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

by Shaun Whittington

  He had no idea what to do. Yes, he was hopeless in emotional situations, but this was something even bigger than he'd imagined.

  It was time to leave.

  He cursed himself for being a coward, but still crept down the stairs that thankfully lacked creakiness. As he reached the ground floor and placed his hand on the knob, he looked upstairs, filled with guilt and regret, then opened it and crept outside, shutting the door quietly behind him.

  He felt for Karen, he really did. Having a miscarriage was bad news for most women; but Vince couldn't help feel that it may be a blessing.

  Karen seemed genuinely upset, and Vince's eyes filled for the woman that he was starting to care for. He wasn't going to say anything—to her or Pickle. It wasn't his place to say anything. If she wanted to tell people, she would say something when she was ready.

  He shook his head with sadness.

  "Poor Karen."

  Chapter Eighteen

  Still plagued by guilt for leaving Bentley behind, Lee James and Sheryl Smith were now on Hednesford Road and the vehicle was doing a steady thirty along it. The road was bare, with the exception of the odd abandoned vehicle and one or two bodies on the side, but they had seen worse over the weeks.

  Lee looked to the side of him to see Sheryl grasping the steering wheel, staring out of the windscreen. He was so concerned about Bentley and what had happened to Luke that he had hardly given her a thought.

  Swallowing his guilt he asked Sheryl, "So how're you holding up?"

  "Not bad," She ran her tongue across the front of her top teeth. "I can still taste that cunt's blood."

  "What?"

  "The guy whose throat I bit into."

  "Oh right." Lee shuddered at the thought of it. Sheryl must have been desperate to act in such a way, but if she hadn't reacted it could have been a whole lot worse for her. "You certainly showed them who was boss in there," Lee tried to joke.

  Sheryl remained gazing forwards, and said softly, "I thought I was gonna die."

  Lee gazed at Sheryl with admiration and sympathy. In the short time he had known her she had always been a tough bastard, whether it was just for show or not, and she was his most trusted companion when out on runs. She never shied away from violence, if it was needed, and she always kept her cards close to her chest whenever she was asked about the first days and what had happened to her family—he was unsure if she had a family. She never wore a wedding ring and Lee respected that she preferred to keep herself to herself. Even when asked about the Buddy tattoo on her left wrist, she never gave an answer.

  He thought back to his own family. His thoughts briefly went back to hiding in the woods with Denise and his children. Tears welled when his mind went back to that crazy night when those freaks came out of nowhere and took his wife and his kids. He still didn't know to this day how he was never bit as he tried to fight them off.

  As they passed the Stile Cop Road to their right, and dodged the burnt out Porsche on the left, they entered Draycott Park.

  Five more minutes and they'd be home.

  *

  Bentley Drummle remained as calm as anyone could in such a situation, and had no idea how long he had been stuck in the cabin, in complete darkness.

  Ten minutes? One hour?

  The pounding from outside was still continuing and he guessed that there could be many outside, desperate to get in. He was convinced that the numbers had increased, because the pounding seemed more raucous than before, and guessed that the many outside had attracted the attention of a few others from afar...maybe.

  He didn't know what was really going on, but he knew that just five of them would be difficult to get through, never mind over thirty of them. He only had four bullets, and now that he had been in darkness for a good while, opening the door of the cabin and running outside would blind him for seconds because of the length of time he had been sitting in the dark. It'd be suicidal to go out.

  Despite knowing that the cabin was empty when he entered, he couldn't help freaking himself out and imagining one or two inside the place.

  He threw his head back and began thinking about Laura. Before his mind had time to wander off and drift into the past, more thuds appeared behind him and he could have sworn he heard the wood splinter and crack.

  "Fuck. They're never gonna give up."

  Maybe unbolting the door and running for it was the only option he had. There was a strong chance that as soon as that door was opened, the horde would pile into the cabin giving him no time to get out.

  What he did know was that if he waited any longer, two things could happen: They could grow in numbers and eventually force Bentley to starve to death in there, unless their mass in numbers could force their way in. Or, they could grow wearisome and end up moving away. He doubted the second one could happen, and thought that a distraction of another entity would be the only thing that could drive them away.

  He caressed his gun and had realised that there was another alternative. He had four bullets in his Glock. He would only need one of them to take him away from this God-forsaken world.

  It wasn't really an option that he wanted to think about.

  Not yet.

  Chapter Nineteen

  His huge frame towered over the two other men, and The Bear trudged through the cabin and went upstairs to have another look. It had one bedroom. That was it. That was going to be his room for the night.

  The place had been stripped bare, but there was a tap and a sink, and it provided the men with much needed liquid refreshments over the last half an hour. It took a while for the men to realise that the place had no sanitation and had to go to the corner of the garden for a piss.

  The Bear went back downstairs, through the living room where his two companions sat on the chairs, and took a stroll outside. He looked up to the murky sky and sighed.

  He was getting hungry.

  He went back inside and began going through their bags to get something to eat, then told Frederick and Johnny Wilson that he was going for a walk.

