Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) (2 page)

Chapter Three

"Stay behind me," ordered Vince.

The three individuals did what they were told, and Vince, Jack, Claire and Paul walked out into the glorious day, Vince with his shotgun at the ready. The sun shone down strongly as it hung in the cloud-free blue sky, and the glare made it hard for Vince and his crew to see properly. He squinted his eyes, and took off the goggles, which he thought was making his eyesight worse. "Should have worn shades."

One of the seven creatures that were near the two pick-up trucks immediately walked over towards the group, forcing Vince to pull the trigger, watching its head explode into pieces. Once that blast occurred, the other six all turned around at the same time and headed towards the group in their clumsy, awkward manner.

Vince squeezed the trigger again, dropping two of them. He opened the old-style shotgun and took out the empty cartridges and put his hand in his pocket for two more.

"This is taking forever." Jack drew his machete.

"I abso-fucking-lutely agree." Vince turned the shotgun around and used the butt of the gun to take another one down, while Jack was disposing of victim number five. Claire and Paul took care of the other two, and she pointed to her left.

Claire announced, "We better hurry this up."

There were fifteen remaining beasts left on the car park, and all fifteen were heading their way, and some were a little quicker than others.

"Do you think we can take them?" Paul asked.

Both Jack and Vince stared at the rotund man as if he had lost his mind. "Be my guest," Vince said sarcastically, noticing a gang of the dead piling out from the accident and emergency department doors. "Just give me a shout when you're done."

Paul stood motionless, confused, unaware of what to do next.

"He's being sarcastic," Jack informed Paul and sighed. "Let's move it."

As Paul and Claire got into their vehicle, Vince called out, "And no speeding; you stick behind me, whatever happens."

Just like the way they travelled to the hospital, Vince and Jack got into one truck and threw their bags in the back, while Claire and Paul jumped into the other. Both vehicles sped out of the car park with Vince driving the truck in front and Paul driving the one following.

Once both he and Jack were out of the hospital grounds, Vince checked in his rear-view mirror to see if Paul and Claire were still behind. He drove the truck at a modest thirty round the windy, country lanes and looked at how they were doing for petrol.

Half a tank. Plenty of juice.

They began to travel back to the camp the same way they arrived, and for the first few minutes they sat in silence, trying to get their breath back and lower their pulse. Both men gazed up ahead and eventually passed an abandoned Renault for the second time, the inside of the vehicle still smeared in blood, and once they turned left at a junction the silence was broken.

"So what kind of shit was in that room?" Jack asked. "I just cleared the shelves and squeezed whatever I could into my bag."

"Well, I was given a list compiled by Mandy." Vince was referring to a woman who lived in the camp, a former chemist. Vince put his hand in his jeans and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and handed it to Jack. "I ain't gotta clue; that's why I told you lot just to empty what you could into your bags. It was good of Mandy to compile a list, but I knew we wouldn't have time to be pissing about."

Jack looked at the list, and didn't recognise half of the words. Antiplatelets. Amorolfine. Statins.

Vince added, "I don't know how Mandy's going to dish these drugs out."

"Probably best to store them in one of the empty caravans. Put Mandy in there and use it as some kind of mobile clinic."

"I like that idea." Vince then gaped at Jack, and asked with a smirk on his features, changing the subject, "So how are you and Claire getting on these days?" Vince took another look in the rear-view mirror, then looked back at Slade, awaiting an answer.

"Okay, I guess." Jack shrugged his shoulders and threw the medical list onto the floor of the truck.

Vince laughed, "Haven't you two..." He then made a circle with his left forefinger and thumb, took his right forefinger and popped it in and out the circle, making a sexual gesture.

"You've got a mind like a sewer, Vince." Jack didn't look impressed. "And keep your hands on the steering wheel."

"I take that as a
no
then."

