Snatchers (Book 10): The Dead Don't Care

by Shaun Whittington

  Vince was astonished and his eyes gazed at the vehicle until it disappeared from view. "I don't fucking believe this."

  "Where the fuck is he going?" Stephen yelled. "For fuck's sake!"

  Karen seemed calm about the situation, unlike her two male companions. "He must have panicked. Maybe he's just gone further up the road and stopped."

  "I doubt it." Vince shook his head. "I reckon that fat prick has dumped us."

  The only positives of being abandoned was that the dead were walking away and there was five less than there was before.

  "We can get to the main road without raising our weapons, if we're quick enough." Karen looked at both men for a response.

  "I can't believe he just fucked off." Stephen was as bemused as Vince.

  "Forget it, lads. It's done." Karen slapped both men on the arm to shake them out of their mild hypnosis. "Time to go. Follow my lead."

  *

  Heather glared out of the window and could see that the area was clear. The short visit from the three individuals earlier was welcomed by the woman and so was the water that she had now finished. The woman that had introduced herself as Karen seemed nice, and so did the portly man with the strange habit of twisting his neck and clearing his throat. But she wasn't sure of the scarred man. He was thin, had grey hair and looked a little scary.

  She had lied to the three visitors. She had told them that she was going home soon, but she had no intention of doing so. She knew that if she went home, if she managed to get there in one piece, all that would be waiting for her would be carnage.

  She never told Karen that in the first week her husband begged her to stay where she was, at work, and told her that the house was surrounded by these freaks and their two sons, both under the age of five, were hysterical.

  He kept Heather up-to-date at what was happening and got the two boys to speak to their mum, but eventually her husband's phone died.

  He rang back and spoke to her with his phone charging and on speaker. She could hear the dead slapping at the windows. Her husband told her that he was following the instructions from the news. He had closed the curtains, locked the doors and filled the bath. They also kept as quiet as they could. But they were still trying to get in.

  Heather and her family lived in a cottage, so they had a disadvantage with having no first floor to escape to. They talked for hours and commented on the information and footage on what they were both watching. It was surreal and macabre.

  Heather asked to speak to the boys again, as the evening was beginning to draw in, but the sound of shattered glass and screams could be heard down her phone. She could do nothing but listen. She guessed that her husband had ran away, leaving the phone, and hid in a room with their two sons.

  She listened for hours, and screams from her boys sent shockwaves through her frame. They were attacking her boys. The dead were attacking her boys.

  Her husband could be heard faintly and then silence.

  She continued to listen, but all she could hear were those dead bastards in her house.

  Heather's brown eyes became glassy as her thoughts went back to the first days. She felt helpless back then, frustrated. She was aware that if she tried to get home, she'd die.

  Heather knew that the loneliness and the grief would never go away. Even if she did go back to the camp with these people, she'd still be lonely. Her husband and her kids would still be dead.

  She had been putting it off for too long.

  If she hung around any longer, then starvation was going to take her anyway.

  Heather Mackintosh stood to her feet and pulled out a drawer. In the drawer were sheets. She pulled one out and made it into a rope, tying the sheet around her neck. She picked up a chair with her right and placed it under the metal curtain rail. That's where she was going to tie the sheet.

  It was time.

  Chapter Eighteen

  He couldn't believe it had been nearly three months since that terrible announcement. He was with his wife, Danielle, and his two young daughters when Sky News broke the story of an infection sweeping the nation. They had booked three nights at the Splashlanding Hotel at Alton Towers and had arrived on the Friday. After spending a murky day in the theme park and successfully throwing up after going on a ride called Spinball Wizzer, Craig Burns had decided to call it a day.

  Once he returned to the hotel, he and his family went into the restaurant area, had a buffet meal, then went back to their room.

  The following day, Saturday, they spent the morning in the indoor swimming area in the hotel, had lunch, then returned to the theme park. Craig was waiting for his wife and two daughters to come off a ride called The Enterprise and could see someone getting attacked many yards away. He ignored it and hoped that security would eventually sort it out.

  In a place where there were noisy rides and screaming from mainly females on the rollercoasters, it took a while before people realised something was wrong.

  He would never forget it.

  The second time he had seen somebody being taken down, there were three teenage girls by a ride called The Oblivion and screams could be heard inside a first aid tent.

  Craig Burns and his family were sitting on a patch of grass, having a breather and eating ice cream. Looking back, he assumed that the individual had been attacked, either inside or outside the park, had shrugged it off, and continued to have a great day until they began to feel weak. Her friends must have reported her illness to the staff at Alton Towers and took her in the first aid tent. She must have then passed out, then reanimated.

  Two nurses ran out of the area with bites to their arms, then the reanimated female stumbled out of the tent and headed for the three confused teenage girls. One was taken down and, with his family, Craig watched in horror as the young girl had her throat ripped out. She fell and bled out all over the grass whilst her shocked friends screamed like they had never screamed before.

