Snatchers: Volume One (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 1-3) (36 page)

Chapter Three

Her careful feet almost glided through the long grass. Her progression was slow, but a necessity in order not to raise suspicion amongst anything that could be classed as a predator in the woods. Her stroll to the brook was a ponderous affair, but time was something she had plenty
of
these days. She carried with her, a carrier bag with utensils she wouldn't normally find in her shower, but she was in no position to be picky.

She hadn't showered in a week and although the smell wasn't something that bothered her partner, who sat at the side of the road in the van waiting for her to finish, it bothered
her
a great deal. The greasy hair was making her scalp itchy as if it was plagued with lice, and made her agitated as she scratched herself constantly. Her overall odour wasn't too bad for someone who hadn't been bathed for a week, and not cleaning her privates was something that was also bothering her, as it was something that she had never experienced in her adult life.

She finally reached a stream, but wasn't entirely sure how clean it was. They had previously driven by a canal, however, from neglect and the petroleum from the barges, the canal water was a coffee colour and might have carried all kinds of infections, so she opted for the stream, which seemed a lot clearer, although she wasn't expecting it to be perfect.

She plonked the carrier bag down and pulled out a crumpled, but fresh, black plain T-shirt, as well as a fresh pair of dark blue jeans.

She took a look around and took out her Browning that was inserted in the front of her trousers, and carefully placed it at the side of the stream. She then began to strip off her dirty rags that were decorated with days of perspiration and the occasional spray of blood. She had washed her face and armpits with a damp cloth two days ago, but this time she needed to clean herself up properly.

She stripped till her body was exposed; her skin was covered in scratches and contusions that were reminders of the crazy week she had had. She perspired even when naked, as the sun had returned after a few days of wet misery, and had shone on the area strongly, just like it did the weekend before, and the wind filtered through the trees and mumbled in her ear for a brief while.

The final piece of clothing she had removed were her socks. She took them off one by one, by standing on her left leg and taking off her right sock, and vice versa. Every item of clothing had been taken off and screwed into a ball; she had no intention of wearing them again, even if there was a launderette nearby. As far as she was concerned, they were pieces of clothing that were contaminated; they possessed physical and mental reminders of the last week, which consisted of pain, misery and death, and she was glad to have finally dumped them.

She stepped into the brook, making frantically sure she didn't step onto any sharp objects. She let out a moan once her toes touched the water and her brain had registered that the water was ice cold. From the bottom of her feet to her cranium, she could feel her temperature plummeting in a good way, and threw her head back in ecstasy. She squatted slowly; her shoulders shivered once her genitalia was stroked by the miniature icy waves of the stream that gently licked her with its frozen tongue.

She had a paranoid look to see there were no small fish that were swimming, and then thought to hell with it, and squatted further, with her bottom now only centimetres from the sandy floor. She shot back up, now that she had desensitised herself from the cold water, and grabbed a sachet of shampoo, although not her usual brand, and some soap from the bag that was sitting at the edge of the bank.

She scrubbed and soaped herself up furiously as if she was on a time limit, and squatted to wash her hair with the water that before felt like something from the Arctic. She scrubbed her body and finally washed her genitalia that hadn't been washed in a week, and sat in the water for a minute before getting out to put on her new clothes.

As she never owned a towel, she stood on the edge of the stream and allowed the water to drip off her shivering body. The sun's rays that forced its way through the cracks in the trees was also helping to speed up the drying process, although at the time it didn't feel like it was helping as her frame shuddered with the cold, her body quaking uncontrollably.

She looked around the woods and found it to be abandoned of life. Not a deer, or anything else for that matter, could be seen. She took out a pocket mirror and a pair of tweezers from the bag and checked her eyebrows. They seemed reasonably okay, apart from a few stray hairs, and she began plucking. Ten seconds later her head whizzed round to the left as a snap of a branch could be heard. She stopped doing what she was doing, and began to get dressed. She put her jeans on, wearing no panties; she put on her black T-shirt, with no bra to accompany her, and pulled out a pair of white socks. She brushed the dirt off the soles of her feet before putting them on, and then her black canvas shoes were next.

She glared back into the trees and saw, in the distance, a figure clumsily stumbling towards her as if their boots were made of jelly. She picked up her Browning handgun and put it into the back of her jeans. There was only one of them, so she didn't want to waste a bullet, or attract anything else from afar. She was under strict instructions to be controlled at all times, and the trigger-happy female adhered to this rule that had been set by her male friend.

She put her hand into the stream and pulled out a large stone that looked like the shape of a cricket ball. She held the thing tightly and allowed the being to stumble towards her. She could have outran the thing easily, but she was aware that there was a good chance it would follow her.

