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

by Shaun Whittington

  Vince rose to his feet. "I'm going for a lie down."

  "Good choice."

  Vince stared at Pickle for a while and seemed lost.

  "Don't go crying on me again," Pickle joked, trying to dilute the tension. "That was a one-off. Right?"

  Vince sniggered, and walked over to Pickle. He gave him a hug, and as soon as he broke away his face flushed. Vince then left the caravan, forgetting that it was him that had the keys, and left Pickle standing in the living room, all alone.

  "Fuck me." Pickle was bewildered, and it took a while for the episode he had just experienced to sink in. "I've seen it all now."

  Pickle finally stepped out of the caravan, into the rain, and saw Karen walking by the water well. "Bradley!" Pickle yelled.

  She stopped walking, and lifted her chin to ask wordlessly what was up. Pickle strolled over and placed his arm around her. "Where are yer goin'?"

  "Back to the caravan to see Shaz."

  "That's exactly where I'm going."

  "Good. You can give me a foot rub. My feet are aching like a couple of bastards."

  Pickle laughed, "Did yer really used to be a nurse? Working with the public with that potty mouth?"

  "I'm only a crabby cow because I don't have my hair straighteners, my shampoo, hot water, chocolate, my iPad and my kindle. And this pregnancy is making me want to crunch stuff. Ice, mints—anything!"

  "I'll see if I can get yer ice later on. I'll be running things for a day or so, starting tomorrow."

  "How come?"

  "Let's get to the caravan, and I'll tell yer all about our friend, Vince. That guy has more layers than an onion."

  "Oh shit," she sighed. "You're not liking him as well, are you?"

  "I think I am."

  Book Six: The Dead Don't Feel

  Chapter One

  July 14th

  The boredom was killing him, but he knew that what he was doing was for the good of the camp. In the few hours that he had been at the area of Armitage, his head had dropped on a couple of occasions, due to tiredness. He could now understand why Trevor Barkley had fallen asleep a few days ago. Although imperative for the camp's safety, the shift was a hell of a bore.

  Harry Branston decided to step out of the car and get some fresh air to his face, before he fell asleep. Once he was out, he took a gander down the long empty street. There were no cars sitting on drives, and the houses on either side still had windows covered with closed blinds and curtains. He had no idea if Vince had already tried these houses, in the early days, for supplies, but knew he had raided the newsagents up ahead, as it was a story he had been told by Vince himself.

  When Vince had first met Jack Slade, they went on a short run together, along with the now deceased Claire, and ransacked the shop. They were disturbed by the owner who was brandishing a sword, but Jack had managed to calm the situation, once Vince had returned with a shotgun, and they all left the establishment with zero casualties. At the time, Vince was angry with Jack for being so soft, but the story was told to Harry Branston by Vince with a smile on his face.

  He took a few steps and parked his bum on the bonnet of the vehicle he had taken from the campsite. He released a breath out and glared at the houses once more. His eyes widened once he saw a curtain twitch, five houses down on the right.

  Who was in there? A frightened family? A child?

  He knew he couldn't save the world, and going into random houses could be a recipe for disaster, but Harry Branston felt a twinge of guilt for not doing anything. With Vince absent, he was temporarily in charge for today, and agreed with Vince's policy of waiting for people to come to the barrier, rather than go looking for them.

  Vince Kindl had left to go to Little Haywood first thing in the morning. He went alone, and that was exactly what he wanted.

  Originally he wanted to leave the camp a few days ago, once he had found out from Paul Dickson that Kevin Murphy was still alive, but Harry had managed to talk some sense into him. The ex-inmate told Vince that revenge was best dished with a clear head, rather than one engulfed with anger, and if he went now, he could make a rash decision that could cost him his life. It wasn't just Kevin Murphy that Vince may have to sort out. The rest of his family could also be a problem if Kevin wasn't on his own.

