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

  Ignoring Karen, Shaz walked over to the cupboards that were attached to the walls, above where the jars and kettle sat, and began going through them. The first set of cupboards were filled with cups, plates, and extra sugar, coffee and tea. She spotted a packet containing cereal bars and took the box out. There were three left inside the original pack of five. She put one in her pocket and threw the other two onto the table. "For you and Junior."

  The next cupboard had a packet of Cheerios, which she also took from the cupboard and put on the table, then she noticed the fridge in the corner of the room. She was certain that that was where the smell was coming from. She opened it up and immediately placed her grey T-shirt over her nose. The only thing worth consuming was a half litre bottle of water. She took it out and plonked it on the table next to the box of Cheerios. "Well that's breakfast sorted."

  Both women were seated, and Karen threw her head back. She sat up straight and stared at the bracelet on Shaz's wrist that her son had made.

  From out of the blue, Karen asked Sharon Bailey, "What was it like?"

  Shaz was perplexed by Karen's question and had no idea what she meant. "Explain."

  "You know." Karen blushed when Shaz told her to explain. "Giving birth. Look, if you don't want to talk about it—"

  "No, it's fine." Shaz sat up and wasn't upset talking about bringing Spencer into the world. She blew out her cheeks and her mind went back seven years or so, trying to recollect the memories of one of the happiest days of her life. "The actual giving birth was predictably painful, but actually having Spencer in my arms was the best feeling ever. As soon as they slapped him on my chest, I knew things were gonna change for good. Why do you ask?" Shaz took her machete out of her belt, as the handle was digging into her pelvis as she sat, and placed it on the floor. She also did the same with Karen's. She didn't want to be looking at a bloody machete while having this conversation. "Are you warming to the idea now?"

  "It's not that I don't want it. I just..."

  "What? What is it?"

  Karen began chewing her bottom lip before responding to Shaz. "Bringing up a child in this world is not fair on the baby or me."

  "Things will get better."

  "You reckon?"

  Shaz nodded confidently. "We're only in week four. Once these things are disposed of, all we need to worry about is controlling the people that have lost their way." Shaz then looked at the concern on Karen's face. It was rare that she showed this emotion. "Is it bringing up a child that concerns you? Or, is it giving birth?"

  Karen took a while to answer and Shaz could see the tears welling up in her friend's eyes. Karen began, reluctantly, "What if I die?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "During childbirth."

  "You can't think like that. It is what it is. I'll be there every step of the way when the time comes."

  "That's easy for you to say; when you had Spencer you had a midwife, gas and air—"

  "I did, you're right. What can I say, Karen? I'm sorry that my labour was easier than the one you're going to experience."

  "I wish Pickle was here." Karen's tears fell freely and rolled down her cheeks.

  Shaz stood up and went round to comfort her friend. She didn't take offence that Karen wished Pickle was still around. He had been like a father or an older brother to her, and over the last three weeks or so they had become incredibly close. They had lost people, but somehow Pickle and Karen always managed to get out of their scrapes alive.

  "The only time he leaves me," Karen sniffed, "and this happens."

  "He was a tough bastard." Shaz was feeding off Karen's emotions, and could feel her throat becoming sore as it tightened. "And such a nice guy."

  Karen added, "This whole thing had changed him for the better. He quite regularly used to go to the top of Cardboard Hill and sit on his own, enjoying the peace, the freedom."

  "Maybe he always knew there would be a chance that he was..." Shaz never finished her sentence: going to die someday, but Karen knew what she meant.

  "Maybe." Karen wiped her stained cheeks with her fingers, trying to compose herself. "I don't know what I'm going to do without him. I know it's only been three weeks or so, but we spent every minute together, apart from when we were in Heath Hayes and I had to go out in the van."

  Karen remembered the two occasions she had left Pickle in the house. He had caught a fever and Karen had gone out to get some supplies. Out of the goodness of her heart she picked up a man who introduced himself as George Jones, but it turned out to be Jason Bonser, an ex-inmate that Pickle eventually recognised. It appeared that Bonser wanted rid of the housemates and have the shelter and supplies for himself. He sneaked into the room to smother Pickle, but was shot in the leg and dumped two miles down the road by Karen. Unfortunately he came back, with a hundred Snatchers following behind.

