Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) Page 28

  None of the boys answered. They were both too distraught to answer.

  "Tell me!" Vince yelled.

  "We'd all die." David Watkins was the first to speak out.

  Vince nodded just the once and smiled. "Indeed we would." Vince pointed at the massacre of Ollie, the creature still on its knees at the side of the body, pushing bloody entrails into his mouth, and added, "With Ollie dying, I may have actually saved your lives."

  Harry Beresford stood up, leaned over and threw up. The vomit hit the road from a height, and caused a predictable splat as the contents of his stomach hit the tarmac. He wiped his mouth with his forearm and continued to sob for his friend.

  Vince gave young David a nudge and said, "So you've killed three so far?"

  David spoke hesitantly, tears still falling from his eyeballs, "Er...yes. I killed two of them last week."

  Vince then pointed at the crowbar that Ollie had dropped. It was lying ten yards from the creature and Ollie's body. "Well, David," Vince cleared his throat and glared at the boy. "I think it's time for number four."

  Chapter Four

  Young Kyle had taken a while to get accustomed to the new life that he had. He had no more school to go to, but would spend at least two hours a day with his dad doing sums and reading; he had no friends anymore to see, and had to make do with playing with his dad or with himself. He was a lonely boy, and missed his mum and little sister terribly.

  For the first three weeks Kyle would ask his dad every day where his mum and sister were, and this was answered by Paul with a I don't know or a Not sure. For the last six days Kyle had stopped asking, and in a strange kind of way the usually-annoying questions that were no longer being asked had worried Paul.

  Was Kyle already forgetting that he had a mother or sister? Or had he just given up, and was certain that he was never going to see them again?

  Paul Dickson was mooching about in his bedroom and took a look in his mirror. He had lost weight, and the grey at the sides of his hair was growing. He appeared to look old as well, and sighed at his overall appearance. Without his wife, his body was looking shabby. It was Julie that usually gave Paul a haircut with the clippers; she'd also cut and file his toenails. She would also remove the hair off his shoulders and back with either the clippers, on a grade 0, or with her waxing kit, if it was already on and she was doing her legs.

  Kyle was now in his room, playing with his toys, while Paul took a look in his cupboard. He had still plenty of clean T-shirts hanging up, as he had been using his clothes sparingly, and had been using the washing machine up until the power went out during the second week. Two days after the power went, the water was next.

  He began thinking about his sister and hoped she was okay. The last time he had spoken to his sister was the day before the power went. Like most other people, she stayed in her house and barricaded the entrances. Both siblings had also lost touch with their parents after three days, and he was concerned for their welfare.

  Paul had initially adhered to the TV instructions of barricading, but after not having a single episode of one of those things coming near his house, he took away the barricades. His thinking was that his door and his patio door was solid, and if any of those things could break through, then a few cupboards and tables were hardly going to hold them back.

  Paul was confident in his home's security, and even slept in his own bed. He was a light sleeper and knew that as soon as he heard as much as a window shattering, he and Kyle would be in the attic within seconds.

  After finishing glaring at his body and mentally criticising its appearance, he walked over to his bed and sat down. His nose twitched and he leant down and sniffed the quilt on his bed. It was smelling fusty, something that Julie hated.

  There were other quilt covers in the cupboard where the defunct boiler was, but he decided to give it a month. It wasn't bothering him, and Kyle didn't seem to mind either.

  He walked over to his bedroom window and peeked out from the closed blinds. Nothing had changed. The weather was now dull, after a glorious few weeks of sun. The windows of other peoples' houses had closed blinds or shut curtains. The back gardens were lifeless. Maybe the grass was a bit longer, but that was all to see.

  He reached for the handle of the window and decided to open it for the first time in a long time, and allow fresh air to get in. He was surprised at how different it was compared to when he first opened his window on the Sunday, after finding out about the outbreak. Now, it was tranquil and the birds happily tweeted their merry tune. But before, the outside world to Paul Dickson's ears was a mixture of speeding engines, car alarms and human screams.

