Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) (26 page)

Chapter Fifty One

Vince was walking past one of the chicken coops, when he bumped into a distressed-looking Shaz. "Jack wants a word with us," Shaz announced, then shrugged her shoulders to state that she had no idea what it was about and that she was just as much in the dark as everybody else.

Fresh from returning from killing the remaining Rotters from the main road near The Ash Tree pub, Vince sighed. "Can't it wait until I have a wash? Fuck me, I've only been back five minutes."

"Don't shoot the messenger." Shaz turned around and headed back to Jack's caravan, and added, "It's up to you. Do what you want."

Vince sighed, "What is it?"

"He doesn't look good."

"Of course he doesn't." Vince threw his head back and cackled. "He's still suffering from last night. Maybe he feels queasy again after seeing all that death when we picked you and Karen up half an hour ago."

Shaz stopped walking and swivelled round. "What happened last night?"

"He was drunk."

"Oh right." She beckoned Vince over to follow her. "Just come and see him. He asked for you."

They both stared in silence for a few seconds, until Vince said, "Fine. I'll see what he wants."

Vince followed Shaz to caravan number seven, stepped into the humble place and saw that Karen was already there, giving Jack a glass of water. Jack was lying on the settee and looked pale. Vince turned to Shaz for an explanation.

She said, "I asked Karen to see him first. Well, she
is
a nurse."

"What does a nurse actually do?" Vince stepped into the kitchen area and helped himself to an apple that had been picked from the local orchid, a rare luxury. "All they do is wipe arses and change sheets."

"Careful," Karen growled, and placed the glass of water next to the TV that hadn't been used in weeks. "Just because you're in charge here, doesn't mean you won't get a slap."

Vince strolled in the open caravan, near the living room, and sat down on one of the chairs in the tiny dining area. "So what's this all about, Jack?" asked Vince.

Jack tried to sit up.

Seeing that he was struggling, Shaz and Karen rushed over to him and helped him up.

Jack's face was ashen, the sweat glistened on his forehead with its army of pearls, and his lips looked to be tinged with a hint of blue.

Now that he had a better look at him, Vince was stunned by Jack's appearance. "Jesus, you look like shit."

"Feel like it," Jack mumbled, and manage to produce a thin smile.

"What was in that Jack Daniels?" Vince tried to make a joke about Jack's appearance, but his friend wasn't in the mood.

"It has nothing to do with the Jack Daniels." Jack licked his cracked lips and stared at Vince as if he had something else to say, but instead, he lifted his right arm up and showed them all the bite mark on his tricep. It was bleeding, but not as much as it could have been.

Jack explained to his shocked audience, "They didn't manage to completely rip it open, but it's enough." He looked at the group with sad eyes. "Enough to get me infected."

Shaz lowered her head, knowing that Jack had been bit when he went back for her. She cried, "Maybe you could ride it out, may it's not that deep—"

"Look at the state of me." Jack fought back the tears and added, "It happened half an hour ago and I've turned into a mess. Coincidence? I don't think so."

"So what are we gonna do?" asked Vince, coldly. Karen was sure he was putting a brave face on to make him look like he was in control of the situation.

Jack opened his mouth to speak, but began coughing instead. His coughing became so severe that Karen went over to him and slapped him on the back. He spat out some blood, which hit the floor.

Jack slowly looked up, and took a look at Shaz. "For what it's worth. I'm glad I went back for you."

Tears fell from Shaz's eyes, but she never wiped them away and allowed them to drip off her chin.

Jack pointed at Vince. "When I go. End it for me. Don't let me turn into one of those freaks."

Vince nodded the once.

Jack then gawped in Karen's direction and asked her, "Could you get me a bucket? I think I'm going to be sick."

Karen quickly went in the cupboard, under the sink, and brought a yellow one out. As soon as Jack's fingers touched it, he violently vomited blood into it. Vince turned away from the scene. Jack looked in agony and he looked frightened.

Once the vomiting had ceased, Jack broke down and apologised again and again inbetween his crying.

"What're you apologising for?" Karen touched his face with the palm of her right hand. "You put your life on the line for Shaz. You're a hero."

"I'm a coward," Jack cried. "I know I'm going to die, and it's frightening the life out of me."

"That's understandable."

"Is it?" He looked at Karen and said, "Pickle never screamed out once when they took him down. He was valiant to the end."

