"Well," Pickle began. "At least yer got hope. We've been runnin' round in circles for the last couple o' weeks and still have no idea where to go and what to do."
The woman said, "We just want to go somewhere where it's safe, where there's some kind of order. We heard about a place in Armitage, but we want to be with our son."
The man added sadly, "In our street, bandits broke into the end house, looted the place and then set fire to it. "
Karen shook her head in exasperation. "Why would people do that? What's the point in that?"
The man looked down at his chest, sadly. He was appalled the way some individuals were behaving after just weeks of this mess. "There is no point."
"Anyway." Pickle clapped his hands together and looked at his three companions, then back to the male driver of the truck. "We appreciate the lift." Pickle then urged his three friends to jump in the back of the truck. He was surprised that the back of the pick-up truck was reasonably empty. There wasn't much food; there was a few bottles of juice and carrier bags of tins, and that was it. There were no clothing or anything else.
Once the group were in the back, Pickle told everyone to sit down in case there was a danger of falling out.
Karen was initially unsure of going back to her hometown, but now felt a little disappointed that she was only a quarter of mile away from Rugeley, and now it appeared that she was definitely not going back. It would have been interesting to see how the old place had managed to cope over the last couple of weeks. She then thought about her old house. If she somehow got back into her own place, if the street was safe enough, there was still the problem of removing the fiend that was once her fiancée, Gary. If he was still trapped in the house, it would have been an awful sight to see how he had decomposed over the few weeks that had passed, and the smell...
Maybe it was just as well that Rugeley was now a no-go area. Wasn't all populated areas? It was only a town of thousands and she wondered how the likes of Cardiff, Edinburgh, Birmingham and London were coping with this nightmare. It was only a few months ago that Gary and Karen had stayed in Edinburgh for the weekend, at a place in Cockburn Street, just yards away from the Royal Mile. Karen managed a small smirk when she remembered that Gary had joked that 'Cockburn' sounded like an STD.
She snapped out of her emotional daydream as the vehicle started to move and her body jolted forward, along with the rest of the group. The truck continued to move and the group could see down the road, in the distance, more vehicles leaving the town, but going straight along the Hednesford Road, rather than turning left onto Stile Cop Road where they were.
The vehicles were probably heading to other towns like Hednesford and Cannock, Karen thought.
As they passed the Stile Cop beauty spot for the second time, the truck went straight across the crossroads where Karen had met Pickle and KP during that terrible, early morning when they escaped the ghouls that appeared through the woods in their hundreds at the beauty spot.
It appeared that the middle-aged couple were heading for Upper Longdon.
It was a place that was very exclusive and had a few mansions in the area. Karen knew the couple would eventually be heading for the M6, and had no idea where Pickle was thinking about getting off, so she asked him. "Do you have any idea where to go?"
"I haven't a Scooby," Pickle admitted. "But I want away from these woods. I'll be glad if I don't see another tree again."
Karen chuckled and placed her arm around the ex-inmate, while Paul and Jade sat silently, staring at their shoes, exhausted.
"There're a few mansions around here." Karen looked at Pickle for a reaction.
"And?" Pickle stared at Karen. "A mansion is fine and dandy, but it also makes yer a target for bandits and looters. And what happens if yer break into the place and it's already inhabited? I don't wanna get shot, Karen. The emergency services are now defunct, and I don't want to be walking around for the rest o' ma days with a severe limp."
"Like Jason Bonser?" she teased.
"Yeah, well." Pickle shifted his bum to get comfortable. "That fucker deserved everything he got."
Another two minutes had passed as they went through more country lanes. It appeared that they were coming to the end of Cannock Chase, which meant that the nearest place was a town. Pickle had been told by the male driver that once the group found a place or an area where they wanted dropping off, he should hit the roof a couple of times to let the driver know when to stop the truck.
"Uh-huh." Paul Parker's announcement forced them to look at what he was looking at.