  "Oh, biscuits!" he heard Kyle shout from his room. That phrase was something Kyle had seen in a cartoon called Kick Buttowski. Paul thought that it was better than cussing like an adult.

  Paul left the window open and walked into his son's room. "What is it, big chap?"

  Still in his pyjamas, Kyle looked up at his dad and sighed, "I can't find Mr Freeze, daddy?"

  A while back Kyle had been bought a Batcave with all the figures, including most of Batman's enemies.

  "It's okay, son." Paul tried to appease him. "He'll be here somewhere." Paul then scanned Kyle's room and shook his head. The room was a mess, and it was no surprise he couldn't find Mr Freeze. Paul had a look under his bed and in his cupboard.

  He had too much stuff.

  Paul always told Julie that the pair of them had too many toys. Whenever Julie would go out to the shops with the kids and come back with gifts, Paul would always moan that it was just another thing to pick up when their bedrooms needed tidying. He didn't know whether it was because they had so much, but whenever they had a new toy they'd be quickly bored of it.

  The perfect example was when they were both bought Furbies—it was the closest they could get to a real Mogwai—for Christmas. They were initially delighted with them, but after a couple of weeks they were never played with.

  Still unable to find Mr Freeze, Kyle then kicked his action figures that were lying on the floor, and Paul said, "Hey, be careful. Grandma bought you them last Christmas."

  Paul then stopped with his reprimand, and wondered how grandma and granddad—his parents—were coping. Losing contact after three days wasn't a good sign.

  Since losing contact he had no idea how his parents were coping with this crisis, and on the same day he had also lost contact with Julie's parents as well. Even though he had wheels, there was not a chance in hell he'd go out there with Kyle in tow. It was too dangerous. And what if Julie and Bell eventually came back to an empty house?

  Originally, he hoped Julie had gone to her parents, they also only lived a few miles away, but he phoned them in the first days and they told him that they hadn't heard from her. He just hoped that she was stuck in the shopping mall, and the doors had been closed and locked manually.

  He didn't know what to think. The power continued for a few weeks after her and Bell's disappearance, yet he never heard from them. He would sometimes fear the worst, but he needed to be positive for Kyle's sake.

  "Daddy?" Kyle spoke, with a recognisable sadness in his voice, pulling Paul out from his daydreaming.

  Paul thought, here we go. When is mummy and Bell coming home?

  But he was wrong with his assumption. "What is it, son?"

  "Can I see that video of me and Bell at the fair?"

  Kyle was referring to the video that was taken a year ago, when the family went to the Costa Del Sol for two weeks. They went to a fun park called Tivoli World, and Paul had taken a video of them when they were on the big wheel.

  Paul sighed, "You can't, big chap." Paul squatted down to his son's level and placed his arm on his shoulder, awaiting another breakdown. "I told you before; we have no electricity anymore, so I can't charge my phone. It's completely flat."

  He looked at Paul with a blank expression and sat on his bed. Still in his PJs, little Kyle lay on the bed and curled up into a ball. He remained silent and Paul didn
't know what to say to him.

  Paul bent over and kissed him on the forehead. "That's it. You have a wee rest."

  Kyle began to sulk. "I'm always...resting. You won't let me go out anymore."

  "I've already explained, big chap." Paul tried to hide his frustration and kept on reminding himself the little fellow was only seven years old.

  "I know," he whined, knowing what his dad was about to say for the umpteenth time. "The world is in a bad way, and it's not good anymore because of the monsters outside."

  Paul shook his head, exasperated. He was trying his best to keep it together, but it wasn't getting any easier as the days ticked by. In fact, the more time went, the more Kyle was becoming frustrated and lonely.

  Chapter Five

  Harry Branston walked with lazy steps along the hedge, checking for any abnormalities. It was a boring job, but Vince wanted the perimeter of the camp checked on a regular basis now that a few more bodies were available. Pickle occasionally poked the hedge with his machete, and knew that if individuals were desperate enough to get onto the premises, an eight foot hedge was not going to stop them.

