The vehicle moved away and Jade now rested her head against one of the boxes. She was tired, and she was feeling sick. She looked at her arm and was pleased that the bleeding had stopped a little. The only thing that was worrying her now was the mark underneath the wound. The small bite she had received was the result from the tussle she had with the lone figure in the woods before she made it to the road. It was just a little mark. It wasn't that serious, was it?
Jade tried to blank all negative feelings from her head and concentrated on trying to get some sleep. She was exhausted, mentally and physically, and she was feeling giddy as if the blood was draining out of her body.
She peered down at the small bite once again, and hoped it would heal.
She looked out of the vehicle as it moved, then closed her eyes, feeling the wind glide soothingly over her features. She quickly fell asleep, unaware that that was the last she was going to see of the world as a human being.
Chapter Twenty Three
"I'll go for a walk, while you're..."
Wolfgang Kindl couldn't find the words to finish his sentence, as the lump in his throat was strangling him.
Pickle and Karen nodded at the old man as he went downstairs and left the cabin to go outside into the garden, and the remaining two were left to glare at the tied-up woman who used to be his wife, Grace.
"Let's make this as respectful and as less messy as possible." Pickle eyed Karen, who nodded in agreement. There was an old sheet scrunched up in the corner of the room and Pickle nodded over to it. "As soon as we put her to sleep, we'll wrap her in that sheet." Pickle then shook his head and released an unusual smile.
"What is it?" Karen asked him.
"It seems all I do these days is bury people: Laz, Davina...young Thomas and Kerry."
"I buried a whole family from that attic while you were almost dying in your bed—well, I didn't do it all by myself." Karen then briefly thought about Jason Bonser, who back then had introduced himself as George Jones.
"So how are we gonna do his?" asked the ex-inmate, interrupting their brief reminiscing period.
Karen was lost in thought and looked at the machete tucked into her belt, then looked at Pickle's.
Realising what was going through Karen's mind, Pickle protested, "I'm not gonna hack her to death and make a fuckin' mess of his only bedroom."
Karen agreed, reluctantly.
"Wait a second." She ran down the stairs and peered out of the front door to see Wolf nervously pacing up and down in the garden, waiting on news of his wife's second demise. He took his straw hat off and scratched his head, then placed the hat back on, then repeated this action. His nerves were obvious. Karen felt pity for the man and shook her head a little as her mind began to drift. Snapping out of her daydreaming, she suddenly remembered what she went downstairs for.
She scanned the area of the kitchen and looked through the top drawer. It was the usual cutlery drawer, containing forks, knives, spoons and teaspoons. She put the drawer back and looked in the second drawer to see other utensils such as a corkscrew, bottle opener, etc,. She pulled out a large wooden spoon, that was probably used for cooking, and grabbed a penknife from the drawer. She opened the blade to see it was two inches in length.
Probably not enough to do the job, she thought.
She then grabbed the spoon in her left hand and began to sharpen the handle-end with the penknife, until it eventually developed into a very sharp weapon. She kicked the wood shavings away that had fallen onto the kitchen floor, with one kick of her right foot, then went back upstairs.
Karen had returned and instructed to Pickle, "Go round the back of her and pull her head back, by grabbing her hair."
Without arguing, Pickle walked round the back of the chair in the bedroom, which seemed to have excited the thing even more. It began to move that much, Karen thought that there could be a danger that it was going to get loose.
Pickle grabbed the back of its hair with one strong hand and yanked the head back.
"Perfect." Karen walked over and slowly looked at the face of the poor thing. She looked like she could have been old enough to be her grandma.
Karen released three short breaths out, gearing herself up for what she was about to do next, and finally forced the sharpened-end of the spoon into its right eye socket until it stopped moving. Thick fluid ran down its cheek and Pickle released the hair and it remained still, with its head back. Karen reached over, took the utensil and pulled it out rapidly, which made an unsettling squelching sound.
