Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) Page 3

  Vince Kindl moaned and shook his head as if he was having a bad dream, and once his eyes slowly opened, he looked confused as hell. Jack remained silent and continued to be in a crouching position. And when Vince understood the predicament he was in, he unclipped his belt and struggled to get out, and the steering wheel being in the way wasn't helping.

  Jack gave Vince his hand once his body was halfway through the window frame, and finally managed to get to his feet. Both men stood unsteadily, and it was taking a few seconds to sink in what had took place. The truth was that neither one of them knew exactly why they were in this situation, but they were both aware that they had been in some kind of car crash.

  "Where're the others?" Vince finally spoke.

  Jack then realised he had forgot about Claire and Paul in the other truck. Both men looked around and could see no sign of them. "Shit." Jack rubbed his neck again. "I have no idea."

  Vince then pointed to the road, about ten yards in front. They could both see tyre marks, and it seemed that they had sped off and left them alone. Vince looked furious and his eyes went on Jack.

  "No." Jack shook his head, knowing immediately what was going through Vince's mind. "They wouldn't."

  "Where else could they be?" Vince held out his arms, and didn't really believe that Claire would leave them in the lurch, but he couldn't think of another reason why he and Jack were alone.

  Vince staggered a little, as if he were drunk, and began rubbing his temples with his forefingers. "Something weird is fuckin' happening. And I don't like it."

  "Hang on a minute." Jack walked over to the toppled truck and inspected the windscreen; he then went around the truck and checked the tyres. "Don't you remember the bangs before you lost control?"

  "I think so." Vince was unsure.

  Jack then pointed at the state of the windscreen, and then walked over to the back tyre. "We were shot at."

  Vince walked over to where Jack was and inspected the damage himself. "Motherfuckers!" He then looked at the road and pointed at the back of the truck. "And why aren't our bags that are full of medical supplies scattered along the road?"

  Vince's question was more like a query that was actually testing Jack.

  Jack duly answered, "Because when the truck crashed, they took the bags for themselves. They probably went into my side of the window, that was already wound down, and took my machete and your shotgun."

  "My shotgun!" Vince placed his hands on his head. "Shit. I forgot about that."

  "So we have no supplies, the reason why we made this journey in the first place, no vehicle and no weapons."

  "It's quite depressing when you put it like that." Vince tried his best to add some kind of humour to such a shitty situation, but it wasn't helping at all.

  Jack moaned, "Me and vehicles just don't mix. This is my fourth crash in four weeks." Jack was referring to when his Vauxhall Meriva blew two tyres on the M6; then he crashed a vehicle coming back from the supermarket with Paul Parker, after his friend, Gary, had been murdered, and then there was the smash at the crossroads.

  He was cursed; he was convinced of it.

  "So, maybe whoever shot at us stole the other truck," said Vince.

  "Well, if that's the case, then where are Claire and Paul?"

  Vince took a look into the woods on either side of the road. "Shall we?"

  Jack reluctantly agreed; he was extremely concerned for Claire, but was scared what he could find.

  Both men tried the woods to the left side of the road, and vowed that they would only go in so deep before returning to their defunct vehicle. They could see nothing on that side and went to the right side of the woods, and walked into the greenery that wasn't so condensed. They were relieved that if a ghoul was approaching from fifty yards, it could be seen, as this part of Cannock Chase was quite spacious.

  Because of its spaciousness, they could both see right away two bodies lying ahead of them.

  It was them! It had to be them!

  Paul's rotund frame was the first body they got to, and it appeared that he had been stabbed three times in the stomach. He was still breathing, just, and his eyes were wide with panic as if he knew he was just minutes from death.

  Jack ran past Paul, who was being comforted by Vince, and went straight to the second body that was lying on the floor.

  It was obviously Claire, and as soon as his reluctant eyes clocked her frame lying on the ground, tears of anger began welling in his eyes.

  "Animals!" Jack snarled. "Fucking animals!

