Snatchers (Book 7): The Dead Don't Yield

by Shaun Whittington

  Lee shook his head. "You've got no intention of letting us go. You just want to have your sick fun with us, before putting us away. Why?"

  "Because we can." Cal laughed, revealing the little teeth in his mouth, "And we get off on it."

  "What are you gonna do with Sheryl?"

  "What do ye fink?" He then began to chew the inside of his mouth and pointed at Lee. "And once Cal's done with her, you're next. I'm more into men than women, ye see, but she'll do as a warm-up."

  Cal raised his shotgun at Lee's face, making Lee turn and wince, giving Cal a feeling of immense power. The adrenaline flowed furiously through Cal's veins, and couldn't wait to get started on the bitch in the basement. Then Lee was next "Ye stay there," he chuckled. "I'm gonna give my pal a hand."

  Cal walked away, leaving Lee strapped to the chair, and slowly took the stairs to the basement.

  *

  Bentley had tried the main doors of every establishment. Every door was locked, except the door to the cafe. He took a quick look inside and could see that the place was bizarrely spotless. There were no signs of a struggle, no blood, bodies, and no sign of any dirty plates or dishes sitting idle on any of the tables.

  Trying to shake off the unusual scene, he shut the door gently and took a look around. Before going inside the gun place where Lee, Luke and Sheryl were, he needed to empty his bladder. He crept around the side of the cafe, took out his penis and made an ahh sound once the urine gushed out. Bentley threw his head back and smiled. "Fuckin' heaven."

  It took a while for him to stop, but once he did he quickly zipped himself up and nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a gunshot from inside the gun place. He took out Glen, his Glock, and crept to the side of the establishment. He knew there was something wrong. A gunshot had just been heard, but he was the only one in the group carrying a gun.

  He could see that there was a window and crept towards it, keeping his head down. He slowly raised himself, but could see that the window was blacked out. He crept around the building and went to the other side. If this one was blacked out, he was going to have to go through the main door. But would that endanger their lives further? He really had no clue what was for the best.

  He approached the window to look if he could see inside. He looked and could see a man he had never seen before holding a sawn-off shotgun. He was talking, but Bentley couldn't hear what he was saying. Despite being no virgin to killing the dead, he was confident that killing people that were a danger to himself or his group would come naturally. He hoped.

  Still peering carefully through the dusty window, he ducked quickly once the man turned on his heels. Bentley looked in once more and couldn't see the man anymore.

  Where did he go?

  His eyes then widened once he moved them to the right to see Luke on the floor. Was he dead? He wasn't moving, and at least that explained the gunshot. He then twisted his head to see Lee in the corner, tied to a chair. But where was Sheryl?

  "Shit. What do I do now?"

  He had to go inside. Luke looked like he was dead, Sheryl was nowhere to be seen, and Lee was tied to a chair. Bentley had no idea what was going on, but he couldn't hang around for a second longer. He crept by the window and headed for the main door.

  He was going inside.

  Chapter Ten

  The feet trudged through the greenery and along a dirt path that led to a country road. As soon as the individual reached the tarmac, she crossed the lane and walked to the gates of the sports centre. She'd spent the last two weeks in the small town she had just left, but the lack of supplies had forced her to leave and go out into the unknown.

  With the large black poncho waterproof covering her clothes underneath and her shades on, she would have looked a threat—and out of place—strolling through this area on a Saturday afternoon, back in the old world. But things were different now.

  Over the weeks, as people died around her, she had managed to get to the sixth week of this disaster with air still in her lungs. She was lucky. She had been lucky, unlike others that used to walk by her side, but now she was on her own and her only goal was survival.

  With her bag on her back, filled with the remaining water and food she had taken from the last place she had stayed at, she headed closer to the gates, walking around dead bodies and body parts that surrounded her all over the road.

  She hadn't seen a single one of those things in a while. She had no idea where they had gone to, but welcomed their absence. It was hard enough to survive as it was, without having to remove these ghouls.

