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

by Shaun Whittington

  He stepped into the dusky area and looked around at the dusty, neglected furniture that sat idle in the lounge area of the establishment. He crept around the place, machete held in both hands, and decided to check on the toilets before going upstairs.

  The ladies toilets was the first he checked, and found that it was clear and that there was no sign of blood or an indication that violence had taken place at all.

  He left the area and went to the gents toilets.

  The results were the same, and this baffled Vince.

  Maybe they had closed the tavern on the Saturday evening, after the announcement. Pubs always had the TV on, so the news on what was happening could not be ignored, and customers must have read something on their phones or received messages from worried relatives.

  Maybe they didn't close the pub. Maybe worried customers left on their own accord. Maybe some customers weren't worried at all. Maybe they were too drunk to be worried. But people had seen this before: Outbreaks. Diseases.

  There was SARS, Mad Cow Disease, Ebola...so many. Even AIDS in the eighties frightened the shit out of most adults, but the panic and the threat was always short-lived.

  This was different. A whole lot different.

  After trying the door to the staff kitchen, which was locked, Vince looked for the cellar, but couldn't find it. He located a door behind the bar and was sure that this was the door that led to upstairs, where the owners were based, or used to be based. He would find out soon enough.

  He tried the door.

  To his astonishment, it opened.

  It slowly swung out, and he peered up the darkened stairs. With his confidence dwindling, he gripped the machete tightly and decided not to call up. He shut the door slowly behind him, and took sluggish steps once the staircase was in almost complete darkness.

  Once he reached the top, he came to a door. He assumed that the door led to the landing, where the rooms of the place were situated.

  Holding his breath in, he opened the door quickly and winced when it creaked a little. It was a small cry from the door's hinges, but because of the suffocating silence it was loud enough to wake an individual up.

  With beads of sweat appearing on his forehead, Vince took tiny steps along the long dark landing. He exhaled and took another deep breath in, and held it as he went for the door that was furthest away. He guessed correctly that it was the door to the living room, and once he was near, he stopped. He leaned to the side and gently placed his ear against the door.

  He could hear nothing.

  Kindl made the brave decision to open the door, despite not knowing what was behind it. He didn't want to call out, because if there was something inside that could be a danger to him, calling out would only allow whoever or whomever was inside to prepare themselves to attack him.

  Once the door was opened, Vince was greeted with a musty-smelling room and curtains that were shut. It just looked like an average abandoned place, and he stepped inside with a little more confidence in his walk.

  He took a quick glance around the room and went over to the curtains. With his two fingers from his left hand, he pulled the curtains back a couple of inches, and could see the view of the main road. There was no sign of life, but a few bodies lay on the road as well as a few bloody body parts.

  Vince looked away. He had seen enough.

  As soon as he released the curtain and turned around, he was struck across the side of the head with a blunt instrument, knocking him out immediately.

  Chapter Five

  "You fancy a walk before I do my rounds?" asked Karen.

  Shaz pulled a face as if she had nothing better to do, and said sarcastically, "Well, I was going to pop into the library, but okay. If you want."

  "Where do you fancy going?"

  "Ooh, let me think." Shaz was in one of those moods. "We could either go to the barricade, walk the perimeter of the hedge, or sit next to Jack's grave...again."

  Karen took a sneaky look at her friend and asked, "You having a bad day?"

  "No, not really," Shaz laughed. "I'm just bored."

  They left their caravan, their arms linked, and passed the chicken pen. Karen pulled her T-shirt over her nose at the smell. Karen was wearing blue jeans, black boots and a plain green T-shirt. Shaz was wearing green combats, trainers, and a blue Nike T-shirt that was in dire need of an iron.

  Karen brushed her brown hair behind her ears with her left hand, and cussed under her breath.

  "What's the matter?" asked Shaz.

  "Don't look now," Karen whispered. "But that creep from the other day is staring at us again."

