The two cars looked to have collided with one another as both front bonnets were crushed a little. A head-on collision, it looked like to Jack. The motorbike lay on the grass and Jack thought that the rider might have lost control of the vehicle and came off, leaving the bike to slide across the road before hitting the grassy bank. But where were the accident victims? There was no sign of blood or body parts, so he could only assume that the individuals involved in the accident had fled the area in panic. Maybe this road used to be swarming with the beasts.
After what he had witnessed earlier on, he carefully stepped towards the carnage. To his right, was a wooded area, and he was aware that danger could be prowling all around him. He peered into both cars, but both of them were empty. There was no sign of carnage, no blood, no dead bodies.
Both cars were spotless and Jack couldn't fathom on what had happened. Inspecting the front of both cars, he was sure that they were un-drivable, most probably with radiator damage, so he set his sights on the motorbike. It had been years since he had ridden one, especially one of this size.
Its bodywork was lime green, and it looked like a BMW with a 1300cc engine. Apart from a few scratches, it appeared that the bike was in working order, and like the car a mile down the road, the keys were in the ignition. There must have been some of those things here. It was the only conclusion he could come up with on why someone would leave a perfectly working motorbike.
Whatever the real reason, his or her loss was Jack Slade's gain. He was taking it. The motorbike would expose him and provide no shield like a car would, but it was all he had, and there were positives with this vehicle, especially if it were needed to escape through a field or an alleyway. Jack convinced himself that there were pros and cons riding a motorbike or driving a car.
A motorbike in this current climate, Jackie boy? Are you completely insane?
Chapter Thirty One
He stepped out of the Wolseley Arms pub and breathed in the country air. It smelt wonderful to be free, but he knew that, not so far away, the smell of death was awash in towns and cities all across the nation and possibly other countries. It was something he was trying not to think about and was glad to a certain degree that TVs were down, as the only thing reporters would show the world from now on was the carnage across the country, and would give an insight to the average human on how they were going to eventually die.
Harry Branston felt his freshly shaven face, that was achieved with cold water and a used razor from the owner—he guessed—and span slowly around gawping at the area he was in. He was now standing in the middle of the pub's car park, yards away from the van. He saw the river, and the main road leading to Stafford, and he could see the garden centre and the road that led to Rugeley and Little Haywood, where they were the day before.
It was only a mile up the road, where dozens upon dozens of the things were when the van left the premises, and he was reasonably surprised that he couldn't even see one of them.
He spent the night with KP, and slept restlessly, and could have sworn he had heard noises outside. On two occasions he went downstairs into the dark, barren lounge of the pub, only to find nothing inside. He checked the doors and looked out of the windows. He saw shadows moving, but wasn't sure that it was anything untoward.
For minutes, he glared until the tiredness and the effects of the alcohol that had been consumed were beginning to take their toll once again.
He checked his watch and knew he was the first to rise; the rest seemed to have over-indulged more than him as far as the booze was concerned. He walked slowly over to the river; it looked to be in a dirty condition and he was surprised if any fish dwelled in that murky watery place.
Pickle—Harry Branston—screwed his eyes and continued to walk towards the river. He was now out of the car park and stood on the grassy bank that had a reasonable steep decline. He saw a hundred yards down the river, a body. When he was in the car park, that's what he thought it was, but he wanted to make sure. Poor soul.
He took a deep breath in as he saw the washed up corpse on the bank and didn't understand why he—he assumed it was a he—wasn't walking around with the rest of the dead. Maybe he tried to escape as a human via the river and drowned.
His thoughts were shattered when he heard the rest of the group talking in the background and KP shouting his name, wondering where he was.
Time to go back.
He whispered a prayer for the dead man, turned around and went back to the car park to meet his nervous group who were wondering where he had gone.
Chapter Thirty Two
They shared an orange juice between them, and sat eating a cold tin of beans. Twenty-four hours ago, Karen Bradley would have turned her nose up at such a breakfast, but her stomach ached for food, any food.
The two of them had decided to take turns in sleeping the night before. Oliver slept from 9pm to 4am, whereas Karen managed another four hours sleep afterwards. The pair of them both admitted that the sitting around was killing their psyche. The boredom was self-evident as the conversation, once it had covered most of their personal and private life, went onto the subjects of politics, religion and why what was happening, was happening.
Karen spoke up, "So now we're all fed, and refreshed, do you think we can make our way up to Stile Cop? It should only be a thirty to forty minute walk if we take it easy."
"Sounds like a plan." Oliver smiled; his gaze lingered a little longer for Karen's liking. "The incline's a bit of a bitch, but it has to be done."
"If I wasn't so exhausted, we could have made it last night."
"Maybe." Oliver nodded. "I do sometimes think we'd be better off in here, where no one can see us."
"True, but up at the beauty spot, we could set up camp nearby; the higher we are, the safer we are. Besides, a lot of other people might have the same idea, so there may be a few of us eventually. Safer in numbers."
