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

by Shaun Whittington

  "Where're you going now?" Johnny called out.

  "I'm off to get a set of car keys for later."

  "Try the trousers of one of the guys in the canteen."

  "Nah; I want the jeep. I'm off to the first floor, boardroom." Jack then stopped and picked some corrugated cardboard, ripped a piece off, and tucked it down the front of his overalls like a bib. He could see that Johnny was giving him a look as if he had lost his mind. Jack laughed and then explained, "Don't wanna be messing up my new overalls so soon."

  *

  Jack got to the first floor and the first thing he clocked was the supervisor, whose name he didn't know. Through the blood-smeared boardroom window, he looked at the thing inside. It was just what Jack expected; it was rotten, diseased and...dead!

  Jack sauntered over to one of the windows that looked out onto the car park. He really wanted that jeep. From a safety purpose, this vehicle was the best option compared to the rest of the cars that sat on the car park.

  Then he saw it!

  There were two of the things loitering around the main gates to the factory. "Shit!"

  Jack knew that where there was one, or in this case, two, more could follow. He didn't want to wake up in a few days to be surrounded, but he also didn't want to leave now and drive off into the early evening. It was hours away from becoming dark and he knew it would be suicide to go now. He decided not to release this information to an already-nervous Johnny, as he thought it might keep Johnny inside due to fear.

  He turned around to gawp at the thing in the boardroom once again, and clenched the crowbar in his other hand.

  He prised open the door, adjusted his goggles and walked in. He shut the door behind him, and now it was just him and the contaminated supervisor in the room. Jack snarled at the ghoul that was ten yards away from him.

  Man, he fucking hated these things.

  He grabbed the goggles that still sat on top of his head, and as the excited ghoul stumbled towards Jack Slade, he put the goggles over his eyes and walked forwards, away from a desk and a screen that was probably used for power-point presentations.

  With no hesitation from Slade, the crowbar came crashing down; blow after blow was used, until there was nothing left of the head. Twelve strikes had managed to decimate the creature, and there wasn't much left from the neck up.

  Ignoring the debris scattered all around the office's walls and carpet, Jack took the car keys from its pocket and placed them in his own. He glared at the headless corpse and spat at it before walking away. He left the boardroom, removed his 'bib' from the overalls and glared outside once again.

  His eyes looked lost, gone.

  The old Jack had been replaced with something a lot more sinister, fearless even. Some who had known him for years may have come to the conclusion that he had now lost his mind. Had the new world finally made something snap inside his head? Had he past caring? He was still trying to live, so that was something, wasn't it?

  Jack puffed out his cheeks, then went back downstairs. If they didn't leave in the morning, in a few days the whole factory was going to be surrounded sooner or later. And if that happened, if escape was an impossibility, the only thing they would have to look forward to would be dehydration and starvation.

  Chapter Nine

  The pick-up truck came to an eventual stop, and unless the couple floored the gas pedal and rammed its way past the two Ford Focus cars that blocked the road, they were going nowhere for now.

  In front of the blocking cars that were parked adjacent to one another, were four men, all stood with their arms folded. Pickle was the first to peer from the back of the truck and could see from left to right, a tall man, wearing glasses; another tall and skinny gentleman that looked like a nervous wreck and didn't want to be there, followed by a man of average height who seemed to be the leader of this rabble. At the far right was a rough, dirty-looking man; his hair was almost black, long, tied back in a greasy ponytail, and he had a scruffy dark beard covering half of his face.

  Pickle had just noticed that the leader, Average, had an old-style farmer's shotgun by his side. It wasn't a patch on his Browning that he had lost, but it was still enough to do some damage if need be.

  "Okay, guys." Average looked at the driver in the truck, and was the first of the four that spoke up. "Leave the vehicle, and you won't get hurt."

  The middle-aged driver of the pick-up truck wound his window down and popped his head out. He nervously begged, "Listen, boys. We don't want trouble, but we need to get past, please. We're off to see our son in Skelmersdale."

