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

  "Good, that means there's a spacious part of the woods up ahead, let's go." Vince pointed at the defunct beast. "Anyway, I think first aid will be wasted on this thing."

  Jack quickly walked away and headed for the sound of the stream, while Vince called on him to wait up.

  Walking side-by-side they came to a spacious part of the woods, and they could just about see in the dusky area, twenty yards ahead of them, a stream. It was now clear that the reason why the woods were thinning out to almost nothing was because of the stream and there was also a dirt path up ahead.

  "I'm gonna take a risky drink," announced Jack.

  "Fuck that. I'm gonna dip these babies, though." Vince pointed to his feet. "My feet are on fire."

  Jack went over to the bank of the stream, cupped his hands, and took six quick swigs of water before Vince managed to get his sweaty socks off. His socks appeared to be reluctant to leave his soles, almost as if they were clinging for dear life.

  Vince, with no hesitancy at all, dipped his feet into the icy water and a smile emerged on his face. "Ah, shit, that's better than any blowjob. And trust me," he winked at Jack, "I've had a few."

  "That's good to know."

  Vince began to snigger and looked a bit sheepish as if he was about to tell Jack information he wasn't supposed to. "I've been seeing someone in the camp. Rosemary, you know her?"

  "Rosemary! The pensioner from number eight?" Jack tried to keep a straight face, knowing damn well that Vince meant somebody else.

  "No, you dick." Vince laughed, enjoying Jack's dead-pan wit. "The woman from number fourteen, near the water-well."

  "Oh right." Jack nodded and remembered Rosemary. She looked like she was in her forties or fifties, had no family, had very large yellow teeth, and could talk for England. He had only bumped into her on a few occasions and it took him ten minutes to get away from her. She talked about random bullshit, and for the last two days Jack would peer out from his caravan before going out, as he was keen to avoid her if he could.

  "You know which one I mean now?" Vince asked.

  "Yeah. Is that the one that can eat an apple through a tennis racket?"

  "Mock away, but I tell you what, Jack." Vince threw his head back, enjoying his temperature plummeting. "I actually prefer a blowie than the actual sex with Rosemary. You know why?"

  Jack shrugged. "Because it shuts her up for ten minutes?"

  Vince doubled-over with hilarity. "No."

  "It doesn't? You mean she talks with her mouth full. That's gotta be sore."

  "No..."

  Vince never finished the sentence that he started, and Jack knew exactly why. They could both hear it. Vince quickly took his feet out of the stream, and Jack waited for him to put his socks and shoes back on before going over to where they could both hear the sounds.

  They could hear familiar groaning from more than one Rotter. The bizarre thing was that they could see clearly around the thinned-out area, but they couldn't see any sign of the dead.

  "Where the fuck is that coming from?" whispered Vince, clearly spooked, but Jack never answered him.

  They walked together and didn't have to go far to get to the place where the sounds were coming from. Vince and Jack could see two of the dead, in a large man-made ditch that was initially there to snare animals, and the creatures were on their fronts and trying to crawl out. Their efforts were futile and all they did was claw at dirt. Noticing two humans standing over them excited them, but wasn't enough to give them strength to get out of a hole that they were destined to be trapped in for the remainder of their miserable existence.

  Vince tapped Jack on the shoulder. "Come on, let's go."

  "Wait a minute." Jack slowly crouched down and, ignoring the smell, he squinted his eyes to get a better look at the two dead that were male and female. "Fuck," Jack murmured, but it was something that Vince heard.

  "What is it?"

  "I know these...people."

  "How?"

  Jack stood back up and tried to remember the last time he had seen these people as humans. The weeks and days dragged by so slowly that sometimes he felt like he had been living in this horrifying world for months.

  "I went to a village hall in Longdon. I found my son there. There was about thirteen...fourteen of us."

  "Like a camp?"

