"To the other side o' the hangar." Pickle guided the way.
Karen grabbed an empty pallet and opened the main door, leaving the pallet by the door so it remained open.
Pickle stopped running and could see Karen was still by the door, despite being the first person to re-enter the place. "What the hell are yer doin'?" Pickle screamed.
"They're following us. And the more of them that are inside, the less that are outside," was her answer.
"Er...yeah." Pickle's face flushed with embarrassment. "Good thinking."
Karen jogged her way back to the group, passing the injured woman, and caught up with the other three. She turned around to see the Snatchers spilling through the door, and with the injured woman lying on the floor, it was obvious that they were going to be busy ripping her to pieces rather than trying to follow the group.
The group ran to the doors at the other end, and could see that the shutters had been pulled up. They had been forced up to allow the truck to go back and forth to empty the hangar.
Karen turned around once she heard the first scream.
She gazed in morbid fascination as at least twenty of the things encircled the injured woman and bent down to take a chunk out of her. It was hard to see much with the ghouls in the way, but she noticed that the head was pulled away after just fifteen seconds. Blood spilled out all over the floor, and the scene made Karen feel nauseous.
She felt a hand slap her on her shoulder. "For Christ's sake, Bradley." Pickle snarled. "Move yer arse, There's more out here."
Chapter Forty Three
Bentley jumped into the driver's side of the car and took the keys off of Paul. He strapped himself in, fired the engine and reversed out quickly. The wheels squealed as they shot off and headed for the car park's exit. Bentley turned to look at Paul who was staring out the passenger window. "You okay?" Bentley asked the stupid question; it was all he could think of to say.
Paul never answered, and continued to glare out of the window, suffocated with shock and grief.
Bentley reluctantly said, "If it's any consolation—"
"I know," Paul interjected with anger in his voice, still staring out of the passenger window. "They were already dead. I get it."
"Right; it might get a bit bumpy," Bentley warned.
Paul finally moved away from the window and gazed ahead to see what Bentley was talking about.
It might get a bit bumpy?
He could see half a dozen creatures by the entrance and exit of the car park, and he began putting his seatbelt on, something Bentley had already done.
"Is this car new?" asked Bentley.
"Just ram them."
"Nah, fuck it. If the car's fucked, not only will we be on foot, but we'll lose all the food in the back." Bentley looked at Paul and chuckled, "And it appears that I'm pretty shit at stealing cars, so we better not lose this baby."
Bentley stopped the car ten yards from the ghouls at the exit, and stepped out of the vehicle.
"What're you up to?" Paul had no idea what Bentley was planning on doing.
Bentley peered into the car and said, "I'm gonna pick them off one by one. I won't be long." He then shut the door and left Paul alone.
Bentley walked ahead a few yards, and stared at the dead. He chambered a round, aimed his gun, and waited for the closest one to step towards him a few more yards. Once it did, Bentley then fired the first shot. Once the bullet entered the skull, Paul could see, from the passenger seat, a little blood escape from the back of its head. It then collapsed to the floor, and it appeared that the gunshot had woken the other five ghouls, as they were now approaching Bentley with a little more zest in their strides.
Bentley whispered to his Glock, "Right, Glen. Don't let me down." He was in no rush and took careful aim at each of his targets. Each ghoul went down with one bullet each to the head, with the exception of the final one.
Bentley could see that the remaining being, that was stumbling around its other five fallen comrades, looked like it used to be a teenage girl. She wore a green summer dress, now blood-soaked, and her legs were the same colour as milk, still wearing her pink canvas shoes.
From the passenger seat, Paul also glared at the young girl. Paul then thought about her parents. With losing Bell, it made him realise that he wasn't alone. Although it wasn't helping with the agonising grief that was consuming him, it dawned on him that thousands of parents had lost their kids over the last month or so, and vice-versa.