Karen then pulled out the penknife from her pocket and began to cut the body free. Pickle took a hold of the sheet and laid it out on the floor. Without uttering a word to one another, they picked the body up and placed it on the sheet. Pickle had managed to tie the ankles and hands together with the ropes Karen had cut, before they both wrapped the body in the material.
They took the body out of the cabin, while Wolf was purposely not looking, and opened the gate to take her out onto the desolate hill. As soon as they put her onto the grass, Karen said, "I'm gonna go back and see if Wolf has a shovel. If he doesn't, she can stay there. I ain't digging a grave with my fuckin' hands."
Pickle watched Karen as she headed downhill, back to the gate. While she was away, he took the opportunity to look around and see the view of a part of Rugeley he had never been to before. He looked at the back of the Pear Tree Estate and apart from a few burning houses, and the one car alarm that could be heard in the distance, it didn't look too bad. But the view only allowed Pickle to see the back of the houses; he was aware that beyond those quarters could be many ghouls shambling around, looters taking advantage of the weak, and dead bodies strewn across the street. He wouldn't know until he got there, and that would probably be another hour away.
He and Karen were thankful for Wolf putting them up, and getting more supplies was the least they could do if it meant having a roof over their head and living somewhere on a hill, almost out of harm's way. But Pickle wasn't getting carried away.
Stile Cop only lasted a couple of nights before they were attacked. Maybe being exposed in the open wasn't the greatest idea, but Pickle thought that the Stile Cop hill was enough to keep the things at bay. The hill that they were on now, was even steeper, but the extra positive was that they had a cabin to dwell in with a solid and secure fence around it.
Heath Hayes was just bad luck, especially when Bonser brought a horde back with him, and the sports centre was doomed from the start as there were a few Snatchers already there before they climbed over, and the bloody destruction of young Oliver Newton and Lee Hayward only enticed more from afar.
Pickle then looked down at the bottom of the grassy hill. There were now seven of them, crawling up, but not moving an inch. It looked like the things were managing to get to the hill to a certain point, then they seemed to fall and were trying to crawl their way up because their legs could not manage it.
Pickle shook his head. Despite those things being relatively harmless where they were, he made a decision to remove them. It didn't seem to bother Wolf too much, or so he said, but Pickle wanted them destroyed and removed anyway.
After they had buried Wolf's wife, Pickle was thinking that they should go to the bottom of the hill, kill the fiends, then head to the estate for supplies. That was the itinerary he had in his head for this particular day.
At last, Karen returned with one shovel in her hand. Pickle sighed, and knew who was going to be doing most of the work.
"He seems a bit of a misery." Karen screwed her face and emptied her nostrils onto the grass a few yards away from Pickle.
"And why do yer think that is, Karen?" There was sarcasm in Pickle's voice, which Karen had picked up on.
"I'm just staying—"
"We're only in week three in Apocalypse Shite, and yer wondering why our elderly host is a bit of a misery? Is this the same guy who has seen his wife turn into one o' these things and had her tied to a chair for the past couple o' weeks? And has just as
ked two complete strangers to kill her, and bury her out on a hill where children used to play?"
"So what's your point?"
Pickle laughed incredulously at his female companion. "Jesus Christ, Karen. Has this situation completely killed off any kind o' empathy yer used to have?"
"Of course not." Karen's facial expression stated that she wasn't entirely sure what Pickle was getting at.
Picking up on this, he tried to explain in a calm, rational manner. "How would yer feel if we were doing exactly what we were doing now, but it was Gary?"
Karen shrugged her shoulders and her body language suggested that Pickle's comment had made her agitated and a little cross.
"I'd be..." Karen tried to answer, but her words were struggling to come out.
"What, Karen?" Pickle waited for an answer. "You'd be a little disappointed, maybe just a wee bit upset?"
"I'd be fuckin' devastated, of course," she snapped, her hands gripping the shovel tightly. "For fuck's sake, what's up with you today? How would you feel if it was KP?"
