Snatchers: Volume One (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 1-3) (64 page)

Chapter Five

Karen Bradley, Harry Branston, Jade Greatrix and Paul Parker were nearly at the Stile Cop beauty spot. It was a different scene compared to the last time Pickle and Karen were there, as it was now barren—peaceful.

They walked up to the beauty spot and could see tyre marks. Since their leaving, it appeared that more people had used the place as some kind of safe haven, and had left on their own accord or were forced to move from bandits or the Snatchers themselves.

Apart from the bodies of the things that lay dead on the sandy surface, the place seemed normal and devoid of life, and the picture of them coming through the woods on that early morning replayed in both Karen and Pickle's mind. They explained to Jade and Paul what had happened on that night and the people they had lost. It brought back bad memories, but it wasn't affecting them as much as they thought it would.

"I wonder where they went?" Pickle spoke.

"The dead?" Karen queried.

Pickle nodded.

"Everywhere." Karen shrugged her shoulders, unsure what the real answer was. "Once we left in the van, they probably went the same way. Most seem to follow one another; they move in packs. Probably skulking about in the woods."

"It must have been a scary time for you both." Paul joined in on the conversation.

"It was." Pickle nodded his head. "Yer see what happened when we tried to leave the house in Heath Hayes, and the time when we tried to flee the sports centre?"

Paul nodded. Of course he remembered; how could he forget?

Pickle added, "It was worse than that. No disrespect to Lee Hayward and young Oliver, but we lost
three
that night. Ma lover and the two officers that released me from prison were killed. If it wasn't for them, I'd still be in ma cell, dying o' starvation." Pickle looked around and puffed out his cheeks. "Anyway, I don't really know why I insisted on coming to the beauty spot. To get to Rugeley we need to walk down the Stile Cop Road. Do yer lot wanna rest for a while?"

Karen was the only one that responded; she shook her head. Her body language suggested that she wanted to get to the town as quickly as possible.

"Right then. Lets go." Pickle left the beauty spot and returned to the road, with his small group in tow. They all looked down the steep, decline of the hill and saw a couple of bodies lying motionless in the distance, but nothing was moving, nothing that could attack them. Ahead of the bodies was a smashed car that was still on its four wheels, but had slightly veered off the road and was halfway up the grassy bank.

Their eyes were everywhere as their progression reached halfway down the long road, and to their right they could now see Stile Cop cemetery. It was the same cemetery that Karen had to climb over when she was being chased by some of the ghouls after she had been carjacked.

"Remember," Pickle spoke up as they passed the cemetery, "if we see a horde o' them, we run back where we came from. We shouldn't take any unnecessary risks."

They continued with their speedy walk, the decline helping their momentum, and saw a dead body to the left side of the road. Karen looked over to Pickle. "Remember that guy I told you about; the pervert that attacked me?" She pointed at the body as she casually walked past. "That's him."

"Is that the Oliver Bellshaw character?"

Karen nodded and walked past another two bodies that looked like Snatchers that had been dealt with. One had suffered damage to the head, whereas the other looked like it had had its eyes gouged out.

Pickle looked up and saw a solitary crow sitting on a fence, minding its own business. He then looked back at the bodies that they were walking away from. "Even the birds don't wanna eat these things," Pickle mumbled under his breath.

All four had now reached the car, and neither one could ignore the green Citroen. They all peeped inside to see two adults in the front seats. Both had turned and were struggling to get out because they both still had their seatbelts on, and weren't intelligent enough to unclip themselves or open their door.

Jade took a step back as the driver snarled at her from inside the car. Jade put her hand over her mouth. She could feel her body quaver and a single shudder went down her vertebrae. "What do you think happened?"

"I have no idea," Paul Parker answered.

"Poor souls," Pickle sighed. He lowered his head and said a silent prayer for them and then walked away from the sad scene, as the two inside writhed and struggled as their potential meals were walking away from them.

