Snatchers: Volume One (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 1-3) (24 page)

Chapter Forty One

Pickle stood guard with his Browning pistol tightly gripped as the Pointers, with the exception of David, washed their bodies in the cold brook and brushed their teeth.

Pickle was aware that the paranoid father was eyeing him to make sure he wasn't lusting after his wife, and more importantly, his little girl. Pickle was on high-alert despite the father's paranoia, and occasionally the inmate had to look over the direction of his wife and daughter, making sure that nothing was about to attack them from the condensed trees. The brook wasn't the cleanest of waters, and only drinkable if it came to desperate times. Pickle was hoping that that situation would never materialise.

He looked around the wood and found that the darkness had fallen quite rapidly.

"We're gonna have to hurry this up," Pickle politely announced to the family.

His neck twisted from left to right, constantly, as his eyes were straining to focus around the dusky area. Noticing Pickle's consternation, David ushered his wife and daughter away from the brook.

Davina put the toiletries in a carrier bag and carried them, as David picked up his daughter and placed her on his shoulders. Isobel was complaining about the tree branches scraping her head, and David was trying to quicken his pace as the long walk felt longer with extra weight on his shoulders, and even more so with his stomach groaning to be fed. His thoughts dreamed about the barbecue that was going to be waiting for them.

Chicken breasts, burgers, sausages and steaks!

He was salivating just at those words alone, and he hadn't even smelt anything yet.

Isobel turned around to Pickle who was walking behind the family; his Browning was held in the right hand, cocked and the safety catch on.

"Mr Pickle?" she said in a sweet voice.

Pickle chortled and shook his head. "Just call me Harry, darling."

"Harry, are you a police officer?" Isobel bit her lower lip.

Pickle laughed again and probably thought it was the gun that gave her that impression; David and Davina joined in the hilarity, and laughed with their daughter.

"God no. I'm the opposite."

He could see her little face working overtime, and she finally asked, "What do you mean?"

"I used to be a bad man, who the police didn't like."

"Why? What did you do?"

The parents were wondering the same, and David was praying that it wasn't for a sex crime.

"I used to sell bad substances to desperate people," Pickle said honestly. "But no' anymore."

They were two minutes away from the beauty spot, and David was convinced he could smell burning red meat, unless it was his imagination.

"What's that?" Isobel queried.

All three adults stopped in their tracks; the area was becoming less condensed since they left the brook, which was a sign that they were getting nearer to the beauty spot. The ground was bumpy with small ditches and broken branches, and the slight incline increased their energy that was needed to make it.

It obviously felt so easy on the way to the brook, but now that they were walking up and were getting hungry, they were becoming a little impatient and agitated, especially David.

"What was
what
, honey?" David was wide-eyed and glared at Pickle. "What did you see, Babs?"

Isobel said, "I thought I saw something."

Pickle ushered the family to continue, and once they got to the edge of the woods and the beginning of the beauty spot, they could see KP standing over a small fire, with the van parked across the entrance, and their own car in its original place.

As soon as he put Isobel back on the floor, David was startled when Pickle grabbed his shirt. "I'm gonna check it out, I won't be long. If it's one o'
them,
we can't let it wander around while we're up here."

"Do you want me to get the others?"

"No point worrying them; tell them I'm takin' a piss."

David nodded.

Pickle turned back into the woods, and knew there was little time to waste, as the blue, bruised-looking sky was growing gloomier by the minute. He sneaked roughly where Isobel thought she had seen something, and his senses were alert once he heard the snap of a branch.

His eyes narrowed, but it didn't enhance his vision in the dusky light; it was night vision goggles that he required to see anything. He took a step closer, and could feel the tension rushing through him. Should he shout out if there's anyone there? He was caught in two minds; whatever or whoever it was, it was going to have to be confronted nevertheless.

Suddenly the sight of trees fell downwards from his vision; he felt a violent thud hit him in the middle of his face and fell backwards as his eyes pissed out salt water, which was a reaction to his smarting nose. All he could see now, was a blurred version of the darkening, starless sky.