Oliver smiled. He was thinking along those lines not so long ago, but there was still a fraction of him wondering if the woods would be a better hiding place.
The two remained sitting on the grass, their knees tucked into their chest trying to muster the energy to get to their weary feet and make the walk to one of the highest points in the area. Karen knew the day before that the incline of the walk was the main factor why she couldn't go on as well as the lack of sleep she had received since the virus outbreak. She now felt reasonably refreshed—normal even, and combed her brown hair back with her fingers, and tightened up the bobble on her short ponytail.
"I need a shower," she gasped.
Oliver smirked. "Oh, I dunno. You look good to me."
"Oh, please." Karen shook her head.
"What's wrong? You're an attractive woman."
"Am I really?" There was a huge tone of sarcasm in Karen's voice and she wasn't impressed with the compliment from this man.
"Well, I wouldn't say no."
"I lost my boyfriend yesterday and it hasn't even hit me yet. I was attacked and carjacked by two men, we've only just met, I haven't washed in more than twenty four hours, and if you want me to be brutally honest, I'm not attracted to you anyway."
"What harm could it do?"
Karen took a look at Oliver's face; he had changed somewhat over the last few hours, his eyes looked demonic. "Are you serious?" Karen laughed when she asked the question.
Oliver leaned over and placed his hand inbetween Karen's thighs, just above her knee. His hand then gently stroked her inner thigh and slowly made its way upwards. Karen stopped the progression with her own hand. He pushed her hand away and grabbed her crotch; she tried to push him away and said, "What the fuck are you doing?"
Oliver was losing control, he grabbed her by the hair and Karen let out a small shriek. He threw her to the ground and sat on top of her, his knees resting on her arms, preventing her from escaping. He leaned over and began kissing the side of her neck and using his tongue to inspect her facial features. His right hand slipped under her light blue uniform trou
sers and she shrieked as his clumsy, clammy hands pulled out a few pubic hairs as he felt for her opening. He stopped what he was doing, and leaned over towards her and went to kiss the side of her neck while he unzipped his own trousers.
Karen threw her head forward, her forehead connecting violently with Oliver's nose. He let out a shriek as immediately his nose bled; she then used her bodyweight to throw him off and he landed to the side; she then grabbed her club and smacked him across the face as he lay on the floor.
"You can stay away from me from now on!" Karen screamed. "Or I'll kill you, understand me?"
Oliver wearily got to his feet; his face was unrecognisable with the blood he was losing from the damage to his nose and to the side of his cheek. His face looked disfigured, and Karen assumed that the blow from her club had probably fractured his cheekbone. He ran at Karen, which took her by surprise, and she responded by pushing her foot forward into his stomach, winding the man, but also making him fall to the floor.
"What the fuck? What are you doing?" she yelled.
Oliver slavered, "I just wanted to make love to you."
Karen laughed and scrunched her face in befuddlement. "You fucking men," she said with disdain. "You only think with your dicks, and you don't even know how to use them properly. We're living in an apocalyptic world, and you want to empty your balls? Seriously?"
There was no sign of Oliver letting up as he struggled quickly to his feet, and as he did this, Karen bent down and reached for his small axe lying on the grass. As he hobbled within her vicinity for a second time, she never panicked and seemed in control as if she knew exactly what to do.
As he staggered towards her, she suddenly crouched and swung the axe into the side of his left knee. He let out a painful scream and fell to the floor. She wanted to disable him, not kill him. At least this way, it would prevent him from following her. It may have put his own life in danger by now having a handicap, but it was him that chose to attack her, she was just protecting herself.
The blood seeped through his combat trousers, and with the axe in her hand, she walked over to the damaged Oliver Bellshaw. He flinched as she stood over him, and using the small axe to lean on, she crouched down towards him.
"I want you from now on to go that way." She pointed to the outskirts of the woods by the main road. "I don't want you anywhere near these woods anymore, got it?"
He nodded pathetically, and continued with his whimpering.
"Right." She stood to her feet. "I'll be keeping your bag. If I see you again, I'll kill you next time."
Oliver began to sob; his bloodied face looked full of regret, but Karen wasn't falling for his pathetic response.
"Just go," she snarled.
He stood to his feet painfully, as she took a couple of steps backwards, and he turned around and hopped uncomfortably away from her, towards the main road. It wasn't too far away, but for a man with his injuries, a yard would feel like a hundred.
She remained stationary for a few minutes and could hear the sound of a vehicle in the background. She cocked her head to one side to get a better listen and found that the vehicle was groaning louder. It was coming up the main road; she was split in two whether to flag the vehicle down and try and catch a ride before Oliver got to it first, or just to stick it out on her own.
She had enough food in her bag to last another three days if she rationed it. She decided to stay on her own, as flagging down a vehicle could be potentially opening up another can of worms, she thought. Oliver was initially a nice guy, but twenty-four hours later, he had changed. There was destruction happening across the country, but not everybody was pulling together for the sake of mankind.
