife.

"Where are you going?"

"I just wanna check on the Bairds."

"Jesus, David, you can't be everyone's saviour, just stay here with us. With your
own
family."

"They're a nice family, I just want to see if they and the two girls are okay?"

Davina snarled, "And what about
your
two girls? Can't you just ring 'em?"

"My phone is in the car. It's only next door but one, I promise I won't go any further."

Davina didn't agree with her husband, but it was pointless arguing with him. She shook her head and waved at him as if to say,
do what you want!

He shut the roof window—or skylight—and made his way back to the top of the roof once more, and the scenes had become more incredible since the last time he had looked. There was more of them roaming around the streets, at least six in his own street, and dozens in the next one. It was frightening to watch, and he turned around with his back facing the macabre scene, and stepped carefully—like a tightrope walker—across the roof.

The houses were built in an eight block of terraces, and David and Davina's was the one at the end, which meant they had one less bedroom, but they had a bigger garden and a drive.

He had finally made it to the third skylight across the block,
his
being the first, and peered in. People used their attics for various reasons. He used his as a storage room, the Nobles converted theirs into an extra bedroom for their daughter, the Bairds seemed to have given up on theirs, as it was reminiscent of a shed; it was in a bad state. It looked like it was used for storage.

At least ours is neat and tidy, David thought. Which is where Davina could take all of the credit for that one.

David went to knock on the window of the skylight, but suddenly saw that it had been left slightly open, probably to let the air in on such a stuffy night. He opened it up and his instincts were telling him it was okay to go in.

He jumped inside, his feet slamming the wooden floor so hard that the soles of his feet stung. He had misjudged the height; it was higher than he had thought.

David walked over the closed hatch, bent down and spoke through it.

"Gerry, it's David Pointer from next door but one. If you can hear me, give me a holler."

David waited for a whole minute. He knew this for certain because he timed it on his Accurist wristwatch. He tried again, and repeated the same sentence. Once again there was no answer, but this time he thought, fuck it.

He stood over the latch and brought the heel of his shoe on top of the latch, although he was wary that there was a small chance he could fall through. He felt it give way a little, and brought it down once more to see the latch swing open, his momentum almost made him fall down the hatch. He fell backward onto the floor of the attic, and decided to gather his breath before descending to the first floor.

He was about to shout through the now opened hatch once more, but then he bit his lip. He wasn't sure there was anybody in; for all he knew, they could have fled. He couldn't remember if their car was sitting outside or not, so he wasn't entirely sure. Another scenario that entered his mind was that one of them could have been bit; they could be one of
them
and still inside, and all he had was a hammer!

There was no spiral staircase in the attic, as their attic was like his. It had a set of ladders that needed lowering down. This is exactly what he did; he lowered them as quietly as he could. At least now, if he was to be attacked, there would be a convenient escape route. He stepped down carefully and once he finally reached the bottom of the ladders, he adjusted them so they were easier to climb in case of an emergency.

He crept out of the bedroom and was on the landing, the set-up was the same as
his
house. There was a bedroom to his left and another two doors to his right; one was another bedroom and a bathroom.

He looked to his left, and with the tips of his fingers, he gently pushed the door open to reveal an empty bedroom. He walked across the landing and looked down the stairs and shouted
hello
. He was confident that if his voice attracted unwanted attention as far as the beings were concerned, he could outrun them and be on the roof by the time they got to the top of the stairs. After what he had witnessed from his roof, one thing he was certain of was that individually, they didn't posses too much of a threat to the average man, but when they were in their hordes or packs, there was a bigger reason to worry.

He continued to glare down the stairs, but there was no answer. He looked behind him and began to check out the two doors to the landing's right. Convinced that the house was empty, his bladder had decided that it needed draining. After doing so, and not flushing just in case the noise attracted unwanted attention from outside, he left the bathroom and went to the door next to it. Again, the door was closed like the other bedroom, but it hadn't been closed
properly
.

He placed his fingers on the door and pushed the door ajar, his psyche wasn't prepared to take in what he was about to see.

The first thing he could see was the cupboard up against the wall to the right, and he could also see the end of a bed. He stepped inside and walked further into the bedroom where he could now examine the whole of the bed, and the four lifeless figures lying at peace under the duvet. David knew the family well, they were the kind of family that kept themselves to themselves, but broke that rule with the Pointers because their daughters played with Isobel quite often. He tried his hardest to stop weeping.

Tears fell, but he held back his emotional outburst. He thought that the scene he was witnessing, was a scene that was probably happening to many families across the country.

Why would a parent want to bring a child into a new world like this? It was bad enough when humans ran the show.

