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

by Shaun Whittington

  "Well yer better find somethin' then," Pickle snapped.

  This kind of talk did nothing to breathe confidence into Jade. What happened to humans pulling together? she thought. She sighed, and thought about her lonely existence being stuck in the sports centre. But at least she was safe, and had possibly another week left before supplies would have ran out.

  "Okay." Pickle clapped his hands together in a futile attempt to rally the troops. "Are we ready?"

  Dejected and sleepy, Paul and Jade managed a tired nod and began to follow Karen who was already five yards ahead of them. Jade looked at the back of Karen Bradley and scowled. Jade knew that Karen disliked her, and the feeling was mutual, but nevertheless, she knew that Karen was a tough individual and that she would rather have her on her side than be against her.

  She walked with Paul, their conversation was non-existent. Their feet dragged, their clothes were filthy and their morale was rock bottom. The two in front, Pickle and Karen, walked with more energetic and confident strides. They turned left at a junction to find a vacant road, which made them relax a little; there was no sign of life at all. Their strides continued, while Paul and Jade did their best to catch up.

  "Nearly there," they heard Pickle say to no one in particular. A minute later, the two in front stopped and Paul and Jade did the same. Pickle looked to his left and nodded with contentment, while Paul and Jade eventually caught up and stood next to them.

  They were at a crossroads and could see a few dead bodies to their right, while to their left, the road that led up to Stile Cop, there were even more bodies further up. There were two particular ghouls that were still active and at the side of the road. Their legs were crushed, and it was apparent that they had slowly crawled their way to the side. They didn't look to be a threat, and their presence was ignored by the group.

  Jade released a smile and immediately said, "Somebody's been here," she half-laughed. "The army, maybe."

  Pickle shook his head, which was noticed by an unhappy Jade. She was annoyed that any little hope she could grab onto was being wiped away by Harry Branston.

  "What are you shaking your head for?" she asked with fury in her tone. "Who else could have done this? Who else could have killed these things?"

  Karen gawped at Jade and said, "I hate to shit on your cornflakes, but we did this. Just over a week ago."

  "What?"

  "We got attacked one night." Pickle decided to clear things up and eliminate any confusion and false hope. "We lost a couple o' people. Anyway, Karen created a diversion so me and...KP...could escape with the van. The van killed a few on the way to meeting Karen back here," he pointed to the floor where they stood, then pointed at Karen, "then Wild Bill Hickock here began shooting a few."

  Karen lowered her head, and thought back where she had a rush of blood to the head and unnecessarily shot the two ghouls, when she should have quickly jumped into the van.

  "Shall we go?" Karen stared at Pickle.

  They all began to walk up the steep road, stepping over the rotting corpses that even the crows had refused to eat. Another fifty yards and they'd be by the Stile Cop entrance, which they used to block off with the prison van not so long back.

  Pickle looked over to Karen and winked. "This brings back memories."

  "Yeah." She nodded her head in agreement. "Bad ones."

  Chapter Four

  Johnny took a walk around the desolate building, and stared at the huge aisles that were there for the cranes. The cranes would be used to go to ridiculous heights so certain car parts could be picked by the operator and then brought back to the ground floor, packed up, and then sent to its destination across the waters.

  He sighed and thought that maybe the factory would never be used again, but he had more things to worry about. He had to admit it. His job didn't exist anymore, he knew that, and survival was his only goal now.

  In the beginning of the outbreak he would get into one of the cranes and go right to the top part of the aisle, and that's where he'd go for a sleep. The last time that he tried that was on Tuesday. When he woke up in the cab, fifty feet above the factory's ground floor, he went to use the control panel to bring the crane back to the ground as he was peckish and needed the toilet. The crane wasn't budging, in fact, the whole factory was dim because of the lights above were not working anymore.

  The power had finally gone, and Johnny had to perform the nerve-wracking task of climbing down the aisle without breaking his neck.