  "It wasn't quite like your set-up. It was just a bunch of frightened people, stuck in a hall, trying to survive." Jack pointed at the two beasts in the ditch and said, "These two were a couple. Karen and Sean West. Shame; I liked Karen, but didn't really speak to Sean much."

  "A lot of dead that we come across seem to be people you know." derided Vince. "Should I be worried?"

  "Don't exaggerate. There was only Jade." Jack was referring to when he, Claire and Vince came across a smashed pick-up truck. There was a ghoul that was loitering around the truck, and it turned out to be Jade Greatrix from the sports centre.

  "Anyway," Vince released a quick, heavy sigh, and patted Jack on the back. "There ain't a lot we can do for them now."

  "A shame I can't put them out of their misery."

  "The Sean and Karen that you used to know are dead." Vince pointed at the grisly sight of the couple. "These things are something else."

  Chapter Twelve

  He had been in his mother's house since June 10th. Once he got up from his bed in his flat, he put on his phone and TV and was bombarded with the terrible news, the macabre footage on the TV and on Facebook. After taking numerous minutes to digest the news, thirty-two-year-old Tommy Burns packed himself some clothes, some food and his weapons, then headed for the only person he cared about, the only family member he had left, his mother.

  When he first arrived at the Pear Tree Estate, he used his spare key to enter the house where he had spent all his childhood and his teen years, and was surprised, and a little concerned, that he had managed to get into the house pretty easily. His mum had made no effort to barricade the house and when he called out to her, he received no answer. His dad had been dead for twenty years, and since then she had always lived alone once her son flew the nest.

  Tommy Burns then checked every room and found his mother dead in her bed. She had taken an overdose and left Tommy a note. It simply read: Sorry, son.

  After a five-minute breakdown, Tommy put his practical head on and decided to stay at his mum's. But in order to do that he needed to bury her in the back garden, because if he had to live in the house, he needed it to be liveable with no repugnant smells.

  He contemplated on going back to his flat, but his mum was well-stocked with food and the house looked out onto Cardboard Hill, and Tommy knew that behind that hill was the woods. So if ever he ran into serious trouble, there was a place he could escape to. In such a short space of time of watching the TV he had been told that they had trouble climbing, were not the quickest, and were more dangerous in hordes, which most of them were, so the hill seemed a perfect place to head to if things became desperate.

  Tommy unpacked his bags, filled the bath and ate everything out of the fridge in the first week, because he knew that the power would go eventually. He laid out his clothes in a bedroom he used to use as a youngster, then took out his L96 sniper rifle, his Glock 17 and the six magazines.

  By day, Tommy Burns was an enforcer and worked for a big Birmingham drug baron. Most of his earlier work consisted of slashings, kneecappings and stabbings, but the boss wanted to up his game.

  It appeared that, although making a lot of money, his boss' reputation had suffered after he was ripped-off in a cocaine deal. Tommy was told to start using harder weapons or they'd find someone more experienced to do the job. The pay was excellent and Tommy Burns had nerves of steel, so the danger wasn't the problem, he just didn't want to go to jail. Going to jail would bore him to death as well as break his mother's heart, and the reason why he would rather not use guns was that guns made noises, attracted attention, made people scream, and was taken more seriously by the police than a stabbing, and it als
o attracted more media interest.

  He was eventually persuaded to continue his career, and purchased some guns.

  The L96 and the Glock had only been used when Tommy had taken them up to the woods for a practise. But it appeared now that, with the whole apocalypse snowballing, he had purchased them just at the right time. He also carried a hunters knife and, although he had never came into direct contact with these things, he was going to use the knife on any approaching ghouls, and use the Glock for more dire situations, as he knew that they were attracted to sounds. One shot from the handgun could make the ghouls on the Pear Tree Estate head in his direction, and he didn't want that. He wasn't a nutcase, he wanted to survive with as little trouble as possible.

  The sniper rifle was purchased especially for a unique job. The gun cost him a few hundred on the black market, which was seen as an investment as he had been given his biggest job to date: to take out a rival boss as he was leaving his favourite restaurant. The fee for this was 20k, an offer Tommy couldn't refuse.

