Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) (23 page)

Chapter Forty Six

July 4th
.

For a second, when Tommy stretched and yawned, he had forgot where he was and what was happening. As soon as realisation sank in, he shot up off of the couch and could hear the groans coming from outside. Tommy had opted for the couch, while Pickle slept in the only bedroom that was fit to sleep in.

Tommy looked at his watch to see that it was nearly seven in the morning. He had hardly slept. His feet galloped up the stairs and he entered the bedroom to see Pickle staring out at the July sky. "It's light enough to go," he declared.

"I heard groans. Are they still out there?" asked Tommy.

"Come look for yerself." Pickle beckoned Tommy over. "Yer see that?"

Tommy scratched his shaved ginger hair, and sauntered over to the window, not sure if he wanted to look or not. Both men glared below. Tommy couldn't count how many there were, but if he claimed there were thirty, he wouldn't be exaggerating. Trying to keep a cool head, he enquired, "What's it like out the back?"

"Come take a look."

Both men entered Megan's room, with Pickle leading the way, and their eyes peered out of the girl's window. "At least they haven't put down the fence." He patted Tommy on the back. "That's something."

Tommy could see there were dozens scattered along the outside of the fence, and there were a few more in the woods. "Do they definitely know we're in here?"

Pickle was unsure and answered, "I think so. Either that, or they just followed their...colleagues. These things hunt in packs a lot o' the times. If they so much as hear a gunshot, most o' these things will flee and head for the direction the sound came from."

"So what's your plan? Any bright ideas?"

Pickle nodded. "Any alcohol? If we can light a bottle and throw it out the window, it'd be a huge distraction once it hit the road and exploded."

Tommy slapped his head. "I threw it away."

Pickle thought it was a strange thing to do, but never asked Tommy his reasons. There wasn't time. "Plan B then."

"Plan B?"

"What we discussed before. Someone bangs on the fence, enticing them to where the sound is, then we move through the gate, out into the woods." Pickle gazed at Tommy for a reaction.

Tommy frowned, gone astray in deliberation, and pulled his eyes upwards as he thought about Pickle's idea. As far as the new world was concerned, Pickle's experience outweighed Tommy's by a country mile, and he finally nodded in agreement. "When are you thinking about doing this?"

"No time like the present. If we wait any longer..."

Tommy didn't need to finish off Pickle's sentence, but did anyway. "There'll probably be more of them."

Tommy took his gun and checked he had a full magazine. He handed Pickle the knife.

"I'll cause the distraction," said Pickle.

Tommy grabbed his bag and took out a clean pair of socks. He handed a pair to Pickle, who cackled, "Don't mind if I do."

After discarding their smelly old pair and putting on a fresh pair of socks, both men put on their shoes and trotted downstairs.

Tommy had put his backpack on, both straps over his shoulders. There was a big smile on Tommy's face once they had reached the front door. It was as if he was excited by the whole thing. Noticing this, Pickle looked at him. "What's with the stupid look on yer face?"

"It's a bit like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid."

Pickle screwed his face in reflection and paused for a moment. "Didn't they die in the end?"

Tommy blushed and cleared his throat. "Yeah, well, obviously that's not the outcome that I want."

Pickle playfully punched Tommy in the chest and announced, "Shall we just hurry the fuck up?"

Tommy nodded and opened the door.

Both males were greeted by an empty back garden with a high fence, but the moaning sounds from behind the fence sent shivers down the spines of both men, more so Tommy.

Pickle took out the knife, held out his left hand and drew the knife across his palm. He could see Tommy in the corner of his eye wondering what the fuck he was doing, but ignored him. He then made a fist and saw the blood run from his hand and began to smear it on the top of the fence to the left of him. He looked at the cut on his palm, the finger missing, and the slash on his left forearm. "Fuck me, they'll be nothin' left o' me by the end o' July," he joked to himself.

He then began slamming the fence with the palm of his right hand, while squeezing his raised left hand, dripping more blood on the top of the fence.

Tommy was now at the end of the garden, near the gate, and whispered, "Another minute." He began deep breaths while Pickle continued to slam the fence. Tommy peered over and then looked over to Pickle, making a
psst
sound.

Tommy held three of his fingers up to tell Pickle that there was now only three Grabbers at the front of the gate, and then pulled out his handgun in preparation.

Pickle continued to slam the fence and could hear them all moaning. He nodded over to Tommy to inform him that it was time. Tommy Burns opened the gate and Pickle ran over, and both men left the premises where only three ghouls were now present. The rest were still at the left side of the fence.

The nearest one was only ten yards away and instantaneously went for Tommy. Tommy shot it with little hesitation. As soon as a round was fired into the head of one of the things, the other two ghouls were side-kicked in their torsos by Pickle, knocking them over. Both men ran into the woods, with the rest of the ghouls slowly following, after hearing the gunshot.

"Sorry," Tommy gasped, referring to the gunshot after a sudden rush of blood to the head.

"Don't worry about it. If we can't outrun these fuckers then we
deserve
to die," Pickle laughed, and almost ran into a thick branch.

The longer they ran, the thicker the woods became, and both men slapped away branch after branch as they progressed through the heavy greenery. Pickle could see that an over-zealous Tommy was now in front of him. Pickle called out, with the little breath he had left, "Slow down! We can't see what's in front o' us."

Tommy slowed down, turned to face Pickle and flashed him a smile.

