"You should go back to bed." Karen yawned and stretched her arms in the air. "You've got that run. Need to keep your wits about you."
Shaz ridiculed, "You mean the short drive to Fradley and back?"
"Still..."
"Anyway, never mind that." Shaz turned so that she was facing her friend, although the darkness made it hard to see much of Karen's features, and said, "What's bothering you? Is it the baby?"
Karen never responded at first, but when she did her short answer was, "I'm still unsure."
"I'm pretty certain that you're not the only survivor that is expecting." Shaz placed her hand comfortingly on Karen's knee. "Some women are probably six...seven...eight months pregnant! You're kind of lucky."
Karen stifled a laugh when Shaz made the remark, and eventually cackled, "Lucky? How?"
"You remember what the first few weeks were like?"
"Of course." Karen scrunched her face, wondering where Sharon Bailey was going with her little story.
"Well," Shaz added, "Just think back when it all kicked off. These fucking things were everywhere. Each street was heaving before they all dispersed into the countryside, the woods—wherever the fuck they went, and the carnage was pretty brutal in the first few days."
"Of course I remember. When I returned to my street, when I decided that I needed to kill my fiancé, my street was awash with the cocksuckers."
"Imagine being heavily pregnant with all that kicking off."
Karen was lost in thought for a moment and kind of agreed with Shaz's statement. She had now found a place that gave her a better chance, than any other place she had stayed, to give her some kind of long-term comfort.
"The trouble back then..." Karen allowed her sentence to trail off and began once more. "There were hundreds of these things, but now that some, like you said, have dispersed and food and water are running out in households, it's the people that have become the enemy—"
"Not all people," Shaz laughed. "We can't think that everyone is going to kill us if we have something that they want or need."
"Look at what happened to me and Pickle and that Jason Bonser character. Then there's that ginger-haired woman and the grease monkey that we bumped into the other week. We don't even know if the Sandy Lane Camp is a friendly place either."
"But look at the positives of humans while all of this kicked off." Shaz continued, "Pickle offered me a place at the cabin, and Wolf made me feel welcome. Then Vince invited us to his set-up."
"He just wanted a bit more muscle for his camp."
"He still did it. And then Vince and Claire went back for Jack when he crashed his car." Shaz began to scratch the inside of her nose with her thumb. "Not everyone is bad."
"If we trust everyone, it'll weaken us."
Shaz smiled, and patted her friend on the knee before removing her hand. "You sound like Vince. No wonder you two don't get on, you're both quite similar."
"Please, don't compare me to that prick."
"I thought he was growing on you?"
Karen shrugged her shoulders and said, "He is, but sometimes it's not in a good way."
"He seems very concerned about your welfare."
"It's not my welfare he's concerned about, it's what's growing inside of me."
Shaz paused in contemplation, and asked, "I wonder why that is?"
"Probably sees it as another skivvy, another bit of muscle for his camp in fifteen years' time."
"That's not fair."
Karen paused for a moment before continuing, "I have no idea why he's obsessed with the baby. Maybe he has a good reason that we don't know about yet."
"Whatever his story, I think he likes you."
"Great." The one word from Karen was drenched in sarcasm, and she rose to her feet. Shaz asked where she was going. "I'm gonna try and get more sleep."
Shaz also stood, and followed Karen into the bedroom.
"I'll try not to snore," snickered Shaz.
"Please do." Karen also chortled. She was beginning to love Sharon Bailey. She reminded her of a friend/nurse she used to know before they lost contact when the day of reckoning began. "Otherwise you'll be waking up with a sore snatch."
Chapter Fourteen
He returned to the house in the time that he had set for himself, and had returned with a bag of food tins and two litre bottles of lemonade. He felt for Sandra and Harry, but breaking into the house had given him and his son a bit of time.
He then thought about Daisy and Lisa.
Poor bastards. To have a husband and your youngest daughter to become one of them and dwelling on the ground floor, must be scary as well as heartbreaking.