  Then the crowds began to disperse, although some idiots decided to hang about and video the creature with their phones. Craig grabbed his kids and urged his wife to follow him. They ran to the entrance, along with many others, passing the Cbeebies World to their left and headed for the Splashlanding Hotel. The hotel was predictably in disarray, and when they went back to the room to grab their belongings, Craig put the news on. He and his wife stood in shock for ten minutes when they watched the footage being shown and heard the surreal information that they were being told.

  Was this some kind of joke? It couldn't be. He saw people being attacked with his own eyes. Craig hopped channels and was greeted with similar footage and information. If this was some kind of joke then CNN, RT and the BBC were in on it too.

  He told his family that they were leaving and were heading back home, back to Rugeley. They lived at a bottom flat, 28 Horsefair, and that was their destination when they left, with many others. They drove through the area of Alton, passing the huge JCB factory, passing Abbots Bromley and the reservoir, and was back on the country road to Rugeley half an hour later.

  They had nearly made it, but once they reached Colwich, a group of the creatures appeared in the road once Craig had taken a bend. Their car ploughed into the dead, then crashed into a picket fence and went into a field, stopping as it went into a ditch. By the time Craig managed to get his bearings, he looked to his left to see his wife confused and rubbing her neck. He looked in the back and could see that his kids were in shock and disorientated, crying.

  A slap on his window made him jump, and all four screamed when they turned to their right and saw the dead. They circled the car, slapping at the windows, aching to get in. Craig then began to punch the sunroof open. Once he did this, he climbed out and urged his family to follow him. Eventually they did, and the family were now sitting on the roof of the car, kids hysterical, whilst the dead reached out and tried to grab them. He counted seventeen of them and there was no gap for them to jump down and escape.

  He had to think. He told his family to stay where t
hey were and crawled near the windscreen and began banging it, hoping that some from the back would walk round to where he was and then create a gap for them to escape. Suddenly, a scream was heard, forcing the father of two to turn around and witness his family dying before his eyes.

  His two children were grabbed and fell into the horde. His wife bravely jumped in after them. He froze as they were ripped apart. Their screams were horrific, screams that he would never forget and would forever haunt him, but they were short. He cried, knowing that they were beyond help. He watched with rainy eyes as the infected tore apart his loved ones and stuffed whatever they could into their diseased mouths.

  Noticing that a large gap from the back of the car was emerging, the heartbroken man struggled to get to his feet. Once he did, he ran over the roof of the car and jumped off into the gap. Not one of the dead paid attention as he ran away; they were still enjoying their recent kill.

  He ran and ran.

  With tears in his eyes, he ran for two miles before the pain forced him to stop running along the country roads. He then collapsed to the floor and lay on the grassy bank and sobbed his heart out. He cried so hard that he thought his heart was going to break.

  Once he managed to get himself together, he lifted his head up and decided to run home. He ran past the "Welcome to Rugeley" sign, and got as far as the Stag's Leap restaurant before having to turn around.

  A massive horde were at the roundabout and all turned and went his way once he was spotted. He ran and headed towards Etching Hill, which was on the edge of town. He passed many streets to his left, a field was to his right, and continued along the main road. He stayed in a house in Rugeley for three weeks, and had to flee to Slitting Mill, for safety purposes, and stayed in an abandoned house and kept a very low profile. He had been here for many weeks and had seen very little activity. He had seen a herd of the dead around in the first days, but their numbers dwindled as the weeks went by, until only a few strays were seen now and again.

  One of the hardest parts of staying in the house was dealing with his grief alone, and then there was the boredom. On odd occasions he had ventured into Cannock Chase to pick berries, mushrooms and set traps for game, but this had its dangers. A horde was never seen in the woods, but the occasional one would show up from time to time. He didn't mind. Killing these things now and again kept him sharp, it kept him desensitised from the hideous things.

  He remembered his first dead kill. He was in the woods and a male creature stumbled through the area. The ghoul was naked and was bitten on his forearm. Craig had no idea why he was naked. Maybe he had been up to no good before he was attacked. There was no hesitancy with Craig when destroying the fiend. The thought of his family snowballed his anger and he put the thing down with ease. He had used a hockey stick. It was something he had found in one of the bedrooms of a house he had briefly stayed at in Rugeley, before coming to Slitting Mill. It did the trick.

  The weeks had been quiet and he knew he was lucky, in a kind of way. In the first week he had seen a man come off his motorcycle and eaten by a horde. There had been a few other vehicles that had passed by and an incident last week where a man on his own walked by. The walker was of average height and looked to be lost. The man had stopped near Craig's house and he saw the owner of the house, from two doors down, come out and chat to the lone figure. Their chatter seemed friendly and Craig continued to watch the pair of them until both men said their farewells.

  Craig Burns was certain that the street was empty and the showing of this man from two doors down proved there were still people about. He didn't know if the house owner with the beard had a family or he was on his own. Despite being convinced he was no threat, Craig decided to keep himself to himself.

