Snatchers 2: The Dead Don't Sleep

by Shaun Whittington

  As soon as he made the decision, Paul, Jade and Karen ran away and did what was instructed, apart from Jack Slade.

  Jack stood wide-eyed. He wasn't depressed. He wasn't feeling sorry for himself. He was giving up.

  Without Thomas, he didn't see the point in running anymore. People running, meant that those particular people wanted to survive, but he was sick of living in such a cruel, macabre world. The old one was bad enough!

  He had made his mind up. He wanted to be dead. He didn't want to go through the process of dying, especially in this world where dying by natural causes now meant being ripped to pieces and disembowelled before your very eyes. That was too horrific to go through; he needed to think of something else. He wanted to be with his son, but he didn't want to go through the process that thousands of others had gone through.

  Tears emerged in his eyes, but refused to fall. He had been a shit father, and the forty-year-old didn't see the point in carrying on without the little boy that was his world, yet had seen very little of since moving to Glasgow. He wiped his blurry eyes and could see that dozens were in the car park and heading his way, only two hundred yards away.

  He suddenly felt a slap on his shoulder, which made him jump and he turned around to see Pickle.

  Snarled Pickle, "We gotta go, Jack. Now!"

  Jack looked at Pickle and saw Karen, Paul and Jade, waiting at the other end of the centre near the room where the spin classes used to be held. They were a matter of yards away from one of the fire exits and were waiting on Pickle and Jack to hurry the hell up.

  Jack stared at Pickle and his eyes were glassy. Pickle could see heartbreak in his eyes and could almost read his mind on what he wanted to do. He tried to ignore the scores of infected bodies spilling out onto the car park outside, and tried to remain calm and said, "I also nearly gave up when I lost somebody I loved."

  "I've lost a six-year-old boy." Jack could just about get the words out of his mouth, as the emotion was strangling his throat, making it almost impossible to breathe. "No mother or father should have to bury their child."

  "I know, I know."

  "Go."

  Pickle blew out his cheeks and tried to persuade Jack, but the determined man had clearly given up and turned his back on Pickle.

  "Yer won't change yer mind?" Pickle had to ask.

  Jack shook his head. "I'll stand by the reception area where they can see me. At least that might stop some of them from going round the back while you make your escape over the back fence."

  "What's the hold up?" Pickle could hear Karen shouting in the background.

  The first lot of the contaminated had now reached the reception windows and desperately clawed and pounded at the hard, thick glass to get in; Jack took a few steps closer in the reception area. Knowing that some may be on their way around the perimeter of the building and round the back, Pickle knew he had stayed long enough, wished Jack good luck, and trotted away from the man that was in mourning, and that had given up with life and with the new world. Paul took some persuading by Pickle not to go back for Jack, and it worked, once he told him two things: Jack had given up and the things were near.

  The four remaining members of the group, Harry Branston, Karen Bradley, Paul Parker and Jade Greatrix, headed for the fire exit, and Pickle made sure the door was shut to protect Jack, especially if he suddenly changed his mind.

  With the fire exit door shut and the group outside, there was no going back now for the remaining four, and this was confirmed when Pickle stuck his head around the wall of the sports centre. He pointed at the fence at the back of the sports centre that led onto a desolate farmers field. He could see three of them stumbling at the side of the building, heading their way. "Hurry up, they're coming."

  Chapter Fifty Four

  Once the four people had left, Jack Slade remained standing in the reception area. Outside, the clouds were suffocating the sun's glow and allowed in little light. He remained on his feet and thought about the out-of-bounds office where his son died and where Kerry had taken her life. He rested his head on the palm of his hand and began to cry. How could he live without his boy? He seemed to have coped reasonably okay when he was living in Glasgow and spent weeks without seeing him. But now he was dead, there didn't seem much point carrying on.

  He stepped away from the door and tried to compose himself, ignoring the clamour coming from outside where the things were in their hundreds, desperate to get through the glass and devour Mr. Slade.

