"What do you reckon?" Jamie questioned Janine.
"Seriously?"
Jamie nodded.
Janine sighed unhappily, "If we pick them up, we pick nobody else up."
"I agree with that; we're definitely better in numbers. I'm just gonna slow down, see who they are."
"You don't think they'll attack us and take the van for themselves?"
"Nah, not these fellas." Jamie pointed at the four figures who were now facing them and frantically waving. "That's Pickle. He's a notorious drug dealer, but as honest as they come. If it was a member of the Murphy family, then I'd just drive on. We're better in numbers; don't worry about the food, we'll find more eventually."
As the van gained alongside the diminutive group, the four men held out their hands, desperate for the vehicle to pull over. The van pulled up adjacent to the cons, and Pickle was the first to approach Jamie's side of the door.
"Wanna ride?" Jamie smiled.
"Absolutely," Pickle cried, and all four inmates wore a relieved and excited grin. "I owe yer one, Jamie boy."
"Forget it, we're all in the same boat. As far as I'm concerned, considering what's happening out there, any fracas we've had in the past is forgotten about now." All four prisoners nodded in agreement. "We're all equal; to get through this we're better off sticking together."
Jamie switched the engine off, and got out of the van, Jamie and Pickle shook hands. Jamie knew that being in numbers would be more beneficial for his own safety. He knew Pickle; he didn't really know the other inmates, but knew Pickle would keep them in line.
Pickle had short brown hair, was a violent drug dealer, and slurred his words occasionally, but he and Jamie had always had a decent relationship on the wing. He knew that if Pickle was on his side, the other three wouldn't dare speak up or attempt anything untoward. Why would they? Not only had he released them from their cells, he was now giving them a ride!
"Let me introduce yer to these three fine gentleman," Pickle spoke; Jamie already knew one of the inmates but decided against on interrupting Pickle. "This is KP, he looks like a dick, but he's okay."
"I already know KP," Jamie spoke, nodding towards the inmate.
Jamie was unsure about KP; he was another violent thug, but his violence wasn't related to drugs. He was a repeat violent offender, who spent most of his time in and out of jail.
"Of course yer do." Pickle beamed. "What about the other two?"
Jamie frowned, his face suggesting he was struggling for names. "I think those two only came in a few weeks ago, plus they're both from E wing."
"This is Laz." Pickle pointed to a weedy-looking prisoner who looked middle-aged. "And this fine looking kid is called Grass."
Jamie waved at Grass, whose real name was Conor Snodgrass. Now Jamie remembered him!
Conor Snodgrass was only twenty years old and was in for rape, but he had told prisoners he was in for GBH. Jamie knew that if Pickle knew the background of Snodgrass, he would kill him there and then. He didn't feel comfortable having a rapist on board, especially with Janine in tow, but he knew that if he opened his mouth, the young boy would be kicked to death for sure by all three prisoners.
On a wing, rapists and child molesters were usually protected by officers to stop them being attacked by other inmates. Some prisons across the country would have separate wings for these types of criminals, but in Stafford prison, they had them on E wing where ten sex offenders lived, and these were protected by opening them up at different meal times, escorting them to the toilet, etc,. Jamie hated them, not just because of the crime that they had committed, but the fact that he had to behave like a personal babysitter for them, but he wouldn't want young Grass to be killed, no matter what crime he did in the past.
"No offence," Jamie indicated to Pickle. "But we need to throw you guys in the back."
"That's perfectly fine with us, ain't that right lads?"
All three of them agreed, with no reluctance on their faces.
"You got any food in the back?" KP called. "I could eat the scabs off a donkey's ring piece."
Jamie and Janine took a gander at one another.
"Don't worry!" Pickle exclaimed, almost as if he could read the two officers' intellects. "We won't eat all yer food, besides, once we make a stop off at ma house, we can get all the food we want and store them in the back o' the van."
"Got a place in mind?" Janine asked.
"Just name yer supermarket. Besides, I think there's a garage up the road, apart from petrol, there should be plenty o' food there as well."
"Sounds like a plan," Jamie responded excitedly. "We can get plenty of jerry cans from the garage and fill them up, but if the electrics go down in the gas stations, we're fucked, 'cos you need to use a switch to activate the pumps. What's at this house?"
"Guns," Pickle declared bluntly. "And there's plenty. So we need to head for Rugeley; there's a place that I think will be perfect. But firstly, I need to make a little stop on the way there. Agreed?"
Jamie smiled, the day was beginning to get better and stopping for Pickle had become a commendable idea.
Jamie spoke with zealous, "Right, Janine, let's get these guys in the back. We've got a garage to go to. By the way, lads, we'll keep those cells open, you're not prisoners now as far as I'm concerned."
Jamie pulled out the specially-designed cell key for the seven tiny cells of the van and put it into the glove compartment.
Janine let them in the back one by one; the cells were already opened and each inmate picked one for themselves. Janine gave them all polite smiles.