As soon as he entered his house and locked the patio door behind him, he pulled the roller blind down to the floor. He then went upstairs with the bag and dropped it in his room. He took his shoes off and lay next to Kyle.
The little boy was snoring gently, and Paul gave off a smile.
In the old days, Kyle being in Paul and Julie's bed by and large meant that Paul would have to go and sleep in his son's room. This usually happened if Paul was kept awake by Julie's snoring. She had problems with her sinuses and she used to drive him nuts.
Once or twice a week she would wake up to find Kyle in her bed, moved by Paul, while Paul slept in Kyle's. Then, when it was time to get up, Julie would ask, as Paul returned to the room, "Was I snoring again?" And Paul would always answer, "Like a hog with asthma."
Although very early in the morning, it was almost daylight outside on this day in July, and despite the curtains being closed, the bedroom still had sufficient light. Paul glared with a daft grin on his face, and watched as his son slept. Kyle's lips were pouting, as they normally did when he was sleeping; his freckles on his nose and the side of his cheeks added to his cuteness, as if they had been sprinkled on. His seven-year-old's eyebrows were light, unlike his dad's, and his bloated cheeks were good enough to munch on, Paul would always say.
Paul used the back of his forefinger to stroke Kyle's nearest cheek. He was so lucky to have him. It could have been a whole different story if it wasn't for medical science, but he also did wonder that, with the world they were living in now, not having Kyle or Bell would have been for the best.
Eight years back, after years of trying for a baby, Paul and Julie finally went to the hospital to see why they couldn't conceive. After months of injections to increase Julie's eggs—the more eggs, the more chance of getting pregnant—the doctors put the couple through the IUI programme, artificial insemination, and were told that they had four tries at this.
The injections had to be done at home, and Paul offered to inject Julie—he always said that it was the least he could do, considering what Julie was putting her body through—and the first time they needed to do it was a nerve-wracking experience. Julie wanted to be injected in her buttock, as she felt that that was probably the softest and best place for a needle to go, but she was fearful that Paul would hit her sciatic nerve. Once the pair of them had built up the courage to go ahead with it, Julie was bent over the bed, while Paul stood behind her with the needle shaking in his right hand. He was like Travolta in Pulp Fiction, hesitating to insert the needle into Uma Thurman, but he did it.
Unfortunately, it turned out to be a waste of time.
After four unsuccessful IUI sessions over a six-month period, the distraught couple were then put on the IVF programme, where they had two chances. The protocol was that Paul would go into a room and produce a sperm sample; then the sample would be 'cleaned' and inserted into Julie. Tests would take place; then a week or so later Julie would have to ring the department after 1pm to be told the good or bad news.
The first time was bad news and Julie didn't take it well at all, and neither did Paul. Tears were shed, and the talk of adoption was already being discussed, despite that the second attempt hadn't occurred yet. They had already given up.
After the second attempt, Paul told Julie, that whether it was good or bad news, not to ring him at wo
rk, because he didn't want to be on a high or be upset at the workplace for the rest of the afternoon.
After 1pm Paul did nothing but clock-watch at work, and the minutes were like hours. As soon as he finished and caught the bus home, he did nothing but think the worst. Once he got off the bus and walked across his road to get to his house, showered in negativity, Paul kept on saying under his breath over and over again, "It's not the end of the world."
Once he got into the house, he popped his head into the living room to see Julie sitting on the couch, crying.
Paul was almost heartbroken and was convinced it hadn't worked, and said to Julie, "Never mind."
With tears running down her face, Julie shrieked, "We're pregnant."
Julie was pregnant again, seven months after Kyle was born, and it still baffled Paul that they had tried for years for Kyle, then after Kyle was born, they conceived naturally. How did that happen?
Snapping out of his daydream of yesteryear, Paul could feel his eyes getting tired, and the adrenaline was starting to wane. He thought of the horrid image of Jody from next door, and a dead Sandra and Harry on the other side of his house.
