Snatchers: Volume One (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 1-3) (44 page)

Chapter Nineteen

It took both of them to pick Gary up off of the floor and lean him over the table. The right side of his face was pressed against the cold table, with his wrists tied tightly. The leaning over the table was stretching and hurting his back, as well as his wrists. If his mouth wasn't taped over, he could have told them that he wasn't made of elastic.

He did try, but loud muffles to Kasper and Hector sounded like cries of protest, and he was constantly punched on the back by an irate Kasper who told him on three occasions to shut the fuck up.

Paul and Jack remained huddled in the corner of the canteen. Jack was facing away, but Paul couldn't help himself, despite the scolding he got from Kasper earlier about not being able to perform in front of an audience.

Paul Parker was leaning against the wall and sneaked a look at the men, who had now taken down Gary's trousers. Paul still writhed and twisted his joints to be free from the rope, despite feeling like his wrists were on fire, and even more motivation and adrenaline surged through him as he witnessed Kasper dropping his own trousers and squeezing the jelly onto his hands. Paul had to look away when Kasper dropped his briefs and knew that he had entered Gary, from the awful, distressed, muffled cries from his friend.

Paul peeped for a second and could see that both Kasper and Hector were engrossed in the event. Paul thought it was strange that Kasper announced previously that he didn't want an audience, but was quite willing for Hector to witness the savage maltreatment. Maybe they had done this before.

As Paul desperately tried to untangle himself, he could hear over the muffled cries of Gary Jenson, Jack, humming loudly to himself. It seemed to be a dismal attempt to drown out Gary's cries for help. As Gary moaned in fear and pain with each hard pounding he took, Paul winced and couldn't imagine how painful and degrading the action must have been, and knew if he didn't hurry up, he would soon get to know for himself how it would feel.

At last the rope came free, and Paul nervously looked over to the two men and placed the rope over his wrists to make it look like he was still tied, as he was sure that he didn't have time to tackle his ankles as it looked like Hector was coming over.

The red-cap-wearing forty-six-year-old vagrant, walked past the table where Gary was being abused and asked Kasper if he was nearly finished. Kasper nodded his head and Hector took out his blade and drew it across Gary's throat as Kasper was finishing himself off with frantic and rapid thrusts.

Paul's eyes widened as he saw Gary slump on the table, with his neck oozing out the dark red liquid over the circumference of the table in seconds. He took a look at Jack who was still facing the wall and had no idea what was happening. As far as Jack was concerned, Gary's torment was over and he himself was seconds away from being picked up and placed over the same table. He stared at the wall he was facing, and continued to sing like a mental patient and rocked back and forth. Jack couldn't see that Gary was dead; he couldn't see that his carotid artery had emptied itself across the table, and he couldn't see that Hector was now walking over, grabbing his crotch, ready for
his
turn.

Hector walked over with his shotgun, and turned it around with it standing, the barrel facing the ceiling, and using it as support as he knelt down next to a frightened Jack. He took out his knife and pressed it against Jack's throat, who in return, shuddered with fright, which was just the reaction Hector wanted to enhance his power.

"Right, little puppy," he snarled quietly. "You're up next."

Paul's eyes never left Hector's face and could see in the corner of his eye, a very satisfied Kasper doing his trousers up and fumbling for his belt.

It's now or never
.

Paul suddenly grabbed the knife off of Hector and the vagrant cried out in surprise, dropping his shotgun and falling to the floor. Paul had stabbed him once in the leg and his ears were pierced by Hector's awful screaming. With the knife still embedded into the leg, Paul quickly went over to pick up the shotgun that Hector had dropped once he had stabbed him.

During this time, a panic-stricken Kasper Andrews ran, and as soon as Paul released a cartridge into the ceiling, the running Kasper ducked, as he didn't know if the gun was aimed at him. He continued to run away from the canteen with no weapon, leaving his own gun leaning against the staff room door.

Jack slowly came out of his self-hypnosis and at last spoke. The whole incident, from Hector being stabbed to Kasper running away, was over within five seconds.

"What's going on?" Jack looked like he had just woken up from a dream, a nightmare even.

Paul pointed over to Gary's body that was half-slumped over the table. "That's what's going on."

Jack shifted round using his behind and cried out when he saw his friend drenched in his own blood. If he could place his hands in shock over his mouth, he would have done. As Hector writhed around in panic and desperately tried to get to his feet, Paul, still sitting on the floor as his ankles were still tied together, leaned over him and coldly pulled out the blade, forcing the man to release a shriek. He used the bloodied knife to cut the rope tied to his ankles, stood to his feet, and picked the shotgun up. He used the butt by bringing it down onto the middle of Hector's back who fell flat to the floor with a defeated groan. He put the shotgun back onto the floor, and turned to Jack and began cutting him free.