Vince had entered the small town of Milford on this quiet, relatively unadventurous journey, and continued the conversation that Jack was keen to avoid. "I noticed she's been spending a bit of time in your caravan, so I just thought I'd ask."

"We're just getting to know each other," Jack spoke honestly. "I do like her, if that's what you're getting at."

"Well, I noticed that from day one." Vince huffed, "It's hard to come by ever since all this shit started, as well as beer."

"Sex?"

"Uh-huh."

"So you was a bit of a lady-killer, back in the day, eh?" Jack tried to tease.

"Oh yeah." Vince looked slightly above, reminiscing, his eyes temporarily off the road. "I got my fair share of the ladies, I can tell you."

Jack took a look at the state of Vince's scarred face and thought that he was either bullshitting, or he must have had the gift of the gab.

Continued Vince, "I actually made a woman scream once."

Jack bit his bottom lip, trying to stifle a laugh that was aching to get out. "You made a woman...scream?"

Vince looked at Jack, his face deadly-serious. "Oh yeah."

"And how did you manage that? Did you put the light on?"

Ignoring Jack's ribbing, Vince shook his head. "No, what happened was that I went down on her—"

"And you forgot to take the cigarette out of your mouth?"

"For fuck's sake, Jackie Boy. Are you gonna let me finish this story, or what?"

Jack Slade pointed up ahead, and both men saw five ghouls around some kind of kill that both men couldn't make out. They were coming to the perimeter of the woods, and it appeared that the lane they needed had been temporarily blocked off by the dead.

"I could probably ram them," said Vince. "but I have no idea what that...thing is they're munching on."

"I thought it was a person."

Vince shook his head. "Nah; it's too big to be human. A cow, maybe. I've seen it before. These fuckers will eat anything warm."

Jack already knew this. He had witnessed a group of the dead taking down two pitbulls when he and Johnny Jefferson were hiding on top of that garage. He then thought about Johnny. That guy wasn't cut out for this world, but Jack appreciated him for bringing him into the factory when he was ready to collapse from dehydration and starvation. He then looked at the driver of the pick-up truck, Vince, the same man that had killed Johnny after he had been bitten.

Jack blamed Vince for Johnny's demise. If he hadn't introduced the initiation test of having to kill three of the things, maybe Johnny would still be alive now. Jack had despised Vince since that incident, but once Vince and Claire went back for him, when he was slumped unconscious in his vehicle after the collision at the crossroads, he had forgiven him to a certain degree.

"Fuck it." Vince dropped a gear. "I'll try and go round them." He then looked into the rear-view mirror again to see if the other truck was still following them. It was.

The truck swerved around the small gathering and not one of those things took an interest as they were too occupied with their feed, stuffing anything they could get in their mouths.

"I don't get it." Vince shook his head. "They're dead—"

"Don't even go there. It'll drive you crazy." Jack knew exactly where Vince was coming from. "I've asked that question a hundred times. Me and a friend of mine, Gary, used to talk about this stuff. If they're dead, and their stomachs and digestive system doesn't work, then why do they eat?"

"Is it instinct?" Vince looked bemused, and added, "I've noticed a lot of bloated Rotters these days."

"That's something to do with the gases—"

"And the fact that there's nowhere for the food to go once it's been eaten. So they just eat and eat, until their stomachs burst open. I've seen it once."

"Seriously?"

Vince nodded. "A couple of days before you and that wimp turned up, I was on a run and saw one in the middle of the road. It had its stomach torn open.
That
was probably due to overeating." Vince then laughed at the sentence that had just left his mouth. It sounded ridiculous.

The truck continued through the windy lanes and now on either side of the men were the woods, a section of Cannock Chase. Vince looked around and remembered his early teen years. He had spent some of his younger years biking around these woods with a bag on his back. He did this for three years, in all weathers, until his best friend was hit by a car from behind and killed instantly. The driver was never found, which resulted in no one being prosecuted for the young death.