  "You want company, Bear?" Wilson asked, playing with the elastic band that was keeping his long ginger hair in its ponytail.

  "No," he said frostily. "I won't be long."

  With his kukri sitting in its leather holster, Theodore Davidson left the premises and went out the six-foot gate, and walked through the small wooded part. He walked up towards the peak of the mount and sat down near a shallow grave.

  It was a peaceful place, and it was a nice change from the claustrophobic woods all three had to endure. He gazed at the hedge and saw at the bottom of the hill that there was a gap that led to the football field, and he could see to the right of the gap a pile of bodies. It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before, and it never bothered him.

  He sat and closed his eyes, enjoying the wind glide over his features. He then lay down and began to gaze up at the grey clouds. The atmosphere had been threatening to rain for days, but it never came, and he remained staring up and watching hypnotically as the cotton ball-like clouds dragged their way across the sky.

  Ten minutes had passed and eventually he fell asleep.

  *

  He woke up some twenty minutes later, immediately sitting up, taking a while to realise where he was. He looked around and widened his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up properly. He squinted at the hedge for a few seconds and looked over at the football field. He could see a lone figure and it began waving at him from a distance.

  The Bear was baffled by this strange episode.

  He got off of his backside and made the journey to the bottom of Cardboard Hill to meet this strange individual. Passing the pile of bodies to his right, he went through the gap and was now on a dirt path by the side of the football field. The individual was getting closer to The Bear. He was wearing full combat gear, had a full rucksack on his back, and the fresh-faced youngster looked no older than eighteen.

  "Hello there, sir," the young man called out.

  "Hello back," Bear said in
a hoarse voice. "Where do you think you're going?"

  Immediately, the youngster knew that he was face-to-face with an individual who had been out there, and had probably done inexplicable things to survive. His size alone was intimidating.

  "I..." the young man paused. "I was heading for the woods."

  Bear glared at the young boy for so long that the teenager began to become uncomfortable. He then pointed to the dirt path and said, "Take a seat, so we can talk."

  The teenager thought it was an unusual thing to say. They were already talking whilst standing up. Why sit down?

  He did what he was told, and the large man sat next to him and crossed his legs. The youngster could see that the man had a leather holster and a handle sticking out, confirming that he was carrying a blade of some kind. He also had a blade, but he didn't fancy his chances against this beast.

  The young man took off his rucksack and placed it by the side of him.

  "How have you managed so far?" Bear asked him.

  The youngster shrugged his shoulders. "My family and I hid for weeks, living off scraps. Then I decided to take us away and go somewhere where there could be more food. It didn't work out so well."

  "Anywhere in particular?"

  The boy nodded and pointed behind him. "That cabin. But a man stopped us from going."

  Bear asked with intrigue, "Someone used to stay up there? Who?"

  "An old man."

  "You were stopped by an old man?"

  "No. This guy was much younger. He was a big man—not as big as you, and spoke with a slur. He said he had a few people up there. I was with my family and thought I was some kind of tough guy." The boy began to laugh, "I slashed his arm and he put me right on my arse. He then gave me this." He pointed at the small scar on his cheek.

  "So what's in the bag." Bear wasn't interested in the boy's tiresome stories. "It looks full."

  "It is."

  "What's in there?"

  "Food. A bottle that purifies water." The young man shifted on his bum uncomfortably. The teenager was now certain that this man was only after the supplies in his bag. "I also have a few knives. Mainly food, though."

  "Where did you get the food from?" Bear pointed at the back of the houses from the Pear Tree Estate. "I thought that these places would be bare by now."

  "I think I had to go in seven houses just to fill that bag." The boy began to chuckle and continued, "I reckon I've got enough to last me a week, maybe more. I had to kill two of those things this week while out scavenging."

  "That was a brave thing to do."

  "Not brave. Just desperate." The youngster dropped his head and puffed out a breath of sadness. "My family were only killed two weeks ago. We tried to flee to another house once we began to get real hungry, but we ran into...trouble. Everybody was bit, except me. I've been on my own ever since."

  Bear lifted his head and blew out some air from his lungs before asking, "So how do you think this is all going to pan out?"

  "I reckon the army will get some kind of control. I reckon they probably took care of the major cities in the first week. I mean...these things are slow. It wouldn't take much to put them down with the right equipment, and most sensible people in the first week should have stayed indoors."

  There was a silence between the young man and the man that was nicknamed The Bear, and the adolescent could feel the weight of the stare coming from this huge figure.

  "That's not what I meant." Theodore Davidson remained staring at the young adult and added, "I meant: How do you think this is gonna pan out between me and you?"

  The teen gulped and lowered his head. "Well..." He paused for a long time. "I could either try and run away, and hope that you're not fit enough to catch up with me."

  "Or?"

  "Or...I could hand my bag over to you right now, and walk away without losing my life."

  Bear gave the young man a thin smile and glared at him with his dark eyes. "You seem like a good kid. It'd be a shame to cut your throat and let you bleed out all over the grass."

  "And I could prevent that by giving you the bag?"

