Snatchers: Volume One (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 1-3) (79 page)

Chapter Thirty Eight

Vince had only been running the camp for just under three weeks, and already the many residents looked up to the forty-five-year-old. The place pretty much ran itself. Vince would get his own crew to sort out the minor problems such as caravan fittings, drainage and any problems with the running water. He, on the other hand, would spend most of his time either guarding the blockade or going out on a run and getting supplies.

The residents had given him a medical list, as there were a few people who needed medication such as painkillers, asthma inhalers, and tablets for some or the elderly who had high blood pressure or angina. Vince could only get
some
medical supplies, and although most chemists had been emptied by the end of the first week, there were still newsagents that would sell medical gear, but nothing too hardcore.

Vince had an idea to go to Stafford Hospital and see what was there. He had a feeling that it may have already been pillaged, and it could also be crawling with the Rotters. But a van full of medical supplies could keep the camp going for months and would also, and more importantly, as far as Vince was concerned, make him look good.

He knew that the longer he waited, the less chance that there would be anything there. They were doing fine at the moment, but the trip to Stafford Hospital could be an experience that would benefit them in the long-term. The only trouble with the journey to Stafford wasn't just the hospital itself, which could be littered with all kinds of dangers, but the place was eight miles there. This meant that the actual trip could be littered with hazards even before they got to the hospital, and a lot of petrol was going to be used up for the journey.

It was something worth thinking about, but it wasn't just the paranoia of going to the hospital that bothered Vince. He would have to leave the camp for at least a couple of hours and this meant leaving the people exposed, as it wouldn't be worth the risk going with just two people. He needed all of his blockade people and at least two pick-up vans to make the one-time trip worthwhile.

Vince only had a few people to lean on when it came to some kind of security; only a handful of shotguns were available and they were hardly top-of-the-range equipment. He needed more men; most of the residents were elderly or too scared, and they put their efforts into what they were good at in order to help the place keep running smoothly.

Security was a problem.

Vince was selective in his choice, and although a few others had volunteered, they looked nervous as hell just holding a shotgun. Vince thought it'd be better to have small numbers and people who were able to fight, rather than large numbers with men and women who could be a hindrance and a danger to the rest of the group.

He wanted Jack on board.

Jack was a man, like everyone else, that had been thrown into the deep end and had been managing to tread water so far. The trouble with Jack was that he was a good guy,
too
good in fact. Vince wanted to see for himself what Jack was capable of.

If he wanted the camp to survive, the people out on a run had to be ruthless. He had never killed another human being to get what he wanted, as Vince tried to raid places that were already empty, but if he had no choice in the matter, he felt he could shoot another person if his back was against the wall.

Rather them than me.

*

Jack had fallen into a deep sleep, and with the comfort of being in the caravan park and having a certain amount of security around the place, he slept soundlessly. The only trouble with Jack was that his dreams were being hijacked and plagued with macabre images.

In the dream, Jack was back in the woods, walking along a dirt path. By his side was Karen, Pickle, Jade and Paul. It was as if the dream had re-written history and he had managed to catch up with the small group once he had escaped from the sports centre. The dream didn't really highlight how he had managed to catch up with them, but in the old world his dreams had always been erratic, vivid, surreal, and sometimes downright weird, and that was put down to Jack's over-indulgence of alcohol.

All five of them had been walking through the greenery for a number of minutes, and Jade had noticed that there were two ghouls to the left of them.

Jack and the rest of the group had decided to run away from this minor danger, and as they ran, Jack could feel himself slipping further and further behind the four of them. He tried to call out, but neither one was dropping back to help him. He continued with the hapless run and took a look over his shoulder to see that the two creatures had now disappeared from his view. Once he turned back round, he could feel the ground beneath him falling from his feet and he fell into a huge, manmade hole.

Filled with panic, he looked up to see that the huge square hole was ten feet in height and was a considerable length that must have taken days to create. Jack had no idea what the hell was going on, and as he looked along the dark ditch, he could see numerous bodies lying on top of one another, as if they had been killed and been dumped on top of one another, like something out of a holocaust picture.

Jack gulped and could feel his heart in his mouth; he glared hypnotically at the bodies at the end of the ditch, and his eyes widened once he saw the first one, the one on top of the pile, beginning to move.