  Karen was referring to white-haired Robin Barton. A few days ago Karen and Robin were at loggerheads with one another. Karen wanted someone to check on her friends when they were out at Fradley on their ill-fated trip to Fradley's Foods Products, where they had lost young Harry Beresford, thanks to Gavin and his crazy sister. Robin Barton mocked Karen for wanting to go out to look for them, but once she went out herself and returned, his attitude had changed, especially when Vince had informed him the journey that her and Pickle had gone through over the last four or five weeks.

  Since then, his thoughts had changed about the young woman and had become a 'fan' of Karen Bradley. He had even behaved, was courteous, and said a few things to other males of the camp that suggested that he was attracted to her. Pickle had informed Karen of this, and was immediately repulsed.

  Robin Barton had white hair, was overweight, and middle-aged. In the old world he wouldn't stand a chance with her, and in this new world, his chances was even slimmer. Despite knowing that she was with child and that she had lost her fiancé at the beginning of the outbreak, it didn't seem to bother him. Maybe it was more of a challenge.

  Karen and Shaz had heard a couple of rumours about two caravans in particular that were being used by people for casual sex. This included Vince himself, who had casual sex with Rosemary, a woman who was in her late forties who cleaned the caravans. There was also a widower, and a couple of guards that saw some action. Despite the apocalypse, the libido of certain individuals didn't seem to be affected too much.

  It sickened Karen that one or two of the men could even consider that she could be 'easy meat', and she knew there would be a time that her and Sharon Bailey were going to be approached. It was a place that had forty to fifty people, the residents were bored most of the time, and some, especially the males, were sexually frustrated.

  Both girls could see that Robin Barton was standing outside the Spode Cottage with a clipboard in his hand, and released a wide smile at them both. They both politely waved at the man, and Shaz pulled on Karen to walk another way.

  "Let's walk another way," Shaz said with gritted teeth. "That guy gives me the creeps."

  "He gives you the creeps?" scoffed Karen. "I've got a feeling that he's going to make me a proposal in the next few days."

  "That's disgusting. He's nearly a pensioner, thirty years older than you, at least."

  "Tell me about it."

  "What is it with men?" Shaz shook her head. "After a few weeks of no action, they'd put their dicks into anything."

  "Oh, thanks a lot," laughed Karen, feigning hurt.

  "No, I meant—"

  "I know my facial hair is getting out of control, I smell a bit, and my bush is like something you'd see in the movie Deep Throat, but I'm still a bit of a catch."

  "Of course you are." Shaz spoke defensively, not picking up that Karen was joking with her. "Jesus, the guy's in his fifties, any guy in their twenties would be lucky if—"

  Laughed Karen, "Relax. I'm just messing with you, you daft cow."

  Shaz began to chuckle and her cheeks flushed a rosy colour. "You'd think I should know by now. How long have we've known each other?"

  "Three weeks. Isn't it?"

  Shaz shrugged her shoulders; she was unsure of the timescale because time dragged so much. "Anyway, if that guy gives you the creeps that much, get Pickle to have a word with him."


  "No chance," snickered Karen. "I've spent over a month killing the dead; I'm hardly intimidated by a horny Robin Barton."

  "Well, just avoid him then. Maybe he'll get the message."

  "That's what I plan on doing."

  Shaz then planted her tongue in her cheek when she made the comment, "But you know what these men are like. Some can't take no for an answer."

  In a serious tone, Karen stated, "Yeah, well, if that ends up being the case, then I'm gonna have to perform a circumcision on him with my trusted machete. He'll get the message then."

  "You're not a big fan of men, are you?"

  "What do you mean?" Karen was bewildered by Shaz's comment. "I've told you about my experiences with men before, albeit limited, before I met Gary."

  "You seem quite defensive. Not all men are sex-hungry deviants."

  Karen took a sneaky look at Shaz.

  "Okay, maybe most of them are—"

  Said Karen, "I love Pickle, don't I?"

  "But he's gay. He's not a threat."

