Snatchers: Volume One (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 1-3)

by Shaun Whittington

  "I think I'm gonna have an orgasm," she giggled to herself, and put the tin into her now full bag.

  Pickle returned from upstairs and asked, "Anything?"

  "Plenty," Karen answered with a smile.

  Pickle then clicked his fingers. "Batteries. We need batteries."

  He began to check through the cupboards; Karen told him which ones she had already checked. He searched the last two and pulled out a tin that looked like it used to hold an assortment of expensive biscuits, something a person would get for a Christmas present. He shook it and then looked on the shelf above where the tin had sat and produced a beam. There was a torch sitting there.

  He reached for the torch, put it into his bag, then opened the tin to confirm that it was now a tin that held batteries of many sizes.

  "Perfect." Once they were in his bag, he lifted it back up. "Christ, this is heavy already."

  "Tell me about it." Karen nodded to her own bag that was bursting. She then looked in the cupboard, under the sink, and pulled out two bottles of Merlot. "Put them in your bag. We deserve them."

  "We'll take these back up to Wolf and come back, or we can return tomorrow."

  "What's that noise?" asked Karen.

  "I can't hear anything."

  Karen walked towards the kitchen window and opened the blinds and beckoned Pickle over. He plonked his bag on the floor and took a gawp out into the back garden. There were two Snatchers lumbering around an oak tree that was at the back, and Pickle could now see why the two creatures weren't moving from the tree.

  Up at a height of twelve feet, sitting on a thick branch, was a young girl, no older than fourteen. Her dark hair was tied back, and she looked exhausted, as if she had been there for hours, days even.

  "I've got it," Pickle said.

  He walked from the kitchen, and headed for the back door that led out into the garden. He was greeted by the blistering sun burning down on his features, and closed his eyes for a few seconds to take in the wonderful heat. He then took a few steps closer towards the creatures that had their backs to him, and produced a whistle that someone would use to beckon their dog.

  "Thank God," was all the exhausted girl could muster, as she saw this huge, rough-looking man, standing in the middle of the garden with a stained machete, proving that this man was not scared of using the thing.

  The two creatures, a male and a female, turned and stumbled towards him. Pickle had done this many times before now, and the two things were more of a nuisance than a scene of terror. He sighed hard, as if someone had spilt his drink, and pulled the machete back and took a swipe at the female. The blade nestled into the right side of the cranium, and once pulled out, a small amount of dark blood spat out, followed by the body collapsing in a heap.

  The male ghoul, who was initially behind the female, made things a whole lot easier when it tripped over its fallen comrade and hit the floor. Pickle drove the blade into the back of its head, and withdrew it. He wiped both sides of the blade on the long grass, and placed it back into his belt.

  He then looked up at the girl and held out his hand to beckon her out of the tree. "It's safe now."

  She hesitated for a few seconds, and looked around her garden and tried her best to fight back the tears.

  Gestured Pickle, "Come down. I'm not gonna hurt yer."

  She finally did, with Pickle's help, and she was in two minds whether to hug the man or not.

  "How long yer been up there?" he enquired.

  The girl answered, "For a few hours. I ran into the garden, but I was trapped."

  "Are yer alone? Is it just you?"

  She nodded. "Yes."

  "Where're your parents?"

  "Erm..." She cleared her throat and nodded to the creatures that Pickle had just attacked. "You've just killed them."

  "Oh."

  Karen had emerged out from the house and asked Pickle what was taking so long.

  Pickle walked up to Karen and whispered, out of earshot from the fourteen-year-old, "This house belongs to this girl and we've just emptied the place."

  Karen made a loud noise as she exhaled, and looked over to the girl. "What would you prefer: To stay in the house alone, or stay with other people?"

  "Other people," the girl spoke with little hesitation.

  "Sorted." Karen then walked out of the garden and disappeared. Pickle looked at the frightened girl and shrugged his shoulders as he had no idea what Karen was planning on doing.

  Five minutes later, Karen had returned, and said, "The family from two-doors down are gonna put you up. I'll walk you round."