"Do you think we'll get a vehicle when we get into Rugeley?" Jade asked nobody in particular.

"More than likely," Karen sniffed. "Depends on how many of those things are in the town."

"Maybe we could go back to your house." Pickle suggested to Karen.

Karen ignored him. She would rather they didn't return back to her house. She had a feeling going back to her house would bring all the memories flooding back, memories of how life used to be when everyone and everything was normal. She wasn't sure she could handle going back to her place, besides, she was certain that Gary was still in there.

"Wait!" Paul cried out.

Jade asked, "What is it?"

They all looked at the bottom of the road and saw a pick-up truck leaving Draycott Park and turning onto the Stile Cop Road, heading their way.

Paul raised his black eyebrows at Pickle. "So, what do we do now?"

Chapter Six

"What time is it?"

Jack Slade never received an answer from Johnny straight away, as the thin, bald man was walking around the floor and trying the remaining lockers by opening them with a crowbar. Jack used to have a watch, but while he stayed in the woods, it had died on him, just like everything and everyone else.

Jack asked him again, but Johnny wasn't wearing a watch and shrugged his shoulders. "Who cares?" he called over. "Doesn't mean shit anymore. Who's bothered about being punctual nowadays?"

"You'll need to know the time once you're out there."

"What for?" Johnny had successfully forced another locker open. He pulled out some clothes and, more importantly, a sandwich box and a two-litre bottle of water.

"It gives you an idea how much daylight you have left."

Johnny didn't seem to be listening to Jack, so Jack refrained from speaking and looked around the factory. Johnny walked over to the forty-year-old man and opened up the sandwich box. "The bread's stale, but it'll do."

"No thanks."

"Please yourself," Johnny said with slight petulance, almost as if he was hurt that his guest didn't take the food he'd 'worked' for by prising open a stubborn locker.

To Johnny, Jack had a vacant look about him. His eyes and his demeanour were almost...psychopathic.
If this is what it does to you, being outside, then I'm happy to remain indoors.

Jack glared at Johnny and eyed him up and down.

Noticing this, Johnny asked nervously, "What's wrong?"

"Those overalls and those boots; where did you get them from?" Jack was referring to the blue boiler suit that Johnny was wearing and the steel toecaps on his feet.

He shrugged his shoulders and added, "It's just work clothes. There's probably some spare in the lockers. Want me to have a look?"

Still feeling weak, Jack gave a solitary nod of his head and watched as Johnny walked over to the locker area and went through the lockers he had busted open earlier during the week.

"What boot size are you?" he shouted over.

"Nine," responded Jack.

After searching through his fifth locker, Johnny returned with a pair of boots in his right hand and a set of overalls under his left arm. Jack had managed to thank Johnny for his kindness, and the factory worker was pleased that this outsider hadn't forgotten all of his manners that he should have been taught by his parents.

Jack slowly took his rotten shoes off and threw them into a nearby pallet. He took a look at his dirty and holey socks and shook his head.

Without uttering a word, Johnny walked back over to the locker area and went through them again. He returned with a pair of thick black socks and handed them to Jack.

Jack inspected the new boots and checked them from the soles to the laces and knew with his old socks, the boots would cut his feet to ribbons if ever he needed to go back outside in the long-term.

Jack wondered why a worker would have a spare pair of socks in his locker, and noticing the small confusion on his face, Johnny explained. "Sometimes the guys would do eight to ten hours a shift, and when you work for that length of time, your feet tend to get a little smelly. So once the shift is over, we'd go into our lockers, change our shoes and socks, and go home without our feet smelling like a monkey's armpit." There was no response from Jack, and Johnny sighed with exasperation at his anti-social guest. "Fine."

A silence enveloped the pair of them and although Johnny's guest seemed content to just sit and stare into space, Johnny wanted to know more about this stranger. "I bet you've seen some mad shit out there, haven't you?"

