Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) Page 33

"No," Harry waved his hand and began to laugh. "It's not for them. I thought the hood would scare off any people who'd want to attack us."

  Vince was perplexed, and wasn't sure if the teenager was being serious or not. He barely knew him, so was he trying to have a laugh? Vince responded, "So if we get hijacked by a bunch of Uzi-wielding cannibals who likes to fuck goats, we should all be okay because little Harry's got his hood up. Is that what you're saying?"

  "I like the hood." Karen tried to wind up Vince, and even Pickle joined in.

  "So do I," said Pickle, making Harry smile. It was becoming clear that the young man looked up to Pickle for some reason.

  "Well, you know what, Harry?" Vince was baffled, but was starting to see the funny side of the boy's thinking, even though he was beginning to think that the boy was serious with his idea.

  Harry shrugged his shoulders. "What?"

  "From now on we're gonna call this," Vince pointed at Harry Beresford's hood, "the foreskin."

  "The foreskin?"

  "Yes."

  "Why's that?" asked Harry Beresford.

  "Because every time it's peeled back it reveals the bell-end underneath. Now let's fucking move it before I have a heart attack." Vince walked away and could hear one of his men getting the pick-up truck ready.

  Two minutes later the HGV was reversed back, and Karen said her goodbyes to Pickle and Shaz.

  Chapter Sixteen

  "Dad!"

  As soon as that word was called out, Paul shot out of bed and ran across the landing. He knew exactly where the voice was coming from; it was from the upstairs bathroom. Paul approached the door and gave it a gentle knock. "You okay, big chap?"

  "No." Kyle whined.

  "Can I come in?"

  "Yes."

  Paul opened the door and stepped into the bathroom. He called it a bathroom, but the real bathroom was downstairs. The upstairs toilet area had a sink and a shower cubicle, no bath. Kyle was trying to have a poo in one of the carrier bags that Paul had left out. The toilet wouldn't flush anymore so they just peed in it, even though the smell was rank, and would use a carrier bag to do their business once a day. Paul would then sneak outside to put it into one of the four bins in his front garden, if it was clear to do so.

  They had a purple bin for glass, a blue bin for cardboard, a brown bin for garden waste, and a green bin for everything else, but their excreta went into any bin.

  There was tears from Kyle's beautiful green eyes, and he cried, "Daddy, it's stuck again."

  "I've told you," Paul said, with exasperation in his voice. "You need to drink more water."

  "But I can't drink that water out of the bath, daddy. It tastes funny."

  Kyle was right; it did taste funny, but it was all they had. It was hard for a seven-year-old to comprehend that everything that he had taken for granted like electricity, water, etc., was now hard to come by. What Paul needed was plenty of food and water, an endless supply of medical gear, and a diesel generator to bring some power back to the house. But that was just a fantasy.

  What he and Kyle really needed was to be in a quarantined area, an army barrack, or in a farm somewhere. They were still alive, and he should have been thankful for that, but Paul was thinking of the long-term, and it didn't look promising. At least for the first few weeks when it was happening there was still power, and the TV was still working to give information and entertain Kyle and keep his mind away from the absence of his little sister and mum. But since the power had gone, life had become a little mundane and the hours dragged.

  Once the stinky situation had been taken care of, Kyle asked if he could play outside.

  "No, son." Paul shook his head. "Remember rule three?"

  Kyle never answered and went off in his room to play. Paul walked in to see him playing on the blue carpet. His blinds and red curtains were still shut and Paul laughed to himself, looking in his son's room.

  Kyle had an endless amount of toys. On the right side of his blue-painted walls was his Phineas and Ferb figures. His Batman Lego quilt hadn't been changed since the outbreak, but Paul didn't see the point if he was sleeping with him anyway, and his DS games remained as ornaments now that he couldn't charge the console. Kyle had a red basket in his room full of cuddly toys, which included, a Minion, Mike and Sully, as well as many others.

  Paul patted his son on the head and left him to it.