Jack's mind began to drift as he stared at the trees that whizzed by, and wished he was back at his home, back in Glasgow. Of course, the only reason why he left Scotland's biggest city was because he wanted to go back to his hometown and see Thomas.

He missed the simple things in life he used to take for granted. He didn't miss his job, but he liked to walk around the city centre during his lunch breaks. He would pop into Greggs and get himself a tuna baguette and a carton of milk. But every Friday he would treat himself and walk to Queen Street and purchase a foot-long Subway, steak and cheese, with everything apart from black olives. Then, if the day was reasonable, he'd take the short walk to George Square to eat his purchase and people-watch.

He loved his weekends as well. When he wasn't out on a night, drinking and trying to get laid, he would sometimes spend his time during the day walking to the Pollok Estate, lie on the grass and fall asleep. Other days, if he never fancied the long walk, he would simply walk up the Corkerhill Road and take a stroll in Bellahouston Park, providing it wasn't full of neds, getting drunk on their Buckfast.

A sudden bang, which was quickly followed by the crack of the windscreen, forced Jack out of his daydream. Vince and his passenger both jumped; the vehicle skidded to the left and another blast was heard. Jack could feel
his
side of the vehicle drop, as if the tyre had burst. The truck veered off the road and rolled twice down a bank before coming to a stop on its roof, leaving both men unconscious.

Chapter Four

Leaving his machete tucked into his belt, Pickle rammed the steak knife into the left eye of the ghoul, grabbed its hair, and gave the knife a half-twist, making sure enough damage had been achieved to destroy the brain. Once the creature stopped moving, he removed the knife. He grabbed its leg and dragged it over to the pile of bodies, and promised himself to wash his hands once he got back to the cabin.

"Gonna have to burn the lot o' yer one day." Pickle gaped at the pile of corpses that he and Karen had taken care of over the course of a week. He couldn't really tell how many they had killed. Eight? Nine? Ten?

These creatures were lost, and would walk over the football field and get to the bottom of the hill and attempt to walk up it. Once their weak legs crumbled beneath them, they'd fall into a heap, but continue to crawl up the hill, as if they knew there was something up there they could devour.

Pickle didn't really understand their actions, and wondered why it was just the odd one that would make their way to the hill. If a handful of these things sensed there was something of worth at the top of the place, then why weren't they all coming up? Maybe the occasional one had seen movement from afar and walked in the direction of the movement. Maybe the smoke from Wolf's fire wasn't helping either, but Pickle was quite happy to kill the odd Snatcher if it meant that they were still getting hot meals. However, the fire wasn't used as much as it used to be when they first arrived, now that they had gas and a camping stove. He wondered how long that'd last.

Pickle took a look up to the perfect blue sky, and squinted as the sun temporarily blinded him, creating red and yellow spots in front of his eyes. He then placed his right hand over his eyes and looked up to see that Karen and Shaz had returned from their wash and were now sitting at the top of the hill, near Grace Kindl's grave.

Already feeling the strain on his back, Pickle arched over and made the steep walk up to where the girls were, and decided to avoid the cabin for a little longer and leave Wolfgang Kindl in peace for a moment. There wasn't a great deal to do as far as entertainment was concerned, so Pickle tried to give him as much time to himself as he could, although they seemed to enjoy each other's company when they were together.

Pickle stopped halfway up the hill and took a look around. He could now see the trees and shrubs a lot more clearly, and behind the greenery was the cabin. He then took a peep at the back of the Pear Tree Estate. He hadn't been down there in days, and he was glad to never go back, although in a week or so he felt that a supplies-trip would have to take place with four mouths to feed. He felt that the offering of berries and mushrooms that were available in the woods was never going to be enough to suppress the appetite of four adults.

His nose felt better as the days went by; his bruising was beginning to subside on his torso, and the stump on his left hand where his little finger used to be, was still smarting, and Karen told him that he needed at least another few days of painkillers.