  He puffed out his cheeks and threw his head back. He was in the back bedroom, feeling sleepy, and was preparing himself for another night in this abandoned house. Apart from the lack of food, he had no cause to complain. He looked over to the chipped and bloodstained wooden hockey stick he had been using for the last couple of months as a weapon, and closed his eyes.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The tears formed in his eyes, and was suffering from a huge amount of guilt and frustration as his foot increased its pressure on the accelerator of the RV. His panic and cowardly behaviour had probably cost the lives of three good people, but he thought he was going to die. He was convinced he was going to die.

  As soon as the horde approached the van from the front and the side, he thought that the motor-home would struggle to get out. By the time he knew it, he was already cruising away from the area and left his colleagues in the shit. Panic had taken over Freddie Johnson. If they didn't die there, he was sure that getting back was perilous enough for them to lose their lives. He hadn't been out much since the outbreak, but Freddie had heard stories how dangerous the new world was because of the dead and the living.

  He was trying to think positive.

  The positives was that he was going to return to the camp with the vehicle full of medical supplies, unless some unfortunate incident took place before he reached Little Haywood. But there were negatives.

  The negatives?

  He had left three people behind to die. He hated Vince, he didn't know Karen, but always liked Stephen. Stephen's potential death alone was plaguing his psyche. He was also going to be grilled by Pickle once he arrived back. Pickle seemed like a nice guy, but he had heard stories of the things he had done in order to survive, so there was a side to Harry Branston that he hadn't seen yet. Someone told him that Sandy Lane had experienced three intruders and Pickle had cut the throat of one of them to warn the other two not to return, but that was a story that Freddie had laughed off. It was a story that he didn't believe.

  He had to tell the truth. He had to!

  He could return and lie. He could tell John Lincoln that he witnessed their demise before fleeing, but what if they returned after telling such a story? Stephen had experience being out there, but he had heard that Vince and Karen's experience overshadowed everybody else from Colwyn Place, so there was a good chance they could make it back. He was in a hopeless quandary.

  His hands shook as they rested on the steering wheel and his right leg quivered as his foot continued to press on the gas. He was a bag of nerves.

  He thought about going back for them. But what about the horde? He'd die for sure if he went back for them now. Wouldn't he? He didn't know what to do. His foot remained on the pedal and with two miles to go, he continued with his journey back to Colwyn Place.

  As soon as he reached the Wolseley roundabout, he turned left, passing the pub to his left and the garden centre to his right, then went over the Wolseley Bridge. He was relieved that he had nearly made it and only had half a mile to go, but the reception that waited for him was going to be uncomfortable.

  He thought about concocting a story again, lying to the locals about what happened, despite that there was a strong chance they could return in one piece. "Nah." He shook his head. All four of them getting attacked and it was him that escaped? No one would buy that story. He had to tell the truth.

  He slowed the van right down and saw James Thomson at the slide gate. He parked the RV up and waited for James to let him in. Thomson gave Freddie a wave, surprised that he was allowed to drive, and wondered where the other three were. He couldn't see anyone in the passenger seats. He shrugged his shoulders. Maybe the other three were in the back.

  The motor-home pulled into the area and he could see John Lincoln, Terry Braithwaite and Joanne Hammett chatting at the end of the street, near the concrete wall that divided the new Colwyn Place from the rest of Little Haywood that the locals now called No Man's Land.

  John Lincoln excused himself from Terry and Joanne, gave off a big smile and walked over to the vehicle, to the driver's side. The driver now had the window down. He was dreading this moment.

  "How'd it go?" John asked with a smile. "Did you get what was needed?"

  "We did." Freddie gulped, th
en lowered his head.

  John lost his smile and peered into the RV. He looked at Freddie for a reaction, but the youngster kept his head lowered.

  John immediately knew that something was wrong. He cleared his throat and asked Freddie, "Where the hell are the other three? In the back?"

  Freddie looked up, tears were in his eyes and he stammered, "I think ... I think they're dead."

  "You ... think they're dead? What do you mean you think they're dead?"

  Freddie never answered straightaway. He was too upset.

  John Lincoln opened the driver's door. "You better get out. You've got some explaining to do, boy."

  Chapter Twenty

  "Little shit!" Vince snapped. "Fucking cocksucking cuntfucker."

  "Don't worry about it now." Karen grabbed Kindl by the shirt and pulled him towards her. "Let's keep moving."

  All three were now on the main road. The dead were trying to follow them, but the three were way ahead. Stephen Rowley hadn't said a word. He followed the two of them as they continued on the stretch of road, and knew that it was going to take them hours to walk back to Colwyn Place. Thank goodness the dead were slow. They were persistent, but slow.

  "I can't believe he did it." Vince continued with his rant. "Fat little prick."

  "Look, chap." Stephen finally spoke up, cleared his throat and twitched his neck. "It is what it is. Nothing we can do about it now."

  "Yeah? Well, when I get back I'm gonna slap him silly."

  Karen spoke up. "He must have panicked when..."

  "Panicked? He'll be panicking when I return. He'll panic when I lube up my fist, before I stick it up his arse."

  "He should never have come with us in the first place. He's too young." Karen then turned to Vince. "Remember young Harry Beresford, back at your camp? He was also too young. Too inexperienced."

  "Still, when I get hold of him he'll wish his mother had never met his father."