Paul continued to glare out with his tear-soaked eyes and saw that, for whatever reason, whether it was the thrill of the situation or to just to make absolutely sure, Bentley rapidly fired three shots at the young girl from close range, and as some of her head fell away, she dropped to the floor.
Bentley glared at the corpse, the realisation of what he had just done sinking in, and lowered his gun. His breathing was shallow, and although he was no stranger to violence, Bentley stared at the last fallen creature that used to be somebody's daughter, friend, and sister, possibly. The scene of the defunct female ghoul had forced Bentley into a world of self-hypnosis as he thought about every other female family member that had been lost over the last few weeks. Was he now in delayed shock?
He snapped out of his daydreaming, and before he had chance to return to Paul's car, he felt a pair of icy hands around the back of his neck. He jumped in fright, yelped out, and could hear something snarling only inches away from his neck, as if it was about to take a chunk out of him.
Bentley turned around to see that he was only a foot away from the hideous, revolting thing. One of its eyes were missing from its pale face, and its lips had been ripped away, revealing almost the full state of its rotten dentures that were close to tearing into his deltoid. Before he had time to raise his Glock, a stunned and shocked Bentley Drummle saw the metal from behind pummel the skull of his attacker.
It received whack after whack, five in all, and eventually fell to the floor with some of its head falling away. Standing in front of Bentley's vision was Paul Dickson. The crowbar was a sticky mess, and Bentley's saviour gave him a thin smile.
"I'm sorry," apologised Paul, with the crowbar now lowered. "I never saw it until a few seconds ago. I was daydreaming; I was miles away."
"It's okay. That's understandable, considering what you're going through." Bentley looked at the creature that Paul had destroyed. He looked shaken, and this surprised the usually-tough individual. "Shit. I should be fucking dead." Bentley then turned to Paul. "You wasn't the only one that was miles away, and only a few minutes ago I was telling you to keep sharp. Need to start taking some of my own advice."
"Don't worry about it."
"Do me a favour." Bentley looked sheepish with his request.
"Anything."
"Don't tell Laura about this. She'll fucking freak."
"Okay."
"Let's go." Bentley placed his shaking hand on Paul's shoulder. "Thanks. And..." He nodded over to the area where the Renault Clio was, where Paul's daughter and wife were now finally resting, "I'm sorry about... It was quick..."
Seeing that Bentley was struggling for words, Paul spoke with a lump in his throat. "They've been dead a month. I told Julie to be careful. I told her about the escalating violence, but she said it was a load of hogwash. Even on the day it was announced, people were still walking their dogs, going to work, off to the gym..."
"Going to the supermarket," added Bentley, and took a look around the car park.
"Yeah. Why didn't they do anything sooner?"
"The government?"
Paul nodded.
"To avoid social panic." Bentley then said, with sarcasm, "Now, we can't upset our fragile economy, can we? That would be wrong."
"Fuckers."
"I agree. I bet they're sitting in a nice, warm underground facility while we, people, are out here, getting ripped to pieces. But if you keep on thinking about it, it'll tear you up inside. We need to get on with it the best we can. It's shite, but it is what it i
s."
Paul broke down and Bentley felt awkward. The man had lost his wife and daughter, but he still couldn't bring himself to comfort him.
Bentley simply patted Paul on the shoulder and announced, "I'll drive back."
"I'm sorry you didn't get a car." Paul was now trying his best to compose himself.
"Fuck it," huffed Bentley. "Don't really need one anyway. They're more trouble than they're worth. Probably get stolen eventually, plus a vehicle at the side of a country road also advertises the fact that there could be people in the woods."
Paul nodded. It appeared that Bentley had thought of everything. "That's a good point."
The Mazda pulled away, and both men made the journey out into the countryside in absolute silence.
Ten minutes after leaving the supermarket, the Mazda pulled up on the country road, and once they parked the vehicle where Bentley used to place his own, before it was stolen, they stepped out of the car and began emptying their means of transport.
