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

by Shaun Whittington

  This time he decided not to check upstairs. He wanted to spend as little time as possible and get the hell out. He managed to find a cupboard that had painkillers, and other medications. He then crouched into the darkened kitchen and took out tins of fruit and tuna to put into his bag.

  "Need a hand down there?"

  The female voice startled Pickle; he spun around on his heels and stood up straight so he could get a good look at the young woman. She was dressed in green combats, a black T-shirt, and was holding a meat cleaver in her right hand that, judging by the stains on the steel, had seen action not so long ago.

  "I'm sorry," Pickle spoke. "I didn't realise this was yer house. I thought it was vacant. The door was left open."

  "It is...vacant, that is. It's not my house; I'm just doing the same as you." She ruffled her short brown hair and Pickle had noticed she had the biggest and most striking blue eyes he had ever seen on a woman. Despite that her clothes had seen better days and her face and fingers were decorated in dirt, possibly some dried-in blood from killing those creatures, Pickle could see that in the old world, this woman used to be a very pretty individual.

  "Harry Branston," Pickle held out his hand, "but most people—"

  "Call you Pickle," she interrupted with a small smile on her features. "My husband's sister was married to a guy called Branston. He had the same nickname."

  "Oh. So where is..?" Pickle stopped his question in mid-sentence, but it was obvious what he was going to ask.

  "My husband?" The woman sighed, but it wasn't a sigh that was filled with sorrow; it was one of those sighs that suggested impatience, as if she had already told the story a hundred times before, and now had to repeat herself again. "I found that he had turned into one of those monsters, and had eaten my seven-year-old son."

  Pickle was stunned by her matter-of-fact statement and she looked cold in her facial expressions, almost as if she had shut down her emotions, or was pretty damn good at hiding them.

  Without pestering the woman for any more information, he apologised to her for her loss and asked her if she had come to stay in the house.

  "I was thinking about it. I was just upstairs, checking the place out." She smiled and said, "We could share, if you want."

  Pickle shook his head. "That's okay. I have somewhere." Pickle then pulled out a small empty bottle and began twisting the tap of the sink to fill it up; the water was trickling out. "Not too sure what's happening at the moment with this damn water."

  The woman said, "Water facilities, although automated, still depend heavily on people to operate them. When those people stop going to work or have been attacked, then the water will stop shortly thereafter. In an ideal world people would keep a twelve-volt battery-powered water pump. If the power goes out for long enough, so will your water and water pressure. The pipes in the house alone likely have many gallons. You can get water from water heaters, the chlorine can keep them fresh."

  Pickle laughed, "You used to work for the water-board or something?"

  "No." She shook her head, her face was blank.

  His laughing ceased immediately.

  She continued, "You're lucky water has been running this long."

  "How do yer mean?"

  "If people can't go to work to keep the facility operating, then after three days water quality starts to degrade, as the chemical tanks start to run empty after three or four days. This will not be noticed as there will still be a four or five day supply already in the reservoir. So doing some simple math: after four days the water situation is normal, but should start to degrade. After six days the reservoir is half-full of untreated water, and after eight days the reservoir is full of untreated water. At this point the water will not be safe to drink, but the automatic systems will still be pumping water into the distribution system. At home all you would need to do is boil your water for it to be safe."

  "The electricity's gone now, though," Pickle spoke up.

  The woman added, "After fourteen days the generator stops and the system shuts down."

  Pickle was lost in thought and said, "I suppose the sanitation will be a concern as well."

  She nodded in agreement. "We're only in week three, but eventually people will die from unsanitary conditions. Then we'll have all kinds of diseases to look forward to. Cholera is an excellent example of a waterborne disease that is a direct result of decomposing animal tissues in a water supply. Thirst will drive people to the nearest supply of water, then many will die on the banks and contaminate the lakes and rivers."

  "How do you know all this?" Pickle asked.

  "Google. I read about it in the first week."

  "I never caught yer name."

  "That's because I never gave you it."

  Pickle cracked her a smile and waited patiently for her to introduce herself, and continued to stare at the mysterious thing.

  "Sharon." She held out her hand. "But Shaz'll do."

  "Okay, Shaz." Pickle looked around the kitchen and opened his arms. "It's all yours. There's plenty o' food left." He winked at the woman and walked by her with his bag hanging off of his shoulder and said, "I'll see yer around," as he left the premises.

  "Maybe."

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Vince had only been running the camp for just under three weeks, and already the many residents looked up to the forty-five-year-old. The place pretty much ran itself. Vince would get his own crew to sort out the minor problems such as caravan fittings, drainage and any problems with the running water. He, on the other hand, would spend most of his time either guarding the blockade or going out on a run and getting supplies.

  The residents had given him a medical list, as there were a few people who needed medication such as painkillers, asthma inhalers, and tablets for some or the elderly who had high blood pressure or angina. Vince could only get some medical supplies, and although most chemists had been emptied by the end of the first week, there were still newsagents that would sell medical gear, but nothing too hardcore.

  Vince had an idea to go to Stafford Hospital and see what was there. He had a feeling that it may have already been pillaged, and it could also be crawling with the Rotters. But a van full of medical supplies could keep the camp going for months and would also, and more importantly, as far as Vince was concerned, make him look good.