From out of the greenery a pair of hands grabbed Tommy around the neck; he yelped in fright and dropped the gun. There was now two of them and Pickle ran at the one that had Tommy by the neck and rammed his knife into the top of its cranium. As Pickle struggled to pull the knife free, he could hear the high-pitched scream coming from Tommy. Pickle twisted his neck to his left and could see the other creature tearing out Tommy's throat, ripping out his trachea, blood gushing out and covering the beast's mouth. Tommy fell to the floor with the creature on top of him, still chewing on skin and cartilage. Pickle ran over and booted the thing in the stomach. As it fell off of Tommy, Pickle bent down for the gun and put a round in its head. He then turned to Tommy and went on his knees.

Tommy was sobbing. His eyes were like flying saucers and his breathing was shallow and erratic. He knew he was finished. His throat was torn and the blood continued to flow out all over the grass.

"Do it," he cried, urging Pickle to put him out of his misery.

Pickle hesitated for a second, but then stood up and pointed the Glock at Tommy's forehead. By the time Pickle's finger caressed the trigger Tommy was already dead. The breathing had stopped, but the eyes were still open like plates.

Pickle turned around and could hear the Snatchers from outside the house coming his way. He turned Tommy over and took his bag off of him, put the straps over his shoulder and placed it on his back. It seemed disrespectful to leave him where he was and to allow him to change into one of those things, so he shot Tommy in the head, and walked briskly in the woods.

He wanted to be as far away from the ghouls, that were behind him, as possible, but he also didn't know what was in front of him. Thankfully, Harry Branston had reached a huge dirt path, a spacious part of the woods, but what welcomed him made his blood run cold.

A dozen of the dead stumbled in his direction, and it appeared that the gunshots were enticing these freaks from afar from all directions. "I hope you're listening to me, God. I need your help with these soldiers of Satan."

Pickle took off the bag and pulled out another magazine, which he put in his pocket next to his knife that Tommy had given him. "Here goes nothing."

The closest three went down with a round each to the head, both releasing dark blood from the back as the bullet made its impact. The others shambled towards Pickle with a bit more zest, and he put another two down, both females, and put a another round each in their ravaged skulls to make sure.

Double tap.

Eight shots left in the magazine. Seven ghouls.

A male Snatcher, who was bizarrely in only his pants, was now the nearest to Pickle. Once he put it down, he blasted at the remaining ones until the magazine was empty.

Time for magazine two.

There were two left. Both was—or used to be—males, and the one on the left already had its left arm missing from the elbow down, wearing casual clothes. The creature on the right, the nearest one, stumbled over a large triangular shaped rock and fell over. Pickle fired one shot at the one on the left, and fired a second shot when he realised he had completely missed it. The second shot hit it in the cheek, but it continued to gain on him, while the other ghoul was still struggling to get itself up off of the rock. He fired a third time and this time it fell to the floor with some of its head missing.

To save bullets, Pickle jogged by the struggling one on the rock and left it to its own devices. It seemed pointless killing something that wasn't a danger to him anymore.

Now that he could see ahead of him and that the area was clear, he began to jog with the gun in his right hand, the bag in his left. He looked behind to see that the horde hadn't reached the area yet, but with all the gunshots, it was only a matter of time. He had managed to run two hundred yards when another three appeared from the left of him.

He turned and aimed carefully, taking his time, then fired three shots. Each beast's head had swallowed a slug and it put them out of their dead misery. The ringing in Pickle's ears was resounding, and as soon as he lowered the gun, he could feel the presence of more of them from behind.

He quickly turned around and saw five beasts, with stretching arms, try and reach for him. He took a step back and fired indiscriminately, catching only two. Fearing for his life, he kicked the nearest one over and began to run, but could see three up ahead, the three remaining to his right, and the horde coming from behind. He was more or less surrounded, and didn't want to go into the heavy woods to his left as he didn't know what was in there.

An exhausted Pickle ran forwards, heading towards the three beasts and fired shot after shot to clear the path. Only one fell and Pickle had another magazine to change. "Oh, fuck." He needed more ammo, and had to ruffle through the bag to see where Tommy had put the other magazines.

With panicky hands he emptied the bag of its contents onto the ground, and by the time he had come across another magazine a pair of hands pulled him to the floor. Pickle dropped the gun and immediately went for the knife in his pocket, and struggled with the ghoul as the rest were gaining on him.

Its rotten mouth snarled at Pickle as it lay on top of him and Harry Branston pushed its head back to keep its diseased mouth away from him. Pickle's back was on the floor and he looked around in a panic as the army of feet shuffled closer to him, while he was trying to fight off the creature that was more rotten than any other he had seen. It still gnashed at Pickle and had gained an inch, but Pickle screamed out and grabbed it with both hands, forcing it back, bending its spine.

A slow, cracking sound could be heard, followed by a gushing noise. Pickle could feel his stomach and chest getting soaked, and as he looked down, he could see that he had practically snapped the rotting beast in half, forcing it to spill out its insides all over him.

Finally, he had managed to push the thing off of him and scampered away only a few yards, when he was grabbed again. He was almost encircled by twenty of the things and he looked ahead of him, where he was originally going, closed his eyes and ran at the creatures that were standing in his way.

He cried as he ran at them and knocked them over with ease, although he also fell over in the process.

He got to his feet, covered in the diseased blood, amongst other things, and the nearest one of the following crowd had grabbed him by the hair. With the little strength that he had left, Pickle rammed his knife three times in the neck, the knife pointing upwards, just about penetrating the brain.

He removed the knife and staggered away from the groaning horde like a drunk. He banged into a tree and bounced off another as he made his escape on his weary feet. His breath was heavy, and he prayed as he continued along the dirt path.

"Please, God. Help me!" he cried out.

He looked over his shoulder and saw that the group were heavy in numbers, but were beginning to fade away the more he ran. He had speed on his side, but he didn't have a limitless amount of energy to keep moving.
They
did. He was exhausted and knew that that tiredness was something they didn't experience.