David moved closer toward the front of the bed; the father was lying on his back with one of the twin girl's arms wrapped around him. The mother was on her side, spooning her other two-year-old daughter. Like their mother, the little girls were gorgeous things, blessed with long golden hair like the field of corn.

What must have those parents gone through at the time, knowing that they were responsible for their deaths?

They must have felt there was no other option. Their short little lives could leave the world sleeping with their parents, or being ripped to pieces by those…things!

Some people were holding out, others, like the Bairds, were not taking the chance.

David thought back to the scenario when the twin towers were burning and people began jumping to their deaths. Whatever option they chose, they were going to die anyway, so in this case, the parents picked the less cruel way to leave this Earth.

On the father's side of the bed, was a side table. On it, was a bottle of water with two empty bottles of painkillers lying on their side, and the powder that could be seen on the table suggested to David's mind that the tablets had to be crushed for the children to take them. The bodies, as well as the evidence how they died, was heartbreaking to see, as he could just imagine the scene and the build up to it.

He shook his head and tried to erase it from his mind, as David Pointer being mentally ill wasn't an option, especially when he had a wife and a four-year-old daughter relying on him.

Although David wasn't an avid churchgoer, he dropped to his knees and began to say the Lord's Prayer. It was the only prayer he knew from his school days. He felt he needed to do or say something, before leaving the family alone.

He got back to his feet, and left the family in their bed. For a minute, he thought about going downstairs to see what food was available. He was sure his family had enough to keep them going for a week or two, besides, now that the family were dead, it seemed disrespectful to empty their cupboards, and his bag was back at his house anyway. He promised himself that if the supplies began running low he would go back and see what there was to consume. He was hoping it wasn't going to come to that. He was sure that there would be some kind of government/army intervention by then—or at least, he hoped.

He crept downstairs out of interest, and not on the lookout for food, and peered into the kitchen, the bathroom and then finally, the living room. The window of the living room had two of the infected against the window; the crack on the window told him that they were trying to get in. As soon as they saw him, a new lease of energy was released and their groaning grew more boisterous. Their pale hands bashed against the huge pane of glass that had no chance of standing that kind of pressure for another ten minutes, he guessed.

One of them, who was dressed in works overalls as if they used to be a mechanic, banged on the window desperately with its fists, blood spat out of its mouth as it continued to moan at the torment that there was food inside, and the only thing that stood in the way was a pane of glass.

David decided not to hang about and ran upstairs; he got to the landing and began to climb the ladders back to the attic. He stopped climbing once he heard the shatter of glass from downstairs, and then continued to the top. He reached for the ladders to bring them back up. He was cocksure that the things weren't capable of climbing ladders, or stairs for that matter due to atrophy, and even then, having the balance to make their way over a roof.

Within a second, a seed of ambiguity was quickly planted in his psyche, and now he was thinking that maybe he wasn't entirely sure this was the case after all. So as an added precaution, he brought up the ladders and closed the hatch as extra insurance.

He could now hear the groans coming from the ground floor. They were in the house!

He didn't know whether they had the ability to climb in, or maybe they had just fallen in through the window after the glass had shattered, and then got back onto their feet. Whatever the reason, they were in, and it sounded like there were more than two of them.

He didn't hang around long enough to estimate the numbers, and lifted himself up through the skylight. This was hard work; it had been a while since David had been to the gym, and even then, pull-ups were not his strong point. He only needed to do one to get him to the roof, but he struggled nevertheless.

He finally managed to get himself back onto the roof, and welcomed the sunshine that greeted him warmly. He had grazed his leg slightly from a stray tile, but with the way the world was at the moment, there were other things that were going to keep him from sleeping tonight.

He thought about the message from the Nobles. If it was happening in the UK
and
New York, then surely this could be a global catastrophe.

Chapter Seventeen

Karen Bradley's Jeep roared like a beast and turned right at the Globe Island that was now being swarmed upon by at least twenty of the things, and she headed for Draycott Park, back to the area where she lived. She took another look at the tyre iron on the passenger seat, and kept saying to herself under her breath, "He's already dead. He's already dead."

The seventh time she said it, she broke down for a few seconds and cleared her throat, mentally reprimanded herself for being weak, and widened her eyes into the shapes of flying saucers to stop them from crying. She wiped her eyes to clear her cloudy vision, and took a deep breath, as she turned left into her secluded street. She immediately touched the brake at the bottom of the street and didn't progress anymore.

She could see her street had at least ten of the things roaming around her road. Even if she could somehow get into her house, she would have to kill Gary, before having to deal with the other beings trying to get in. They were relentless. She knew that.

