Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) (17 page)

Chapter Thirty Four

It was a nap Jim Ferguson's body needed, and as soon as the man from Paisley stepped out of the cabin and stretched his arms, he yawned and began to adjust his woolly hat.

He looked around the woods and thought that, despite knowing the world had gone to hell, the area he was in was beautiful. His wife would love this, he thought.

She really would have appreciated the greenery, but he still was convinced that killing his family while they slept was the best thing for them. The lodger also had to be killed because he knew that he wouldn't have understood. If the lodger had woke to find the family, he had grown close to, killed, there was no doubt that Jim Ferguson would have been attacked himself and would have some serious questions to answer.

The lodger was the last one to die, and after killing his wife and his own children, killing the lodger was so easy. Straight through the heart.

There were no tears for the destruction of his family. He knew what the alternative would have been. It was just a shame that Jim Ferguson lost his valour when he sat down on the couch in his living room and turned the bloody knife around, ready to stab himself through the heart. But he couldn't do it. And he was angry that by the time he had killed his lodger, his bravery had diminished and hesitation had begun to creep in.

After accepting that he didn't have it in him to commit suicide, he peered out of his living room window and saw that his street was mobbed with the dead. He then made an immediate decision to fill his bags, leave his home, and leave the street in his car.

During his frantic escape, he saw a woman and a child run out into the street when he reversed out of his drive. Once he saw three of those freaks take down the child, leaving the woman to run off, he was convinced right there that he had done the right thing by killing his family.

Once Jim Ferguson had managed four miles in the car, he was on the country roads and planned on going to a place in the country where it was less populated. He had no idea where he was going, but Cannock was definitely a no-go area. He thought about Hednesford, but decided on a village instead.

After a ten-minute drive he hit a ghoul that stumbled out onto the country road, forcing Jim to crash. Jim then fled the car once he saw that the ghoul he had hit was one of many coming out of the woods. He killed a few with a tyre iron, but was eventually forced to grab his bags and take flight in the woods. It took him most of the day to come across the cabin, and he had stayed there ever since.

Only twice had he come across a ghoul, which harmlessly shambled by the cabin and disappeared, eventually being swallowed up by the greenery. The second time was during the day while he was down by the stream. The creature had come from nowhere, and not even the sound of rustling plantation could be heard leading up to its appearance.

While Jim was washing his feet and his face, the creature appeared from the other side of the stream and stumbled into the water after him. The thought of its diseased legs walking into the stream where Jim had washed and reluctantly drank from, turned his stomach. He picked up a heavy rock, easily swiped its legs, and then caved its face in with eight blows.

Since then, everything had been rather peaceful.

Until now.

His ears twitched when he first heard the rustle, and his heart began to gallop at a frenetic pace. He went back inside.

Was it one of...
them?

What should he do? Go out and confront what was out there? Or, hide in the cabin and wait for it to pass?

Sounds like it's just one of them.
Jim cocked his head to get a better listen.
Aye, definitely just the one.

He wondered how his friends were coping back in Foxbar, Paisley. He mentally joked that if they could walk through Ferguslie Park and come away with not a scratch on them, this outbreak should be a breeze.

He had made a decision. The first time this had happened, he allowed the thing to walk past. But what if it hung around the cabin, attracting more of the things? Could they smell him? He didn't know, but this time he wasn't going to take the risk. It was one-on-one and Jim knew that he could take one of these dumb fucks with one had behind his back.

He pulled out his knife and stepped outside. He stood up straight and his eyes narrowed as he glared into the woods. He could hear the noises more clearly now, but there was still no sign of the thing that was causing it.

His clammy hand was wiped on his trousers and he gripped the knife handle once again. A smile emerged when he finally saw someone stumble towards him. A human.

"Ye fuckin' dancer," he muttered under his breath.

The last guy that he had come across was wise to him, and had put a handgun in his face. This individual looked exhausted, and walked through the woods as if he was drunk.

When he looked more closely, Jim Ferguson's excitement was short-lived. "Shit."

His heart sank when he could see that the man stumbling in the woods had nothing on him.
No backpack, or nothing! Why the hell would you enter the woods in this new world with not so much as a water bottle?

It didn't make much sense to Jim. Unless the individual was being chased by someone...or something.

"Aw naw." Jim stroked his dark beard and scratched his head through his woolly hat. "Ye got tae be fuckin' kiddin' me."

He could clearly see the man now, but behind him was a few ghouls, and the man from Paisley was sure there were more, many more, that he couldn't see.

The man approaching, dressed in black, was yards away from Jim and looked completely exhausted. The woolly hat-wearing Jim was furious at what he could see, gripped his knife, ran up to the individual and grabbed the man that was dressed in black.

He began yelling, "Wit the fuck are ye daeing bringin' them here, ye cunt?"