  After helping a couple of people out over the weeks, including a family trying to get away in their car, the small amount of ammo for the rifle had run out and the gun was now useless, leaving Tommy with the Glock and six magazine, 102 bullets, not included what he had left in his magazine inside the gun.

  The time he had spent in the house was killing his psyche, the food was running short, and he felt vulnerable being cooped up, despite being armed. It was time for a change. He knew this day would come, and was more than ready for his new challenge. It was either that or go mad and end up swallowing lead, or starve.

  It was now into week four and Tommy Burns had packed the remaining tins, drinks and utensils in his backpack. He had emptied his bladder, and looked at his watch. It was early in the morning, but despite the time, it was reasonably light outside. He threw his bag on his back that also contained a first aid kit, a torch, food, water, medication, extra socks and shades, tucked his Glock down the front of his blue cotton trousers and walked out of the place, never looking back.

  It was 7am. He had no idea what was around any corner as he passed through the streets of the estate, but the less ammo he used, the better. The rest of his magazines were in his bag and out of paranoia, he took out the handgun, pressed the button near the trigger and released the magazine, which dropped into his other hand. He had seven bullets left. He had used ten rounds when practicing in the woods all those weeks ago, before the announcement.

  He inserted the magazine back into the gun, making sure the numbers were facing the back and not the front, then tucked it back into the front of his trousers.

  He was three streets away from the main road that was near the football field. He needed to pass that area, then once he cleared the field, he had the hill to climb and over that hill was his destination, the woods.

  In the last few days there had been too much action as far as Tommy Burns was concerned. In no means did he scare easily, but he was no adrenaline junkie either. The safer he was, the better for him.

  The hordes of ghouls that had plagued the estate still existed, but the human gangs were also beginning to cause mayhem. There had been two gangs that had raided the estate, and the last thing Tommy needed was a gun battle with these men. He may be the owner of a powerful handgun, but he was very inexperienced, and the sound of the gun could bring many a ghoul his way. If his mother's house was surrounded by these things, he'd be as good as fucked. He needed to stay low, invisible, and he only helped out the people with his L96 because it came with an attached silencer.

  Tommy entered a street and saw a man with his young son. It was week four of this catastrophe and it seemed that some people were beginning to leave their homes. Maybe they were running out of supplies, Tommy thought.

  The father was putting the wheels back onto the Ford Escort, as it looked like it had been propped upon bricks, and the son, a teenager, was pouring petrol into the car.

  Tommy nodded his head with approval at the father's thinking. It was clear that at the beginning of the outbreak, the father had siphoned his own car and had taken off the wheels so that his vehicle wouldn't be stolen or drained of gas. Now they were fleeing, and mentally, Tommy applauded the planning of the man.

  When Tommy arrived at his mum's, his car had been stolen after three days while he was sleeping. It wasn't something that upset him, as he had no plans on using the car again. He always knew that the woods would be his eventual destination and the long-term plan was to stay in the woods, maybe eventually find decent shelter, ride out the disease, and wait for the country to be back in control again. He wanted to survive, but he didn't want to feed off other people for his own survival, and breaking into other homes, and taking supplies by gunpoint off of desperate starving families never crossed his mind.

  "Get in," the father said to his son, and ushered him through the front door of their house.

  Tommy turned around to see what the man was talking about and saw two beings walking down the road. Tommy's heart rate never went too high, despite having no experience with killing these things up close, he knew this moment would eventually come. He looked behind him again to see that the father and son had gone back into the house, he had one wheel left to put on.

  Tommy calmly took out his hunters knife from the back of his trousers. Ten inches in length, he held the blade tightly in his right hand. Something caught his eye to his left and he looked up to see two young boys peering out of their window, awaiting the battle that was about to take place.

