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

by Shaun Whittington

  Her thoughts were gloomy and this had been the weakest she had felt in ages. The last time she felt this bad was when she was nursing a hangover after Gary's birthday party. She had no idea what it was. Was it something in the air? Something she ate or drank? She had no idea, but at least the sickness had disappeared.

  Just a twenty-four hour bug, she thought.

  Whatever it was, she was certain that after plenty of fluid and one of Wolf's meals she'd be right as rain.

  She beamed as she saw the frame of Pickle in the distance. He was making his way across the football field, then disappeared temporarily behind the hedge, and then reappeared once he walked through the gap in the hedge. He looked up the ridiculously steep hill and saw Karen sitting at the top. He waved up at her, and she waved back.

  He then began walking straight up to her, instead of walking up and slightly veering left towards the cabin. She watched as he struggled to get to where she was, and she was becoming tired just watching him making his way up.

  Once he was a matter of yards away, the out-of-breath man slipped off the bag and dumped it on the floor and slumped next to Karen.

  "This hill's getting harder and harder to climb," he moaned, then turned his head away from Karen and spat on the grass. "Ma back's killin' me."

  "That'll do for now." Karen rubbed her head and was feeling the beginning symptoms of a migraine. "Hopefully, what you've got in that bag should fill that cupboard. What goodies did you get?"

  "Medical stuff and some more tins."

  Karen looked up at the sky and could see the clouds had grown darker and were looking more hostile. "Looks like it's gonna piss it down."

  "Good," said Pickle. "That barrel that's attached to the guttering o' the cabin needs filling anyway. I'll get some buckets out and they should be nice and full for the morning. That'll keep our paranoid host happy. I don't know why the old bugger just doesn't drink from the tap." Pickle peered at Karen, and had noticed that she wasn't listening to him. "How are yer feeling now?"

  Karen then stood up and stretched out her arms like someone would, once they had woken up. "Okay now. I'm gonna grab my machete and go for a wash."

  "What? Where?"

  "There's a stream back into the woods." Karen looked at Pickle for a reaction, but he was struggling for words.

  "Don't yer wanna wait a few more days?"

  Karen shook her head and said, "Wait for what? Until the flies find me repulsive? I'm starting to smell a bit."

  Pickle snickered, "We're all—"

  "And I'm starting to make myself sick with it."

  "Yer not as bad as Wolf."

  "God, have you smelt that man?" Karen placed her hand over her mouth, feeling a little guilt for slating a man that had taken them in. "He actually smells like a sewer."

  "Go, by all means. But I'm coming with yer."

  "Fine. I better let him know. He thinks I'm just out for a pee."

  *

  After dropping the bag off and telling Wolf that they were heading for the stream in the woods, Karen and Pickle took the ten-minute walk down the other side of the hill to the wooded area, and wasn't surprised that there was no other entity there. Once they had reached the bottom of the hill, where they had a conversation a few days ago before they came across the cabin, they ventured into the woodland and could hear the running stream almost immediately.

  "We should really check this place out now and again for those things." Pickle turned away as Karen began to strip, and decided to talk to dilute any embarrassment that he was feeling.

  "What for?" Karen said with bemusement. "When we split from Paul and Jade, we walked through these woods and didn't come across one single Snatcher. And even if the odd one did turn up through the woods and reached the bottom of the hill, they couldn't get up. We've seen them try and get up on the other side, through the gap in the hedge. They're rotting away; the atrophy should make it difficult for these things to walk properly, let alone climb the hill."

  "We can barely make it up ourselves." Pickle agreed, and released a small chortle and scratched at his thin beard.

  "Exactly; so stop being paranoid."

  "I know they probably couldn't make it up the hill, but I'm also thinking about human beings, people that could do us harm."

  There was a silence from behind Pickle and all he could hear was the gentle running of the stream. It appeared that Karen had stopped washing herself, but Pickle didn't want to turn around in case he saw Karen naked. She nodded in agreement. "I think you may have a point there. I suppose it wouldn't harm to check it now and again. I mean—Fuck it!"

