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

by Shaun Whittington

Chapter Thirty Seven

  His idea of going to the woods was thwarted since he had lost his hand, and opted to stay where there were houses which provided some food and, more importantly, painkillers.

  The pain was still there, but at least he had managed to find some bathwater in the house that he had broken into the evening before. It appeared that the owner of the house had fled in the early days. There was no car on the drive when he broke in, no barricade by the front door, the kitchen cupboards had been emptied and clothes had been taken from the bedroom cupboards. The bath had been filled, which told the eighteen-year-old that the owner may have hung around for a few days before deciding to take flight.

  The exhausted young man took a look at his bloody stump, where his left hand used to be, wrapped in a fresh towel, and began to cry. How did it come to this?

  He didn't feel as weak as he did before with the blood loss, but he still didn't feel right.

  He clambered down the stairs to have a change of scenery and decided that it was time to move on. Despite hydrating himself the house offered no food, so there didn't seem much point hanging around. He left the house, once he could see outside that it was clear, and decided to check the last house on the Queensway road, at the entrance/exit to the estate. Thankfully the estate was clear, unlike how it was in the first weeks, and the teenager walked slowly, still on high alert in case anything dangerous was to appear.

  He tried the front door of the place on the Queensway road and was surprised that it opened. No barricade was present, and he came to the conclusion that this was another set of people that decided to flee instead of doing what the media had instructed them to do.

  He closed the door behind him once he was in the reception area, and went straight to the kitchen. He could see a set of knives and pulled out the biggest one—the 'psycho knife', as he would call it.

  He went through the cupboards and sighed with exasperation that they were bare. He checked the defunct fridge and slammed it shut once his eyes could see that it was also empty.

  "Bastard!"

  He was getting hungry, and knew that in a day or so he'd be starving.

  He left the house and ventured outside, holding the big knife, and made the short walk to a shop and had a look inside. The window was smashed and stained with blood, and the shop itself was too dangerous and dusky to enter.

  His eyes examined the area around him and could see up a steep road, called Coppice Road, that a ghoul was stumbling towards him. He knew the pest would try and follow him wherever he went, but the danger was minimal as far as he was concerned. It was only one! He could handle one of them, even with his weakness and a hand missing. It was when they were in groups they were a problem.

  He waited for the ghoul to approach him; his heart rate was elevated, but this problem should be easy to sort out as it was something he had done before.

  As the creature was a couple of yards away it raised its hands to attack the boy, but the teenager took a step to the side, completely fooling the beast, and stabbed it through the eye. It fell and the young boy retrieved his knife and put it into his pocket. He reached the end of the Queensway road and turned left onto Sandy Lane.

  The teenager staggered along the road and looked around. It had been months since he had ventured this far. He didn't know if heading towards the town centre was such a good idea, but he was desperate. He made a decision to check on some of the houses on Sandy Lane, a place he hadn't been to since the apocalypse started, before heading into town.

  His tired feet scraped and dragged across the concrete pavement and his head was down. He was exhausted and close to tears. He took a quick glance at his mutilated left arm and wondered if this nightmare was ever going to end. He continued with his heavy legs and his head remained lowered, unaware that he was near the railway bridge, approaching a barrier.

  He lifted his head once he heard a voice call out, "I've got it."

  *

  "The trouble with women," Daniel Badcock explained, "is that they're too obsessed with the way they look. Even now, people like Gillian and the other girls in Burnthill Lane are still plucking their eyebrows, trying to get hold of a razor to shave their legs. We even had one woman come to the Lea Hall building to see if we had any face cream. I mean: it's the end of the world, almost, so who cares?"

  Rick Morgan scratched his head and said, "Some of the men still shave, if they can. And you're one of them."

  Daniel said defensively, "I still shave because a beard itches the hell out of my face. I don't do it for vanity."

  "Sheryl's not vain."

  "No, she's not." Daniel began to laugh. "Sheryl's a lot of things, but she certainly ain't vain."