  "If Pickle can die, then what chance do we have?" asked Karen.

  "It was unfortunate the way he went. I was there, Karen. Pickle sacrificed himself for us, mainly Jack." Shaz rubbed her face; her energy had diluted and the tiredness was beginning to kick in. "You've got a baby on the way now. You need to keep it together and start being less bold."

  "I'm not gonna change."

  "You're gonna have to." Shaz bit her bottom lip, unsure whether to say anything more, but continued, "I'm sorry, Karen, but now you have a life inside of you. You're gonna have to take a step backwards from the violence. As soon as you get to the camp Vince will probably not allow you out on the runs."

  "Fuck that." Karen huffed petulantly, and turned away. "I'm not staying in the camp to do the fucking washing."

  "No, but you're a good nurse. You're good at caring for people."

  Karen didn't agree with her friend. Karen had now changed. She was a nurse in the old world; in the new world she had adapted to being out in the thick of things.

  Karen patted her stomach. "Nothing will happen to it. I'll make sure of it."

  "You can't take that chance. It doesn't matter if it's four weeks old or thirty four weeks, you still have a life growing inside of you, and that is now your number one priority." Shaz then went back round the other side of the table and sat down.

  Karen accepted her reprimand off of Shaz and playfully saluted her. She took both cereal bars and slowly crunched each one cantankerously, until all that was left was crumbs on the table. Taking the bottle, and feeling the water lashing down her throat, Karen was beginning to feel normal again.

  "The Cheerios can wait till the morning," joked Shaz. "Did you notice any toilets in the corridor?"

  Karen shook her head and said, "They're actually in the soft play area." She then pointed up at the opened skylight. "Just climb up and piss on the roof."

  Shaz did exactly that, and once she returned from the roof, Karen asked her to shut the skylight as the bitter wind kept on sneaking in. Shaz then bent over and took her shoes off, peeled off her socks that were put inside the shoes, then straightened her legs and pushed her feet back, stretching the hamstrings. "Ah," she moaned in delight. "You should try this."

  "No thanks."

  Shaz continued with her stretch and Karen could see Shaz's lips quiver and her eyes becoming glassy. She waved her hands at her eyes and apologised to Karen for the emotional breakdown.

  "Spencer?" asked Karen.

  "It comes in waves. Right." Shaz clapped her hands together, trying to lighten the mood. "Where are we gonna sleep?"

  "It's alright to cry, you know." Karen's face was filled with empathy for her mentally-tortured friend. "Losing a child is supposed to be the hardest thing any adult can go through."

  "Which is why I want you to take a step back. You're my friend, Karen. I don't want anything to happen to you or the little one. You're not out of the twelve-week danger zone, remember that."

  "Oh, that's cheery." Karen leaned back on her chair on its two legs, the way a child would sometimes do in class, and Karen pointed at Shaz and said to her, "If I do lose it within the next month or
so, it'll be the best for everyone. Imagine if anything happened to that camp, and we're out in the woods again with a screaming brat."

  "I'm serious," Shaz huffed. "I don't even find that funny."

  "Okay." Karen leaned forward, bringing the chair back on its four legs. "Let's make a deal then. I'll look after my unborn and take a step back..."

  "And?"

  "And whenever you need to let go, if you need a cry, just go for it." Karen gave her friend a comforting look. "You've had no funeral, no closure. You need to grieve properly, whatever that means. Deal?"

  "Deal," laughed Shaz. "I'll stop holding this in."

  "Good." Karen turned her head to the side and emptied each nostril on the floor, smearing the contents with the sole of her shoe.

  "Charming." Shaz sighed and had a look around the room. "So I'll ask again. Where are we gonna sleep tonight?"

  Karen was unsure, and the body language of her raised shoulders told Shaz she had no idea. "This is the only room available. So, pick a corner."

  Chapter Forty Six

  July 4th.

