He stopped running once he walked past the huge main slider. Bonser was right, there was no chance he could get into the gatehouse. Gary continued to walk and was now in the car park, where only two cars remained sitting under the yellow flooded area thanks to the lights from above.
He looked around to see if the area was unthreatened; he had heard about what was happening, but so far he had no first-hand experience with any of the deadheads—which was one of the names given to them by the media.
The area was clear, but he didn't want to hang around too long. Thank goodness there were two cars in the park; he didn't fancy walking the country roads of Stafford in the darkness, and the safer option of staying on the grounds until daylight never really appealed to him either.
The first car that he walked over to was a white Clio, not his first choice of car and a bit girlie for him. He remembered his friend Gavin Johnson had bought a cherry coloured Clio and was ribbed by his friends for weeks for his purchase. Gary went along with the ribbing, but deep down thought the car looked decent and only joined in because of peer pressure. It even came to the point where they refused to get in the car, if ever they were taking a ride out somewhere. Gavin Johnson stuck to his guns for as long as he could, but eventually caved in and sold the car for a black Astra.
Gavin Johnson. I wonder what he's doing now? I wonder if he's alive?
The Clio held his attention only shortly as he began to salivate over the red Porsche 911.
Gary was bemused that it was still sitting there. He thought that the slider door was only opened when the officers had left last, as he noticed a prison van missing. Most of the prisoners left the exercise yard and scaled the wall at the sides of the prison. If they were allowed to simply walk out of the front gate, there was no chance those cars would still be sitting there, Gary thought.
Forgetting that the surveillance cameras around the car park weren't being watched and controlled by no one anymore, out of habit, Gary took a look around before he unscrewed the aerial off the Clio and used it to prise the door of the Porsche open.
The looking was an automatic rule of his, and he released a breathy laugh as soon as he made his careful observations, realising they were unnecessary.
He then sat in the driver's seat and looked under the steering wheel; took off the cover, and took the wires from behind the ignition. He put the cables together and twisted them tightly and then predictably, the car started. He had done this a hundred times before. Different cars had different methods, and normally he would go to 'work' using a screwdriver, a torch and some strong tape to keep the cables together.
As the engine came alive, he hit the gas pedal a few times to get a feel of the car, and a smile scattered across his face. He hit the gas pedal once more and could feel the excitement rushing through his bloodstream; he took a sharp intake of breath and blew out his cheeks to try and dampen some of the excitement that was making him shake.
He made himself comfortable, and reached over for the door handle to shut the door. He locked all doors as a safety measure, and the car excitedly squealed its way out of the car park.
Next stop, Hazelslade.
Chapter Forty Three
KP had spent an hour slaving over the coal barbecue, and everyone seemed satisfied, apart from Jamie who was standing a hundred yards away from the camp, as it was his turn to stand guard in case of any unwanted surprises emerged out of the woods.
The barbecue was at the end of the beauty spot where over the edge was a steep hill full of bracken. Jamie looked to his left and saw the prison van doing its job by blocking the entrance successfully. He had another ten minutes before he would be released from his duty, as David Pointer was next. David didn't have a gun, but the whole point of standing guard was to inform the rest of the group if anything untoward could be seen or heard, which would result in the unarmed to hide in the vehicles, and the armed to remove the problem, or problems.
Jamie had had a burger and a chicken breast washed down with some lemonade; his stomach was full and he was looking forward to resting his weary legs, as the campfire was looking incredibly inviting. Once the unarmed David walked over to Jamie to relieve him, Jamie walked over towards the campfire and sat in a circle with the others. It was hard work standing in one position for a certain amount of time, and it reminded him whenever he did extra shifts back at the prison in the visits hall.
Janine puffed out a bored sigh, and bemoaned, "How long is this gonna be, staying out here, exposed like this?"
"Stop your whining," KP snorted. "You're alive, you've got food, and once this dies down a little, you can break into any house you want. But for the time being, we need to stay away from populated areas."
"Has anyone checked on Laz?" Jamie asked.
KP shook his head. "He doesn't look good; he's pale."
"I gave him some medicine before, but he's still the same." Janine said, she looked over to Jamie and asked him to sit next to her.
Pickle was chewing on his last burger and said with a mouth full of food, "I'll check on him in a moment."
KP looked over to Pickle and felt uneasy. Pickle smiled thinly and gave him his trademark, reassuring wink.
"I'm gonna go and see how Laz is," Pickle announced to the group; he stood to his feet and stretched, then slowly pondered over with his tired feet dragging on the sandy area, reluctantly being forced towards the back of the prison van.
KP took a swig from the small bottle of water and handed it over to Jamie. He took it while Janine's head wearily rested on his shoulder.
"Not quite as good as the Wolseley Arms." KP tried to break the silence.
"Nowhere near," Jamie half-laughed. "I think it's gonna be a while before I drink like that again."
"Ever wondered how it came to this?"
For the first time, Jamie could hear fretfulness coated in KP's words.
It was a question that everyone was probably wondering, but with all the madness, they hadn't had a chance to think about it too much. "Well, they reckon it's an aggressive form of rabies, or it could be some kind of new and unknown airborne virus."