  "What do you think of her?"

  "Who? Sheryl?"

  Rick Morgan nodded, "She seems a bit of a bright horse."

  "You mean, dark horse."

  "That as well." Rick nodded with a straight face.

  "She's alright, once you get to know her, but she does keep her cards pretty close to her chest."

  "She's got a nice body." Rick looked all dreamy and a daft smile emerged under his nose.

  "So you have a soft spot for our Sheryl?"

  "Kind of. But she's too scary for me."

  Daniel laughed, "She's too scary for most men. Don't worry about it."

  Rick raised a smile after Daniel's comment, turned his head, facing out and screwed his eyes. He pointed up ahead and patted Daniel's shoulder to get his attention. "Haven't seen one of them on this side of the barrier for days."

  Daniel turned and looked. He smiled as he saw a lone ghoul staggering towards the barrier, and he thought about how Karen had removed two the other day, by the Globe Island barrier, making Nicholas Burgess look like a fool.

  Daniel never hesitated and began to climb down with a bat in his hand.

  Rick said sharply, "Where're you going? Wait till it comes to the barrier and get rid of it with the sawn-off."

  "No chance." Daniel shook his head. "It's too loud and a waste of a cartridge, and there's no need anyway. It's just the one."

  "But..."

  Daniel held his hand up to silence Rick, and it worked.

  He walked a few yards and could see that the creature had its head down and had no idea that Badcock's presence was close. Daniel gripped the bat tighter, ready to strike the creature, who wasn't very far away, and could see that it had a hand missing and even though its head was down he could tell it was a male. Daniel heard Rick whisper to Daniel to hurry up. Daniel pulled the bat back and said, "I've got it."

  The creature lifted its head, and Daniel struck it...twice.

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  The knock on the door made Karen jump and cuss. She got to her feet and walked to the door, and a part of her began to think that the person behind it had bad news about Pickle and Vince.

  She braced herself for the worst case scenario, news that would make her crumble. She opened the door and breathed a sigh of relief that she was face-to-face with James McDonald. He was the last person she wanted to see, but at least it wasn't a guard with bad news. They wouldn't send James McDonald round to do that.

  "What do you want?" Karen said abruptly.

  James looked nervous and she knew straight away that he hadn't come round to cause trouble.

  He began, "I wanted..." he paused, unable to finish his sentence.

  "Go on," Karen urged.

  "I wanted to...apologise."

  That word alone seemed to have pained James McDonald, and Karen had already forgiven him for his nastiness from before. It seemed that the apology was hard for the man to make, but the fact that he had made it left Karen dumbstruck.

  "Apologise? What for?" Karen decided to act dumb.

  "Just with me being..." James paused to think about what he was going to say next. "...a bit of a twat."

  "A bit?" laughed Karen.

  "Okay, a lot."

  "It's alright." She glared at Jimmy Mac's features and he seemed genuinely sorry
for his behaviour, but she wasn't so sure that his temper or attitude would change towards the others.

  "Rosemary told me things, you know, after we had our fight two days ago," he began. "I heard about what happened at Stile Cop. That must have been scary shit."

  "It was." Karen thought about the gun that was found by Daniel. Was she doing the right thing, keeping information from Pickle that there was a strong possibility that KP had turned and never ended it the way they thought he was going to? She was protecting him. Whatever the outcome, KP was still dead, even if he was now one of those Snatchers.

  "Listen," Karen opened her door wider and added, "You wanna come in? I could make us some tea. I was given a camping stove and—"

  "No...thank you." James lowered his head. "I just wanted to say sorry. It took me long enough."

  He walked away and Karen shut the door and said to herself, "Well, that was a surprise."

  *

  "You got a bit of blood on you." Rick pointed at Daniel's cheek, and Daniel responded by wiping it off from his face with his fingers.

  "Thanks." He wiped the blood from his fingers on his trousers and said, "I must have hit that thing harder than I thought."

