Snatchers 2: The Dead Don't Sleep

by Shaun Whittington

  Paul and Jack were placed in the corner of the dining area for whatever reason, whereas Gary had been placed on the cold floor in the middle of the room, with the tables and chairs moved to the side to make a clear area. Whatever punishment was going to be dished out, Gary was going to get it first. Some kind of beating, Gary thought. And he wasn't looking forward to it.

  Forty-two-year-old Kasper Andrews returned to the dining area wearing his Burberry cap and holding his shotgun. He had been away to get something; the others weren't sure what, but once he pulled the KY jelly out of his pocket and placed it on the table, Paul and Jack's eyes widened with consternation; then their eyes looked at a tied up Gary who was unaware what they could see. Then, they finally looked at each other and couldn't even mumble information to one another as their mouths were gagged.

  They knew exactly what was going to happen to them now, but what about afterwards? Would they be released once these idiots had had their sick pleasure out of them, once they had satisfied their perverted, rapist needs?

  Gary looked over to his two pals and could see the fear scribbled onto their faces. He tried to turn around to see why they looked so worried and what the two men were up to, which was hard with his wrists tied to the ankles and lying on the floor on his side, but he somehow managed it and released a muffled scream that refused to be released at its full volume. Both Kasper and Hector placed their guns against the door that read, Kitchen Staff Only, and walked over to the frightened Gary Jenson.

  His dark eyes looked up to the two menacing individuals who looked like they lived in a caravan and lived on a diet of cheap booze and cigarettes, going by their appearance of their clothes and heavily stained teeth. They looked like typical Chavs. If they were from Scotland, they would have been labelled as Neds, and if they were American, they would have been classed as Trailer Trash or Rednecks by certain individuals.

  Strangely for Gary, the actual episode that was about to greet him wasn't his worst fear; the main thing that concerned him was if these men were carrying diseases. After all, they looked like the kind of men that would fuck goats if they were desperate enough. Kasper Andrews began to menacingly unbuckle his belt; his eyes never left Gary's presence.

  Hector walked by Gary and went to the corner of the room over to the remaining tied up victims, and pulled out a long hunters knife and placed the cold steel against Jack's throat. Jack Slade shuddered with fright, but was too terrified to make a sudden movement in case a slice to his throat was created.

  "There's two of us," Hector spoke up. "But three of them. You think you can handle two? Or should I just cut this fucker's throat now?"

  Kasper grinned a grin that Lucifer would have been proud of, and replied, with his dirty jeans opened at the waist, "You bet I can handle two. It's been a few months since I've seen any action, and these puppies are gonna wish they never stepped in this place."

  Hector shrugged his shoulders and placed the blade back into his inside pocket. "Okay, if you're sure."

  Forty-two-year old Kasper took off his Burberry cap that was saturated in sweat, and placed it carefully on a plastic orange seat at one of the tables. He pointed at one of the chairs, looked at the red-cap-wearing forty-six-year-old Hector Jones, and motioned with his head to place the chair in the middle of the room as if they had done this before.

  "I can't do it if I'm being watched!" Kasper bellowed over to Paul Parker and Jack Slade, who gazed hypnotically at the two men, wondering if this was just one sick joke.

  Surely in this world now, the main aim was to survive, not to rape! But these men seemed to have got their priorities all wrong, and the lack of brain cells that they probably had, compared to the average human, didn't help matters.

  Not wanting to feel the cold steel against their throats, Paul and Jack tried their best not to look and antagonise the men. They shuffled round so their heads were facing the wall.

  Paul's wrists burned as he tried to free himself from the rope. It burned his skin every time he moved, but could feel the rope loosening. He looked over to Jack who stared into space, and seemed to have given up. It was almost as if he was ready to accept the physical abuse, then go back to the village hall, if they were allowed back.

  Paul Parker, however, had other ideas.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Karen at last pulled the van up by the local chemist and could see the green cross outside the shop. She was on the outskirts of a residential area and could see down the straight road, that had woodland on either side, that there was at least twenty of the things situated hundreds of yards away, but looked not to be a threat and felt no panic when she entered the already opened chemist, that must have been broken into a few times over the last few days.

  In a strange kind of way, it was almost as if she was desensitised by these creatures now. When she first saw a group of them, when she was at Milford in her jeep, she shuddered with fright before running them down. Now, even though it had only been a week, it was as if that it was accepted now that this was normal. This was the way life was going to be from now on.

  She gently pushed open the chemist door and was careful not to upset the hanging glass from it. A couple of loose shards of glass fell as she opened the door to its fullest and she looked around, making sure the area was clear of danger. Once her eyes established that the area was clear, she relaxed and tried to look for things that would assist Pickle in his time of illness.

  Man-flu, she jokingly thought.

  She stepped over the reasonably, and surprisingly, clean area where the shelves were still up and the remaining products seem to be still in their correct positions, and went into the back room where chemists would normally go once the customer had handed in their prescription at the counter.