Karen was touched by Jack's words, and felt a sense of pride. The mention of her friend had tightened her throat. "But Pickle's...death was probably quick. He probably never had time to reflect the way you can. Does that make sense? Unless you're insane, everybody's scared of dying."

Jack cried, "Even you?"

"Even me." Karen placed her hand on her tummy. "Especially now."

Jack's eyes began to roll, and Vince called out in a broken voice, "You okay, buddy?"

"I think he's passing out." Karen helped Jack to lie down and his eyes opened for a second before closing again. Karen asked if he was okay.

"I need to rest," Jack said, but no one budged. The three of them remained in the caravan.

From out of nowhere, Vince admitted, "It's my fault. Jack was in no condition to go out. He was still rough from the night before."

Karen rubbed her face and began to massage her temples. She was getting a migraine. "There's no point in going over the what ifs. It's hard, but look at the world at the moment. Death is everywhere. Pickle, now Jack. Who's next?"

Karen's realistic speech touched a nerve in both Vince and Shaz. It appeared that nowhere was safe. Even if the area was cleared of the dead, the supplies to the camp were also a long-term concern.

Vince had to think ahead, even in the first week, and had already introduced areas for vegetable patches, and fenced off areas for animals that the farmers had brought with them.

The runs came in handy in the first week, then the farmers set up a water supply and got the animals settled in. Obviously the vegetable patches were going to take time, but they had hundreds of packets of seeds that had been stolen from the garden centre.

In the first week the allotment in Brereton was raided by Vince, Claire and a few others. When they came back with a pick-up truck full of food, Vince was treated like a hero and was on a high that he was being worshipped by these people. It was a buzz, a feeling of power, and he never wanted it to end.

Vince put his head back and closed his eyes. Although it was the morning, he was tired and had very little sleep the night before. Four hours. And now it was catching up with him.

*

"Vince!"

He had nodded off and sat up, drenched in panic, scanning the room frantically. "What? What is it?" He then realised that he was still in Jack's caravan.

He looked at the two girls with his blurry eyes and rubbed them to improve his focus.

Karen stood straight with her arms folded, but Shaz was sitting next to Jack and appeared to be upset, close to tears.

"Jack's stopped breathing." Karen announced, and handed Vince a steak knife from the cutlery drawer. "You know what to do."

Chapter Fifty Two

Pickle had decided to cut across the field in order to shave off a few minutes on his journey time. His legs ached, his head was pounding, and his whole body was drenched with sweat. He had never done so much cardio exercise on a morning before, and knew that his muscles were going to feel it the next day—if he made it. Cardio had never been his strong point when he was in his prime. He was more of a lifter.

He had spent many years going to the gym. In his prime he could deadlift 140kg for five to eight repetitions. His squatting was a little weaker, with his maximum achievement being 120kg for five reps, but his benching was impressive, and he had managed a 140kg lift for six reps. Once he was jailed, he lost a lot of strength. On the outside he used whey protein shakes, creatine, and glutamine, but jail-time had put a stop to that.

Now, as he stumbled along the field, he felt that he was due some luck after what he had gone through, but as soon as a beast walked out of the long line of bushes to his right, he felt like screaming. It came at Pickle from only twenty yards away and frustratingly it seemed faster than what an exhausted Pickle could move at. He pulled out the knife, unsure whether he had the strength to kill it, and waited for it to gain on him.

It's only one. It shouldn't be too much of a problem
.
Please don't let it be a problem.

He glared at the thing with his weary eyes. When it was a human being, it used to be a young female, no older than twenty years old, blonde hair down to her back. Now, it was dead, and an absolute mess. Its left cheek had been ripped open.

Pickle thought that maybe that that was the way she had become infected in the first place. Maybe a beast had taken a chunk out of her face. Also, the dirty green overalls she had on were ripped, and on her feet were a pair of green wellies. Remembering the farm over the hill, Pickle assumed that he was face-to-face with the daughter—or one of the daughters—of the farmer.

In the beginning, Pickle always assumed that farms were probably the safest places to be during these times. Obviously not.

The reason why he never imposed himself on these establishments was for the fear of being shot. Most of these places already had a
Trespassers Will Be Shot
sign on their gates, and who could blame them? No matter the weaponry a farmer had, the machinery, diesel, animals and other facilities they had at their disposal, made them a target for desperate people willing to kill for what they had.

