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

by Shaun Whittington

  They both continued to talk for a while, and ten minutes later Karen told the elderly gentleman that she was going for a lie down.

  *

  Darkness was growing, and the dark clouds still hung above, almost covering the whole sky and allowing in little light. Creeping along a wire fence, Harry Branston and Vincent Kindl kept their heads down and their backs hunched as they got nearer to the hangar. They were near the entrance, and could see a security barrier that was used for drivers arriving and leaving in the old world. It was down, and they both guessed that it was lifted manually for the vehicles of this gang coming in and out.

  "No sign of my truck," Vince sighed.

  "No sign of any vehicle." Pickle began to tie his loosened lace on his left boot. "All vehicles are probably parked round the back o' the building."

  Vince nudged Pickle and pointed towards a large hut just after the barrier, a hundred yards from the hangar of the now defunct Fradley's Foods Products. Vince nodded in the direction of the hut. "I think we should stay in there tonight, and check it out in the morning." Vince stopped moving and crouched to the door. Pickle did the same.

  "I don't wanna be hanging round this place for too long," Pickle protested. "Besides, every hour that Shaz and that young man are in there means they could be getting a beating."

  "They'll be fine. There's no reason to beat them. In their eyes they're just strangers that came across a house, so they're keeping them to the morning until this guy that they mentioned turns up. Why would they hurt them?"

  Pickle didn't have Vince's confidence, and thought that being cooped up on his camp for most of his time had made him a little naive. Pickle said, "People have changed. Paranoia is a strong mind-fuck. Trust me, I used to be in the drugs game. Yer wouldn't believe the amount o' people that were given a beatin' because they looked at somebody the wrong way in the street, thinking they were some kind o' rival. If this group has enemies or have had run-ins with groups in the past, then paranoia will tell them that Shaz and young Harry could be a part o' a group. Maybe seen as scouts...spies."

  "Calm down," Vince snickered. "You're making me paranoid now. How do I know that you're not some spy from the Sandy Lane Camp?"

  Pickle ignored him and pointed up ahead to see one man slowly walking the perimeter of the grounds. "We need to take him."

  "No." Vince shook his head. "What we need...is to think. As soon as we take one of them out, there's no going back. And I don't fancy my chances with two machetes against four shotguns. How do we know there ain't more people inside? We could kill a guard, burst in there like a couple of shagwits and have twelve lots of shotguns pointing at us."

  "Hang on a minute. " A small chuckle left Pickle's lips. "Originally, you wanted to go in there and kill folk for the food."

  Vince smiled, and gave Pickle a wink. "As if."

  "Yer bugger." Pickle said and shook his head. "Yer was just winding Shaz up. We're gonna have to be sneakier. We need to get in that hangar using stealth."

  "At last, you're seeing sense," Vince said. "Hopefully this place will be full of racking for cranes and forklift trucks, so there should be plenty of places to hide. We'll sneak inside in the morning, and watch what happens to Shaz and Harry and see if they're in danger. If they are, then we're gonna have to somehow start picking the guards off one by one. Don't forget that these fuckers are armed, we're not."

  "Are yer nervous?" asked Pickle.

  "I might release a little piss while we're doing this," Vince said honestly.

  Pickle laughed and gazed at Vince. "You're starting to grow on me."

  "I hope you mean that in a non-sexual way, Pickle." Vince joked, placing his tongue in his cheek.

  "Relax. Yer not ma type."

  "Let's get to that hut and get our heads down for a few hours."

  Once the guard turned his back and walked back towards the hangar, both men knew that this was the best time to go. Without gesturing to one another or exchanging words, they both ran towards the barrier, sneaked underneath it and headed for the hut. As soon as they got round the back, away from view, they relaxed a little. Pickle tried the door handle. The hut was locked.

  "What's in there?" asked Vince.

  Pickle joked, "Just because I'm partial to a bit o' wood, doesn't mean I can see through it."

  Vince laughed and tried the door himself. "Not one window available." He tried the door again.

  "Wait," ordered Pickle. "I'll force it open once the guard fucks off."

