"Okay." Vince looked at the youngster. "Forget about the jokes and just be yourself. Don't try too hard. Okay?"
"I'm also worried..."
Vince sighed impatiently, "About what?" Was this pest ever going to go away?
"Well..." The young man blushed a rosy colour and stammered, "About my...my performance."
"Calm down. You haven't even asked her out yet." Vince shook his head at Gareth who was getting ahead of himself. He placed his hand on his chest and said, "Every man is different. All I can say is that for me, Mr Winkle is a bit like a toaster: He never pops up if the crumpet is too fat."
Staring at him blankly, ignoring his crass comment, Gareth added, "And I'm worried about my..."
"Your size?"
Gareth nodded. "I suppose you're going to tell me how well hung you are."
"I never brag." Vince wagged his finger at Gareth, now having some fun with him. "It's just one of my many, many outstanding features."
"So what do I do?"
"Whatever you do," warned Vince, now gently poking Gareth in the chest with his forefinger. "If you get lucky, don't make your first time forgettable."
"How do you know I'm a virgin?"
"Seriously?"
Gareth didn't even bother to protest. Vince could see right through him. "Okay. So if she likes me, and..." Gareth was confused on what to say next.
Vince puffed out his cheeks in exasperation. "If ever in the future you get to do the deed with young Jasmine, which I doubt, just make sure you crack one off before it happens."
"While she's there?"
"No, you fuckwit," laughed Vince. "Jesus. I mean on the day it is about to happen. Try and smash out a load before you go and plunder her depths, otherwise you'll end up blowing a load in your briefs, and there's no escape on the camp if you're an early squirter. You'll be a laughing stock. Not only that, we'll need a welder to remove your pants."
Young Gareth had a blank look on his face and shook his head at Vince. "I didn't understand a word of that."
"And whatever you do, be tender and gentle. You youngsters watch all that porn and think that's what women want. It isn't. So...no nipple tweaking and definitely no arse smacking. No Angry Dragon either."
"Angry Dragon?"
"Four or five weeks ago you could've looked it up on Google," said Vince. "But trust me, you don't need to know. It's degrading to women."
"You think I should go for it?"
"Seriously?" Vince was getting tired of the conversation—he was tired anyway—and began walking away, he was weary and ready for his nap. "You wouldn't believe the amount of fucks I don't give. Do what you want."
"Thanks," Gareth spoke as Vince retreated back to his caravan for some peace and quiet, and suddenly looked puzzled, "I think."
Chapter Twenty Eight
After a while, Karen left Rosemary's place and went for a walk. She went to the back of the camp and saw David Watkins acting suspiciously. He waved. She waved back, and he skulked away, disappearing behind one of the caravans. "What's got into him?"
She then saw the Dicksons and went over to say hello.
Paul clocked her straight away and held his hand up to greet the woman.
"So how're you keeping?" Karen asked Paul Dickson. "Is your neck any better?"
Karen was referring to the whiplash that Paul had received when Karen and co had found him unconscious in his car that had crashed at a crossroad.
"I'm fine." He pointed over to Kyle, who was at the corner of the hedge, sitting on the grass and playing with some old toy cars Karen had found a day earlier. Both adults were sitting on the grass, watching the boy with smiles on their faces.
"He seems to be coping better than me." Paul nodded over in his son's direction.
Said Karen, "Kids adapt quite easy."
"It's only been a few days since he was told that his mum and sister are never coming back." Changing the subject, Paul added, "I still can't believe Vince found Lisa."
"It's a small world."
"Still, I thought she would have been..." Paul stopped in mid-sentence and a flashback of the incident where the Murphy family entered his house screened in his mind. Lisa and her mother, Daisy, were staying at his home at the time. He thought about the first and only time he had killed another human being, albeit accidentally, when he struck out at Lance Murphy with a hammer as he was making his way upstairs.
When the rest of the clan broke in and Paul and Kyle hid in a cupboard, while Daisy and Lisa were in another room, the nerves that Paul felt was incredible at the time. He had never been so scared in his life, and a lot of his fear was for his boy, in case he was found.
Plagued with guilt, he remained hiding in the cupboard even when Daisy and Lisa were being dragged out of the house. The main scene that Paul knew he would take with him to his grave, was when he looked out of Bell's bedroom window and saw the horrific scene of Daisy being pummelled to death with the butt of a shotgun by the father of the Murphy clan.
Bastards!
Hearing of the news that Vince had taken care of two of them had raised a smile with Paul, and being responsible for the death of another one, Lance, made Paul a minor celebrity in the camp as well.
Noticing that Paul was sad and missing his girls, Karen said, "If it's any consolation, we've all lost people. But like you and Shaz, I can't even comprehend what it would be like to lose a child."
"Losing my wife was bad enough." Paul choked back the tears. "But losing Bell..."
"Pickle told me that you saw them in their car, at a supermarket."
Paul nodded, confirming that what Karen had said was correct. "I went looking for them with a guy I had met."
Karen interrupted, "Speak of the devil."
Pickle appeared from the side of a caravan and welcomed both people with a smile.