  "Yes. And then walking away."

  "I can understand why you're doing this. To survive, right?"

  Bear nodded.

  "If I tried to take a swipe at you or run away, and failed in doing so, would you give me the benefit of the doubt? After all, I'm just trying to survive myself."

  "I've killed people for less. I'm not going to take the bag off you by force, you're going to give it to me."

  The adolescent looked crestfallen, and bit his bottom lip in anger. "Could I at least take out one snack bar, something that will keep me going through the day."

  "Just the one, but don't try anything."

  "It'd be stupid of me to do so."

  "Yes it would." Bear began to cackle gently, "Do you know how many people I've killed since this shit started happening?"

  The youngster shook his head. "No."

  "Neither do I."

  "Is that supposed to frighten me?"

  "Not really. It is what it is."

  "Okay."

  "You've got balls for a young man. I'll give you that. Most men I've spoken to over the last few weeks have crumbled into a wreck before I'd put them down."

  "But you're not gonna put me down, are you?"

  Bear shook his head. "Maybe I'll let you join me and my crew."

  "No thanks. I think I'd rather be on my own."

  "If that's what you want."

  "I think it is." The youngster got to his feet and began brushing himself down. "Well, thanks for the chat." The young man put his hand in his bag and pulled out a snack bar. He opened the bar and scoffed it in seconds. "Next destination: The woods." He fastened his bag up and threw it over his shoulder.

  Bear had now got to his feet and said with a thin smile, "Aren't you forgetting something?"

  "What's that?"

  The large figure pointed at the bag.

  "Oh yes." The young man laughed falsely. "Silly me." He handed the bag over to Bear who reached out to grab it. As his fingers were perilously close to clasping the bag, the boy dropped it on the floor whilst reaching for something in the back of his trousers with his right hand.

  Bear smiled. "You've caught me in a good mood today. Let's not do this."

  "Let's not do what?"

  "Look, sonny. Pass me the bag and be on your way."

  The youngster took in a deep breath and lunged at The Bear, holding a knife in his right hand. Bear nonchalantly moved out of the way and grabbed the right wrist of the boy with his left hand, pulled out his kukri from his leather holster with his right, and brought the weapon down, taking off the youngster's hand.

  The youngster screamed out, falling to the floor, and looked at his amputation with shock while blood spat out. The Bear remained standing, gripping his bloody kukri with his right hand still, and holding the teenager's severed limb with his left.

  "You were warned," Bear spoke with calm. "Any other day and I would have killed you."

  The screaming youngster was now sitting down, biting his bottom lip because of the pain, and staring wide-eyed in disbelief that he was missing a hand. The blood flowed down his forearm, and his sobbing increased as the realisation was seeping in.

  Bear dropped the severed limb to the floor, took the bag and had a look inside of it. He pulled out a tea towel that was in there and threw it at the youngster. "Get that stump wrapped up, otherwise you'll bleed to death." He then sniggered to himself and added, "You really don't know how lucky you are, do you?"

  The youngster couldn't believe what he was hearing. Lucky?

  "You tried to stick a knife in me and you get to walk away without a hand. That's it."

  The teenager was about to speak, but threw up instead, all over his shoes and over his lap.

  "See you around. I'm off to the cabin." The Bear swung the bag over his shoulder, and said as he walked away, heading back to Cardboard Hill, back to the cabin, "You better
see if you can get some painkillers in one of those houses before you head for the woods, otherwise you won't be sleeping at all tonight."

  Chapter Twenty

  "Vehicle coming!" Simon Benson called out.

  On the barrier watch with Simon was two others, including Pickle who volunteered to do another stint for an hour. Pickle almost put his hands over his eyes to get a better look. It was a murky day, but there was still a bit of a glare that irritated his vision.

  They could all see now that a white transit van was heading towards the barrier.

  "It's Lee!" Pickle yelled. "Thank God."

  The van pulled up a few yards from the HGV and Lee and Sheryl stepped out. Their faces were glum, and Pickle could see that there was two persons missing.

  "I have a bad feeling about this," Simon Benson stated.

  "No shit," murmured Pickle.

  While the other guard, Kirk Sheen, remained where he was, Pickle and Simon stepped down off of the HGV's cab and went to meet both Sheryl and Lee.

  "I'm not gonna ask yer a load o' questions," Pickle began. "Just tell us what happened, from the beginning."

  Simon scanned the area and asked, "Where's Luke and Bentley?"

  Sheryl and Lee gazed at one another; no words fell from their mouths.

  "Simon!" Pickle scolded. "Let them tell us in their own words."

  Simon lowered his head apologetically and he and Pickle waited for either Sheryl or Lee to say something. Both Sheryl and Lee leaned against the front of the van, they looked exhausted, and Lee was the first to speak while Sheryl's head had dropped.

  "We ran into a bit of trouble," Lee began. He looked at Sheryl, but her head remained lowered and there was no response. "We got to the industrial estate, but me, Luke and Sheryl were caught by two men while Bentley was checking out another place. They shot Luke. He's in the back of the van."