He placed his face against the glass of the door and peered in.
Like him, they had decided not to barricade the main doors. They had probably come to the same conclusion as Paul: If they can get in through thick glass and a solid door, a couple of tables and cupboards were hardly going to keep them at bay.
He saw a small, dark lump in the corner of the kitchen and couldn't make it out. He stared longer and said, "Surely not." It looked like the carcass of a small animal. Millie?
His heart then began hitting his chest. He gasped, and saw the silhouette of a child walking into the kitchen. Tears left his eyes, and he placed his hand over his mouth to quash his sobbing. He wanted to move away, but his eyes were magnetically attracted to the macabre scene that was unfolding.
He took a step back and crouched down.
The little girl stumbled towards the door and placed her face against it, only inches away from Paul's body. It was Jody, Kyle's friend and schoolmate.
Although it was a dusky, early morning, he could see that she had turned, and the blood down her T-shirt suggested that she had fed, on a family member perhaps.
Maybe Millie.
Suddenly, Paul's stomach had decided to empty what little contents it had left, and he threw up at the side of the house.
Once he had managed to compose himself, little Jody then made Paul jump when the palms of her hands slammed against the glass of the door; she was aching to get out.
Paranoid that she could break through the glass, he had decided to go back. He had stopped in his tracks once he heard a window open and a voice coming from above him. It was Daisy, the next door neighbour.
"Paul," she whispered into the night.
Paul looked up. "Daisy? What's happening? You okay?"
She shook her head.
"Where's Robert?"
"It's that virus thing," she sobbed.
"Tell me what happened."
She began, "On the Sunday, the day we found out about it, Robert had come back from the shops and had been bitten by someone. He drove back and fell asleep on the couch. I knew there was something wrong, so I rung the emergency services, but they were constantly engaged. Then he attacked Jody and I left him in the living room, and all three of us went upstairs. I watched the news on the kids' television. Jody then fell asleep, and I realised I had lost my little girl. Me and Lisa picked her up and put her on the landing while she had slipped into a coma."
"I've just seen her in the kitchen."
"She must have tumbled down the stairs to the ground floor once she became..." She couldn't finish her sentence.
"What about food?"
She shook her head, still in tears. "We moved everything up weeks ago once we locked...Robert, that thing, in the living room. He's managed to get out though, as we can hear him walking about and...moaning. We haven't eaten for three days. We haven't drank, and we've been going to the toilet in the corner of the room. Can you get us out? Can we come to yours?"
"Of course," was Paul's response, but he had no idea how to move them without being in contact with her now defunct husband and younger daughter. If he could get them out, Paul selfishly thought that his plan to get more food would have to take place very soon. It appeared that his visit to next door had now backfired a little. If Daisy and her other daughter went to his house, he would now have four mouths to feed. On the plus side, it meant he had a babysitter for Kyle for his trip to the gym.
"So there's no food at all in your house?" asked Paul.
She shook her head, sadness on her features.
"Is Lisa okay?"
She nodded. "She's just here."
Paul placed his hands on his hips and released a breath out, lost in thought. "Is there any way you can get out downstairs?"
She cried, a little too loud for Paul's liking, "I don't know where Robert or Jody could be lurking about. We're too frightened anyway; Lisa's refusing to leave."
"Jody's right here," Paul pointed at the door, the little ghoul still had its face pressed up against the blood-smeared glass. "Okay. I'll try and get to you through the attic." This was the last thing Paul wanted to do.
"But Lisa won't leave the room—"
"She's gonna have to. I need to go, I've left Kyle on his own."
"His own?" she quizzed. "Where's Julie"
"The shops."
"The shops?"
"About a month ago. She went with Bell. Haven't heard from them since."
She sobbed, "Oh God, Paul. I'm so sorry."
Going back to the original subject, Paul said, "Look. I'll come to your attic at 8am, when it's daylight, so it's safer and you've both had rest. I'll come across my roof to get the both of you." It was all Paul could think of. He, for a moment, contemplated breaking through the ground floor, but if he somehow got bit by Robert or Jody, Kyle would be left all alone, and that was not going to happen. His son was his number one priority—his only priority, and he was sure that he would, in due course, be reunited with Julie and Bell.
"I'll see you in a few hours." Paul got ready to leave. "I'm going to check on Sandra and Harry. Hopefully they can give me a little food for Kyle."
"Okay," Daisy whispered. "Try and get something for Lisa."
Paul looked up at the brown-haired, rotund woman. "I'll see you soon."
As Daisy shut the bedroom window, Paul jumped back over the fence and landed in his own garden. His neighbours on the other side, Sandra and Harry, were next.
Chapter Eleven
As soon as Harry Branston shot out of bed, he knew right away where he was and what world he was living in. He rubbed his eyes and gazed around the dusky room.
He swung his legs around and prepared to get out of bed. He guessed that it was early in the morning and very much needed more sleep, but first he needed to empty his bladder. Or as KP used to put it: Drain the main vein.
As soon as Pickle had urinated he staggered back to his bed, half-asleep, and sat back down. He stretched as he lay on top of it, and his mind began to wander about what he had experienced over the last four weeks or so.
