Snatchers: Volume One (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 1-3)

by Shaun Whittington

"Doesn't matter what the cause was, or where it came from." He finally looked at Janine with his face devoid of any emotion. "Whatever it is, it's here. It's how we deal with it from now on, that's all that matters now."

  Chapter Twelve

  David Pointer made sure he was the last to get into the attic, and after he pulled up the ladders, he closed the hatch. What used to be used as storage was now going to be their home for God knows how long. Of course, they would be allowed to stay on the first floor during the day and use the toilet, etc., but David wanted his family in the attic right now, on the second floor.

  He didn't know how many of those things were out there or how strong they were. He had come to the conclusion that if they remained in the attic for a day, and he checked out the house to see that there was no destruction and no sign of those things trying to get in, they could live on the first floor of the house, but would have to sleep in the attic for safety purposes.

  The downstairs was reasonably blocked off, making it difficult for even a normal human to get in. He and Davina had also moved a cupboard on top of the stairs for added protection.

  David said, "I'm gonna go and search next door, see if there's any food we can have. We don't have that much."

  "What? Isn't that stealing?"

  "Let's not go through this again. I don't think the Nobles will be too bothered; they're in New York for Christ's sake."

  "I dunno."

  David walked around the small attic, and his anxiousness was already annoying a nervy Davina. "Remember that documentary we saw the other month?" David queried.

  "Funny, I was thinking exactly the same thing. Are you talking about the Toxoplasma Gondii thing?"

  "I think it was that."

  The two of them were interrupted by young Isobel, and Davina continued to speak. "Just seems a tad hard to believe that a housecat can infect a thousand people every day with Toxoplasma just for eating an infected rat, and causing people to go…well, mad. Do you think that could be what's happening?"

  "What else could it be? What did you make of what we saw on the TV?"

  Davina never answered, as she didn't have a clue.

  David kneeled down and kissed his wife who was sitting on the floor now playing with her daughter. He kissed her on the lips and gave her a playful wink; as he stood up she grabbed his trouser leg and glared at him with consternation.

  She said, "You don't have to do this."

  He placed the knife and hammer by his wife's side, and put the rucksack back onto his back.

  "I know." He placed his hand over his mouth before he released a cough. "But we need to get as much food as we can. We have a fridge and a cooker that are downstairs, but if the electrics go we'll be eating out of tins for the foreseeable future, and we don't have enough tins. And how long do you think the milk's gonna last? Did you bring enough cutlery with you from the kitchen?"

  Davina nodded.

  "Better get the tin opener to some use." David placed a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder. "Our Babs is gonna be hungry soon."

  "Cold macaroni it is," Davina said with emotion that forced her to put her hand over her mouth. Here eyes glistened, but the tears remained in their home.

  "What's wrong, mummy?" Isobel looked up, holding one of her dolls. "What's daddy done now?"

  Both parents began to chortle audibly; David could feel his heart murmuring as he stared at his little girl. What kind of future was she going to have?

  Then Isobel asked, "Mummy, can I play with your iPad?" Isobel was referring to the educational games that Davina would allow Isobel to play on as a treat.

  "I forgot it, love," Davina spoke regrettably, and she then turned to David. "I left my phone downstairs as well."

  "We'll get everything up, eventually. Don't worry."

  David leaned over and kissed both his girls on the forehead, opened the skylight and popped his head out and looked all around. He was hoping that the roof tiles weren't as slippery as they looked. He could see his neighbour's skylight that sat twenty yards away. "Pass me that hammer and knife."

  Davina passed him the claw hammer and knife; he blew her a kiss and told her to shut the window.

  "What's it like out there?" she asked from below.

  David was now out of the house and crouched on the roof; he looked at the sun and cloudless sky and took a deep breath in. "Peaceful."

  He blew his bemused daughter a kiss who was wondering what he was up to, and she remained glaring at her daddy, perplexed. The window was shut and a nervy David Pointer stood to his feet. He put the hammer into his belt and carefully climbed his way up to the pointy roof; a couple of tiles slipped off, but it wasn't enough to unnerve the thirty-nine-year-old. He got to the roof's highest point and sat down; he looked out onto his road and could see other streets as well.

  The area was reasonably quiet; the sun blazed down on his head, and he thought that the day itself had become an oxymoron: It was a beautiful day, but below the sun, was a world where butchery was occurring, and David didn't have a hint on how or why it was happening.

  To his left, he saw a family in their drive quickly and frantically packing up their car. Where were they going? He was dying to ask them. Did they know of somewhere better to go? Was staying in the house a recipe for disaster?

  In the distance he could hear screaming; the curiosity had got the better of him and he decided to risk standing up on the highest point of his roof. He could now see the street behind his. There were about a dozen of those things spread out on the street; some were in the road, but others were banging on the windows of some of the houses. He could hear the screaming once more, and said under his breath. "Shut up. Don't you realise it's the noise they're attracted to?"

  David didn't know this for sure, for all he knew, they could probably smell a human, but what gave him the idea of his noise theory was that a series of car alarms were going off, and these things seemed to ponder over towards the vehicles to check them out before moving away, probably because there was nothing to devour.

