Snatchers: Volume One (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 1-3) (48 page)

Chapter Twenty Nine

Many hours had passed, and with missing lunch and dinner, they were still relying on their breakfast for fuel for their bodies. Three of the moving dead appeared in view up ahead and Paul Parker and Jack Slade knew that trying again in the morning was not an option, so they had a five-minute breather, allowing the beasts to disappear from view, and began their search once again.

Because they were achieving no results, they were getting close to turning around and heading back to the village hall, but Jack insisted on giving it another twenty minutes. The image of Jemma Marlow was still imprinted on both men's minds and plagued their concentration as they continued to trudge their way through the damp plantation.

In a weird way, Jack was relieved that he never had to break the news to Jemma about the horrid torture and death Gary had to endure, and it appeared that she had suffered a fate even worse. He was unsure whether she had been conscious while being ripped apart by the ravenous things; it was this that made him feel ill, and selfishly hoped that Kerry and Thomas were okay. If they were okay, he hoped to God that his son hadn't witnessed Jemma's demise, or even heard it.

He wondered where the rest of them were, and hoped that they were all together as a group rather than just Kerry and Thomas on their own...or even...just Thomas on his own. He didn't want to think about that situation. He knew thinking in a negative light would do nothing for his own psyche and decided to concentrate on where he was walking, as for the last ten minutes he had strolled through the woodland and hadn't remembered a thing about it. It wasn't a good frame of mind to be in, especially considering the predators that were out there, he thought.

Jack turned to Paul and gave him the thumbs up, asking in body language if he was okay. Jack responded with one sharp solitary nod. Paul took one look at his new friend who was nine years his senior and thought to himself that already he looked weary. They both had had a decent enough sleep one could get in such a dire situation. Paul managed six hours broken sleep, but knew the adrenaline would keep them going until they were completely exhausted and there was nothing left in their tank.

Paul made a
psst
sound at Jack, and waved his right arm to the side frantically for a few seconds, urging him to stay low. Like a couple of Marines in a Nam film, they both lowered themselves into the grassy floor, and both men were semi-hidden by a tree stump each. Still twenty yards away from each other with their own tree as cover, they peered out from the side to see two of the creatures in the far distance stumbling around. On a flat road these things didn't seem too sturdy, but on uneven ground they looked even more awkward, like a couple of old drunks not knowing where to go and what day it was.

Confident that their movement wouldn't arouse suspicion from the beings that were hundreds of yards away, they slowly stood up and continued with their search. Ever since they left the village hall, they hadn't moved in any direction and had no intention to, because Paul knew that there was a cabin further up which he used to go to when he was a kid.

It didn't belong to anyone as such, until squatters began to use it for years. As far as he knew, the cabin that was made by fishermen years ago for a place to dwell, was still there, in fact, the woods had a few of them and they were in good condition as well. They weren't furnished, but as far as Paul could remember, they were basic, had a door and latch inside for a lock, no fire or kitchen place, but a table and chairs someone had made.

He used to go up there as a child with his friends, by breaking the lock and using the place as a base. The fishermen got so fed up with the break-ins, they stopped going eventually and the cabin was abandoned until months later, squatters claimed it as theirs. This was a similar story that plagued a few of the cabins in the woodland area.

Paul and Jack looked around them and noticed that there didn't seem to be any other form of life in the area; it was almost as if the animals knew that evil was lurking and they had abandoned the place that they used to call home. There was no hoot of an owl, no twitter from a bird, no rustle in the bushes from a disturbed deer, and no sign of the chatter and chirp of the grey squirrel that was deliberately introduced to Britain from North America in the nineteenth century.

They both stopped once again and Paul said quickly, "Do you see what I see?"

"A cabin." Jack nodded and walked briskly towards the cabin in the distance. His walk was slowly turning into a gallop and Paul was about to tell Jack to slow down, but didn't have the heart to do so, as the man was obviously tainted with excitement that his son might be in that cabin. Then Paul thought about the things that he called, Lurkers. What if one, or more than one, was inside for whatever reason? He then increased his pace to catch up with an excited Jack Slade in case he stumbled into some kind of accidental ambush.

"Don't go in yet," were the only words Paul could muster through his heavy breathing as they got nearer to the cabin; they were now only eighty yards away.

Jack slowed right down and switched to walking pace as if he heard what Paul had told him, and as he got nearer the place, he became more hesitant. His pace slowed, until it eventually came to a stop.

"Wait for me," Paul said in a sharp whisper.

Both men arrived five yards away from the closed door that led inside to the rundown-looking cabin, and both gawped at one another. Paul placed his hand on the door and slowly pushed it open; both men were surprised that it wasn't locked. Paul peered in and saw in the darkness that there was no life inside, although four unlit candles sat on the floor. Jack remained outside, now too scared to go in, scared of what he might find, or what he might
not
find. He opened his eyes and looked at Paul's face. Jack queried, "There's no one there?"