  "I don't give a shit, fat boy. We want your truck, and more importantly, we want your fuel. I want you all walking back that way in one minute." Average pointed at the road behind the truck, from where they had just come from.

  "Please," the driver begged once more. "We're just a harmless couple."

  There was a silence that covered both sets of groups, and Pickle hated these kinds of people: bullies. Pickle only used violence for business; he never hurt people for sadistic pleasure or for greed. These men already had two cars; they didn't need another set of wheels.

  In prison, there'd be some cowards that would strut about, and would spend their time picking on the younger remands to enhance their own reputation. But one newcomer, who must have been wet behind the ears, eyed Pickle up one day in the canteen queue, but Pickle ignored him. Seeing this as a sign of weakness, the inmate went for Pickle to enhance his own reputation, and Harry Branston grabbed his attacker and bent his little finger back so much that the inmate collapsed to the floor. Once Pickle walked away from the scene, two of Pickle's men then stabbed the bully half a dozen times with toothbrushes that had been sharpened, while the inmate lay on the floor, and the guards were miraculously busy with 'other things'. The inmate survived.

  After a minute of nothing, just staring and head-scratching, Average spoke up once again. "Look. I ain't gonna tell you again. We're having that truck. Now, get out, or we'll use force!"

  Pickle stood up from behind; jumped off the pick-up truck, and Karen, Paul and Jade followed suit.

  "Ain't gonna happen," Pickle announced.

  "Oh really." The mangy-looking man with the ponytail had now spoken and revealed a macabre grin; the two front teeth were missing.

  "Yes." Pickle nodded confidently.

  Seeing that Pickle was the leader of this rebellious group, Average looked at Mangy to his left and they both burst into hysterics. Average looked to his left and beckoned Specks and the wiry individual to walk over to Pickle and sort him out.

  If you remove the leader, the rest of the pack will fold.

  Wiry was reluctant to do anything that involved violence and said to Average, in a voice that was overheard by Pickle and his friends, "But the man's fucking huge."

  Average sighed, went into the boot of one of the cars, took out two baseball bats and handed them to Wiry and Specks.

  Mangy snarled at Wiry and Specks, "The only reason you've been eating for the last week is 'cos I killed that farmer. You ain't done nothing for the group yet; time to prove your worth."

  Both men reluctantly walked over towards Pickle, and what unnerved the men was that the big man from the pick-up truck didn't seemed remotely bothered about the pair of them heading the short distance towards him.

  Karen stepped forwards by Pickle's side, but Pickle ushered her back. "It's okay," he said. "I'll take care o' these little puppies."

  They were five yards away from him, and Pickle could see that they didn't have it in them to perform such violence. He had no idea why these four men ended up together, or, if any of them had a family. How have they survived? Were their stories even more horrific and dangerous than his? Were they good men back in the old world?

  Specks was the first to strike, while Wiry lagged behind, purposely. Pickle grabbed the bat with two hands and booted Specks inbetween his legs, then took him down completely with a sidekick to his left kneecap. Specks fell to the floor, screaming in pain
, and Wiry made his cowardly strike while Pickle had his hands full. Wiry caught him on his shoulder, but Paul Parker quickly intervened and took out Wiry with a punch to the throat.

  Both of the assailants were now on the ground with their bats, and Pickle could see Average raising the shotgun, but his attention had been distracted when the frightened, middle-aged driver, with the engine still running, slipped his truck into reverse and quickly backed up.

  Out of sheer panic, the driver had decided to abandon his four passengers and leave with just his wife.

  Average, completely ignoring Pickle, Karen, Paul and Jade, ran to the truck and quickly put two cartridges into the windscreen, making the vehicle stop. Pickle could see right away that both the man and woman were suffering with injuries and that death, due to blood loss, was a possibility.