Jade couldn't really see properly and asked Paul, "What is it?"
Paul peeked at Karen and Pickle, then he turned to Jade. "Keep your head down. I think there may be trouble ahead."
Jade placed her hands on her head and cursed under her breath, "Now what?"
The pick-up truck that they were in, was beginning to slow down.
Chapter Eight
Once the two things in the canteen had been killed, Jack Slade had returned to the factory floor with a shocked Johnny in tow, who walked behind him, dragging his feet. Jack placed the crowbar on top of a pallet, removed the safety goggles off of his head and asked Johnny, "Whose is that car outside?"
Johnny, still trying to shake off the image of Jack pulverising the heads of those things, snapped out of his self-hypnosis and gawped at Jack, blankly. "Sorry, what?"
Jack continued, "The canteen's window looks out onto the staff car park. There's a few cars outside, and I noticed that there's a black jeep."
"The cars belonged to the guys I worked with. I can't drive myself; I came here with Terry."
Jack turned to Johnny. "Who's Terry?"
"The first guy you smashed up in the canteen."
Jack looked confused. When he stormed into the canteen he swung the crowbar so much he pretty much put them both down almost at the same time. "Was that the one whose skull fell away."
"No." Johnny gulped and shook his head at the surreal conversation that he was having. He swallowed hard, trying to keep down whatever was left in his stomach. "That was Martin. Terry was the one that collapsed into the wall."
"Did he have a beard?"
Johnny nodded.
"Well," Jack exhaled hard, "if I was you, I would have stolen one of their car keys and driven out of the place ages ago."
"Well, like I've told you before," Johnny sighed, exasperated that he wasn't being listened to. "I can't drive, and I wanted to stay in here anyway 'cos it's safer."
"Anyway. The black jeep. Whose is it?" It was clear by his face that Jack had no interest in what Johnny had to say, and after witnessing Jack putting those things down, Johnny refrained from moaning about his rudeness.
"The supervisor's car," Johnny finally answered.
"And where's he?"
"Boardroom. He's one of them. He locked himself in as soon as he was bit. It was almost as if he knew."
Jack checked his clothes and inspected his old rags. He could see they had fresh blood on them, to add to the old, dried-in ones from the last couple of days. Most of the bloodstains were mainly from the episode when he was trying to escape the sports centre, swinging the kettle bell as if his life depended on it, which, of course, it did.
He finally took his boots off and removed his clothes. Once he threw the rags into a pallet, the same pallet he had disposed his shoes, he put on the boiler suit and then put the steel toecaps back on.
"We'll see what there is in these vending machines." Jack began to scratch at his hairy neck and groaned. He badly needed a shave, on his neck and his face. "I'm guessing that we'll be lucky if the food lasts us a week."
"What about Martin and Terry?"
"Who?"
Johnny sighed. Are you not listening to me at all? "The men you killed in the canteen."
"I don't think they'll be eating anything," Jack commented, without cracking his face.
Johnny glared at this strange man and wondered if he was serious or not. Trying to
ignore his early remark, he said, "Are we just gonna leave them in there? That's what I mean."
Jack nodded. "Yes, we are."
"What if you're right about the food that's left?"
"I am right." Jack seemed confident in what he was saying. "Look, you're not gonna like this, but we need to be out of here, soon."
Johnny nodded in agreement, reluctantly. He knew Jack was right. "And go where?"
"Somewhere where there's food. Somewhere safe...ish."
"I suppose it removes some problems now that you're here, someone that can drive. We can now get a set of wheels from the car park."
Added Jack, "But it also opens up other problems, like being carjacked. Me and a few other guys went into a supermarket to get food and only two of us made it out. It's not just those things that are a danger; there's some bad, desperate people roaming around."
Johnny's eyes widened and didn't want anymore details about the short story that Jack had just announced. "Look, my place is about eight miles away. I'm already stocked up."
"Eight miles? That's too far. We'll never make eight miles without running into hordes, bandits—even getting a puncture puts us at risk."