Pickle shook his head at Karen's retaliation and her poor attempt to shut him up, just because he had touched a nerve for mentioning Gary. Pickle said, "If yer were a man, I'd have fucked yer up by now."
"Fuck you, Harry."
Karen gave Pickle a filthy look, and she held the shovel in a position as if she was about to start digging.
Pickle could see that the twenty-three-year-old's face was scarlet with rage, but he still walked over and went to grab the shovel off of her. "Give me that. I'll do it."
Karen lifted her head up and took a swing at him with the shovel. Pickle moved backwards, enough to dodge Karen's swing, but was completely surprised by her action.
Pickle exclaimed, "Come on; let's not do this, Karen!"
Karen then threw the shovel to the floor, took a step forward, and threw a left hook, which Pickle caught with his left hand and immediately palmed her in the face with his right. Karen immediately fell to the floor and Pickle cried, "Oh God. Karen, are yer okay? Yer didn't give me much o' a choice."
Karen was lying flat on her front, and she slowly curled herself up into the shape of a foetus. She then began to sob, and Pickle immediately knelt beside her and tried to hug her. Karen fought back a little, but then succumbed to Pickle's persuasive strength and they both hugged one another tightly.
Karen sobbed loudly and her tears streamed down rapidly, staining Pickle's shoulder. He didn't say a word to her. He didn't need to. She had been bottling this up for weeks, and it had finally come to a head.
Pickle stroked the back of her hair and kissed the side of her cheek. "Don't try to speak," he spoke at last. "Just let it out."
They hugged each other tightly for a while, and seven minutes later they both broke away from the embrace.
Chapter Twenty Four
Jack remained in the cupboard, unsure on what to do next. He heard scuffles coming from the spare bedroom, and Johnny making a noise as if he had just been punched in the stomach.
Jack heard a man growl, "Where's the keys to your jeep?"
Johnny cried, "I don't have them. Jack..."
"Who the fuck's Jack?"
Jack sighed inside the stifling cupboard and shook his head. Nice one, Johnny.
The man repeated, "Who the fuck's Jack?"
Jack could then hear two sets of footsteps stomping their way upstairs, and it appeared now that there were three people on the first floor. He had no idea what to do, but was pretty sure that Johnny wasn't the type of person to take too much of a beating before he eventually talked.
Jack then heard the people discussing what to do with their new find. He then heard another voice. "Who's this Jack you mentioned? And where's the keys to that jeep?"
Jack then heard Johnny plead, "Please..." This was followed by a pounding noise, Johnny releasing a cry, and a big thud as if something had hit the floor. To Jack, it sounded like Johnny had taken another blow from one of the thugs and fell to the carpet. Shit! He ain't gonna last another minute.
"Have you checked the whole house?" a voice questioned angrily.
"Apart from the other bedroom," the other male spoke.
As soon as that sentence was released, Jack knew his hiding days were over. His heart thumped his chest, and his head had begun to produce even more sweat that tickled and irritated the sides of his face.
The door to Kerry's bedroom swung open and clattered off the wall, as if it had been pushed very quickly. Jack clasped the crowbar and waited for his fate. He then heard Johnny moaning and a woman telling him to shut the fuck up. He heard ruffling about in Kerry's room and then could feel the presence of someone walking towards the cupboard. The cupboard's handle was grabbed and it slowly opened.
The unsuspecting man received a head-butt from Jack; the man released a cry and fell backwards onto Kerry's bed, clutching his nose. Jack left the cupboard and went to the landing to see the other man running down the stairs, leaving the house and entering the street. Jack then turned to see Johnny. He was on the floor, holding his stomach, and standing over him was a woman with long ginger hair. She was in the room with Johnny and hadn't reacted as quickly as her male colleague that had left the house.
"Look," the woman began to speak nervously; she had a knife in the side of her belt. "We can work this out."
Jack recognised her straight away. She was the same woman that cowardly bent over the beaten man in the street earlier, and stabbed him three times in the back.