The dishevelled man was clearly tired and couldn't give him an answer. Not many knew about the cabin, and Jim was sure this was some kind of unlucky coincidence, but it didn't stop his temper from exploding. He had a good thing going before this stranger turned up, but now he brought with him six...seven...eight ghouls, he counted.

"Quick," the man dressed in black finally spoke with what little breath he had left, "we need to get into your cabin."

"Nae fuckin' chance," Jim Ferguson snapped. "It's my cabin, and this," he pointed to the creatures behind, "is your fuckin' problem, pal."

The Paisley man punched the man in black in the stomach, drew back his knife to cripple him, but his legs were taken from him by the man's quick swipe of his right leg.

Both men rolled about on the floor while the dead progressed towards them, twenty yards away. Jim took two punches to the face, a punch to the jaw, and his wrist was bent back which caused him to scream out and drop the knife.

The man in black looked in the direction of the ghouls and knew that outrunning these things, in his condition, could turn disastrous. Any energy he had left had just been used to contain the fiery Scot.

"Sorry it had to end like this." The man dressed in black was now sitting on the Paisley man's stomach and had took the knife off of him. "All I wanted was somewhere to hide for a bit."

"It's every man fae himself," the Paisley man growled, blood running down his face from the broken nose that was given to him. "I'm no' helpin' nae cunt."

The man in black took a look to the side and could see the ghouls gaining. He looked to the cabin and knew now that it wouldn't be any kind of sanctuary. If he went in there now, they'd surround the place and it would end badly for him.

The man in black looked at the Paisley man. "I'm sorry."

Jim Ferguson looked confused. "Sorry fae what?"

"It's either you or me."

He drove the knife into Jim's left thigh; he screamed out and yelled. "Ye bastard! Ye fuckin' bastard!"

The man in black hobbled away from the Scotsman and ran ahead while Jim continued to shriek. The stranger passed the run-down cabin, and left an injured Jim to fend off the eight ghouls all by himself.

They quickly encircled the injured Paisley man lying on the floor, and knelt down to attack him, ignoring the punches that he threw in their direction.

The first set of rotten teeth that sank into his face produced an immediate scream, and the squeal wasn't just for the pain of his cheek being pulled away, but for the fact that he knew with the first bite he was as good as dead.

He was about to experience the most excruciating pain he ever had, and now he wished he had killed himself after killing his family and lodger, but it was too late.

Fingers gouged out his eyes, and he could now feel the dirty fingers in his mouth, trying to rip it open to get to the meaty tongue. Bite after bite went into his stomach until his shirt was ripped open, and the agonising pain of slowly being opened up was too much to bear.

He was still alive when the rotting hands dipped into his gaping stomach, and as bloody entrails were pulled out of him and were being stuffed in their filthy mouths, his trousers were torn open and his testicles were ripped away by another set of dirty teeth.

He finally died once a bite opened his neck, his carotid artery releasing as much blood as it could. The vile beasts continued to munch on the corpse, and limb after limb was eventually pulled away from the rapidly devoured carcass, the bloody meat dropping into their defunct stomachs, serving no purpose to them whatsoever.

Chapter Thirty Five

The red pick-up truck groaned its way around the country bends. Jack was driving, whilst Shaz and Vince were in the passenger seat, Vince was nearest the window. He stared out and watched hypnotically as the trees and bushes whizzed by his eyes and thought about his sister in Ireland.

The journey from the camp to where they were now had been silent and it was Vince that had finally broken the silence between the trio.

"I can't believe I'm doing this for a father I hate, and a chick that thinks I'm a dick." Vince looked at his watch. 6pm.

"Don't forget the supplies. And Karen's okay once you get to know her," was Shaz's defensive response. She never made eye contact with Vince; she remained glaring out the windscreen, still embarrassed that he had walked in on her and Jack. "But you
are
hard to like, you have to admit that, with your sexist shit. Obviously
you
think it's funny."

"Have you listened to this, Jack?" guffawed Vince. "Hard to like? I've just given you refuge, for Christ's sake."

"Yeah," Shaz said, and I suppose you want something in return, knowing you." She finally stared at Vince, but it was with contempt. "A blowjob, maybe."

Jokingly, Vince cleared his throat and added, "Well, I wouldn't say no. I mean, it's not gonna suck itself, is it?"

Jack smiled at Vince's comment. That was a joke he used to use on Kerry when they were together. It was something he would say after he had stepped out of the shower and walked naked to whatever room Kerry was in. It was a nice memory, and surprisingly it never made him feel sad.

"You know where you're going?" Vince asked Jack.

Jack nodded confidently. "Turn left at the Stile Cop Road, go to Draycott Park, then turn left into the Pear Tree Estate. This journey is going to bring back some serious memories from the last few weeks."

"What kind of memories?" asked Shaz.

Jack smiled and gave her a wink. "I'll talk you through it."