  Average then turned to Paul Parker and nodded to Mangy. Mangy then ran over to Paul and they began to wrestle to the floor and ended up tumbling to the side of the road. Jade went after them and landed a boot in the man's stomach.

  "For fuck's sake!" Average snarled, and began reloading the shotgun with another two cartridges. "Get out of the way. I'll sort them out myself."

  Pickle, who was standing on the other side of the road and was a fair distance from Average, ran over to Karen and pulled her by the arm. "Run!"

  While Pickle and Karen ran into the woodland at the left side of the road, Paul Parker was still wrestling with Mangy and was oblivious that Average was going to shoot him, once Mangy had managed to get off.

  Average eventually said, "Let him go! I've got him!"

  "Paul! We need to leave!" Jade screamed.

  Noticing that Average had reloaded the gun, Paul staggered to his feet with Jade and they both ran into the woods to the far side of the road. Average tried to pull the trigger, but the gun didn't discharge. "Fucking antique," he snarled. He tried again and released a cartridge, only taking bark from some of the trees. Paul and Jade were too far gone now. By the time he swung the gun over in Pickle and Karen's direction, they had also both disappeared into the woods on the other side of the road, opposite to the direction where Paul and Jade had fled.

  Average sighed and helped up Mangy. "You lot are fucking useless."

  Specks dragged himself back onto his feet and brushed himself down. "That guy must be army-trained, or something."

  Average looked at Specks and Wiry and scolded, "You two dicks went down like a sack of shit."

  Wiry sniped back, "Well, next time, you fucking do it, instead of standing there, barking your orders."

  "Don't forget, I've got a shotgun."

  Specks laughed, "Yeah, but does it work?"

  Average lifted the gun and pointed it at a nervous-looking Specks. "Let's see, shall we?"

  Specks gulped hard and could smell the barrel of the gun that had already released a few cartridges.

  Mangy casually walked over to the bickering group and looked over to the pick-up truck. "Okay, that's enough. We got what we wanted."

  "What?" Wiry walked over and put both of his hands on his head, and then walked over to the shattered windscreen of the pick-up truck. "You mean this?" He pointed at the windscreen. "Is this what we wanted? Two dead middle-aged people who just wanted to see their son."

  Average said, "At least we've got the truck. Besides, they're not dead yet." He walked over to the pick-up truck and looked into the driver's window. The man and woman were in severe distress. The man had suffered wounds to his chest, whereas his rotund wife had injuries to her face and throat.

  They both struggled, and Average stared at them for another minute and watched them both die in morbid fascination, before dragging them out of the vehicle, and leaving them at the side of the road for the birds.

  Chapter Ten

  June 24th

  It was Sunday morning. After spending the night in the woods and having alternative sleeps, something that they were very much used to by now, Pickle and Karen rose to their feet, their throats dry and their bellies growling to be fed. They decided to walk through the woods that had managed to be Snatcher-free so far, and reluctantly drank a little by the nearby stream, then continued with their walk.

  In hindsight, the group should have ignored the pick-up truck and continued with their walk to Rugeley Town, despite the potential dangers. They were dehydrated and hungry, and Karen knew that from the point where they were now, they could still get to Rugeley via the woods. Once the two came to the end of the wooded area, there'd be a gravel path to walk up to, which would lead them to the top of a hill called Cardboard Hill, where she used to play sometimes as a child.

  Pickle never questioned Karen if she knew where she was going; he just followed her. The situation had become desperate. They didn't have a tangible destination in their minds; they just wanted to go somewhere—anywhere, where there was a chance to eat, drink, and possibly have a sleep that lasted longer than five hours.

  Although the couple in the truck had initially put the group off from going back to Rugeley with their stories of looting, violence and hordes of Snatchers, Pickle and Karen's options were scarce, and knew that just one vacant house with scraps of food and a bed, could keep their bodies alive for a few more days. And just because the electricity had gone a few days ago, it didn't mean that running water had ceased just yet.