  "That's great," the girl cried and gave Karen a hug; she then hugged Pickle and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you for..."

  Pickle laughed, "Killing yer parents? No worries."

  Karen walked with the girl and Pickle gave off a smile. Karen was full of surprises, sometimes even nice ones. One day he wanted to strangle her; the next, he wanted to hug her.

  Harry Branston decided to walk around the garden while waiting for Karen to return, and peered over the fence to look at the others. Two gardens down he could see a greenhouse and his face almost lit up.

  A greenhouse?

  A greenhouse usually meant fresh vegetables. If there was no family there, he thought, then great. If there was, but they were too scared to come out of the house, then Pickle thought about raiding the garden and splitting the produce with the family. He had no idea about what could be available. It was nearing the end of June, so he didn't know what was in bloom and what wasn't. Did there need to be a special time of the year to pick the tomatoes? Would everything be edible? Had the products in the greenhouse shrivelled up because they had been neglected and were now overripe, if that was possible, or had the family already cleaned out the greenhouse anyway when the apocalypse was in full swing?

  Karen returned to the back garden with a swagger. Pickle pointed out the greenhouse to Karen. "Excellent. We can check it out tomorrow," was her response.

  "Good work with persuading that family to take in that poor wee thing."

  "No problem," Karen smirked. "They were reluctant at first. Probably have got their own family to think about."

  "But yer twisted their arm." Pickle winked and nudged Karen, proudly. "What was it? A bit o' emotional blackmail?"

  "I just told them that the girl needed to be with people. And if they didn't take her in, she'd die."

  "Good job. I suppose seeing that machete may have persuaded them."

  "And the fact that I told them that if they didn't take her in, I'd torch their house."

  Pickle looked at Karen with wide, disappointing eyes. "Yer shouldn't be threatening people like that, Karen. They're just frightened, that's all."

  "Relax. I'm just kidding." Karen chuckled and slapped Pickle on the back. "They were pleased to take her in. Apparently they've known her all her life."

  Pickle stretched his back, ready for the arduous walk back up to Cardboard Hill, back to the cabin. With a heavy bag, he knew he was going to be exhausted once he had left the street, walked the length of the football field, and then hit the incline of the hill.

  He confessed, "I'm never going to make another trip down here, not today."

  "We can come back in the morning," said Karen. "We've got all the time in the world."

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Jack and Johnny had walked nonchalantly through a street, and had no idea what was around every corner they approached. The dead either seemed to be everywhere or nowhere.

  Curtains twitched as they walked through the lane, and one individual bellowed out of his bedroom window and asked the two men if they knew if there was anywhere safer. Jack thought that it was a bizarre question. If he knew that there was anywhere safer, he wouldn't be walking down this particular road in the open air.

  There were potential hazards everywhere, and although walking down a street left the two men exposed, being in the open made it easier to see any dangers.

  "I need to sit down
." Johnny stopped walking and sat on someone's front garden.

  Jack knew exactly where Johnny was coming from; he was also exhausted. Jack placed the crowbar onto the grass and sat next to the weapon that was lying inbetween the pair of them.

  Johnny shook his head and asked, "How the fuck did you manage to stay outdoors for more than a fortnight? This is a nightmare; the longer the hours go by, the more the factory and starvation seems more appealing."

  "It was worse than this at the beginning," Jack said. He then grabbed the chest part of the boiler suit he was wearing and wafted it to get some air on his body. "It's roasting out here, and these boiler suits are not helping."

  "Look, even if we were wearing just our shorts we'd still be sweating our bollocks off." Johnny pointed up at the sun; there was only one solitary cloud in the sky. "That doesn't help, and neither does running from two big fucking Pit Bulls, avoiding flesh-eating creatures, and men who would kill you for a fucking banana."

  "A banana?" Jack tittered.

  "Oh, at last. A bit of hilarity from the cool Jack Slade."

  "Look, Johnny." Jack placed his hand on the man's shoulder. "I didn't say it was gonna be easy."

