Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) (32 page)

Chapter Nine

"How are you settling in?" Vince asked the two boys, as he casually walked in to the caravan they had been issued with.

Harry Beresford and David Watkins nodded as if to say they were okay. They both looked tense, and were sitting on the settee in the musty-smelling place. David, especially, looked nervous around Vince's presence. Seeing their friend being ripped to pieces never helped with their anxiety either.

"Right," Vince clapped his hands together, making David jump, and pointed at the dark-haired Beresford, "work experience for you tomorrow."

"What? Sorry?" Harry was confused and scratched at his brown hair.

Vince explained, "We may have a huge job coming up, something that could feed us for months, but we need to check the place out first. It's just a simple drive, there and back."

Harry spoke with little conviction, "That sounds...cool."

"And you," Vince pointed at David Watkins, "can take a trip with one of the lads to the field, near Power Station Road. It's just five minutes away."

"What do I need to do?" David asked with apprehension. He had only just arrived at the camp. He didn't like the idea that he was leaving again, albeit on a temporary basis.

"You and another guy will go round the caravans, collect all the waste, like cans and other bits of rubbish, then we bag it and dump it in the back of a pick-up truck and dump it in the field.

"Forgive me for asking, Mr Kindl—"

"Don't call me
Mr
. It's Vince," he then glared at David with menacing eyes. "Or sir." There was a two-second silence then Vince burst into hysterics. "I'm only kidding."

David tried to ask his question again. "Excuse me,
Vince
, but risking our lives out there to dump rubbish seems a little silly. Don't you think?"

"It's usually clear, and if it isn't we come back."

This time Harry had a turn at questioning. "Couldn't we just throw the bags over the hedge?"

"We could do." Vince stroked his face in thought, but it was clear to the boys that he was mocking them and was being sarcastic. "The trouble is that afterwards the camp will start to stink out, infections could occur, and we could be plagued with rats. Apart from that...it sounds perfect."

"Okay," Harry muttered. "I see your point."

"So let's summarise." Vince stuck up his first finger, continuing with his mocking. "Stink." He then held up two fingers. "Infection." Then three. "And plagued with diseased creatures. We may as well risk it out
there
if we went with your theory."

Harry Beresford cleared his throat and said, "Back to this trip of yours. Do you really think it could keep us going for months?"

"We'll find out tomorrow. If the news is good, we come back, take a HGV over to the place and fill the fucker."

Harry and David remained sitting on the settee and Vince now leaned against the wall, near the kitchen, and folded his arms. David smiled at the thought that surviving through winter could be a possibility and said, to no one in particular, "Just think, if we get through winter there might be a cure by then."

"A cure?" snickered Vince. He unfolded his arms and stood up straight. He began walking towards the two boys, and stopped when he was just a metre away from the pair of them. "There will be no cure. Stop thinking about a cure. Most people are dead anyhow, so it's a little too late. Thinking that there's hope will make you weak, and being weak will get you killed."

"We're just trying to be positive." Harry tried to defend his friend's comment. "We've lost a lot of people—"

"Sorry to shit in your porridge, boys," Vince snarled. "But I don't give a cunt's hair about your family. We've all lost people, get over it. I need strong people in the camp, not soppy twats that are still pissing their pants that their goldfish, Flipper, has become a casualty of the apocalypse. Why do you think we're still alive?"

"Because we've had to fight." Harry answered.

Vince nodded with approval.

"Because...we've been chosen," was the answer from David Watkins.

"No, no, no, no, no, no." Vince shook his head and wagged his finger at Watkins. David blushed and this enhanced the covered acne over his features. "Don't start
that
shit. You're as bad as Pickle. When this shit happens in the movies, there's always someone that thinks that they've been left behind for a reason. They think that God has spared them."

Vince then turned around and peered out of the window. The rain was lashing down and the heavens roared with thunder. "About time." He then turned to the boys and added, "The rain will do us good. It'll wash the bloodstained streets, help to remove things that causes smell and diseases, and push some of the chunks of rotting flesh down gutters and drains."

"And for your water system," David chipped in. "And your vegetable patch."

"The barrels should catch a lot of rainwater," Vince said to himself. He then looked up at the two tense-looking boys and asked, "Anything else, before I leave and take a shit?"

Both Harry Beresford and David Watkins slowly moved their heads from side-to-side.

Vince headed for the door, and turned around as if he had remembered something. "Just one more thing."

David straightened his back. "What is it?"