"Look. A house up ahead, to the right." Vince craned his neck to get a better look and saw a man in the bedroom window, peering out, and then he suddenly disappeared just as the truck zoomed by it. "There's somebody in there."

"Yeah, well, good luck to them," said Jack. "Let's concentrate on getting Karen and Wolf out, before you start thinking about raiding another house or enrolling another guard for your camp. Or whatever's going through your mind."

Vince giggled and threw his arm around Shaz and flicked Jack's ear, playfully. "You know me too well. Slade."

Jack headed up an incline, and when he reached the top he pointed up ahead at a smashed-up black jeep and a Mazda. "That's my car," he said to Shaz. "The black jeep. I collided with the other motorist, got surrounded by the Rotters and Vince and Claire saved me."

"Wow," was all Sharon Bailey could muster. "That must have been scary."

"Screaming like a girl, wasn't you, Jack?" Vince failed in his attempt to wind Jack up.

Jack turned the red pick-up truck right at the crossroads, swerving around the smashed-up vehicles. Neither men looked in on the driver of the Mazda who had had his throat cut by Vince a few days ago—the man was dying anyway.

The car climbed up the Stile Cop Road and once it got over the brow of the hill, Jack pointed at the deserted beauty spot. "That's where Karen and Pickle stayed for a few nights. when it first happened."

"I know," Shaz said, and glared at the spot briefly. "She said something about it being blocked off with a prison van, and mentioned the people they lost when they were up there."

The truck then hit the decline and went down the road. Jack could see a couple of bodies at the side, but couldn't make out which ones he and Gary had got rid of many weeks ago. Then when the truck got to the junction, it turned right and Jack pointed up ahead at the burnt out Porsche, just outside Draycott Park and the "Welcome to Rugeley" sign.

Jack announced, "That was Gary's car. We both went into town to stock up on petrol and the car slammed into a horde of the things, fucking up the engine. Gary ended up lighting a rag and blowing the thing up, taking us off of our feet."

"Shut up." Shaz began to laugh and playfully punched him on his arm. "You never mentioned that before. You're making this up now."

Vince sighed reluctantly, "It's true. A proper anti-hero, aren't you Jack?"

Jack shrugged his shoulders, ignoring the mocking of Vince. "At the time I just wanted to stay alive for my son, that's all."

Shaz was gob-smacked at the stuff Jack had gone through. He had told her some stories, but not all. He didn't seem like Pickle or Karen, he seemed...well, like an average man, quite a gentle man.

Vince was becoming jealous of Jack's story and glared at the thirty-year-old Shaz as she began rubbing Jack's thigh affectionately. Vince shook his head. It wasn't that long ago Jack was lusting after Claire; it appeared she had been quickly forgotten.

"So how do we get on this field?" Vince asked, looking behind in the back window, looking out for anything that could be problematic.

"Get to the end of Queensway, then turn right onto a concrete path and on the field. Obviously, we'll have to walk the rest."

"It'll take a while to get everything out of that cabin and onto the truck." Vince spoke, still staring out the back.

"We should have taken two trucks," Shaz said.

"You're joking," laughed Vince. "It's only food and water that's going to fill the back, as well as Karen and the old man. Besides, imagine if we got carjacked again. That'd be four trucks I have lost in a couple of days. I'd end up a laughing stock."

"Look?" Shaz pointed up ahead once the truck reached the flat part of Queensway, and all three could see three ghouls stumbling down Hislop Road and onto the Queensway road.

"There's only three." Vince tried to settle their nerves.

"For now." Jack placed his right foot harder on the gas pedal and could see that the three were hopelessly trying to follow the truck. There was no chance they could catch up, but there was every chance they could end up on the field while the group were going back and forth on foot from the cabin, loading up the van.

"What do you reckon?" Jack turned to Vince.

Knowing where Jack was coming from, Vince shook his head and used his hand in a gesture for Jack Slade to calm down. "There's no point killing them if they're not any danger."

"But they might follow us."

"Then we'll deal with them then." Vince wound the window down and spat onto the road. "Besides, the shotguns are in the back and I don't wanna be wasting cartridges on these dumb fucks that aren't even a threat. And Jack?"

"What?"

"Turn the friggin' air-con down. I'm freezing my tits off in here."

The truck slowed down, and came to the last two hundred yards of the long street. Vince could see that the end of the street was a mess, with burnt out cars, a burnt out house, as well as numerous bodies of the dead strewn across it. Shaz had been responsible for a couple of the deaths, but she remained tight-lipped.

Jack slipped the vehicle into second, and he turned it onto the concrete path.

"Thank God it's the summer," Jack spoke out. "Imagine if I get this vehicle on the grass and the wheels get stuck in the dirt. What a bummer that'd be."

The truck drove onto the field and Shaz pointed through the windscreen and could see one figure standing at the top of the hill. "There's Karen."

All three became sombre once they knew that one of them had to tell her the news about Pickle. Nobody was looking forward to that.