"When are you thinking about going?"
"I think we should gather what food is left and then go in the morning."
Johnny's eyes widened with surprise at Jack's announcement. "Seriously? That soon? I've managed alright so far."
"True, but now the food's short. We can either stay in here and go until the food has gone, then go on the road while we're hungry. Or—"
"Go on the road with food."
Jack gave Johnny a mocking wink as if to say; You're catching on, buddy. "We're gonna have to do it sooner or later."
Johnny smiled, but Jack could see the sadness in his face. Jack got to his feet, still with the safety goggles attached to his head, and walked away from Johnny and picked up the bloody crowbar lying on one of the pallets.
"Where're you going now?" Johnny called out.
"I'm off to get a set of car keys for later."
"Try the trousers of one of the guys in the canteen."
"Nah; I want the jeep. I'm off to the first floor, boardroom." Jack then stopped and picked some corrugated cardboard, ripped a piece off, and tucked it down the front of his overalls like a bib. He could see that Johnny was giving him a look as if he had lost his mind. Jack laughed and then explained, "Don't wanna be messing up my new overalls so soon."
*
Jack got to the first floor and the first thing he clocked was the supervisor, whose name he didn't know. Through the blood-smeared boardroom window, he looked at the thing inside. It was just what Jack expected; it was rotten, diseased and...dead!
Jack sauntered over to one of the windows that looked out onto the car park. He really wanted that jeep. From a safety purpose, this vehicle was the best option compared to the rest of the cars that sat on the car park.
Then he saw it!
There were two of the things loitering around the main gates to the factory. "Shit!"
Jack knew that where there was one, or in this case, two, more could follow. He didn't want to wake up in a few days to be surrounded, but he also didn't want to leave now and drive off into the early evening. It was hours away from becoming dark and he knew it would be suicide to go now. He decided not to release this information to an already-nervous Johnny, as he thought it might keep Johnny inside due to fear.
He turned around to gawp at the thing in the boardroom once again, and clenched the crowbar in his other hand.
He prised open the door, adjusted his goggles and walked in. He shut the door behind him, and now it was just him and the contaminated supervisor in the room. Jack snarled at the ghoul that was ten yards away from him.
Man, he fucking hated these things.
He grabbed the goggles that still sat on top of his head, and as the excited ghoul stumbled towards Jack Slade, he put the goggles over his eyes and walked forwards, away from a desk and a screen that was probably used for power-point presentations.
With no hesitation from Slade, the crowbar came crashing down; blow after blow was used, until there was nothing left of the head. Twelve strikes had managed to decimate the creature, and there wasn't much left from the neck up.
Ignoring the debris scattered all around the office's walls and carpet, Jack took the car keys from its pocket and placed them in his own. He glared at the headless corpse and spat at it before walking away. He left the boardroom, removed his 'bib' from the overalls and glared outside once again.
His eyes looked lost, gone.
The old Jack had been replaced with something a lot more sinister, fearless even. Some who had known him for years may have come to the conclusion that he had now lost his mind. Had the new world finally made something snap inside his head? Had he past caring? He was still trying to live, so that was something, wasn't it?
Jack puffed out his cheeks, then went back downstairs. If they didn't leave in the morning, in a few days the whole factory was going to be surrounded sooner or later. And if that happened, if escape was an impossibility, the only thing they would have to look forward to would be dehydration and starvation.
Chapter Nine
The pick-up truck came to an eventual stop, and unless the couple floored the gas pedal and rammed its way past the two Ford Focus cars that blocked the road, they were going nowhere for now.
In front of the blocking cars that were parked adjacent to one another, were four men, all stood with their arms folded. Pickle was the first to peer from the back of the truck and could see from left to right, a tall man, wearing glasses; another tall and skinny gentleman that looked like a nervous wreck and didn't want to be there, followed by a man of average height who seemed to be the leader of this rabble. At the far right was a rough, dirty-looking man; his hair was almost black, long, tied back in a greasy ponytail, and he had a scruffy dark beard covering half of his face.