Karen smiled and was pleased to see her good friend. "Oh, you're back in one piece then?"
"Afraid so."
"Where's Shaz?" asked Karen.
"Having a lie down." Pickle looked exhausted and looked ready for a rest himself.
"We were just talking about you," Karen spoke with teasing in her tone.
"Slagging me off again?" joked Pickle.
"That's right," laughed Karen. She turned to Paul and tried desperately to cheer the man up. "Did you know that Pickle's nickname used to be The Horse."
"Let's not go there again." Pickle smiled and felt his face redden.
Paul said quietly, "We were talking about me finding my wife and daughter in the car."
"I know." Pickle lowered his head. "I remember yer telling me. Yer was with that prepper, weren't you?"
Paul nodded, and explained to a confused-looking Karen. "When me and my son fled the house, we went to the woods to do the toilet. We got attacked and this guy appeared from nowhere."
"I wonder if he's still around?" asked Pickle.
"I'm sure he is. He was expecting this. He told me he had been preparing for years."
"Sounds like an inmate I once knew." Pickle tilted his chin, produced a thin smile and looked to be recollecting his past. He added, "We all thought the fucker was mental. Good guy, though."
"He doesn't stay that far away from where you were today." Paul gulped, and wasn't sure if he should say what he was going to say next. He didn't want to sound ungrateful, but he was honest when he said, "No offence, but it was a shame that Kyle and I never reached their place."
"I don't get it." Karen looked confused.
Paul tried to explain, "We were taken in, then after we stayed the night I decided to leave and see my mum. When I got there I found that she and my dad had reanimated, so I decided to go back to the woods, back to the people that had put us up. We were on the way back there from my mum's, but then we were hit by that car on the crossroad. A shame really. Kyle really liked Laura and Bentley."
"Bentley?" Pickle stood up straight. Then began muttering to himself. "Bentley? Prepper? Bentley Drummle?"
Paul Dickson widened his eyes in surprise
. "That's him. Know him?"
"Holy shit," laughed Pickle. "Know him. Aye, I used to know him. He used to be on my wing, once upon a time."
Chapter Twenty Nine
July 16th
It was nearly four in the morning. David Watkins had struggled to sleep the night before and put it down to two things. The first reason that his sleep had been poor was the nap he had had in the afternoon. He had slept for nearly three hours and it had messed his routine up. The other reason was the excitement of holding the revolver. He was going to get it today, no matter what.
He shot out of bed, still dressed in yesterday's clothes, and took a look out at the clear red sky. To the left he could see a bored guard, Trevor Barkley, who he shared the caravan with, walking with his head and looking at the ground, occasionally kicking at the dirt.
Once Barkley had passed the corner of the hedge and was slowly making his way down, towards the Spode Cottage and the right side of the blockade, David excitedly put his shoes on, went into the kitchen drawer and took out a knife, just in case, and headed out of his digs.
As he ran for the corner of the hedge, his knife fell out of the shallow pocket of his combat trousers. He ran back for the small knife, this time kept it in his right hand, and went to the corner of the hedge and started kicking at the patched up area. He got on his knees and forced the rest of the branches through, scratching his head and face, and had finally reached the other side. It was a thirty-second struggle, but he had made it.
"Wow." He looked up to the sky. It was a beautiful early morning, and he looked at the long grass he had to walk through. The first time he did this he was paranoid, but he knew that the last time they had visited there was no sign of those ghouls anywhere—in the grass, in the house, or anywhere else on the grounds.
Just to be on the safe side, he still slowly walked through the grass, clutching his blade, and once he reached the house the excitement began to intensify.
He stepped into the reception area and immediately went to the cupboard where the gun was kept. He pulled one of the tins out and took it out of the cloth. It was now in his hands, and a huge smirk developed on his features. He looked at it and tried to open it to see the chambers, but he was struggling. He wondered how Pickle had managed to open it. Maybe he had done it before. He had a lot of time on his hands, and was sure that he'd be able to open the gun and be able to load the thing if ever he found a box of ammo. He just needed to practice.
After checking the ground floor, he made his way upstairs, his legs shaking with excitement now that the gun was sitting in his pocket. He reached the landing and checked the bathroom. The only other place he could think of where ammo could be, was the main bedroom, in a cupboard or a safe.
He checked two bedrooms. Then headed for the main one, with confidence in his strides, now that the house was clear. Opening the main bedroom and peering in to see a desolate area, confirmed that the house was monster-free.
He checked the cupboard, but the cupboard was almost bare anyway, and it only took seconds to realise there was nothing of use to him. The only places he had left to check was under the bed and in the side drawer. After that, he told himself that he was going to go back to the camp and see if he could get some sleep. The only persons awake at this time, back at the camp, were the few guards at the barrier, and Trevor Barkley walking along the eight-foot hedge.
Getting back to his caravan without being seen was going to be a piece of cake.
David got to his knees and looked under the bed. The only thing he could see was an old Monopoly board game and then checked the final place. It was a side-table with two drawers. He opened up the bottom drawer of the side-table and a handful of unopened condoms, an old Acer laptop, and a tube of cream for sensitive skin was all that was in it. He opened the top drawer and it was empty, apart from a notebook.