Paul replied with a shake of his head.

On the outside, Jack tried to remain calm, but could feel his chest bubbling with a cocktail of emotions that was only going to lead him to break down in tears.

"It's just the first one." Paul tried to appease him. "There're many to check before we're finished. Then after that, we can go back, get the cars and check the villages, if it's safe."

Jack agreed and thinned his lips in order to keep his emotions in check; his lips were thinned so much it looked like there was a large stitch sitting under his nose. There was no point in crying at the first hurdle, as he was sure that there were many more to come. He blew out his cheeks in an attempt to lower his temperature in his face that had blossomed into a pink colour, and gave off a false, yet, brave smile.

"Next one then," Slade snapped, and ran his fingers through his dark, sweaty hair. The grey at the side of his hair had increased over the week. "We'll try the next one."

"Dad?"

Both Paul and Jack spun round to their left and saw three frightened figures crouching twenty yards away from them, behind a tree.

Jack narrowed his eyes, and wondered if his cruel mind was playing a trick on him. "Thomas?"

The three figures stood to their feet; there was only two that he cared about, and one he
really
cared about.

His son ran towards him and Jack could feel the relief smoulder out of his shoulders. He held out his arms and scooped him up. Both father and son hugged one another—probably a bit too tightly—and wept hard for minutes. Jack opened his bleary eyes to see a smiling Kerry walking towards him, and Kerry joined in and now all three were embracing.

While Jack was having his moment with his second family reunion in a week, Paul Parker choked back the tears as he thought about his own family. He was pleased for Jack, but couldn't help feeling a smidgeon of envy. He stepped towards the third member of the hiding party; it was Lee Hayward. Lee Hayward shook his hand.

"Good to see you again, Lee," Paul greeted.

"You too," Lee said with a quaver in his voice; it was self-evident he was frightened to death. He tried to speak, but at first, the apprehensive words stumbled out of his shuddering mouth clumsily, making his first full sentence sound like nothing but a weird noise. He tried again, and this time his words were understood. "We've been staying in the cabin. We went out for air and saw you guys in the distance; we thought you were them, so we hid."

Paul smiled as he watched Jack continue to embrace Kerry and Thomas, and turned his attention back to Lee. He looked around and shrugged his shoulders in confusion. "Where's the rest?"

The sadness on Lee's face suggested that Paul wasn't going to like his answer. "Dunno, some are dead, but most fled. Those things just walked into the hall; don't know what happened to Oliver and Kevin. They were supposed to be keeping guard. They probably saw them and ran off."

"No, they wouldn't do that," Paul said adamantly. "Where did everyone go?"

Again, Lee shook his head. "Dunno. We didn’t have time to lock up; they just stumbled through the main door. We just left once the first few were attacked."

"Who was attacked?"

"Little Yoler was the first to get it once we got outside. Thankfully, Kerry and Thomas were the first to run. They never saw a thing."

"Oh God." Paul put his hand over his mouth. He never understood why humans did this, but he automatically did once he was told about little eight-year-old Yoler.

"Naturally, Ian went to protect his daughter and was overpowered by three of the things. The rest of us ran through the back entrance."

Paul shook his head. "Jack and I never saw any traces or evidence of anything. But we did see Jemma."

"Ian picked Yoler up as soon as she was bit and ran with her into the woods. Jemma was caught and pulled to the ground. As soon as she was bit, we knew she was screwed." Lee wiped his eyes with his tremulous hands. "It was horrible; she was screaming. She called out for Gary."

Paul announced, "Gary's dead."

"What? How?"

"Tell you later. What about the others?"

"They headed that way." Lee pointed to their left. "That's where the main road is; it leads into Rugeley."

"But that place is supposed to be swarming with the things."

Lee shrugged his shoulders in defeat. "Everywhere is, isn't it? We haven’t eaten in a day. We're all hungry."

Lee tried to fight back the tears, and Paul did the decent thing and gave him a shoulder to cry on, as the family five yards away from him continued with their emotional embrace.

Paul looked around at the cabin and turned to Lee. "What do you reckon our next move should be? Back to the hall?"

Lee shook his head and pointed behind Paul, who speedily turned his neck in the direction he and Jack had come from. There were at least ten of them in the distance, walking towards the humans.

Paul's face screwed with anger. He grinded his teeth and blew out his cheeks to reduce his blood pressure. "Where the fuck did they come from?" he snapped. "There was nothing behind me and Jack two minutes ago."

"They're everywhere." There was now anger in Lee's voice as well, and the frustration made him spit as he started his sentence. "They're like ghosts. One minute, nothing; the next, they're behind you."