  For a second, when Tommy stretched and yawned, he had forgot where he was and what was happening. As soon as realisation sank in, he shot up off of the couch and could hear the groans coming from outside. Tommy had opted for the couch, while Pickle slept in the only bedroom that was fit to sleep in.

  Tommy looked at his watch to see that it was nearly seven in the morning. He had hardly slept. His feet galloped up the stairs and he entered the bedroom to see Pickle staring out at the July sky. "It's light enough to go," he declared.

  "I heard groans. Are they still out there?" asked Tommy.

  "Come look for yerself." Pickle beckoned Tommy over. "Yer see that?"

  Tommy scratched his shaved ginger hair, and sauntered over to the window, not sure if he wanted to look or not. Both men glared below. Tommy couldn't count how many there were, but if he claimed there were thirty, he wouldn't be exaggerating. Trying to keep a cool head, he enquired, "What's it like out the back?"

  "Come take a look."

  Both men entered Megan's room, with Pickle leading the way, and their eyes peered out of the girl's window. "At least they haven't put down the fence." He patted Tommy on the back. "That's something."

  Tommy could see there were dozens scattered along the outside of the fence, and there were a few more in the woods. "Do they definitely know we're in here?"

  Pickle was unsure and answered, "I think so. Either that, or they just followed their...colleagues. These things hunt in packs a lot o' the times. If they so much as hear a gunshot, most o' these things will flee and head for the direction the sound came from."

  "So what's your plan? Any bright ideas?"

  Pickle nodded. "Any alcohol? If we can light a bottle and throw it out the window, it'd be a huge distraction once it hit the road and exploded."

  Tommy slapped his head. "I threw it away."

  Pickle thought it was a strange thing to do, but never asked Tommy his reasons. There wasn't time. "Plan B then."

  "Plan B?"

  "What we discussed before. Someone bangs on the fence, enticing them to where the sound is, then we move through the gate, out into the woods." Pickle gazed at Tommy for a reaction.

  Tommy frowned, gone astray in deliberation, and pulled his eyes upwards as he thought about Pickle's idea. As far as the new world was concerned, Pickle's experience outweighed Tommy's by a country mile, and he finally nodded in agreement. "When are you thinking about doing this?"

  "No time like the present. If we wait any longer..."

  Tommy didn't need to finish off Pickle's sentence, but did anyway. "There'll probably be more of them."

  Tommy took his gun and checked he had a full magazine. He handed Pickle the knife.

  "I'll cause the distraction," said Pickle.

  Tommy grabbed his bag and took out a clean pair of socks. He handed a pair to Pickle, who cackled, "Don't mind if I do."

  After discarding their smelly old pair and putting on a fresh pair of socks, both men put on their shoes and trotted downstairs.

  Tommy had put his backpack on, both straps over his shoulders. There was a big smile on Tommy's face once they had reached the front door. It was as if he was excited by the whole thing. Noticing this, Pickle looked at him. "What's with the stupid look on yer face?"

  "It's a bit like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid."

  Pickle screwed his face in reflection and paused for a moment. "Didn't they die in the end?"

  Tommy blushed and cleared his throat. "Yeah, well, obviously that's not the outcome that I want."

  Pickle playfully punched Tommy in the chest and announced, "Shall we just hurry the fuck up?"

  Tommy nodded and opened the door.

  Both males were greeted by an empty back garden with a high fence, but the moaning sounds from behind the fence sent shivers down the spines of both men, more so Tommy.

  Pickle took out the knife, held out his left hand and drew the knife across his palm. He could see Tommy in the corner of his eye wondering what the fuck he was doing, but ignored him. He then made a fist and saw the blood run from his hand and began to smear it on the top of the fence to the left of him. He looked at the cut on his palm, the finger missing, and the slash on his left forearm. "Fuck me, they'll be nothin' left o' me by the end o' July," he joked to himself.

  He then began slamming the fence with the palm of his right hand, while squeezing his raised left hand, dripping more blood on the top of the fence.

  Tommy was now at the end of the garden, near the gate, and whispered, "Another minute." He began deep breaths while Pickle continued to slam the fence. Tommy peered over and then looked over to Pickle, making a psst sound.

