Snatchers (Book 7): The Dead Don't Yield Read online

  Bentley glared into the passenger wing-mirror and could see that they were just yards away. "She has a point. There're more of them now."

  Lee leaned over and had a look at Bentley's side then Sheryl's. There must have been thirty at least. "Where the fuck did the others come from? From behind the other buildings?"

  Nobody could give him an answer.

  "Just do it, Sheryl." The confidence in Lee's face had drained away. "We don't have any other choice."

  Bentley opened the passenger door and, ignoring the hysterical protests coming from Lee and Sheryl, he said, "Let them get past the van before you move."

  "Get in, you idiot!" Lee screamed.

  "I'll meet you back at the camp. Don't wait for me."

  Bentley slammed the passenger door shut and ran in front of the van, then veered left towards the edge. He climbed over the small fence and stood near the edge where the drop was, waiting for them. Lee locked the doors and told Sheryl to get her head down. She switched the engine off and both of them were crouched down, making themselves as small as possible.

  They shook as the van was being pounded by the hands of the dead, and Lee, but not Sheryl, jumped as they heard the sound of gunfire. It was from Bentley's gun.

  "What the fuck is he doing?" Lee said with gritted teeth, exasperation in his voice.

  "He's distracting them," Sheryl sighed at Lee's naivety. "He's enticing them away from us, from the van, and towards him."

  Another two shots could be heard and the pounding of the van began to decrease as the seconds ticked by. Eventually the hammering had stopped and Lee looked at Sheryl. "I'm gonna see if it's safe to move."

  He slowly got up and peered out of the windscreen. There was no Bentley. He must have gone over the edge. There was still a large crowd of the dead in front of them, by the fence, near the edge, but their numbers had been reduced. Lee guessed correctly that some had tumbled over the fence and fell down the hill, chasing after Bentley.

  "I think Bentley went over the side," Lee remarked.

  "Probably for the best," said Sheryl.

  "So what do we do now?"

  "We go." Sheryl fired the ignition, making the dead in front turn around collectively.

  "We can't just leave him," Lee protested. "I know he's only been with us for a few days, but we don't abandon our own."

  "We're not abandoning him. Don't be so melodramatic." Sheryl could now see the dead shambling towards them in their dozens. She slipped the van in reverse and added, "Didn't you hear him? He said that he'd meet us back at the camp."

  "How do we know he's still alive?"

  Two shots could be heard in the distance.

  Sheryl smiled. "He's still alive."

  The van reversed back twenty yards, then Sheryl pulled it forwards and went to the exit and descended the steep lane that led to Hednesford Road.

  Three miles and they'd be back at Sandy Lane.

  *

  Bentley had lost his footing halfway down the hill and rolled the rest; eventually his momentum was stopped when his back hit a tree trunk. He released a yell of pain and was thankful that he had managed to keep a hold of his gun.

  He got to his feet and walked the remaining ten yards of the steep hill and finally was on flat land. He began strolling through the woods, and heard a noise coming from behind him.

  "Oh shit."

  Five, six...seven of the dead had tumbled over the fence and were rolling down the sharp mount. He watched in horror and shock as three quickly got to their feet once they reached the bottom, and the one in front almost galloped at Bentley. He took his time, aimed Glen and waited a few more seconds for the thing to get closer.

  His ears pricked up when he heard the van, above him, move off, and then put two in the head of the galloping ghoul. Once it dropped, he began running through the wooded area, hoping that he could make it to the camp before it became dark.

  He took a quick glance over his shoulder during his sprint, aware that if he stared any longer he could unnecessarily knock himself out by hitting a tree, and was relieved that they didn't seem as quick than the first one he had to deal with.

  The woods were beginning to thin and he eventually reached a huge patch of grass. He then came to a cabin and ran past the abandoned shack that could have belonged to a fisherman in the old world, and heard the sound of running water.

  His heart began to drop. He knew what was going to greet him. He reached the bank and in front of him was the River Trent. The flow was speedy and he could tell by looking at it that it was too deep just to walk through. He had no time to think. If he tried to swim across he would get hypothermia if he was lucky. If he was unlucky, he was going to drown. Whatever the result, Glen wasn't going to survive the crossing anyway.

