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

by Shaun Whittington

  Pickle gazed at Vince and could see his face filled with guilt. "What's the matter? Yer look like yer have lost a tenner and found a fiver."

  Vince confessed reluctantly, "I suppose it's my fault in a way."

  "How?"

  "I have a guy walking and checking the hedge from the inside, but I had nobody on the outside."

  Pickle could see Vince was beating himself up about the disastrous morning, and said reassuringly, "Nevertheless, the hole could have been spotted from a guard on the inside if they were looking hard enough. Who was on patrol?"

  Vince laughed, knowing that the most useless guard he had was on duty at the time. "Trevor Barkley. Rest in peace."

  "Yer don't have the numbers for the outside to be guarded anyway. With the hedge, the barrier and the watchmen that are away from the camp, yer need half a dozen people at least."

  "Maybe you're right."

  "I am. Trust me."

  "What are we going to tell our people?"

  Said Pickle, "Not the truth. Some people will have a gripe with the Dicksons if yer tell people the whole truth. I know a lot people died today, but Kyle's just a little boy. He created the initial hole, but it was David that damaged the patched up hole and brought them back here. Some people will need to blame someone: David's not here, so the father and young son could get a hard time. Just tell them there was a weakness around the camp, but it's gonna be fixed."

  "Well, we're gonna have to patch it up quick." Vince pointed up ahead.

  Two Snatchers stumbled in the distance. They weren't a threat just yet, but Pickle thought that there was a small chance they could enter the camp the same way the rest did if they were left alone.

  Vince doubted this.

  Vince believed that the only reason why they entered the camp was because David had accidentally enticed them there. He was killed only yards away from where the hole was. It wasn't as if they were looking for a way in. They weren't intelligent to do something like that.

  Pickle gazed at Vince and said, "We may as well get rid of them before we go back and patch up the hedge."

  Vince never responded and stared blankly.

  Pickle didn't know whether he was looking at the dead or into space. He tried to entice Vince out of his daydream. "Er...Vince?"

  "What?" Vince widened his eyes as if he had just woken up from a nap.

  "Are yer okay?"

  "I was just thinking."

  "Careful," Pickle tried to joke.

  Ignoring Harry Branston's attempt at making a small joke, Vince said, "Do you think it's a bit dangerous putting someone on guard outside the hedge?"

  "Probably. But everything we do is dangerous these days."

  Both men casually pulled out their weapons, as if they had done this many times, which they had, and entered the drive of the farm.

  The ghouls had sensed there were humans about, turned around, and advanced towards the two machete-wielding men, unaware that their demise was only seconds away.

  The one on the left, opposite Vince, was an elderly gentleman, and the other was an elderly lady. The two men had no idea if they were both man and wife in their past lives, but if they were, then it seemed strange that they walked side-by-side one another even in death.

  Vince kicked the elderly lady over and rammed his blade through the skull as if he was Professor Van Helsing stabbing a stake through a vampire. He removed the blade, dark gunk flying upwards, and wiped it on the nearby grass. After leaning over his kill, almost proudly, he took a peek at how his friend was coping.

  Pickle took a swipe at his assailant at the left side of its head, but the blade almost bounced off of the skull. He looked at the blade in shock and decided to try the other side. The blade sank in a few inches and seemed to be enough to make the creature fall to the floor.

  Pickle looked at the blade; he looked unhappy about something.

  "What's the matter, Pickle?" asked Vince, seeing the confusion on the face of the man.

  "When your dad first gave me and Karen these things we were practically taking off the tops of their heads." He held the blade up and began inspecting it. "It must be getting blunt."

  Vince joked. "Or you're getting weaker."

  "Shut up."

  "I'm serious." Vince smirked. "I'm sure in the short time I've known you, you've been shrinking."

  "Yer have been talking to those girls, haven't yer?" Pickle was referring to Shaz and Karen. "I'm not sure this is the right time for joking about, considering what has just happened."

