Snatchers (Book 8): The Dead Don't Pray

Snatchers 8: The Dead Don't Pray

By

Shaun Whittington

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2016

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The author uses UK English

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When you hear of wars and revolutions, do not be frightened. These things must happen first, but the end will not come right away.

LUKE 21:5-28

SNATCHERS 8: The Dead Don't Pray

Chapter One

July 28th

The two men crept their way to the next level of the building. Their heavy bags were already full with tins of food. They had two bags on each shoulder, but had been informed by a guard, before he was knocked out, that there were also medical supplies upstairs. Even if it was strips of bandages, tubs of painkillers or morphine, it was an opportunity not to be missed, as this was going to be the men's first and last raid on this place.

Using a lighter to see where they were going, Paul Frederick pointed over at a cupboard. He and Theodore Davidson—The Bear—marched over to it and opened it with ease to see medical supplies, all labelled, making it easy for the men to take what they really wanted.

Whilst stuffing their pockets, Paul Frederick turned to his colleague, and whispered, "We've been here nearly eight minutes. If someone sees that there's a guard missing outside..."

"Who's gonna see?" snickered Bear. "It's one ... two in the morning."

"Still ... let's get a move on. I don't want us to be killing any more people if we can avoid it."

Strips of painkillers were hanging out of Bear's full pockets, and he gave Frederick a nudge in his side. "I think that's enough."

Frederick put the lighter in his back pocket, drenching both men in darkness again, and said, "With what we've got back at the Spode Cottage and these four bags, we should be comfortable for a couple of weeks."

Bear smiled and said, "Maybe I'll go to Yorkshire, now we've got supplies that'll fill the jeep."

"I thought you said you was gonna go there in a few weeks."

"No point in waiting around." Bear took a slow breath in, and added, "Maybe after a decent fuel supply run and a bit more food,
then
we can go. I hate this fucking town, and with the Yorkshire Moors on your doorstep the chance of survival should be greater."

Bear made the descent to the ground floor with Frederick behind him, struggling with his two heavy bags. Once Bear reached the last step, he walked around the dead body that was lying face-down on the floor. Blood had pooled around the guard's head where Bear had smacked him with the guard's own claw hammer. He was the second individual he had attacked. This one was based inside the building. The first one that Bear took care of was
outside
the building. It was a simple punch to the jaw that took out the first guard, and he was quickly dragged out of view in case any eyes saw his motionless body.

Paranoid that they could be seen coming out of the building, the two men carefully peered out before stepping into the cool July night.

"Right," sighed Bear. "Back over the fence."

They walked by the building, went past the old football field where the animals were kept, and made as little noise as possible. They were yards from the wiry fence.

"Do you think the jeep will be okay?" asked Frederick in a whisper.

Bear nodded and spoke softly. "Leaving it on the Horsefair road was the only place I could park it. Once we're over that fence, we've only got a five-minute walk before we reach the jeep, and—"

"Don't move."

The female voice made both men stop in their tracks, and they slowly turned around to face the person who gave out the instruction, despite being told
not
to move. Bear and Frederick could see in the dusky area that a woman in her forties was holding a double-barrel shotgun, and was soon accompanied by a man that appeared to be her husband or partner. It looked like that both had just woken up.

Bear was baffled by this sudden appearance and couldn't help himself. "And where the fuck did you two come from?"

The man, standing next to the woman pointing the weapon, spoke up first. "We stay in a tent." He pointed over at the field. Neither Frederick or Bear could see the tent when they looked—or much of anything else for that matter, and turned their attention back to the couple. The man added, "We're farmers. We like to stay close to our animals, but the question is: Where the fuck did
you
come from? You're not a part of this camp."

Neither men answered.

"You thought you'd come over here and help yourself. Is that it?" The woman began to snicker falsely, now caressing the trigger, and said to her partner, "Lee needs to get the security in this place sorted out."

The man said, "There's a guard patrolling the perimeter of this camp. He's gonna be here soon."

Bear smiled. "Actually, by my calculations, your ...
guard
is by Hagley Park High School, on the other side of the camp, and is about fifteen minutes away.

The woman and man looked at another, confusion scrawled over their faces.

"We've been watching this place for a few days," explained Bear.

The male placed his hand on the woman's shoulder, and said, "I'm gonna get Lee and the others. If any of these pricks move..."

She nodded, but her face quivered with fright. Bear was certain that the woman or the man didn't have it in them to take a life. Bear took a quick gape at Frederick and gestured for him to follow him. Both men turned their backs and began to make the short walk to the wiry, flimsy fence that had the rail-track on the other side.

"Don't move." The woman's voice could be heard, but Bear was confident that nothing would happen. Her partner also repeated what she said.

"What are you going to do?" Bear exhaled noisily. "Shoot two men in the back?"

She struggled for words, and no words fell out either of her or her partner's mouth.

Bear and Frederick threw their bags over the fence, then climbed over with no resistance from the couple. They landed on the other side, and casually picked up the bags as if they had all the time in the world. Bear gave the shocked couple a glance, and said, "Don't feel bad. You seem like good people, and we didn't really take that much."

"We
are
good people," the man said, putting his arm around the woman that was still pointing the gun.

"But it's the good people that aren't gonna last in this world."

"You lead the way, Bear," Frederick spoke up, urging Bear to get a move on. "I don't really know where I'm going."

The men trudged away, watched by the couple from the other side of the fence, and both men were eventually swallowed up by the darkness.

Minutes later they climbed another wiry fence, throwing their bags over first, and walked along the dirt path, finally reaching the main road. The jeep sat idle, waiting for their return, and all it had for company was a lone ghoul stumbling around the front of it.

