He took a hold of the bottle and took a quick swig of the orange liquid. He leaned his head back, startled to hear the sound of an engine, and quickly got to his feet and approached his window.
A black car pulled up by The Church of the Good Shepherd, and two men got out. He had no idea the make of the car, as he was no good with that kind of thing. He never drove.
He saw the men scan the street and approach the main doors of the church. He remembered telling his recent two female visitors about the church, but had no idea if they were still in there. The men went in, and a few long minutes passed before they exited the place in a hurry. What was going on?
Two women came out of the church, holding baseball bats, but they weren't the same women that had visited his house, looking for their friend. It was two different females, and an argument took place between the two men and the dark-haired woman of the two.
The men appeared aggressive and pulled out knives, but the bat-wielding females seemed unruffled by this, especially the one with the short blonde hair.
What followed next shocked the man, but it was compelling viewing.
A scuffle broke out and the men lunged at the girls with their knives, but received strikes to their heads for their troubles. The first man went down immediately, but the second took two blows before hitting the floor.
Just when the bearded man thought that the show was over, the female with the dark hair and the ponytail picked up one of the knives, that the men had both dropped, and stuck it into the chest of one of them. The woman with the short blonde hair went for a more brutal method with the remaining male, who was half-conscious and trying to helplessly crawl away.
The girl with the short blonde hair walked over to the man with calm, and smashed his brains in with the bat. The bearded man, watching from his bedroom window, had counted six strikes. The bodies were then dragged to the side of the grounds, and the women casually went back inside as if what they had done was the norm.
Once he witnessed this, he moved away from his bedroom window, sat back down, and shook his head. That was quicker, the way those men died, but it wasn't the way he wanted to die. He already knew what his death was going to be.
It was going to be starvation.
Chapter Thirty Five
"Regrets?"
Bentley sat in thought about Rick Morgan's question whilst the three of them, Bentley, Pickle and Rick, were standing by the barrier, in front of the articulated lorry.
Pickle and Bentley had returned a few minutes ago, and Pickle had told Lee James that he wanted to wait by the barrier until Karen came back, even if he had to wait all night. He couldn't hide his concern, but the fact she was with Sheryl was some kind of comfort.
Bentley finally answered Rick's question. "One of my main regrets, apart from not being there for Laura, was that I didn't tell enough people to fuck off."
"Good one," Rick giggled. Vince always thought that Rick was boring and nicknamed him Father Stone, but he seemed to be opening up to Bentley and Pickle. Thirty-five-year-old Rick asked another query. It was his way of breaking up the monotony. "Who do you miss the most? You know, since..?"
Bentley sighed, "Well, that's an easy one. Laura."
Rick looked at Pickle for his response, who was staring into space, leaning against the back tyres of the huge vehicle. Pickle was in no mood to answer these dumb questions, but knew that Rick's heart was in the right place. "Too many to name," he said.
"You know what I always hated?" Rick spoke up, making Pickle shake his head with impatience. "I always hated it when you used to get those automated calls from companies, trying to sell some shit."
"I always hated Russian dolls." Bentley smiled. "Always full of themselves."
Pickle snickered and raised his head. "That's a Vince joke."
All three men fell silent once Pickle mentioned Vince's name, but the silence didn't last long when Rick Morgan pointed up ahead. "Look!"
Bentley and Pickle looked ahead to see two figures.
"Do you think it's those freaks?" asked Rick.
Pickle laughed, and Bentley shook his head at Rick's daft query.
"Really?" Bentley pointed at the two figures walking towards them. "And how many of the dead walk that sexy?"
With the darkness growing, it was hard to tell who it was from that distance, but Pickle was certain that it was Karen and Sheryl.
And he was right.
Chapter Thirty Six
July 30th
The fourteen-year-old girl crept down the stairs after hearing the noises from outside, crowbar in her right hand. It was nearly seven in the morning, and both her and her guest struggled to get to sleep the night before. She was already awake when the noises occurred. She heard a car engine speeding along, followed by a horn that lasted a couple of seconds, then the screech of tyres followed. She had been in the establishment for a few nights now, and liked sleeping in a place where there were actual beds.
She felt her way around in the duskiness and entered the lounge area of the Wolseley Arms pub. She had closed all the curtains to the place when she first arrived, and went over to the window, nearest the main door that was bolted. She banged into a chair on her way over to the window and released a profanity. When she finally reached the window at the back of the pub, her fingers pulled back the curtain, and she could see that the garden was clear. She went over to one of the windows that looked out onto the car park, her tremulous fingers clutching the dusty curtains, and pulled them back.
Nothing could be seen, and she was now thinking that maybe it had been her imagination. She went over to the window that looked out onto the front, banging her knee on a table on her way over, and puffed out an anxious-filled breath out.
Whatever happened now, she was never going to go back to sleep.