  Karen was a big believer that flu and fevers were usually best to be ridden out; it was something that didn't have a cure. Plenty of fluids and plenty of rest is what Pickle needed. Nevertheless, she pulled out a carrier bag and popped in anything that could be of use for the future; she picked up some antiviral medications such as relenza and tamiflu, as well as an assortment of painkillers and medicines. A first aid kit was the last thing to be put in the fragile bag that was beginning to stretch because of the weight inside it, and she then made a conscious decision to leave.

  She placed the bag on the passenger seat of the van, and went round the other side to start the engine. The beings from afar seemed a little closer last time she looked and she decided to go down that particular road to inspect how the small village, of name she didn't know, was coping. The van's engine roared as she slipped it into first and moved off without checking her blind spot.

  As the van increased its momentum, with a mixture of the declining hill and Karen adding a little more gas, she could clearly see that this particular tiny village was awash with the creatures. Every street, every main road, and every private area—like the cemetery, a children's play park and a set of tennis courts—was populated with these things. There were a few on the main road, and if they weren't so spread out, she would have had to have hit the gas pedal to get herself through the masses of walking bodies, but it seemed reasonably easy, as she swerved by most of them. Only two bounced off the solid van.

  As she got to the top of the main road, now exiting the small village, she decided to turn right and go the long way round, back to the house where Pickle was. She was now driving along a main road surrounded by woodland, and she noticed that the further she progressed along the long, lonely main road away from the village, the less of them there seemed to be. She estimated that there must have been fifty of those things, and some appeared to be leaving the village.

  But why were they leaving? Was there nothing left to eat?

  She didn't have the answers, but felt a chill knowing that these things were slowly leaving. She was now only half a mile away from the village she had just left, and she thought to herself that the sooner Pickle gets over this illness, the better, because in a matter of days they may have to
move once again.

  The van continued to growl along the desolate road and she looked at the gauge seeing that the van was half-empty. She decided on no more ventures and headed towards Heath Hayes to the first house of the village. How long would it be before those things got to Heath Hayes? Pickle was in no fit state to be moved, but Karen had made the assumption that if there was a sighting of just a few of them, she would seriously consider thinking about moving out once again.

  She wasn't sure Pickle would agree. Illness or no illness, Pickle had made it plainly obvious on a few occasions that he was sick of running, and announced that even if their new street was swarmed with the things, they were still safe as long as they never got inside the house, and if they kept quiet and made no unnecessary noises, there was no reason why the creatures wouldn't eventually just shamble past the house and go on to the next village. A theory that he was still unsure of.

  It appeared to Karen, that once a village was devoid of life, they seemed to leave like some of them did eventually in Rugeley when they headed towards Stile Cop on that fateful night.

  Pickle's theory was that if he and Karen continued to run, they would eventually run out of petrol, and he would rather be in a scenario of being surrounded by them in a barricaded house, rather than being on foot and running from swarms of them in the woods or the populated villages and towns of Staffordshire.

  Karen remembered what Pickle had told her about parking up the van. He told her to back the van up onto the front garden of the establishment for a quicker escape, if need be. Before she had chance to do that, and before she had chance to enter the street that was the entrance to Heath Hayes and was now a hundred yards up ahead at the next turn off to the right, she could see a figure in the foreground.

  She panicked a little, as she thought that maybe this was already the start of the possible invasion, but the more she gained on the being, the more it seemed like it was of human kind. The man in front turned as if he had begun to hear the groan of the van's engine and began to wave both his arms, the way a stranded individual on a desert island would when seeing a boat pass by.

  To his credit, he never jumped in the middle of the road as he waved his arms. He remained at the side while trying to flag the van down, giving Karen the option to drive past if that was the option she preferred. Impressed by the fact that the man kept to the side of the road, she decided to pick him up. She reduced the speed of the van and eventually made the vehicle come to a stop.

  She wound the window down, to be stared at by a flustered and tired looking man. He was bald, had a few days growth on his face, and was dressed in casual clothes. He beamed at the twenty-three-year-old former nurse; it was a welcoming and relieved smile, and she responded by doing the same.

  "Where you headed?" she asked.

  He replied, "I was just gonna try one of the houses for refuge." He pointed over to the village. The man glared at the van with confusion and then stared at Karen. He threw his hands in the air. "I'll go anywhere, away from those things. Where did you get this van?"

  "Never mind. I got a place for now, a quiet street. I think most of the people have left, as there're hardly any cars there. Wanna jump in?"

  "Really?" The man seemed amazed at the offer and never hesitated to open the passenger door. He made himself comfortable and looked at Karen Bradley with a thankful stare.

  "I'm Karen."

  He held out his hand. "George. George Jones." He looked around the inside of the vehicle, still baffled how a young woman was driving a prison van.

  Chapter Nineteen

  It took two of them to pick Gary up off of the floor and lean him over the table. The right side of his face was pressed against the cold table, with his wrists tied tightly. The leaning over the table was stretching and hurting his back, as well as his wrists. If his mouth wasn't taped over, he could have told them that he wasn't made of plasticine.

  He did try, but loud muffles to Kasper and Hector sounded like cries of protest, and he was constantly punched on the back by an irate Kasper who told him on three occasions to shut the fuck up.