Jack slowly stood to his feet; his eyes never leaving Gary's fresh corpse, and Paul picked up Hector's shotgun and walked over to the other one leaning against the wall. He put Hector's weapon under his arm as he snapped open Kasper's and shook his head in anger. He then looked outside, out the canteen window that looked out onto the car park, to see that Kasper had gained two hundred yards on them and was still going at lightning pace. There was no chance they could catch up with him now.

"What is it?" Jack asked in a daze.

"It's not even loaded! That Hector was the only one that had a loaded gun. If we had known..." Paul paused and refused to beat himself up. As far as he was concerned, he had two guns pointed at him. How was he to know only one of those guns were a threat? "They killed some of those creatures in the car park. Kasper must have run out of cartridges."

"What's the point of walking round with an empty shotgun?" Jack quizzed, still numb from the shock.

"To use on people like us," Paul snapped. "No wonder they were hiding in here, they hardly had any ammunition left."

Jack walked over to Gary's lifeless body and went to touch him on the shoulder; both men jumped once the body slipped off the table and hit the floor with a dull thump.

"What's the group going to say?" Paul snapped. "We're supposed to be hiding from these things, and it's our own kind that are killing us."

Jack knelt down and touched Gary's right cheek—the only part of his face that wasn't covered in blood—and remembered how he took him in and gave him a place to stay. It was only days ago, and now he was dead. It was meeting up with Gary that led him to Thomas, and he would never forget that.

Jack looked for a momentum off Gary that he could give to Jemma, like a ring or a necklace, but there was nothing he could take.

Tears were released by Jack for a man he had only known for a week; but it was a man that was responsible for the finding of his son. "What are we gonna do about Gary's body?"

"We'll come back for him," Paul said. "I think we should get back to the group as soon as possible. We've been away for ages; they're probably wondering where the hell we are."

Jack looked at a slumped Hector who moaned and wriggled on the floor; the injury to his back was preventing him from getting to his feet as well as the stab wound to his leg. "What are we gonna do with him? Do you think you've crippled him?"

Paul never answered Jack's first question with words, and as for the second, he didn't care whether he had crippled him or not. Instead, Paul Parker walked over with the shotgun; he checked the gun to confirm that there was one cartridge left. He snapped it back shut, and took a sad look at Gary's body. Nobody deserved that kind of treatment. He then scowled back at the groaning Hector.

"We'll leave him here," Paul answered eventually. "The Lurkers can have him."

He then emptied the last cartridge into the back of Hector's legs, and dropped the gun onto the floor with a strident clatter. The pellets scalded the flesh of the forty-six-year-old, and more. It felt like the back of his legs had been slashed with a hundred razor blades as the burning was forcing him to lose consciousness and to also fill his shorts.

Jack and Paul both walked out, dazed and scared, their ears were ringing from the aftermath of the blast and the screaming coming from the canteen. Once they were outside, they were greeted with a deathly silence, apart from the ringing. Wordlessly, they got into their cars, leaving the silver Mazda that Gary had arrived in, and left to get back to the village hall.

They had some explaining to do.

Chapter Twenty

The van reversed back onto the front garden, and Karen pulled up the parking brake once it came to a stop. Both Karen and her new friend, George Jones, looked around the main road to see that all the houses, gardens, and the huge street itself, was still barren.

"Wow," George sniffed. "There's nobody here."

"Not for now."

Karen opened the door and jumped out of the vehicle with the bag of supplies; George followed suit. They both met each other round the back of the van and George glared up at the sun that furiously beamed down.

George sighed, "It won't be like this forever. They'll come eventually, I'm sure of it."

"I know." Karen didn't appreciate George's negative, yet, realistic comment. She pulled up her T-shirt to reveal a Browning pistol that was slotted in the side of her jeans. "But I'll be ready for them."

George gasped and gave off a wry smile; he was in good company. "So let's meet this friend of yours."

"Later. He's ill."

Karen took the bag of supplies and passed them to George. She then took out her keys and looked behind her before she opened the front door; a slight twitch of a curtain could be seen over the road, four doors down.

Maybe they weren't completely alone, she thought. Although the lack of cars in the driveways suggested that most of the residents in that part of the area at least, were absent, she was sure that they must be a handful of people who decided to hide and barricade themselves in.

They both entered the house, with George carrying the carrier bag of medicines, and went into the living room. Both sat on the couch with a groan, as if they had just come back from work, as they would after a normal day, during a normal week...living in a normal world. Those days were gone.