  It was perfect as far as keeping out the Snatchers were concerned, but humans who were desperate or wanted to pillage an area would find no trouble getting in. Vince had focused so much on the dead that the threat of the living had hardly been given much thought.

  Harry continued to walk beside the hedge and peered over to the Spode Cottage. The place used to be a pub/restaurant that was situated on the main road, near the camp, and used to attract people from afar for a good meal and a few drinks. Now it was used as a huge storeroom that stored food, drink, fuel, and other items that had been taken by Vince and his people on their many runs. It was also a place that could house individuals, but all the caravans hadn't been used up yet, and Vince didn't really trust putting people in a place where there was an endless supply of food and drink.

  The place was under lock and key, and only Vince and two other men were allowed to go in. There was a well. There were also many animals in pens that had been brought in by farmers that had decided to flee their place, but if individuals wanted batteries, medical stuff, or a bottle of red wine, they asked Vince.

  A trip to the Spode Cottage was all it took to give the residents what they wanted, as long as they didn't take liberties. The same people that occasionally asked for the odd treat, were the same people that washed clothes, made fires, cleaned the caravans and cooked huge pots of soup that were shared amongst the fifty or so residents that were now dwelling there. Day by day the camp was slowly growing. Some were obviously too old to do anything, but most contributed in one way or another.

  Pickle saw a man he recognised, but was never introduced to, walk out of the Spode Cottage with a clipboard under his arm. He could see Vince approaching the man, and the pair of them were in a deep discussion about something. Pickle guessed correctly that they were discussing the supplies situation. After a minute had passed, Vince walked over to Harry Branston and greeted him with a warm smile. "Pickle, you fancy a run in a day or so?"

  Pickle nodded over to the man with the clipboard, who was now walking away and disappeared into caravan four. "Anything to do with that wee talk with yer friend o'er there?"

  "You don't miss a trick." Vince cackled, and placed his hand on Pickle's shoulder. "One of the farmer's sons used to work in a factory in Fradley."

  "That's two miles from here—"

  "He turned up a few days ago."

  Pickle nodded. "Yes, I remember. His wife was killed."

  Vince added, "He reckons that there's tons and tons of food and drink at this place, and—"

  Vince's story was interrupted by a heavy sigh from Pickle, and this seemed to infuriate the man in charge of the camp.

  Vince asked, "What is it?"

  Pickle scratched at his short hair. It was itchy as hell and hadn't seen soap since the last time he had washed it a few days ago. He was in dire need of a shave as well. Eventually, Pickle spoke up. "Why don't we just live off what we've got?"

  "We're starting to run low."

  "Really? We have animals, vegetable patches. The Spode Cottage still has a shit load o' stuff—"

  "Not as much as we used to have."

  Pickle paused for thought, and said, "I don't think we should be risking lives to go to a place that may already have been raided and stripped. Look what happened with yer Stafford trip."

  Vince bit his lip before speaking. "That was eight miles away, driving through residential areas. Fradley is two miles away, in the middle of the countryside. It'll be winter in a few months, and going out on runs is something that we're not gonna be able to do, especially if the weather has its way. And the lack of fuel is eventually going to be a problem."

  "I don't know." Pickle rubbed his chin in thought. Vince had a good point, and instead of chastising the man, Pickle thought that maybe the man should be praised for putting himself on the line for others and planning ahead.

  Added Vince, "This factory could help us get through winter comfortably. How many people in the UK are going to be able to do that?"

  Pickle shook his head and sighed, "What's yer plan?" He still wasn't convinced, and Vince knew that if he wanted to go out there, he needed Pickle beside him, just in case.

  "Simple. We drive out there, check the place out. If it's not being occupied, we go inside. If it has the produce, then we go back to the camp."

  "Then?"

  "Then we take one HGV from the barrier to Fradley, fill it up full of whatever we can get our hands on and come back." Vince glared at Pickle who was unsure. "It's a fifteen minute drive there, if that."