Its limbs twitched and its head rose up, as if it was a drunk individual waking up and not having a clue where they were and how they had got there. Then it slowly and clumsily climbed off the small pile and dropped onto the bottom of the ditch. It got to its feet, finally, took a curious look at Jack, and began moving towards him.

Jack squinted in the darkness and could see that it was a man called Robbie Owen moving towards him—the security guard from the Glasgow hotel Jack had woken up in. Jack then heard movement up above him and saw a grinning Pickle, Karen, Paul and Jade standing above him, watching the drama unfold.

Jack tried to call out to them to help him get out of the ditch, but his voice was lost, and this made the four individuals titter amongst themselves.

Pickle then said, "I think yer better off with this, Jackie boy." He threw the crowbar into the ditch and Jack picked it up. This was followed by manic laughter, above him, from all four of them.

Trying to shrug off the surreal event, he took a swing at Robbie and saw him fall with ease. He could now see a second body getting off the pile, and this one appeared to be Gary. Jack shook his head at what was coming towards him. Gary looked ashen, and his throat was slit, just like it was back in the supermarket. Again, Jack took another swipe and saw Gary's head obliterate into a bloody mess. It fell to the side and never got back up again.

Two more bodies began to stand up from the pile, and at this point, the four people who stood above him were mocking Jack, clapping and calling out his name as if he was being egged on in a boxing match:
"Ja-ckie! Ja-ckie! Ja-ckie!"

Jack was getting tired and watched as the two things got nearer. He could only see the silhouettes of the ghouls. One was about five-five, and its shape suggested that it was/used to be female. The other was much smaller, just under four-feet in height. Once the penny dropped and Jack knew who they both were, he began to cry.

As the two creatures got nearer, a broken Jack Slade dropped the crowbar onto the floor, fell to his knees, and sobbed uncontrollably. He could feel them getting nearer, but remained on his knees with his hands around the back of his head, refusing to look at the pair of them.

As their groaning grew louder and their footsteps got nearer, Jack took a deep breath in, waiting for the indescribable pain to come once the two ghouls, that used to be Kerry Evans and Thomas Slade, began ripping him apart.

As soon as he felt the cold hands on his head, Jack Slade then woke up in the double bed.

It wasn't like waking up from a nightmare that you would see on TV or in the movies. Jack never shot up and screamed out his son's name. He never cried out and burst into tears. He simply opened his eyes quickly, looked around the caravan he had been sleeping in, and could hear his temporal pulse hammering away inside of him.

He slowly sat up and wiped away the few trickles of perspiration that were present on his forehead. He looked at a clock that sat on a set of drawers. It was a few minutes after eight in the morning. He got out of the bed, wearing just his shorts, and searched around the caravan.

But there was no Johnny. Where was Johnny?

They had both slept in the same caravan, but his saviour from a few days ago had now disappeared. Jack tried not to be too alarmed as he was aware that it could be something trivial.

Maybe he had gone for a walk, a cold wash, or just a general nosey round the place.

There was a rap at the door and Jack went over to open it. He was greeted by a smiling Vince.

"How's tricks?" asked Vince. "How did you sleep?"

"Like a drunk baby."

"Good," laughed Vince. "Get dressed and I'll show you round the place."

Jack looked confused; he turned his back on Vince and looked around the caravan with his sappy, blurry eyes. "Where's Johnny?"

"Don't worry about him. He's taking a shit in one of those portaloos."

Jack rubbed his eyes, still slightly scarred by his dream, and looked around for his clothes.

"Oh, and before you come out with me, take these." Vince handed Jack a small bottle of water, a tooth brush and a small tub of toothpaste. "That friend of yours smelt pretty bad. We don't want you walking around with bad breath as if you've just eaten out a lamb's shitter."

"Charming." Jack shook his head at Vince's choice of words, and took the toothbrush, toothpaste and water off of him. "Be two minutes."

Chapter Thirty Nine

"How you feeling?" asked Wolf.

Karen had slept more than she wanted for her nap, and was now making an appearance for the first time since the morning.

She yawned and looked around the garden. Wolf had made another small fire, and was cooking potatoes, still with their skin on. Wolf nodded towards the potatoes. "I hope Harry comes back with more butter; I have missed a baked potato."