  She stopped walking and could see a neglected van in the distance. It looked like a prison van. She had no idea why it had been abandoned by the person or persons that used to have it. Maybe it had ran out of petrol. Or maybe it received a flat tyre.

  She walked through the gates that were wide open and advanced towards the reception area of the establishment, with the crowbar still being clutched in her right hand.

  Despite the longbow on her back, she managed to climb through a broken window to the reception area and took a look around inside the foyer. She walked further into the building and her nose twitched with the pong of death in the air. She went by a set of treadmills, approached a swimming pool, and could see at least thirty of the dead in there. Some were in the shallow end, not making a move, whilst some were floating in the deep end.

  She walked by the pool, alerting the ones in the shallow area, but she was sure that climbing out of the pool, that they had obviously fell in, was something that they'd struggle with. She checked an office to her right, but it was locked. She then went into the canteen, bypassing a couple of smashed vending machines that had been emptied, and noticed that it had nothing to drink or devour.

  She left the canteen and checked the tennis courts and the spin class. The first aid classroom was next, which was a grisly sight, but the staff canteen was devoid of danger. There were bodies of the dead in the hallway leading to the fire exit door that was open, and she noticed an almost headless corpse with 'Slightly Damaged Human' emblazoned on its blood-soaked T-shirt.

  She carefully went outside and could see no sign of danger anywhere. She took a stroll to her left, to the back of the place, and saw many bodies of the dead, with a bloody kettle-bell sitting on the grass next to them.

  Somebody had been here. Somebody had taken care of the dead with that very same kettle-bell. She then clocked two, what looked like, graves next to one another. One of them looked small enough to belong to a little boy or girl. It was all very bizarre.

  She turned around and went back inside, closing the fire door behind her. Seeing the forced-opened gates to the places, and looking at the defunct bodies inside and out, the smashed window in the reception area, and the bodies in the pool, it appeared that this place had been invaded by the dead many days or weeks ago. The smashed vending machines and the bare kitchen suggested that people that used to be in here had taken what they could, and had now fled to pastures new because they didn't have a choice in the matter. She guessed that the dead had arrived in many numbers, but not a single human could be seen now.

  She had the upstairs to check. The original plan was to make herself comfortable for the night, somewhere, then move on. She looked and could see that there were two staircases to the first floor, one on each side of the pool.

  Ignoring the splashing from the dead that were now desperate to get out of the pool, she took a slow walk up the stairs on the right to an area where there were free weights, took her bag off and her longbow and hung them on the dip station.

  Putting her shades on top of her head to enhance her vision in the dusky place, she walked over to a room that stated that it was a dance studio. Her eyes widened once she took a glance through the window and saw more of the dead shambling inside. It was obvious what they used to be in their former life as some of them had 'Personal Trainer' on the backs of their shirts. One of them approached the glass of the door and she clocked his name-badge: Ian Wilkes—Deputy M
anager.

  She tried the door quietly so that she didn't attract unwanted attention and was relieved that it was locked. She grabbed a weight bench and pushed it together with another and decided that that was going to be her bed for the night. Just for peace of mind, she dragged a bench to the top of the stairs and did the same with the other set of stairs, despite being confident that they couldn't get out of the pool. She knew they couldn't walk up stairs, but she had seen them crawl up them before.

  It was only the afternoon but the tiredness was creeping up on her. Time wasn't so much a significance anymore, and she rarely travelled at night. She was exhausted and had told herself that she wasn't moving from this place until she had a at least a few hours of sleep.

  She sat down on the two benches that she had pushed together and lay on her back. She closed her eyes, but all she could hear was the annoying splashing from the dead below her. In time they would calm down, and their splashing would stop. Or at least she hoped.

  With her eyes still shut and the splashing continuing, her paranoia forced her to get off the bench and take a look to make sure none had managed to climb out and were making their way up. She looked down over the railings that ran horizontally.