George asked, "Electricity still working?"

Karen nodded her head. "For now."

"Tea?"

Karen nodded again, and sorted through the bag and pulled out a box of pills. She waved them at George and said, "I gonna go up and give him these. You two can meet once he's back on his feet again."

"Is he badly ill?"

"Just a fever, nothing life-threatening."

"Need water for this guy?" George hovered at the entrance of the kitchen waiting for an answer, as he was about to go in and put the kettle on to make tea.

"Nah; should be a bottle on the bedroom side-table. Be back in a mo; make yourself...well, you know."

Karen galloped upstairs and walked into the bedroom to see an ashen-coloured Pickle lying in his bed. He didn't look well at all. The fever, or whatever it was, was at its peak, and Karen quickly pulled out a strip of tablets, took two out and looked over to the bottle of water. She sighed, as he had hardly touched any. Maybe he had been sleeping all this time.

She nudged him slightly, and his eyes widened immediately. "What?"

Karen smiled affectionately. "Got some stuff for you to take."

Pickle attempted to sit up, but it was a struggle. As soon as his head went further than six inches off the pillow, his head felt heavy and it pounded hard like a bad hangover. His head immediately lowered back down and he placed his shaking hand on his roasting head. "What's wrong with me?"

"It's just a fever; I had the same thing a couple of months ago. I was in bed for two days before I could get up."

Karen could see the concern scrawled on his face, gave him a sympathetic smirk, and tried to put his mind at ease. "It has nothing to do with what's happening out there."

"Are yer sure?"

"Yes, I'm a nurse, remember?"

"I know, but what do yer nurses know? All yer do is make beds and wipe old men's arses all day."

"How dare you, you cheeky pig," she half-laughed and half-gasped when Pickle made his tongue-in-cheek remark. "Don't forget, I'm carrying a gun."

Pickle smiled and responded by waggling his right hand under the sheet, as if to say,
so am I
. She smirked back, forgetting she had gave him the other Browning before she left.

She helped to lift his head up and gave him the two pills to swallow, followed by a gulp of water that nearly choked him.

"What are those pills, anyway?" he quizzed.

"They'll help you grow some balls," she laughed.

"No, seriously." Pickle's eyes grew heavier by the second.

"Cyanide," she replied with a smile. "Now
you
get better; we have a guest downstairs."

Pickle had drifted off, and never asked who the guest was.

Karen took a sympathetic look at Pickle, and knew that with the world in the shit, no proper sanitation, lack of clean water, and no decent healthy diet because of lack of food, humans' health was going to diminish as the months and years progressed. With the medication supplies struggling as well, old time diseases such as diphtheria, smallpox, cholera and polio could eventually make a comeback.

She walked to the bathroom to get a flannel that was sitting on the sink. She ran the cold water and placed the purple flannel underneath it; she squeezed it and rung out most of the cold water that had been soaked up and headed back to the bedroom. She stood over Pickle and carefully placed the cold, soaked material on his forehead in a desperate effort to cool his elevating body temperature. She took one last sympathetic look at the dishevelled man; he was the shadow of the man that she first met in the woods, and hoped he'd be on his feet within the next day or so.

She left the bedroom and closed the door quietly behind her. She walked across the landing and headed for the top of the stairs and halted in her tracks; she brought her nose up and sniffed like a rat. She then looked up to the hatch leading to the attic. She sighed, knowing that the family were going to have to get moved and buried before they eventually stunk the house out.

She trudged down the stairs and decided to have a relaxing cup of tea and get to know her new male friend, before lulling him into a false sense of security that everything was rosy in the house, and then announcing that there was a dead family, including two young girls, in the attic, and she needed help removing them. She decided to have the tea first, before delivering her potentially surprising announcement.

She entered the living room, and was greeted with a smiling George Jones who stood holding two steaming hot cups of tea. She beamed back and thought for a second, despite his rugged looks, he was reasonably attractive. She then became sad and overcome with guilt. Her fiancé, Gary, had only been dead over a week. But she wasn't flirting; she just noticed that he was an attractive man, that's all. Was that so wrong?

Karen had only just realised it was Sunday, as it was hard to keep track of the days since the breakout had occurred.

It was only a week ago, but it seemed so long since she left her street in her Cherokee jeep, wondering what the hell was going on. It was only a week ago since she was carjacked and was running for her life. It was only a week ago since she escaped from those things by climbing into Stile Cop's cemetery and then running into the woods.

She then thought about the word
Snatchers
, and where she first heard it, which led her to think about Oliver Bellshaw. A shiver ran down her spine when she thought about him. What a creep he was.