  Both men peered around the hut, seeing the guard getting further away. Pickle nudged the door with his shoulder and opened it on the fourth attempt. The lock had been broken, but the door was still intact. Both men took out their machetes and stepped into the dusky building. They kept the door open while they searched the diminutive place, and once they were sure that the hut was empty, they shut the door.

  There was nothing inside the place, and both wondered why it hadn't been used for anything.

  Pickle was lost in thought. The expression on his face couldn't be seen by Vince, but he was beginning to have second thoughts. "Set yer watch for the early hours, Vince. Let's go with your plan."

  "What?"

  "Set it. And we'll go out in the early hours o' the morning.

  "You sure?"

  "Aye, I'm sure. No point going in there while were sleep deprived. We'll take out the guard, if we have to, then we sneak in and assess the situation before making any kind o' move. At least if we take out one guard we'll then have one gun."

  "Don't you think it's a bit weird that we never came across any Rotters on our way here?" Vince asked Pickle. "I mean, they're usually everywhere, right?"

  "I suppose this area is hardly blessed with people. These things are like animals. They go where the food is."

  "But not a single one lying on the road—"

  "Look, I don't fuckin' know," Pickle laughed. "Yer know just as much as I do. Try and get some sleep, and don't fucking snore or I'll tear yer throat out. I'm a light sleeper."

  Vince laughed for a short time, and even though he knew Pickle was joking, it wouldn't have surprised him if Pickle actually knew how to tear out a man's throat.

  "I can't help snoring, Pickle," whispered Vince. "It's like you telling me not to get a boner in the morning as well, and that always happens."

  "As long as I don't wake up to find yer spooning me, Kindl."

  Pickle cleared his throat and turned on his side. It was going to be an arduous task trying to get comfortable on the hard floor. The woods were more comfortable than this! There wasn't a response from Vince, and Pickle took this as a hint to get some shut-eye before going into the hangar.

  Vince lay on the floor and both men were startled to hear voices and a vehicle that sounded like it was driving away from the area.

  "Maybe they're going to the house." Vince sat up in the darkness.

  Vince lay back down, and was nervous just thinking about what they were going to do, but he knew he couldn't have a better partner in Harry Branston.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Daisy and Lisa had settled themselves into Bell's room for the night. Paul had told the mother that the back room, downstairs, was a sofa bed, but she naturally took the option of sleeping, or trying to sleep, on a higher floor.

  Paul thought it was reasonably safe downstairs. Nothing had tried to get in over the last month, but he understood Daisy's consternation.

  He lay on the bed next to a tired-looking Kyle, and guessed that it was around 9pm. Paul couldn't stop thinking about what he had done to those ghouls, and it had plagued him for the remainder of the day when he returned.

  Staring at the ceiling, Paul released a heavy exhale as he lay on his bed. The bedroom was dark, thanks to the blinds and curtains blocking out what little light there was left on this summer's evening, and the images of the instructors' destruction would not leave his mind.

  Both Kyle and Paul lay on the bed in the clothes they had worn during the day, with the exception
of the T-shirt Paul had worn for the gym excursion. He was now in a fresh, red Puma T-shirt.

  He closed his eyelids and felt a warm little hand touch his face. It made him jump a little, and he suddenly released a smile.

  "What's up, daddy?" Kyle asked.

  "I can't sleep, big chap."

  "I can't sleep as well."

  Paul rolled onto his side, and stared at his beautiful boy. Kyle never peeped at his daddy; he remained lying on his back, staring up.

  "I can't believe you're seven. It didn't seem that long since I was carrying you to bed, now you're a big lump," joked Paul.

  "No, you're a big lump," Kyle sniggered, and began to scratch at his strawberry blonde hair. Both boys lay in silence for a minute, until Kyle spoke once more. "Daddy?"

  "Yes."

  "Tell me about when I was born. I like that story."

  Paul began stroking his son's head, and Kyle closed his eyes every time he was stroked. Maybe the story would put him to sleep, Paul thought. It was a story Paul had told Kyle and Bell a hundred times, but they sometimes liked to hear it anyway to have a break from books.