  Pickle scowled at Vince and pushed his lips together. "These tins and jars will be on pallets, wrapped in cellophane."

  "And?"

  "How the fuck are yer gonna get this stuff on the back o' a wagon? Lift them?"

  "Forklift trucks."

  "There's no power, which means there's no battery to run the trucks."

  "Ah," Vince put his forefinger in the air, stopping Pickle from adding any more negativity to the argument. "But the farmer's son say that they used to use diesel forklift trucks."

  "So does that mean there should be fuel pumps there?"

  Vince began to laugh. "Even if the pumps are dry and the trucks are in the red, and are low on fuel, it might be enough to load a few pallets on a truck. How long will it take? Ten minutes? Don't forget I used to do this for a living."

  Pickle had no immediate answer, telling Vince that he was beginning to change his mind. "Yer said yerself, a few days ago: Every time we go out, something happens."

  "And there's also a good chance that something could happen this time around, but it's a gamble I'm willing to take if it means we can spend four or five months living in luxury until the spring comes."

  "It's only July. What's the hurry?"

  "It's called preparation, my friend."

  "Surely after four weeks they'll be nothing left in the place. Someone must have..." Pickle was lost in deliberation and asked in defeat, "So what's in this factory?"

  "It's a hangar, like what they used to use in the Second World War, and the place is called Fradley's Food Products. It's a wholesaler that used to supply to restaurants, hotels—that kind of shit. If it hasn't been raided already it could have thousands of cans of food, water—fuck knows what else. Obviously the fresh and frozen produce will not be edible, neither will bread. But they have tins, jars, pasta, crisps—"

  "Okay, I get the message." Pickle screwed his face in thought. "So who's going?"

  "Me, you, Shaz...and one of the new boys."

  "Is four enough?"

  Vince acknowledged Pickle with a nod before answering with words. "Yes. Four is all I can spare anyway."

  "Okay," Pickle sighed, "It'd be nice to get away from hedge-duty for a while. What about Karen?"

  "Karen isn't going. Not in her condition." Vince's face was serious, and Pickle agreed with him.

&nb
sp; Pickle began to guffaw. "Who's gonna tell her? You?"

  "You can, " Vince laughed. "Anyway, she ain't missing much. All we're doing at first is checking the place out. Our day will consist of a fifteen minute drive, check the place, then a fifteen minute drive back. We'd only be out an hour at the most."

  Pickle nodded in agreement. "I suppose if we take the HGV all the way there and the factory's empty, then we've wasted diesel."

  "Exactly."

  "And if we run into trouble?"

  "Well, that's the whole reason why Karen's staying behind." Vince added with a smirk, "I may be a sexual deviant, and I may be a selfish tosser, but I don't want to be responsible for the death of an unborn child."

  "Talking of children." Pickle straightened his back up. "I heard about what happened this morning. I bumped into a couple o' distraught young boys who said that yer made their pal fight a Snatcher in order to get into the camp."

  "Pickle," Vince sighed, and gave off a thin smile to a man he had every respect for. "I run this camp. Please, don't question my methods. I'm trying to make this camp stronger, and that won't happen if we accept weak people."

  "I'm just saying." Pickle tried to explain himself, hoping that it wouldn't spark off an argument. "We're only in week five, and we're doing stuff like this. Really? We only lost power three weeks ago. It wasn't tha' long ago we were a civilised society. It's like something out o' Mad Max."

  "Things change." Vince shrugged his shoulders. "And I've been doing this initiation for a few weeks now."

  "I never did it."

  Vince laughed, "I've seen your lot in action. You, Karen and Shaz could take a Rotter with one hand tied behind your back."

  Pickle breathed heavily and added, before walking away, "It just doesn't sit right with me. That's all I'm saying."

  Chapter Six

  As Paul checked the cupboard and the defunct fridge, he was beginning to realise that he was getting nearer to the day that he had been dreading for weeks: The day where there was no food.