  He walked into Bell's room and it was also a mess.

  Sometimes Kyle would play in her room for a change, and Paul allowed this. He didn't want to keep the room as some kind of shrine, because a shrine was for the dead, and he still strongly believed that Julie and Bell were still safe...somewhere.

  Bell's room was a typical girly room for a five-year-old. She had two clothes cupboards, one more than Kyle, numerous plastic babies and prams, a massive doll's house she seldom played with, and a red basket full of cuddly toys like, Mickey Mouse, Minnie Mouse, Daisy Duck and Pluto. Fighting back the tears, he sadly looked over at the pink Hello Kitty bedspread that hadn't been slept in for weeks.

  Paul then walked over to the window to gape outside.

  He could see two of the things shambling in the middle of the road, and that was it. It was the most action he had seen for a while. He looked down at his drive and saw his Mazda, the car still on bricks. When he had taken off the wheels, he rolled them into the reception area of the house. The wheels remained sitting on top of one another, and the can of petrol sat under the stairs.

  He didn't need the car to be mobile yet, and was dreading the time when he would have to go back outside, be exposed, and put on the four wheels and re-fill the gas tank. Before, Paul was certain that eventually he would have to start using the car during the night, whilst Kyle was sleeping, to get supplies from shops, petrol stations or abandoned houses, to bring back to the house. But once Daisy was in his house, he would have a babysitter for Kyle and could now go out during the day.

  It still bothered him that, after four weeks, no help had occurred, and he had finally come to the conclusion that everyone had to fend for themselves.

  Paul took a look at Bell's blackboard in the corner of her room. On the blackboard, in white chalk, was a set of rules that Paul had written after the first week. Although Kyle struggled with some of the words to begin with, Paul had gone through it with his seven-year-old, and the little man could almost remember it by rote, because of the amount of times he had read it.

  1. Never look out of the window.

  2. Don't shout or make any other kinds of noises.

  3. Don't go outside.

  4. Don't play near doors or downstairs windows.

  5. Always do as dad says.

  6. Don't moan, because there are people worse off.

  7.

  Paul sighed when he looked at the rules, and shook his head. He never managed to complete Rule no. 7.

  What kind of life was this for a little boy?

  He looked at his watch. It was time to go and see Daisy and Jody from next door, but what was he going to say to Kyle? He needed to leave the house, but make sure he didn't realise that his dad was away.

  Paul walked into his son's bedroom and peered in. "I'm going to the toilet, son."

  "Okay, daddy," he spoke without looking up.

  "Don't leave this room."

  "I won't."

  Paul went into Bell's room. The hatch for the attic was in his daughter's bedroom, and he grabbed the metal pole to unlock it. The hatch swung open and he pulled down the ladders. He took a look to his right, staring at Kyle's room, guilty for leaving him for a second time. He had promised Daisy and Lisa he would get them out of the house that was infested with those things, her own husband and youngest daughter, and couldn't back down now. His conscience wouldn't allow it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  As the pick-up truck headed for the brow of the hill, Harry Beresford turned around to see the HGV reversing back to its original position. Once the barrier to the camp was back to normal he turned a
round and began peering at his companions, Harry Branston and Sharon Bailey, and then to the scary driver, Vincent Kindl.

  Although he was sure that this was going to be a run-of-the-mill trip to check a place out, he was told that the dead would be out there and had heard plenty of stories about basic trips turning into nightmares. Harry Beresford knew that in order to survive through the winter this potential food in this hangar could be a life-saver, but he couldn't help feeling nervous. He was in good hands though.

  He took another peek at the body language of his companions and could see that not one individual looked edgy. This was normal for them. This was just another day. He had spent most of his time hiding in the house until the dead eventually crashed through the place in their numbers, taking the rest of his family away from him.

  He thought about them all and wanted to cry. But what would that look like? Breaking down while sitting in the pick-up truck could get him kicked off the camp.

  He needed to man-up!