  Unbothered by the attention he was receiving, Jack walked further towards the window in the reception area and went face-to-face with his admirers, and the only thing that was stopping them from eating him was the thick pane of glass. His closeness seemed to excite them as the sea of rotting faces snarled, grabbed and spat blood onto the pane, desperate to get in and rip him to bloody shreds.

  He stared at them and knew that Kerry had done the right thing. It would have hurt him even more if Thomas had turned into one of those things, and Kerry felt she had no choice but to kill herself. She couldn't live with herself that she had to take Thomas' life, before the infection did. She wanted to be with her boy. She didn't want him to be on his own.

  Jack agreed with her thinking. He was sick of running. What was he surviving for, now that his son was dead? What was the point in running? There was no point.

  Jack's gentle sobbing turned into anger and he punched the glass of the reception area, then punched it again, which seemed to stir the dead even more if that at all was possible as dozens upon dozens of rotting hands clawed, smacked and hammered against at the window pane, creating the first crack in the window. Jack then turned his back and began to walk away, fuelling the excitement of the beings on the other side, and he walked nonchalantly past the gym area and up a flight of stairs where the free weights section was, as well as the dance studio where Wilkes and co were shambling about in their new, dead world.

  Jack looked over at where a set of weight-plates stood against a wall near a dip station; he walked over to pick up one of the three leather belts that sat in the corner that was used by serious lifters to protect their back, and glared at the Weider belt in morbid fascination. He then walked to the front of the first floor weights section and looked over the edge, staring down at the swimming pool. The first floor had a barrier that consisted of three metal bars that went horizontally to stop people falling over the edge.

  Standing against the metal barrier, Jack could see the view of the sports centre. The swimming pool was right below him, and the cardio machines were around the pool area as well as other machines. He then looked at the barrier again, and then stared at the belt. He slowly tied the belt into a hoop and tied it to the highest horizontal bar of the barrier.

  He was going to hang himself. He felt it was the only dignified way out of this mess.

  Then suddenly he heard a crash, and knew that through the reception they were getting in. He glared down at the area from the first floor and could see the first two coming from the reception area to his left, entering the gym area.

  Jack gulped, and a hint of regret from his body began to emerge that he never went with Pickle and co. There was no going back now, or so he thought. He tied the belt around his neck and knew that one jump could end it all right now. And it would be reasonably painless; the belt had enough slack to make it reasonably quick as well. He knew he would suffer for a few seconds, maybe even a whole minute, rather than immediately breaking his neck, but it must have been better than being eaten alive, surely. His feet stood on the first horizontal bar; he slowly climbed over and was now on the other side of the barrier, his arms behind him, holding on to the third and highest bar, leaning forward.

  He looked up; at least twenty were in and they knew exactly where to go in the open gym area; they were heading upstairs towards where he was. All he had to do was let go of the third horizontal bar of the barrier and then he would fall to his death, but he was reluctant, and this angered him, as he knew what the alterna
tive method of death would be if he didn’t hurry up.

  He closed his eyes and prepared himself to jump, trying to blank out the groans to his left and right as the creatures clumsily stumbled and crawled up the stairs on all fours. He thought about the crazy ten days that he had experienced.

  He thought about waking up in that Glasgow Hotel to find the world had changed. Meeting Robbie. Then hacking a reanimated Robbie in his own driveway. Then driving south. Crashing the car. Passing out. Being attacked by a ghoul near the pond. Meeting Gary. Finding his son. Then losing Gary.

  It had been a fucked up ten days, and what scared him was that he didn't know if he would last another ten if he decided to have gone with Pickle, but if he did, what was about to greet him? More episodes of terror? Surviving day to day? Would he be given time to mourn for his son? He didn't seem to think so.

  Fuck it!

  He jumped.

  And as soon as he did, he regretted his decision. He could feel the burning across his throat as he swung thirty feet above the swimming pool and tried to grab the belt to loosen it.