  They were still there. Some were looking up at her, knowing that food was available in the building.

  She went back to the benches and lay back down again. She stuck the top of her tongue at the back of her top front teeth and tried the 4-7-8 method to help her drift off. She took a deep breath in and held it for four seconds, then slowly released the air from her lungs. She did the same again, but this time held her breath for seven seconds, then slowly released air out. The third time she held her breath for eight seconds and continued this cycle for a couple of minutes, trying to ignore the noise that seemed to have gone up in volume from the dozens of bodies from below.

  She sighed and sat back up. She got to her feet and went over to the bag by the dip station. She reached in the bag and took out a small bottle of water, and took two large gulps before putting the lid back on and dropping it into the bag. She picked up her crowbar off of the floor and, with tired legs, descended the stairs and went to the side of the pool and crouched down.

  Like pins to a magnet the ones in the shallow area of the pool slowly strolled towards her through the water; the bloated ones in the deep end remained still and had no idea that warm flesh wasn't far away.

  There was now a small crowd of them gathering near her, arms stretched out, desperate for a taste. She put her shades down, over her eyes, puffing out a breath and was ready for the onslaught.

  Holding the bar with both hands she swung it over her head and brought it crashing down on head number one. Predictably the head caved in, making the creature's whole body fall into the water immediately. Head number two and three were quickly smashed to bits, and after the fifth, the female rained blow-after-blow almost manically. Bodies continued to wade through the water and hopelessly tried to get to this human as she continued to kill them one-by-one. A small area of the pool began changing a darker colour. Clumps of brain debris floated in the pool inbetween the ghouls that were still progressing towards her, unaware that their demise was only seconds away. It was like a horror version of whac-a-mole, and the more pounding she dished out, the more the water changed colour over a larger area.

  Exhausted, and with her crowbar looking like it had been dipped in black ink, she collapsed onto her backside once she had finished, out of breath. It took minutes for her breathing to return to normal, and once it did she stood up straight, and twisted from side-to-side, trying to loosen her aching back. She then went over to an area of the pool that wasn't yet covered in blood and floating brain remains, and dipped her crowbar in, cleaning it. Once this was done she took her shades off that had a few spots of blood from the dead on them, and dipped them in, rubbing the spots off with her finger.

  She sighed hard, and counted that she had pulverised nearly twenty of the things. The others remained motionless in the deep end. They weren't going to be a problem. She was sure of it.

  She trudged up the stairs, knowing that this time sleep wasn't going to be a problem at all. She was convinced that, despite it only being the afternoon, she would still manage a few hours before leaving the place. If she could get a few hours sleep, she could last the whole night being awake.

  She couldn't possibly stay in the sports centre now that she had checked it out. It stunk of death and there was no supplies. She needed to stay somewhere else for at least one night, possibly the woods.

  Chapter Eleven

  After many mundane hours on the barrier, Vince, Pickle and Rick Morgan had been relieved of their duties by three other folk, including a woman that Pickle and Vince had never seen before.

  Rick Morgan walked on his own, behind Pickle and Vince, and his head was lowered and he was lost in thought.

  "What're you gonna do now?" Vince asked Pickle. He clasped his hands together, turned and faced his palms outwards and cracked his knuckles.

  "Dunno." Pickle shrugged his shoulders. "I was gonna ask that Daniel fellow if they have any gas canisters in that building of theirs. I could murder a coffee."

  "You should see that guy with the solar panels on his roof. He just pops his kettle on as if we're back to normal."

  "James McDonald." Pickle shook his head. "I don't like him."

  "Didn't you go to his house a day or so ago to get cleaned up?"

  "No, that was the other house." Pickle was referring to the other place on Sandy Lane. "That was Sheryl's house."

  "What do you think of her?"

  Pickle's facial expression suggested that he was unsure. "I 'ave no idea. She seems alright, I s'pose. It's hard to tell really."

  "She seems a bit defensive, I thought." Vince paused and added, "I found her quite aggressive yesterday."

