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

by Whittington, Shaun

  The man dropped his sword as a sign of submission and, in tears, tried to explain, "Look; my family are relying on the shop for survival. We haven't had any trouble until you lot showed up. Please, I have a wife and three sons upstairs, all under the age of ten."

  Vince laughed, "You have a wife under the age of ten?"

  "What?" The shopkeeper was now baffled and didn't understand Vince's dark sense of humour.

  "Well," said Vince. "I'm very touched by your story, but—"

  "It's okay," Jack interrupted, and could feel Vince's cold glare. "We've got what we wanted. Haven't we?" He looked at Claire, then his eyes went onto Vince, but he wasn't getting a reaction. "We're taking the stuff that's in our bags, but there's still plenty left. As soon as we leave, you better barricade this shop. Your door wasn't even locked."

  "Really?" The shopkeeper placed his hands on his forehead, and strangely began hitting himself. He then looked back up at the gang of three and added, "I must have forgot during all the panic. This door's locked anyway, so even if they got into the shop..." He pointed at the door behind the counter that led upstairs to his home.

  "Just make sure the shop's locked as well, once we're gone." Jack then pointed around the shop at the remaining food, "And get all of this shit upstairs, into your house, before someone else takes it."

  The shopkeeper nodded like an obedient child. "Yes. You're right. Thank you."

  Without saying a word, Vince left the shop, clearly agitated by Jack taking over the 'gig', and Claire quickly followed behind.

  Jack smiled at the nervous man and raised his hand to say farewell. The man returned the gesture with a grateful nod of his head, and then Jack walked outside to be greeted by a clearly-upset Vince.

  "Well, you exceeded my expectations in there, Jackie boy." Vince's words were drenched in sarcasm.

  Jack tried to explain, "The man was desperate, and you said yourself, we have plenty back at the camp."

  Vince said, "Why don't you put a pair of knickers on my head, because you've just made me look a right cunt."

  Claire wasn't getting involved in the bickering and silently went into the passenger side of the truck. Jack looked to his left and saw that the two beings were only ten yards away from the truck. Vince sighed and pointed at them, and said to Jack, "Make yourself useful and get rid of them. They'll only follow the direction of the pick-up truck and end up at the blockade by the end of the day."

  "Okay." Jack nodded in agreement and went to the back of the truck to grab his crowbar. He walked up to the two ghouls and noticed one was much quicker than the other as Jack took a step forward. He put it down with a solitary strike and walked towards the second one, which was no older than fifteen when it was in human form and dressed in football attire. Jack hit the thing and it stumbled back. He shook his head and took another swipe, the hook-end of the crowbar embedding itself into the top of the cranium, and the ghoul dropped like a stone, its cranium spewing out liquid from its damaged head.

  It frightened Jack how little it affected him putting these things down, but was convinced that this kind of cold attitude was keeping him alive. He knew these things couldn't be bargained with or felt pity for its victims. It was kill or be killed.

  "As much as I would love to stay and admire the view," Vince was in the driver's seat and had his head leaning out of the opened window, "I need to get back to camp to see people, and more importantly, knock one out."

  Jack never responded with words, but with the one quick nod. He walked over to the truck and jumped in the back, his crowbar still dripping with blood.

  Chapter Forty Five

  Karen had finally entered the street, and as soon as she saw the burning house up close, as well as the two Ford Focus cars, she took out her machete. She looked down a street to the left of her and could see seven Snatchers stumbling up the road, making their way to the lane she was now in. Were they attracted to the burning house? She wasn't sure, but they were only a hundred yards away.

  She progressed closer to the cars and saw a small gas canister and a camping stove on the pavement. Perfect for the cabin, she thought. She looked around and then ogled inside the well-stocked car, then grabbed the canister and stove and put them behind the wall of a garden so nobody else could claim them.

  Her eyes widened as the sight of the two cars had suddenly brought back memories from days ago. It was the four men! But where was Pickle? With them? Had he been caught?