  Claire lay in the bracken, and her face was bruised as if she had taken a beating. Her shirt had been ripped apart, exposing her left breast, and her trousers were around her ankles. Her head had suffered serious trauma, as if she had been hit repeatedly by a blunt weapon of some sort. She was dead, and Jack guessed that before she died, she had been sexually assaulted as well.

  He hardly knew Claire, but he crouched down and put his fingers through her blonde hair and began to cry. "Bastards!" Saliva left his mouth. "Fucking bastards!" He leaned over and kissed her on her forehead; he stood up and was about to go over to Vince, but he was already making his way over.

  "How's Paul?" asked Jack.

  "Died a few seconds ago." Vince gazed at Claire's body. Jack could see he was upset, but Vince decided to act like a cold fish. "Need to dress her, make her look more respectable."

  Jack nodded in agreement. "Did Paul say anything about what happened?"

  Vince said sullenly, "Yes."

  Jack twisted his neck to make eye-contact with Vince, and impatiently questioned, "And?"

  "Paul heard the blasts and saw our vehicle topple over. He stopped the truck to help out, but four men came out of the woods, two on motorbikes, and two were on foot, armed with shotguns."

  Jack nodded. "Obviously."

  "They made Paul and Claire kneel down while they searched both trucks. They took Paul and Claire's, obviously, but ours was too smashed-up for them."

  "They took the bags?" asked Jack.

  "I didn't asked Paul that question, but they must have."

  "So why do what they did?"

  Vince shrugged. "For shits and giggles, who fucking knows? I'm many things, Jack, but I'm not that bad. I'm not a fucking animal." He lowered his head and kicked the grass beneath his feet. "According to Paul, Claire was slapped about a bit, then taken into the woods and raped by a guy with greased back hair."

  "Name?"

  "Look, I wasn't sitting down having a conversation with Paul, you know. The fucker was dying. I'm telling you what he told me with the one minute he had left before he croaked."

  "Sorry." Jack was anxious.

  "Anyway, the guy that killed Claire then urged his pal to kill Paul, so he attacked him. Paul told me that his attacker had a black T-shirt on and had tour dates emblazoned on the back, in red letters. He seemed to be taking orders from another man—a well-dressed man that raped and killed Claire, apparently."

  "Tour dates?" Jack shook his head, indicating to Vince that this information didn't mean anything to him. "What did he tell you that for?"

  Vince cackled, "Fuck knows. Who knows what kind of shit we could come out with once our time's up and we're seconds away from death. Maybe he wants to warn us. Maybe he wants us to find him."

  A depressing silence fell on both men.

  Jack looked around and was genuinely hurting for Claire. The men didn't have the tools or the time to give her a decent burial, so they covered her the best they could with large leaves and branches. but they knew that eventually her corpse would eventually be food for the animals and insects of these woods.

  "I'm sorry, Jack." Vince placed his hand on Slade's back as they began to walk away from the road and further into the woods, and began patting it. "I knew you liked her."

  "I hardly knew her. You knew her longer than me."

  "The only positive out of this is that she had no family on the camp, but Paul..."

  Jack nodded and said, "I'll tell his
wife, if you want."

  "No, I'll do it." Vince then looked through the trees; his eyes saw the wreck of their vehicle that sat twenty yards away. If they had super-human strength or more bodies, they could attempt to move it back onto its wheels, but with just the two of them, they knew that the only means of transport that they'd be using for the foreseeable future would be their feet.

  "Why didn't they kill us?"

  "Maybe they thought we were already dead." Vince wasn't sure.

  "Which way?" Jack asked Vince.

  Vince pointed into the woods. "I know the woods aren't your favourite place, but if we go the road-way it'll take twice as long to get back to Rugeley, and it'll also leave us exposed to danger being out in the open, from human and non-human beings."

  "What is it? About four miles back?"

  "Six, I think." Vince scratched his head in thought. "But it'll feel like sixty, walking through the woods. But it's our safest option."

  "There're one or two abandoned cabins, some are wrecks, but if we come across one we can stay there the night."