"I'm sorry," came a female voice he wasn't familiar voice. "I thought you were one of
them."

Pickle slowly sat up, and touched his nose, it wasn't broken but it was definitely bleeding.

"What are yer doing here?" he spoke at last. "Jesus, I could o' shot yer."

"Same as you, trying to survive."

Pickle looked at the woman; she was attractive and there was something else about her that he found endearing. There hadn’t been many people that had managed to put him down over the years, certainly not a woman. She brushed her brown hair behind her ears and looked generally sorry for her understandable action.

"Pickle." He held out his hand, and placed his gun into the back of his trousers.

She stared at the hand suspiciously, and Pickle was confused by this behaviour and took a look at his hand. Realising it had his blood on it, he wiped the hand on his combat trousers and held it out for a second time.

"Karen Bradley." She shook it this time, and asked another question. "Where you from?"

Pickle laughed, and dabbed his bleeding nose on his camouflage shirt that he had earlier took from the supermarket. "Prison," he replied.

He could tell by Karen's face that she didn't understand, so he explained it to her in short, as daylight was nearly over. "I have a crew, we got out o' prison, there's five of us, and two o' them are officers."

Again, the facial expression of Karen suggested that she was finding his explanation hard to fathom.

"I'll explain later; there's also a nice family up there. Obviously we're all frightened to death, but we have guns, a van full o' food and water. Come and join us."

Pickle realised that he had earlier made a statement about blocking the entrance with the van so other people couldn't get in, which would give them another mouth to feed, but he liked Karen, he liked her a lot, and she was on her own. It wasn't as if she had turned up at the spot with a van full of hungry people.

"Sounds too good to be true." She smiled with suspicion.

"How have yer managed so far?"

She turned her head over her shoulder and nodded through the trees. "Got a bag full of tins over there."

"Fancy a barbecue?"

She nodded with a grin. "Now that sounds magic."

She sniffed and emptied the contents of each nostril onto the floor, by using her thumb. She sniffed hard as she finished her nose-emptying and apologised to the muscular inmate.

"That's okay." He beamed. "It's not as if we live in a civilised world anymore, right?"

Chapter Forty Two

He had made his decision; it was going to happen sooner or later and there was no chance he could pull off his fake starvation, and the opened slider door was messing with his head. He had no bag to take with him and decided on his original plan: stuff his face till he was almost sick, and then escape.

He was hoping that the food would keep him going for a day or two if need be, and wasn't worried about hydration. He was going to hydrate himself before he left as well as leaving with a half litre bottle.

Gary Jenson had so far eaten two pre-packed BLT sandwiches, two scotch eggs and a full packet of chocolate biscuits that accompanied his piping hot mug of coffee. He took a generous swig of water and decided, despite the darkness outside, he would jump the fence, and if there were no cars to break into, he would spend the night hidden on the grounds until daylight. So long as the two thugs thought he was out of the way, he was convinced that he would be safe.

His bowels were telling him that a clearout was needed before he proceeded with his adventure. After the action had taken place, he peered out of his cell, and saw the two inmates walking on the ground floor of E wing. Gary was convinced that Jason Bonser and Kyle Horan had probably killed any remaining prisoners that had decided to stay behind, but he wasn't entirely sure, as he hadn’t been on F or G wing.

He trotted his way down the steel steps, and bolted out of the door into the exercise yard.

Gary was aware that his escape would fuel the men's paranoia. In their eyes, if this prisoner escaped and told people from the outside that there was a prison full of food with only two inmates inside, Gary could come back with other people and could break in, especially with the main gate being open, which they still didn't know about yet.

He breathed in the fresh air and mentally embraced it; it was the first time he had experienced the night air for months. He looked up to the house block one windows, and it seemed relatively quiet.

God, they must be starving in there, Gary thought.

