Snatchers (Book 3): The Dead Don't Cry (12 page)

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 headbutt 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 ginger 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 stab 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!"

Chapter Twenty Five

Pickle and Karen had returned to the cabin.

Burying Wolf's wife had been exhausting and thirsty work, so they returned to get refreshments before heading to the edge of town for their first trip to get supplies.

It had been nearly an hour since Karen's breakdown, and the digging and burial had been completed in total silence, until Pickle muttered The Lord's Prayer under his breath.

Wolf had made it clear that he didn't want to attend the burial as what he saw tied to the chair wasn't his wife anymore, and even though he strongly believed she had died many days ago, he still didn't have it in him to kill her himself. Sleeping with that thing in the house was impossible for the first few days, so Wolf had to rely on exhaustion to put him to sleep, whether it was in the cabin on a night, or a sneaky hour in the garden.

"You've got plenty of hours of daylight left," Wolf spoke, and handed Karen and Pickle two over-the-shoulder sports bags. "I really appreciate this, you know. I just wish I could come with you. With my aching bones, I struggle to get out of bed on a morning."

"And we appreciate yer putting us up, Wolf," Pickle said and winked at the old man. "We'll get these bags filled, and come back. If it's quiet, we might have time to go for a second stint."

Wolf said, "We'll have a good night. I'll get the fire on, and we'll have a hearty meal. See if you can get some booze. Red wine would be good."

Pickle laughed, "Yer do realise we're not going to the supermarket?"

"Sorry," Wolf chuckled, and glanced over to Karen who was staring into space. "Say, Karen; you okay? You've hardly said a word."

"I'm fine." Karen put the bag over her shoulder and looked around the enclosed garden, then called over to Pickle. "We ready?"

Pickle nodded.

"You sure you don't want the shotgun?" Wolf began scratching at his grey whiskers, and adjusted his straw hat.

"It's too loud," Pickle said. "Anyway, I think we'll be okay with these." He patted the machete that was tucked in his belt to the left of him.

Harry Branston walked towards the garden gate and opened it; Karen followed behind and left Wolf to shut the gate after them. Once the two survivors were out on the hill, in the open air, Pickle took a big breath in, which amused Karen.

"What is it?" he chuckled, and was glad that she was starting to lighten up.

"How can you breath in like that, and have that face on you like you're happy to be alive?"

"Well, I
am
happy to be alive. Don't forget, I only left prison two and a half weeks ago, Karen. I'm still getting used to being out in the real world."

"The real world?" she tittered. She pulled out her machete and used it to point at the back of the Pear Tree Estate, where they were heading, and they both looked out and saw smoke smouldering from the area. She then pointed down the hill. The seven Snatchers were still there, not giving up, crawling hopelessly, trying to get to where they thought food might be, but were simply just clawing at dirt. "You mean all this?
This
real world?"

"Okay." Pickle scratched his head; it was irritating him and it was desperate for some soap. "It's no' quite how I envisaged ma 'ventual freedom when I was inside," he slurred, unusually more than he normally did.

They descended down the hill, gaining on the seven things that were all on their bellies, clawing at the ground as if they were unable to get back onto their feet. They were now ten yards away from the seven bodies and Pickle warned Karen not to get too close.

"I
have
done this before, you know." She shook her head, but secretly liked the fact he was concerned for her.

"Not with a machete, yer haven't. Just make sure yer squint yer eyes, just in case."

Karen walked over to the one furthest left and walked around it, grabbed its ankles and dragged it away from the other six, so she could kill it without fear of being scratched or bit by the others.

"Good idea, Karen," Pickle said sarcastically. "Handling a diseased-ridden ghoul is a great idea."

"Shurrup," said Karen.

Karen drove the machete into the skull, instead off hacking at it, and was surprised that it didn't require too much effort. Pickle wasn't messing about. He was going for the hacking method, and had killed three already. Each one feeling the huge blade slicing through the skull and killing off the brain, halving their craniums.

Karen dragged number two away from the remaining two that Pickle was about to execute. She stared at the ghoul that was trying to twist round to get at her. It used to be a female, and it looked to be no older than eighteen.

What a waste, she thought.

She allowed the thing to grab her trainer while Pickle was finishing off his fifth and Karen wondered what
she
had become. Three weeks ago, this scenario would have emptied her stomach, but now she had adapted to this apocalyptic world quite easily.

The female Snatcher was like all the rest: discoloured, milky film over the eyes. This particular one was affecting her, but why? Karen was thinking about her step-sister, Kelly, in Glasgow. Was she one of them now? Is this what she looked like? She was convinced her mother was dead, but had a feeling that Kelly, maybe even her father, could still be kicking about in Scotland's biggest city.

"Ahem." Pickle tried to get Karen's attention, bringing her out of her hypnotic gaze and back to reality. With his bloody machete, Pickle pointed at the creature that had its hands on Karen's feet, trying to pull itself towards her on its belly to get a bite. "Yer want
me
to get tha'?"

Karen took a step back and looked at Pickle. She then shook her head as if she had just woken from a dream, and pulled the machete back, ready to strike. She brought the weapon down three times, and the damage was so severe that a portion of its head gave way with the severed diseased brain inside it.

She wiped the blade on the grass, and Pickle did the same before putting it back into his belt. With her empty bag nearly slipping off her shoulders, she adjusted it and nodded towards Pickle to see if he was ready to go.

Despite his reservations of touching them, he helped Karen drag the bodies to the side, near the hedge, so they didn't have to see them every time they walked past. Once this was achieved, they went through the large gap in the hedge. They were now on the football field, and only a few hundred yards from the Pear Tree Estate, which was half a mile from Draycott Park where Karen used to live when the world was normal, when she was a nurse, and her fiancé, Gary, was a young lawyer.

As they walked across the football field, Pickle turned to Karen and said, "Oh, by the way. When we get there, I want no stealing off o' families, okay?"

Sarcastically, she saluted Pickle and said, "Yes, Saint Harry."

"I'm serious, Karen. One vacant house alone, should be enough to fill these bags." Pickle watched her for a response, but she never made eye contact. "Yer follow ma lead. Straight in, then straight out. No messin' about."

They were coming to the end of the field, and were now a hundred yards away from the concrete path that led into the estate. Once they were on the path, Pickle drew his machete; Karen did the same.

They were preparing for the unexpected.