  "Bollocks."

  He ran back and could see two of the dead getting near. He ran at them and put a bullet into the head of the one on the left, then put down number two. He could see in the distance another four heading his way, heading towards where they had heard the gunshot, but this didn't bother him. What bothered him was the scores of dead, above him, now breaking through the fence from the industrial estate due to their sheer body weight, and now one-by-one falling down the steep hill.

  He looked up at the horrific scene and lost count how many were making their way down. Once they were all on their feet, he knew that he'd have over twenty to take care of, but he didn't have the ammo for them. He checked his magazine.

  Four bullets left.

  He then ran over to the shack. He went inside and checked the inside of the door and could see it had a bolt on it. There was nothing else for it. He had three options: Hide in the shack, and hope that they'd go away in time. Try and run through them before they were in mass numbers. Or back to the river, jump in and lose his gun, and risk hypothermia or even drowning.

  Bentley went into the shack, shut the door, leaving him sitting in almost-darkness, and slid the bolt across, locking the wooden entrance. For added insurance he sat up against the door, resting his large muscular back against it, and waited for the inevitable.

  The first bang on the shack made him jump, then more occurred, until the whole cabin was surrounded by the dead, smacking their hands against the wood in a desperate attempt to smash the place down.

  Bentley was sure that the cabin was strong enough to sustain this kind of treatment, but he couldn't be completely relaxed. He still needed to get out eventually, and these bastards just didn't give up. They may not be able to get in, but Bentley also couldn't get out.

  Things were looking grim.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A knock on the door made Karen snap out of her sleep. Her eyes opened and she lay there, staring at the ceiling. Maybe it was her imagination. Another loud knock occurred, confirming that her imagination wasn't responsible.

  "Fuck's sake," she sighed.

  She got out of her bed, anger running through her veins, and trudged down the stairs wearing her Snoopy pyjamas that she had taken from her house a few days ago. She was halfway down the stairs and felt sick. She stopped moving and took in a few deep breaths.

  A louder and impatient knock was heard and a male voice announced, "I know you're in there."

  She knew who it was right away. It was James McDonald, or Jimmy Mac as he was sometimes known.

  She opened the door and said immediately, "Pickle isn't here. I don't know where he is."

  "I know he's not here." McDonald was in a vile mood, and saliva left his lips once he finished his short sentence. "I've come to see you and want to know what you're fucking up to."

  "What're you on about?" Karen was taken aback by his vicious tongue.

  He leaned forward threateningly, fists clenched, and yelled, "You know what I'm fucking talking about, bitch!"

  Karen remained calm and responded to his ranting. "I have no idea. You better tell me."

  "You were seen coming out of the Lea Hall building...again! What are you up to? What are you and the rest of your mo
b after?"

  Karen never answered his question, instead she asked one of her own. "Why are you so paranoid? Two months ago we were all the same people from the same town, and now you're behaving like this. You think we're a threat, and bringing thirty people from the Spode Cottage gives you guys more mouths to feed, I get that, I really do. But we've brought you cattle, the HGVs provide better security than what you had before, and you have more guards like Vince, Pickle, Simon, Geoff, and a few others to bring in more supplies. Ever heard of the term: safer in numbers?"

  "Don't fucking patronise me, you stupid cunt!" Jimmy Mac began grinding his teeth, the fury in his features was evidently increasing. "I'm keeping my eye on you lot. Lee and his fools may be suckered in by you dicks, but not me."

  "Incidentally, why don't you wait around and you can say all of this to Pickle. He should be back any minute."

  Jimmy Mac struggled to respond.

  Karen added, "Is that why you came round now? You knew he was out. Doesn't that make you a coward?"

  "I'm not scared of that prick."

  "Anyway." Karen pointed behind him. "You can tell him yourself."

  Jimmy Mac gasped, then swivelled his head to see that there was nobody behind him. He turned back round and snarled, "You think that's funny?"