She was convinced that they would bang on her windows until the glass eventually caved in. She didn't want to spend her time locked in her bedroom while these things roamed in the downstairs of her house. At least with wheels, she could move about, get food, get gas, get water, and go somewhere where it was less populated.

"Cocksuckers," she whispered with disdain. Her plan was up in the air. So what next?

She slipped the car into reverse and drove away from her street, heading toward the countryside. Her area was situated on the outskirts of Rugeley, and once she left the town, she would be greeted by two miles of countryside before reaching another populated area. If she continued to go straight on, she would end up in a smaller town called Hednesford. If she took the next left, she would drive up a steep hill and at the top was a secluded wooded area called Stile Cop, it was the highest point in Rugeley. It was popular with ramblers and dog walkers, and to the left and the right of the main steep road were the woods.

She planted her right foot on the gas pedal and sped out of the area. Suddenly her windscreen cracked. It gave her the fright of her life, and she let out a short shriek and lost control of the steering wheel, which span toward the left as she released it. The Jeep veered sharply and smashed into a brick wall of a garden, belonging to one of the residents of Draycott Park. It was one of the last houses before the beginning of the countryside.

She straightened her back to compose herself; her neck felt a little stiff, but was aware that the damage to her would have been more extreme if she had been travelling at a higher speed. Her hand took hold of the key once again, and before she had chance to fire the engine once more, she had received another fright as her driver's door suddenly swung open.

A knife was held to her throat and she was told to get out. A middle-aged man leaned over and unbuckled her seatbelt, she scratched the man's face and for her troubles, received a light punch in her stomach. The wind was taken out of her and she was callously dragged out of the car; she tried to grab the man and ripped his pocket seeing his wallet fall to the floor. She was then plonked onto the warm tarmac, and as she tried to get up, a younger man, no older than twenty, swung his boot into her midriff. She curled up like a frightened hedgehog, her weary eyes saw the individuals get into the Jeep and the vehicle shot off and turned left as if it was heading for Stile Cop, but it could have been going anywhere, Hazelslade, Upper Longdon or Lichfield. All these places were only a few miles away.

She coughed and couldn't believe the way she had been dealt with. She would have stopped for the men if they flagged her, but they had other ideas. It was literally every man for himself.

Why didn't they have a car themselves? She couldn't fathom where they had come from. Maybe they had ran out or were short on fuel. Or maybe the Jeep was more inviting than their own vehicle, because it had more room. Another reason for her carjacking was probably for the car itself. It had a hard steel bumper on the front, it was higher up than the average car, and as proved at Milford, was capable of creating damage to the things when it was going forward or backward, and it was less likely to cause engine damage when hitting the beings full on.

She dragged herself to her feet, coughed a little and was finally beginning to get her breath back, although her stomach was still smarting.

She was on the outskirts of her town and ran over to the cars that sat on the drives; one by one she started to try the doors. She knew there was a chance that the residents were in, but what were they going to do, call the police? She was certain that a police force of any sort probably didn't exist anymore.

She suddenly stopped what she was doing. Why was she trying the cars? She didn't have keys for them, and she certainly hadn't watched enough American TV shows to know how to hotwire one.

She looked around on the main road, and she could see that every house had their curtains drawn. She ran over to the very end house that was sporting a Vauxhall Corsa on the drive. She began to hammer on the front door of the house with her right fist. The commotion she was making was so rambunctious, it was loud enough to wake the first dozen houses, but she didn't care, like the men before her, she had become desperate. At last, a bedroom window opened above her where an elderly man peered over, he looked frightened to death.

"What do you want?" he whispered in fright, and looked over to his left.

"Let me in," Karen ordered with desperation.

"No chance. Besides, I've blocked up the entrance to the door now."

The man was on his way to closing his window when Karen spoke out. "At least give me your car keys."

"Fuck off," was the final reply from the old man as he shut his window.

Karen peered behind her, and once her eyes reported to her brain what she was seeing, her body furiously pumped with adrenaline. The pain in her stomach had miraculously disappeared, and her body had been given a new lease of energy. Without hesitation, she ran as fast as her legs would go. To
her
the legs weren't going fast enough as if they were made of lead, but it would have to do.

She could hear the shuffling behind her and could only assume that the noise from the initial carjacking, as well as the strident banging of doors from herself, had attracted these things. She took a quick look behind her, her neck cracking as she twisted it; there was nine of them and there was one particular one who moved quicker than the others. Some of the others were clumsy looking, like drunks after a Saturday night, but the now solitary figure that was yards ahead of his compatriots, was even
gaining
on an unfit Karen.