  Vince lowered his head. "Yeah, you're right."

  Chapter Forty Seven

  Paul Dickson had spent a long time trying to entice Kyle out of the room, but he wasn't budging. Geoff had knocked Paul's door and had informed him of the situation and that fatalities had occurred. He was also told that the Rotters were dead, but should remain indoors for a while yet.

  The poor kid was still in the corner of the bedroom. Paul hardly left his side, and only left to go to the toilet, and now he was in the kitchen, pouring some water from a plastic container into a teacup.

  He re-entered the bedroom and handed the cup to his seven-year-old boy. "You need to drink, big chap. You haven't had anything in hours."

  Kyle stared into space and didn't even acknowledge his dad's presence.

  "Son?" Paul was close to tears, seeing his boy in this situation. "Please, son. Talk to me."

  Paul put the cup down and placed his juddering hands on the plump cheeks of his Kyle. "My boy. I'm so sorry that I've brought you into this world. I really wish mummy and Bell were here. I wish you still had your games station so you could play on your Lego Batman games, and I wish that when we left the house, I remembered to bring Dino and Monkey with me."

  Paul looked at Kyle for a response and feared for his son's psyche. Was it possible for a seven-year-old boy to have a mental breakdown? He wasn't sure, but he convinced himself that Kyle Dickson was doing reasonably okay, considering the horrendous situation.

  Despite having his hands over his ears while the horrific morning episode was happening, Kyle could still hear explosions, gunfire, yells of panic and screams. He was only seven, but he knew what was going on. Two incidents when he heard the screams from men was the worst. He knew that they were shrieks of pain and that the men were dying and going through an unimaginable death.

  Paul reached for the teacup and handed it to Kyle once more. "Please, big chap," he urged. "Drink."

  Kyle slapped it out of his father's hand and screamed, "I don't want it! Leave me alone!"

  At least he had a reaction, but Paul was hurt by Kyle's vicious tone. It wasn't like him.

  Paul placed his hand on Kyle's shoulder and went face-to-face to look at him, but Kyle slapped his hand away. Paul could see the tears forming in his boy's eyes and leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. Kyle threw himself at his dad and began to sob. Paul held him tightly, almost sobbing himself, and said, "Let it out, son. Let it all out."

  "Daddy, I'm scared!" the young boy cried. "I'm so scared."

  "What just happened was terrible," Paul was now in tears himself, "but we'll get through this."

  "I don't want to do this anymore," Kyle wailed. "I want to be with mummy and Bell. I want to be dead."

  Paul broke away from the embrace, both boys' cheeks stained with tears, "Please, don't ever talk like that again. You can't talk like that. Okay?"

  Kyle lowered his head and nodded, but that wasn't enough for Paul Dickson.

  "You promise?"

  "I promise, daddy."

  Paul gave his broken-hearted son another hug and could feel wetness on his thighs. Paul pulled away and gave his son a thin smile. They both knew what had happened, but Paul didn't want to make a big deal about it.

  "Let's wash you down and get you some fresh clothes on."

  Kyle nodded in agreement and opened his mouth to apologise to his dad, but Paul already knew what his son was going to say and put his forefinger up in the air to stop him from spea
king.

  Kyle and Paul exited the bedroom. Kyle hadn't wet himself since he was two years old, but considering the circumstances, Paul thought that his son losing control like that was perfectly understandable. He was sure a lot of adults had done this at the height of the early morning massacre.

  *

  Hours had passed after the horrific morning.

  It was now two in the afternoon. A lot of the people on the camp had been shielded from a lot of violence, thanks to Vince's set-up, and people were shell-shocked, more so than others. It had taken a while but Gail Kelly and Sharon Bailey's body had been wrapped in a blanket and tied with string. The sheet that was wrapped around Gail had soaked up some blood as Gail's injuries were more severe than Shaz's.