  "I don't know what it is. I just think that most men are..." Karen stopped and paused for thought, "...pricks."

  Shaz was about to open her mouth and say something else, but her train of thought was ruined by the arrival of Harry Branston who had walked around the corner and had bumped into the two young women.

  Karen tittered, "Speaking of which."

  Chapter Six

  His sticky eyes opened once a flicker of light hit his face, and his nose twitched once he could smell something that was familiar to him.

  Cigarettes.

  He coughed a little, and once he made an attempt to get up but found he couldn't move, Vince Kindl knew straight away that he was going nowhere. He shook his pounding head in a way to wake himself up, but his shaking only increased the pain.

  He looked down to see himself tied to a chair. Rope had been wrapped around his chest with his arms by his side, and the only movement he could make was with his head and legs. The room was still dusky, but opposite him, sitting on a settee, was a man.

  Vince couldn't see well, but guessed that his captor was just someone who was scared, and not a similar individual to the sadistic Gavin and his sister that he, Pickle and Shaz, had to cope with a few days ago. Vince could see that this individual looked nervy, was in his fifties, and was smoking like a chimney. He took another drag from the cigarette, his hand shaking, and slowly blew out the smoke. Vince thought that the man was trying to act cool, but he wasn't fooling Vincent Kindl.

  "What did you come here for?" the man finally spoke, with a shudder in his voice.

  Vince licked his dry lips; he had no idea how long he had been out for. An hour? Two?

  Wincing with discomfort, Vince cleared his throat and responded with a hoarse tone, "I'm looking for someone. I came here to see if you knew where he lived."

  "Who?"

  Vince opened his mouth, but then paused. If he told this man who he was after and why he was after him, what would be the outcome? Would this individual be pleased that someone was going to attempt to kill a member of the Murphy family? Or was the man a friend of theirs, even a relative? His paranoia was snowballing.

  Vince decided to be cagey. "Just an old friend."

  The man took one last drag of his cigarette, casually dropped the butt onto the floor, then put it out with the sole of his shoe. "A friend, eh?"

  Vince knew the man was trying to get more information out of him, but he had no plan on playing his game. Maybe the pub owner just wanted to see if Vince was a threat or not.

  "A friend." Vince nodded. "That's right."

  "You waited a long time to come out here and see your...friend, didn't you? How long has this shit been going on? Five weeks?"

  "There was more of those things back then. Not as many now."

  The man nodded in agreement, pleased with Vince's quick response, and asked, "The person you're looking for, what's his name?"

  Vince paused for thought, but was reluctant to tell the man anything whilst he was still tied up. If the owner was friends or a relative of the Murphys, he could go out and fetch them. Vince would have no chance of escaping. "I can't tell you just yet."

  It appeared that the man understood why Vince was reluctant to tell him anything, for the time being, and gave him a smile.

  "You're the first person to break into my pub," the man began. "Not even the Murphy family have tried to break in here." Vince winced once the family was mentioned, but remained silent, knowing the man had more to say. He added, "I've been stuck in here since it started. Been living on kitchen food, then the pork scratchings, the nuts and the crisps were next to go from behind the bar."

  "You're luckier than most," Vince said. "At least you had food."

  "Maybe." The man didn't seem so sure. "I don't have a wife or family, so I suppose I should be thankful for that."

  "There you go." Vince was trying to be as pleasant as possible. The less of a threat he appeared, the more chance the man would untie him. Or so he hoped.

  "Sorry about your head." The man seemed genuine with his apology. "Can't be too careful these days. And I've put your machete somewhere safe."

  "That's okay."

  The man stood up and opened a curtain. He could see Vince more clearly and asked with no hesitation, "What the fuck is up with your face?"

  Vince never answered, and the man seemed sorry for asking such a blunt question.

  The man seemed less hostile, and Vince wondered if he was becoming more comfortable in his presence. Changing the subject, Vince queried, "You snarled a little when you mentioned the Murphy family. Why is that?"

