Snatchers 2: The Dead Don't Sleep Read online

  A succession of desperate hands reached for Bonser while he weaved in and out, as he sprinted his heart out. He found that, for a second, his feet were off the ground. He had slipped over onto his back and hit the ground with a thump as he fell over, and quickly got to his feet to see that they swarmed round him in their dozens, like flies round shit. He let out a small shriek of fright, stood back up and ran at the crowd that were preventing his progression. He never expected to get by them and growled as his body barged his way through. Cold hands grabbed him and scratched his clothes and grabbed at his neck, but he felt he could move again and saw that he had now went by the biggest danger and only had a dozen or so to bypass before he was free. But where was Kyle?

  He managed to get to the huge outside slider door and his ears were assaulted by the horrific screams of Kyle Horan. Jason's name was called out, but he never responded and went out into the car park where he could see them coming in their dozens through the main entrance of the grounds. He looked to the right of him, and saw a Renault Clio sitting alone in the car park. Jason ran towards the car and smashed the passenger side with his elbow. He jumped in and sat in the driver's side. Luckily, because it was daylight, he could see what he was doing. It took him a minute to hotwire the car—it wasn't his primary skill—and noticed that his disturbance had created a few of them to head his way. He thrashed the car and sped out of the car park. Body after body banged and bounced off the front of the car; one of them rolled across the front and splintered the glass of the windscreen. Some arms tried to reach in through the passenger side that was now exposed, but the speed of the car prevented any bodies from getting inside the vehicle.

  As the Clio whined its way through the bendy, country roads, Jason Bonser felt he could breathe again. The beings seemed to have come from over the hill to the left of the prison where the village of Garsden was situated. Once the coast seemed clear, he pulled the car up into the side of the road and tried to gather his thoughts. He looked around the sun-basked hills and threw his head back. His mind briefly went back to Kyle.

  Fuck him. Rather him than me.

  He smacked his dry lips together, and began checking the car. He started looking inside the car, from the glove compartment to behind his seat. Apart from the car manual, a Stone Roses CD and a box of tampax, there was nothing in the car that could wet his lips or fill his stomach. There was a phone, but it was completely flat. He got out of the car and checked the front. The bonnet of the car had taken significant amounts of dents to its bodywork, so much so that Jason struggled to pop the bonnet open. He walked to the boot of the car and opened it. There was nothing, apart from a waterproof jacket. He lifted underneath and came across the spare tyre as well as a tyre iron. He took the tyre iron, slammed the boot shut and returned back to his seat. He shut the door, drove away, and as the engine purred he looked at the fuel gauge and shook his head.

  Only a quarter tank left!

  He drove away in hope that he would come across a garage or a shop that had food and water. A garage would be better, he thought. Fuel was a necessity, providing the electrics were still working, as the car was going to be struggling soon. His drive lasted another two minutes before he experienced his second sighting of the creatures. This time he wasn't alarmed; there was only three of them stumbling in the road. It was nothing compared to the experience of escaping the prison, and since that incident, as well as losing his friend, the sighting of three of them, especially now he was in a car, didn't do much to elevate his heart rate.

  Chapter Eight

  He stroked his dark skin, and his almost black eyes glared into the woods as three of the creatures shambled around with their backs to him. They were unaware he was present, and he was unaware where they were going. He was confident that he could kill them, but felt that it was unnecessary and a waste of time and energy. He had a heavy bag, and had been in three abandoned houses and couldn't possibly put another object into his rucksack. He went past the three souls by crouching down and walked at a snail's pace through the long blades of grass. Once he was out of view, thanks to the condensed trees, he stood upright again, and stretched his aching back.

  He knew that his journey would have been a lot less time consuming if he had taken the car, but he told the group that he preferred to go out on foot, preferably alone, and that they needed to save on petrol as much as they could.

  Paul Parker was like most survivors; he had lost people he loved. But in his case, he wasn't sure that he had lost his family through death or they were simply just missing. He wondered how long it would be before he found them. Feeling sorry for himself was something he hardly did, because the distractions were everywhere—apart from nighttime—as every second he was looking over his shoulder.

  Then there was the guilt.

  On another one of his sole expeditions, the day before, he had witnessed from afar a family being carjacked by two men. It was a horrible thing to witness, but at least the family were unharmed, yet, distressed that they were now abandoned with nowhere to go. Paul walked away. He mentally wished the family all the best, but it wasn't really his problem.

  He then thought further back to that awful Sunday.

  They came into his house on the morning, as he lay in bed. He could hear his wife, Jocelyn, and two-year-old daughter, Hannah, screaming for their lives. He shot out of bed as soon as he heard the wails from his two precious girls. He quickly got dressed with the clothes from the previous day that were strewn across the floor, and by the time he got downstairs, his house had seven of the things in his living room; his girls were nowhere to be seen and he assumed that they had escaped.

  He had no idea what was going on and why these 'things' were in his establishment and his family were not. The bizarreness of the whole episode was incredible, as Paul hadn't managed to sit down and listen to the unbelievable news on what was happening in the country. At least then that would have explained what was happening.