  The ex-inmate briefly thought about the sports centre, and was certain that it would have been perfect if they hadn't have already attracted those things. He felt for Jade, and knew she blamed the group for bringing the carnage to her; but they were on foot, and desperate times called for desperate measures. Pickle was confident that Paul and Jade had managed to flee unharmed, as it seemed to take an age for the gun to go off, and when it did, it was just the one gunshot.

  The two survivors were casually strolling through the woodland and had not exchanged a word for the fifteen minutes that they had been walking. Their feet trudged through the greenery, and their necks twisted every time a rustle of a tree or a snap of a twig could be heard. Karen was the first to eventually break the silence. "So, where do you think they are?" Karen was referring to Paul and Jade who they had lost during the violent struggle. She sniffed and emptied each nostril onto the floor.

  Pickle shrugged and answered, "Who knows? Probably miles away by now. It's amazing how much yer can run when yer attacker has a gun. They've ran one way, and we've gone another, so we could be a fair distance apart. No point looking for them; we'll just run into more trouble."

  "So you've no intention going back for them?" Karen queried, and began inspecting the inside of her left nostril with her pinky.

  Pickle shook his head. "It'd be like trying to find a needle in a haystack in these woods. Besides, they're not our priority; we're starving and our bodies need water more than anythin' else."

  "Tell me about it. My mouth's as dry as a scabby cock."

  Pickle threw Karen one of his disappointed-father looks, but Karen ignored it and asked, "What do you think has happened to those men?"

  Pickle thought for a moment and guessed, "Probably had a good night's sleep, and are now off to rob someone else."

  "Pricks!"

  "I agree; they didn't have to shoot that poor couple, but those kinds o' people have got a better chance o' making it than people with families. I suppose most people could be considered a threat now. People will do anything and everything to survive; it's just the way we are." Pickle ran his fingers through his thin, dark beard and released an elongated exhale of breath. "So where to now, Bradley? Yer know this place better than me."

  Karen looked around and gazed through the trees. "If we keep walking, we'll get to the end of the woods and come to a dirt path that has a hill. At the top of the hill is a place where I used to go to as a child, called Cardboard Hill. I know there used to be some kind of shack up there."

  "I have a feeling that that place would already be spoken for." Pickle smiled and released a chesty cough, like a forty-a-day smoker. Christ, not another virus.r />
  "Maybe." Karen nodded in agreement. "But that's not the reason we're going that way. The top of the hill gives a view of the back of Rugeley. We'd be able to see what places were swarming, then maybe we could try the emptier streets and get a place for the night."

  "Like the house in Heath Hayes? And look how that turned out." Pickle was teasing Karen a little, and waited for her sharp response.

  "Yeah, but this time we won't have Jason Bonser leading them to us in their hundreds." She then looked at Pickle for a reaction. "What do you think?"

  She could tell by Pickle's face that he was devoid of ideas and made a facial expression telling Karen that he would go with her plan, as there was nothing else he could think of. "What if this...hill is infested?"

  "Why would it be? It's a hill; a steep fucker. You've seen those cocksuckers try and climb stairs; their legs can't take it. Not only that, but the hill should be clear of humans as well."

  Now she had the ex-inmate confused and he responded with puzzlement, "I don't understand what yer mean."

  "No mad bastard with a house is going to go and head for a hill and be exposed out in the open."

  "If they see us, these things could still get up this hill yer talkin' about." Pickle reminded Karen, "Stile Cop, Heath Hayes and the sports centre—no matter where we go, these things usually find us in the end. Their determination should not be underestimated."

  Karen did her best to convince Pickle. "We made too much noise at Stile Cop with KP shooting Davina and Isobel screaming. Heath Hayes was our own doing. If we had killed Jason Bonser, he would never have led a horde of them our way. And as for the sports centre: they were already heading for us in their dozens anyway. We didn't have much of a choice."

  "I hope yer right."