He turned around and made the effort to reach the top of the hill. Clearly out of breath, he gave the women a silent salutation with his hand, and then took a seat inbetween Shaz and Karen.

Karen falsely scorned, "A waste of energy going all the way down there to kill that thing, don't you think, Branston?"

"I've been sitting on ma arse most o' the day, Karen." Pickle pulled his legs up into his chest and rested his arms on his knees. "I fancied a walk anyway. Needed to stretch ma legs."

"It's been very quiet down there for the last few days." Shaz nodded over to the back of the Pear Tree Estate. "Let's hope those people have finally been left to get on with it."

"They're gonna have to do what we've been doing eventually," Karen said. "I'm sure among those dozens of streets there're a lot of dead people and vacant houses, just aching to be stripped."

"And we might have to do some stripping ourselves in a week or so." Pickle nodded in agreement with himself. "Especially now we've got four mouths to feed."

Karen placed the right palm of her hand onto her stomach.
Make that five.

With the exception of Wolf knowing, Karen still hadn't told anyone that she was pregnant. She hadn't gone past the dreaded three month barrier yet, and wanted to wait until then before announcing to everyone. She was still less-than-enthusiastic about the predicament, but it was there, it was never going away, and like Wolf had told Karen, it was the only part of Gary that she had left.

In truth, the thought of having a child in this new world frightened her to death.

Karen glared at Pickle's nose and he asked, "How's it lookin'?"

"A little bent," she answered. "But it'll heal, so long as you keep out of any rough and tumble."

Sharon Bailey took out her machete that Wolf had given her a few days ago, and drove it into the ground as the handle was digging into her hip. Days earlier, Pickle and Karen had asked Wolf if he had another machete for Shaz, as the cleaver she kept on using was a hindrance and always ended up getting stuck whenever she attacked a ghoul. Wolf gave Shaz his last machete. It was the last one he had after Pickle had obtained another one from Wolf, after having his original one stolen by a member of the gang that gave him a beating when he went down to the Pear Tree Estate.

Pickle lay down and put his arms behind his head, his face taking in some sun.

"Why don't you go the whole hog and take your T-shirt off?" Shaz teased.

Pickle kept his eyes closed and his arms behind his head when he responded to Shaz's ribbing. "It's been a while since yer girls have seen any action, and I don't want yer to look at ma well-toned pecs, my chiselled abs, and start getting aroused now."

"I'm sure we'll cope," Karen snickered.

"Sorry to disappoint yer, ma sweet bitches." Pickle wore a smile and pointed at his T-shirt. "But the goods underneath this cloth are staying covered."

"Not just a peek at those
chiselled abs
?" teased Shaz once again.

"Nope." Pickle's voice then changed to a more serious tone. "Besides, ma back is in dire need o' a wax."

"Time to go," said Karen.

Both Shaz and Pickle looked to their side to see Wolf standing by the greenery and waving at the group. Dinner was ready.

"So what are we having tonight?" Karen asked Pickle.

"Mushroom soup," answered Pickle.

"Again?"

"Come on now, Karen."

"I could murder a Chicken Tikka Bhoona." Shaz began to salivate at the thought of it. "Poppadoms, with pilau rice and a garlic nan."

"Don't start that again," sighed Pickle.

They ponderously made their way to the cabin, walked through the solid gate and Wolf bolted it once everyone was in the garden.

The sixty-nine-year-old man adjusted the straw hat sitting on his head; he took out four plastic bowls, and was now ready to dish out the soup.

The three of them were sitting around the stove, dressed in dark attire, machete in the left side of their leather belts that they wore and were given to by Wolf.

Wolf laughed and shook his head. For some reason, this picture of the three of them had made him giggle.

Pickle asked confusingly, "What is it?"

"I'm laughing at you three," Wolf answered.

"Why?"

Wolf looked the three of them up and down, from their trousers to their T-shirts. "You look like a group of assassins."