Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) Page 11

  Pickle was still dressed in black, like Karen, but was wearing a grey cardigan that belonged to Wolf. He claimed that he felt a chill, but the truth was that he hadn't told them of his attack yet, and was covering up his bandaged wound.

  "We're waiting." Karen raised her eyebrows as high as she could, urging Pickle to hurry up with this meeting of his.

  "Okay." He clapped his hands together. "I'll be blunt."

  His silence and his inability to find any more words was infuriating Karen. She remained tight-lipped and swallowed her frustration.

  Pickle finally said, "I think we should leave."

  Pickle was surprised that not a word of protest had left the lips of Wolf, Shaz and Karen. He looked at the two girls, and was stunned that they never questioned his announcement. He was expecting a barrage of abuse, especially from Karen. Instead, they sat staring at him, waiting for him to finish speaking.

  Pickle continued, "Staying here is slowly becoming dangerous. Wolf had predicted this from day one, and I think in a matter of time people are gonna be coming up here, and they won't be coming just for a visit."

  Wolf nodded in agreement, but Shaz and Karen continued to gaze.

  Pickle took off the grey cardigan of Wolf's and placed it on the ground.

  Karen pointed at the material wrapped around his left forearm, and asked, "What happened?"

  "I saw a family walking across the field. So I went down to see where they were going. They were on their way up here, just a normal family. But their young boy slashed me with a knife. Eventually I managed to persuade them to turn around and leave. I was slashed by a boy," Pickle pointed at his dressed wound, "and it was just a normal family, desperate to survive."

  Wolf spoke up in support of Pickle's decision. "Next time, it might not be a family. The next time it could be a gang of armed men. We wouldn't stand a chance."

  Pickle looked in Karen's way. "Even if we still had the Brownings, we don't have the numbers to protect the place. Once word gets out we're here, with possible supplies, half o' the estate will be up. We need to move, people. Soon."

  "How soon?" Shaz asked.

  "Tomorrow morning."

  "And go where?" Wolf looked flabbergasted. He didn't realise Pickle wanted to go so rapidly.

  Pickle looked over to Vince and gave him the floor. "Yer wanna do the honours?"

  Vince stood up straight and walked from the shed to where Pickle was standing. He placed his hand on Pickle's shoulder and said, "Pickle and I have been having a chat."

  Karen made a noise with her lips to show her displeasure.

  Vince continued, "This camp that Jack and I are involved in can always use more people, especially young people who can handle themselves. I've already told you about the facilities we have. With you guys on board, the camp could have more protection and we could do more runs. It's perfect. Well...you know what I mean."

  "Who's in charge of this camp?" asked Shaz.

  "Me, of course." Vince flashed Shaz a smile, and gave her a wink that infuriated Karen. He added with a pinch of sarcasm, "I'm the brains behind the operation."

  "The brains?" Karen guffawed. "You went on a run, lost your vehicle and got two of your people killed."

  Vince tried to hide his anger. His liking for Karen was dwindling the more he got to know her, but he knew that she would be an excellent addition to the camp as far as muscle was concerned.

  "Don't be disrespectful, Karen." Vince said with a straight face. "We lost two good people, didn't we, Jack?"

  Jack nodded sadly, making Karen feel a little guilty.

  "And didn't you get carjacked on the very first day?" Vince stood, waiting for an answer. The smugness on his face was clear, and Karen felt like smashing it in.

  Karen said with fury in her tone, "You think you're such a fucking smart arse, don't you? I bet you can sit on a tub of ice cream and tell me what flavour it is."

  "Look, this is getting ridiculous," Pickle intervened and urged Karen to be quiet.

  Karen stood up, ready to go back into the cabin, but Shaz asked her sit back down and hear the man out. Karen sat down, reluctantly. "I'm sorry, but I'm not taking orders from Scarface over there. He gets on my tits."

  "Right, this is the plan." Pickle spoke up. "Four of us will leave tomorrow for the camp. It's dangerous out there, so we're better in numbers. As soon as we get to the camp, we can borrow a truck from Vince, then get back up here to strip the cabin of the supplies."