  And then he saw it.

  It was like a car crash, horrific, but he couldn't keep his eyes off it. It was a natural instinct, a morbid curiosity embedded into every human being. His body remained standing, but his legs almost knocked together with panic as he saw at the end of his own street, a woman running out of her own house.

  She was being pursued by two of the things, and what unnerved David was that these things seemed slow at first, but once they spotted her, they ran clumsily after her like a couple of drunks. They couldn't run fast, it was more of a brisk walk, and this worried David so much he could feel his face move with fearfulness.

  She fell over onto the road, and the things continued to pursue their feed. Knowing that she didn't stand a chance, David decided to avoid watching what had probably happened to thousands upon thousands of people. He sat back down onto the roof and placed his hands over his ears to drown out the woman's faint, yet, blood-curdling screams as she was being ripped to pieces.

  David stood back up to his feet and walked the short journey carefully to the next skylight. He crouched down, and despite what was happening to the country—possibly the world, a twinge of guilt hit him as he pulled out the hammer from his belt to break into his neighbour's house. It only took a gentle knock to create the first crack and two attempts later, the glass fell through onto the floor of the neighbour's attic. He heard a clatter from underneath him and saw that his knife had fallen, and was making its way off the roof and landed in the guttering.

  "Oh crap."

  Shrugging off the loss of a weapon, David carefully removed the remaining fragments of glass and jumped straight through, landing onto the bed. It looked like the attic had been converted into a bedroom.

  His weight caused the bed to make a loud crack. He got up and scanned the room. It looked like the little girl's room. He looked down to the floor and saw that it was open-design, and that the small spiral staircase led to the first floor to the bedroom below. H
e stepped carefully down the staircase; it didn't seem too steady and it rocked as he progressed down. Maybe it was only designed for a child to go up and down.

  The bottom of the staircase led to another bedroom; it seemed like the girl was spoilt as it looked like it was her second bedroom. It had pink walls and had Minnie Mouse matching curtains and a lamp shade. David exited out of the room, and with the hammer in his right hand he checked every room before making his way downstairs.

  He walked into the kitchen, and was disappointed to see the fridge was almost empty. He cursed himself and called himself an idiot. Of course it was empty! Why would you want to stock up a fridge if you were going to New York for a week?

  There were a few tins of tuna, a tin of pineapples, tomato soup and two tins of beans left in the cupboard. David took them and popped them into his bag. He took a walk into the living room; the blinds were drawn so the room was reasonably dark. He opened one of the cupboards and saw a collection of whiskeys. It was tempting, but he decided to refrain from taking them. It wasn't necessary; maybe if he was on his own he would fall into a well of self-pity, lock himself in a room and get terribly drunk. But he had a family to think about and to take care of.

  He noticed by their landline phone that a green button was flashing. There was a message. He pressed the button and sat down as he waited for the beep to sound.

  The voice sounded distressed and out of breath.

  "Hey, it's Mark Noble and his family. We don't know if anyone will hear this, but this thing is starting to happen over here in New York, so it doesn't look why we're coming back for now. If any members of our family are listening to this, Tricia, Robert, mum, dad and Aunty Beryl, we love you all. We're stuck in our hotel and we don't know what to do, as all flights are grounded indefinitely."

  David could then hear a girl and a woman screaming in the background.

  "I've gotta go, they're trying to get in. God help us!"

  The message came to an end, and sent a large shiver through David's skeletal frame. He puffed out his cheeks and reached for the TV remote. David switched on the Noble's TV and scanned through the channels. The foreign channels were no longer broadcasting, at least in the UK, and the only channel he could find was the BBC. It was a black screen with white writing and had a list of bullet points.

  *We believe it is a rabies-type virus.

  *If you're bitten. You ARE infected. Stay away from your family.

  *If attacked by more than one, there's a strong chance you'll be devoured, making reanimation impossible. Remember! They're not here to create more beings, they're here to feed and feed only.

  *They can't be reasoned with and will not feel pity. They may be slow, but they are determined.

  *They're attracted to warm flesh, sound, light and noise.

  *Stay indoors! If you stay indoors, you cut off the food supply.

  *Avoid them at all costs. However, if you damage the brain, you take out the beast.

  *Stay put for more information.

  The channel seemed to have a lot of information considering this thing had just happened, David thought. Maybe it was just guesswork for now. Or maybe they had known for days…weeks even, but didn't want to cause mass hysteria. He switched off the TV and half-laughed nervously. It was so surreal.

  He got to his feet, ready to get back to the rooftop of the Noble's house. He thought about them for a brief second, and now presumed that they were probably deceased. It made him heavyhearted, but he needed to be strong for his family. He needed to shrug this feeling off; it was harsh, but he needed to do it, otherwise he would fall apart.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Karen Bradley's Cherokee jeep screeched its way over the Milford countryside; she was now two miles away from her hometown and didn't have a clue where she was going. At last she saw signs of life as she saw two vehicles. The two cars flashed her as they sped past, which at first pleased her.