  She knew they were somewhere, but wasn't entirely sure which house they were in.

  She guessed that they were on the right hand side of the street, and crept over the other side of the road. She sneaked into a back garden and peered through a living room to find no one in there. She hopped over a fence to get to the next house, and heard a voice above her. It was a woman, and her bedroom window was opened.

  "If you're lookin' for ya mate," she whispered, with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of her mouth, "he's at number eight. Those men 'ave got 'im. I saw everything."

  Karen gave the woman a nod of thanks which she hadn't seen, because the window was immediately closed. It was obvious that the remaining residents were concerned by the presence of these men, and the woman was brave in the first instance for talking to Karen.

  Karen stuck her head out from behind the house and could see number eight, as it was the house opposite to the one where she was, on the other side of the road. She then saw a tall, skinny guy walking over to one of the Fords and opening the boot. The boot was well-stocked and there was a large gas canister sitting in the back.

  The man turned his back on Karen, and she thought that this was the perfect opportunity to take care of one of them. Her mind was now certain that Pickle was inside with the rest of the men who had tried to kill them only a few days earlier.

  She was hesitant in what to do. Her hesitancy enraged her and she cursed herself for being a coward, but this move she was planning could also put her friend's life in danger if it went pear-shaped.

  Here goes!

  She ran over towards the car, only twenty yards away from the man, and tried to make as little noise as possible. As she crossed the street, ready to bring down the machete's handle down on the man's head to knock him out, a shot rang out, and Karen and the tall man both ducked. It appeared that her little run had been spotted from the living room window of number eight, by the shotgun-wielding, Mangy.

  He stepped out of the front garden, into the street, and with Karen knowing that there was one cartridge left, she dived to the floor once he unleashed another shot.

  Her ears were assaulted by an incredible noise as the car exploded, and an incredible heat burned the back of her neck. She rolled onto her back and looked up to see a huge fireball, only fifteen yards away, touch the sky. She covered her face as light debris fell from the skies that had been catapulted up by the explosion, and she had finally managed to find some energy to move further away from the fire. Her mind was beleaguered by bewilderment and had no idea what was going on.

  She looked back up to the murky sky and saw the smoke from the defunct car, almost the same colour as the threatening clouds, billow its way into the atmosphere.

  Her ears were ringing and it felt like everything had turned into slow motion, as if she was in a dream. She could see that Mangy was struggling to reload the shotgun with another two cartridges, and it finally dawned on Karen that the second blast from the shotgun had penetrated the gas canister in the opened boot of the car when she dived out of the way.

  Not having any time to allow this to sink in, she ran over to Mangy and drew the machete back. He dropped the shotgun in fright and Karen took a swipe at him, slicing the left side of his cheek. He fell to the floor, screaming, and before she could take another swipe, she felt hands on her shoulders. She was thrown to the floor, dropping the machete, and could see that Specks and Wiry had somehow crept up behind her. She put it down to her loss of hearing for their 'surprise' attack, and both started kicking her.

/>   She curled herself into a ball while the kicks continued, and she somehow managed to grab the machete and took a few blind swings as her back was taking the unnecessary blows. Both sets of kicks stopped immediately once she heard a high-pitched scream. Her ears had been temporarily damaged from the blast, but there was no escape from hearing such awful cries.

  She opened her eyes and could see an unharmed Specks jumping into the remaining Ford and driving away from the street, whereas Wiry was now on the floor, in the middle of the road, with his left arm, three inches from the elbow, hanging off and releasing more blood than Karen thought was possible. It appeared that her blind swiping had created at least one casualty.

  She got to her feet and tried to shake off the high-pitched noise in her ears. She looked at Wiry and felt absolutely nothing. She then walked by him, as his screaming continued from the machete wound, and she was now standing next to Mangy who was still clutching his face, blinded by the blood that covered it. She stuck the bloodied machete into her belt and picked up the abandoned shotgun and the two cartridges off of the floor that Mangy had tried to use to reload the gun. She reloaded successfully, and knew that this weapon of choice was the correct one for the remaining assailant inside, as there was no way on earth that the screaming and the explosion hadn't been heard from him.