Her adrenaline was coursing through her, and her heart was galloping at a furious rate. Her fingers pushed back the curtains of the window, and gasped when three dead faces stared in. She released the curtain, took a step backwards and clattered into a table. She fell over and knocked over a chair. Cursing herself under her breath for this clumsy and noisy episode, she stood to her feet and could now hear thuds coming from the window. She approached it once more, and took another peek to see the faces had doubled. More of those freaks were banging on the thick pane of glass, trying to get inside.
She released the curtain, and went back upstairs to try and get a better look out of the window of the living room that also looked out onto the front. She reached the living room, and this time looked through the window and opened it a little. The moans of the creatures from below could be heard, and once her eyes registered what was happening, it began to make sense why these things had turned up.
On the road was an animal of some kind, possibly a deer. She couldn't make it out, because many of the dead were around the animal, ripping it to pieces and stuffing as much as they could into their contaminated mouths. Not all were attracted to the animal. A car was by the side of the pub and had clearly veered off the road, for whatever reason, and it was now clear to the fourteen-year-old girl that the vehicle had hit the animal, lost control, and crashed into the side of the barrier, near the pub. She could see that there was at least twenty of these ghouls, most around the vehicle, and trying to get at the driver, and there was going to be more.
She helplessly watched as they managed to smash and force their way through the car, and she closed the window as the male screams filled the air. She lowered her head and was sad that she couldn't do anything for the man. The closing of the window did nothing to drown out the horrendous, blood-curdling screams no human should hear, and she placed her hands over her ears and counted up to thirty. She took her hands off once she reached thirty, and turned back round to peep out of the window. The screams had stopped.
She watched as the numbers of the dead grew. She didn't think staying in the pub was an option anymore, now she had been seen when she was downstairs, and saw two of them look up and glare
at the teenager. She went back into her room, took her bag from under the bed and put it over her shoulder. She then grabbed her Jaguar bow, putting it across her chest. The arrows were already in the bag.
She left the room, and put her hand on the door of another room that was next to her. She placed her hand on the knob, twisted it, and gently pushed the door open.
She could see the silhouette of the individual sleeping on top of the bed, and stood beside him and crouched down. She shook the man, and he moaned and told her to leave him alone. She tried again, and this time said, "We have to go. The dead are outside, and more will come."
"So what?" the man groaned. "Leave me alone. I've only had two hours sleep, if that. They'll go eventually."
"I don't think so. A car hit a deer and crashed."
"And?"
"Some are eating the deer ... and the driver."
The man sat up quickly and said, rubbing his eyes, "Bollocks. There's gonna be more of them."
"Some saw me. Which means—"
"They know that food is inside."
"Exactly."
The man got to his feet and, still fully-dressed with his boots on, he said, "Let me have a look."
He crossed the landing, with the girl in tow, and peered out of the living room on the first floor. There were now dozens of those things around the pub, especially now that the deer—they could see now that it was definitely a deer, thanks to its severed head—and driver had been devoured.
"What do you think we should do?" the girl asked for a second opinion.
"We're gonna have to leave and go somewhere else."
"Where?"
"Most of them seem to be at the right of the pub, blocking off the road to Stafford and the Rugeley Road. There's only one place we can go," the man sighed, and ran his fingers across his scarred face in exasperation. "Little Haywood."
"Can you manage it?" she asked. "You've done nothing but sleep for the last two days."
"Not surprised, considering what I've been through." The man added, "Looks like you're stuck with me for another day. So much for going our separate ways and me heading back to Rugeley first thing in the morning. Is it clear round the back of the pub?"
She nodded. "For now."
"Then we don't have a moment to lose."
"I hope this works out."
He could see that the girl looked nervous, and the man leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. He said, "I'll make sure nothing happens to you. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be here today. I'll never forget that."
"I don't like the idea of being out there again, with all those freaks." She laughed falsely, "I suppose it's nothing I'm not used to."
"Me neither. Personally, I'd rather shit in my hands and clap than be out there," he sighed, "but we don't have much of a choice."
He checked his pocket and remembered he had put his knife on the side-table before falling asleep, and went into the room to retrieve it. He returned to see the girl had also disappeared, then returned with her shades that she had put on her head and was holding her crowbar to accompany her bow and bag. They went back downstairs and the male went to the main door that would lead out to the back garden; he told the female teenager that he was going to peep out before they left.
"I don't know the best way to go," she confessed with a whisper, the thuds and moaning from the back window were now increasing. It was a matter of minutes before they'd get in.
"It's okay, I do." The male unbolted the door and peeped out to see it was clear. He turned to the girl and said, "Follow me. We're gonna go round the back, by the side of the river. Then get to the road and make a run for it."
"Try not to fall in this time," she tried to joke.