"A bit like SARS or the bird flu?" Karen questioned, picking out a strand of chicken with her index finger in her front teeth. She was new to the group, but wasn't shy in any way.
KP giggled mockingly at the new girl and shook his head, making Karen feel enraged. "Nah, you and me know, Missy, that it's a little bit more serious than that."
"I have been out there."
"Really? When was the last time you saw someone being eaten right before your eyes?"
"Cut it out," Jamie said with a sharp whisper, aware now that Janine was asleep on his shoulder. "It's not a competition, for Christ's sake. I'm sure we've all got our own personal story from what has happened over the weekend, but it's how we deal with it. That's all that matters now."
KP smirked at Karen from behind the yellow flames of the fire that licked the air; his smirk disappeared when she mouthed the word cocksucker in his direction.
"What are they?" KP asked. "I mean, what's wrong with them, are they sick? Are they dead? Undead? Their brain still kinda works, but they have no heartbeat, but yet they still move. They do seem to have some instincts."
Karen spoke up, "I class them as dead. Radio reports say they have no heartbeat; they don't breathe. So if they are alive, they're not really human. Whatever they are, they're now the enemy. They're a threat to mankind's existence."
"Maybe it wasn't an accidental virus," a sceptical Jamie spoke up. "It's probably these scientists. Look at cloning and stem-cell research. I read that the Chinese had created something in order to vastly reduce the population, to free up reserves like food, water…even fuel."
"That's bullshit, JT," KP laughed, and even Karen managed a smirk.
"It's true. According to this website I was reading, it's called reanimation. The Chinese scientists inject a person, and the brain then dies from the outside in. The outside being the cortex—the nice part of you th
at makes you human, and what is left is the part that controls basic motor function and primitive instincts behind. You don't need the cortex of the brain to live, you just need the stem."
"So let's get this straight," KP was confused by Jamie's story. "You take a brain-dead patient, use these techniques to re-grow the brain stem, and you now have a mindless body shambling around, no thoughts and no personality, nothing but a cloud of base instincts and impulses?"
"Pretty much."
"What do you reckon? You're a nurse." KP looked over at Karen, waiting for an answer.
"I think the rabies-type theory is the one that seems more likely. I heard that the virus started in this country, in a lab, not China, or anywhere else. Rabies is caught when saliva enters your bloodstream, and animals that get it have a tendency to bite, become aggressive and some get a fear of water. But this is obviously a different, more aggressive type."
"How d'ya mean?" KP quizzed.
"Well, for one, it's quicker. It could take ages for symptoms of rabies to occur, but with these things…I dunno, it seems to take them less time."
KP smirked and looked over to Karen. "What did you call them again, I forgot?"
"Snatchers," Karen said.
"Snatchers, I like that. Okay," KP said, waving his hands to get everybody's attention. "I have a joke. Why did the Snatcher cross the road?"
"To eat the chicken," Karen answered with a grin, knowing she had ruined KP's moment.
*
Pickle and Laz walked along the sandy area. They passed the small laughter of the group by the campfire, and at one point, Pickle had to take hold of Laz's arm to stop him from falling over. He was weak; he had lost his appetite and wanted nothing more than to stay in the back of the van and sleep, but Pickle had insisted that he needed fresh air and being stuck in the stuffy van was doing his temperature no favours.
They walked to the edge of the spot, and Pickle insisted that they should go down further a few more yards. The steep incline put Laz off, but Pickle helped him down, although there was a minor incident that involved Laz falling, which almost caused them both to tumble. The two of them had disappeared from the view of everyone else, who continued to sit around, chatting by the dying fire.
Pickle helped Laz to sit, and he seemed to take an age to sit down next to him. They both stared at the beauty of the starless sky that was now a deep, intense azure colour.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Pickle breathed in.
"Sure is." Laz shook with the cold, but felt it was what his body needed, as he was sure he had lost pounds of weight in water. "It's good to be out."
Pickle smiled sympathetically at the ill man. He didn't look good at all. "Why don't yer lie down?"
"I think I'll do that." Laz lay down and ran his cold, clammy hands through his grey hair. "I feel terrible."
"Yer wanna cushion, there's one in the van?"
Laz thought for a moment. It seemed strange he was being looked after by a notorious drug baron. He nodded his head with a weak smile. "And a blanket, if there's one going spare."
"Sure thing. I'll get some water too; yer probably dehydrated bein' stuck in that van."
Pickle walked back to the van eyeing up KP, who glared back and saw that Karen now had a blanket wrapped around her. He was sure that there should be at least one left, and wasn't disappointed when he got to the van. He took the blanket out and walked by the campfire once more with a cushion in the other hand. He could still feel KP's eyes burning in the back of his head.
He walked twenty yards down the steep hill and put the blanket on the floor. Laz looked like he was asleep; he couldn't see properly because of the darkness, but Pickle knew his face was snow-white. Pickle called his name with a whisper, but his face never flinched.
He gently placed the pillow over Laz's head, pulled out the Browning in his right hand, pushed the barrel into the pillow and released two shots.