It didn't seem real. He couldn't take in what was happening, as if he had been in shock for the last four weeks.
Paul leaned over to his boy and gave him a gentle kiss on his forehead, then ran his fingers through his hair. "My beautiful, beautiful boy."
Chapter Fifteen
"Vince," a man called out, and began to laugh. "You've got to see this."
Vince was baffled by the remark. He was near the barrier with Pickle, Shaz, Karen, and young Harry Beresford when one of the guards called after him. He wondered what was so humorous.
He climbed up at the HGV that faced the way in to Armitage, and was followed by the others, with young Harry walking in another direction, telling them that he had forgot something back at his caravan.
They all climbed on top of the HGV and the guard, that had initially called him, pointed up the road. Vince squinted his eyes and could see two Rotters. When they were human they were a male and a female, both in their seventies—maybe man and wife. They were both naked, and the sight of the naked couple in human form would have been disturbing, but this was a whole lot worse.
"Well, well, well." Vince began to laugh, but Shaz had nudged him hard in the ribs. She didn't see the funny side. "I've seen it all now."
Vince then scrunched his eyes and looked at the guard. "Wait a minute. How did they get so near? Where's our guy?"
Before the guard could speak, Karen asked, "What guy?"
Vince answered, "Since you guys arrived I've had one man, in a car, half a mile away in both directions, looking out for anything untoward. In the old days we used to allow these deadheads to come straight to the barrier and then we'd get rid of them. But we have more people now."
"Thanks for letting us know," Karen sarcastically said.
"Who's on the Armitage shift?" the guard asked.
"Trevor Barkley." Vince rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. "I bet that fucker has fallen asleep and they've just walked straight past the car. He's about as much use as a chocolate dildo."
Vince then nudged the guard playfully and pointed to the female elderly beast. "I don't fancy yours much."
"Vince," Shaz scolded. "Have some decency."
"Come on!" Vince exclaimed. "We're Brits. It's our dark sense of humour that gets us through these kinds of disasters. In the forties, our ancestors were singing: Hitler has only got one ball, Goering has two but they are small. Himmler has something similar, but Goebels has no balls at all."
"Anyway," Pickle sighed, and pulled out his machete from his belt. "We better take these two out before we make our way to Fradley."
Karen cackled, "And don't forget to wake Vince's guard up on the way past."
"Don't need to." Vince pointed up ahead. The group could see a car coming over the hill in haste. "He's here." Vince then placed his hands on Pickle's chest. "It's okay, Pickle. I'll handle this."
Vince climbed down and took out a knife once his feet touched the floor. He walked with large strides towards the elderly couple and could see that Trevor had stopped his car behind the two fiends. If he continued, he would have knocked them down and damaged Vince as well.
Trevor and the people on the HGV watched as Vince took out the old man with a stab to the ear, the blade sinking in and penetrating the brain. It fell to its knees at first before its face slammed and hit the concrete.
Vince had time to bend down and wiped the dark blood off of the knife on the hair of the deceased, then went towards the old woman. The female thing opened its mouth and released a moan. It then held up both arms and went for Vince. He grabbed the rotten thing by the hair and brought his arm back to stab at the creature, but he paused. He took a closer look at the putrid smelling-ghoul, while shouts of confusion from behind him began to escalate. Nobody knew what he was playing at.
He put the knife away, grabbed the creature's head with both hands and pushed it to the floor. He placed his right boot on its back so it couldn't get up, and called over the guard, Trevor Barkley, who was sitting in his car.
The car slowly pulled over towards Vince, and stopped a yard away from him. Trevor Barkley exited the car, shamefaced, and walked towards Vince with his head lowered.
"Fell asleep?" asked Vince with his eyebrows raised, awaiting an answer from the nervous-looking man.
Trevor nodded. "I'm sorry, Vince. I nodded off for no longer than ten minutes—"
"Ten minutes is too long, Trevor."