"So have I, but I thought he was going down for medical stuff?"

Wolf nodded. "He has. Anyway, I think we'll be fine for a few weeks now. I assume that it's not so bad down there, right?"

Karen sat down and glared into the fire. She was starving and the potatoes smelt lovely. "There was a few isolated incidents, but nothing we haven't seen before." Karen brushed her greasy, brown hair behind her ears and lowered her head to look at the grass by her feet.

"I suppose you're not feeling too strong with all that vomiting." Wolf smacked his lips together and ran his fingers through his grey beard in thought. He adjusted his straw hat and said, "I'm gonna go inside and get you some water; you're probably dehydrated."

Wolf returned quickly and gave her a cup of the clear stuff. Karen took the cup off of Wolf and thanked him. She held it with both hands and shivered.

"You okay?" Wolfgang Kindl looked at Karen with concern on his phizog. "You don't look so good."

"A bit of fuel for my body and I'll be fine." Karen finished the water in one, and slowly stood to her feet.

"Where're you going, young lady?"

Karen sighed, "For a walk. I need the toilet anyway."

"Yeah," Wolf's face looked apologetic, "I'm sorry I don't have any toilet facilities. This cabin was purely designed for an overnight stay at the most. I'd normally just pee in the corner of the garden when I used to come up here. I never even had running water at all until six months ago."

"You don't have to apologise for anything." Karen leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "You've got nothing to apologise for; we're eternally grateful for you taking us in."

Wolf lowered his head and blushed a little. He went inside the cabin and came back out with a kitchen roll in his hand.

Karen smiled at his generosity and thoughtfulness. "Just rip one sheet off that bad boy. I only need a number one."

Wolf did exactly that and told Karen that she could do it in the garden and that he promised he wouldn't look. She refused and told him that she preferred to be out of the grounds altogether. Once she left, he put the rest of the roll back in the kitchen and sat by the fire, attending to the potatoes.

Karen was still baffled that the cabin had no sanitation, and then suddenly cursed herself for being so ungrateful. She was now feeling weak and went a bit light-headed.

She headed for the top of the hill, but it was a hell of a struggle. Once she managed to get to the top, she relieved herself on the grass. Once she had wiped herself with the sheet of kitchen roll, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she was unsure what to do with the used sheet; she wasn't used to using a sheet over the last few days of living in the woods.

She threw it on the grass and walked a few yards forwards before sitting down. The day was cloudier than what she had been used to in the last couple of days, but the temperature was still high and the climate was muggy and stifling.

Her thoughts were gloomy and this had been the weakest she had felt in ages. The last time she felt this bad was when she was nursing a hangover after Gary's birthday party. She had no idea what it was. Was it something in the air? Something she ate or drank? She had no idea, but at least the sickness had disappeared.

Just a twenty-four hour bug, she thought.

Whatever it was, she was certain that after plenty of fluid and one of Wolf's meals she'd be right as rain.

She beamed as she saw the frame of Pickle in the distance. He was making his way across the football field, then disappeared temporarily behind the hedge, and then reappeared once he walked through the gap in the hedge. He looked up the ridiculously steep hill and saw Karen sitting at the top. He waved up at her, and she waved back.

He then began walking straight up to her, instead of walking up and slightly veering left towards the cabin. She watched as he struggled to get to where she was, and she was becoming tired just watching him making his way up.

Once he was a matter of yards away, the out-of-breath man slipped off the bag and dumped it on the floor and slumped next to Karen.

"This hill's getting harder and harder to climb," he moaned, then turned his head away from Karen and spat on the grass. "Ma back's killin' me."

"That'll do for now." Karen rubbed her head and was feeling the beginning symptoms of a migraine. "Hopefully, what you've got in that bag should fill that cupboard. What goodies did you get?"

"Medical stuff and some more tins."

Karen looked up at the sky and could see the clouds had grown darker and were looking more hostile. "Looks like it's gonna piss it down."

"Good," said Pickle. "That barrel that's attached to the guttering o' the cabin needs filling anyway. I'll get some buckets out and they should be nice and full for the morning. That'll keep our paranoid host happy. I don't know why the old bugger just doesn't drink from the tap." Pickle peered at Karen, and had noticed that she wasn't listening to him. "How are
yer
feeling now?"