The body made one solitary jerk from the first bullet. The shots were muffled, but still loud enough to be heard by everyone. He removed the cushion, that smouldered, and tossed it as far as he could down the hill. He refused to look at Laz's face as he placed the blanket over the fresh corpse, and whispered a prayer.
Pickle ambled by the camp once again, with all members around the fire staring at him. KP shouted over to Pickle, "I would have done it sooner." Pickle ignored the remark, and saw that Davina was staring at him through the Clio where she sat up and her daughter was sleeping. He walked over to a nervous-looking David Pointer who was wondering what was going on.
Pickle told him, "Get some sleep, I'll take over from here."
"What was that all about?"
Pickle thought that he owed David an explanation. They were a family that were probably not exposed to violence, and David Pointer deserved to know why a camp member had just shot his own man.
"When we took the food from the supermarket, we were attacked, we lost one of our guys. Laz was bit, not much, but bit all the same. I needed to be sure, really sure. As soon as the fever kicked in, I knew he was fucked. You saw the state he was in, he was probably minutes from turning into one o' them."
David thought about the safety of his wife and daughter, and nodded in agreement with Pickle that he had done the right thing.
Pickle continued, "If anyone is bit, anyone! Then they are a threat to the camp."
"Even you?"
"David, if I somehow get bit, I'll put a bullet in my own head within a minute, I can guarantee yer that."
"We can't just leave him there."
"No." Pickle lowered his head. "Yer right, he deserves better. I'm gonna go and take care of it. Be back in ten, maybe twenty."
Chapter Forty Four
The red Porsche screeched its way down the long lonely road, and Gary Jenson was loving his newfound freedom so much, he had almost forgot what was happening in the world and why he had managed to escape prison so easily in the first place.
He slipped the car into a lower gear to climb the hill, and the vehicle temporarily left the road by inches like a scene from Knight Rider, as the peak of the hill acted as a ramp. He was now at Milford and had just driven by the Barley Mow pub, where he had gone sometimes for a nice surf and turf.
He came across his first experience of the infected as he glanced quickly to his right where the grassland was, and saw at least a dozen strolling around the edge of the field, and it looked to him that they had no idea where they were going. He wondered: if his lights had picked up at least twelve at the edge of the field, the darkness probably disguised the fact that there were maybe hundreds more behind them in the shadows.
He slowed down to get a better look at the last one, before his car drove past Shugborough Hall and entered the snaky roads that had woods on either side. He observed the thing with inquisitive eyes and the image of it rattled his vertebrae. He had seen enough, and began to speed up before it got too close to the vehicle. He took a peep in his rear-view mirror as the last one faded away and was gobbled up by the night, and then his focus and his eyes remained back on the road.
Gary was aware that the country roads had taken many young lives over the years, so he killed his speed and put his full beam on, lighting up the whole countryside, drenching the woodlands in glorious white to enhance his vision.
Despite the lights being on, his vision still wasn't great and he was aware that his concentration levels needed to be high, which was justified, as after just thirty seconds along the treacherous road, the car had to be steered quickly to the left when one of them appeared out of the wooded area and stumbled into the middle.
Gary decided to kill his speed even more, just so that he could get to his destination without being involved in a crash. The last thing he needed was to crash his vehicle. Two scenarios entered his head if a crash ever did occur.
Scenario one, was Gary crashing his newly stolen car into a tree and being trapped there while the contaminated beings were outside of the vehicle, trying desperately to claw their w
ay in and feast on the trapped victim.
The second scenario was if Gary had crashed the car and had managed to exit the vehicle; he would be more than likely chased by those things from all angles of the darkness where he couldn't see. It would feel like a permanent ambush and the experience would be frightening to the extreme.
He couldn't picture which one was more horrific.
He took his foot off the gas, dropped the gear into fourth and did a steady thirty along the curly roads that were a hazard for an experienced driver, even in the daylight.
His car was coming to the end of the bendy country roads and, as he passed the Wolseley Arms pub, he could see up ahead, drenched in white light from the full beam, that there was scores of them scattered along the road, all heading towards the small town of Rugeley.
He apologised to his new car, dropped a gear and did his utmost to avoid hitting the things as he swerved around them, but one was bouncing off the vehicle every other second. He left a trail of carnage behind him and as he flew by the last couple of them, he knew he had damaged the exterior of the vehicle. But that didn't matter; all that mattered was for him to be in a safe place, preferably at his girlfriend's house.
He entered the town of Rugeley and went through the quiet Slitting Mill way. He turned left at Globe Island where the street, Horsefair, was now infested with the things, and took the car up to Sandy Lane, which was almost clear compared to the town centre.
As he ventured by the outskirts of the Pear Tree Estate, he entered Draycott Park, which also had streets full of the things roaming around. He turned left and hit the gas pedal as his Porsche sped up Stile Cop Road, and once he passed the cemetery and got to the top of the hill, he could see to his left, a prison van blocking the Stile Cop beauty spot's entrance.
Snatchers: Volume One (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 1-3) Page 25