  He had changed his mind. He wanted to live. Or at least, he wanted to give it a go.

  His legs kicked out as his throat got tighter and his giddiness was telling him that the lack of oxygen to the brain was occurring and that he may have a minute left to live, if that. His eyes rolled as the belt cut into his throat and suddenly he felt like he was floating. He could feel the brush of air over his face as if he was flying, but that feeling was soon quashed once he was engulfed in water.

  He quickly stood up and began to cough violently, which was due to a mixture of his strangulation and swallowing the water. He rubbed and opened his confused eyes and found himself standing in the middle of the shallow end of the swimming pool. He looked up to see that the belt had untied itself and hadn't been strong enough to hold his weight.

  Having no time to embrace the second chance fate had given him; he looked around in panic and saw some of the things calmly tumble into the pool after him. It took a while before they found their feet in the pool, but once they did, they walked towards him as determined as ever. He knew they couldn't drown; they were already dead.

  Fearing the kind of death that could be experienced, he swam to the other side of the pool, as one by one the bodies tumbled in until the pool was awash with the things. He needed to get to the edge and although most were behind him, there were two in front, blocking his escape. He remembered the time at Stile Cop Cemetery when he and Gary were ambushed by three of them. He used the same, desperate technique Gary had used. It was either that or die.

  The first one, a female, grabbed him by the shoulders, but with no hesitation Jack rammed his forefinger into the eye socket, grabbed the back of the thing's hair, pulled the head back and continued to stab at the brain with the finger until the thing collapsed and dropped into the pool. The last one was tough and Jack threw a punch at the thing, which forced it to tumble over clumsily. Aware that they were gathering around him inside and outside the pool, Jack had to make it quick. He pushed the thing over and tried to climb out of the pool. Feeling hands grabbing him and trying to pull him back in, Jack panicked and cried out in fright. A vision of him being pulled back into the water and being bitten by dozens of the things, creating a mass of blood like something out of the film Jaws, flashed through his mind. He didn't want to die the way Quint did, by being dragged into the water and being torn to shreds.

  He finally got to his feet and could see the things from the first floor were now trying to get back downstairs. Jack tried to run, but his soaked clothes were weighing him down. He grabbed a 5kg kettle bell from the racking and swung it at anything that got in his way, as he tried to make his way to the fire exit door where the others had escaped. He was aware that there could be some nasty surprises waiting for him outside, if he made it outside, and was determined to keep hold of the kettle bell.

  He swung it violently to his right, hitting two of the things, although not killing them, and used his foot to kick them away as most were behind him in their dozens in the sports centre, with the other hundreds in the car park still clambering to get in through the smashed window of the reception area.

  There was one solitary being by the fire exit with a T-shirt that had Slightly Damaged Human on it. He swung the kettle bell as hard as he could at the thing that used to look like a male, and its head with the weight and force of the kettle bell was almost obliterated.

  The almost headless body fell to the floor with a slump and Jack crashed out of the fire exit—a stupid tactic in hindsight, as he didn't know what was behind it—and saw that there was ten of the things round the back, wandering around, lost, while most were in the car park still following the rest into the centre through the gap in the reception area.

  As soon as a handful of them clocked him, he knew it was going to be a punishing, tiring, and bloody battle if ever there was a chance he could get over the metal fence.

  They walked towards him and with one swing, two were taken out. It didn't create too much mess, but they never got back up again. He kicked the next one that went for him, which tumbled over. He ran ten yards around the small horde, giving his tired arms some breathing space. Three stepped forward and the kettle bell was swung like a hammer throw in the Olympics. Two went down with massive head injuries, causing black gunk to fly out. Another swing took out the third, with half of its head falling away to the floor; the dark diseased brain fell with it. There was five left, including the one he had kicked earlier. A bloated figure that resembled an elderly lady went for him; he grabbed her hair and simply threw her to the ground and brought his heel down, crushing the head. He was surprised how easy it died and although the kettle bell was hard work, he didn't want his shoes and socks drenched with the thing's blood, so it was a tactic that he never went back to.