"Very funny," he said with a smile. "I don't think I'd survive a second time if I fell in now. I'm that knackered I'd be lucky to reach Haywood." He took one more look and asked the girl, "Ready, Stephanie?"
She nodded, clutching the crowbar with her clammy right hand. "I'm ready, Vince."
They both left, and quickly got to the side of the river. Its flow was its usual viciousness, and the male made sure that he kept well clear from it as he strolled beside it.
The young girl was only two yards behind him, and seeing that the male had his knife drawn, she lifted the crowbar, ready for anything. With the man in front, her nerves weren't as bad they would have been if she was on her own. She kept close behind him, and wondered how long it'd be before they made it to Little Haywood. And what would they do once they got there? Break into a house?
For weeks she had been on her own, and preferred it that way, but she had warmed to this strange-looking man, and knew that he was one of the good guys. Like her, he was a survivor, and had probably done some awful things in order to keep breathing, but she was beginning to feel safe with him around. Even when he was passed out on the bed from exhaustion and weakness, she knew once he was on his feet that he'd be a tough nut and a viable companion. She would like the pair of them to stick together, but she hadn't told him this yet.
They were moving away from the river now, and were going upwards on the grass, getting near the Wolseley Bridge that went across the River Trent, which meant they were near the road. He peered his head to the right and could see the road awash with the dead. There was no chance they could make it to Rugeley or Stafford, which he knew anyway, but even Little Haywood looked to be a hell of a risk.
"We may have to wait a while before heading to Haywood," he announced with a heavy sigh.
"Why?"
He turned and gave her a small smile. "There're too many of them. After a while they might continue past the pub. Then we can go."
She dropped her head. At first he thought she was crying, but she was just crestfallen that there was always one thing after the other.
"Okay?" he asked.
"I'm okay," she said, still sticking close behind the man.
"Come and take a look," he urged.
She did as she was told. She lay on her front and had a quick peep. There were too many to count—far too many, and she could feel her heart sink at the horrendous sight. "What now?"
Vince and Stephanie could hear the sound of glass smashing to the side of them, which confirmed that going back to the pub wasn't an option as they were getting through the windows. Leaving the establishment was probably for the best, despite being exposed and out in the open.
"Let's go back down to the bank of the river," he ordered. "We can hang about under the bridge, until it's safe."
She did as she was instructed, and left first, with Vince Kindl following her close behind.
Chapter Thirty Seven
She had been held up in her house for seven weeks before deciding to flee the place. The water from her bath and the bottles she had filled in the first week had ran out, and she hadn't eaten in days. Her trip from Rawnsley had been a scary one. She was weak, but the fear of the dead and some of the living urged her to keep walking.
She was running out of options.
If she went left, she'd be heading into the countryside, into Fradley. It was probably safer in the countryside, but she wanted to see if her brother was still alive. Surely if he was alive, he would have tried to reach her. She had lost contact with him once the power went, and she had a terrible feeling that he was already dead, but she knew he stayed—or used to stay—at the Spode Cottage Caravan Park. It was only a two mile walk and it took her a long time to build up the courage to leave, with starvation and lack of hydration playing its part.
She reached the town of Armitage and could see the bloody carnage around her. Bodies, remains, and blood was everywhere. The smell was awful, and she began to gag as the powerful stench tormented her sense of smell. She knew she was exposed, being out in the open, but she wasn't far away now.
Another mile and she'd be there.
*
Karen Bradley had told Pickle that she fancied a walk. He jokingly warned her not to run off this time, and she gave him a salute before heading to
the Lea Hall building. She passed the entrance of the place and felt saddened for the death of Nicholas Burgess.
In a matter of two days the camp had been breached, and finally Lee and another individual were due to go on a short run, to Karen's relief. They were going to Power Station Road to get some barbed wire from a store unit that was near the JCB factory.
It was about time.
It was something that should have been done weeks ago, she thought, but the main focus of the camp since the beginning had been food, fluid and medicine—not security. Before Vince and his crew showed up, all they had for a barrier was some cars and a weak-looking gate, and guards carrying bats. Now they had HGVs and guards carrying sawn-offs. Because most of the Sandy Lane residents had been enclosed in this area, they didn't really know what it was like out there. They had no idea what other people were doing in order to survive, and that there were others that were taking advantage of a collapsed society.
Lee had been out there for a short time, but Karen and Pickle had been out for weeks, and it wasn't just the dead that were a threat. Some people of the Sandy Lane camp were beginning to understand that now.
She went by the changing room and nodded at a guard that was standing by the door. The plot of the burial had been decided, but the burial wasn't going to take place until Paul came back, if he returned. He had one more day, and then little Kyle's body—what was left of it—was going to be buried near the large hut, next to the bowling green, whether his father was present or not.
Snatchers (Book 8): The Dead Don't Pray Page 15