  Tommy held three of his fingers up to tell Pickle that there was now only three Grabbers at the front of the gate, and then pulled out his handgun in preparation.

  Pickle continued to slam the fence and could hear them all moaning. He nodded over to Tommy to inform him that it was time. Tommy Burns opened the gate and Pickle ran over, and both men left the premises where only three ghouls were now present. The rest were still at the left side of the fence.

  The nearest one was only ten yards away and instantaneously went for Tommy. Tommy shot it with little hesitation. As soon as a round was fired into the head of one of the things, the other two ghouls were side-kicked in their torsos by Pickle, knocking them over. Both men ran into the woods, with the rest of the ghouls slowly following, after hearing the gunshot.

  "Sorry," Tommy gasped, referring to the gunshot after a sudden rush of blood to the head.

  "Don't worry about it. If we can't outrun these fuckers then we deserve to die," Pickle laughed, and almost ran into a thick branch.

  The longer they ran, the thicker the woods became, and both men slapped away branch after branch as they progressed through the heavy greenery. Pickle could see that an over-zealous Tommy was now in front of him. Pickle called out, with the little breath he had left, "Slow down! We can't see what's in front o' us."

  Tommy slowed down, turned to face Pickle and flashed him a smile.

  From out of the greenery a pair of hands grabbed Tommy around the neck; he yelped in fright and dropped the gun. There was now two of them and Pickle ran at the one that had Tommy by the neck and rammed his knife into the top of its cranium. As Pickle struggled to pull the knife free, he could hear the high-pitched scream coming from Tommy. Pickle twisted his neck to his left and could see the other creature tearing out Tommy's throat, ripping out his trachea, blood gushing out and covering the beast's mouth. Tommy fell to the floor with the creature on top of him, still chewing on skin and cartilage. Pickle ran over and booted the thing in the stomach. As it fell off of Tommy, Pickle bent down for the gun and put a round in its head. He then turned to Tommy and went on his knees.

  Tommy was sobbing. His eyes were like flying saucers and his breathing was shallow and erratic. He knew he was finished. His throat was torn and the blood co
ntinued to flow out all over the grass.

  "Do it," he cried, urging Pickle to put him out of his misery.

  Pickle hesitated for a second, but then stood up and pointed the Glock at Tommy's forehead. By the time Pickle's finger caressed the trigger Tommy was already dead. The breathing had stopped, but the eyes were still open like plates.

  Pickle turned around and could hear the Snatchers from outside the house coming his way. He turned Tommy over and took his bag off of him, put the straps over his shoulder and placed it on his back. It seemed disrespectful to leave him where he was and to allow him to change into one of those things, so he shot Tommy in the head, and walked briskly in the woods.

  He wanted to be as far away from the ghouls, that were behind him, as possible, but he also didn't know what was in front of him. Thankfully, Harry Branston had reached a huge dirt path, a spacious part of the woods, but what welcomed him made his blood run cold.

  A dozen of the dead stumbled in his direction, and it appeared that the gunshots were enticing these freaks from afar from all directions. "I hope you're listening to me, God. I need your help with these soldiers of Satan."

  Pickle took off the bag and pulled out another magazine, which he put in his pocket next to his knife that Tommy had given him. "Here goes nothing."

  The closest three went down with a round each to the head, both releasing dark blood from the back as the bullet made its impact. The others shambled towards Pickle with a bit more zest, and he put another two down, both females, and put a another round each in their ravaged skulls to make sure.

  Double tap.

  Eight shots left in the magazine. Seven ghouls.

  A male Snatcher, who was bizarrely in only his pants, was now the nearest to Pickle. Once he put it down, he blasted at the remaining ones until the magazine was empty.

  Time for magazine two.

  There were two left. Both was—or used to be—males, and the one on the left already had its left arm missing from the elbow down, wearing casual clothes. The creature on the right, the nearest one, stumbled over a large triangular shaped rock and fell over. Pickle fired one shot at the one on the left, and fired a second shot when he realised he had completely missed it. The second shot hit it in the cheek, but it continued to gain on him, while the other ghoul was still struggling to get itself up off of the rock. He fired a third time and this time it fell to the floor with some of its head missing.