Karen thought that, now that there was probably no police presence and a feeling of lawlessness across the land, the surviving humans might take larger risks and think that they could get away with violence, because there was no law to break anymore.
She suddenly heard the engine of the van to the right side of her, she obviously couldn't see anything because of the condensed trees, but a thud was heard as the van's engine began to decrease in sound as it travelled further away, making its way to the top of Stile Cop Road.
It sounded like it had hit something…or someone.
Oliver.
Chapter Thirty Three
"How much food have we got left?"
Davina had come back from the trees to drain her bladder, and sat with the passenger seat door open. She looked at her watch; it was nearly 11am.
David never answered her question; he was singing songs to Isobel who had decided to give breakfast a miss. Father and daughter were standing by the boot of their Renault. David now had a stick in his hand, and was scrawling figures with the stick in the sandy surface of the beauty spot. He was teaching her how to play noughts and crosses.
Davina never repeated her question, and walked around to the boot of the car and opened it to ruffle through the bag. "Not much," she sighed.
David told Isobel to give him a minute, and he walked over to his wife. There was a silence amongst the couple and Davina looked at David with sadness in her eyes. "How do you think it's come to this?"
David shrugged his shoulders and looked over to Isobel, who gave him a cheeky wave. He said with a hint of sarcasm, "Take your pick. Are our alien overlords returning to reclaim the planet? Maybe it's a government conspiracy to curb population growth? Is it God's doing?"
"But…are they dead or alive? If they're dead, why do they eat?"
David sighed and took on a more serious tone. "Look, I only know the same as you. Are they alive? What is your definition of alive? Spiritual? Biological? As for eating; is it just to spread the virus or do they really need the food? Does their digestive system work? But they don’t breathe and their heart doesn’t pump, or does it? All it needs is the brain and nervous system to move, but without a digestive system and a working heart, the body would shrivel up and dry up and decompose within weeks."
"So what are you saying?"
"Remember what the TV said. The best hope we have is to keep away from these things for as long as possible, and hopefully necrotic degradation will eventually kill them off."
"Necrotic degradation? What's that?"
"I thought you were in the medical field?"
Davina wasn't in the mood for David's sarcasm. "David, as you know, I'm…or was, an auxiliary nurse, which means, all I do is take blood and change beds. I'm not fully qualified."
"Basically, what it means is that they're rotting. So if we humans can steer clear, hopefully they'll wither and collapse. But, even if they did all die, we'd still be in a world where life would never be the same."
"What do you mean?"
"What would you rather face? A gang of unarmed stumblers, or a group of armed human vicious males, desperate for food?"
"Neither," Davina cackled.
David leant over and kissed her on the forehead. "Me neither."
She went to the dashboard of the car and took out his phone; it had one bar left and she tried to ring her mum again. It was the answer machine once more. She shook her head in frustration and almost threw the phone to the floor. She was disheartened that there were no text messages either. She switched off the phone to try and preserve its life, and placed it back into the glove compartment.
David walked towards her and placed his hands comfortingly on her shoulders. "We'll get through this."
"Will we?" She sobbed gently, trying not to attract the attention of their daughter. They both tried to keep their emotions in check for the sake of Isobel, but it was easier said than done.
"Daddy," came the innocent voice behind him.
"Yeah, Babs."
"It's your turn." She handed him the stick.
David took the stick off his daughter and gazed at the beautiful little thing. She was so innocent in such a macabre world. How on earth was he going to protect her?
David looked to his right to see the shoulders of Davina shuddering up and down, as she
was still crying.
Tinged with sadness, David delicately brushed his fingers through his daughter's blonde hair and almost fell to pieces himself once again. He made his mark on the sand, and she excitedly took it off him and made her mark and threw her hands in the air. "I win, I win."
"Right, you go and practice on your own for a while, and I'll be back in two minutes."
"Okay," she responded with no protest.
He walked away from his daughter and kissed the back of his wife's head. He then made his way to the driver's side, put his keys into the ignition, and put the radio on.
"I thought you already tried that?" Davina spoke from behind.
"Just seeing if there's any new info."
The only station that was working was a BBC station. It was still broadcasting the same information. It was on a loop, and after a few minutes the same information would be repeated, but David wanted to see if anything new had been added.
It was still the same: a bitten human would be infected; they could be killed by damaging the brain, and they believed that they were attracted by noise and light. There wasn't anything else that had been added since the last time he listened.
Davina was sick of crying, but she couldn't help it.
"Mummy, what's wrong?" Isobel had walked up to her mum, and saw the distressed thirty-four-year-old clinging onto the boot of the car, the tears rolling down her cheeks rapidly.
Davina wiped her tears with the back of her hands and turned to face her daughter who was now becoming upset herself. The youngster was feeding off the negative vibes that were occurring around her, and Davina knew it would be impossible to completely protect her.
Davina knelt down and embraced her daughter, and squeezed her hard. Although Davina knew that her baby had no idea what was happening, she was aware that something was wrong; she had been caught up with the emotion of it all.
Snatchers: Volume One (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 1-3) Page 18