He looked at the fence that would lead across the football pitch and into the reception area of the prison, and thought to himself that the 'escape' looked fairly easy. The huge slider door near the reception area that was used for deliveries and taking prisoners to and from court, was already open, and that was going to make his escape less troublesome.

He looked around and saw the fence in front of him; it looked unsteady, probably because it had felt the weight of prisoner after prisoner climbing it the other day, and with the barbed wire being covered with duvets, sheets and pillows, the only thing Gary had to fear was if he lost his grip and fell to the floor.

Being injured and out in this new world that was developing, wouldn't be the best way to start his newfound freedom. He needed to survive, and the only person he could think of who would put him up, was Jemma.

Jemma Marlow had the patience of a saint. Her parents had scolded her for being in a relationship with a jailbird, but she was in love. Before Gary's incarceration, he had set up a place in Hazelslade with Jemma, a few months before Christmas, and as usual, had messed things up by being caught stealing a car. In the past, that was how he made his money. He would steal a high-quality car, hand it into an associate, he was then given a small cut, and then he would do it all again.

He had promised Jemma that he would get a real job and try and keep on the straight and narrow. It lasted only months. The only job he could get was working in a cafe, flipping burgers. Outside of the job, he was making extra pocket money by stealing a car a night, and then heading home without arousing suspicion. His downfall was to steal an unmarked police car in the car park of a supermarket. Unbeknown to Gary Jenson, the officers were inside the supermarket's café eating their breakfasts.

It wasn't a story a criminal like Gary would brag about, but somehow the story about the stolen police car had surfaced on the wing and had made Gary a little bit of a hero, but also a figure of fun.

He jumped onto the fence with his small hands just about being able to grip the wiry pattern of the fence, and although having trouble getting his toes in the gaps, he never fell once.
Now, the tough bit
.

His body lay on the top where the duvets were, and despite the protection he had, he could still feel the barbed wire trying to pierce its way through the sheets, duvets and cushions that sat on top of it. It made him wonder how sore it would be if he ever became tangled up in the stuff for real without any kind of protection. Not entirely calm with heights, he swung himself over to the other side of the fence, where the floodlights lit up the football pitch.

"Where the fuck are
you
going?"

Gary nearly released his grip in fright, and quickly climbed down as Kyle Horan and Jason Bonser marched over to the other side of the fence on H wing's yard.

"I thought you wanted to die in here," Kyle snarled, and pushed the fence with the palm of his hand, making it rock. "Were you making a fool out of us?"

"I changed my mind."

"What are you playing at?" Bonsor intervened.

Gary sighed, "Look, I lied to you. I thought it'd only be a matter of time before you guys were gonna kill me, because if I stayed, I'd be another mouth to feed. And if I left, you'd be paranoid that I could tell people about the abandoned prison that's got weeks of food with only two inmates inside. Not only that, I've just noticed that the slider door is open. Within a few days, the grounds could be crawling with those things. All of that combined, I don't feel safe here."

"Shit." Bonsor stared at the huge opened door from afar. It was the first time he had noticed it, as their own exercise yard on E wing never had the same view as H wing. "Just come back," Bonsor spoke with assured calmness. "There's enough food for everyone, it's too dangerous out there."

"Everyone is dead out there," Kyle Horan spoke.

Gary shook his head, and was certain that they wanted him back so they could finish him off. To them, Gary was a dangerous source of information and could be a massive threat to Bonser's and Horan's food supply. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe paranoia was playing with him. "You don't know that."

Bonser added, "You don't know either."

"Look, guys, I won't tell anyone that there's only two people left on the house block and a prison full of food, if that's what you're worried about. Why would I? I have no intention of coming back. In fact, go to H fifty-six."

"H fifty-six?" Bonser's eyes narrowed. "What's in H fifty-six?"

"A shit load of food, that's what. Don't come after me guys. I'll be gone before you make the fence. I'll even see if I can get that slider door shut for you."

"You'll never get inside a secure building like that." Bonser pointed at the gatehouse.