Karen then stood up and stretched out her arms like someone would, once they had woken up. "Okay now. I'm gonna grab my machete and go for a wash."

"What? Where?"

"There's a stream back into the woods." Karen looked at Pickle for a reaction, but he was struggling for words.

"Don't yer wanna wait a few more days?"

Karen shook her head and said, "Wait for what? Until the flies find me repulsive? I'm starting to smell a bit."

Pickle snickered, "We're all—"

"And I'm starting to make myself sick with it."

"Yer not as bad as Wolf."

"God, have you smelt that man?" Karen placed her hand over her mouth, feeling a little guilt for slating a man that had taken them in. "He actually smells like a sewer."

"Go, by all means. But I'm coming with yer."

"Fine. I better let him know. He thinks I'm just out for a pee."

*

After dropping the bag off and telling Wolf that they were heading for the stream in the woods, Karen and Pickle took the ten-minute walk down the other side of the hill to the wooded area, and wasn't surprised that there was no other entity there. Once they had reached the bottom of the hill, where they had a conversation a few days ago before they came across the cabin, they ventured into the woodland and could hear the running stream almost immediately.

"We should really check this place out now and again for those things." Pickle turned away as Karen began to strip, and decided to talk to dilute any embarrassment that he was feeling.

"What for?" Karen said with bemusement. "When we split from Paul and Jade, we walked through these woods and didn't come across one single Snatcher. And even if the odd one did turn up through the woods and reached the bottom of the hill, they couldn't get up. We've seen them try and get up on the other side, through the gap in the hedge. They're rotting away; the atrophy should make it difficult for these things to walk properly, let alone climb the hill."

"We can barely make it up ourselves." Pickle agreed, and released a small chortle and scratched at his thin beard.

"Exactly; so stop being paranoid."

"I know
they
probably couldn't make it up the hill, but I'm also thinking about human beings, people that could do us harm."

There was a silence from behind Pickle and all he could hear was the gentle running of the stream. It appeared that Karen had stopped washing herself, but Pickle didn't want to turn around in case he saw Karen naked. She nodded in agreement. "I think you may have a point there. I suppose it wouldn't harm to check it now and again. I mean—Fuck it!"

Pickle asked, "What?"

"I forgot a towel."

Pickle smiled and shook his head. "Bradley, I really do think yer losing yer mind."

*

He took a jug of water and dipped it into the barrel; he then added a spot of bleach and left it at the side of the sink. He knew the remainder of the hill would hurt his back and his knees, but Wolfgang made a decision, now that his guests were out of the way, to go up and visit his wife.

Even though there was no headstone as such, Pickle had made an effort to make a small cross, and even without that, it wouldn't take a genius to know where she was buried.

It was a struggle, but once the sixty-nine-year-old man reached his wife's grave, he took his hat off, wiped his brow, then sat down next to the shallow grave.

"Well, my dear," he said. "I think it's fair to say that you're in the better place, away from this...nightmare." Wolf patted the earth that covered her and sighed, "What the hell's happening? Why now? Why is this happening now?"

He could feel the bottom of his eyes filling with water, and sniffed, "Thank goodness we don't have grandchildren. That would have made it even more heartbreaking. I hope our kids are okay, though. Even..." Wolf allowed his sentence to trail and cleared his throat.

He looked to the side of him at the grave. He wished he was in there with her. It wasn't as if his kids needed him anymore; they were grown adults. They never really needed him when they were children.

He spent most of his life working, while his wife stayed at home. She was always there for the kids when growing up. She took them to school; she picked them up. She sat and helped them with their homework. She made them dinner. She took them to bed, and she read them stories.

He was more of a stranger that they only really saw at the weekends, and even then, he'd be out with his pals, getting drunk.

"Damn," he blasted. "I wished I'd been a better father...
and
husband. This shit does really make you think."

He bent his aching legs, brought his knees up to his chest, and looked out at the view. He lowered his head and began to sob. He totally let himself go. His sobbing continued for another two minutes, and once he had managed to gather himself together, he wiped his bloodshot eyes.

Wolfgang Kindl then reached for his hat, struggled to get to his feet, and before walking away, he looked at the grave and blew it a kiss. "I love you, my darling. Always have. Always will."