Snatchers (Book 3): The Dead Don't Cry

by Whittington, Shaun

Chapter Thirty Two

  It had been a mundane few hours for Jack and Johnny, and the two individuals had spent most of the morning sitting in separate bedrooms, thinking.

  Johnny had spent most of the time reflecting about Jack's rant and the kind of 'luck' that the survivors had had in order to stay alive. Johnny's saving grace was the factory. It was secure; had food, and was a safe haven, albeit temporarily.

  He had no idea the exact amount of time he had spent lying on the bed with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling that desperately needed painting. He was even unsure whether all the time he was in the room had been spent awake. He was certain he'd either had had a power nap or was drifting off when he got a fright. Whatever gave him the fright forced him go to the bedroom window that looked out onto the back gardens, but he couldn't see anything.

  Johnny closed his eyes once again, even though he felt that his bladder needed emptying. He began daydreaming about the future, and what on earth was going to happen next. His daydreaming was short-lived however, as he heard the front door being shut.

  "Shit."

  His eyes opened as wide as they could, and despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins, he was unable to move. He had no idea why the front door of the house had been shut. Had Jack gone for a walk? Was he tired of Johnny and decided to go out there alone? Was it something else? Had one of those things got in? Or had the gang tracked the men down and wanted revenge for the treatment of their colleagues?

  Johnny was still unable to move, even when he heard the slow, clumsy footsteps progressing up the stairs. Once the footsteps were heard on the landing, Johnny had found some energy from somewhere and quickly rolled off the bed and crawled underneath it.

  He was now lying on his front, and already the sweat was trickling off of his forehead as he waited for whatever was outside the bedroom door to come in.

  There was a knock on the door, but Johnny didn't answer. He was too scared to answer. There was a second knock, but straight after the knock, the door swung open, and all Johnny could see from where he was lying, was a pair of shoes.

  "Johnny?"

  It was Jack's voice.

  Thank fuck.

  Johnny slowly and sheepishly crawled from under the bed, and saw that Jack Slade was confused. Jack never bothered to ask him what he was playing at, and instead decided to speak to him as if his rant from earlier had never happened.

  "I was speaking to the old woman next door," Jack began.

  Johnny sat on the edge of the bed, wiping his brow. "Oh, so there are some people alive in the street then."

  Ignoring his remark, Jack continued, "Apparently the street has hardly seen any action during the outbreak. Mrs Doyle, the woman next door, said that in the three weeks, she had only seen two monsters go by her front window."

  "So what are you saying, we should stay where we are?"

  "Well, because the street is relatively hidden, and people have chosen to stay indoors, there has been nothing to attract these creatures."

  "Did you ask them about those looters?"

  Jack nodded. "She said that she has never seen anyone like that. She even said that she pops over the road to her friends for a cup of tea and a chinwag every evening."

  "Those idiots are only a matter of streets away," said Johnny. "It may well be rosy in the garden for Mrs Doyle and her other coffin-dodger friend, but it's only a matter of time when their food runs out or those crazies, both dead and that gang, come here and rob them." Johnny then suddenly looked at Jack with befuddlement and scratched his bald head. "And how on earth does she get a cup of tea when the electrics are out?"

  Jack shrugged his shoulders. "Camping stove, maybe."

  "Is that it?" Johnny stood to his feet and bent over to touch his toes and stretch his back.

  "No." Jack sat down on the bed next to his friend and added, "She also said that she has a daughter and a granddaughter who, in the first week of the outbreak, had fled to Armitage, but only got so far because some men had blocked the road off. They eventually allowed them to stay. This information was given to her when the mobile phones were still working. Anyway, the blockade is at the Spode Cotttage."

  "The pub?"

  Jack nodded, and then teased, "And what's behind the Spode Cottage?"

  It had been years since Johnny had lived in that area, but he answered, "I think I can remember a massive hedge, eight feet in height that no one can get through."

  "And what's inbetween the back of the pub and that hedge?"