  Paul began, "Well, we arrived at the hospital—"

  "No," Kyle interjected. "You forgot the part when I was made."

  "Right," Paul sighed, but not impatiently. "You were made in a hospital. They took...er...bits from daddy, and a woman put daddy's bits inside mummy's tummy." In truth, Paul needed to produce a sperm sample, and had to go into a cubicle and masturbate on one leg to a magazine. The cubicle's lock was broken, so Paul had to use one leg to keep the door shut—a story Kyle didn't need to know. He continued, "Then mummy got a phone call a week later to say you was in her tummy, and she cried for hours. You were our miracle boy."

  Kyle smiled every time he was called that, and he smiled again when those words left Paul's lips.

  Paul added, "Then, when mummy got pains in her stomach, when you were ready to come out, we went to the hospital. They put her in a big pool and we said that if it was a boy, we'd called it Kyle. And if it was a girl, we'd call it Abbie. Your mum liked Isaac for a boy, but I never liked the name."

  "I like Isaac," said Kyle.

  "Well, we can't change it now." Paul playfully nudged his son in the side and continued, "Anyway, you were born a few hours later. You were seven pounds...something. Then I went outside and rang grandma, my mummy, and—"

  Kyle muttered with an excited grin, "I like this bit—"

  "I phoned grandma and told her the good news. And she screamed out: I'm so happy I could cry."

  He turned to Kyle and his eyes were nearly shut, but a smile on his face was there.

  Kyle queried, "And what about Bell?"

  "Bell was made normally. You was our specially-wecially man. And still are."

  "Dad?"

  "What is it?"

  "Sing me the song."

  Paul smiled and cleared his throat jokingly. It had been a while since he had sung Kyle's favourite song. It was usually Julie that sung it with her sweet voice, not Paul with his deep, grizzly voice. He wasn't too sure if he could pull it off—in fact, he felt a little embarrassed.

  Paul began singing Stevie Wonder's, You Are The Sunshine Of My Life, but then paused halfway through. He tried again, and stopped at the part about drowning in tears. Paul decided to refrain from singing the chorus again, and there was no protest from Kyle when his daddy stopped.

  Kyle was still lying with his eyes closed, and the smile evaporated off his face. Paul leaned over and kissed his plump cheek, and could see Kyle's eyes beginning to water from underneath his eyelashes.

  "You okay, big chap?"

  Kyle kept his eyes closed and answered, "Not really, daddy."

  "What's wrong?" It was a silly question, everything was wrong, but Paul asked anyway.

  "I'm just a little sad, that's all." The boy's eyes opened and the first tear fell from his left eye and ran down the side of his cheek that Paul had just kissed. Kyle then slowly turned away from his father and lay on his side. "I miss everyone."

  Paul kissed the back of his head and delicately put his arm around the only thing that was keeping him sane in this awful, new world that was developing.

  A minute later, Kyle was gently snoring.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  "Can't you sleep either?"

  David Watkins was startled by the female voice and looked at twenty-three-year-old Karen Bradley. She was sitting on the step of her caravan, just outside the main door, and eating an apple.

  "I didn't know if Mr Kindl imposed a curfew," David spoke with a shudder. "But I couldn't sleep, so I decided to go for a quick stroll."

  Karen shifted along the step, providing ample room for another individual. She patted the step at the side of her and asked David if he wanted to sit down.

  "Wow!" David's reaction seemed a little over the top for Karen, and he added, "Can I?"

  "Er...yeah," said Karen with confusion. "I asked if you wanted to sit down, that's all."

  David blushed, which Karen couldn't see, and walked over and sat next to her. He hesitantly looked to his left and both sets of eyes clocked one another. David blushed again and cursed himself mentally that he couldn't think of anything to say to this attractive woman that was eight years older than him.

  Karen took a peep at him and asked, "You wanna drink...David, isn't it?"