  "So who are the two staying behind?" Shaz felt like she was the only one asking questions. Either she was impatient and should allow Pickle to finish off what he was saying, or she was dumb, and everyone apart from her knew what would be happening.

  "Karen and Wolf will stay behind. Wolf's too old to be walking to the camp anyway, if that's what we'll have to do, and we need a bit of muscle up here in case any more visitors decide to make their way up while we're away." He looked over to Karen and gave her a nod of his head, making Wolf feel even more hopeless. The sixty-nine-year-old man was unable to walk properly, and now a twenty-three-year-old woman was considered tougher than he was and would be protecting the supplies while the group were away.

  "I've got a shotgun," Wolf protested. "You can all go. I'll be okay on my own. I can look after the supplies until you return with wheels."

  Pickle shook his head. "It's not open for discussion. Karen's staying with yer." He then turned to the rest of the group. "Once we get to the camp, we'll grab a truck and drive through the estate and park it on the field, with one standing guard while the others go back to the top o' the hill. We then come and get Wolf and Karen, then we strip the cabin of everything it has, carry the lot down to the parked vehicle on the grass, then get the fuck out o' the place. It's simple."

  "We need to get to the camp first." Shaz said with a slight negative tone.

  "True." Pickle nodded and agreed with Shaz. "Travelling the two to three miles to the camp, especially if it is on foot, could create a number o' hazards for the group."

  "Fuck the supplies. Let's just all go."

  Pickle guffawed, "Wolf can hardly walk, and we're not leaving him here permanently."

  Shaz then began to slap at her hair and eventually stood up and jogged around the garden, almost hitting herself. "A wasp," she yelled. "A fucking wasp. I hate them."

  The insect flew away and headed in Karen and Jack's direction. Jack tried to remain cool with the women present, but couldn't help a little slap here and there, paranoid he'd get stung. Then it flew in Karen's direction.

  She didn't move.

  It finally landed on her right arm, and she used her left hand to slap her forearm and squish the pesky insect. She removed her hand and saw the little thing with its guts out. She flicked it away and sniffed, "Stripy prick." She then turned to the group who were all staring at her. She shrugged her shoulders. "What? It's just a wasp."

  "But they're horrible things." Shaz looked nervous.

  Jack agreed and half-joked, "I got stung at Drayton Manor Park when I was a kid. Been scarred for life ever since."

  Karen shook her head at the conversation that was going on. Bewildered, she brushed her hair behind her ears and said, "We've spent the last three weeks smashing in brains and you're freaking over a wasp?"

  Shaz pointed at the red mark on Karen's arm, it appeared that she was stung when she killed it. "But doesn't that hurt?"

  "It stings a little." Karen laughed at the situation. "It's better than having your neck torn open, or being disembowelled while you're still alive to see it."

  "I could imagine that would be the worst way to go." Vince tried to get in on the conversation that had turned lighter, thanks to the wasp incident, but no one else responded.

  Pickle cleared his throat and spat to the side of him. "Right, let's get back to this plan of ours."

  Chapter Twenty Four

  "That's a nice cup of tea," Tommy remarked, and took another slurp from the mug that was decorated in Spanish colours. A present from
a holiday, he thought.

  "Thanks." The young girl, who had introduced herself as Megan, pushed her glasses up with her finger, and reached for a tin. "We're a bit short on teabags." She then opened the large tin and asked, "Biscuit?"

  Tommy laughed, "You're thirteen years old, been left alone with the biscuit tin for over three weeks, and there's still some left. I'm impressed."

  "I've been rationing," responded Megan. "Everything you can see came from the cupboards from downstairs."

  Tommy had a quick peep and could see that there wasn't much left. Behind Megan were tins and bottles of water. "How did you get the water?" Tommy sat down on the floor and crossed his legs. Megan did the same. The curtains were drawn, and the room was dim.

  "My dad filled the bath in the first week. I've been dipping the bottles in to fill them, but the bath is getting shallow now. The water doesn't taste the best, to be honest."