  Paul and Jack remained huddled in the corner of the canteen. Jack was facing away, but Paul couldn't help himself, despite the scolding he got from Kasper earlier about not being able to perform in front of an audience. Paul Parker was leaning against the wall and sneaked a look at the men, who had now taken down Gary's trousers. Paul still writhed and twisted his joints to be free from the rope, despite feeling like his wrists were on fire, and even more motivation and adrenaline surged through him as he witnessed Kasper dropping his own trousers and squeezing the jelly onto his hands. Paul had to look away when Kasper dropped his briefs and knew that he had entered Gary, from the awful, distressed, muffled cries from his friend.

  Paul peeped for a second and could see that both Kasper and Hector were engrossed in the event. Paul thought it was strange that Kasper announced previously that he didn't want an audience, but was quite willing for Hector to witness the savage maltreatment. Maybe they had done this before.

  As Paul desperately tried to untangle himself, he could hear over the muffled cries of Gary Jenson, Jack, humming loudly to himself. It seemed to be a dismal attempt to drown out Gary's cries for help. As Gary moaned in fear and pain with each hard pounding he took, Paul winced and couldn't imagine how painful and degrading the action must have been, and knew if he didn't hurry up, he would soon get to know for himself how it would feel.

  At last the rope came free, and Paul nervously looked over to the two men and placed the rope over his wrists to make it look like he was still tied, as he was sure that he didn't have time to tackle his ankles as it looked like Hector was coming over.

  The red-cap-wearing forty-six-year-old vagrant, walked past the table where Gary was being abused and asked Kasper if he was nearly finished. Kasper nodded his head and Hector took out his blade and drew it across Gary's throat as Kasper was finishing himself off with frantic and rapid thrusts.

  Paul's eyes widened as he saw Gary slump on the table, with his neck oozing out the dark red liquid over the circumference of the table in seconds. He took a look at Jack who was still facing the wall and had no idea what was happening. As far as Jack was concerned, Gary's torment was over and he himself was seconds away from being picked up and placed over the same table. He stared at the wall he was facing and continued to sing like a mental patient and rocked back and forth. Jack couldn't see that Gary was dead; he couldn't see that his carotid artery had emptied itself across the table, and he couldn't see that Hector was now walking over, grabbing his crotch, ready for his turn.

  Hector walked over with his shotgun, and turned it around with it standing, the barrel facing the ceiling, and using it as support as he knelt down next to a frightened Jack. He took out his knife and pressed it against Jack's throat, who in return, shuddered with fright, which was just the reaction Hector wanted to enhance his power.

  "Right, little puppy," he snarled quietly. "You're up next."

  Paul's eyes never left Hector's face and could see in the corner of his eye, a very satisfied Kasper doing his trousers up and fumbling for his belt.

  It's now or never.

  Paul suddenly grabbed the knife off of Hector and the vagrant cried out in surprise, dropping his shotgun and falling to the floor. Paul had stabbed him once in the leg and his ears were pierced by Hector's awful screaming. With the knife still embedded into the leg, Paul quickly went over to pick up the shotgun that Hector had dropped once he had stabbed him.

  During this time, a panic-stricken Kasper Andrews ran, and as soon as Paul released a cartridge into the ceiling, the running Kasper ducked, as he didn't know if the gun was aimed at him, and he continued to run away from the canteen with no weapon, leaving his own gun leaning against the staff room door.

  Jack slowly came out of his self-hypnosis and at last spoke. The whole incident, from Hector being stabbed to Kasper running away, was over within five seconds.

  "What's going on
?" Jack looked like he had just woken up from a dream, a nightmare even.

  Paul pointed over to Gary's body that was half-slumped over the table. "That's what's going on."

  Jack shifted round using his behind and cried out when he saw his friend drenched in his own blood. If he could place his hands in shock over his mouth, he would have done. As Hector writhed around in panic and desperately tried to get to his feet, Paul, still sitting on the floor as his ankles were still tied together, leaned over him and coldly pulled out the blade, forcing the man to release a shriek. He used the bloodied knife to cut the rope tied to his ankles, stood to his feet, and picked the shotgun up. He used the butt by bringing it down onto the middle of Hector's back who fell flat to the floor with a defeated groan. He put the shotgun back onto the floor, and turned to Jack and began cutting him free.

  Jack slowly stood to his feet; his eyes never leaving Gary's fresh corpse, and Paul picked up Hector's shotgun and walked over to the other one leaning against the wall. He put Hector's weapon under his arm as he snapped open Kasper's and shook his head in anger. He then looked outside, out the canteen window that looked out onto the car park, to see that Kasper had gained two hundred yards on them and was still going at lightning pace; there was no chance they could catch up with him now.

  "What is it?" Jack asked in a daze.

  "It's not even loaded! That Hector was the only one that had a loaded gun. If we had known..." Paul paused and refused to beat himself up. As far as he was concerned, he had two guns pointed at him. How was he to know only one of those guns were a threat? "They killed some of those creatures in the car park. Kasper must have run out of cartridges."

  "What's the point of walking round with an empty shotgun?" Jack quizzed, still numb from the shock.

  "To use on people like us," Paul snapped. "No wonder they were hiding in here, they hardly had any ammunition left."