  He knew that the longer he waited, the less chance that there would be anything there. They were doing fine at the moment, but the trip to Stafford Hospital could be an experience that would benefit them in the long-term. The only trouble with the journey to Stafford wasn't just the hospital itself, which could be littered with all kinds of dangers, but the place was eight miles there. This meant that the actual trip could be littered with hazards even before they got to the hospital, and a lot of petrol was going to be used up for the journey.

  It was something worth thinking about, but it wasn't just the paranoia of going to the hospital that bothered Vince. He would have to leave the camp for at least a couple of hours and this meant leaving the people exposed, as it wouldn't be worth the risk going with just two people. He needed all of his blockade people and at least two pick-up vans to make the one-time trip worthwhile.

  Vince only had a few people to lean on when it came to some kind of security; only a handful of shotguns were available and they were hardly top-of-the-range equipment. He needed more men; most of the residents were elderly or too scared, and they put their efforts into what they were good at in order to help the place keep running smoothly.

  Security was a problem.

  Vince was selective in his choice, and although a few others had volunteered, they looked nervous as hell just holding a shotgun. Vince thought it'd be better to have small numbers and people who were able to fight, rather than large numbers with men and women who could be a hindrance and a danger to the rest of the group.

  He wanted Jack on board.

  Jack was a man, like everyone else, that had been thrown into the deep end and had been managi
ng to tread water so far. The trouble with Jack was that he was a good guy, too good in fact. Vince wanted to see for himself what Jack was capable of.

  If he wanted the camp to survive, the people out on a run had to be ruthless. He had never killed another human being to get what he wanted, as Vince tried to raid places that were already empty, but if he had no choice in the matter, he felt he could shoot another person if his back was against the wall.

  Rather them than me.

  *

  Jack had fallen into a deep sleep, and with the comfort of being in the caravan park and having a certain amount of security around the place, he slept soundlessly. The only trouble with Jack was that his dreams were being hijacked and plagued with macabre images.

  In the dream, Jack was back in the woods, walking along a dirt path. By his side was Karen, Pickle, Jade and Paul. It was as if the dream had re-written history and he had managed to catch up with the small group once he had escaped from the sports centre. The dream didn't really highlight how he had managed to catch up with them, but in the old world his dreams had always been erratic, vivid, surreal, and sometimes downright weird, and that was put down to Jack's over-indulgence of alcohol.

  All five of them had been walking through the greenery for a number of minutes, and Jade had noticed that there were two ghouls to the left of them.

  Jack and the rest of the group had decided to run away from this minor danger, and as they ran, Jack could feel himself slipping further and further behind the four of them. He tried to call out, but neither one was dropping back to help him. He continued with the hapless run and took a look over his shoulder to see that the two creatures had now disappeared from his view. Once he turned back round, he could feel the ground beneath him falling from his feet and he fell into a huge, manmade hole.

  Filled with panic, he looked up to see that the huge square hole was ten feet in height and was a considerable length that must have taken days to create. Jack had no idea what the hell was going on, and as he looked along the dark ditch, he could see numerous bodies lying on top of one another, as if they had been killed and been dumped on top of one another, like something out of a holocaust picture.

  Jack gulped and could feel his heart in his mouth; he glared hypnotically at the bodies at the end of the ditch, and his eyes widened once he saw the first one, the one on top of the pile, beginning to move.

  Its limbs twitched and its head rose up, as if it was a drunk individual waking up and not having a clue where they were and how they had got there. Then it slowly and clumsily climbed off the small pile and dropped onto the bottom of the ditch. It got to its feet, finally, took a curious look at Jack, and began moving towards him.

  Jack squinted in the darkness and could see that it was a man called Robbie Owen moving towards him—the security guard from the Glasgow hotel Jack had woken up in. Jack then heard movement up above him and saw a grinning Pickle, Karen, Paul and Jade standing above him, watching the drama unfold.

  Jack tried to call out to them to help him get out of the ditch, but his voice was lost, and this made the four individuals titter amongst themselves.

  Pickle then said, "I think yer better off with this, Jackie boy." He threw the crowbar into the ditch and Jack picked it up. This was followed by manic laughter, above him, from all four of them.

  Trying to shrug off the surreal event, he took a swing at Robbie and saw him fall with ease. He could now see a second body getting off the pile, and this one appeared to be Gary. Jack shook his head at what was coming towards him. Gary looked ashen, and his throat was slit, just like it was back in the supermarket. Again, Jack took another swipe and saw Gary's head obliterate into a bloody mess. It fell to the side and never got back up again.

  Two more bodies began to stand up from the pile, and at this point, the four people who stood above him were mocking Jack, clapping and calling out his name as if he was being egged on in a boxing match: "Ja-ckie! Ja-ckie! Ja-ckie!"

  Jack was getting tired and watched as the two things got nearer. He could only see the silhouettes of the ghouls. One was about five-five, and its shape suggested that it was/used to be female. The other was much smaller, just under four-feet in height. Once the penny dropped and Jack knew who they both were, he began to cry.