  Jack looked up to the sky; and although six in the evening, it wasn't going to be long before the contrast of the sky would start to dim, and being in that greenery with all those condensed trees, it would be a hell of a lot darker than it actually was in the open.

  Jack then thought about what Paul had told Vince, about the men that had killed Claire and Paul. One was a well-dressed man, and another had a T-shirt with tour dates on the back. Jack remembered the run-in that he and Johnny had with a gang and having to run away from two pitbulls. One of the men back then had an Aerosmith T-shirt on, but he never saw the back of his T-shirt, he wasn't around long enough to notice. And the leader of the rabble did seem better dressed than the others.

  Could it be the same gang?

  Maybe it was nothing. But maybe it was the same mob that attacked Kerry's street and the same gang that had that malicious, ginger-haired woman who Jack threw down the stairs.

  He wasn't sure.

  Both men began walking; their shoes noisily standing on dead twigs, their legs brushing the bracken. Jack turned around to take one last look at Claire. He hated the way she went; it seemed so unjust for such a likeable character. It wasn't fair.

  "It feels a bit strange not to be carrying anything." Vince was referring to the bags as well as a weapon.

  "I just hope we don't run into any of these things," sighed Jack. "One-on-one we can handle, but with nothing but our hands, we'll struggle if there're more. I should have kept a hold of that rock I used to smash you open."

  "Well, as soon as you come across a thick branch or something, pick it up."

  "Like I haven't thought of that," Jack huffed, and continued to follow behind Vince, bracing himself for a long and uncomfortable journey back to the camp. "You know where we're going?" asked Jack.

  "Kind of."

  "Kind of?"

  "I used to spend all my time in these woods when I was a kid, Jackie Boy. We'll get to the end of them and we'll be at the back of Rugeley where we can stop at this place for a bit. Then it's a two mile walk back to the camp from there."

  "What's this place?"

  "A cabin on a hill."

  "Can't wait."

  Chapter Six

  After dinner, the group relaxed in the garden while Wolf ran the utensils under the cold tap of the sink. Pickle felt bad that Wolfgang had gone to all that trouble to make them something to eat and then rinsed the dishes as well, but the sixty-nine-year-old insisted passionately that he wanted to do it.

  There wasn't a great deal to do during the day for any of them, and Pickle suspected that his gracious host wanted to be kept busy at all times. Pickle also suspected that with the journeys that he and Karen had made to get the supplies that they were all now enjoying, Wolf felt a little guilty, maybe even useless, that, despite being the owner of the cabin, he had contributed very little to the group, although the mushrooms for the soup they had all enjoyed was hand-picked by himself and Pickle.

  "What're yer gonna do now, Wolf?" Pickle fired a question at the elderly gentleman as soon as he stepped out of the cabin.

  Wolfgang Kindl looked up to the beautiful, dark blue sky and sighed, "I think I might go and see my Grace."

  "Yer want some company?"

  Wolf laughed, "I'll probably need you to get me up that hill anyway. But yes, thanks."

  Shaz and Karen looked lost in thought, and Shaz lay on her back and closed her eyes. Nobody said anything to her. Everyone had their sorrow to contend with. Shaz had lost Spencer. Karen had lost Gary. Pickle had lost KP. And Wolf had lost his wife. Everyone had lost someone, but they all pitied Shaz, as she was the only one in the group who had lost a child, and she seemed to be coping with the loss reasonably well on the outside.

  Pickle and Wolf headed for the exit of the place, and before leaving, Pickle turned around and said playfully, "And keep away from that chocolate, ladies. Those bars have been disappearing pretty rapid over the last few days."

  "It's called comfort food," Shaz giggled, her eyes still closed.

  "No," Karen stepped in. "It's called, being-bored-shitless food."

  "At least yer still alive, Bradley."

  Karen raised her hands in the air and sarcastically responded, "Well, praise the fucking Lord."

  Pickle shook his head and gave her one of his disappointed-father looks. He didn't need to say anything, his face alone told Karen that he was less-than-impressed with her.

  Both men left the grounds and shut the six-foot gate behind them, leaving the two women to their own devices.