  Pickle asked, "What?"

  "I forgot a towel."

  Pickle smiled and shook his head. "Bradley, I really do think yer losing yer mind."

  *

  He took a jug of water and dipped it into the barrel; he then added a spot of bleach and left it at the side of the sink. He knew the remainder of the hill would hurt his back and his knees, but Wolfgang made a decision, now that his guests were out of the way, to go up and visit his wife.

  Even though there was no headstone as such, Pickle had made an effort to make a small cross, and even without that, it wouldn't take a genius to know where she was buried.

  It was a struggle, but once the sixty-nine-year-old man reached his wife's grave, he took his hat off, wiped his brow, then sat down next to the shallow grave.

  "Well, my dear," he said. "I think it's fair to say that you're in the better place, away from this...nightmare." Wolf patted the earth that covered her and sighed, "What the hell's happening? Why now? Why is this happening now?"

  He could feel the bottom of his eyes filling with water, and sniffed, "Thank goodness we don't have grandchildren. That would have made it even more heartbreaking. I hope our kids are okay, though. Even..." Wolf allowed his sentence to trail and cleared his throat.

  He looked to the side of him at the grave. He wished he was in there with her. It wasn't as if his kids needed him anymore; they were grown adults. They never really needed him when they were children.

  He spent most of his life working, while his wife stayed at home. She was always there for the kids when growing up. She took them to school; she picked them up. She sat and helped them with their homework. She made them dinner. She took them to bed, and she read them stories.

  He was more of a stranger that they only really saw at the weekends, and even then, he'd be out with his pals, getting drunk.

  "Damn," he blasted. "I wished I'd been a better father...and husband. This shit does really make you think."

  He bent his aching legs, brought his knees up to his chest, and looked out at the view. He lowered his head and began to sob. He totally let himself go. His sobbing continued for another two minutes, and once he had managed to gather himself together, he wiped his bloodshot eyes.

  Wolfgang Kindl then reached for his hat, struggled to get to his feet, and before walking away, he looked at the grave and blew it a kiss. "I love you, my darling. Always have. Always will."

  Chapter Forty

  Jack followed behind Vince as the tall man began to give him a tour of the place. Jack had never been to the caravan park when the world was normal, so he was pleased that Vince was showing him round. It was a small place really; there were many caravans and a manmade fence was made in a square shape where they had put three cows, and next to that was a chicken pen. Vince explained that a local farmer had asked for refuge, and Vince allowed it, especially when the widower said he would bring his stock with him.

  Vince said, "Since the power went out, things have been a little more difficult, but we have diesel generators to keep things ticking along nicely."

  "Did you stay here before it all happened?" asked Jack, unsure whether he had already asked him this question before.

  "Yep. I've lived here for years. Even before the announcement on the Saturday night, I knew something was wrong. With the riots and biting epidemics that were reported, it didn't take a genius to work out some
thing was amiss, but people just chose to ignore it. Unless it's on their doorstep, people don't like facing up to major problems. It's like the guy who finds a lump in his balls and refuses to go to the doctors, hoping the problem will go away. But the problem, and the lump, doesn't go away, it just gets bigger until it's too late."

  "What's your arsenal like?"

  "My arsehole?" cackled Vince.

  Jack shook his head at Vince's attempt at humour.

  "Not good." Vince was blunt with his answer to Jack's question. "We have a couple of farmers in here, that's how we got the animals, we never stole them. We have half a dozen shotguns, but that's it. If any gang comes here, loaded to the teeth with top-of-the-range weaponry, then we're all fucked in the arse."

  "That's reassuring," Jack responded with sarcasm.

  "I can't see it somehow, though," Vince spoke with conviction. "We're not really a country that has an abundance of guns. Unless we get attacked by the army or a gang of ex-drug dealers, I can't really see anyone trying to force their way in."

  "Vince!"

  Both Vince and Jack turned around to see a young female, her right hand was holding a hunters knife.

  "What is it, Claire?" asked Vince.