  "Look." Johnny pointed at his stained boiler suit where his legs were. "My thighs are fucking killing me. I've pissed myself twice in just a five-minute period—"

  "Seriously?"

  "Yeah, seriously. Let's just find an empty house and crash for a few days."

  To Johnny's relief, Jack nodded in agreement to his suggestion. He picked up the crowbar, and used it to get to his feet. With the bar, he pointed to a house at the end of the road. "That front door is open, which means two things: it could be empty, or there could be some of those things inside."

  "I don't care," Johnny sighed. "I need a fresh change of clothes and a decent kip."

  "Sounds good to me." Jack licked the roof of his mouth. It felt all wrinkly, telling him that his body needed fluids. "If it's clear, we'll see if they've got any running water. Do you want a drink when we get in?"

  "Does a bear shit in the woods?" Johnny cackled.

  Jack glanced at his companion with a stern look. "I don't know. Does it?"

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Everything in the bag had been emptied and stored in the kitchen cupboards of the cabin. Wolf was delighted with the items Pickle and Karen had brought back, and asked if there had been any problems.

  "Nothing we're not used to," Karen answered Wolf. "But you'll be amazed what we've been used to."

  Wolf shook his head and patted Pickle and pointed at Karen. "Where'd you get this one?"

  "Long story," laughed Pickle, and began to insert a couple of firelighters underneath the wood where Wolf had built a fire that hadn't been lit yet. Wolf was convinced they were going to come back with something, but had come back with more than he was expecting. He was more pleased with the bleach and batteries more than the food, and told the two that at least now they could drink water from the kitchen sink, if they wanted, without worrying too much about poisoning themselves. He was still adamant on getting his liquids from the barrel full of rainwater, but the sink-water didn't bother Karen and Pickle anyway.

  They drank water while Wolf got the fire going; Pickle looked around the enclosed garden. For the first time in a long while, he felt safe. The fence around the cabin looked solid, and he knew that if there was even a tiny chance that those things could get up the hill, they'd still have to get through the solid perimeter.

  He looked at Karen as they both sat near the fire, and she flashed him a smile.

  "Are yer thinking what I'm thinking?" asked Pickle.

  "Stile Cop?"

  "Actually, no." Pickle took another swig of water that Wolf had given him. "I was just thinking, after everything that's happened, I didn't think we'd be sitting here. I don't want to jinx things, but this place is almost perfect."

  "Apart from having to piss and shit outside."

  "We should be used to that with the woods. At least we have toilet roll now," he guffawed.

  Karen managed half a smile, suggesting she wasn't sharing his positive outlook, but it didn't dampen Pickle's spirits. Everywhere they had gone to had turned to shit after a couple of days, whether it was Stile Cop, the house in Heath Hayes, or the sports centre. Pickle could understand why Karen wasn't getting carried away. She was being realistic, not necessarily pessimistic.

  Wolf was in the kitchen and it looked like that he was making a big pot of soup. He placed a metal rack over the now blistering blaze, and told them that once it was prepared, it'd take a while to heat up on the fire.

  Going back to what Karen had said earlier, Pickle then asked, "Why does this remind you of Stile Cop?"

  "Remember the fire? The food?" Karen smirked. "KP doing the barbecue?"

  Pickle snickered, "And giving Jamie the shits."

  A silence fell upon the two of them as they realised that they had been talking about people that were no longer alive anymore. Pickle dropped his head, and could feel his eyes welling up for KP.

  "Poor KP," Pickle spoke with a quiver in his tone.

  "Poor everyone," Karen said with genuine affection.

  "Poor Grass, Laz, Jamie, Janine, Davina...I wonder how David and little Isobel are? Man, she was the cutest thing I'd ever seen."

  Karen smiled and nodded in agreement. "What about poor Jack and his family?"

  Pickle nodded and sighed. He could feel his throat getting tighter with emotion. "That was the most heartbreaking thing I'd ever witnessed, seeing that woman and her son lying in that office."