As soon as the dead girl was within three metres of Pickle, she raised her arms and made a quick move forward, taking him by surprise. Pickle took a tired swipe at her, the knife plunging into her neck, and both of them fell to the floor. He was lying flat on the ground, while his attacker was on top of him, snarling, gnashing, and snapping at the man.

With the little strength that he had left, he pushed her head back with both of his hands, keeping the teeth away from his neck. He had no idea why they always went for the neck. He didn't know whether that it was because it was the softest part of the body, or that it was because the neck was flesh that was always on show. It was almost as if they knew that if they ripped away at the carotid artery, their victim would bleed out and die quickly so they could feast on them in peace, without a struggle.

For a second Pickle thought about it, but then shook his head. They weren't intelligent for that, Pickle thought, and rebuffed the theory. Maybe it was just instinct.

Did they rip open the neck as a quick passage to the brain?

Still pushing the face away with the knife still embedded into the neck, he screamed out knowing that he was weakening. His hands then slipped as the thing struggled to get at him, and now his hands were over its eyes. He stuck his thumbs into its sockets for a better grip then he realised what he needed to do. Why didn't he think of this before?

He pushed his thumbs slowly into the soft eyeballs and winced when his thumbs went straight through. Liquid poured out of both eye sockets, but doubts crept into his mind whether his thumbs would be long enough to penetrate the brain and kill the thing.

His dead assailant then opened its mouth and released a moan. Thick black liquid poured out of its mouth, and Pickle turned his head. He felt the foul, diseased liquid splashing over his chin and all over his neck. He continued with his gouging and could feel the skull slowly coming away as he pushed upwards. He was almost ripping its head off with his strength, but the thumbs seemed to have done the damage as the creature twitched and then stopped moving altogether.

He had destroyed it, and removed his thumbs from the sockets and allowed the body to fall on him. He was so exhausted, he remained lying with the dead girl on top of him and decided to give himself a minute before attempting to remove it.

With his eyes closed and his breath finally getting back to normal, Pickle tried to remove the thing off of him. His first attempt was futile. He opened his eyes and could see the exposed cheek, which was just below his own chin, littered with maggots. "For fuck's sake."

He almost laughed at his predicament. He had never been in such a mess.

His torso was covered in guts from his previous kill, blood had been vomited all over his neck, and now he had a corpse on top of him. He reached for the knife and pulled it out of the beast, then gripped the knife and remained lying on the floor, exhausted, looking to the sky.

Just when he thought that things couldn't get any worse, he saw another two ghouls coming out from the bushes. "Oh, fuck me."

It looked to be an adult-male in its previous life, and the second was another male, much younger. Maybe it was the father and brother of the girl that was lying on top of him, he thought.

The two beasts headed in his direction and he estimated that he had a minute to get the dead body off of him and scarper, but he was struggling, and had no idea if it was the weight of the dead girl that was preventing his quick escape, his exhaustion, or both. He guessed that it was both, and his third attempt at removing the girl had failed. He had moved her a little, but most of her body was still on top of him and now the two were a matter of yards away.

Giving up, he threw his head back and muttered under his breath, "God, save me now. Save me, and let me live and continue to kill this evil."

As the two things were near him, he went quiet and waited for his fate. He closed his eyes, waiting for the first bite, the first fingernail to penetrate his flesh. His eyes remained closed and he winced, awaiting the hideous pain that he was going to experience, but it never came.

Instead, he heard the two pairs of feet walk by him. He looked around the area the best he could for an individual lying on his back, and saw the younger male sniff the air, then continued to follow the older one.

Pickle waited until they were dozens of yards away before attempting to remove the body off of him again. He had managed to remove it and he rolled over onto his front, now staring at the two ghouls who were by the fence and were wondering how to get out.

What the hell happened?

He looked down on his shirt that was saturated in blood and guts.

With the mess, and also with the body on top of him, he wondered if all of these things combined had somehow masked the smell of fresh human flesh,
his
human flesh.

He made an effort to at least get on his knees, and once he did, he stood to his feet. They felt rubbery, and he hoped that he had the energy to make it to the camp. His only fear was having another run-in with more Snatchers. If that happened, he was sure that he would be as good as dead.

He looked over to the two ghouls in the distance and saw that one had managed to tumble over the fence, but the younger male was still having problems.

He staggered across the field, heading for the main road and looked up to the skies. "Thank you, God. Thank you."