Paul rubbed his face in exasperation knowing that the food from the supermarket was back at the hall; he placed his hand on Lee's shoulder and called over to Jack who was now finally breaking away from his embrace with Thomas and Kerry. Paul looked up to the dreary heavens and knew if they ran, they would eventually be swallowed up by the darkness, making their journey even more perilous. The best they could hope for was to stay in the cabin for the night, hope that the things would pass the shack without being too interested in the wooden contraption—they were still unsure whether human flesh could be smelt by the ghouls—and wait for the next light.

Paul clapped his hands together. "Time to go inside."

Nobody protested.

Chapter Thirty

It had been two days since he felt ill with the unknown virus, but Harry Branston was starting to feel better. He was sure that the illness was pretty much over; the only thing that was keeping him from getting out of his bed and galloping down the stairs was the fact that he felt so weak. His body was re-hydrated, as Karen saw to that, but it needed to replenish its energy levels with a hearty meal, or whatever was left in the van or the downstairs cupboard. It had been a weird couple of days, as he had never felt so ill before and all he had done was sleep, mainly.

Somebody once said to him: you know when you've really got a bad virus when you can't get out of bed even if it is raining fifty pound notes outside. He knew what they meant by that now. He had never felt so bad, and because of the predicament the UK was in, he feared the worst, and maybe thought this virus had somehow become airborne and he might have contracted it. Those fears had now disappeared and he couldn't wait to be up on his feet and back to his normal self.

When the illness took a hold of him, he slept more during the day, and whenever he was awake he stared at the ceiling. It was painted brilliant white, and a circular stipple-design that he used to have in his old house before his arrest, regularly hypnotized him back to sleep when he was ill. His mind wandered, as it often did whenever he was awake.

He thought about the incident after Stile Cop and KP's leaving. He nearly crumbled that night and it was Karen's strength and advice that made him pull through. She was some woman, he thought. A twenty-three-year-old nurse a week ago—now, one of the strongest people he knew. She was carrying a Browning pistol and not afraid to use it on anybody, or anything, as if she had owned it for years, rather than a week. He loved her like a sister, and hadn't told her yet, but he had a feeling that she already knew.

He released a chesty cough, and it became so violent his back was arched as he lay on the bed; he could then hear the concerned footsteps of Karen trotting up the stairs. The door opened once his coughing stopped, and as predicted, Karen walked in with a look of concern on her face.

She asked, "You okay?"

He scolded, "Just a cough. Calm down, woman."

"Sorry," she sniffed. "It sounded bad from downstairs."

Pickle smiled, touched by her concern. He gazed at her face and it was apparent that her hair needed another wash—not that he had any intention of stating this to her. He might not have been an expert in women, but he knew that such a comment would not be appreciated. "So how's Roy Rogers downstairs?"

Karen sighed and the look on her face suggested that their guest was becoming a problem. Her face never cracked at Pickle's attempt at humour and she looked like she was in a hopeless quandary. Her charitable action was looking like to be a massive error of judgement.

"He's gotta go." She lowered her head. "I messed up."

"Nah, yer didn't," Pickle spoke soothingly. "He's a loose cannon; at first yer were doing the charitable thing."

"I'm gonna ask him to leave the village in the morning." She looked at her watch; it was nearly seven.

"And do yer think he'll go?"

Karen shrugged her shoulders, and revealed the pistol tucked into her jeans. "This might persuade him. I don't want it to come to that, though. I'm not a thug. I'd rather just ask him politely."

Pickle asked, "Do yer trust him?"

She shook her head and replied, "He seems quite interested in the gun, and I never leave the keys around."

"So that's a
no
then. Good." Pickle wagged his finger at his young female colleague, and explained, "All it takes is for him to pick up the keys, and he's off with an armoured vehicle, with a decent supply o' fuel and food in the back. Keep the keys on yer at all times."

"He's definitely going tomorrow, even if I have to shoot the fucker," she joked.

Pickle laughed and loved that side to Karen; she was a real-life Calamity Jane. He slurred, "We'll tell 'im to leave tomorrow morning. We'll do it together. I'll be fine by the morning once ma body has digested yer fine cuisine. What are we 'aving tonight?"

Karen half-screwed her face, as if she was waiting for a negative response, despite the fact that she hadn't told him the details of his meal yet. "Beans on toast."

"Sounds wonderful." This time Karen's face did crack with Pickle's sarcastic humour, and she flicked him the
V
sign and left the bedroom. "It'll be ready in twenty," she yelled as she progressed downstairs. "Don't mock. Once the electricity goes it could be
cold
beans next week. I'm using the last of the bread."

"I can't wait," Pickle yelled back, his voice still coated in sarcasm. "Don't forget to bring the bucket up."

"I'll try not to spit in them," Karen joked back. She was halfway down the stairs.

"You know what they say about the best way to a man's heart!"

Karen was now at the bottom of the stairs and shouted back, "Through the ribcage."

Pickle laughed and a wide smile emerged on his face. Karen was a lifesaver in more ways than one, and Pickle grinned at her cheekiness.

He really did love her.