Pickle had just noticed that the leader, Average, had an old-style farmer's shotgun by his side. It wasn't a patch on his Browning that he had lost, but it was still enough to do some damage if need be.
"Okay, guys." Average looked at the driver in the truck, and was the first of the four that spoke up. "Leave the vehicle, and you won't get hurt."
The middle-aged driver of the pick-up truck wound his window down and popped his head out. He nervously begged, "Listen, boys. We don't want trouble, but we need to get past, please. We're off to see our son in Skelmersdale."
"I don't give a shit, fat boy. We want your truck, and more importantly, we want your fuel. I want you all walking back that way in one minute." Average pointed at the road behind the truck, from where they had just come from.
"Please," the driver begged once more. "We're just a harmless couple."
There was a silence that covered both sets of groups, and Pickle hated these kinds of people: bullies. Pickle only used violence for business; he never hurt people for sadistic pleasure or for greed. These men already had two cars; they didn't need another set of wheels.
In prison, there'd be some cowards that would strut about, and would spend their time picking on the younger remands to enhance their own reputation. But one newcomer, who must have been wet behind the ears, eyed Pickle up one day in the canteen queue, but Pickle ignored him. Seeing this as a sign of weakness, the inmate went for Pickle to enhance his own reputation, and Harry Branston grabbed his attacker and bent his little finger back so much that the inmate collapsed to the floor. Once Pickle walked away from the scene, two of Pickle's men then stabbed the bully half a dozen times with toothbrushes that had been sharpened, while the inmate lay on the floor, and the guards were miraculously busy with 'other things'. The inmate survived.
After a minute of nothing, just staring and head-scratching, Average spoke up once again. "Look. I ain't gonna tell you again. We're having that truck. Now, get out, or we'll use force!"
Pickle stood up from behind; jumped off the pick-up
truck, and Karen, Paul and Jade followed suit.
"Ain't gonna happen," Pickle announced.
"Oh really." The mangy-looking man with the ponytail had now spoken and revealed a macabre grin; the two front teeth were missing.
"Yes." Pickle nodded confidently.
Seeing that Pickle was the leader of this rebellious group, Average looked at Mangy to his left and they both burst into hysterics. Average looked to his left and beckoned Specks and the wiry individual to walk over to Pickle and sort him out.
If you remove the leader, the rest of the pack will fold.
Wiry was reluctant to do anything that involved violence and said to Average, in a voice that was overheard by Pickle and his friends, "But the man's fucking huge."
Average sighed, went into the boot of one of the cars, took out two baseball bats and handed them to Wiry and Specks.
Mangy snarled at Wiry and Specks, "The only reason you've been eating for the last week is 'cos I killed that farmer. You ain't done nothing for the group yet; time to prove your worth."
Both men reluctantly walked over towards Pickle, and what unnerved the men was that the big man from the pick-up truck didn't seemed remotely bothered about the pair of them heading the short distance towards him.
Karen stepped forward by Pickle's side, but Pickle ushered her back. "It's okay," he said. "I'll take care o' these little puppies."
They were five yards away from him, and Pickle could see that they didn't have it in them to perform such violence. He had no idea why these four men ended up together, or, if any of them had a family. How have they survived? Were their stories even more horrific and dangerous than theirs? Were they good men back in the old world?
Specks was the first to strike, while Wiry lagged behind, purposely. Pickle grabbed the bat with two hands and booted Specks inbetween his legs, then took him down completely with a sidekick to his left kneecap. Specks fell to the floor, screaming in pain, and Wiry made his cowardly strike while Pickle had his 'hands full'. Wiry caught him on his shoulder, but Paul Parker quickly intervened and took out Wiry with a punch to the throat.
Snatchers (Book 3): The Dead Don't Cry Page 4