  He saw what happened to Ollie, and knew that being scared to do anything would result in a death he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy.

  As soon as the truck had advanced half a mile from the camp, Harry could see Trevor sitting in his car, this time he was awake, and Vince peeped the horn and waved at him. Trevor just glared as they went past.

  As they went through Armitage, passing the infamous Armitage Shanks establishment on their left, the truck hit a dip and they went by another small place before all they could see was fields and roads.

  Another ten minutes and they'd be at the hangar.

  The truck turned left and young Harry couldn't believe how empty the roads were—not just with other moving vehicles, but with abandoned cars and dead bodies. He was expecting more carnage than this.

  As soon as the pick-up truck turned right into another country lane, two collided-cars were seen up ahead. The way they were positioned made Harry assume that it was an accident. One car was going one way, and the other vehicle was going another. The country roads were bendy, and even in the old world collisions happened on this notorious lane.

  "Can we get through?" asked Pickle.

  Sighed Vince, "I could probably squeeze through, but it'll scratch and dent the truck."

  The two cars were stretched across the road, and allowed just a four-foot gap in the middle for anything to get through.

  "Just give it a slow nudge," urged Shaz, knowing that Vince wanted to try a different method.

  "Nah, fuck it." Vince braked, pulled up his handbrake and turned off the engine. The truck was parked ten yards away from the collided vehicles, and it was clear all around them.

  There was no sign of the dead.

  To their left and right was miles of farmland with very little trees, so they could all see for quite a distance. Up ahead was the windy road that would eventually bring them to the hangar in Fradley that used to be a company called Fradley's Food Products.

  Vince stepped out of the vehicle, and the other three followed suit.

  "Be careful, Vince," Pickle called out, following behind with Shaz and Harry catching up. "If there's anything inside, don't do anything daft."

  Vince turned to Pickle, wearing a big smile. "I have done this before, Pickle."

  The first car that they came to was a green Subaru. Inside, was a dead couple, male and female, both were reanimated and were writhing manically in their seats now that they had seen Vince. Both creatures were badly decomposed, and Vince guessed that they could have been sitting there since the first week.

  He then walked over to the other car, a black Punto. There was nobody in it, and no keys were left dangling from the ignition. The situation confused Vince, but he had other things on his mind than trying to work out what had happened after these cars had crashed into one another. The empty car had an inclining embankment behind it, so moving this car backwards wasn't an option. There was nowhere for it to go.

  "We're gonna have to take the handbrake off that car," Vince pointed at the vehicle where the dead were, "in order to push it back so we can get through."

  Pickle nodded and walked over to the passenger side. "I'll get the passenger, and yer get the driver?"

  "No." Vince shook his head and added, "Let Harry sort them out."

  Harry gulped and froze for a minute.

  "Well, we're waiting." Vince glared at the youngster, urging him to hurry up.

  The seventeen-year-old strolled towards Vince, scratching his dark hair with his left hand and his knife being held in his right hand.

  Vince took a step back and waited for Harry Beresford to do his thing. Harry opened the driver's side, and jumped when the creature snarled and tried to grab him.

  "When you're ready," said Vince, impatiently.

  Vince could see Harry's hand shaking and didn't believe that he had killed many of these things. Some...maybe, but not enough to desensitise the young man to the violence.

  Harry pulled his right arm back, and winced when his eyes clocked the state of the thing's face. They were both showing off some skeletal features, and Harry never hesitated for a second more. He drove the knife hard, straight into the left eye of the creature. It predictably ceased its movement, and a disgusting squelching noise was heard as Harry pulled the blade out of the mutilated eyeball.

  He gulped hard again, feeling the funny sensation in his stomach, and walked around the front of the car and reached the opened passenger door. He took a look at the poor thing that was once a female. It was dressed in a yellow summer dress—saturated in blood, of course. She still had her flip-flops on her now rotten feet, and her hair was matted in blood.

