Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) Page 15

  When Tommy was eighteen, he had the chance of going out with his two pals and two girls for a ride out. It was basically travelling in a car, while drinking cans of beer, then back home. Tommy was unwell on this particular day, so couldn't make it. His pals still went out, and in the morning he received a phone call to say that the car had been involved in an accident and that the passenger in the back, one of his friends, had been killed.

  The car had gone off the road, landed in a deep ditch, and his friend, who was unfortunately not wearing a seatbelt in the back, was catapulted through the sunroof. Tommy later learned that when his pal was thrown forty yards, he hit a tree so hard that his legs snapped around his head.

  Tommy remembered the next day that he went to Rugeley town centre on his own. It was Saturday afternoon, the place was heaving with shoppers and drinkers, and he sat on a bench near the war memorial that commemorated 117 Rugeley residents that died in WW1, and 38 residents that gave up their lives in WW2. He then lowered his head and cried for his childhood friend for thirty minutes.

  Looking back now, Tommy couldn't help think that most people that he had known who had passed away were lucky. This was no place for someone to live, especially for a child. Maybe in a few months—well, in a few years, the country would rebuild and get back on its feet.

  Maybe.

  Chapter Thirty One

  The group had stopped running, and the unsteady path that was littered with bumps in the ground had become too much for some of the beasts. The group could see from a far distance that some were continuing with their chase, albeit slowly, but some of them had fallen over and tumbled into the canal.

  "When we get to The Ash Tree pub," instructed Vince, and pointed at the beasts that were behind them, "we'll get rid of the rest ourselves. I don't want any of these things near the camp."

  Jack was the only one to respond. "It depends on how many there are. It's hard to see if there are many behind the ones we can see in front. I'm not getting my hands dirty if there're dozens of the things, while you've got men at the barrier with guns. Why should we do all the work?"

  "Because," Vince cleared his throat, and looked a little sheepish with his following sentence, "people aren't gonna be best pleased to find I've come back empty-handed, with two less trucks and two less residents. I think bringing back a horde of Rotters would be the icing on the cake for my leadership demise, don't you?"

  "Why are you so bothered about running it anyway?"

  "I just feel it's better with me running the place. Either that, or fat Jenkinson. He's expressed an interest, but he couldn't run a tap."

  "So you're a control freak?" Jack said jokingly.

  "So what do you reckon, Shaz?" Vince ignored Jack's ribbing, and looked at the distraught thirty-year-old woman. "Fancy a nice cup of tea when we get there? Might even let you give me a hand to smash one out."

  There was no response from Shaz, and she remained staring at the ground while the group marched on. Vince felt that Shaz was partly blaming him for Pickle's demise, but he wasn't to blame. He was just looking out for the groups' best interests. Vince reminded her of this. "I'm not to blame for all of this. Pickle did say: If you ever see me bit, then leave me. I'm finished. And he was bit."

  Shaz couldn't hold her tongue any longer. "You seemed in a rush to push us back, out the way. We could've helped."

  "And get killed?" Vince questioned an upset Shaz. She had only known Pickle for a week, but she was suffocated by the shock of his death. Vince added, "Pickle was holding back to make sure we were safe. That's the kind of brave man he was."

  "How do you know what kind of man he is...was? You didn't know him."

  "I know a leader when I see one."

  Jack finally spoke and took Vince's side. "If we stayed any longer, Shaz, we'd have been killed as well. There was too many of them."

  "You're not taking his side, are you?"

  "What was Pickle's last words?" Jack asked her.

  She hesitated on her answer. She hesitated on purpose because she knew the answer. They all knew the answer: Run, you fool.

  The walk continued and to the left of them was Rugeley's power station, a blemish on the landscape, Jack had always thought. To the right, over the canal, was the back of new houses that had been built a couple of years ago. Every curtain in every room was drawn, and Jack wondered how many people were still living inside.

  "Most are probably starving now," Shaz spoke up, as if she knew what Jack was thinking. Vince was now ten yards ahead of the two, and Jack was walking just in front of Shaz.