  "I wonder why it only had one hand." Rick Morgan stared at the ground in thought. "And its blood doesn't seem as dark—"

  "Who cares?" Daniel scoffed, and looked to the grassy bank from afar, where he had dragged and dumped the body. "It's dead now. That's one less beast to worry about."

  "I suppose."

  Rick Morgan became lost for a while, and began to think back to the first days. It was like a surreal nightmare. People were being eaten right before his eyes, but there was one incident that would haunt him forever. It was Sunday afternoon, and peering at the unfolding horror from his bedroom window, Rick saw many cars leaving, and people fleeing their own homes as the dead turned up in their numbers.

  Some were toddling about, having no clue where to go, some heading towards car alarms, whilst others circled peoples' windows. It was as if some knew that there was something inside to devour. Maybe they had seen movement or heard screaming or yelling from inside. The worst of that episode was witnessing the bloody demise of the Boyle family.

  The Boyle family consisted of the mum and dad and two twin four-year-old boys. As all four members of the family, including their black Labrador, Terry, got into their family car, the dead went for them quickly. The father struggled to get the driver's door shut and was bit on the leg by one of the beasts. Three had suddenly reached the opened door and began to eat the father of the family. Rick could hear his screams from his house. The mother sat there screaming, and Rick remembered saying under his breath: "Get the kids out. Get the kids out."

  But she never did. She was in shock...or something.

  He then heard the cries of the family dog as two ghouls tore it apart, and the mother was next as more tried to pile into the vehicle. Rick could see the kids trying their doors but the child locks must have been on, and by that time it was too late anyway. In morbid fascination, Rick watched as the family were eaten in their own car.

  He stood and watched, with his hands over his ears, and tears fell from his eyes as he could see one of the terrified boys trying to smash the back window with his bare little hands. He was soon dragged away, and Rick then turned away from his bedroom window. He had seen enough.

  "Hey!"

  Rick felt a slap on his arm and it had suddenly brought him back to the present day.

  "What?" Rick was disorientated.

  "You were miles away," said Daniel, and pointed in front of him. "I think we have another one."

  "Another one?" Rick scratched at his shaved head and the thirty-five-year-old asked another query. "Another what?"

  "Look."

  Rick scrunched his eyes and shook his head. He could see a figure in the distance, but he couldn't quite make out the face. It was too far away. It walked like one of them, but it could also be an exhausted human, seeking refuge. He had seen it many times before over the last month or so.

  Morgan continued to look and said, "I can't believe all those runs we've done and we still don't have a pair of binoculars."

  "I think the guys have a pair in the Lea Hall building, from the gun shop that Lee and Sheryl went to."

  "That's no good to us now."

  Both men continued to gaze as the shape got closer and closer. Both men developed a smile on their faces as the figure, who was fifty yards away, began waving its arms.

  The dead don't wave!

  "That's not a Waster." Rick Morgan looked perplexed.

  "It's human," snickered Daniel.

  "I think you might be right."

  "I am." Daniel became more relaxed and put his arms behind the back of his head. There was going to be no need for the bat. "Looks like another guy wanting refuge."

  "That's not some guy," Rick spoke, and continued to stare at the staggering figure that was slowly making its way to the barrier by the railway bridge. He looked to the side of him, staring at Daniel and said, "It's Bentley Drummle."

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  "Hurrah! No trees!"

  "Alright, alright," Pickle scolded his friend, Vince. "Keep yer voice down. Have yer got a death wish or somethin'?"

  Both men weren't out of the area of Cannock Chase, but they had come across an area that both men had heard about, but neither had bothered to visit back in the old days.

  In silence they walked towards the area and went through the small steel gates and stepped onto the grass of the Cannock Chase War Cemetery. Both men were humbled at the hundreds and hundreds of white gravestones that lined up in rows on the grass, and it wasn't just a resting place for the British—German soldiers were also buried here.

  They walked around and looked at the names of the dead.

  "They were just boys," said Pickle. "Brave bastards."