  Karen was aware that three possible scenarios greeted her once she got inside: Pickle could be dead. The remaining assailant could have Pickle as some kind of hostage. Or, the man had already fled.

  She opened the door, walked into the house, and pointed the gun in all directions as if she was a member of a SWAT team, albeit with an unreliable and old-style shotgun. She kept her eyes sharp, especially now that the ringing in her ears was still loud enough to drown out any faint noises, and walked into the living room to see a slumped man on the floor.

  "Pickle?" she cried, and placed the gun on the floor. She tried to move the man over but he was too heavy. She felt for his carotid pulse, but there wasn't one, and he wasn't breathing anymore. She lowered her head and could feel the tears welling up in her eyes.

  With the Snatchers coming up the street, and the explosion, she knew she couldn't hang around for long. She placed her hand on the man's head and released a long, sad exhale of breath. She ran her fingers down his back and then suddenly scowled with confusion. His muscular frame had seemed to have diminished.

  The living room door swung open and Harry Branston appeared with a slight limp, and a swollen face. Karen released a gasp and a laugh in unison, and placed her hand over her mouth. She looked at the slumped body, and pulled the head up by the hair to reveal the face of the dead man. It was the remaining assailant, Average.

  Pickle said, "I was just checking on the family hiding upstairs. That explosion's gonna bring a bit o' bother. I think we should go; I think we've caused enough shit for the people in the street."

  "You okay?" Karen was sickened at his battered and bloodied appearance. "Oh shit. Your finger!"

  "I'm fine," Pickle said. "I saw everything from the living room window. As soon as that explosion happened, he," Pickle pointed at the dead body, "turned around. So I just kicked him in the side of the leg and broke his neck. Easy as pie."

  Pickle looked uneasy on his feet, and Karen went to help him. Pickle shooed her away and said, "I can just about walk, leave me be." He then patted himself. "Bastards have took my machete."

  "Wolf has a few more back at the cabin. Let's not waste any more time."

  They both exited the front door and stepped into the pouring rain that was coming from the black, fused clouds from above. Karen had the shotgun in her right hand and Pickle could see that the fire from the car was burning away, but at least the fire from the house was starting to die.

  "Fuck," Pickle said, once he saw Mangy screaming and holding his blood-drenched face. He then saw Wiry lying in the middle of the road, now unconscious, blood still pouring from his large wound and minutes away from death.

  "They were kicking the shit out of me," Karen tried to explain.

  "Oh, I didn't see that bit. I must have been wrestling with the living-room-guy when yer were hacking away. There's one missing."

  "He got away in the car, but we've got bigger problems than that." Karen pointed at the top of the road and saw seventeen Snatchers turning into the street. "There was only seven last time I counted."

  "That was before the explosion," Pickle chuckled falsely. "Come on. We can get to the football fields over the back garden. Just let them get nearer." Pickle looked at the wounded Mangy and the dying Wiry. "These two gentlemen might be perfect distractions for our escape."

  Pickle then looked around the street, and immediately felt guilty for the arriving horde. Once he and Karen had escaped, what would happen to the residents in the street? Would these things arrive in their hundreds and end up crashing and forcing their way in through the houses like what happened in Heath Hayes? There were good people living here, children, and elderly people who had no fight in them at all, just fear.

  "In fact," Pickle had changed his mind. "Forget it. Let's leave by going out of the street."

  "In order to do that, we need to go back to the cabin that way," Karen pointed at the horde. "Right through those cocksuckers."

  "Come on, Karen. This is our fault. There's innocent people in this area. If we run through the back garden, we'll attract them to the centre o' the street."

  Karen was exasperated with Pickle's charitable behaviour. "We've just saved these people from those bastard men. Isn't that enough?"

  "Yeah, and brought a shit load o' Snatchers to replace them."