  "No...I mean...yes, my name's David. But no, I don't want anything to drink, thank you." He shook with nerves, and couldn't even blame his shaking for the July night, as it was quite mild for eleven in the evening.

  "How've you managed so far?" Karen avoided the small-talk. She had no patience for it. The question that she asked seemed to be the same question most survivors asked new people. It was like prison, and cons asking new inmates what they were in for.

  David finally answered, "I kept my head down for most weeks, but we all lost people...parents..." David became upset and couldn't finish his sentence.

  "I'm sorry about your friend," said Karen. "That initiation test is bollocks, and Vince should be ashamed of himself. Apparently he's done it to a few people."

  David never responded and lowered his head, trying to get rid of his tears and loosen his throat by clearing it. He asked Karen, "And you?"

  Karen laughed and took her final bite from the apple. She tossed the cork onto the grass and chewed like a horse with a mouthful of hay. Once she swallowed she said, "If I told you my story you would probably think I was making it up."

  "Try me."

  "Okay."

  Karen sat and spoke to fifteen-year-old David Watkins, and told him about her own experiences during the first weeks of the apocalypse. She tried not to let anything slip her mind. She started from when she had finished her nightshift. She told David about how she saw her own neighbour getting her throat ripped out, and then discovering that her fiancé had reanimated in her house. She informed him of driving her jeep to Milford, not having a clue what to do, and then mowing down a few Snatchers including an elderly woman, with her jeep.

  David was also told that she was carjacked and had to flee a horde on foot. She then hid in the woods and met up with a sexual deviant, and finally bumped into Pickle and his crew at Stile Cop. Once she told him about the invasion of the dead, losing a few people, and having to shoot her way out to meet KP and Pickle at the crossroads with the prison van, she paused for breath.

  "That's pretty heavy-going," said David.

  Karen looked at him and announced, "That was just week one. I haven't finished yet."

  By the time she was finished, David announced that he was going to try and sleep, although he knew he was going to miss the company of his friend, Harry. He said good night to Karen and left for his caravan, dumbfounded at what she had just told him.

  *

  The light shone so brightly in each of the men's faces that they were awake in seconds. Vince was the first to open his eyes, and once he tried to move, he realised he couldn't. His arms were being pinned down b
y the feet of the men standing over him.

  With Pickle, the situation was the same.

  Both confused men could see nothing but bright light shining in their eyes. Once the torches were moved away from their features, they could now see the guns pointing at their faces. There were four men in the hut, and two of them were pinning down one man each.

  At last, one of the men spoke. He was wearing a full beard and appeared to be in charge of the other three. "You leave a door open and both go to sleep?" The man began to shake his head with a mocking grin. "Hardly professional, is it?"

  "Leave us alone." Pickle was the first to speak. "We're just survivors, trying to get a sleep for the night."

  They all had shotguns, but only two were being pointed—one at each prisoner. The man in command stood over Pickle, his right foot still pinning his left arm to the hard floor, and said, "Just survivors?" The bearded man smiled like a Cheshire cat. "You're too clean-shaven and well-built to be...just survivors. Especially you." The man pointed at Pickle and eyed over his frame. "You're in decent nick. How many calories does that muscular body of yours need? Three thousand?"

  "I was a lot bigger five weeks ago," came Pickle's response. "The starvation has—"

  "Don't give me that starvation bollocks. You two have done okay so far. And why's that?"

  Neither Pickle or Vince answered him, while the other men took their machetes away from them both and began to pad them down.

  "Fine. Have it your way." The bearded man was lost in thought, then turned to one of his men. "Where's Gavin?"

  "He spent all day in Rugeley. He should be back at the house by now." The man then shrugged his shoulders as if he wasn't sure.

  Pickle assumed that the house they were talking about was the one they had just been to.

  "I was told that he's coming back in the morning with his sister," another voice popped up.

  "Okay." With a hand gesture, the bearded man told his two colleagues to lower their guns. "Looks like we've got four people to deal with. Gavin's gonna have to start putting a man at the barrier. His were okay because we're in the middle of nowhere theory worked for a few days, but now we've discovered four people in one day. That's not good."