  "Look." Vince pointed at a large grave stone. Above it, it was written in German, but below it, it was written in English. Vince read it out. "Side-by-side with their comrades, the crews of four zeppelins shot down over England during the first world war here found their eternal resting place. The fallen were brought here from their original burial places at Potters Bar, Great Burstead and Theberton. The members of each crew are buried in caskets in one grave."

  They both came across a stone with a black plaque on it. It had gold letters written on the plaque and Vince read it out under his breath. "In memory of 25,000 Polish prisoner of war and professional classes who were murdered on Stalin's orders by the Soviet Secret Police in 1940 at Katyn Forest, Kharkov, Miednoye, Kozielsk, Starobielsk, Ostaszkov, and elsewhere. Finally admitted in 1990 by the USSR after 50 years of shameful denial of the truth."

  Pickle clicked his fingers at Vince, making Kindl turn away from the memorial stone, and pointed up ahead. Four Snatchers were stumbling their way, and had passed the huge white cross that stood proudly in the middle of the cemetery.

  "Now that's just fucking disrespectful." Vince pulled out his machete, and placed his bag on the floor, leaving the sawn-off in the bag.

  Pickle did the same. They could manage two each with just the blades that they had.

  Their technique was the same as it always was when they had two each to contend with. One was front-kicked to the ground, and the remaining standing ghoul would be dealt with whilst the other would be trying to clamber to its feet. Strangely, all four beasts that headed towards them were all male.

  Were they all friends in their former life?

  Almost as if this was rehearsed, the two men kicked a ghoul each at the same time. Both ghouls flew backwards, leaving one Snatcher each to deal with. Pickle went for the swipe to the side of the head method, whereas Vince decided to ram his blade, like a spear, through the forehead of his.

  The two remaining beasts seemed to be struggling to get to their feet. It seemed that these two were badly decomposed. Were these one of the first to turn? Skin was peeled away from the face of the one on t
he left that was near Pickle, and the other one on the floor was almost skeletal, with the exception of some skin and muscle on the left side of its face.

  Vince and Pickle never allowed the things to stand and put them out of their misery with ease, using their blood-stained blades. Pickle hacked at his once, whereas Vince went for a more manic approach, striking the thing four times. Once would have been enough.

  "Well," Pickle was panting and placed his hands on his knees, "let's hope that's the only action we're gonna see, because I really can't be bothered with this."

  "What's up?" Vince was also out of breath. "Aren't you enjoying yourself?"

  "No, I'm not." Pickle stood up, still panting. "I need ma bed. I need proper sleep. I need eight hours, not four. Yer no' sleep deprived?"

  "I'm fucked," Vince snickered. "And you had more kip than me, don't forget. I never even slept."

  "I have no idea how I survived in the woods for so long."

  "Neither do I," Vince began to tease and rubbed his scarred face. "You whine like a bitch."

  "Back then we never had a choice." Pickle reminisced and smiled before adding, "Karen was a right trooper. Yer know, all I did was moan about ma headache, due to dehydration. She was the only one out o' the four o' us that just got on with it."

  "Four?"

  "There was me, Karen, a man called Paul Parker and a girl called Jade Greatrix. We had just escaped from the sports centre."

  Vince nodded. "Is this the story where Jack was going to kill himself, but he changed his mind?"

  "He never changed his mind," Pickle corrected Vince. "The belt slipped and he landed in the swimming pool below him. I think God gave him a second chance."

  "God gave him a second chance?" mocked Vince. "Jack was dead a few weeks later. He wasn't given much of a chance."

  "Yer worse than Karen." Pickle sighed, but wasn't offended by Vince's lack of belief. "Let me believe in ma assumption, and yer can believe in yours. "

  "Fine by me." Vince bent down and wiped his blade on the grass, before placing it back under his belt. He then stood up and pointed over to some bushes, outside of the memorial, and said, "I'm gonna take a walk over there, then we can keep moving. Maybe we'll be back at the camp by the end of the day."