  Tommy blew out his cheeks and could now see that one was slightly quicker than the other. The one in front was a male, dressed in casual clothes, and the other was a thin female that was naked, but, oddly, had pink furry slippers on.

  Tommy rammed his knife into the front of the male; the knife penetrated inbetween the eyes, and the blade went in at an angle. The thing dropped to the floor, but Tommy had no time to pull the blade out as the naked female had already gained reasonable ground.

  Tommy swiped her legs and she fell on her back, desperately trying to get up. He took one of her arms and dragged her to the side of the road and rested its head on the kerb. He brought his foot down and stamped on the back of its head, crushing its face, but the damage wasn't enough to kill it.

  He went back over to victim number one, took out the knife and looked at the weird colour on the blade, almost black, and went back over to the naked ghoul, struggling to get to her feet. He lifted her head, her mandible hanging off, and smacked its head off of the kerb three times, finally killing it. The dark blood oozed out of its skull and began decorating a part of the kerb as well as some of the pavement.

  Tommy had found this experience rather easy and less harrowing than he thought it would be, but knew the situation could be a whole lot worse if there were a pack of them, and even more so if he became unarmed.

  He wiped his knife on the grass of someone's lawn and this time tucked it into his belt, so the small smear of blood left on the blade wouldn't touch his skin.

  He finally entered the main street and could see the concrete path that led to the football field. This street had taken the brunt of most of the violence on the Pear Tree Estate, from the dead and hooligans, and Tommy had witnessed some of it from his bedroom.

  Thanks to his sniper rifle he had managed to help out one or two of the folk, but the first week was obscene, as hordes ripped into the area before they dispersed and went through other streets. Some of the dead even got lost and went over to the field to the bottom of Cardboard Hill.

  Tommy could see the dried-in blood on the road and pavement, the burnt-out cars from an explosion that happened a few days earlier, and the burnt-out house at the end of the street. There were also scores of bodies lying in the middle of the road and thought that it wouldn't be too long before some residents would leave their homes, pile the bodies up and burn them. They couldn't stay there forever, stinking out the place.

  He entered the football field to see a ghoul com
ing towards him. Because it was July, it was light, and the creature up ahead could be seen clearly. He dreaded to think what it would be like in December, with the dark nights and the freezing cold temperatures. Let's hope they would all be dead by then, he thought.

  He looked around and knew that sound attracted these things, but apart from himself and the dead walker, there was no one else around.

  The temptation was too much for Tommy Burns.

  He took out his Glock from the front of his trousers, pulled the slide back to put a round in the chamber, and aimed at the thing as he walked towards it. It had noticed him from twenty yards, and Tommy stopped walking and patiently waited for it to get closer. His hands trembled a little when it was only five yards away, but it was more excitement than anything.

  He squeezed the trigger, pushing the next round into the chamber, and saw the beast take the bullet into its forehead and fall to the ground.

  "Piece of piss."

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was after seven in the morning, and both Karen and Pickle shot up from their sleep. At first it took Pickle a while to realise where he was. He then scanned the area that surrounded him and it came to him that he and Karen had slept on the hill, the early sun shone down on both of their faces.

  "What the fuck was that? asked Karen.

  "Yer took the words right out o' ma mouth."

  They gaped at one another and then peeked down the bottom of the hill where the twelve-foot gap was in the hedge. They waited patiently, as if they were certain that a human entity was about to appear through the hedge, and they wasn't wrong.

  Wearing blue cotton trousers, with a v-neck T-shirt and an opened black jacket, a man strolled through the hedge and never stopped or hesitated as he began heading for the pair of them.

  Karen reached for her machete, only to find she didn't have one.

  "Relax, I have mine," said Pickle. "Anyway, he might just be passing through, going to the woods."

  As the man got closer he gave them both a short wave, but both had no idea how to interpret this. Was it a wave to state: I come in peace? Just passing through? Or, was it a wave to lull them both into thinking he was friendly, when really his intention was to kill them and take the cabin?