"If you're on a run with me, or out there with someone else, listen out for the music."

There was a long silence. The air was filled with bewilderment, and it took a while before someone spoke out. "M-m-music?" stammered David.

Said Vince, "If you're out there or in a room, and you hear any kind of dark music that involves violins when you enter a room, building, or a street—then you can guarantee that something bad is gonna happen. If you see fog roll into the street, or the batteries in your torch runs out, then go somewhere else. Go somewhere where there's no fog and the music is nicer and has a warmer feel to it."

David look confused and asked, "Really?"

"Of course not, you pair of dumb fucks," laughed Vince. He took a look around the caravan and said, still sniggering, "Martin Jones stays at caravan one. Let him know if there's anything you need—water...whatever. I'll see you both in the morning." Vince looked at his watch. "It's getting late. So long, bitches."

Vince left the boys' caravan and took a short walk. He temporarily postponed his trip to the portaloo and knocked the door of a caravan where Karen was staying with Shaz. He rapped the door again with more force, as he was now getting soaked by the relentless rain. Once it opened, he stepped inside straight away.

"Er...come in," was Shaz's sarcastic response.

"I need a quick word with Karen." Vince took a tea towel to wipe the rain off of his face.

Shaz pointed at Karen who was lying on the couch, her hands were behind her head and her eyes were closed.

Vince cleared his throat, but Karen never flinched.

Karen said softly, "If you're here to explain why you're not taking me on this little expedition tomorrow, don't bother."

"It's just a quick drive there and back." Vince tried his best to appease her. "It's not as if we're gonna be in the thick of things. Sure, we may come across the odd Rotter, but Fradley's in the middle of nowhere. It should be reasonably clear."

"So why don't you take me?"

"Just in case."

Karen smiled. "Your concern is quite touching, isn't it Shaz?"

"Oh yeah." Shaz sat down on one of the chairs, near the dining table. "You're turning into a right little softie these days, Vince."

Karen cackled, "You're so sweet."

Vince knew the two girls were having some fun with him, but he couldn't help but bite. "Sweet? Well, if you play your cards right tonight, wenches, you'll probably find that I'm actually a bit salty."

"No thanks, Vince," Karen sniggered. "I'm in no mood to deep-mouth anyone at the moment."

Vince screwed his face in puzzlement. "I think you meant to say:
deep-throat
."

"I know what I said."

"Tarts," Vince huffed, and left the caravan as the girls continued to laugh at his expense.

Chapter Ten

July 8th

He was unable to set an alarm, but his body woke up at around 3am anyway, almost as if it was programmed to do so. He released a little yawn and then turned to his left to see the silhouette of his son lying next to him, lightly snoring.

It was a bed that he used to share with his wife, but that had changed since the crisis began over four weeks ago. Paul Dickson delicately stroked his son's hair and smiled. He sat up and swung his legs around, making the bed creak a little, then stood up straight, his knees cracking together. He took off his pyjama bottoms and put the same clothes he had on the day before.

Slipping his shoes on he left the bedroom, and took the claw hammer with him that always sat on his cupboard. He placed the hammer into his belt and made his way downstairs. He took a plastic cup from the kitchen, and walked to the bathroom to scoop a cup full of liquid from the depleted water in the bath.

He had a son to think of, but he also needed to keep himself alive. If anything happened to him, Kyle would not cope on his own, and thinking about his son being alone, starving and dehydrated, always made Paul's eyes fill.

He then thought of a conversation he had with his son only three days ago.

Kyle had asked, "Daddy, do you miss your friends?"

Paul responded by saying, "Yes, son. But I miss mummy and Bell more."

Lost in thought, Kyle then said, "I miss Mark the most."

"Of course you do," Paul said. "He's your best friend."

"No he's not." Kyle looked at his dad with red, heartbroken-eyes, tears welling at the bottom, ready to fall. "
You're
my best friend."

Paul snapped out of his daydream and cleared his throat, trying to remove the swelling that was lodged in there. He crept back upstairs in the darkness, kissed his son on the head, and headed back to the ground floor of the house. He was now caught in two minds what to do.

Originally he wanted to check on his neighbours via their skylights. The thought of going onto the roof via the attic would have been the safer option as far as avoiding the dead was concerned, providing he didn't fall.

But what if he did? What if he fell and broke his leg, or worse?

The hospitals were now defunct. Living in the house and looking after his son with a broken bone, and with little painkillers, was a nightmare he was keen to avoid.

