Shaz felt an unstoppable smirk stretching across her face, and put her hand over it to prevent Pickle from seeing it.
Pickle took it well, and snickered, "I suppose I asked for that."
Chapter Fifty Five
As soon as the girls left him to his own devices, he winced and cried out when his hand was simply hanging off. The blood continued to seep out and was soaked up by the carpet. He picked the hanging limb up with his working hand, and knew that he needed to get his injury wrapped up before he bled to death.
Crying, he walked down the stairs. He noticed that the front door had been left open, and he wondered if those bitches had done this on purpose. He angrily kicked the door shut and went into the kitchen. He knew his hand was fucked, and thought he'd be better off without it with the condition it was in.
He took out a couple of tea-towels from a cupboard, put them on the draining board and reached for the cleaver that sat in a wooden block with the sharp knives. Placing his bloody arm on the sink and his defunct right hand, he raised the cleaver and brought it down hard on the tendons that were stopping the hand from departing from the body indefinitely.
He then took his bloody arm and wrapped the tea-towels around the wound. He cried out every time the bloody stump made contact with any kind of touch, and with three tea-towels wrapped around his wrist, he needed to sit down as his head was spinning. He didn't know whether it was the shock or the loss of blood that was making him dizzy and feeling queasy. He thought that it could be both.
He staggered on the ground floor and went through a cupboard under the TV. He found two bottles of red wine, a half bottle of Southern Comfort and an unopened bottle of Jim Beam. He had seen it in films before, and decided to try it. It would have been a cruel twist if he eventually stopped the blood loss, but then ended up dying of an infection instead.
He took out the Jim Beam, plonked it on the floor and unscrewed it with his only hand. He quickly poured the substance over the blood-soaked, wrapped tea-towels where his hand used to be, and cried out with the stinging. The perspiration poured out from him, and his whole body shot up in temperature.
His three associates had gone and he was left all alone. Two were dead, and the other had fled the street in one of the Ford cars.
He had spent most of his life in and out of prison, and welcomed the new, lawless land that had began to plague Britain nearly three weeks ago, but he never expected this! He had had some scrapes with the dead, and there had been a few near misses, but he never thought he could end up becoming disfigured by a woman, for Christ's sake!
Tears of pain ran down his cheeks, and he then fell onto the couch and lay down. A thud was heard in the house and he immediately sat up. "What the fuck was that?"
He walked out of the living room and saw a door in the hallway. A cellar maybe. With the condition he was in, he avoided investigating if there was anything down there. That would be just suicide.
He walked back to the living room and caught a glimpse of himself in the hall mirror. Even without the severing of his hand his machete-cut across his features made him look hideous, but the overall picture was so horrendous that he felt like screaming.
He glared at the glass; his black hair that was tied in a ponytail hadn't been washed in weeks; his teeth were never his best quality anyway, but the severed hand, his dirty clothes, and the huge cut on his cheek above his thick, dark beard, made him look severely unapproachable.
He looked out of the window, and despite the carnage in the street, it seemed reasonably quiet. He was desperate to get back to the farm before sundown, before someone else decided to claim it for themselves. They'd spent weeks stocking up on gas and food, and he didn't want some idiot walking onto the farm and thinking they had hit the jackpot.
He then began to think about his dead pals, and his other colleague that had decided to leave them in limbo. "If I ever get my hands on him..."
The desperation of going back to the farm and living in a place of luxury for many months forced him to go through the pain barrier; so he walked out into the street, while the bottom of his arm was throbbing like hell.
He looked at two cars that were stationary, but he couldn't drive with one working hand! He needed someone to drive him. He went back into the house, grabbed himself a knife, and went back out on the street. He was going to have to flag a car down, more than likely on the main road that was a few streets away. He was hoping his horrendous appearance wouldn't put any motorists off from giving him a ride, but only time would tell.
"To hell with it!"
He ran through the cursed street, turned right, and went into another. He could see two of the things up ahead, but was confident he could outrun them, which he did with ease.
The main road was just up ahead, fifty yards away, and he needed to pass the top of a street to get there. He looked down the road and saw that this particular street was heaving with the dead. He had no idea why. Maybe they had saw something from afar, or someone had been killed and the screams attracted more of them from other streets. Whatever the reason why there were so many, they were there, and fortunately he managed to jog by the top of the street without being noticed.
He winced as his hand continued to throb; the cut on the face never bothered him too much. He had been stabbed on two occasions during his lifetime, so he was used to the violence, and although the cut hurt like hell at first, the mutilated arm seemed to have taken away the attention from his face.
He had now finally reached the main road. His neck twisted left and right while he walked along it, paranoid of the dead appearing. For two minutes he came across nothing. Then he suddenly heard it. It was the sound of an engine.
The vehicle was in a rush and it quickly came round the bend, giving him just seconds to react. He stumbled into the road and held his damaged arm up. The pick-up truck had no intention of slowing down for the man, and tried to swerve around him. The tyres squealed as the truck swerved to the side, but the left side of the bumper still hit him and he went flying through the air, eventually hitting the tarmac and throwing his knife yards down the road.