Gary turned his back, half-expecting the fence to be rattling with the two men climbing after him, but it never materialised. He jogged across the football pitch, which caused a few begging voices, from behind him in house block one, to restart their stories of woe.

He shut out the noise and heard from behind him, "Hey fella!"

Gary stopped running and turned around, it was Bonser; he raised his hand at Gary. "Good luck."

"You too," Gary responded, and continued to jog towards the slider. Maybe he
was
being paranoid? Maybe they had no intention of doing him harm?

Kyle turned to Bonser. "If he so much as tells anyone about this place and that there's just the two of us left, we could be in a shit load of trouble if a clan comes back in numbers…with weapons."

Bonser sighed, "I trust him. Besides, we're in the middle of nowhere. You're gonna have to be pretty desperate to break into this place. Let's not forget, we're not going to be in here forever ourselves, just until we run out of resources. By then, this…thing should have died down, or at least be under control by then."

"I hope you're right." Kyle then nodded over to the opened slider. "If he can't get that thing shut, what happens if those things come in through there?"

Bonser gulped then shrugged his shoulders. "Let's worry about that if it happens."

Gary ran with ease. One thing Gary hadn't lost when he was incarcerated was his cardio fitness; he had spent four days a week in the gym, using the treadmill. At the time, this was looked down upon by most inmates, as the preference was to lift weights and bulk themselves up as much as they could, whereas Gary preferred to keep his heart in good working order and remained slight in body shape.

He stopped running once he walked past the huge main slider. Bonser was right, there was no chance he could get into the gatehouse. Gary continued to walk and was now in the car park, where only two cars remained sitting under the yellow flooded area thanks to the lights from above.

He looked around to see if the area was unthreatened; he had heard about what was happening, but so far he had no first-hand experience with any of the deadheads—which was one of the names given to them by the media.

The area was clear, but he didn't want to hang around too long. Thank goodness there were two cars in the park; he didn't fancy walking the country roads of Stafford in the darkness, and the safer option of staying on the grounds until daylight never really appealed to him either.

The first car that he walked over to was a white Clio, not his first choice of car and a bit girlie for him. He remembered his friend Gavin Johnson had bought a cherry coloured Clio and was ribbed by his friends for weeks for his purchase. Gary went along with the ribbing, but deep down thought the car looked decent and only joined in because of peer pressure. It even came to the point where they refused to get in the car, if ever they were taking a ride out somewhere. Gavin Johnson stuck to his guns for as long as he could, but eventually caved in and sold the car for a black Astra.

Gavin Johnson. I wonder what he's doing now? I wonder if he's alive?

The Clio held his attention only shortly as he began to salivate over the red Porsche 911.

Gary was bemused that it was still sitting there. He thought that the slider door was only opened when the officers had left last, as he noticed a prison van missing. Most of the prisoners left the exercise yard and scaled the wall at the sides of the prison. If they were allowed to simply walk out of the front gate, there was no chance those cars would still be sitting there, Gary thought.

Forgetting that the surveillance cameras around the car park weren't being watched and controlled by no one anymore, out of habit, Gary took a look around before he unscrewed the aerial off the Clio and used it to prise the door of the Porsche open.

The looking was an automatic rule of his, and he released a breathy laugh as soon as he made his careful observations, realising they were unnecessary.

He then sat in the driver's seat and looked under the steering wheel; took off the cover, and took the wires from behind the ignition. He put the cables together and twisted them tightly and then predictably, the car started. He had done this a hundred times before. Different cars had different methods, and normally he would go to 'work' using a screwdriver, a torch and some strong tape to keep the cables together.

As the engine came alive, he hit the gas pedal a few times to get a feel of the car, and a smile scattered across his face. He hit the gas pedal once more and could feel the excitement rushing through his bloodstream; he took a sharp intake of breath and blew out his cheeks to try and dampen some of the excitement that was making him shake.

He made himself comfortable, and reached over for the door handle to shut the door. He locked all doors as a safety measure, and the car excitedly squealed its way out of the car park.

Next stop, Hazelslade.