  He snapped out of his self-hypnosis and puffed out his cheeks. The monotony was killing his brain, but he knew he was luckier than most folk. His experience with these things had been short and isolated, and knew that it was a lot worse out there, which was the reason why he had stayed behind. He was sure that if he had a family to go home to, the situation would be a lot different. But Johnny had no family, and for the first time in his life he was thankful for that.

  He walked past the empty stations on the ground floor, that would have been buzzing with workers filling pallets full of parts and the aisles would be busy with forklift trucks, and he walked through the door that led to the canteen and toilets, and a staircase was to his right that led to the first floor such as the boardroom and other offices.

  He walked through the gents toilets and relieved himself. Once he was done, he placed his ear against the locked canteen door. Those things were mooching about; he could hear it. He had spent the last week or so raiding his colleagues' lockers for food, and the canteen was closed on Saturday. He knew that if he wanted to continue hiding in the factory, the canteen was going to have to be opened sooner or later, as the place had food and also two vending machines. But that meant he was going to have to kill his two colleagues.

  Just out of interest, and total boredom, Johnny took the stairs to the first floor. Walking past the boardroom and ignoring the thuds from the reanimated supervisor from inside the office, Johnny released a strident yawn and took a sip of the can of diet coke he was holding in his left hand. In the past, he was always wary of drinking diet drinks because of the aspartame the companies put in the products, but now he had more things to worry about than aspartame.

  He glared out of the window, and his eyes watered while he peered out into the country lanes that the factory was surrounded by. Although a nightmare to find for delivery trucks, the place had been saving a fortune over the years because it was out of the city and towns where the rent was extortionate.

  Suddenly, his eyes clocked a figure stumbling out of the woods and onto the main road that was situated opposite the works' car park. Johnny gasped, but his increase in heart rate was temporary once the figure saw him looking through the first floor window and began waving at him with both arms.

  It's human!

  The man looked exhausted, almost drunk-like, and Johnny guessed that he was probably severely dehydrated and starving. For the first time he had been cooped up, Johnny ran down the stairs and opened the door into the secured car park, and was welcomed by fresh air for the first time in a long time.

  He ran over to meet the man and beckoned him over with his hand. "Over the fence," Johnny cried excitedly. "Climb over the fence."

  Johnny saw the man stagger towards the wiry, six-foot fence, and he wondered if he was going to have the strength to make it over. Once the figure reached it, he stumbled on the grass and fell into the fence. It looked like his energy levels were at rock bottom.

  Johnny took hold of the wiry fence to stop it from wobbling too much once the man had mustered the energy to attempt the climb. The man began to climb, and his arms and legs shuddered. His face was filthy; his hair was dark with grey at the sides, and he had a few days growth on his face.

  Once the stranger had managed to get his arms over the fence, he pulled himself over with, what looked like, the last of his strength. Once he was over, he allowed his exhausted body to drop and land hard on the grass, on the other side.

  Johnny winced when the stranger hit the grass. It sounded lik
e a sore one. He took a look at the dishevelled man and shook his head. Johnny said, "Let's get you inside."

  He helped to get the man onto his feet, placed his arm around his shoulder, and walked him back to the only door that led inside the factory, now that the shutters were down and secured.

  Once they both got inside, the man collapsed onto the floor. Johnny helped him and sat him up against one of the wooden pallets that was filled with car alternators, waiting to be lidded and shipped to Jakarta. The man began to moan and was drifting in and out of consciousness. Johnny could see that the man's lips were dry and there was a little white gunk at the corner of each side of his mouth, suggesting he was severely dehydrated.

  "Wait there," Johnny said. He didn't really know why he said this, as the man was incapable of going anywhere in his condition.

  Johnny returned with a bottle of apple juice and a cereal bar. As soon as the weak man spotted the drink that Johnny was unscrewing, he grabbed it off of him and drunk it in one.