  Four left.

  Jack jumped forward and kicked one of them over, he then took a step backwards and swung the kettle bell into the side of the head of one of them, immediately killing it, and it dropped to the ground. The two others were taken out with three more swings. One remained twitching on the floor, which ceased once he brought down the kettle bell that smashed its skull into a bloody and squishy mess. The kettle bell looked like it had been dipped in tar.

  One left.

  The one that he had kicked over was scrambling to its feet and at this point, Jack Slade was exhausted.

  "Come on, Jack." He tried to urge himself on. "Just one more." He then saw scores spilling out of the fire exit door he had crashed through earlier. He cried in exasperation, "Oh, fuck me." He swung the kettle bell into the head of the thing and knowing they were spilling out just twenty yards away from him, he dropped the 'weapon', ran for the metal fence and tried to climb over.

  With his life on the line, it still wasn't as easy as it looked, especially with him being soaked to the bone. He released an angry cry to give him that extra adrenaline, extra strength and determination to get himself over. He felt scores of hands grabbing his ankle as he got to the top of the fence, and the panic of being bit or scratched allowed Jack to release a cry and then he simply fell to the other side. He fell and hit the dirt with a painful thump, his shoulder taking most of the impact.

  He was sore, but fuck it, he had made it.

  Desperate arms filtered through the fence, aching to tear at his flesh. Now on the other side of the fence in the farmers field, Jack didn't waste any time and began to jog away from the back of the sports centre with his heavy, soaked clothes on his back, and further onto the farmers field, to the disgust of his admirers.

  He could see four figures in the far distance as they entered the woods, but he knew it would be fruitless to shout or run after them. Pickle, Karen, Paul and Jade were too far away. It was his own fault, but now he was on his own, but he was still alive. That was something, at least.

  Chapter Fifty Five

  The four bodies continued to run, but at a much slower pace now that they were
away from danger. They entered the woods, two miles from Stile Cop to the north, and two miles from Hazelslade to the east. The woods were vacant from any life from what they could see, and their run slowly turned to a jog and then a brisk walk. Twenty yards into the woods and still not a word had been spoken, as some of the group were showing signs of tiredness. Pickle was the first to stop walking and took a seat on a tree stump and plonked a bag full of food from the vending machines next to his feet; he was exhausted.

  This particular part of the woods wasn't condensed as what they were used to. The trees were in full bloom, but were reasonably spaced out, allowing the survivors to be able to see for many hundreds of yards ahead of them. This pleased Pickle, because it'd give them enough time to make a move if a predator could be seen from far away. Karen stopped, clearly out of breath, and sat on the grass with her legs crossed and her head bowed. A fitter Paul Parker and Jade Greatrix remained panting, but kept on their feet.

  Karen felt the back of her dark blue jeans and cursed aloud. She had lost the Browning during the escape. Pickle calmly reminded her that it only had a couple of bullets left anyway, and the chance of coming across a box of ammo for such a gun, especially in the UK, was an impossibility.

  "So what now?" Jade asked.

  Pickle held his hand up in defeat, while he tried to get his breath back. "Give us a second, Jade."

  "We've just escaped those things," Karen butted in, trying to get her breath. "Relax for a bit."

  "I can't relax," Jade said tearfully. "I want to go somewhere safe."

  "Nowhere is safe," Paul spoke up.

  Jade's tears fell freely; she wasn't used to this world like they were, she was used to be shielded from it, being cooped up inside. Even though she was with numbers, she felt vulnerable now she was outdoors.

  "I'm sorry to be a wee bit blunt, Jade." Pickle ran his fingers through his stubble. "In the last ten days or so, I've been in a prison, on a hill and in a house. It still wasn't safe."