She cursed out loud, and told herself not to turn around and to concentrate on running as hurriedly and as hard as she could, but she possessed an abhorrence image that played in her mind. She was scared that, as she was running, a hand would eventually reach out and pull her to the ground. If she were going to be attacked, she would preferably be face-to-face to give herself a fighting chance.

She turned left, and now was heading up the long steep hill that led to a well-known beauty spot called Stile Cop, as well as the woods itself. She cried out in frustration, as even though her life depended on this, she knew she wasn't going to make it. She took another glance behind her, the hill didn't seem to be a problem for these creatures; they may as well have been moving on a flat surface. She was exhausted and could see the Stile Cop cemetery up ahead before where the incline started; she veered left to find the gates shut and locked. She placed her foot onto the railing and used every last bit of her strength to pull herself up and swing herself over the six-foot gates and landed on her back onto the grass with a painful thud. She looked to her right as she lay on her back, her lungs burning with pain, aching for oxygen.

She could see the hideous beings all crowding around the gate, their arms reaching in, desperate to touch her, to grab her, to bite her. She was confident that the steel gates were strong enough to hold them, and she remained on her back for a further minute trying to get her breath back, before getting to her feet.

Her heart skipped once she saw a dozen hands grabbing the gate and trying to shake it open, but it wasn't budging. She looked at the poor souls and saw that amongst them was a little boy called Harry—he lived in her street. Although recognisable, his face was pale; his mouth was bloody as if he had already fed on some poor individual. It was a strange predicament to be in.

Karen was in the local cemetery, and the boy who she had taught to whistle was desperate to rip her to pieces. She thought about if the worst came to the worst. There were nine of them, and she wouldn't stand a fighting chance, as she would be eaten in minutes; devoured before her very eyes until she passed out before her death. It was a death she wouldn't wish on her enemies—not that she had many.

She ran across to the other side of the cemetery, to the disgust of her admirers as they let out disgruntled-like groans as she moved further away. She climbed the fence and jumped onto the other side of the cemetery, and she was now in the woods.

If she ran through the woods to her left, she would be led out to another town called Brereton, but her plan was to avoid populated areas, as she thought the more populated, the more danger there was. She decided to head upwards through the woods; this would eventually lead to the Stile Cop beauty spot that was half a mile away. She could achieve this quicker by running along up the steep hill, but Stile Cop wasn't her intention, staying in the woods and being hidden was. She thought that there was a small chance that those things would eventually work out that if they walked around the perimeter of the cemetery fence, they could get into the woods and be on her trail, but it was a risk she was willing to take.

She decided on the woods for two reasons: one, she didn't really have much of a choice, and two; there were more obstacles for the things to get around. They didn't seem the brightest beings on the planet, but what they did have was a desire, their only goal—like hers—was to feed and survive, and they were determined in achieving that goal. They seemed devoid of much emotion, which told Karen that they had no sense of danger and feared nothing, which also made them extremely dangerous, and she guessed that they probably didn't sleep either, if they were classed as dead.

She had already tested out the theory of outrunning them on a flat road, and it was a battle she had nearly lost because of her already heavy and tired legs from working nightshift. The woods would provide a different scenario for them—or so she hoped. They walked and even ran awkwardly, and Karen was hoping that the woods would slow down their progress
if
they tried to follow her in.

She remembered playing in there as a kid, and if the place was similar to her memory she had of it as a child, then there was numerous obstacles that should slow them down like chopped down trunks from wood poachers, ditches, and a lot of rocks to climb, as well as the incline itself. Despite their persistence, balance didn't seem to be their strong point, even on a flat surface.

She waved her hands in front of her, brushing away the branches as she strolled through the condensed woods. She took one last look behind her before she progressed deeper, until the trees began to cover the sight of the cemetery. They were still at the gate, although one began to wander away back onto the road and headed back toward Rugeley. She could just about see this through the gaps in the trees, and it made her think that maybe the rest would follow the solitary figure back to the town.

She was convinced, however, that it was only a matter of time before they began stumbling their way up, following her trail. She still didn't understand too much about them; the only information she had was what she briefly saw on the television. She wasn't aware if they followed movement, or if they could actually pick up a scent the way animals did. She didn't have the answer, but she was aware there was a brook up ahead and that the first thing she was going to do was walk in it.

The two reasons she wanted to do this was to cool her body down—she was perspiring heavily and had no water on her. The other reason was to throw off a possible scent in case their instincts told them to enter further into the woods. Of course, she was unsure whether this would do any good and if it would slow down their progression, but she thought it couldn't do any harm. She had seen it many times in the movies before, where the bloodhounds were chasing the escaped prisoner, so she thought that it was worth a shot.