  Karen snickered, "Well, yeah, actually I do. Your face was a picture."

  He lifted his foot to step inside the house that Karen and Pickle were given, but Karen placed her hand on his chest. "Don't bother."

  "Don't fucking touch me, girl." He grabbed her hand, but with her other she clasped his little finger and bent it right back. Jimmy Mac squealed out and dropped to his knees. "Let me go, you fucking bitch!"

  "What the hell's going on?" a voice called out.

  Karen released the man and could see Vince's lover, Rosemary, standing outside the garden gate, staring at the melee. Jimmy Mac staggered to his feet and took a few steps back.

  Holding his finger and wincing with pain, Jimmy Mac said, "This cow has just assaulted me, that's what."

  "For no reason?" Rosemary waited for an answer.

  "Yeah." Jimmy Mac seemed unsure.

  "And why would she do that?" Rosemary didn't believe a word that came out of James McDonald's mouth. It was no secret he hated the new people, and she had always thought that his mission was to wind some of them up so that they would do something that could threaten their stay. Was this him starting already? Maybe McDonald wanted to make trouble as soon as possible, before the people of Sandy Lane became acquainted and friends with the new people.

  James couldn't give Rosemary an answer, he just muttered expletives under his breath.

  "Karen is twenty three years old and pregnant," Rosemary began. "What kind of man sees it to be okay to pick on someone like that?"

  James was now standing, facing Rosemary from afar and still no words left his lips.

  Rosemary added, "Where's your wife?"

  "Dead," he answered coldly. "Why?"

  "What kind of man were you when your wife was alive? Was you a good father? Did you used to be a good husband? Or did you drink, ignore your kid, and beat your wife?"

  He never answered. All he could do was stand and glare at this middle-aged woman with demonic eyes.

  "That's what I thought." Rosemary smiled.

  Jimmy Mac huffed, "If I get my way, there'll be another vote. Me, Lee, Daniel, Sheryl, Luke, Gillian—everyone will hear me out and we'll have another vote."

  "You can't kick thirty of us out there."

  Laughed McDonald, "Can't I?"

  "No you can't, and it won't happen anyway." Rosemary stood firm and folded her arms and looked past McDonald to catch Karen's eye. "I actually came round to tell you that I bumped into Vince and Pickle, Karen." She looked over at Karen. "They found Helen and John Waite...dead. They'd killed themselves."

  "Fuck," muttered Karen.

  Jimmy Mac lowered his head in sadness, and mumbled, "I'm sorry to hear that."

  It appeared that the sad news had diffused the heated situation in seconds.

  Rosemary held her hand out and beckoned McDonald, "Come with me."

  He looked perplexed and asked, "What for?"

  "Have you heard stories about Karen and Pickle since they arrived?"

  "Not really." He looked back at Karen, but she had lowered her head. Although unintentional, Rosemary was embarrassing her.

  "Come on." Rosemary smiled at McDonald. "Let's walk and have a chat."

  Jimmy Mac shuffled away from Karen, who remained standing by her front door and dressed in her Snoopy pyjamas. She saw Rosemary and McDonald walk away together down Sandy Lane, and before Karen shut the door, she heard Rosemary say to Jimmy Mac. "You should really be aware of who people are before you go picking fights with them. Let me tell you about Karen and Pickle, and how they first met."

  Karen was hoping that the stories of her journey with Pickle might calm James McDonald down. Once Rosemary had told James about Stile Cop, Heath Hayes, Wolf's cabin and the Spode Cottage disaster, then maybe he would leave her alone. She had killed many of the dead, and even some people. Rosemary knew it all, and was about to reveal to James McDonald that Karen wasn't just some young girl that struck it lucky. She had had to fight week-after-week to be still breathing today.

  Karen didn't want the man to be scared of her—or Pickle, neither did she want him to be coming round and acting all nice, and she didn't wanted an apology.

  She just wanted to be left alone, in peace.

  Chapter Seventeen

  After their walk and chat, which was ruined by the discovery of John and Helen Waite's body, both Vince Kindl and Harry Branston decided to head back to their digs.