  As the two creatures got nearer, a broken Jack Slade dropped the crowbar onto the floor, fell to his knees, and sobbed uncontrollably. He could feel them getting nearer, but remained on his knees with his hands around the back of his head, refusing to look at the pair of them.

  As their groaning grew louder and their footsteps got nearer, Jack took a deep breath in, waiting for the indescribable pain to come once the two ghouls, that used to be Kerry Evans and Thomas Slade, began ripping him apart.

  As soon as he felt the cold hands on his head, Jack Slade then woke up in the double bed.

  It wasn't like waking up from a nightmare that you would see on TV or in the movies. Jack never shot up and screamed out his son's name. He never cried out and burst into tears. He simply opened his eyes quickly, looked around the caravan he had been sleeping in, and could hear his temporal pulse hammering away inside of him.

  He slowly sat up and wiped away the few trickles of perspiration that were present on his forehead. He looked at a clock that sat on a set of drawers. It was a few minutes after eight in the morning. He got out of the bed, wearing just his shorts, and searched around the caravan.

  But there was no Johnny. Where was Johnny?

  They had both slept in the same caravan, but his saviour from a few days ago had now disappeared. Jack tried not to be too alarmed as he was aware that it could be something trivial.

  Maybe he had gone for a walk, a cold wash, or just a general nosey round the place.

  There was a rap at the door and Jack went over to open it. He was greeted by a smiling Vince.

  "How's tricks?" asked Vince. "How did you sleep?"

  "Like a drunk baby."

  "Good," laughed Vince. "Get dressed and I'll show you round the place."

  Jack looked confused; he turned his back on Vince and looked around the caravan with his sappy, blurry eyes. "Where's Johnny?"

  "Don't worry about him. He's taking a shit in one of those portaloos."

  Jack rubbed his eyes, still slightly scarred by his dream, and looked around for his clothes.

  "Oh, and before you come out with me, take these." Vince handed Jack a small bottle of water, a tooth brush and a small tub of toothpaste. "That friend of yours smelt pretty bad. We don't want you walking around with bad breath as if you've just eaten out a lamb's shitter."

  "Charming." Jack shook his head at Vince's choice of words, and took the toothbrush, toothpaste and water off of him. "Be two minutes."

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  "How you feeling?" asked Wolf.

  Karen had slept more than she wanted for her nap, and was now making an appearance for the first time since the morning.

  She yawned and looked around the garden. Wolf had made another small fire, and was cooking potatoes, still with their skin on. Wolf nodded towards the potatoes. "I hope Harry comes back with more butter; I have missed a baked potato."

  "So have I, but I thought he was going down for medical stuff?"

  Wolf nodded. "He has. Anyway, I think we'll be fine for a few weeks now. I assume that it's not so bad down there, right?"

  Karen sat down and glared into the fire. She was starving and the potatoes smelt lovely. "There was a few isolated incidents, but nothing we haven't seen before." Karen brushed her greasy, brown hair behind her ears and lowered her head to look at the grass by her feet.

  "I suppose you're not feeling too strong with all that vomiting." Wolf smacked his lips together and ran his fingers through his grey beard in thought. He adjusted his straw hat and said, "I'm gonna go inside and get you some water; you're probably dehydrated."

  Wolf returned quickly and gave her a cup of the clear stuff. Karen took the cup off of Wolf and thanked him. She held it with
both hands and shivered.

  "You okay?" Wolfgang Kindl looked at Karen with concern on his phizog. "You don't look so good."

  "A bit of fuel for my body and I'll be fine." Karen finished the water in one, and slowly stood to her feet.

  "Where're you going, young lady?"

  Karen sighed, "For a walk. I need the toilet anyway."

  "Yeah," Wolf's face looked apologetic, "I'm sorry I don't have any toilet facilities. This cabin was purely designed for an overnight stay at the most. I'd normally just pee in the corner of the garden when I used to come up here. I never even had running water at all until six months ago."

  "You don't have to apologise for anything." Karen leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "You've got nothing to apologise for; we're eternally grateful for you taking us in."

  Wolf lowered his head and blushed a little. He went inside the cabin and came back out with a kitchen roll in his hand.

  Karen smiled at his generosity and thoughtfulness. "Just rip one sheet off that bad boy. I only need a number one."

  Wolf did exactly that and told Karen that she could do it in the garden and that he promised he wouldn't look. She refused and told him that she preferred to be out of the grounds altogether. Once she left, he put the rest of the roll back in the kitchen and sat by the fire, attending to the potatoes.

  Karen was still baffled that the cabin had no sanitation, and then suddenly cursed herself for being so ungrateful. She was now feeling weak and went a bit light-headed.

  She headed for the top of the hill, but it was a hell of a struggle. Once she managed to get to the top, she relieved herself on the grass. Once she had wiped herself with the sheet of kitchen roll, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she was unsure what to do with the used sheet; she wasn't used to using a sheet over the last few days of living in the woods.

  She threw it on the grass and walked a few yards forwards before sitting down. The day was cloudier than what she had been used to in the last couple of days, but the temperature was still high and the climate was muggy and stifling.