  Harry grabbed her by the hair and rammed his blade into her ear. He needed a bit more strength to remove the blade this time, but as soon as he did he turned around to throw up on the floor. An awful splat hit the tarmac at the side of the road, and Shaz quickly took a step backwards to avoid any splash-back. As soon as he was finished, young Harry apologised.

  "That's okay." Shaz was the first to comfort the distressed boy. "You get used to it. It takes a while, but you do get used to it."

  "You listen to your aunty Shaz," Vince said with derision. "Shaz and Karen are unlike most women. Most women that I've come across are a bit like golf. If they're not holding my wood, they should be holding an iron."

  "And that," Shaz looked at young Harry and pointed at Vince's frame, "is why Vince has always been single."

  "Not always. Anyway, young man." Vince queried with a smirk, "You need a cuddle?"

  Harry Beresford looked at Vince with a strange look, screwing his face in thought. "Er..."

  "I'm joking, fuckwit." Vince began to laugh, but his humour was lost on everybody else. "Now let's get the car moving before the boy here wants me to rub his belly."

  "Give him a break, Vince." Pickle chipped in.

  "Vince?" young Harry spoke up. "Do you think it's worth our time siphoning the cars?"

  Vince snapped his fingers and pointed at the young man. "Now you're thinking, Henry."

  "It's Harry."

  "Whatever."

  Chapter Eighteen

  Paul Dickson climbed up the ladders, hammer in his belt, and was now in his attic.

  Like any other attic, it was used for storage and contained old toys belonging to the kids. It also had clothes, spare quilts—for whenever they had guests staying, and there was an old trunk that contained old photographs and certificates.

  He opened the high window that led out onto the roof, and climbed up with a bit of a struggle. It had been a while since Paul had been to the gym, and even when he did go, pull-ups weren't his favourite back exercise.

  He felt anxious when standing up on his roof, this was a first for him, and made the short climb to the spine of it. He placed his feet either side of the spine, for better balance, and began the slow walk to the next skylight.

  Once he had reached his destination, he crouched down and peeked through the glass with apprehension. As instructed, Daisy and L
isa had made it into their attic. Paul was sure that they weren't going to have problems anyway, as it was stated on TV that these things were not big fans of any kind of climbing, especially stairs.

  Paul could not remember from the TV if the climbing theory was because it was a motor skill they couldn't remember, or it was the muscle wasting away that prevented them from doing this.

  He tapped the glass with his middle knuckle, and both Daisy and Lisa tearfully looked up. Daisy was the only one producing a smile when Paul revealed his full face.

  She reached up and opened the skylight. Paul asked if they were both okay, but he could clearly see, especially from Lisa's face, that they were far from okay.

  "Any problems?" asked Paul.

  Daisy shook her head. Paul took pity on them both. They were mother and daughter, and looked like one another. Their hair was cut into a bob, and the grease in their locks almost made their hair look black.

  Daisy produced a bag and handed it to Paul. Paul looked perplexed. "Just clothes and stuff, " Daisy explained. "We haven't eaten in days."

  "How did you get food in the first place, with them downstairs?"

  "Didn't I already tell you?" She huffed, "We already emptied the cupboard when the outbreak was first announced. Robert got bit when he went to the shops, and then he attacked Jody once he woke up." She then started crying.

  "Wow," said Paul. "That must have been difficult."

  "Are you sure about this? We don't want to be a burden."

  "We don't have much food ourselves, but we still have water in the bath. And the company of Lisa would be good for Kyle." Paul lowered his head with sadness. "He asks for Jody all the time."

  Young Lisa spoke at last, "Daddy and Jody have turned into monsters."

  "They're just sick." Daisy tried to correct her daughter.

  He lifted nine-year-old Lisa up, and she was a lot heavier than she looked. He then turned to Daisy and knew this was going to be a struggle. Thanks to two turns at childbirth, she was a little rotund than the average woman, but she piled boxes on top of one another to make the climb easier. It worked.