  "We've spotted four Rotters heading towards the truck."

  "Rotters?" Jack laughed. "Is that what you call them?"

  "What do you call them?" Vince questioned.

  Jack shrugged and struggled to answer. "I don't know; a woman I briefly knew called them Snatchers."

  Vince's face grimaced. "Aren't they the creatures from Harry Potter?"

  "Dunno. I was more of a Lord of the Rings kind of guy."

  Vince stepped towards Jack and placed both of his hands on his shoulders and said, with a smirk, "Well, my precious, it's time to prove your worth to the group. Get that Johnny friend of yours back here, and meet me at the blockade."

  Vince walked away and ambled alongside Claire. It appeared that they were both heading to the main road, back to the blockade area. "Oh." Vince stopped and turned around and smiled at Jack. "You're gonna be needing that crowbar."

  *

  Jack and Johnny were taken to the centre of the blockade. On each side of them were vehicles blocking off the main road into Rugeley and to Armitage. The usual way to get on the other side of the barrier was to go through the cab doors of the HGV, that was parked across the road, and out the other side. Vince beckoned both men to follow him, and they climbed on top of the HGV, near where two of Vince's lookout-men stood.

  Once this was achieved, Vince beamed and pointed down to the lane. The men were standing on the cab and were about twelve feet high-up from the road. They looked down and could see four of the creatures stumbling about.

  Vince began to speak, "Usually when we get some strays, my guys usually take care of them, but now it's your turn, gentleman. You need to prove your worth. We already have enough females in the camp who can cook, clean and some can even fight. We don't need anymore dishwashers."

  "You have women who cook and clean?" Jack laughed, and remarked sarcastically, "I applaud your twenty-first century thinking."

  "I'm not being sexist, Jack, but every man knows that the best way to get a dishwasher to work is to start kissing the back of her neck." Vince chortled, and his buddies joined in with the hilarity, and he continued to snicker at his own joke.

  "That's very funny," Jack said with a huge pinch of mockery. "This is just one big boy's club."

  Vince held his hands up. "Seriously, we're working together, using our strengths. It just so happens most of the people that go out on a run, are men. And besides, I hate washing clothes. I'd rather take a shit in my hands and clap."

  "Charming." Jack scratched at his stubble and was finding this Vince character a hard person to like.

  "Jack," Johnny looked at Jack, pleadingly, "I'm not sure I can do this."

  He was overheard by Vince and was told, "Well, Johnny, if you refuse, I'm kicking you both off the camp right now. And from what Jack was telling me earlier, you have a nice little horde waiting for you in the town centre. I don't take too kindly to people wasting my time, and I might even keep the jeep for the overnight sleep you got out of me."

  Jack snapped at Vince, "I already told you that I've killed before."

  "Then this should be a piece of piss," Vince laughed. "But I need to see for myself." Vince's voice then turned to a more serious tone. "If you bump into any of those things and freeze out there while we're getting supplies, you could cost the whole team."

  Jack looked at a petrified Johnny. "It'll be okay."

  Johnny grabbed onto Jack's sleeve and whispered, "But I've never killed any of these things before, you know that. We can make a run for it and make a left turn into the woods. I heard about this place on Cardboard Hill—"

  "Let's just do it," Jack sighed, and was getting a little tired of Johnny's bellyaching.

  Both men had managed to climb down on the other side of the barricade before the four ghouls had reached it. They were seconds away and Jack looked at a petrified Johnny.

  "Here," Jack yelled, and passed Johnny his crowbar in return for Johnny's knife. "This'll be easier for you."

  Like a boxer, Johnny skipped backwards in order to avoid the things, but Jack wasted no time. Three of the things used to be females and the severely bloated one wearing a dirty yellow dress, held out her arms, only for Jack to grab her left arm out of the way and drive the knife into its left eye socket. Seconds after the disgusting squishing noise, the thing fell as soon as Jack withdrew the knife.

  There was no time to spare, and it appeared that Jack had drew the short straw. Not only did he only have a knife, although that was his choice, he also had to contain the other two that were approaching him, while the crowbar-wielding Johnny had just the one creature to destroy. Typical!