  "Well that was fun." Vince spoke with derision. "I think I'm now depressed."

  "Me too." Pickle stopped walking and gaped at the pile of bodies on the patch of grass, near the Lea Hall building. He nodded over to the pile, "That's starting to stink a bit now."

  "It does." Vince remarked, "When we first came here, when Lee was showing us round and we were on our way to Karen's old house, I never noticed it before."

  "Neither did I." Pickle appeared lost in thought. "I know you had to do something similar, back at the old camp, but there was never that many. And it was a lot further away, so the smell never really reached us."

  "Maybe you could bring it up, if it bothers you that much. I heard that they have a meeting once in a while."

  "Maybe I will." Pickle nodded. "They need to be moved. It's not healthy for the kids to see this on a daily basis."

  "I thought he was supposed to be on a watch." Vince pointed up ahead at a young Simon Benson who was strolling out of his house and appeared to be heading to the barrier.

  "Simon!" Pickle called over.

  Simon turned around and waved. "Okay?"

  "I thought yer were supposed to be on barrier watch, by the railway bridge?" Pickle yelled.

  "I am. Had to go for a crap," snickered Simon. "Anyway, lads, need to get back. There's only me and Kirk Sheen on this evening."

  "Just the two of yer? How come?"

  Simon shrugged his shoulders. "Fucked if I know. They've got four on by the Globe Island. Explain that."

  "Yer better get back then," said Pickle. "In fact, I might come with yer. Kill an hour."

  "Really?" Vince puffed out his lips. "Haven't you had enough for one day?"

  "Another hour won't kill me."

  "If that's what you want."

  Pickle left Vince and walked side-by-side with the young Simon Benson and looked over his shoulder. "Vince. Do me a favour."

  "What?"

  "Check on Karen for me, will yer? She's gone for a sleep. Gonna wake her up for me. If she sleeps any longer, she won't sleep tonight."

  "Sure thing."

  "And no pervy stuff."

  "Oh, I can't promise that," said Vince with a smile.

  Pickle then jokingly pointed at Vince, then drew his thumb across his throat, telling Vince that if anyt
hing happened to Karen he'd get his throat cut.

  Vince smiled and gave Pickle the middle finger as he walked away with Simon, then made the short walk to Karen and Pickle's house. He approached the front door. He knocked gently before going inside, went through the living room area and could see that there was nobody about. The kitchen was next to be checked, and the empty room told Vince that the ground floor was vacant and that Karen was probably still upstairs, sleeping.

  He crept upstairs and was reluctant to call out her name. Pickle told him that he should wake her because she wouldn't sleep tonight, but shouldn't pregnant women get as much rest as they could? Plus, he didn't want to give her a fright.

  Vince then heard noises in the bathroom. This told him that she was awake. He was about to call up, but he paused once he heard her sobbing.

  "Shit. What's up?" Vince then shook his head at himself. "Everything."

  He hated this kind of stuff. Didn't every man?

  He didn't want to confront Karen and see what was wrong. Her sobbing and breaking down would be just too awkward for him, especially if she needed a hug and he ended up getting an erection—something that had happened to him many years ago. He once comforted a woman after she had lost her husband to cancer. She was a work colleague and he gave her a hug during tea break, but he became aroused during the hug and both of them, especially her, were mortified and embarrassed. She left a month later.

  He turned to leave, but his conscience wouldn't let him.

  "Fuck it. I'll go in." He shook his head and pointed at his groin and whispered, "You better behave yourself."

  As soon as he reached the landing, he very slowly peered his head through the bathroom door that was left ajar, and saw Karen. She had her back to him; she was naked, sitting on the edge of the bath with her feet inside. He could see her shaking her head. What was wrong with her?

  "I'm losing it," she began to cry. "I'm really losing it."

  Her hands were resting on her thighs and once she placed her hands on the edge of the bath, Vince could see that both of them were covered in blood. She turned to the side and now Vince could see the blood running down her left thigh. He pulled his head away before she clocked him, and stood hopelessly on the landing.