  Tommy looked at the poor girl. She seemed unemotional and more than likely scarred by what she had been through. He was certain that Megan was a normal kid over four weeks ago, dancing to her favourite tunes, was constantly on her phone, and fancied boys from her favourite boy band. But now she was sullen and drawn.

  Tommy didn't want to be too greedy and took two bourbon biscuits from the tin and dipped them in his hot, delightful tea. Once he munched the second biscuit, he had to ask, "So what happened?"

  Megan's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Tommy was pleased there was still a little emotion in the damaged young girl. Megan said with bewilderment in her voice, "The virus. It was on the telly..."

  "No, sorry." Tommy shook his head, and held up his hand apologetically to young Megan. "I meant, what happened here, in this house? Why are you alone?"

  With her now wide eyes, Megan glared at Tommy. He felt a little uncomfortable with her staring, and thought that it was strange that such a young girl could make him feel like this. Her face appeared strange, distant; it was almost as if she had been hypnotised when she began to speak.

  She began, "My dog had been let out into the woods. We always did this. He would run around for a while, do his business, then come back around the front." Her explanation was still robotic with no feeling. "But on this day he didn't come back. It had been an hour, almost, since he went out."

  "When was this?" Tommy asked; he took a gulp of tea down and enjoyed the warm feeling it gave him inside.

  "The day it was announced about the virus. Saturday evening. June 9th." Megan remained silent for a moment, licked her lips, then continued with her story. "My father went looking for Buddy, our dog, in the woods, and minutes later he came back in tears. He was holding Buddy in his arms and placed him on the grass of our back garden."

  "Your dad must have been a big man. Those Labradors aren't easy to carry."

  Megan ignored Tommy's remark, and added, "Ten minutes later, while we were all crying for Buddy, he woke up. My dad was delighted and everyone began to fuss around him and give him cuddles. But the dog turned and bit my mother on the face and my brother on the finger. My dad tried to appease my mum and brother and told them he had been through some trauma and was just scared, but mum was angry that our family pet had turned on her. My dad tried to pick Buddy up again and put him somewhere comfortable in the house, maybe even phone the vet, but he bit my dad on the face. Then I saw it."

  "Saw what?" Tommy didn't exactly know where this story was going, but it was like a horror story that he needed to continue to listen to so he could find out what happened in the end. The girl was giving him the shivers, but he repeated his question. "Saw what?"

  "A bite on Buddy's back leg."

  The information took a while to sink in, and Tommy tried to get his head around the story. "So what are you saying, Megan? Your dog was bit, possibly by a ghoul in the woods, fell into a coma and died? Then when your dad was carrying it back, it was reanimating, then attacked your family and they turned into...those things?"

  "I guess so."

  "A reanimated dog. Is that even possible?" Tommy grinned and was nearly on the verge of breaking into laughter.

  "It's no more ridiculous than a reanimated person. A dog has a heart, a brain and blood, just like ourselves."

  He lost his smile and asked, "So what happened when your family were attacked?"

  "My dad was convinced it had something to do with what was happening in the country, although animals were never mentioned. He took a hold of the dog and took it outside. He killed it. When he returned, he told my mother and brother that they were going to lock themselves in the main bedroom for my own protection. If they hadn't turned in a few hours, he would open the room back up."

  "Wow." Tommy drained the remainder of the tea and placed the cup on the carpet, by his side. "You must have been really scared."

  "I think so." Megan didn't seem so sure. She must have been scared at the time, but her feelings seemed to have hardened.

  "Did they turn?" Tommy enquired. "Where are they now?"

  She nodded slowly, just the once. "They turned at the same time, pretty much. That's why I told you to be quiet earlier on. They're in the next room, and if they hear noises, human noises, they can make a right racket. My dad and brother were turning sooner than my mum. She told me through the door never to come in and that my dad was vomiting blood, my brother had pains in his joints and had a fever and felt numbness in his lower body."

  "I think we'll be fine, though." Tommy tried to comfort Megan, even though she didn't look upset, but changed his mind.