Some days he would forget about certain incidents that had occurred, and other days it would come back to him when he least expected it. He sighed and knew, now he had got up to go to the toilet, he was going to be awake for a while. His mind went back to his days of when he was a dealer and the scrapes he had to go through to climb the ladder. The trouble was that the bigger Pickle became, the more of a target he was for competitors as well as the police.
Once he was arrested and sentenced, another new life emerged for Harry Branston. The prison system and routine became familiar to him, and it didn't take long for him to get settled, and find that there was also a way to make money on the outside from the wing.
In his first month Pickle had to make friends very fast. Being inside meant that he had lost all his muscle that he used to have on the outside, and needed extra guys so he could continue to run his business.
Pickle smiled when he remembered some of the names that used to be a part of his crew. Some inmates would come and go because of the length of their sentence. Some of the names that used to hang around with Pickle were James Jeffrey, Bentley Drummle, Stephen Rowley and KP.
Although they had all become Pickle's new associates, their backgrounds were a lot different to his. Stephen Rowley and KP were both inside for physically assaulting people, James Jeffrey used to hold up shops, whereas Bentley Drummle was a pillar of the community until he was ordered to pull over by a traffic cop. Bentley had been driving with a faulty brake light, and when the officer wanted to have a 'look around' the car, Bentley floored it and a chase happened. Once the inevitable happened and Bentley gave up, the police found machetes and a shotgun in the boot of his car.
In court he told the jury that he had no plan to participate in illegal activities, and that the weapons had just been purchased and were a part of his plan to survive a possible apocalypse. He was charged and sentenced to two years. When he was put away the in
mates used to wind him up, but Bentley was adamant that there was a strong possibility that the world could be in the shit in a few years' time. He never went into great detail, but it appeared that Bentley had been right all along.
"Shit. I bet he's still alive."
Although Bentley had left two years before the apocalypse was announced, Janine Perry and Jamie Thomson unlocked the cell doors to the houseblock and gave the inmates a chance of survival. Pickle still often thought about him. Pickle knew that he had a partner waiting for him on the outside and that he was thinking about setting up a camp in the woods. At the time he thought he was mental, but funny all the same. "Fuck, Bentley." Pickle shook his head and began to cackle. "Yer were right all along."
How did Bentley see this coming and Pickle didn't? Did Bentley see this impending, or was he truly insane and the whole apocalypse was a massive coincidence? Pickle had no idea, but he was sure that he was alive as he would be better prepared than anyone for what had officially happened on June 9th. Bentley, or Prepper—as some inmates used to call him, would have been a fantastic addition to the camp, and Pickle mentally wished him all the best.
He then thought about all the names he had come into contact with and had lost. Some were dead, but wasn't sure about the others.
His mind went back to the horrific death of Conor Snodgrass, and having to kill Laz at Stile Cop after finding out he had been bit at the supermarket. Then there was the awful moment where Davina Pointer had been bit and was shot by KP, forcing her husband, David, and their daughter to leave the 'cursed' place of Stile Cop. He thought of other names he had come into contact with and now was no more: Jason Bonser, Jade Greatrix, young Oliver, Kerry Evans and her son, Tommy Burns, and, of course, Jack Slade. He wasn't sure about Paul Parker.
Feeling emotional, Pickle closed his eyes and whispered a prayer. "Lord, at the moment nothing seems to be able to help the loss I feel. My heart is broken and my spirit mourns. All I know is that Your grace is sufficient. This day, this hour. Moment by moment I choose to lean on You. For when I am at my weakest Your strength is strongest. I pour out my grief to You and praise You that on one glorious day, when all suffering is extinguished and love has conquered, we shall walk together again."
Chapter Twelve
Paul Dickson looked at his Citizen watch, and could see the illuminated face telling him he had been outside for ten minutes. He promised himself that he wouldn't leave his boy alone for more than half an hour.
Easily getting over the four-foot wooden fence, he entered Sandra and Harry's garden and went for the main door. Unlike his and his other neighbours, Sandra and Harry only had a side-door to the house, and the trouble with the side-door was that a person could be seen from the main street if an individual was to walk by.
Sandra and Harry were the kind of neighbours that Paul never spoke to, but Julie would, just to be sociable. Julie and Sandra's relationship had soured somewhat when they had the black Labrador, Bouncer. Sandra was infatuated with the puppy, and if the dog was left outside on its own for a brief while, Sandra would sneak out of her house with a packet of custard creams and feed them to the dog. The custard creams made the dog sick, and although she had been politely warned not to feed the pet with anything, as it was Paul and Julie that had to clear up the vomit afterwards, she never adhered to their polite request.
After eight months the Dickson's couldn't cope with the dog's chewing and looking after two kids, so it was sold. Paul told Sandra that it was sold to a nice Korean family, and after purchasing a cat two months later—they already had a male cat called Beckham—Paul told Julie: no more pets. The kitten was named Azrael, and lasted a month in the house before it was given to Robert and Daisy as she had infested Kyle's bedroom with fleas, and the poor soul had flea bites on his back for weeks before the room was finally fumigated by Rentokill.