First to get in was young Grass; he gave her a shy look and she felt sorry for the young boy, he looked scared out of his wits. The next to go in was Laz; he looked about fifty and was very skinny, his head of hair was completely grey. KP was next to go in; she had heard of him being a tough nut, and despite donning a beard, which was something she didn't find appealing herself, he was an attractive man. He blew her a kiss as he got inside; she responded with a shy smile. It had been a while since she had been with male company.
Last to go in was Pickle. "Don't yer worry, kid." He pointed at Janine. "I'll keep these wee monkeys under control, okay?" He winked and got straight into one of the tiny cells.
"The toilets are at the back," she announced, forgetting that these men had been in before.
Pickle gave her the thumbs up. He was six foot in height, and his muscular frame was almost as fierce as his reputation, but the forty-three-year-old seemed to be a genuine guy—although shouldn't be crossed.
Janine was a little put out that the guys had turned up; she thought that her and Jamie were getting on great in the short space of time they were out together. Although she did see the benefits of them being around, as she felt safer in numbers especially now that one of them was going to give them guns, she was hoping that it wasn't going to turn into one big boys club. She had only just shut the door to the back of the van, and she was already feeling a little left out.
Chapter Sixteen
As he got to the top of the roof of his neighbour's house, David Pointer had stood up quite easily, putting too much faith in the roof tiles beneath his feet. He side-stepped the short journey to his own skylight and took off the rucksack from his back; he knelt down and saw his wife playing with his daughter, and a languishing smile emerged on his face.
He gently knocked on the glass of the skylight and Davina stood up and opened it. David handed his wife the bag.
"Be back in two minutes," he announced to his now unhappy wife.
"Where are you going?"
"I just wanna check on the Bairds."
"Jesus, David, you can't be everyone's saviour, just stay here with us. With your own family."
"They're a nice family, I just want to see if they and the two girls are okay."
Davina snarled, "And what about your two girls? Can't you just ring 'em?"
"My phone is in the car. It's only next door-but-one, I promise I won't go any furth
er."
Davina didn't agree with her husband, but it was pointless arguing with him. She shook her head and waved at him as if to say, do what you want!
He shut the roof window—or skylight—and made his way back to the top of the roof once more, and the scenes had become more incredible since the last time he had looked. There was more of them roaming around the streets, at least six in his own street, and dozens in the next one. It was frightening to watch, and he turned around with his back facing the macabre scene, and stepped carefully—like a tightrope walker—across the roof.
The houses were built in an eight block of terraces, and David and Davina's was the one at the end, which meant they had one less bedroom, but they had a bigger garden and a drive.
He had finally made it to the third skylight across the block, his being the first, and peered in. People used their attics for various reasons. He used his as a storage room, the Nobles converted theirs into an extra bedroom for their daughter, the Bairds seemed to have given up on theirs, as it looked like the inside of a shed; it was in a bad state. It looked like it was used for storage.
At least ours is neat and tidy, David thought. Which is where Davina could take all of the credit for that one.
David went to knock on the window of the skylight, but suddenly saw that it had been left slightly open, probably to let the air in on such a stuffy night. He opened it up and his instincts were telling him it was okay to go in.
He jumped inside, his feet slamming the wooden floor so hard that the soles of his feet stung. He had misjudged the height; it was higher than he had thought.
David walked over the closed hatch, bent down and spoke through it.
"Gerry, it's David Pointer from next door-but-one. If you can hear me, give me a holler."
David waited for a whole minute. He knew this for certain because he timed it on his Accurist wristwatch. He tried again, and repeated the same sentence. Once again there was no answer, but this time he thought, fuck it.
He stood over the attic door and brought the heel of his shoe on top of the latch, although he was wary that there was a small chance he could fall through. He felt it give way a little, and brought it down once more to see it swing open, his momentum almost made him fall down the hatch. He fell backward onto the floor of the attic, and decided to gather his breath before descending to the first floor.
He was about to shout through the now opened hatch once more, but then he bit his lip. He wasn't sure there was anybody in; for all he knew, they could have fled. He couldn't remember if their car was sitting outside or not, so he wasn't entirely sure. Another scenario that entered his mind was that one of them could have been bit; they could be one of them and still inside, and all he had was a hammer!
There was no spiral staircase in the attic, as their attic was like his. It had a set of ladders that needed lowering down. This is exactly what he did; he lowered them as quietly as he could. At least now, if he was to be attacked, there would be a convenient escape route. He stepped down carefully and once he finally reached the bottom of the ladders, he adjusted them so they were easier to climb in case of an emergency.
He crept out of the bedroom and was on the landing; the set-up was the same as his house. There was a bedroom to his left and another two doors to his right; one was another bedroom and a bathroom.
He looked to his left, and with the tips of his fingers, he gently pushed the door open to reveal an empty bedroom. He walked across the landing and looked down the stairs and shouted hello. He was confident that if his voice attracted unwanted attention, as far as the beings were concerned, he could outrun them and be on the roof by the time they got to the top of the stairs. After what he had witnessed from his roof, one thing he was certain of was that, individually, they didn't posses too much of a threat to the average man, but when they were in their hordes or packs, there was a bigger reason to worry.