It took three trips in all, to the cabin and back, to empty the car, and both men were physically and mentally exhausted. Both minds of the men were polluted with fear. Bentley had nearly lost his life due to his lack of concentration, whereas Paul had lost the only two girls in the world that mattered to him. They were gone.
The men dumped the supplies by the cabin while making their trips, which included crawling under the barbed-wire, and on their third and final trip Laura and Kyle were standing outside, waiting to greet the men.
Kyle looked delighted to see his dad, and both man and boy hugged. Laura also seemed pleased to see Bentley, and he appeased her and told her that the trip went without a hitch.
Once the car had been emptied and the supplies sitting outside the cabin had been stored away by Bentley and Laura, Paul and Bentley went back and covered the vehicle the best they could with branches and leaves. After this had been done and the men had returned to the area, Laura and Bentley went inside the cabin to leave father and son alone, outside the camp.
When Bentley was inside the cabin with Laura, he began to tell her about the finding of Paul's wife and daughter, but decided to leave out the part about nearly being taken down. She didn't need to know that.
Outside, Paul fought back the tears and glared at the little man who stood staring back at his dad.
Where did time go? What happened to the baby that Paul used to bathe? What happened to the toddler that always used to take his blue dummy out of his mouth when he was being carried upstairs to bed, to then throw it downstairs, making Paul go back and get it? What happened to the little fellow who screamed down the house when Paul had accidentally trapped the little one's fingers in the bathroom door?
He was only three at the time, and Paul felt terrible for days when it happened. Kyle had his fingers in the door when Paul had shut it, and once the three-year-old began screaming down the house, all Paul did was run about in panic, whereas Julie was calm and immediately took Kyle to the accident and emergency department, leaving Paul at home, distraught. The overall outcome was: nothing broken, just bruising. For years after, Kyle would remind Paul of the incident.
Kyle had grown up, but he was only seven years old and Paul hoped—no, he prayed that he would continue to grow into a young man, despite the new world that he now had to live in.
Paul went over to Kyle, placed his hand on his shoulder, and both males sat down on the tree stump. Paul was crammed with guilt. All that trauma, time, and hospital treatments of IUIs and IVFs just to bring the little man into a world like this!
I'm sorry I brought you into this world. I'm so sorry that you have to grow up without your sister and mummy. I'm so sorry that your old world of going to school, the fair, soft-play, going out with your friends on your scooter, playing on your Batman Lego game, and everything else, has been removed from your life. And I'm sorry that we're now going to live hand to mouth, be confronted by flesh-eating monsters, as well as desperate and sadistic humans that would harm anything in their way for a little food or gas.
He kept those thoughts in his head. He needed to protect Kyle, not break down into a mess and scare his son half to death.
Paul cleared his throat, trying to put Julie and Bell into the back of his mind, if it was possible, and asked Kyle with a tight throat, "Did you miss me, son?"
Kyle looked up at his dad, and was unsure how to answer. He answered, "Yes." Paul wasn't sure that he had missed him that much, despite the welcomed hug when he returned, and thought that the little man had said yes so that he wouldn't hurt his dad's feelings.
Kyle said, "Laura's nice."
"She seems lovely," agreed Paul.
For a moment both males had prematurely ran out of things to say. Paul picked at his neglected teeth with his little finger, while Kyle swung his arms. Eventually, it was up to the seven-year-old to break the silence. "Daddy?"
"Yes."
"Where're we gonna go later on?"
"Well," began Paul. "I thought that maybe we could go and see if grandma's at her house."
He could see Kyle smile, and hoped that he was not getting his hopes up already. If Paul's parents had turned into those freaks, or the street was too dangerous to enter, it could turn out to be a damp squib for both father and son. "But she might not be there," Paul added, trying to dilute any excitement that Kyle was feeling.
The images of Julie and Bell began to ambush his thoughts once again, and Paul knew that if he didn't have Kyle, he'd be begging Bentley to put a bullet through his head to put him out of this torment.