  Now Saturday had arrived, and a much calmer Vince Kindl left the camp with vengeance still on his mind, but now he had a cool head. It appeared that Pickle's advice had worked.

  Pickle squinted his eyes as he saw a figure in the distance. He didn't know if it was human, or one of them. He remained calm, and continued sitting on the car's bonnet. A few minutes had passed and his eyes were now telling him that it was definitely one of them.

  He sighed, then stood back up and went into the car to pull out a machete he hadn't used in days. This had been the first Snatcher he had seen since the incident at the Ash Tree, where a bitten Lee Johnson was shot in the back of the head by Karen.

  Pickle began to walk forwards, and this action had excited the dead walker. It half-galloped towards Pickle, and the forty-three-year-old brought his machete up and was ready to strike and kill one of these things for the first time in three days.

  The blade was gleaming, thanks to the July sun, and had been sharpened the day before. Pickle stopped walking and remained in the middle of the road. He allowed the ghoul to make the remaining steps before he struck. As it was only metres away, Pickle could see that it was once a female teenager. It had on bloody torn rags that used to be clothes, and now stumbled towards him.

  It raised its arms and released a moan once the blade entered its head from the right side, and looked at Pickle with its dead eyes before falling to the floor. Pickle bent down and wiped both sides of the blade on the rags that the creature wore, then went back into the vehicle and threw it onto the passenger seat. He then picked up a tea towel and wrapped it around his right hand.

  He went over to the body and, like the other six that had been taken out along the road, he dragged its corpse to the side, with his right hand, so it was out of the way.

  He took a look at the deceased and released a half-chuckle, now staring up at the burning sun with his hand shading his eyes. "Just another day in paradise."

  Chapter Two

  The decision was made to go out on the Saturday morning. Vincent Kindl had been influenced to stay for a few days, and had succumbed to Pickle's persuading technique. All he could think of was Kevin Murphy and the rest of his shitty family, terrorising the good people of Little Haywood. Rugeley would probably be next, if they weren't here already.

  He would have been there by now, but as soon as he reached an abandoned garage, he had to pull the car in and wondered if what he was doing was the right thing. Once he had convinced himself that it was, he had a breakdown. It had been buried for years, but when Paul Dickson had mentioned that he had seen Kevin Murphy with his own eyes, he felt like his son, Brian, had died all over again.

  It took a while for Vince to compose himself and spent minutes wiping the tears from his cheeks with his forearm, but no matter how quick he wiped they continued to fall. Two minutes later, he was ready to move again, despite his visibility still being a little blurred.

  The vehicle finally moved again, progressing down the long road, and Vincent Kindl was aware that there was a supermarket not far ahead. He took a quick peep to the right of him to see the old power station that had been around for decades. Clocking the supermarket up ahead, on his left, he braced himself for the unexpected, but nothing materialised.

  The drive was uneventful so far, but knew that there was another three miles to go. He could have taken the other road, but it would have taken him through a residential area as well as the town centre. He didn't want to put himself under any unnecessary risks. It was going to be dangerous enough once he got to Little Haywood and started looking for Kevin Murphy.

  He looked at his watch. Nearly nine in the morning. If he hadn't found him by the evening, he was coming back.

 
After a few more minutes of driving, anger began to boil from within him. He punched the steering wheel, and shouted, "Fucker!" He was certain that Kevin would have died during the outbreak, like most people. He was wrong.

  He then got onto the road that led to the Wolseley Arms pub, and looked at his watch again. Maybe he wouldn't go back to the camp if the trip had been unsuccessful. Maybe he would stay until he finally found him. His mind began to race.

  But what if he has already left Little Haywood with the rest of his scumbag family?

  Maybe he was in Stafford.

  "No." Vince shook his head, and began talking to himself aloud. "Stafford's eight miles away. Rugeley is the nearest place to go. If they're not in Little Haywood, they're in Rugeley."

  Vince knew that with the dead and the Sandy Lane Camp, touring Rugeley to look for Kevin Murphy would be nothing short of a suicide mission.