  Jack agreed with her comment. "Just makes you wonder what's happening inside. If I hadn't been a father, I would have stayed in my own house, in Glasgow, but I couldn't just sit in there, knowing Thomas was four hundred miles away somewhere. I needed to be with him."

  "That was some story you told me earlier on." Shaz was referring to when Jack had told her about waking up in the Glasgow hotel in the city centre, and his drive to his house, then the drive down south before the car blew two tyres. Then coming across a motorcycle and travelling to Rugeley, and then to Hazelslade where he eventually met Gary Jenson, like Pickle, another inmate from Stafford prison that had been released when the outbreak was announced.

  Jack left out certain bits to his story, like the massacre of innocent citizens at the police station, being attacked by the pond, losing Gary in the supermarket incident, as well as details about his three-day stay in the woods, before a starving and dehydrated Jack Slade was rescued by factory worker, Johnny Jefferson.

  Jack took a look behind him and saw that the creatures were far away, and there didn't appear to be many of them left. Maybe more had fallen into the canal.

  Vince pointed up ahead, and yelled, "Nearly there."

  Both Shaz and Jack could see the building of the pub, a place where Jack had had a meal many times. It was a nice pub; it was just outside of Rugeley, inbetween Brereton and Armitage, and in the old days, when he was in his twenties, he and his old friend used to drink there.

  On most Saturdays, after a hard-working week, Jack and a friend of his, Jason Moore, would have a few drinks at the pub, sit outside, and order a meal. For most of the afternoon they would sit there and drink Stella and smoke Benson and Hedges until it was too cold to sit outside. When it came to this time, they'd walk from The Ash Tree pub, along the main road, sometimes popping in the Mossley Tavern for a few, then into the Wetherpoons bar for a few bottles of Kozel. Then they'd end up in Bo Jollys and spend the rest of their money on beer, playing pool and putting money into the jukebox, pissing off the locals with The Verve, Oasis and Led Zeppelin blasting out for hours.

  Jack put his arm around Shaz, who was still in shock over Pickle's death. "Vince said that we're gonna get refreshments when we get back."

  "Okay."

  "You can come back to mine, if you want."

  She looked up at Jack with rainy eyes. "Yeah, that'll be good."

  Jack looked up to find that Vince had now stopped strolling and was patiently waiting for the remaining two. "Once we get by this pub, it's another half a mile and we're there."

  "I live here," said Shaz with anger coated in her words. "I know where Spode Cottage is."

  Vince then opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He tried again, and this time Jack noticed that Vince had something on his mind, but what?

  Jack asked, "What is it?"

  "What?" Vince tried his best to look like he had no idea what Jack was talking about, and stretched out his arms and feigned a yawn.

  Jack sighed impatiently and shook his head. "Out with it."

  "Out with what?"

  "Come on, Vince. It's not like you to be shy."

  Vince put his arms down and straightened his face in thought. He bit his bottom lip and twisted his mouth ever so slightly, telling Jack that he was unsure whether he should say what he wanted to say. Finally, Vince began, "Well, don't bite my head off, but when I get back I'll have some explaining to d
o. There's gonna be a lot of disappointed people once I've opened my mouth. We've lost Claire and Paul, the trucks and the medication—"

  "So what's your point?"

  "Another journey back to pick up Karen and...dad, is not gonna go down well with the locals."

  "So you don't wanna go back for Karen, is that what you're saying?" Jack looked astonished at Vince. If he didn't go back for Karen, he'd also be leaving his own father behind. Was he really that heartless?

  "Or are you too scared to tell her the news about Pickle?" derided Shaz, with anger in her words.

  Vince huffed intolerantly and tried to explain, "I'm just saying, I don't think it'll be popular with the folks back at the camp. And with the news I have to give them, I could be fucking lynched."

  "Most of them are elderly people. You'll be just fine." Jack knew that Vince wasn't a fan of going out of the comfort zone of the camp. The trip to Stafford was a daring project, and Jack felt that the way it ended may have dented Vince's confidence.