"Again." Trevor cleared his throat and was clearly embarrassed of his faux pas. "I'm really sorry."
"You said you'd never let me down."
"I know, I—"
"Get on your knees," ordered Vince, his voice was threatening but his tone was serene.
"Er...what?"
"I said: Get on your fucking knees!" he yelled, making Trevor jump with fright.
"Vince, leave him alone." Pickle called out. "He made a mistake."
Ignoring Pickle's remark, Vince screwed his eyes at Trevor, and watched him as he slowly dropped to his knees.
Vince took his foot off the Rotter, grabbed Trevor by his hair and put the knife to his throat. "If you move, the blade will go straight through your throat."
"What are you doing?" Trevor sobbed. "This is nuts."
The creature staggered to its feet and Vince turned Trevor round so that he was face-to-face with the female Rotter.
"Don't do this, Vince! Please, don't do this!" begged Trevor Barkley.
As Karen and Pickle began climbing down the HGV to help out Trevor, the creature already had a hold of him, and once its mouth touched his neck he screamed so much that he had pissed himself. The creature buried its head into his neck, and once Vince thought that the man had had enough, he pushed Trevor out of the way and onto the floor. Vince then drove his blade through the front of the cranium of the Rotter, killing the thing immediately.
Trevor was on the floor, still screaming and crying, and was searching his neck for wounds, for bleeding. But there were none. Vince laughed out loud and went over to the female creature. He lifted its head up and pointed at its mouth. It had no teeth.
Snickered Vince, "Looks like Doris forgot to put her teeth in when the apocalypse kicked off."
Trevor didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and continued to search for any types of wounds. Pickle and Karen stood a few yards behind, relieved that it had been nothing but a sick joke.
"Relax." Vince began rubbing his eyes. "You're still alive. But if you fall asleep on the job again, you'll be demoted to Waste Manager. Understand?"
"I understand." The man was almost in tears and was told to get back to his station. Trevor whispered to Vince, looking down to his trousers, "But I've pissed myself."
"And? It'll dry off...eventually."
Trevor had no words left to respond. He approached the vehicle, jumped into the car and headed back out, reliev
ed that he was still alive.
"Stupidity comes in all shapes and sizes," sighed Vince to no one in particular. "Some even look like people."
"Yer didn't have to torment the poor man." Pickle glared at Vince as they headed back to the barrier, Karen was walking behind.
"Don't tell me how to run my camp, Branston."
"Or what?"
Vince stopped walking and went toe-to-toe with Pickle. Karen dropped her head, knowing that Vince had made a bad decision. Vince pointed his finger in Pickle's face and said with a slight smirk, "Or...I'll do absolutely nothing, because you'd rip me apart."
Laughed Pickle, "Well, that's me told."
"Right, you lot." Vince spoke up. "Get the pick-up truck ready and get this HGV moved. We've got a trip to go on."
Pickle looked up at the HGV, then turned around. He could see a guard and Shaz, but there was somebody missing. "Where's Harry?"
"I'm here," a timid voice called out. Harry Beresford began to crawl under the wagon in the tight space it provided.
Vince looked at both Pickle and Karen, who were smirking at the young boy, and once he was near them he got to his feet. Vince asked the young man, "Why didn't you just go through the cab, or climb over? And what the hell are you wearing?"
Harry Beresford was dressed in all black, and was also wearing a thin, black waterproof jacket, with the hood pulled over his head almost covering the whole of his face. "I went back to the caravan to change my clothes. I wanted to look like Harry." Harry Beresford pointed at Pickle.
"No, no." Vince wagged his finger at the young boy and pointed at Harry Branston. "You call him Pickle. Two Harrys are too confusing. You got it?"
The young boy nodded and added, "I thought it'd be best if I looked mean like Harry...I mean, Pickle here."
"Mean?" Vince looked at his companions for some kind of back-up, but both Pickle and Karen were too busy trying to stifle their giggles. "We're dealing with Rotters. They don't scare easily."
Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) Page 32