  He needed to use his common sense.

  There were people back at his camp that relied on him. If he left Little Haywood without finding Kevin Murphy, he was going straight back to the camp. It would be madness to do anything else.

  Up ahead was a junction to the left. This was the entrance to Little Haywood. He took the left turn and touched the brake as soon as his eyes clocked the four ghouls standing still a few yards away, like statues, in the middle of the road.

  All four had their backs to him, and he was wondering why they were doing this. He had never seen this behaviour before. They usually moved, regardless whether there was food on offer or not. Vince didn't want to use violence so soon on his trip, especially if it could be avoided. And he certainly didn't want to mow the things down and wreck his vehicle.

  He could see a couple of cars sitting on drives in this large road, but hot-wiring another vehicle was something he was unable to do, so damage to his vehicle was something he needed to avoid. He remembered Jack Slade telling him about his friend, Gary, and that he used to steal cars for a living.

  Vince thought that any vehicle with a security chip in the key would disable the computer. No hot-wiring is going to work unless you have another computer and key.

  He had no real idea.

  He thought about the other entrance into the village. It was in an area he didn't know.

  He shook his head and groaned, "Fuck it."

  He opened his door, left the shotgun leaning against the passenger seat of his red pick-up truck, and took out his machete. He was wearing a white T-shirt, and emblazoned on the shirt in black letters was: Three out of Two People Have Trouble With Fractions.

  As soon as he shut his door, the four creatures all turned around at the same time.

  "Well, looks like the fun has started early."

  He walked towards the four ghouls, ready to put them down and out of their misery.

  Chapter Three

  The Saturday morning produced a glorious day. Karen Bradley stepped out of the caravan, door ajar, and sat on the top step. She looked up above and squinted her eyes. The sky produced one lonely white cloud that hung in the heavens, and Karen could feel on her skin that it was already a scorching day.

  She was in the middle of a daydream when she heard light footsteps behind her. She turned, peered over her shoulder to look inside the place, and greeted her roomy with a smile. Sharon Bailey smiled back and headed for the half-litre plastic bottle of water that was sitting near the sink.

  She took a swig and asked Karen, "So what's your plans today?"

  "I don't know." Karen gave off a smirk and said, "It's Saturday, so I might nip into town. There's a shirt I quite like. After that I might have a cappuccino from Starbucks, then go home and download the new Kasabian album."

  "Okay." Shaz knew Karen was being sarcastic, but a small fraction of her was thinking that maybe she was feeling sorry for herself on this particular day. "And what are you really going to do today?"

  Karen snickered, "Take a walk around the camp...again! Sleep, because there's nothing else to do...again. And see if I can get some toothpaste from the Spode Cottage off one of Vince's guards."

  "I heard rumours that there was shampoo in there," added Shaz.

  "Well, as soon as Vince gets back from this stupid trip of his, I'll twist his arm. I can't get anywhere with those old farmers."

  "Didn't he leave Pickle in charge?"

  Karen nodded. "He did, but the supplies aren't to be touched until Vince comes back."

  "What if he doesn't come back?"

  Karen never answered Shaz's question. She just shrugged her shoulders.

  "When's he due back?" Shaz asked.

  Karen shook her head. "If you ask me, it's insane. Paul mentioned the guy's name that was supposedly responsible for Vince's son's death, and then he lost it. Pickle wanted to go with him, but Vince said it was something that he needed to do on his own."

  "Men and their vengeance," Shaz sniggered. "What are they like?"

  "They're fannies." Karen spoke with a straight face and continued, "He said that if he hasn't found him by the end of the day, he'd be back by the evening."

  "Unless something happens."

  Karen nodded. "Unless something happens."

  A familiar figure walked around the corner of the caravan and the sight of Harry Branston brought a smile to both girls' faces.

  "I thought you were supposed to be on watch," Shaz spoke up, noticing that Pickle didn't look well at all. He looked shattered.