  It was hard to establish what the flashing actually meant. According to the Highway Code, flashing of headlights should only be used to let others know you are there, and not to use them as any other means. At first, she interpreted the flashing headlights by the two drivers as a good luck sign, but the more she thought about it, the more her mind went down a more macabre road.

  Maybe they were flashing to warn me. Maybe what the flashing headlights actually meant was: "Turn back, it's too dangerous!"

  She didn't know what to think now; she expected the road to be busier than this.

  She could imagine the only people who went out in their cars were people from the cities, and other populated areas. Or people wanting to get back home from work or from holiday—or like Karen Bradley, not knowing where the hell to go to as nowhere seemed safe.

  She was still driving in the small town of Milford, and turned left up a road adjacent to the Barley Mow public house, which was also near a house that was involved in a shooting incident in 1988, where Sir Peter Terry was shot at his home by the IRA.

  She pulled into a desolate car park that was surrounded by nothing but greenery, which was used by teenagers in the summer. The kids would drive up to Milford greenery and park their cars on the grass, drink alcohol, and blast out music from their car stereos. She had done it herself once upon a time, when she was much younger.

  She switched the car engine off and broke down in tears. She had lost Gary; she would never experience him massaging her feet ever again, or being a clumsy fool, or making the annoying grunting noise every time he started a sentence. She had lost him for good.

  She took a bottle of juice out of her glove compartment and took a generous swig; she then wiped the tears from her cheeks with the palms of her hands. The sun was burning her skin through her windscreen, and she squinted as she turned the key in her car and put on the music system. She tried to search through the frequencies to see if any stations were working; she had found only two.

  One was actually playing music. She couldn't believe it. Despite what was going on, there was still a station playing music, although she was certain it was on a loop, and there wasn't a DJ stupid enough to stay behind while all this mess was going on.

  Not wanting to attract unnecessary attention, and also not being a Depeche Mode fan, she turned I Feel You off and searched for other stations. She eventually came across a station that had a male voice. His message seemed robotic, and after a minute of listening, it repeated itself again suggesting that it was definitely an automated message and although the radio station was up and running, there was probably no one actually in the building.

  It told people to stay indoors, not to make any noise, ration food, and try to avoid using light on an evening in case it attracted the beings. This information that was being given out suggested to Karen that this could be something that had been known about for weeks.

  How did they know all this, so soon?

  'Beings' was the word that it chose to use, and so far Karen had only had two experiences with these beings, one of them being her boyfriend.

  If it was a rabies-type virus like they were guessing, she could only assume that it was the huge scratch that she saw on Gary's body during their struggle that had changed him. It must have happened when he was out with his pals, as there was no bite on his naked body; he then probably staggered home, then never woke up again—not as the real Gary.

  Her tears fell once more, and she wondered how anyone would survive in this situation. She contemplated going back to her house; it would mean killing her own partner, but nowhere else appeared safe.

  The situation was hopeless.

  Maybe she could kill herself. But what with?

  She shook her head and thought that many people across the country might have already used that option, not just people on their own, but families as well. She contemplated her situation, and then she thought of a direr scenario that there could be: Distraught parents out there, killing their own kids before taking their own lives, because if the beings didn't get them, then starvation and
dehydration would kill them, and who would want that for their babies?

  If these parents were convinced that their little souls were better off in heaven, rather than allowing them to live in a hell on Earth, who could blame them?

  Karen wiped her eyes and had made a conscious decision to go back to her place; there were sufficient fluids there, and it was her home after all. Although the fridge was half-empty, it could be enough for her to survive for a week or two.

  She stepped out of her jeep and opened the boot; she peeled back the cover where the spare tyre was kept and saw, next to it, the tyre iron. She took a hold of it and went back to her driver's seat. She blew out a stress-filled breath, and knew that this was the choice of weapon that was going to end Gary's life for a second time.

  To massage her guilt, she kept on reminding herself that technically he was already dead, and it worked a little. The man that she loved was never coming back. The only thing that she would be destroying was his shell, which he wasn't living in anymore.

  It had to be done!

  She placed the tyre iron onto the passenger seat and put her head on the steering wheel. She was feeling nauseous; she retched a little, but nothing was brought up apart from a little acid that stung the back of her throat. She had never vomited so much in one morning, and was hoping it was finished with. She looked up, and in the corner of her eye she could see five figures stumbling towards the car. They were near the exit, and must have come from around the corner, where the six-foot bushes stretched along the main road.

  Karen Bradley looked aghast, her eyes stretched as wide as they could, her heart galloped insanely as they quickly shuffled towards her Cherokee jeep. Her quavering hands reached for her keys, still sitting in the ignition, and she pulled the vehicle towards the left. She was now facing parallel to the exit of the car park.

  She stared at the five ghouls that were now fifty yards away, three of them looked like—what used to be—young men. Their skin was pale; eyes were sunken and almost black with contusions of some kind. They literally looked like moving corpses, and the other two beings looked like an elderly lady and a young girl, no older than fourteen, dressed in only her pants and her naked chest half-covered with fresh blood as if she had just fed. Her body was snow-white and bruised. She had a bite mark on her left forearm, whereas the others looked untouched.