  As the two bodies lay on the grass, near their shallow graves, people still worked behind, trying their best to clear up, now that the rest of the bodies had been removed and burned.

  Attending the service was Vince, Karen, Pickle, Rosemary, John Waite, two elderly males called Kirk Sheen and Charles Washington, Paul and Kyle Dickson, and Jasmine Kelly. Pickle had been asked to say a few prayers. He accepted, and had plenty of practice over the last few weeks. The remaining twenty or so residents were too scared to leave their premises. There was also just the one guard at the barrier and another two were on a watch, half a mile from the camp.

  They all stood around the two dug graves in a semi-circle, and Vince, who was standing next to Pickle, leaned over and whispered, "So how do we do this? Do we put them in the graves first and bury them, or say a few words before we do that?"

  "What did we do with Jack?" asked Pickle.

  "I can't remember."

  "Say a few words while they're being buried," Karen chipped in.

  Vince asked Pickle, "What're you going to say?"

  "Jesus, I don't know. I believe in God, and I read the Bible while inside, but it doesn't make me a minister."

  Vince snickered, "For a religious man, you seem to blaspheme a lot."

  "Shut up."

  Pickle looked at the two shallow graves and was pleased that the men had done a good job. He had started it himself, but the hedge discovery had sidetracked him. Vince had got a couple of people to dig the two graves, when they returned from the farmhouse, because they were exhausted.

  By each grave, one man stood with a spade, while Vince and Pickle picked up Gail and placed her in the hole that was barely two-feet in depth, and then did the same for Shaz. They took a step back while the men slowly began placing the pile of dirt, they had dug previously, on the bodies, and Vince cleared his throat and decided to say a few words before giving Pickle centre stage.

  "We've been through the mill over the last few weeks, but so has everybody else. People have died, sometimes every week, but this is by far the worst we've experienced. I try my best to keep this place as safe as possible, but I'm only human. Six weeks ago I was a forklift truck driver. I have no army training, but I do have a desire to keep you lot safe and try my best to keep us going with the runs that we do."

  "You're not to blame, Vince," a man spoke up. "How did they get it in?"

  "There was a weakness in an area of the camp," explained Vince. He didn't want to go into detail about the hedge, because Paul would blame himself, because it was Kyle that had created the original damage. "It's now been dealt with, and I'm also going to put someone on watch-duty, outside of the hedge. Most of our dead have been burned, as callous as that might sound to you all, but we don't have the room to be burying more people."

  "That don't matter to me," John Waite spoke up. "Once I'm dead you can chop me up and feed me to the pigs. I'll be with the Lord anyway."

  Karen glared at the old man and couldn't help feeling some animosity towards him. Shaz had been bit while Karen was trying to coax John Waite out of his toilet.

  Maybe Shaz should have paid more attention. Maybe she should have had a quick scan around while she was peering in John Waite's caravan. It was too late now.

  Karen sadly looked at the dirt covering the wrapped body of her friend. That could have been her. If Shaz had stepped in first and Karen was waiting outside instead, she could have been bit. Karen's head was a mess.

  The graves had been completed, and while the two males were patting the earth with the back of their spades, Pickle began, "I've only been on this site for a couple of weeks, but I see good people here. Even you, Vince."

  There was some small chuckling between some people.

  Pickle added, "You may be a foul-mouthed, bad-tempered, sexist, letch—"

  "I didn't say I was perfect," Vince butted in.

  "But I've seen and heard the things you do out there for these people. If it wasn't for you, most of the people on this site would be already dead." Pickle cleared his throat and continued, "Religious or not, people, let us pray: The Lord is my shepherd: I shall lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He guides me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me. Your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil. My cup runs over. Surely goodness and loving kindness shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

  "Psalm twenty three." John Waite nodded. "Nice choice."

  "Me and Kyle made these," Paul Dickson spoke up, "while we were in our caravans." Paul picked up two wooden crosses from the floor, and walked over to the graves and stuck one into Gail Kelly's grave, then Shaz's was next.