  Karen puffed out her chest and looked at her friend with frustration. "You need to stop this Mother Teresa attitude, Pickle. You mark my words, your kindness is gonna get you killed."

  "And yer mark ma words, young lady, with yer attitude yer gonna be going to hell."

  "I think I'm already there."

  Pickle never responded to Karen and she could see that he even seemed prepared to go this alone if need be.

  "How you used to be a drug dealer, I'll never know." She brushed her brown hair behind her ears and said, "Fine. Let's not waste another fucking second."

  Karen handed Pickle her machete and she held the shotgun, knowing that after just two cartridges, the butt of the gun was going to have to be the weapon to finally get them out of there.

  As they got nearer to the horde, Karen made two blasts with the gun, the kickback taking her by surprise. The blasts from the gun had managed to damage three heads, and the remaining walking dead continued to stumble behind, with some of them decorated in brain debris from the ones that Karen had just killed.

  An exhausted and wounded Pickle swiped one in the side of the head, almost severing it, and it fell. Karen then turned the gun around and smashed two in succession, right in the forehead, sending them to the floor. The remaining eleven almost quickened their pace and Pickle's soft and weak swipe slashed the cheek of a ghoul that was once a female.

  Noticing that Pickle was weakening, Karen was like a woman possessed and smashed at anything that came near. "Give me the machete; they're circling us."

  Pickle did what he was told and Karen threw the shotgun to the floor and used the last of her strength to take them out one-by-one, while Pickle remained behind, uneasy on his feet. Brain and skull flew through the air as Karen made swipe after swipe at whatever came near, and with just the four left, she was feeling the adrenaline wearing off and knew that there wasn't much left in her tank to keep her going.

  From out of nowhere, a female with short brown hair, came out of a house and rammed a huge knife into the back of one of the heads of the things. She then drew her cleaver and smashed it into the back of the skull of another, giving it six blows as it fell in a bloody mess. The two that were left were still unaware that this new human predator was around, and continued to stumble towards Pickle and Karen.

  With almost the last of her strength, Karen brought the machete down wi
th both hands and it travelled to the centre of the skull of one of the fiends. It split the head in half, and blood flowed out as the embedded weapon had made its way down from the top of the cranium to the jaw.

  The remaining one had now grabbed Karen, but she was too tired to fight it off and Pickle was in a worse state. The new female grabbed the thing by the back of the hair and threw it to the ground. She took the machete from the Snatcher that Karen had just killed, and rammed it into the skull of the one that she had just thrown to the floor; she then withdrew it once the thing stopped wriggling.

  Karen looked at the small massacre around her and staggered as if she was drunk. She then looked at the girl that looked a few years older than her.

  An exhausted Pickle slowly walked over to Karen and pointed at the brown-haired woman. "Karen, this is Shaz." He then pointed at Karen. "Shaz; Karen."

  Both girls gave each other a single nod of the head, and Karen wondered how they had met, and guessed correctly that it must have been when Pickle had to go it alone the last time. She never asked, though. She was too tired to be standing around, listening to mundane stories that could keep. She needed to rest.

  Pickle said, "Good to see yer again."

  "You too." Shaz smiled, then clocked the blood on his left hand, noticing his small finger was missing. "Shit."

  "It's okay. It stings a little."

  "Stings? Is that all?"

  "Once it's wrapped up, it'll be fine."

  Karen sighed at the small talk and moaned, "Is this really necessary?" She then tugged on Pickle's T-shirt. "Come on, let's go. I need to get that hand of yours seen to, and I'll make sure you get plenty of painkillers down your neck. I don't want Wolf munching on those things like they're sweets because of his bad back."

  Pickle then looked at Shaz and asked, "Yer wanna come with us?"

  Shaz looked around the street. She saw the smoked-out house at the end; two men lying on the ground with blood pouring out of them, a car on fire, and a pile of dead, infected creatures around the end of the street. "I could do with a change of scenery."