  Asked Vince, "So what do you reckon?"

  Shaz was the first to react. "We're going back for Karen, and if you don't wanna help, I'll go on my own."

  Jack placed his hand on Shaz's shoulder. "You won't be on your own."

  "Wow," Vince mocked, and began pretending to cry. "This is really bringing a tear to my eye. You kids are really breaking my heart."

  "Why don't you grow up?" Shaz growled at the middle-aged man who was really starting to piss her off. "I'm gonna have a drink, something to eat, then I'm going back out. I'll go out on foot, if I have to."

  "Relax." Vince shook his head and released a puff of air from his mouth, like a petulant child. "I was just asking for your opinion. Of course we're not gonna leave them up there. That would be wrong."

  Jack looked at Vince with surprise, but knew that with Pickle gone, leaving Karen and his own father was the preferred option for him.

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Tommy had been in the house for a few minutes, grabbed an empty plastic bottle that was sitting on the sink, and went upstairs to fill it from the bath that was slowly losing water. There was probably another week left, he guessed.

  He immediately took a swig and sat on the bed. His Glock was now sitting on the side-table and he decided to try and have a nap, but every time he closed his eyes he could see the face of one of the creatures. It wasn't any ghoul in particular that he had been in close contact with; it was just a random beast that Tommy's mind had managed to paint.

  A noise could be heard from outside, and Tommy soon shot off the bed. He peered out of the bedroom window, but couldn't see anything. He exited the bedroom and went downstairs. He had forgotten if he had locked the door. He checked it to find that he had. After checking through the front and back window, he decided to go back upstairs and go back to trying the nap. He knew his sleep would be a broken one, and he felt that what his body craved the most was eight hours of solid sleep, but at least a nap would take the edge off. He felt exhausted, and even though it was only the afternoon, he didn't care if he was up for most of the night.

  He looked in the cupboards under the TV for anything that could help with his sleep whether it was melatonin, kalms, or, even better, sleeping pills.

  He had already checked the bathroom beforehand, as a lot of people kept medicines there. The only place he could check afterwards was the main bedroom where the three dead had stayed for weeks. Maybe there was some medication in either the male or the female's bedside table.

  There was nothing of interest in the cupboard apart from a bottle of Famous Grouse. He took the bottle, and went upstairs. He lay back on the bed and unscrewed it. "Well, if this doesn't make me sleep, nothing will." He took a greedy mouthful from the bottle and could feel the heat growing from inside of him. He was feeling better already.

  He swigged from it again and then threw his head back, almost smiling from ear-to-ear. Tommy liked the occasional marijuana smoke but this was a very good substitute, and finally he was now feeling relaxed. Another drink was taken, and he already felt tipsy. "Slow down," he laughed to himself, seeing that there was still three quarters of the bottle left. "You've got all day."

  He went to put the top back onto the bottle, but tossed it onto the quilt and put the bottle to his lips once more. He took three large gulps, the alcohol sloshing down his throat and heating up his body. This time he did put the top back on the bottle, and placed it on the table, near his Glock.

  His eyes had only been closed for a second when another sound could be heard, a groaning sound. Tommy still had his window open, so he was able to hear the noises from outside.

  He sat up and climbed off the bed, stumbling a little. Bemused by this, he looked at the bottle of Famous Grouse and it was clear that he had almost drank half. His eyeballs peered outside, but he was finding it hard trying to focus, as well as stand straight. It was one of them. But it was just the one. "Fucker."

  Tommy grabbed his Glock and went downstairs, bouncing off the right wall on two occasions. He unlocked the door and went round to the front where the ghoul was now on the road. The thing was five-nine, slim build, shaven head, and still wearing his spectacles.

  He clocked Tommy straight away and staggered towards him. Tommy smiled overconfidently and raised his gun, finding it difficult to get a proper aim at the thing that was only ten yards away. "Stay still, you fucker."