It was now a matter of yards away, and the quick-thinking woman, took off her T-shirt in case there was any splatter from the wound the thing was about to receive. She stood in a position like a shot-putter, ready to strike, her breasts exposed.

As it approached nearer, now only five yards away, she could see the rotten creature. Its face was yellow and bloated; its mouth black with decay, the eyes were milky and the eye sockets looked like they had been overdone with black and blue eye shadow. It was a grisly sight, but it was a sight she was used to by now.

And so was killing these things.

As she watched it stumble towards her; she picked her right leg up, the same way Ralph did at the end of The Karate Kid movie, and extended her leg and threw her hip forward. Her foot slammed into the torso of the being and it fell backwards onto the floor making no sound at all. She walked over, and with each foot, she stood on its moving arms. She was now standing over it as it was now unable to move; its head jerked forward and it growled in frustration that no matter how hard it tried to jolt forward, it couldn't get near the woman, as its face was looking up to the inside of her thighs.

It made one last snarl in an attempt to be free. She squatted down; still standing on its arms, and with both hands she brought the rock down onto its forehead. Three times was all it took before the skull eventually split open, and the beast remained still forever.

Still holding the rock, she opened her eyes and looked at the stone that was now decorated in black juice that had escaped from inside its head; she threw it into the long grass that swallowed the infected rock. She stood up straight and took her feet off the arms, and for a second, thought about dumping the body into the stream, but then realised that future survivors could turn up to the area one day and might need the stream to wash and even drink. Having one of these deadheads polluting the water would not be a good move. She checked her bare chest and noticed a few specks of black on her exposed skin, but not much.

She went back over to the stream and quickly washed the specks off of her body, and then she placed her T-shirt over her head and combed her hair back with her fingers.

Once she was ready to leave, she picked up the carrier bag and stared at the lifeless body that used to be a young man. What did it used to do for a living? Maybe in the normal world, they had both crossed paths. Maybe he used to be a good person, with a beautiful family. Maybe he was a bastard and beat on his girlfriend. Whatever he used to be, he had died a while back and she huffed at the creature that had interrupted her bathing time.

She emptied each nostril individually, by placing her forefinger against the side of the left nostril while blowing out of the right, and repeated the action with the other nostril.

She took one last look at the body and sniffed, "Cocksucker."

Karen Bradley then walked away from the scene, heading for the van where her partner was waiting for her a few hundred yards away on the road.

She stopped suddenly and wondered what the hell had happened to her. She thought about her mother, her father in Glasgow who had re-married, and Kelly, her stepsister.

And Gary.

Poor Gary.

In a matter of a week she had changed, and she was certain that her changing so quickly was the reason why she was still alive today, rather than acting like some stereotypical woman one would see in the movies that would run around screaming and hiding behind the tough male.

No.

This wasn't some Hollywood movie.

This was really happening.

And Karen Bradley had found some strength from somewhere to somehow do what many other people had failed to do: survive. She had had some luck along the way. Meeting Pickle was a massive slice of luck, but for how long were they going to be together? This thing was only a week old—officially—and they had lost a few people along the way on that terrible early morning, three days ago.

She began to walk again and sniffed hard to control her emotions that were beginning to spiral out of control while her mind was on the reminiscing road, and wiped the bottom of her eyelids with her forefinger while she was coming to the edge of the woods. She was now only twenty yards from the prison van.

"Get yourself together, girl," she jokingly reprimanded herself, and produced a false beam once Pickle clocked her coming out off the woods. The windows of the van were down and he had one of those disappointed-father looks.

He sighed and shook his head. "Wouldn't it have been easier to just walk away from that thing?"

"Probably." She smirked, and then shrugged her shoulders. "Let's just call it…therapy."

Pickle sighed and started the engine. Karen had done a pointless and reckless thing by killing the lone Snatcher that could have been easily outran, and Pickle couldn’t understand why she did it. He drove away and, as soon as she got in, Karen began to deliberate on what had just happened.

She looked at Pickle's disappointed face as he made a left turn.
Maybe he's got a point
.

Chapter Four

His watch told him that it was half-past eleven, but he felt like it was later. He had been in prison for just a week since the news had broke, and couldn't stop thinking about what he was missing outside.

Sure, the world was going to hell in a handcart, but being inside still prevented him from tasting the finer and the naughtier things in life, like alcohol, cakes, women, and so on.

Jason Bonser strolled out from his cell and his presence arrived on the abandoned wing. Each footstep was a reminder that he was almost alone as the steps echoed through the desolate prison. He walked with heavy boots to the opened slider that led to the other three vacant wings. He took a tense gander to his right, where the exercise yard door was still open. It had been nearly a week since the officers had left the prisoners to their own devices, but at least on their block they had the decency to release them. On the other block, the officers left in panic and let the prisoners starve to death. Most of them were probably dead now, he thought.