  "Just be careful," Johnny cautioned. "Try not to drink and eat so fast." He then handed the man the cereal bar and went away to find another drink. He returned with a half-litre bottle of flat lemonade.

  "There is more," Johnny spoke. "But it's in the canteen."

  "Great." The man raised a smile and now took a swig from the bottle of lemonade.

  "No...you see, the thing is," Johnny was trying to find the right words to explain his predicament, "there's two of those things in there."

  The man's eyes widened, but Johnny tried to appease him straight away.

  "It's okay," Johnny added. "I've locked them in."

  "They can't get out?" The man's voice was hoarse and he loudly cleared his throat, which echoed through the factory.

  "No. They can't get out." Johnny smiled.

  "Okay," the man was clearly exhausted, but spoke with calm. "I'll sort them later, once I've slept."

  "You'll sort them? Once you've slept?" Johnny was wondering if he was hearing things. "Look, I don't think you know the situation out there."

  "Oh, I know," the man guffawed falsely. "What do you think I've been doing for the last two weeks? Not hiding in a factory, that's for sure."

  Johnny then realised someone like this man must have killed one or two of those things in order to survive, but why was he outside and why was he not at home with his family? Was his family dead? Johnny then thought that, like himself, maybe he didn't have a family. It wasn't the sixties or the seventies anymore when you were classed as some kind of weirdo if you wasn't a man with a job, a wife, and two or three children.

  Johnny asked, "What's your name? I'm Johnny Jefferson." He held out his hand.

  The other man shook Johnny's hand and finally revealed his own name. "Jack."

  Johnny snickered, "Surname?"

  "Slade."

  Chapter Five

  Karen Bradley, Harry Branston, Jade Greatrix and Paul Parker were nearly at the Stile Cop beauty spot. It was a different scene compared to the last time Pickle and Karen were there, as it was now barren—peaceful.

  They walked up to the beauty spot and could see tyre marks. Since their leaving, it appeared that more people had used the place as some kind of safe haven, and had left on their own accord or were forced to move from bandits or the Snatchers themselves.

  Apart from the bodies of the things that lay dead on the sandy surface, the place seemed normal and devoid of life, and the picture of them coming through the woods on that early morning replayed in both Karen and Pickle's mind. They explained to Jade and Paul what had happened on that night and the people they had lost. It brought back bad memories, but it wasn't affecting them as much as they thought it would.

  "I wonder where they went?" Pickle spoke.

  "The dead?" Karen queried.

  Pickle nodded.

  "Everywhere." Karen shrugged her shoulders, unsure what the real answer was. "Once we left in the van, they probably went the same way. Most seem to follow one another; they move in packs. Probably skulking about in the woods."

  "It must have been a scary time for you both." Paul joined in on the conversation.

  "It was." Pickle nodded his head. "Yer see what happened when we tried to leave the house in Heath Hayes, and the time when we tried to flee the sports centre?"

  Paul nodded. Of course he remembered; how could he forget?

  Pickle added, "It was worse than that. No disrespect to Lee Hayward and young Oliver, but we lost three that night. Ma lover and the two officers that released me from prison were killed. If it wasn't for them, I'd still be in ma cell, dying o' starvation." Pickle looked around and puffed out his cheeks. "Anyway, I don't really know why I insisted on coming to the beauty spot. To get to Rugeley we need to walk down the Stile Cop Road. Do yer lot wanna rest for a while?"

  Karen was the only one that responded; she shook her head. Her body language suggested that she wanted to get to the town as quickly as possible.

  "Right then. Lets go." Pickle left the beauty spot and returned to the road, with his small group in tow. They all looked down the steep, decline of the hill and saw a couple of bodies lying motionless in the distance, but nothing was moving, nothing that could attack them. Ahead of the bodies was a smashed car that was still on its four wheels, but had slightly veered off the road and was halfway up the grassy bank.

  Their eyes were everywhere as their progression reached halfway down the long road, and to their right they could now see Stile Cop cemetery. It was the same cemetery that Karen had to climb over when she was being chased by some of the ghouls after she had been carjacked.