  His finger slipped on the trigger and he tried again. One shot rang out, but he missed, and the creature continued to progress in his direction. A gunshot to a normal human would spark fear inside of them, but this noise only managed to make the creature even more determined to take down its prey.

  Tommy fired again and again, but the thing walked awkwardly another couple of yards, now with its arms raised, ready for its feast. Another round left the gun, this time hitting the thing in the bottom of its jaw, taking most of its chin away. Tommy staggered to the left and the panic shooting through his veins had somehow managed to sober him up a little. His fifth shot took the thing down.

  He walked away and went round the back, locked the door behind him and then went upstairs. Once he reached the bedroom again he plonked himself on the bed and began berating himself. "You fucking idiot. Why didn't you just leave it? What the fuck were you thinking?" He then slapped his face and banged the top of his head. "Stupid bastard, Tommy. You're a stupid bastard."

  He grabbed the bottle of Famous Grouse and poured it down the sink of the bathroom. He was sure that it was the hard stuff that caused him to behave so irrational in the first place, and he didn't trust himself to never have another drop again, so he thought that the best thing to do was remove it altogether.

  He was no alcoholic, but removing the temptation of alcohol seemed to be the safest option.

  "You idiot."

  *

  Karen told Wolf that she was feeling nauseous and wanted some alone-time. She chose to leave the premises, went through the greenery, and sat on the slant of the hill, not straying too far from the cabin. She didn't have the energy to walk to the top again. She just wanted a little air to greet her face.

  Wolf's garden was spacey, but it was enclosed from the trees and bushes that he had allowed to grow over the years, and sometimes it was hard for the sun to shine through and for the wind to creep in. It was no wonder that the group, sometimes together or individually, would leave the cabin during the day and walk to the top of the hill.

  It was nice being outside, and it also relieved some of the boredom and the feeling of claustrophobia.

  Karen was pleased and felt lucky to be alive, but at the moment living was extremely monotonous. In a weird kind of way she missed the couple of days she had when her and Pickle went to the back of the estate to gather supplies. It was dangerous, but it swallowed up a few hours during the day.

  Since she had left her house in her Cherokee Jeep, this had been the most comfortable she had been, but it bored her, and she found this worrying. She was pregnant, yet she still crave
d a little excitement.

  There was no TV anymore. She had no work to go to, there was no music to listen to, and she missed her iPod. If ever she was off work on a Saturday or a Sunday, she would ask Gary to go to the local Indian restaurant, get her a Chicken Chasni with boiled rice, then after it was consumed, she would have a couple of glasses of white wine and sit down with her fiancé to watch a movie before bed.

  Karen smiled when she tried to remember the last movie they had seen together. It was a few Saturdays before the outbreak occurred and it came to her. It was Seven, the Brad Pitt movie. A film she had never seen. Karen had asked Gary if he had ever seen the film, and he answered: "Is that the film where he found his wife's head in a box?"

  Even though he had ruined the film before she even pressed play, she decided to watch it, and made sure that he watched it with her, which was his punishment for spoiling it.

  She laughed to herself and shook her head at her fiancé. "Gary, you was such a douche. But you were my douche."

  Her face went pale and she suddenly turned her head and threw up.

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Before leaving for the main road and walking along it to the camp, the remaining dead that were by the canal were pushed in by Shaz, Vince and Jack, and were simply left there. There were only five left, and Vince convinced them that there was no way they could get out.

  Shaz and Jack went back to his caravan and the first thing she did was plonk her backside on the couch. Before Jack could close the door he heard Vince yell, "You've got half an hour before we go back."

  "What's up with him?" Shaz began taking her shoes and socks off and scrunched her feet, moaning in delight.

  "He's a bit nervous about breaking his news to the people that live here." Jack sat down next to Shaz. "We lost a couple of people on the way back from Stafford when we were carjacked. We lost a nice girl called Claire." Jack paused and didn't want to go into details about the way she died. "Paul was stabbed to death; Vince has to tell the news to his wife."