  Johnny thought for a moment and couldn't find an answer.

  Jack sighed, "The caravan park, of course."

  "Of course," Johnny said in a whisper. "Do you think they'll let us in?"

  "Only one way to find out."

  "But how are we gonna get there? It's three miles away."

  Jack pulled a face, that didn't give Johnny too much confidence, and tucked both of his lips in while he began to think. Jack reached into his back pocket and pulled out a set of keys and shook them.

  Said Johnny with confusion, "They're the jeep's keys."

  Jack nodded slowly, slightly mocking Johnny. "Yes they are. And we're gonna get our wheels back this afternoon."

  "What if those twats have taken it?"

  "Then we come back here."

  "I dunno." Johnny stood up, and was all tense again, and began pacing the floor. "Why don't we steal a car from the street?"

  "Have you seen the old cars in this street?"

  "So what? Give me a sane reason why we should go back for that jeep?"

  Jack could see that just the thought of going back had turned Johnny into a bag of nerves. "I'll give you three reasons. Reason one: I don't wanna be stealing a vehicle from some poor soul who's gonna need it in the future. Reason two: Even if I wanted to steal a car from the street, I have no idea how to hotwire a car anyway. Reason three: The jeep's perfect. It's got gas, and it's solid. It's exactly what we need. And...Reason four: It'll be fun."

  "You said three reasons," Johnny sighed, "and that last one wasn't funny, by the way."

  "You have two options, Johnny." Jack took on a more serious tone and stared at his companion who was far less enthusiastic than Mr Slade. "You can either come with me and possibly go to a place where it may be secure, and have other people we can be around with plenty of food—"

  "You don't know that for sure; there could—"

  "No I don't," Jack interjected. "Or, you can stay here for the next few weeks, hiding, drinking your own piss, and eating the leaves and the grass from the back garden, 'cos that'll happen eventually if you decide to stay here. You can't order online for food anymore; those days are gone. You're gonna have to go out there and get it for yourself."

  "Yes, I know that," Johnny snapped. "Don't patronise me."

  "So what's it to be?"

  Johnny held his arms out as if the answer was blatantly obvious. "I'll go with you."

  "Good." Jack headed for the bedroom door and opened it to leave. "Be sure to have a piss; we go in ten minutes."

  Chapter Thirty Three

  "Another trip or so, and we should be okay for a few weeks," Wolf said with excitement coated in his words.

  At last, there seemed to be a little light at the end of the tunnel. Before the arrival of Karen and Pickle, Wolfgang Kindl had envisaged his future of getting food by collecting mushrooms and berries from the nearby woods, and putting out traps for any kind of animal that came along.

  Karen disappeared into the cabin, leaving the two men in the garden, and grabbed the bags for the next supplies trip.

  "There're are a few people living in that street," Pickle said. "I think we should try another street in the future. We shouldn't get too greedy with this street; they'll need supplies themselves, and I don't think they're the type o' people to go out and hunt and loot for stuff."

  Wolf cackled and looked at Pickle. "If they have a family to feed and they're starving, trust me, they'll do anything to survive. Once the food runs
out, these barricaded folk that have boarded up their doors and windows will eventually come out."

  "And the trouble with that," Pickle added, "is if these people eventually come out, more could be attacked—"

  "Meaning more of those deadheads will be produced. By the time desperation kicks in, the people will be more dangerous than the creatures out there. There's a good chance that this cabin will be owned by new people in a few weeks. I've always thought that one day people will come up here and kill me, asking no questions, then take over the place. Then a few weeks down the line, the same will happen. This is one of the safest places in the town. No one has ever tried to get in, apart from you and Karen, but they'll come. As soon as the hunger and the dehydration kicks in, they'll leave their homes, kill their neighbours, maybe, then one or two will come up here."

  "You seem certain."

  Wolf continued, "If you had a young son, and he hadn't eaten for days, and you live in a world where the land is in a lawless state, what would you do to keep your child alive?"

  "A lawless state or not, I'd do anything."