  As soon as the gate was shut, Shaz got to her feet, walked over, and was about to bolt the gate, before Karen intervened. "Waste of time doing that, if you ask me."

  Shaz turned away from the gate. "You reckon?"

  "They'll only be away for about half an hour or an hour, and those things can't get up anyway."

  Shaz seemed to agree and went back over to the area where there was usually a fire, but not tonight, and sat next to her friend. "You'd think Wolf would rather be on his own when visiting his wife." Shaz took a hold of her warm tea that was sitting on the grass, and took a noisy slurp.

  "He did this yesterday." Karen was referring to Pickle. "I watched them. Pickle helps Wolf up the hill, then I think Pickle walks a few yards away from Wolf to leave him in peace and sits and...I don't know, I think he prays or something. Waste of time, if you ask me."

  "Maybe Wolf needs somewhere to go, to get some closure. I wish there was somewhere I could visit for Spencer."

  "I don't mean visiting a grave, I mean praying is a waste of time."

  Shaz wasn't a religious person herself. When she was a baby her parents christened her in a place called The Church of England, a protestant church, but like most people who were christened at such a young age, it wasn't something she continued to explore when she was growing up.

  "Maybe it keeps him strong, mentally." Shaz had no idea why Pickle was religious, but she respected that everyone had different beliefs. "And maybe...maybe he just believes in God, and that's it."

  Karen shook her head and laughed, "But it's all bollocks."

  "So don't you believe in God?"

  "Which one?" snickered Karen. "Jupiter? Zeus? Thor?"

  "Just...God."

  "Just the one god? What about the others I mentioned?"

  "But they're silly, aren't they?" Shaz began to laugh. "I mean...Thor?"

  Karen added, "There're hundreds of gods out there, Shaz. Look at the Greeks and the Romans with their gods. If you're saying there is only one God, and denouncing the rest, then you're just as atheist as I am."

  "What are you having a go at me for?" Shaz playfully slapped Karen on the thigh and released a wide smile. "I'm not even a believer myself; lighten up. I was just sticking up for Pickle."

  "Sorry, but if there really is a God, this is my theory: God made the earth, then he just fucked off and left us to it."

  "Anyway," cont
inued Shaz. "It sounds to me that you do believe in God, but at the moment you're a little pissed off with him."

  Karen never answered, and didn't want to continue a conversation that could cause an unnecessary argument, and she also didn't want to be involved with a discussion so deep. It was a hell of a world they were now living in, and it was hard to get their head around what was happening, as well as the violence they were becoming accustomed to. Karen wanted to give her mind a rest, and an in-depth discussion on religion wasn't going to help her.

  "Let's talk about something else," Shaz spoke up, noticing that Karen was more than happy to sit in silence.

  "What like?"

  "I don't know." Shaz thought and playfully asked, "What was your worst experience with a man?"

  Karen smiled at such a random question, and dropped her head. "I've only been with three men, so that'll have to be my first."

  "Tell me about it."

  Karen coughed a little, turned away from Shaz and emptied each nostril on the grass. "Not much to tell, really. We were listening to the album In Rainbows by Radiohead, and one thing led to another, and the next thing I know, he's wearing a condom and both of our trousers were round our ankles."

  Shaz reminisced, "I remember at school, you'd get some daft girlies saying: I want to wait. I want it to be special. But if you're both virgins, especially if it's the man, it's two pushes and a puddle, then it's all over. There's nothing special about it."

  "Most men are pretty crap in the sack anyway. If they were all like machines, the vibrator business would have died on its arse."

  "You're not a big fan of some men?"

  "It's not that, it's just that...they're a bit weird."

  "What do you mean?" Shaz was perplexed by Karen's outburst.

  Karen tried to explain, "Well, after my first experience and before I met Gary, this guy at college pestered me for months to go out with him. So I did. Then when we started seeing one another, I still made him wait three or four weeks before we did it. It was quite funny to see. He was absolutely gagging, and by the time we got down to it in his flat, it was all over."