  "What d'yer expect? Yer called her sugar tits." Pickle cackled to himself and shook his head. "Anyway, yer just don't know what she's been through."

  "True."

  "Anyway," Pickle stopped walking and pointed at his house. "No doubt I'll see yer later on."

  "What are you on tomorrow?"

  "Well, if Lee turns up later on with this stash o' weapons from tha' industrial estate, me and Bentley will probably be busy for the next couple o' hours doin' gun classes for chosen people."

  "A couple of hours?"

  "A lot o' these folk have never shot before. And it's not just shootin' them. They need to be trained on how to hold one, how to reload, dismantle them, and improve their aim. I just hope they bring plenty o' ammo as well. Of course, we won't actually be shooting the things because of the noise."

  "Right, I'll see you later."

  "Okay, Vince."

  Vince Kindl walked along Sandy Lane and whistled a tune by U2. He began to wonder how his sister was doing back in Ireland. He hoped she was okay. As Vince strolled past the Lea Hall building he said hello to two guys that were standing in front of the place. He then continued with his walk and took a gander at the patch of grass that used to be a bowling green. On the side of the bowling green was young Kyle Dickson, sitting on his own. Vince smiled, and walked over to the seven-year-old.

  "Alright, big chap?" Vince called over.

  Kyle looked teary and snapped, "My dad calls me that all the time. I hate it."

  "Okay," Vince said, but smirked with the cheek of the little man. "My apologies."

  He got closer to Kyle and eventually sat next to him. He took a one-second glance at the little boy and asked, "What's up? Has someone been upsetting you?"

  Kyle shook his head.

  "Are you..?" Vince paused, unsure whether to ask the next question. He didn't want to be responsible for making the poor boy break down in tears.

  "Am I what?" Kyle looked annoyed.

  Vince gulped. "Are you missing your mum and your sister?"

  He nodded. The grief was scrawled all over his face.

  Vince didn't know what to say. "It'll get better..
.in time."

  "Do you have a mummy?" Kyle innocently asked.

  Vince shook his head. "Once. She's dead now."

  Kyle looked at the man and said without hesitation, "Was she hit by a big lorry?"

  Vince laughed for a second and shook his head. What goes through the mind of a seven-year-old boy? "No, she wasn't."

  "I have bad dreams about your camp."

  "Me and you both." Vince nodded and patted the boy's leg. "That was a bad night."

  "It was."

  "Are you sure that it's nothing else? You can tell me anything, Kyle. Anything."

  Kyle bit his lower lip in thought and began to rub his eyes in a way to stop the tears from falling. It took a while for him to speak, but when he did, he spoke with a croak in his voice. "A couple of the older boys have been picking on me."

  "Is that right?" Vince felt some anger already within him as soon as Kyle said those words. "And what are their names?"

  "Why?" Kyle shifted uncomfortably. "What are you gonna do?"

  "Well, we can't just let them get away with it, can we?"

  "I don't know."

  "Relax. All I'll do is have a word with their parents." If they're still alive. "And see if they can have a chat with them."

  "Please, don't tell my daddy."

  "Why not?"

  "I just..." Kyle looked embarrassed and paused for a good ten seconds. "I don't want him to worry."

  "Your dad will be fine. He seems like a good bloke."

  "No." Kyle shook his head. "I don't want him to be sad about anything else."

  Vince allowed the last sentence to sink in. "Is he sad now?" Vince asked, knowing immediately that it was a stupid question. Everybody had some kind of sadness within them, because everyone had lost somebody. Paul Dickson had lost his wife and daughter.

  Kyle choked back the tears and began, "The first night we were here, when I was in bed, I heard a noise downstairs. My daddy usually sleeps with me, but he wasn't there when I woke up. I crept downstairs and could hear him crying in the living room. I just don't want him to be sad anymore." Kyle then broke down, and Vince immediately put his arm around the broken little fellow. He looked at Kyle and couldn't help thinking about Brian.