"I suppose," Jack sighed, "but you get used to it."

"Used to it? How?"

Added Jack, "It's like everything." Jack nodded over to a fork lift truck sitting by one of the shutters. "Can you drive that vehicle?"

"Sure."

"Right," Jack continued. "How did you feel when you first jumped onto that thing?"

Johnny couldn't really see where Jack was going with this, but decided to answer him as honestly as he could anyway. "I was nervous, obviously."

"And are you still nervous when you jump on it now?"

"Of course not. I've been driving those things for years. I'm used to it now."

"Well, that's how it is out there. When you first smash one of those skulls in, you panic, you become nauseous, you freeze. Now, it's just normal, something that you have—
need
to do. Like sex; the more you do it, the less nervous and the better you become at it."

"I don't think I want to get used to that kind of life."

"Well, you'll have to." Jack was cold with his voice. He wasn't being threatening or trying to frighten Johnny, but the factory worker had been hiding since the virus had broke out. Jack thought that he needed a reality check. Jack added, "You can't stay in here forever; and if you freeze out there, you'll be dead within a day."

"You ever thought about doing stand-up?"

"I'm serious," Jack continued, ignoring Johnny's attempt at humour. "I spent the last few weeks on the run, and I've lost count how many heads I've had to pulverise in order to survive."

"Is it that bad out there?"

Jack nodded and added, "Think of your worst nightmare. Times it by ten, and you're not even close."

"Well, that's hardly the confident-boosting response I was hoping for, but at least you're honest." Johnny blew out his cheeks and wanted out of this nightmare. But what Johnny Jefferson didn't know was that the quandary he was in, would only get worse once the days ticked by.

Jack began to put his boots on and Johnny decided to give him some advice.

Johnny said, "I usually find it easier to put the overalls on first,
then
the boots. It's just that I find it hard to get the legs of the overalls
over
the boots."

Jack stood to his feet and asked, "So how much food is in that canteen?"

Johnny raised his eyebrows and puffed out his cheeks in thought. "In the actual canteen itself, I don't know if there's anything worth eating because I don't know if the food is off. The vending machines should be okay. Nothing will be cool anymore now we've lost power, but there's still bottles of juice, crisps and chocolate."

Jack seemed lost in thought and finally shook his head. Keeping his new boots on his feet, he nodded over to the boiler suit. "I'll put that on after."

"After?" Johnny began to scratch the top of his bald head. "After what?"

Jack walked over to the crowbar that Johnny had used to prise open the lockers, and picked it up. He then took a pair of plastic goggles from a works station and put them on.

Johnny had no idea what was going on and what was going through this man's mind. Where was he going? Surely he wasn't going to the canteen?

Johnny questioned with angst in his voice, "Where are you going?"

Jack walked away, dressed for 'battle'. "The canteen."

"The canteen?" Johnny scowled in confusion. "Didn't I already tell you that two of those things are in there?" Johnny had now ran over to Jack and was now briskly walking alongside him.

"Yes you did," Jack Slade finally answered the man, "but I fancy a coke."

Johnny ignored his 'coke' remark, looked at the insane man and asked, "And what are you going to do when you get inside?"

Without breaking his face, Jack told Johnny. "I'm going to walk in and give them both a Swedish massage."

"No," Johnny sighed; he placed his right hand on his forehead and waggled his head in frustration. "I mean, seriously."

"Oh, seriously?"

Johnny nodded.

"I'm gonna smash their brains in with this crowbar."

Johnny gulped and his voice was full of consternation. "I was afraid you were going to say that."

Both men had arrived outside the canteen door and Jack turned to Johnny. "Watch and learn. You're gonna have to do this yourself, one day." Jack held out the crowbar.

"It's okay," said Johnny. "I've got a key for the canteen."

Johnny unlocked the canteen with the key, his juddering hands making the task harder than it should have been. Jack said, "As soon as I go in, you keep well back."

"I think I can manage that."