  "I wonder how Jack managed to...well...die?"

  "Poor bastard was probably ripped to pieces like that Lee and Oliver kid at the gates." Pickle's sombre reminiscing wasn't helping his mood and wondered briefly what fate had in store for him. How was he going to leave this earth? Would it be painless or painful? He added, "There was nothin' I could do about Jack. After losing his son, he just gave up, like I nearly did when KP went."

  "No one blamed you," Karen appeased her male friend. "You led the group; but you're not a hypnotist. You can't control what people are thinking and feeling. Jack made his choice, and is probably better off where he is."

  Thinking about things that had happened in the recent past, Karen wondered aloud, "I wonder how Paul and Jade are getting on?"

  "Fine," Pickle said with heavy confidence.

  "You seem certain."

  "Paul's a tough bastard, and besides, he's got desperation running through his veins. He needs to stay alive so he can eventually find his wife and daughter. He mentioned going back to his house, if it's safe enough. Shit," cackled Pickle, "he's probably there now."

  Wolf then appeared from the cabin with the pot of soup being carried with both hands. He gently put the soup on the metal rack and said, "One thing I don't have, and that's pepper."

  "We'll put that on our shopping list for tomorrow," Pickle spoke with a chuckle.

  Wolf knelt near the fire, wearing a set of denim dungarees, and began to stir the pot with a metal spoon. He was reasonably quiet and Pickle asked if he was missing his wife.

  "Yes I am," Wolf remarked. "But I'm mourning for the woman that had died two or so weeks ago, not that thing you killed and buried on the hill. That wasn't her. That was just evil that had taken over the shell she used to dwell in."

  "Well this is a barrel of laughs," Karen spoke with a sarcastic tone wrapped around her words. Pickle was about to reprimand the twenty-three-year-old female for her crass and insensitive comment, but Wolf burst out laughing when she said it.

  "You're not shy, are you?" Wolf shook his head while he continued to titter. "I know you said it was a long story," Wolf turned to Pickle, "but how did you two meet?"

  "I was in the woods," began Pickle. "Karen was hiding and thought I was one of them, so she attacked me and broke my nose."

  "I didn't break it," Karen protested. "It just bled a little. He went down like a sack of shit, though. And he was carrying a
handgun."

  Wolf winked at Karen, telling her that he was about to try and wind Pickle up. He then turned to Pickle, feigning surprise on his face. "A big, strong lad like you, and you allowed this petite thing to knock you down?"

  Picking up on Wolf's ribbing, Pickle spoke with a fake defensive tone, "In my defence, she was well hidden."

  "Still," Wolf cackled. "You're built like a bear, and Karen put you on your arse."

  Pickle was starting to give up and was now ready for the soup that was now bubbling in the pot. Wolf could see his guests were getting hungry, so he stood up to get back to the kitchen to get three bowls and three spoons.

  Wolf straightened his straw hat, stroked his grey beard and said, "I tell you what, Karen, you're a cracking girl. You remind me of my wife when I first met her."

  "Hot, was she?" she joked.

  "She certainly was." Wolf stared at Karen, admiring her natural prettiness. "You know what, Karen? If I was single, and forty years younger—"

  "I'd be knocking you back right now."

  Pickle and Wolf both laughed collectively, and Karen tried her best to keep a straight face so her dead-pan humour was more effective, but her face eventually cracked.

  Karen stood to her feet and brushed the back of her trousers with the palms of her hands. "Fuck this. Let's get the wine open, and then we can tell you everything that's happened."

  "Now yer talking, Karen," Pickle continued to cackle. "Now yer talking."

  Chapter Thirty

  June 26th

  The two men had slept through the night. Neither one had arranged for one or the other to keep guard and take turns in sleeping; they were so exhausted once their backs touched the soft mattress that they had crashed right away.

  When they arrived at the house and settled down after a few hours, they felt safe almost immediately. The house was locked and secure, and the street had no presence of the living or the dead, and no barricading took place this time before they went to the bedrooms on the next floor.