He went into a cell and made himself a coffee. He knew the electrics would go eventually, so while he still had the chance, he drank tea and coffee constantly. There was still plenty of food left on the wing, but the boredom was killing him and the lack of human contact was distressing him, although he thought that that was something that wouldn't bother him at the height of the panic when the announcement was fresh.

He was wrong.

Now that his mobile phone had died on him two days ago—it had been originally sneaked onto the wing to make drug deals—he had no contact from his colleagues and pals who were on the road heading to Scotland last time he spoke to them. They figured that the less populated the area, the better, and decided to go as far north as possible.

The trouble with the 'less populated area' theory was the potential lack of facilities and food that came with it. He thought that the options were terrible whatever they decided to choose. Do you stay in a populated area where it's more dangerous, but could possibly thrive off the food and fuel that was hopefully still available? Or, do you go to the middle of nowhere where there was less of those things, but a larger chance of dying of dehydration or starve to death?

He headed for the exercise yard door on E wing, and took a stroll outdoors. The area was desolate and there was nothing to see. So he walked back inside and decided to walk past the bubble through the already-opened slider doors, and take in some air on the exercise yard on H wing for a change of scenery. He walked along the yard on his own, his head looking down on the floor, and kicked at the loose bits of gravel.

At first, the noise sounded like a faded car engine or the buzzing of a swarm of bees, but he couldn't have been more wrong.

He looked up and stared at the chain-linked fence that surrounded the exercise yard and gulped hard. It took a while for his brain to soak up the information his eyes were witnessing, but as soon as his flustered-filled legs were allowed to move again, he walked, as if they were made of rubber, back inside to H wing. He never caught his reflection, but could feel that his face had been sucked of blood. He felt giddy as if he had tried a marijuana joint for the very first time, and called out to his friend, Kyle, in a broken voice.

Kyle Horan jogged from E wing to H wing and slowly stopped his momentum, knowing by the look of his friend's face that there was something wrong. Kyle shrugged his shoulders at his friend. "What's up?"

"Get your things, we're going."

"What?"

"Trust me, we need to go. Now! Before there's more of them."

"What are you talkin' about?" Once Kyle spoke, Jason Bonser winced slightly once he caught the man's breath, as his teeth hadn't been brushed yet. He beckoned Kyle to go with him so he could show him something. It was just to make sure he wasn't dreaming, or going mad.

They both stepped out into the fresh late morning air, and both men gazed wide-eyed at the situation that was unfolding before them. Their blood felt that it was slowly freezing; the smell of death was walking nearer to them as the ghouls approached in a slow demonic wave. It took a while for them to speak, but when they did, it was Kyle. "How many, do you think?"

Jason Bonser shook his head. "Dunno. One...maybe two...hundred."

They looked on as the swarm of bodies filtered onto the football pitch, heading for the fence that separated them from the exercise yard. The huge slider door had been left opened, and Kyle cursed the very same officers that had released them from their cells a week earlier.

At the time, Janine Perry and Jamie Thomson thought they were doing the cons a favour, and overall, they were, but the few that were left behind had been left vulnerable due to the huge opened slider door that was used for deliveries, but now it was an entrance for the dead to wander.

"We're in the middle of nowhere," Jason spoke, his words soaked in bemusement. "The nearest village is a mile away. So how the fuck did they get here? What made them come here? I never thought that this would happen."

Kyle's first response was to shake his head. He made a solid gulp.

Bonser added, "Even if they can't get through the exercise yard's fence, what are we to do? Stay in here and eventually starve to death? Let's face it, we fucked up by thinking we'd be better off in here."

Kyle was adamant. "We didn't fuck up; the officers fucked up for letting the slider door open."

"But they assumed all the prisoners were going to leave, so why would they feel the need to shut the door behind them as they left themselves? And the slider door can only be operated from the gatehouse anyway." It seemed ridiculous for a con to stick up for an officer, but Jason Bonser was correct in what he was saying. "Face it. We were being too clever for our own good."

Kyle glared at the grisly sight. There was no chance the fence was going to hold once they reached it, he thought. "So what are we gonna do?"

Jason scanned the area in front of them, and it appeared that the crowd of the dead was going to be an arduous task to ram through. But they both had the muscle and were confident that they could knock these things down like skittles, providing they kept on moving and never stopped, and if they did, it would give the hideous fiends a chance to encircle and attack. "What do you think?"

Kyle shook his head as if it was a trick question. "We make a run for it."

"We better go before they get to the fence. But if there's more of them outside the grounds, we're finished."

"And if we stay in here, we're finished. How long do you think that fence is going to hold out?"

Their eyes swallowed up the horrific information for their brains to digest, and after a minute of short shallow breaths from both individuals, Jason Bonser turned to his friend and said, "Okay. Ready when you are."