He shook his head as if he was arguing with himself, and decided that he preferred the other method: Out of the patio door; into the back garden, and over the fences to check the neighbour's doors, rather than checking the skylights.

Dressed in dark attire, he took an empty sports bag from his closet, clocking the folded-up massage table leaning against the back of the cupboard. A wry smile emerged on his face and this piece of equipment, that Julie had bought from ebay for £20, had released a handful of memories that were hard to shake off.

Julie loved her massages, and made Paul watch a youtube video to learn how to perform a Swedish massage. Paul, being a man, agreed to partake on being the masseuse as he thought it could benefit the both of them: Julie would get her massage, while, in return, he would get some kind of sexual reward. Sometimes he would get his reward, and other times Julie would fall asleep.

He walked into the living room, and slowly pulled up the roller blind of the patio door that faced onto the back garden. Enveloped in darkness, Paul's shaking hands went for the latch to unlock the door, and slid it open. He took one step forward into the outside, he slid the door shut, and then locked it.

He looked up to the dark, bruised sky, the stars hanging like nails in the night. He then took a look to his left, and then to his right. To his left were his neighbours, Robert and Daisy; they had two girls, Lisa and Jody, and Paul thought it'd be better to check on them before going to his elderly neighbours on the right.

Paul took a look at the six-foot fence and raised a smile.

Five years ago, Paul and Julie had decided to buy a black Labrador. They called it Bouncer. For the first few nights the eight-week-old puppy couldn't settle and spent hours crying and yelping. The next morning Robert went round to the house to complain about the noise, conveniently when Paul was at work, and gave Julie a dressing down.

Unfortunately for the man, Julie retaliated and reminded him of the noise they had made when they first moved in.

When Bell was born, Paul's paternity leave was ruined by constant drilling and hammering while the workers were putting in central heating and new floors down for the newly-moved couple. Julie reminded him of this, and told him that if he didn't like the noise then he should move. He left their premises with his tail firmly between his legs. Then the next weekend the man decided to put up the six-foot fence with stolen wood panels that he had taken from the construction company he worked for.

Paul puffed out his chest, guilt plaguing him for leaving Kyle in the house alone, and began to walk away from his premises.

Taking the door key with him, Paul had stepped out into his back garden for the first time in over four weeks, his empty bag was hanging off his shoulder. He wanted to go the attic way, over the roof, but decided to go through his patio door that led out into his back garden. It was less dangerous that way. Going out the front door, that faced the street, would have been sheer stupidity. If any of those things saw him leave or return back to the house, it could cause one of the dead to walk over to his residence, attracting many more.

Having his house surrounded was not in his plans.

He was close to exiting his back garden. All he needed to do now was to climb the six-foot fence and try the back door of his neighbour's house.

He looked at the other houses and wondered what was happening inside of these places. Were people still in there, barricaded in? Had some left? Were some dead?

He had spent the last month or so glaring out the front and back gardens, and knew that there hadn't been a single ghoul spotted in any of them, and he put this down to the gates that the neighbours had. On Paul's own property he had an alleyway that ran alongside his house, and there was a gate at the end of the alleyway that led into the back garden.

He knew that a horde of these things, walking down the alleyway, would have no bother breaking through the four-foot gate, but Paul hadn't given them any reason to walk onto his premises. He had kept quiet throughout the ordeal, and was hoping that it was going to stay that way.

With the bag over his shoulder and feeling to the left of his belt to make sure the claw hammer was still present, he ran at the fence and had managed to climb and land in Robert and Daisy's garden with ease.

Once he had landed in the pitch-black garden, he realised that the neighbours would allow their dog, Millie, to shit all over the lawn and it wasn't
always
cleaned up. Although this was the last thing he should have been worried about, he suddenly stepped off the lawn, onto the patio area, paranoid he was about to step in Pug shit.

He took a glance upwards and to his left, up at his own room, where Kyle was sleeping. He felt terrible leaving him alone, but felt he had to do this to stretch out their survival.

Paul approached his neighbour's back door and hoped that when he knocked, Robert, the owner of the house, would emerge. If they worked together, they'd be able to survive as a team, but Paul also couldn't stop thinking about the water canisters in the gym. Maybe he and Robert could go there together, and get the water while Daisy looked after the kids, including Kyle.