  As soon as his presence entered his living room, he was attacked and still to this day, couldn't understand how he had managed to get away without being bit. He ran in his bare feet two streets away and knocked on the door of his friend, Sean West, who informed Paul what the radio was telling him. Not believing what he was told and wanting to go out there to look for his family, he reluctantly agreed to go somewhere safe once he was reasoned with, and they were the first people to get to the Longdon Village Hall. Sean West, and his wife, Karen, contacted friends through their mobile phone and told them their plans. Karen West knew Kerry Evans and eventually persuaded her to leave Rugeley with Thomas to get to the village hall before the outbreak escalated. Kerry asked if she could bring her mother, and when she got to Hazelslade and picked up her mother, they ventured to the Longdon hall.

  The stress of the situation took its toll, as Kerry's mother took a turn for the worse and eventually had a heart attack. She was dead by Wednesday morning and a shallow grave was made in the woods. Paul Parker, who took the role of unofficial leader—although no one seemed to object, decided that there was enough mouths to feed and no one else should join the group. This rule was bent, however, once Gary and Jack phoned the hall after Jemma had left a message at her house, which was something she did before Paul had made his announcement. As the group had been incarcerated for days, Paul agreed to let them join, as their experience with the creatures and knowledge of places that were safe to go, could be priceless and be beneficial for the group, plus, they provided extra muscle and wheels.

  With Jack being the father of Thomas, and Gary being the boyfriend of Jemma, it'd be fair to say that if Paul Parker had protested their presence instead, his request would have been ignored anyway. Kerry was distraught after losing her mother, Clare Evans, and Jack and Gary had arrived just hours after her private burial in the woods. Kerry and Thomas needed a shoulder to cry on, and Jack's presence had been perfect timing for the woman that had lost her mother, and the little boy who had seen his Grandma drop to the ground in a heap.


  Paul Parker hadn't cried at all since the disappearance of his family, and the reason for that was that he was certain they were still alive. Where? He didn't know. But he knew they were alive; he could feel they were alive.

  He used the sole expeditions to go out to get food as a way to also look out for his family. He knew it was like finding a needle in a haystack, but he couldn't just sit on his arse and wait for them to turn up. For all he knew they could be miles away, in the next village or even just a few streets away. He wasn't sure that he was the last Parker from his family to be left standing. His wife and daughter were missing, his brother had been killed three years ago in a car accident, and his mother and father were elderly, and if they hadn't died by those things already, they would have died by now from dehydration or starvation.

  His parents relied on Paul once a fortnight to bring in the shopping, as the two of them were practically bed bound. His wife wanted him to put them in an elderly home, but the two of them wouldn't have it, which his wife thought was selfish at the time, considering her husband had a job, a family, and was also running around doing errands for his elderly parents, as well as cleaning their house once a week.

  Paul Parker had now eventually got onto the main road and welcomed the hard tarmac, as walking through the long grass was tiring and was sapping his valuable energy supplies. He took a pointless peep behind him to make sure it was safe. He knew it was safe, as it was a huge, wide-open road and he could see to the left and right of him if there was anything untoward coming at him from the trees, as the woods weren't as condensed at the side of the road. He huffed, as the weight of the bag on his back was beginning to slow him down and weaken his wobbly legs. His body walked around one last bend and he smiled, as he knew he was only a mile away from the village hall and couldn't wait for a big bowl of soup.

  He pulled his head back and allowed his face to take in some of the sun's rays. He continued to walk with a spring in his step, now that he could see the hall from a distance.

  He then sighed.

  It was a melancholy sigh, a sigh that was released once a short film was projected in his mind. The short film was a realistic film, but was depressing, nevertheless. Paul was certain that if ever those things turned up in their dozens, let alone hundreds, he feared for the camp. Most of the people in there were not fighters, two of them were just children. It would be a massacre, he thought.

  If they attacked from the front, it'd be near impossible to escape and run across the road to where the cars were parked, meaning their only escape route—provided they weren't surrounded—would be through the back where they had their meals and into the woods, into the unknown, and most probably, into an area where their inevitable death would be.

  Sure, right now, although the camp were still on edge as they had no idea what the hell was going on and with no signals from the their mobile phones, no TV, etc, there was still a satisfied feeling amongst them that at least they were still alive and still had food to consume.

  But for how long? Paul thought.

  Chapter Nine

  They had both decided to take a look in the attic, as they weren't sure what they were going to find, if they were going to find anything. There was a chance that there could be nothing there, but Karen knew that if Pickle wanted the sleep his body craved, they were never going to rest, not until every square inch of the house was investigated. Even though Pickle had already been upstairs and checked the bedrooms, he and Karen slowly and hesitantly walked to the landing and double-checked the rooms once again.

  After checking, they closed all the doors tightly shut. They both looked up to the attic that was situated on the landing. There was a hook on the trap door of the attic. It was unhooked, which suggested to the two squatters that someone or something was up there. Pickle took his shotgun and gave the door a quick, sharp nudge, which allowed the door to open and swing out like a pendulum, and revealed a dark square hole in the roof.