He continued to glare down the stairs, but there was no answer. He looked behind him and began to check out the two doors to the landing's right. Convinced that the house was empty, his bladder had decided that it needed draining. After doing so, and not flushing just in case the noise attracted unwanted attention from outside, he left the bathroom and went to the door next to it. Again, the door was closed like the other bedroom, but it hadn't been closed properly.
He placed his fingers on the door and pushed the door ajar, his psyche wasn't prepared to take in what he was about to see.
The first thing he could see was the cupboard up against the wall to the right, and he could also see the end of a bed. He stepped inside and walked further into the bedroom where he could now examine the whole of the bed, and the four lifeless figures lying at peace under the duvet. David knew the family well; they were the kind of family that kept themselves to themselves, but broke that rule with the Pointers because their daughters played with Isobel quite often. He tried his hardest to stop weeping.
Tears fell, but he held back his emotional outburst. He thought that the scene, he was witnessing, was a scene that was probably happening to many families across the country.
Why would a parent want to bring a child into a new world like this? It was bad enough when humans ran the show.
David moved closer towards the front of the bed; the father was lying on his back with one of the twin girl's arms wrapped around him. The mother was on her side, spooning her other two-year-old daughter. Like their mother, the little girls were gorgeous things, blessed with long golden hair like the field of corn.
What must have those parents gone through at the time, knowing that they were responsible for their deaths?
They must have felt there was no other option. Their short little lives could leave the world sleeping with their parents, or being ripped to pieces by those…things!
Some people were holding out, others, like the Bairds, were not taking the chance.
David thought back to the scenario when the twin towers were burning and people began jumping to their deaths. Whatever option they chose, they were going to die anyway, so in this case, the parents picked the less cruel way to leave this Earth.
On the father's side of the bed, was a side-table. On it, was a bottle of water with two empty bottles of painkillers lying on their side, and the powder that could be seen on the table suggested to David's mind that the tablets had to be crushed for the children to take them. The bodies, as well as the evidence how they died, was heartbreaking to see, as he could just imagine the scene and the build-up to it.
He shook his head and tried to erase it from his mind, as David Pointer being mentally ill wasn't an option, especially when he had a wife and a four-year-old daughter relying on him.
Although David wasn't an avid churchgoer, he dropped to his knees and began to say the Lord's Prayer. It was the only prayer he knew from his school days. He felt he needed to do or say something, before leaving the family alone.
He got back to his feet, and left the family in their bed. For a minute, he thought about going downstairs to see what food was available. He was sure his family had enough to keep them going for a week or two, besides, now that the family were dead, it seemed disrespectful to empty their cupboards, and his bag was back at his house anyway. He promised himself that if the supplies began running low he would go back and see what there was to consume. He was hoping it wasn't going to come to that. He was sure that there would be some kind of government/army intervention by then—or at least, he hoped.
He crept downstairs out of interest, and not on the lookout for food, and peered into the kitchen, the bathroom and then finally, the living room. The window of the living room had two of the infected against it; the crack on the window told him that they were trying to get in. As soon as they saw him, a new lease of energy was released and their groaning grew more boisterous. Their pale hands bashed against the huge pane of glass that had no chance of standing that kind of pressure for another ten minutes, he guessed.
One of them, who was dressed in wo
rks overalls as if they used to be a mechanic, banged on the window desperately with its fists, blood spat out of its mouth as it continued to moan, tormented that there was food inside, and the only thing that stood in the way was a pane of glass.
David decided not to hang about and ran upstairs; he got to the landing and began to climb the ladders back to the attic. He stopped climbing once he heard the shatter of glass from downstairs, and then continued to the top. He reached for the ladders to bring them back up. He was sure that the things weren't capable of climbing ladders, or stairs for that matter, due to atrophy, and even then, having the balance to make their way over a roof.
Within a second, a seed of ambiguity was quickly planted in his psyche, and now he was thinking that maybe he wasn't entirely sure this was the case after all. So as an added precaution, he brought up the ladders and closed the hatch as extra insurance.
He could now hear the groans coming from the ground floor. They were in the house!
He didn't know whether they had the ability to climb in, or maybe they had just fallen in through the window after the glass had shattered, and then got back onto their feet. Whatever the reason, they were in, and it sounded like there were more than two of them.
He didn't hang around long enough to estimate the numbers, and lifted himself up through the skylight. This was hard work; it had been a while since David had been to the gym, and even then, pull-ups were not his strong point. He only needed to do one to get him to the roof, but he struggled nevertheless.
He finally managed to get himself back onto the roof, and welcomed the sunshine that greeted him warmly. He had grazed his leg slightly from a stray tile, but with the way the world was at the moment, there were other things that were going to keep him from sleeping tonight.
He thought about the message from the Nobles. If it was happening in the UK and New York, then surely this could be a global catastrophe.
Chapter Seventeen
Karen Bradley's jeep roared like a beast and turned right at the Globe Island, that was now being swarmed upon by at least twenty of the things, and she headed for Draycott Park, back to the area where she lived. She took another look at the tyre iron on the passenger seat, and kept saying to herself under her breath, "He's already dead. He's already dead."
Snatchers: Volume One (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 1-3) Page 9