"I'll get it." Bear threw his two bags on the floor, next to the boot of the vehicle, and told Frederick to get all the bags in the back. Theodore Davidson then pulled his kukri out of its leather holster and walked towards the creature. It looked to be a senior citizen in its former life, and he guessed that the hunched-over old woman probably walked the same way when she was a human.

It turned around to face Bear, and with only metres between the pair of them, Bear allowed the thing to stumble towards him. The blade went into the front of the skull, dark blood spat out, and the milky eyes rolled before it dropped to its knees, then its face hit the concrete with a hard splat.

"Are you okay?" asked Frederick from behind. He then slammed the boot shut after placing the bags in.

"Of course I'm alright." Bear held up his right wrist, to reveal the rainbow bracelet that he had found at a grave at the back of the Spode Cottage Caravan Park, and said jokingly, "I have my lucky bracelet on. What could go wrong?"

Frederick could see another three beasts walking around the corner of the Wetherspoons pub; he got inside the vehicle and urged Bear to hurry up. Bear got in the driver's side, started the engine and drove away. He put on the full beam, as he progressed along the Brereton Road, and could see just two of the dead up ahead.

"A good night's work." Bear turned to the side and looked at Frederick for a reaction, but he remained silent. "What's up with you?"

"Nothing." Frederick shook his head and looked agitated.

Bear swerved around the two dead, missing them by inches, and turned his attention back to Paul Frederick. "You're not still pissed about your buddy, Johnny Wilson, are you?"

Frederick bit his bottom lip, but words did finally manage to spill out of his mouth. "You cut out Willie's tongue about five days ago," he said with disgust. "Then two days later you cut his throat while he slept. So forgive me if I'm a little tetchy."

"I wouldn't do anything to
you
," Bear tried to appease the nervous man.

"And how do
I
know that? I've been sleeping with one eye open for the last couple of nights."

"Because he was useless, and you're not."

Thirty-one-year-old Paul Frederick scratched at his short blonde hair, and began to stare out of the window, watching the bushes and houses whizzing by. "I wanna get drunk when we get back to the cottage."

"Wait until later," scoffed Bear. "There's plenty to choose from in the cellar. Although the wine rack looks a bit dodgy, with the blood and other shit that's all over it. I think someone probably killed themselves down there."

"I don't blame them," Frederick sighed.

Chapter Two

Bentley Drummle winced in dread when he picked up the pair of pliers. He took another swig of the cheap whisky before putting the tool in his mouth. He felt for the second premolar at the bottom of his jaw, and removed his fingers once the pliers had gripped the tooth. It had been throbbing for days. After spending all yesterday rocking the thing with his thumb and forefinger, he was ready for the painful, but necessary, extraction of the pesky tooth.

Puffing out his chest, he rocked the tooth with the tool and could already feel it loosening. He pulled out the pliers, and took another swig of whisky before making his second attempt on pulling the damn thing out. Bentley lowered his head and muttered to himself, "Come on, man. It's just a tooth. You've been through a lot worse."

He put the pliers back into his mouth and gripped the painful tooth. He yanked the tool to the right, hearing and feeling the sickening cracks from inside his mouth, then pulled the gripping tool to his left. His face twisted in pain as he repeated this process. The cracking continued and a tiny squelching sound twisted his guts, and he could now feel the salty taste of blood filling his mouth. He pulled out the pliers and threw them to the floor.

It wasn't quite out yet.

He spat a mouthful of blood onto the carpet, then put his right thumb and forefinger into his mouth. He gripped the already-loose tooth and wiggled it from side-to-side until it finally came out of the bleeding gum.

Bentley Drummle placed the tooth on the side-table, and spat out another mouthful of blood and saliva onto the floor. He rubbed the spittle into the carpet with the sole of his shoe, and reached for the whisky once more.

It was the early hours of Saturday morning, and for the next hour he was going to get drunk.

*

Seven-year-old Kyle Dickson's eyes suddenly opened.

His breathing was quick and shallow, and the little boy turned to the side of him and realised he was alone. Where was his dad?

He sat up and rubbed his eyes, then scanned the dark bedroom. He had just awoken from a dream about being chased by land-moving sharks, but the real world that he lived in was more horrific.

"Daddy?"

He stepped off of the bed, and crept out of the room with his heart beating out of his chest. He was scared and was close to tears as he reluctantly walked onto the dark landing, but he needed to find his daddy. Where was he?

He peered into the room where Lisa slept and could see the lump under the duvet, and smiled that at least
she
was still there. He moved away from the room and headed for the stairs. He looked down and could see that it was an eerie sight to behold. He then heard noises from the living room area. It sounded like ... crying.

Not again, daddy.

He sighed, and made the descent with less panic in his little body, knowing that his dad was downstairs. He had seen this before. He had
been
through this many times before.

As soon as his little feet made it to the ground floor, he crept in the darkness through to the living room and could see his dad, sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. It broke the little boy to see his father like this, and could feel his throat getting tighter as his dad sobbed.

Kyle walked further into the room and over to his father. The little boy stopped a few yards away from his dad, and stared at him as the broken man continued with his breakdown.

Paul Dickson stopped crying, cleared his throat, and looked up, knowing that there was another presence in the room. He stared at Kyle, and even in the dusky light he could see his boy was upset. Kyle slowly walked over to his father, who now had his arms out, and both father and son embraced. Paul smelt his son's strawberry blonde hair and could feel the little fellow's tears on the side of his neck.

Kyle pulled away from his dad and could see that the man that he looked up to, his hero, was broken. Kyle touched his dad's cheek with his soft palm and his daddy held the hand, turned and kissed it.

"It's okay, daddy." Kyle said with a shudder. "I miss mummy and Bell as well."