  "Exactly."

  Karen then emerged from the cabin, and threw Pickle his bag. "What are you two talking about?"

  Pickle grinned and said, "Oh, Wolf was just cheering me up."

  "Just being realistic, Harry." Wolf patted Pickle on the shoulder and with his old, tired legs he walked back into the cabin while Karen and Pickle left the premises.

  "Make sure you lock the gate," Pickle shouted over to the occupier, and strolled through the grass in the glorious sunshine with his female partner beside him.

  They walked in a comfortable silence and went down the decline and through the gap in the tall, surrounding hedge. They both slowly walked along the football field, scanned the spacious area, and enjoyed the warm rays heating up their skin.

  "This'll be possibly our last time in this street," Pickle announced to Karen.

  She nodded in agreement and said, "We can try the other street behind it, once we run out of supplies in the cabin. If there's anything left."

  "That's exactly what I said to Wolf." Pickle smiled and was in agreement with Karen. "Like I said to David Pointer, when he was firing questions at me about survival: Let's just live for today and not worry about tomorrow."

  "It would be nice to stay in the same place for a while, without running from those things every other week."

  "I think our safest place was the multi-storey car park after what had happened at Stile Cop."

  "No it wasn't," Karen laughed and waggled her head. "Safe from those things, maybe, but not safe from death itself. Another day up at that place and I would have thrown myself off from the boredom."

  Pickle stopped walking and looked at his friend. "We've been through some shit, me and you, haven't we?"

  "You could say that. This is how it's gonna be from now on."

  "I know; after all o' those things we've killed, avoided, and ran from, in a few weeks' time our own death could be something we never would have envisaged, something unjust."

  "Like?" asked Karen.

  "Well, like being shot for our bags o' food, or the cabin gettin' stormed by some desperados."

  "You're a cheery fucker, aren't you?"

  "I was talking to Wolf; he had a few things to say, and some o' them made sense."

  "He's okay; he's sixty-nine-years-old, he's had his life."

  Pickle looked at his female companion with disappointed eyes. "Karen. That ain't nice."

  "Aw, come on. He's had a good innings. Do you honestly think we're gonna have the opportunity to reach that age?"

  "Probably not, but he is doing us a favour."

  "Yep, and we're doing him one as well."

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Jack, along with the reluctant Johnny, left the house and took the keys that were sitting by the teapot in the kitchen, just in case they needed to come back for whatever reason. The forty-year-old then slipped the keys into his back pocket, while the car keys were in his front, and walked along with his companion.

  The walk itself looked innocent enough, with the exception of a hammer slipped into Johnny's belt buckle and Jack carrying the crowbar in his right hand. The streets were unusually and eerily quiet, as if it was a typical early Sunday morning, and most people were inside and in their beds, nursing hangovers.

  Jack had no idea why there was very few of those things, and thought that they must have been enticed in their droves by something beforehand.

  Jack thought back to the day when Gary had set fire to the Porsche, in a desperate attempt to push them back, and it exploded and took Gary and himself off of their feet. It seemed that hundreds were behind them that day. Maybe they kept walking and walking, and a lot of them from the Rugeley area had cleared out because of this. But what about the ones that had reanimated inside their own homes from day one? Were they still indoors?

  Johnny, on the other hand, couldn't care less about the reason why the streets were barren with life—and death. Long may it continue, he thought.

  One of Jack's questions were answered immediately when he saw to the left of him, two reanimated poor souls, inside their own living room—he presumed—trying to claw and slap their way out at the blood-covered panes of glass. Their excitement intensified once they saw the two males casually walking by.

  Focusing on the task in hand, Jack faced forward and continued to stroll, and as soon as they came to the end of the street, Jack crouched down and waved Johnny back. They looked down the long road of Crabtree, and could see the black jeep sitting at the side of the road where they had left it.

  "It hasn't been touched." Jack's posture was a man now brimming with confidence. "All we need to do now is take the jeep and get the fuck out of this town."