  "Remember," Pickle spoke up as they passed the cemetery, "if we see a horde o' them, we run back where we came from. We shouldn't take any unnecessary risks."

  They continued with their speedy walk, the decline helping their momentum, and saw a dead body to the left side of the road. Karen looked over to Pickle. "Remember that guy I told you about; the pervert that attacked me?" She pointed at the body as she casually walked past. "That's him."

  "Is that the Oliver Bellshaw character?"

  Karen nodded and walked past another two bodies that looked like Snatchers that had been dealt with. One had suffered damage to the head, whereas the other looked like it had had its eyes gouged out.

  Pickle looked up and saw a solitary crow sitting on a fence, minding its own business. He then looked back at the bodies that they were walking away from. "Even the birds don't wanna eat these things," Pickle mumbled under his breath.

  All four had now reached the car, and neither one could ignore the green Citroen. They all peeped inside to see two adults in the front seats. Both had turned and were struggling to get out because they both still had their seatbelts on, and weren't intelligent enough to unclip themselves or open their door.

  Jade took a step back as the driver snarled at her from inside the car. Jade put her hand over her mouth. She could feel her body quaver and a single shudder went down her vertebrae. "What do you think happened?"

  "I have no idea," Paul Parker answered.

  "Poor souls," Pickle sighed. He lowered his head and said a silent prayer for them and then walked away from the sad scene, as the two inside writhed and struggled as their potential meals were walking away from them.

  "Do you think we'll get a vehicle when we get into Rugeley?" Jade asked nobody in particular.

  "More than likely," Karen sniffed. "Depends on how many of those things are in the town."

  "Maybe we could go back to your house." Pickle suggested to Karen.

  Karen ignored him. She would rather they didn't return back to her house. She had a feeling going back to her house would bring all the memories flooding back, memories of how life used to be when everyone and everything was normal. She wasn't sure she could handle going back to her place, besides, she was certain that Gary was still in there.

  "Wait!" Paul cried out.

  Jade asked, "What is it?"

  They all looked at the bottom of the road
and saw a pick-up truck leaving Draycott Park and turning onto the Stile Cop Road, heading their way.

  Paul raised his black eyebrows at Pickle. "So, what do we do now?"

  Chapter Six

  "What time is it?"

  Jack Slade never received an answer from Johnny straight away, as the thin, bald man was walking around the floor and trying the remaining lockers by opening them with a crowbar. Jack used to have a watch, but while he stayed in the woods, it had died on him, just like everything and everyone else.

  Jack asked him again, but Johnny wasn't wearing a watch and shrugged his shoulders. "Who cares?" he called over. "Doesn't mean shit anymore. Who's bothered about being punctual nowadays?"

  "You'll need to know the time once you're out there."

  "What for?" Johnny had successfully forced another locker open. He pulled out some clothes and, more importantly, a sandwich box and a two-litre bottle of water.

  "It gives you an idea how much daylight you have left."

  Johnny didn't seem to be listening to Jack, so Jack refrained from speaking and looked around the factory. Johnny walked over to the forty-year-old man and opened up the sandwich box. "The bread's stale, but it'll do."

  "No thanks."

  "Please yourself," Johnny said with slight petulance, almost as if he was hurt that his guest didn't take the food he'd 'worked' for by prising open a stubborn locker.

  To Johnny, Jack had a vacant look about him. His eyes and his demeanour were almost...psychopathic. If this is what it does to you, being outside, then I'm happy to remain indoors.

  Jack glared at Johnny and eyed him up and down.

  Noticing this, Johnny asked nervously, "What's wrong?"

  "Those overalls and those boots; where did you get them from?" Jack was referring to the blue boiler suit that Johnny was wearing and the steel toecaps on his feet.

  He shrugged his shoulders and added, "It's just work clothes. There's probably some spare in the lockers. Want me to have a look?"