The vehicle was now out of sight, and the injured man groaned in pain with his body gaining extra damage, which included broken ribs, bruising, and a broken tibia in his left leg.
He was struggling to crawl, let alone get up, and he knew that his only hope now was if another motorist came by and stopped for him. But what were the chances of that?
The short crawl to the side of the road was exhausting and painful. The pain was a struggle to cope with, but as soon as he saw two dead beasts stumble onto the main road from the last street of the estate, he wished straight away that he was dead.
They spotted him immediately.
He wondered if the screech of the tyres from the pick-up truck had seduced them to this part of the area, but he didn't think about it for too long as he now had more pressing matters to contend with. The two things weren't far away now, and because of the condition that he was in, it now didn't matter if there was just two of them or if it was the rest of the creatures from the whole estate.
He had already come to the conclusion that he was as good as fucked.
They were only a matter of yards away and he thought that although his death was going to be beyond pain, he was going to go out with a fight.
They stood over his battered body, and the things bent down in unison while the potential victim kicked out and swung his arms at them, despite his injuries.
His fight was futile and he was bitten straight away. While releasing screams of anguish, he managed to punch one of them. With the only hand he had left, he tried to rip its bottom jaw off, only for the jaw of his assailant to snap shut and bite into the man's bony hand while the other ghoul was now crouching over him, and was taking a large chunk from the side of his neck. As the man screamed, the thing was furiously trying to rip a piece of flesh free while blood pissed furiously out all over the road.
Even though his first attacker w
as chewing and had a mouthful of skin, tendons and muscle, it greedily went in for another bite and the other being had now started working on the other side of his neck, ripping it open with its dirty teeth, the blood spilling plentifully.
The victim was now dead and they continued munching at the neck, devouring some of his tongue, until the head came away from the body.
The brains were next.
Chapter Fifty Six
Vince claimed he knew a short cut back to the camp, but Jack felt that the country-road way was taking longer and Vince was actually apprehensive driving in populated areas, especially on an evening with darkness creeping up. Jack thought that once Vince was in populated territory, he didn't seem as cool and appeared to be edgy. Any kind of vehicle being driven, especially in residential areas, could be a target for potential thieves to carjack, and everybody was aware of this, which made Jack appreciate them coming for him all the more.
Vince may have been the tough guy when it came to robbing innocent shopkeepers or looting houses with unarmed frightened individuals inside, but Jack hadn't yet seen him in action when it came to a shootout with another individual, or a hand-to-hand combat with someone who knew what they were doing. He knew Vince wasn't afraid of violence, that was proved when he hardly flinched getting rid of Johnny, but Jack thought it'd be interesting to see how Vince would act if ever he met his match. After all, he was only a fork lift driver. Was he all talk? Only time could answer that question.
Under the black bellies of fused clouds, the day was rapidly losing its battle with the night, and a hazard appeared up ahead that had made the truck come to a stop. A pick-up truck was lying on its side as if it had lost control and tumbled a few times. Jack, Claire and Vince all looked at one another, wondering what to do next.
"I can give it a nudge with this vehicle and move it somehow." Vince looked at Claire and Jack to see if they agreed. They were both surprised that he even waited for approval, and they both responded with nods and shrugs as if to say, do what you think is best.
A lone creature came from behind the newly-found truck as if it had been hiding. Jack looked at Vince with confusion and Vince responded, "I have no idea what is going on."
Claire decided to shed a little light why the single ghoul was hanging around the crashed vehicle. "Maybe there's still people in there. People that are alive. That's probably why it's hanging about."
Jack narrowed his eyes at the lone ghoul and looked at the clothes it was wearing. It was wearing sports attire and Jack thought he recognised the thing.
Vince got out of the car and the creature began to stagger towards him, past the vehicle. It was now ten yards ahead of the vehicle and getting closer to Vince, who stood waiting for it. Jack and Claire remained sitting and saw Vince grab hold of the thing by the hair and jab his knife straight through the left eye. He then released the hair, pulled out the knife and watched it slump to a dead heap.
Vince walked over to the truck and could see a few items scattered across the road that may have been in the back of the vehicle before its tumble, but it was nothing to get excited about, and nothing that was going to improve the camp. Most food seemed to have been already nibbled at by the woods' creatures, and some of the tins were crushed and dented. A few empty bottles of water were also scattered along the road, suggesting that these bottles had cracked once the crash had happened, and the liquid inside had slowly poured out all over the tarmac.
As soon as Vince got to the bonnet-end, he climbed a little to peer inside the opened window. He saw two people inside.
The driver was a middle-aged man; he was most definitely dead. He had no injuries to his body, but his face highlighted that he had been dead for a day or two now. The woman was still hanging on and was muttering something; her lips were all dry and she was severely dehydrated. She was alive, but barely. None of them seemed to have been bit, and it appeared that maybe the male had had a stroke or a heart attack, and the woman had been there for days because she couldn't, or was too frightened, to get out, and ended up so dehydrated that she was now pretty close to death.