  "I fucking hate them!" the man exclaimed, making Vince relax immediately. "Heard of them?"

  "Who hasn't?"

  "But you're not from round here."

  "I'm from the Rugeley/Brereton area. Their reputation has been around for decades. Just a shame that old bastard had managed to produce more boys."

  "That Jason's the worst," the man giggled a little. "He came into my pub a few months ago and glassed a customer, a nineteen-year-old kid. I was told that if he ever had a visit from the police, my pub would be burnt to the ground."

  "Bastard." Vince was calmer, now that he knew this landlord was no fan of the Murphy family.

  The man nodded, and was convinced that this scarred, skinny gentleman was genuine, and posed no threat to himself or his establishment. "Fucking scum."

  "I agree."

  The pub owner shook his head. "Do you know that some of those fuckers are still alive?"

  "Really?" Vince feigned surprise. "There's just no justice in the world."

  "Tell me about it." The owner released a puff of sadness and added, "My brother was bad enough. But the Murphys make my bruv look like a choirboy."

  "Who's your brother?" asked Vince. The truth was that Vince couldn't give two shits who his brother was; he was being friendly so the man would eventually release him.

  "A guy called Jason Bonser. You wouldn't know him." The man sniffed and laughed, "Jesus, Jason was, or is, a nasty bastard. Hated my guts. I was pretty much dead to him, but he loved our sister, I'll give him that. I was a lot older than those two, and left them in the lurch and got on with my own life. The trouble was that our parents were big drinkers, and I think Jason and my sister always hated me for leaving them, but I had my own life to lead."

  "Where is he?"

  "Stafford jail."

  "I heard some of them broke out." Vince didn't elaborate to the man that the whole of house block two had been released and that one of the inmates, Harry Branston, was at his camp. It was information that this man didn't need to know.

  "Yeah, well," the man sighed, "good luck to them. If I never see Jason again, it'll be too soon."

  There was a long silence as both men glared at one another. The man said, "You seem okay. You have to understand that some people are a threat these days."

  "I perfectly understand that." Vince gave the man a warm friendly smile.
<
br />   "And I'm sorry about your head."

  "That's okay, too." Vince beamed, knowing that there was some positive things happening with his predicament. He was convinced now that, whatever the reason he was struck in the first place, the man wasn't going to do Vince any further harm.

  The man picked up a knife from the side-table and on seeing this Vince gulped, and his heart rate galloped a little faster than normal.

  He relaxed once the man said, "Right. Time to cut you free, my friend."

  Chapter Seven

  Both father and son stepped out of the caravan and Paul Dickson placed his hand on his son's shoulder. Both of them walked to the back of the area, where a shallow grave was present.

  The seven-year-old boy, Kyle Dickson, scratched at his strawberry blonde hair and his father looked at his freckly face. Noticing him looking, Kyle asked, "What is it, daddy?"

  "Nothing, big chap. Just thinking how lucky I am, that's all."

  "Why do you feel lucky?"

  "Because I have you," Paul spoke with zero hesitation.

  Kyle faced the ground and was dragging his feet. It took him a while to speak, but when he did, he said, "I don't feel lucky."

  "No?"

  Kyle shook his head. "I wish mummy and Bell were here."

  "So do I, kid. But we'll get through this."

  There was a long pause and Paul knew that his son's mind was working overtime, so he refrained from speaking, waiting for his little man to fire another query at him. He didn't have to wait long.

  "Daddy?"

  Paul smiled. "Yes, big chap."

  "You never told me where Daisy and Lisa went."

  Paul lowered his head in sadness. He thought, or at least hoped, that his son had somehow forgot about their neighbours. It was bad enough seeing his neighbours from the other side of the house, Sandra and Harry, lying in bed after taking an overdose, but to see Lisa thrown into the back of the van by the Murphy family, and then Daisy getting her head smashed in by the father of the notorious clan, was something that repulsed him every time the image skated across his mind.