"Get out," Jack snarled, the crowbar being tightly gripped with his right hand. "Get out of my son's house."
Jack stood to the side to allow the woman enough room to get out, and she took the hint. "What about my friend?" She was referring to the man on Kerry's bed, clutching his nose.
"Take him with you."
She nodded and tentatively went into Kerry's bedroom, her eyes never leaving Jack's. She then came back out, her arm around the injured man's shoulder and without warning, the man turned and ran at Jack.
Both men fell onto the floor, which gave the woman the opportunity to pull out her blade, and Johnny, who was still lying on the floor, reacted by side-kicking her in the shin. She released a scream, dropped the knife, and the male on top of Jack, realising that Johnny was getting to his feet, took off and ran downstairs. The woman tried to follow him, but she fell over on the landing as soon as she put weight on her foot. She held her ankle, and tried to stand up once more.
Jack picked up her knife, and put it into his belt. He then passed Johnny the crowbar to hold as he was sure, with the woman unable to walk and the knife out of her reach, she posed no threat anymore.
"Jack," Johnny spoke; his breath was returning. "We need to get that front door shut before more of those fuckers come in."
"Don't worry," Jack said.
The woman turned and hopped twice away from them on the landing, but her attempt at escaping was pathetic and impossible. She was now at the top of the stairs and could see down them; the front door was left wide open. She hoped that some of her colleagues would hurry up, as she was unsure what this unpredictable man was going to do to her.
Jack glared at the woman, who, in return, revealed a false smile.
She said nervously, "I was just following orders. I just do what I'm told."
"Is that right?" Jack spoke with suspicion.
"Before all of this shit happened, I was a normal person. I had a family."
"You got kids?"
She nodded her head, but Jack didn't believe her. Even though he didn't know this woman at all, he could tell by her face that she was lying.
"So where are they now?" quizzed Jack.
"They were killed."
"You look distraught," Jack sarcastically added.
She tilted her chin and released a sigh. It was obvious that this man didn't believe a word that came out of her mouth.
Continued Jack, "A woman with kids—with any kind of empathy, wouldn't go up to an injured man in the street and sta
b him to death in front of his own screaming children."
Her eyes widened.
"Oh yeah." Jack smiled and took a step forward. "I saw everything."
She hopped backwards just the once and leaned against the wall, with the toilet door to her right. She could see the coldness in Jack's eyes. She thought: Here is a man who has probably lost everything and wasn't really giving a shit anymore.
She gulped and gawped at Jack with pleading eyes. She stammered, "You-you wouldn't hit a woman, would you?"
"No I wouldn't."
Jack took another step forward, grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her down the stairs. She screamed as she descended painfully, bouncing three times before crashing into the main door.
Jack trotted down the stairs and threw her out onto the front garden, walked back into the house and shut the front door.
"Shit, we're done for now." Johnny had his head in his hands.
"We were done for the moment they entered the house," Jack said calmly.
Johnny began to inspect the area of his body where he had been punched. He touched the area where he thought an eventual bruise would appear, winced a little, and without looking at Jack, he added, "We could have reasoned with them, for Christ's sake!"
Jack turned to Johnny and looked at him, making sure he was being serious. His eyes suggested to Jack that he was! Jack said, "Well, next time they come in, I'll just pin them down and tickle them. Maybe I'll just give them a Chinese burn."
"This isn't funny."
"Can you see me laughing?"
"I think they'll torch the jeep."
"They won't torch the jeep."
"What makes you so sure?"
"Because they want it."
"And what if they torch the house?"
"Then we make a run for it."
Johnny looked out of the bedroom window, and sighed, "We can't stay here a second longer."
Jack walked over and saw cars pulling up outside the house, making it impossible for the jeep to move even if they had managed to get inside the vehicle. Jack looked at Johnny. "Downstairs. Out into the back garden, now!"
Snatchers: Volume One (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 1-3) Page 69