  "I got one o' the youngsters to go up there for a couple o' hours. Gareth Mason. I had to come back and get a wee rest. Fuckin' knackered."

  Karen began to tease. "You're wasting away, Branston." She eyed his body up and down. "Another month or so and I'd be able to take you."

  Pickle smiled and took Karen's teasing well, despite being sleep deprived. "I jumped on the scales a few days ago."

  "And what's the damage?" Shaz enquired with a cheeky smirk.

  "I've lost a stone and a half since the first days."

  "That's not too bad. I've lost a stone, but we probably would have lost more if we hadn't have been here and we were still stuck in that cabin, slurping on Wolf's soup."

  Pickle laughed and his face turned to sadness for a while. "I'll never forgot what that old bugger did for us."

  Karen agreed. "I couldn't have just left him there, lying in the road." Karen's mind went back to the day they were involved in a smash with an Alpha Romeo car. The driver of the car was dead. They guessed that he had broken his neck. Wolf was flung from their vehicle, the pick-up truck, and was in a bad way and was dying. The girls were separated from Jack and Vince, as dozens of Snatchers came out of the woods, and they went their separate ways. Karen had to stab an unconscious Wolf to make sure he went quickly, and didn't end up food for the dead.

  "Anyway." Pickle clapped his hands together, snapping them out of their morbid state. "I'll see yer later, girlies."

  "Where're you going?" Karen asked.

  "Actually, I was gonna go around to see that Paul Dickson fellow, before I go for a lie down."

  "Anything wrong?"

  "His little lad, Kyle, isn't really settling in. Just wanted to check on the pair o' them."

  *

  Paul Dickson had had another restless sleep. Despite being thankful for Vince's generosity, he couldn't help feeling selfish.

  He missed his own bed.

  Both father and son had spent the night tossing and turning, and Kyle finally drifted off at around three, after he had stopped crying for his mummy and his sister.

  Paul also had a breakdown, but waited until his son fell asleep before curling up and saturating the musty-smelling sheets with his tears.

  His eyes were stinging, and he guessed that he had had three hours sleep, if that. Kyle needed at least ten hours, so he decided to leave him and kissed his plump cheek before going into the kitchen.

  He wore a pair of old boxer shorts and an old T-shirt as he strolled around the caravan. He rubbed his stinging eyes and could feel the tears producing once more. His mind
roamed and he wondered how Bentley and Laura were doing. He felt that he was better off there, but the crash had changed things and it wasn't something that he wanted to express verbally. He didn't want Vince to think he was being ungrateful. He had been rescued by these good people, and was now given shelter. He was grateful, but Bentley's set-up felt more safe and less exposed. He was trying to think what would be best for his son.

  Paul jumped once he heard a rap at the door. He rubbed his eyes and took a peek out of the window.

  It was Pickle.

  Chapter Four

  His red pick-up truck pulled up at a pub called The Lamb and Flag, and he thought the landlord of a pub would have more knowledge on the locals than anyone, that's if the landlord was in. He could have left weeks ago, or he could be dead.

  Vince decided to park the truck behind the pub, in its small desolate car park, and headed towards, what looked like, the main door. He had his keys in his back pocket and held the machete in his right hand. The shotgun was left on the passenger seat, and was confident that it wouldn't be stolen and that he wouldn't need it.

  He tried the door and it was predictably locked. He was certain that this would be the case, but needed to make sure. He took a step back and tried to look up at the windows, but the curtains were shut. He bent down and picked up some gravel and threw some at each window to give the landlord/lady the opportunity to come down and open the door before he broke in, but nothing happened.

  He now assumed that the inn was empty, or was infested with those things.

  Maybe the person or persons inside were just too scared to see who it was. He needed to give it a try.

  He used the blade of the machete to prise the door open and was there a good few minutes before the door finally gave way. With the sweat pouring down over his face, he wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his T-shirt before going in.