He had never felt pain like it.
It wasn't like a cut to the arm or breaking a bone. It was a pain from within him that seemed to be growing and snowballing as if his insides were being twisted, and there was nothing that could be done but deal with it. Keeping a brave face for his boy was proving to be difficult.
He had to tell him one day. He knew that. But Paul wanted to grieve and come to terms with the double-loss himself, so when it was time to tell Kyle, he could be strong for his son, rather than the pair of them breaking down together and both being an emotional mess.
"Are you okay, daddy?"
"I'm fine, son. I'm fine." Paul tried his best to be strong. He knew children weren't stupid and could pick up on negative vibes, and Kyle was no different, which was probably why he asked that question in the first place.
Kyle said, "This is rubbish, isn't it?"
Paul smiled and said, "Well, that's one way of describing it. Are you missing your games?"
Kyle nodded, took a deep breath in and looked around the greenery. "Look." He pointed ahead of him, and for a moment Paul's heart sped up. He was expecting another encounter with the dead. It wasn't Kyle's fault, but his sudden outburst made his dad scared. Kyle pointed at a grey squirrel scampering down a tree that had barbed wire wrapped around it.
"I hope he doesn't get caught in this." Young Kyle pointed all around at the barbed-wire perimeter that Bentley had created to protect the cabin from wandering deadheads.
A silence enveloped father and son for the second time, and they remained both sitting on the large tree stump.
Out of the blue, Kyle announced, "I miss mummy and Bell."
"Me too, son. Me too." Paul dug his top teeth into his chin, just below his lower lip, in a desperate attempt to stop himself from crying. He didn't want Kyle to be concerned and wondering why his daddy was so upset.
Kyle's head gently lay on Paul's shoulder. Paul sniffed his son's head and planted a gentle kiss on it; he then felt Kyle's warm hand stroke his forearm.
There was no mummy and no Bell anymore. It was just the two of them now, and Paul Dickson held his son tightly and didn't want to let him go.
He was all he had left.
Chapter Forty Four
They scanned the area to find only six lumbering at the back of the establishment.
Vince pulled out his machete and laughed, "We can take these fuckers, no problem."
"Aye, but what about them
?" Pickle pointed up the road that led to the exit of the grounds, and Shaz puffed out her cheeks in defeat and muttered a swear word. It had been a long night, with little sleep, and they were all drained and famished.
They could see at least twenty of the dead roaming around the area. There was six at the back of the hangar. They knew that there was over seventy that had been cooped up inside the shed, and assumed that there was forty or fifty Snatchers that were spilling inside the hangar and feasting on what was left of Gavin's sister. But she wasn't going to provide a meal for very much longer, and the group knew that the clock was ticking.
"You three take those six out." Karen pointed at the advancing fiends. "I'll be back in a sec."
"What?" Pickle spun around to see that Karen had already disappeared back into the hangar. The three of them swiped and sliced their way through the six ghouls, and while the last one dropped, Pickle could hear the sound of the diesel forklift truck from inside the hangar.
Karen appeared outside on one of the trucks. She exited through the large roller doors that were fully up, but used to be automatic, and stopped by her three friends.
"I can clear a kind of path with this," Karen tried to shed a little light on her plan, "and mow down the things."
"Off!" ordered Vince.
"What?" Karen laughed.
"Off!" Vince wasn't joking. "It's too dangerous and you're pregnant. I used to drive these things for a living. I'll drive into them with the forks raised, then turn around and do the same."
"Er..." Karen scratched her head. "Didn't you just re-word my plan?"
"We don't have time to bicker," Shaz spoke up, and pointed at the opened shutter. "They'll be another forty coming through that entrance any minute, once they've finished with Gavin's sister."
Karen stepped off of the truck reluctantly, and Vince tucked his machete into his belt and climbed on. He tapped the fuel dial, on the small dashboard, and said, "It's in the red."
Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) Page 47