  Jack could see Johnny take a half-hearted swing at his only attacker, and although his life could be in danger, Jack felt a little angry with Johnny. He had had it easy so far in the new world, compared to most other people, and now all he had to do was kill one of them, and he was struggling to do that!

  Two of them simultaneously went for Jack and he side-stepped out of the way, fooling them both. The two were wearing casual clothes, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with their attire covered in blood—their own, and probably their victims.

  Female One went for Jack; it appeared that it used to be a teenager, who probably had a boyfriend, a brother or sister, and a mum and dad. Now here was Jack Slade ramming a knife into the front of her skull.

  It took a few vital seconds for Jack to remove the stubborn blade from the penetrated skull, and had to take a step back when Female Two tried to grab him and gnashed its teeth, biting thin air. He ran around the corpse of Female One and could see that Johnny was wrestling with his ghoul, and had dropped the crowbar on the floor and yelled out as they both fell to the ground.

  Jack was now face-to-face with Female Two and tried to penetrate his weapon into the front of its head, but the knife practically bounced off the skull as if it were made of steel. He tried again, but this time he threw his arm as if he was throwing a right hook and the knife pierced and buried itself into the right temple of the creature. It staggered a little, like a drunk, and fell to the ground with a thump, the knife going with it.

  Jack was exhausted and could hear Johnny scream out as the thing was still on top of him. Jack picked up the crowbar and dragged the monster off of Johnny. The thing was on its back, trying to get up, but Jack rained blows from the crowbar, completely obliterating the skull until its face was unrecognisable.

  Out of puff, Jack turned around and could hear Vince sarcastically applauding him. "Bravo, Jack. You're gonna fit in just fine round these parts, but I fear for your friend."

  Johnny was still lying on the ground and Jack tried to help him up.

  "Leave him!" Vince called out.

  Jack looked up at the tall man and shouted, "I'm not leaving him. It's both of us or neithe
r of us."

  Vince placed his hand on his heart and mockingly feigned tears. "I'm touched. I really am."

  With a shotgun in his hand, he jumped down to meet Jack and began walking towards him. Vince's eyes scanned the bodies and pointed at the almost headless one that Jack had dealt with by crowbar. "That's my favourite." He then glared at Jack seriously and told him to move away from Johnny.

  "What?" Jack was perplexed by his command.

  "Just do it." Vince's jovial nature had disappeared, and Jack wasn't going to argue with a man carrying a loaded shotgun.

  "He'll get used to it." Jack tried to defend Johnny's pathetic attempt at destroying one of those ghouls. "He'll be able to kill one of those things eventually."

  "I don't think so."

  Johnny was exhausted, and was now kneeling up with his head lowered and his back to Vince and Jack. Without a second of hesitation, Vince brought up the shotgun and unloaded a cartridge into the back of Johnny's head. As bloody debris was thrown forward from the massive wound, the body of Johnny slumped to the floor, his skull, blood and brains were scattered in front.

  "No!" was all Jack could muster. Jack's eyes widened with disbelief and he kept on looking back and forth from Johnny's body to Vince. Did it really happen? Despite the nightmare rollercoaster of a ride Jack had endured, he was still able to be shocked by the barbarism this new world had to offer.

  Vince explained, "Even the women have taken out some of those things, even some of the teenagers. I'm sorry about Johnny, but this is just not his world."

  Jack stared at Vince in disbelief and angrily took a step forward, but Vince reminded him by pointing the smoking gun, that he was in control, not some man holding a crowbar.

  Vince then lowered the gun, told Jack to keep well back, and walked over and crouched down to Johnny's body. Vince picked up Johnny's right floppy arm, to reveal that he had been bitten in the bicep. "I'm not an animal, Jack," he explained, and released the arm. "I wouldn't shoot someone for no reason. He was fucked. His hesitation and lack of balls had cost him his life. That's the first time I've ever shot another person before. I'm sure it won't be my last."