Why didn't she try and get out once the vehicle crashed? Was she initially surrounded by these things? Even with just the one ghoul, was she too scared to go out? Or had she received broken bones from the crash and couldn't escape, even if she wanted to? Vince had no idea.
He began to walk away from the vehicle and saw Jack get out of the car.
"Get back inside," ordered Vince. "We're going."
Jack ignored Vince and this made him nervous. If Jack peered into the vehicle and saw that the woman was alive, he'd demand that she would have to go back to the camp. Vince wanted the camp to be strong, not to be treated like a hospital and littered with injured, elderly people. The place had too many old people as it was for Vince's liking.
Jack walked with slow steps towards the creature that Vince had just destroyed. She looked different, but he still knew who it was. Her dark hair seemed dirty, but she was still wearing the same clothes when they had left the sports centre. Jack crouched down and sadly placed his hand on her white, cold cheek and whispered, "I'm sorry, Jade."
Asked Vince, "You knew her?"
"It's a long story; I'll tell you about it one day." Jack then stood up and had a quick scan around and said under his breath, "I hope the others made it."
"She looked like she could have been a looker," Vince spoke out; it was a comment that Jack thought was a strange thing to say. Vince, still worried that Jack was going to take a peep inside the vehicle, then urged the man, "Let's go."
"Any passengers in the truck?" Jack queried Vince.
Vince paused for a few seconds and shook his head. "No. Nothing."
Jack followed him back to the vehicle and sat next to Claire in the passenger seat. She could see that Jack looked despondent, and before she could ask him what was the matter, Vince told her that he used to know the girl that he had just killed.
Vince could see there was sadness in Jack's face. "You think that's bad," Vince spoke up and then turned to Claire. "Remember that run we went out on last week?"
Claire nodded sadly, and took over the story. "Vince and I, and a few others, went further out and into this tiny village. We went into about three or four houses, then went back because of the Rotters coming from the farmlands."
Vince interjected with a cackle, "Fuckers had eaten a cow; can you believe that?"
Claire added, "Anyway, we got to this end house and went into the garage to see if there was a car to siphon from. The whole garage stunk of carbon monoxide. I took a look inside and saw a man in the front and a little girl in the back, windows down. I think he gassed himself and her. It was probably too much for them, well, him especially."
"Never slept for two days, did you, Claire?" Vince spoke, this time with sincerity coated in his words.
Claire continued, "She was such a beautiful thing as well. She had beautiful blonde hair, and was wearing a cute Barbie T-shirt." Claire lowered her head and sniffed, "I've seen heads exploding every day, but this really affected me. I'll never forget it."
Vince started the engine and tried to somehow lift the mood. "And on that light note, I think we should now get back to the camp. You fuckers are depressing the shite out of me."
"I lost my son last week," Jack blurted out.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Jack." Vince spoke with genuine empathy in his voice, although it was Claire that Jack was talking to.
"My God." Claire gazed at the broken man who looked close to tears. "What happened?"
"Again; it's a long story that I will tell you all about one day."
Vince added, "Maybe we should get drunk one night and spill our guts."
"Sounds good to me." Jack then dropped his head and placed each hand on the side and shook it. Claire looked at Vince and was wondering what Jack was doing. He then lifted his head up, teary-eyed and Jack sighed, "Man, I think I'm losing my mind."
"Maybe you have dementia," cackled Vince.
> "Not funny, Vince." Claire said. "Both my grandparents had dementia in their care homes. It was horrible to see."
"Still," added Vince. "The good thing about having dementia is that you're always meeting new people."
Vince looked over his right shoulder, checking his blind spot, and pulled the vehicle away, leaving a smirk on the faces of Jack and Claire.
Jack gazed at Vince. Maybe he's not that bad. He's a bit sick, but the company could be worse. He then felt his hand being squeezed and smiled at Claire as the truck zoomed through the lane.
Chapter Fifty Seven
After their meal, the group were in good spirits. The fire roared and although Shaz and Karen had gone through a traumatic experience earlier, it was becoming a hazard that they were becoming accustomed to these days, especially Karen.
Wolf had decided to retire to the living room once Pickle cracked open the wine. Karen said that she wasn't in the mood and opted for water instead, leaving Shaz and Pickle with the alcohol. Wolf politely told the group to try and keep the noise down, and Pickle opted for the sofa to sleep on while the girls had to make do with the living room floor. The garden was out of bounds because the rain still fell, although it was now just a light drizzle.
Their backsides were soaked with sitting on the wet grass, but this was soon forgotten once Pickle and Karen had begun to tell Shaz about their story and how they had met.
Shaz had only supped on a half-tumbler of wine, but could feel the effects of the stuff already going to her head. "So let's get this clear," the new woman said. "You two met in the woods. Then..." The alcohol made Shaz pause, she had lost her train of thought. "Then you had a group and some were killed. Had another group, and some were killed..." Shaz begun to laugh, and looked around the cabin. "They say things happen in threes; should I be worried?"
Pickle and Karen knew she had a few drinks inside her, but felt a little upset at the way she described their weeks in such a harsh summary.
Snatchers: Volume One (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 1-3) Page 84