  "As simple as that?" Johnny was a lot more sceptical than Jack. "What if it's a trap?"

  "A trap?" Jack tried to stifle his laughing. "I think these guys have got their hands full with robbing the houses in the area. Anyway, they think we're dead, remember? Don't worry. We'll be fine."

  "I hope you're right." Johnny still seemed unsure. "I just hope that they haven't drained the fuel from the jeep and fucked off, otherwise we'll be going nowhere fast."

  Ignoring Johnny's remark, Jack ordered, "Follow me."

  Jack decided to cut through the back gardens in order to get to Kerry's old place a different way. They jumped over fences and climbed over hedges with little fuss. Then once they were near Kerry's back garden, they stopped. Jack crouched down behind a hedge and could see that the garden was empty of life, just like the ones that they had ran through to get to their destination.

  "What do you think?" Jack asked Johnny.

  "Does it really matter what I think?" Johnny said with the sound of self-pity in his voice. Johnny knew that whatever he suggested, Jack would rarely take his advice anyway. He had no idea why his companion asked him for his opinion.

  "I suppose not." Jack grinned and patted Johnny on the shoulder, letting him know that he was joking. "Come on."

  They climbed the hedge and fell into Kerry's garden. Jack then told Johnny to wait round the back of the house while he had a look around the front. Johnny did what he was told, then Jack came back and told him the road was clear.

  "No one there at all?" asked Johnny.

  "They must have left and picked another street."

  "Bastards!" snarled Johnny. "I hope they get what's coming to them."

  Jack took out the car keys from his pocket, and beckoned Johnny to go with him. Jack pressed the fob and the jeep unlocked. Both men jumped into the vehicle and quickly drove away with no hassle from other outside forces, both alive and dead.

  Johnny quipped, "Well, that was easy."

  Jack made a right turn and speeded up down a long road called Green Lane. "Don't be too sure," said Jack, and nodded up ahead where a car was coming the other way.

  "Is it one of them?" Johnny asked, as he was unsure, but Jack recognised the vehicle and turned the
jeep off the road, into the playing fields. The car followed.

  Both men stayed silent while the other car gave chase and followed closely behind them. Jack slipped the jeep into fourth and floored the gas pedal. He veered left, throwing him and Johnny to the side as the jeep took the sharp bend, wheels screaming, and straightened the car up. The jeep then drove onto a large play park and they were on the grass once again.

  Jack asked stridently, "Johnny, how we doin'?" Jack couldn't see what was going on. The back wheels span and spat up dirt so much that it was hard to see through the back window via the misty rear-view mirror.

  "Not a lot." said Johnny, peering out of the back.

  "Be a bit more fuckin' specific than that," Jack snapped, smothered in tension. "I mean: Are they close?"

  "Pretty fuckin' close."

  Jack turned the wheel and the vehicle swerved left back onto the road. "How many in the car?"

  "Two."

  Johnny could see that Jack was lost in thought, despite the fact that he should be fully concentrating where he was going.

  Johnny questioned, "What's up?"

  Jack responded, "Maybe we should stop the jeep and take our chances." He then pointed to the crowbar, sitting in the back of the jeep.

  Johnny was confused. "And do what? Run?"

  "Beat them to death."

  Johnny shook his head and slowly dropped it into his hands. "Just keep driving. They'll give up eventually." Please give up.

  Jack slipped the jeep into a lower gear, and the car behind seemed to be getting closer. He floored the gas pedal once again; the tyres of the jeep screamed out as the vehicle made a sudden sharp turn to the right. They were now along the main road into the town centre, and Jack could see up ahead that there was a crowd of the dead lingering around a roundabout called The Globe Island.

  He had no idea why they were hanging around that area. Maybe a kill had taken place.

  "Hold on," instructed Jack.

  Seeing that he wasn't joking and that Jack Slade was planning on ramming the vehicle through the eighty-strong crowd of the dead, Johnny cried, "Oh Jesus," and braced himself for impact.