He took another look at the house in the darkness. He knew his neighbours hadn't fled, as their jeep had not moved since the outbreak. He hadn't seen the family at all, because as soon as the announcement was made on the TV, practically the whole street had shut itself from everybody else. Every window was closed and curtains drawn, and every door was blocked off. When the sight of the first few ghouls appeared, Paul was certain that fear was going to keep most people in their houses.

Paul thought about the people from four weeks ago that had already been attacked before anyone knew what the hell was going on. He thought of the scenario of one man being bitten and running home injured, then becoming unwell, reanimating, and then turning on his family. This meant that there could be three or four trapped ghouls in a house, just waiting to get out. And how many houses in his own street were experiencing this scenario?

Unsure what to do next, he tried the back door that was mainly all glass. As he suspected, it was locked. He then started to knock the door gently. He had already decided that if Robert came to the door, he would ask—no, he would
beg
him for something edible for Kyle that would keep him going for another day, but he knew that there was a chance that his question could be shunned. Robert had two girls and his wife to feed. So why would he give a neighbour food to eat and allow his own girls to starve?

Maybe going out for supplies together was something that Robert would be up for. Paul could only hope.

Paul contemplated on breaking in, but understood that it would be a desperate act if he did this. How would he feel if Robert broke into
his
house? That kind of action could put himself in danger of being attacked, and would be selfish to the family that were probably hiding on their first floor or in their attic. He hadn't reached that kind of desperation, not yet.

He placed his face against the glass of the door and peered in.

Like him, they had decided not to barricade the main doors. They had probably come to the same conclusion as Paul: If they can get in through thick glass and a solid door, a couple of tables and cupboards were hardly going to keep them at bay.

He saw a small, dark lump in the corner of the kitchen and couldn't make it out. He stared longer and said, "Surely not." It looked like the carcass of a small animal.
Millie?

His heart then began hitting his chest. He gasped, and saw the silhouette of a child walking into the kitchen. Tears left his eyes, and he placed his hand over his mouth to quash his sobbing. He wanted to move away, but his eyes were magnetically attracted to the macabre scene that was unfolding.

He took a step back and crouched down.

The little girl stumbled towards the door and placed her face against it, only inches away from Paul's body. It was Jody, Kyle's friend and schoolmate.

Although it was a dusky, early morning, he could see that she had turned, and the blood down her T-shirt suggested that she had fed, on a family member perhaps.

Maybe Millie.

Suddenly, Paul's stomach had decided to empty what little contents it had left, and he threw up at the side of the house.

Once he had managed to compose himself, little Jody then made Paul jump when the palms of her hands slammed against the glass of the door; she was aching to get out.

Paranoid that she could break through the glass, he had decided to go back. He had stopped in his tracks once he heard a window open and a voice coming from above him. It was Daisy, the next door neighbour.

"Paul," she whispered into the night.

Paul looked up. "Daisy? What's happening? You okay?"

She shook her head.

"Where's Robert?"

"It's that virus thing," she sobbed.

"Tell me what happened."

She began, "On the Sunday, the day we found out about it, Robert had come back from the shops and had been bitten by someone. He drove back and fell asleep on the couch. I knew there was something wrong, so I rung the emergency services, but they were constantly engaged. Then he attacked Jody and I left him in the living room, and all three of us went upstairs. I watched the news on the kids' television. Jody then fell asleep, and I realised I had lost my little girl. Me and Lisa picked her up and put her on the landing while she had slipped into a coma."

"I've just seen her in the kitchen."

"She must have tumbled down the stairs to the ground floor once she became..." She couldn't finish her sentence.

"What about food?"

She shook her head, still in tears. "We moved everything up weeks ago once we locked...Robert, that thing, in the living room. He's managed to get out though, as we can hear him walking about and...moaning. We haven't eaten for three days. We haven't drank, and we've been going to the toilet in the corner of the room. Can you get us out? Can we come to yours?"

"Of course," was Paul's response, but he had no idea how to move them without being in contact with her now defunct husband and younger daughter. If he could get them out, Paul selfishly thought that his plan to get more food would have to take place very soon. It appeared that his visit to next door had now backfired a little. If Daisy and her other daughter went to his house, he would now have four mouths to feed. On the plus side, it meant he had a babysitter for Kyle for his trip to the gym.

"So there's no food at all in your house?" asked Paul.

She shook her head, sadness on her features.

"Is Lisa okay?"

She nodded. "She's just here."

Paul placed his hands on his hips and released a breath out, lost in thought. "Is there any way you can get out downstairs?"