  Vince looked confused and could see that they were made of chair legs, but refrained from asking him where he had got them from. Vince suddenly gasped as if he had forgot something. He then walked over to the cross of Sharon Bailey and reached in his pocket. He turned to Karen and said with a small smile, "I found it ten minutes ago, next to the water well. I know she wanted to be buried with it..."

  Karen looked perplexed. She had no idea what he was talking about.

  Vince pulled out the rainbow bracelet that Spencer had made for his mum, the day before he died, and as soon as Karen clocked it she burst into tears. He gently placed it over the cross and it sat where the wood ran horizontally. He backed away and felt a hand on his shoulder.

  He turned to see a teary Karen was touching him, and she leaned over and kissed Vince on the cheek. "Thank you."

  There was a silence over the crowd, and Vince could see that Jasmine Kelly was all alone, crying for her mother but no one there to comfort her. He patted Karen's hand and slowly moved away from her presence. Vince stood next to Jasmine and put his arm around her, and she put her face into his chest and sobbed.

  People looked at one another, unsure what to do next, and before some had a chance to turn on their heels, John Waite tearfully began to speak.

  "Lord Jesus Christ, you see our sadness and our loneliness, our questions, our anxiety. Gail Kelly and Sharon Bailey's death is hard for us to understand, as well as our other people. In our abandonment we turn to you. You have suffered the pain of death on your cross. Grant us at the cross to meet your love, which brings us from death to life, Amen."

  The whole group said amen, and Pickle said, "We'll finish with The Lord's Prayer."

  He began and looked around at the small group that were near the two graves. He didn't really know these people, but every single one of them, excluding Kyle because it seemed that he didn't know the words, were saying the words of the world's best known prayer. Whatever their religious preference, Pickle was bursting with pride as these people mumbled along with him, even if they were reluctantly doing so, and thought that the whole event was a fitting tribute to Shaz and Gail, as well as the others that had lost their lives on this terrible morning.

  Once the prayer had been finished, people were slowly walking away from the two graves. There was a small smile on Pickle's face and tears in his eyes that
weren't quite ready to fall.

  Chapter Forty Eight

  "Vince!"

  Vince turned around and could see Simon Benson. He was a twenty-year-old quiet man, who stayed with his mother. Vince was confused why Simon was standing in front of him. He said, "I thought you were on watch-duty at the Ash Tree."

  "We have a problem."

  "Now what?"

  Simon looked nervous and announced, "You've got to see this. There're Rotters coming up the road."

  Vince could feel the eyes of people glaring at him for a response. It wasn't something he could complain about. He wanted to be a leader and achieved that, and when situations occurred he was expected to have answers. "How many?"

  "About fifty or so." Simon gulped before continuing, "There was a man in front of the horde. I think he was running away from them."

  Vince glared at Pickle and dropped his head. "And he's now leading them right to the barrier. Jesus, could this day get any worse?"

  He ran to the barrier, with Pickle and Simon alongside him. Vince was out of breath once he reached the barrier with Pickle, but still managed to ask Simon, "Where were they when you last saw them?"

  "About two hundred yards from the Ash Tree."

  "I'll go and see where they are first. If it's as bad as you say it is, we might need to move the HGVs and use them to run the things down."

  "I'll come with yer," announced Pickle.

  Vince jumped into a parked pick-up truck with Pickle and fired the engine. Simon climbed into the cab of the HGV and reversed it back to allow a gap for the truck to squeeze through. Once Vince had driven through the gap, Simon pulled the lorry forwards back to its original position.

  Vince and Pickle reached the top of the hill, parked the vehicle, and stepped out and took a look at the advancing horde. A few yards in front of them was a man who was clearly struggling. He wasn't so much running, he was more stumbling around as if he was soused.

  "Fifty?" Vince had a relieved smile on his features. "That Simon's an exaggerating prick, always has been. There's twenty, if that."