  "Humans will be fine, I think." She nodded slowly once again. "The dead won't replace us as the dominant species, but you and me will die soon."

  This statement, whether true or not, sent a shiver down Tommy's spine. It was the confidence and coldness on how her remark was delivered that made him feel uneasy.

  "I spent a few weeks watching TV before the power went. Then I listened to my dad's portable radio before the batteries conked out and tried to get as much information as possible. I was hoping that they would announce that there was a cure, or the army had taken control."

  Asked Tommy, "What did you hear?"

  "Just stuff about how these creatures had good hearing. They can feed in total darkness and smell blood from many yards away. If someone is killed, more turn up like vultures. I haven't seen it myself, but that's what they say."

  "I think some of it is just guesswork. They'll all have different opinions. No expert can agree on everything that another says."

  Megan added, "The advantage they have is that their nerve receptors don't work anymore. You cut off their hand and they still walk after you. You take both their legs off, and they still crawl to you. You can kill a human a hundred different ways, but there's only one real way to kill them."

  Tommy tried to make light of the situation and reached for another biscuit. A custard cream this time. "At least they don't regenerate."

  Megan smiled thinly, and this pleased Tommy that he finally managed a positive emotion from the strange young girl.

  "Did it say on this radio why they eat flesh? Aren't they dead from the neck down? It wasn't really something they went into great detail about on the TV."

  Megan screwed her face and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know."

  "Well, I've got this." Tommy picked up his Glock, and showed it to Megan. "It'll protect us."

  "Us?" Megan moved her face a few inches closer to Tommy's, and said with a scowl, "Are you staying?"

  Tommy Burns blushed and shook his head. His face was apologetic. "It'll be dark in a few hours and I would like to stay the night, if that's okay."

  "You can stay as long as you want." She then pointed at the Glock sitting on the carpet that Tommy had placed by his side. "It's a useful weapon." Megan took a slurp of her tepid tea and added, "But our biggest weapon is that our brain is far more superior then theirs."

  "Explain."

  "They don't have the ability to think. If I was in Blackpool and was being followed by a hundred of those things
and jumped off of Central Pier, they'd all be dumb enough to follow me in one-by-one."

  "Okay, so they have no emotions, but is that a weakness or a strength?"

  "Both."

  "It seems everyone knows more about this thing than I do." Tommy began to cackle, and poured himself another cup of tea by using the hot water and the old teabag he used for his first cup. He offered one to Megan, but she shook her head.

  Tommy sneezed and could see Megan roll her eyes at him. He thought that this was an unusual and rude thing to do, but decided to ignore it.

  Tommy pointed to his bag that he sat in the corner. "There's more supplies in there, if you fancy a change from..." Tommy looked at the tins sitting behind Megan. "...Tomato soup, curry beans, plum tomatoes and ravioli."

  "I'm okay."

  Tommy saw Megan's eyes lower and it appeared that sadness was beginning to suffocate her, and no wonder. She was only thirteen years old and had lost her brother, father and mother in one evening. He never bothered to ask if she had any uncles, aunties or cousins, as they were most probably barricaded in their own homes or dead. If that wasn't the case, then why didn't they come and get her? Maybe they kept in contact via phone and Facebook in the first week. Tommy never bothered to ask in case it brought up more bad memories.

  A thud was heard from Megan's bedroom wall, to the right of Tommy, and this made him jump and immediately embarrassed him.

  "What's that?" he asked.

  "My family in the other room." Megan was now speaking in a softer voice, almost a whisper. "Your sneezing must have alerted them. It happens."

  "Sorry. How long does it take for them to settle down?"

  "It could take a few hours."

  The thought of three of the dead in the next room unnerved him. He knew that it was because he was relatively new to this world. He smiled to himself at the situation considering that he used to be a man who would calmly grab a man by the hair, stick an open razor in the corner of his mouth, and draw the blade back, busting his cheek wide open. All because of a few grand debt. Or walk into a pub and stab someone in the back of the legs as they urinated in the toilets.