David sat on the bed and reached for the bottom drawer again. He pulled out the laptop and tried to switch it on. It came on, but the battery life was low. There was a password needed, and David cursed once the notification came up. "I forgot about a password."
He turned the laptop off and put it back into the drawer and kicked it shut. He opened the top drawer and pulled out the notebook. He flicked through the pad and could see that there was writing in the back of it. The writing was written in black ink, and the handwriting was neat. David skimmed through it and it appeared that it had been written by the man of the house, like some kind of journal.
David turned to the first page, and this time he began to read it properly.
Saturday 9th June
It's just been announced that a disaster is engulfing our country. I still don't believe it. I've been watching the news for the last three hours and now I fear for my family. I'm going to wait a few days and see what happens. Fortunately, we're in the middle of nowhere, so I hope it works in our favour. Only time will tell.
Sunday 10th June
All day I've been trying to get in touch with my family, like my brothers and cousins, but to no avail. I was in contact with my mum and dad yesterday, but today I can't seem to get in touch with them. I have no idea how bad this thing is in Bristol, which is where they live, but I have a bad feeling about it. I think they may be dead.
It's hard to explain to my children, who are both under the age of ten, what is happening and why they can't see their friends anymore, but they seem to be taking the news rather well. But it's early days yet. We have plenty of food at the moment and we obviously have cattle, but the future is looking grim, unless the government get their finger out and do something.
Nearly bedtime for the kids but sleep was proving difficult. The noises of screams could be heard for a few seconds, and I fear that these things are getting closer. I heard that the towns of Brereton and Rugeley are infested with the things, but it's only a matter of time before they begin to disperse, which means they may come our way. I pray that I'm wrong.
Monday 11th June
After three hours sleep, I staggered to my bedroom window to find that my field was full of the things that have been shown on the TV. I wanted to shoot them, but my wife correctly pointed out that the noise could attract more from afar. More? Jesus, I already counted that there was six of the things in the field as it was.
I managed to grab them one-by-one and threw them in the hut. They tried to bite me, but I couldn't kill them. I don't know if they're dead, or alive and just infected. If I killed one, would that make me a murderer? I don't know. And what if they find a cure for this virus, and I've killed some. I'd be facing a prison sentence, wouldn't I? The truth is I don't know what the fuck to think anymore.
Tuesday 12th June
Yesterday another four were in my field, and I managed to put them in the hut without being attacked. I don't want these things wandering in my fields. If these things travel in packs, then the few that are on my land may attract any other passing beasts. This went on a few times, and I'm guessing now that I've put over twenty of the infected in the hut. I never kept count. I don't think there's much room for many more, and the last time I opened the doors to put some in, they nearly all escaped, despite my wife banging the back of the hut to entice them away from the doors.
I woke up to find the TV stations weren't working anymore and another two of the infected were in the field. I was certain that this thing was going to get worse before it got better. I've decided to put my family in the jeep and we're heading for my brother's place who also has a farm. He has a place in Colton and has been assured that we would be welcome. My livestock have now disappeared. I don't know if they've been stolen during the night or they can sense the danger and have escaped.
I have no doubt that if this thing continues, everything on my land will be stolen anyway. People need to survive, and I feel that farms will be seen as a source of survival by desperate people. I really do fear for the future, but I'm still hopeful the UK will come good eventually.
We're leaving. I have taken the shotgun, but decided not t
o take the revolver. I only have two bullets for it, and don't think taking the old thing with me is worth my while, especially as there is no ammo and it hasn't been shot in years. So long as I have my shotgun and a set of baseball bats, we should be okay as far as protection is concerned.
"No ammo." David Watkins turned the page to find it blank. "Shit."
The man of the house had only put in four days of information. David sighed and felt the need to cry. He thought about the family he had lost, and his two friends, Harry Beresford and Ollie Hopkins.
David wondered that if Vince hadn't have given Ollie an initiation test, maybe he would still be alive, and poor Harry only lasted a couple of days. David shuddered at the thought of Harry's demise. Being thrown in that shed with all those dead cannibals must have been beyond pain.
He put the notepad on the table and left the room, ready to go back to the camp. A sudden thud made his heart gallop harder. He stopped walking and cocked his head to listen out for anything else.
Maybe it was his imagination.
Another thud was heard.
Nope, definitely not his imagination.
David crept to the edge of the stairs and looked down at a small section of the reception hall. He waited and waited, and then two ghouls appeared and shambled past the stairs and went into the living room.
David wanted to make an immediate run for it. But were there any more outside? If he ran for it now, would he be running into an accidental ambush? He walked towards the back room and peered out of the window and saw one more, yards away from the main door, and appeared to be moving near the hut.
Could it hear something? Could it hear movement?
After reading the short diary, David was now aware that some of the dead were inside that hut. How many did the guy say was in there? Twenty? With the main door open, David feared that others could come inside the house. He had heard that climbing stairs wasn't their strong point, so he told himself not to panic and stay calm until they went away, if they went away.
Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) Page 64