  "Let's see if anything comes out o' there first," he suggested. They waited a few uncomfortable seconds and then he shouted up to the attic. "Hello!"

  "Hello!" This time Karen called out. "Is there anyone up there? We mean you no harm. Come out."

  They both waited patiently and stared into the black square hole waiting for something to happen, but it never came. They both gaped at each other, unsure about the next move, although the next move seemed obvious: One of them was going to have to go up and check it out.

  Pickle had a look of defeat and his facial expression made Karen aware that he should be first to go up to see if the area was safe. She had no qualms about going up herself, but she didn't want to impose on Pickle's masculinity.

  Karen clasped her hands together, with her palms facing up in order to give Pickle a bunk up. He carefully stood his shotgun against the wall near the bathroom, and placed his right boot into Karen's hands, and lifted himself up, grabbed the outside of the hatch and pulled himself up quite easily. He had a muscular heavy frame to lift, but Pickle's favourite exercise at the prison's gym were pull-ups, so this action was a simple thing to execute, although he was a little out of practice and had no time to do a warm up. Karen thought that her hands were going to snap in half once Pickle's weight could be felt, but it only lasted a mere second before he pulled himself up.

  Once he was up, he cursed aloud that he had no torch with him, as all he could see all around him in the attic was blackness. He ran his fingers through his short, brown, greasy hair and tried his utmost to scan the dusky area with his naked eyes. It was night vision goggles he needed.

  "Wait," Karen instructed, and saw two light switches by the bathroom door. She tried the first one, which lit up the bathroom. She then tried the second, which lit up the attic. She looked up and saw the black square fill full of yellow light and stood at the bottom, waiting for Pickle to tell her that it was clear and then they could continue to relax, eat, drink, and eventually try and get a decent sleep once the evening arrived.

  "Cheers," Pickle shouted down. "Just gonna have a wee look around."

  He looked around and wasn't prepared for what he was about to see next.

  Despite the attic being a normal unkempt attic, with boxes of books along with other useless accessories in the corner of the attic, there was a scene that forced his throat to swell, making it near impossible for him to produce a necessary gulp.

  He continued to glare.

  Two girls, no older than ten, were lying motionless on their backs as if they were just sleeping, but Pickle knew they were dead. They lay next to one another and were separated by two yards from the bodies of their parents. The woman, who looked like she used to be very attractive, lay on her side with a dark circular bloodstain that soaked through her white blouse at the side of her chest. The man's state was even worse. He was huddled and curled up like a hedgehog; his arms were saturated with blood, and Pickle worked out within a second what had happened when he saw the heavily stained knife lying by the man's side.

  In his cell, a few months ago, he watched a nature programme on corn snakes. One particular corn snake had entered a lair belonging to a mouse, and instead of allowing its babies to be lunch for the snake, the mouse turned against its babies and ate them for itself. It was a strange situation and Pickle always remembered it.

  It appeared that the dad had done the same.

  Instead of subjecting his family to a new and more grisly world, he and his wife seemed to have come to a horrific and sad agreement that maybe they were better off away from the new world. There was no sign of blood on the girls, so all he could think of was that they had taken pills or had been smothered. There were no sign of pill bottles, but there was a cushion that could have been used to smother the girls, lying by the side of them. God knows what the surviving girl was thinking when her father, or mother, was smothering her sister, knowing that she was next. Had her parents gone mad?

  The used knife by the father's side was the reason why the wife had a large round blood stai
n on her white blouse. After killing the girls, the distraught parents probably, at the time, knew that there was no going back now. Pickle assumed that he must have stabbed his own wife through the heart and the distraught father then slashed his own wrists, waiting for the life to drain out of him and eventually be with his family that were waiting for him on the other side.

  Pickle knew these scenes were probably in every other street, but seeing it was still a horrible experience. He then remembered the other bedroom that had the Robert Pattison poster. He thought to himself that it must have belonged to a teenage daughter that had either gone out for the night, or had left temporarily to go to university. Whatever the reason, she wasn't there. He peered over the hatch and glared at Karen. "We should sleep okay tonight."

  "No one up there?"

  "A family. But they're dead."

  Karen never asked him the details, and just lowered her head with sadness. Pickle had seen enough, and sat at the edge of the hatch, with his legs swinging freely and jumped back onto the landing.

  "Let's put the hatch back," he spoke. "We'll leave the poor wee souls in peace, for now."

  Pickle winced and began to rub his temples; he tried to shake off whatever was causing him discomfort, but it was to no avail.

  "Anything wrong?" Karen placed her hand comfortingly on his shoulder; she tried to make eye contact, but his eyes were closed and his hand tried to rub away the pain.

  "Apart from the end o' the world?" he chuckled falsely. "It's nothing. Just a niggling migraine. Dehydration, maybe."

  Karen lowered her head, looked up to the hatch of the attic and stared at her male companion. "Do you think it's global?"

  Pickle shook his head. "I only know what you know. But if it's not, where's the help?" Pickle sighed. "Right, I'm gonna have that bath. It'll probably be my last before I have to start using that brook."