Paranoid that he would be spotted by one of those things, although the street looked barren, he approached the side-door and knocked it.
There was no answer after the third knock, so Paul went round the back again, picked up some gravel and threw it at the bedroom window.
Nothing.
He tried again; but there was still no response. Maybe they've left. Even better, especially if they left without clearing their cupboards, he thought.
He was in a quandary now. He had twenty minutes left before going back to Kyle. He looked at the house and cursed himself for being such a coward. He peered over at his bedroom window, where his son was sound asleep, and shook his head.
Pretty soon, you and your son are going to be starving, and you're hesitating to go in the house. Seriously?
It would have been better and safer to do this through the day, but Kyle would become hysterical and wouldn't leave his daddy's side.
Maybe I could go during the day and put Kyle on the shed roof while I go in.
Paul shook his head at himself. For fuck's sake, Paul, man-up! Just go in!
He pulled out his hammer, then looked at his watch. He had been out of his house for twelve minutes.
He went back to the side-door and opened their letterbox and said, "Sandra, I'm seeing if you're okay, but more importantly, I was wondering if you have any food, biscuits, crisps...anything to keep Kyle going for another day or so." He waited for a few seconds, and with a little irritation inside of him because of the lack of response, he added, "Come down in two minutes, or I'm coming in."
He knew that sentence would put the fear of God into anyone. Threatening to break into somebody's house while this was occurring would entice anyone from their hiding place, even a couple in their sixties like Sandra and Harry.
But what if they're asleep? He thought.
Who's had a decent night's sleep since this shit began to happen? Not many. If they're in, they're awake, which means they can hear me.
"One more minute," Paul called up in a loud enough voice, "and I'm smashing the window in."
What if they'd left weeks ago?
There were frosted glass panels on the front door. Paul knew it'd be a simple matter of smashing the panel with his elbow or hammer, then putting his arm in and opening the door from the inside.
He could never understand why people would have this type of door; it was a burglar's dream. With the electricity away, he had no reason to fear the burglar alarm that had been fitted months ago. He did hesitate, however, as if it did go off for whatever reason, if there was a battery placed in the system, it'd be like ringing the dinner bell for the dead. They would be swarming around the area within minutes, which would put his own house, and more importantly, Kyle, under threat.
Swallowing his hesitancy, he took a peep around the area of his street that he could see, and smashed the glass panel through with the claw hammer. He felt through the panel and unlocked the door and took the chain off. The door swung open, and he never hesitated to go inside. As soon as he shut the door behind him, he began to shake.
He looked at his watch, the face illuminated green. He had ten minutes.
The house was unsurprisingly covered in darkness, but wasn't too hard to get around as the layout was similar to his own. Holding his hammer, he went into the living room.
Nothing.
It was clear and tidy as if the owners had had a clean up—unless it was always like that. He then went into the kitchen, and could just about see that there were no dishes lying around, not even a plate or a teaspoon could be seen. He decided that he wanted to check the whole house before emptying any cupboards. The ground floor was immaculate, and now Paul Dickson climbed the stairs with hesitance in his feet, taking a few seconds to go up each step.
When he finally reached the landing, he blew out a long breath as if he had been holding it all the way up the stairs. There appeared to be three doors, all closed, and he guessed that two were bedrooms and the other was a bathroom.
He walked up to the door that was closest to him and placed his ear against it.
He could hear nothing.
He
took hold of the handle with his left hand, gripping the hammer with his right, and flung it open. It revealed what he suspected. An empty bathroom, but there was no water in the bath.
He checked the door on the left, a bedroom, and did the same routine. The results were also the same.
One door left.
When the final door opened, he was greeted by the smell of death. The stench was rancid, and he could feel himself retching. He pulled up the front of his T-shirt and put it over his nose and mouth. He walked nearer towards the bed, and could see the silhouettes of two bodies lying on top of the duvet.
He guessed that the first was Sandra, and Harry was the furthest away. The glass of water that he could only just see, sitting by the side-table, suggested that they had both taken some kind of overdose. They were lying on their backs, and holding hands.
It was a sad sight, but Paul thought that maybe that they had done the right thing. He was also convinced that they had been dead for a long time. Maybe they had even killed themselves in the first days, as their bath was never filled.
What kind of world was it going to be for Paul and Kyle, and hopefully Julie and Bell, in the future?
Although not a believer, Paul said a silent prayer for the couple, and went downstairs to see what they had to offer in their cupboards.
He began to fill his bag.
Chapter Thirteen
"For fuck's sake!" snapped Karen.
She threw the covers back and walked towards the bedroom door. In the next bed she heard Shaz moan, "What's up? Was I snoring again?"
"No," Karen huffed. "Just get back to sleep. I can't seem to be able to shut my mind off."
Karen, wearing just her pink knickers and a long white T-shirt, walked into the living room area and sat on the settee in the darkness. Shaz soon followed, wearing just a red T-shirt that just about covered the tops of her thighs.
Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) Page 31
