Snatchers (Book 3): The Dead Don't Cry (15 page)

Chapter Thirty One

It was a beautiful morning once again.

June had been good to the middle of England—weather-wise—and Pickle was the first to wake. He was used to waking early from years of getting up at seven am when he was back at the prison, and he decided to take a stroll out of the grounds and onto the grassy hill.

He opened the tall gate and took a peep over his shoulder, as if what he was doing was wrong, and walked out and shut the gate behind him. He looked at the thick, tall fence that surrounded the area of the cabin and tried to push it with his hands, as if he was stretching his calf muscles. It was solid. Wolf had done a good job, for an old man that could hardly move. Pickle was convinced that he must have had help building it, but it wasn't something that was going to keep him awake at night.

With his feet covered in blisters, a result of days of walking in the woods, Pickle had left his shoes back at the cabin, and walked along the soft grass, barefooted. It was a well-kept hill, considering that in the old world it used to entertain joggers, kids and dog-walkers, and there was hardly a scrap of litter about or canine shit to be seen. Even though it had the nickname, Cardboard Hill, it appeared that there wasn't much cardboard around either.

Although he was feeling the strain on his back, he slowly made his way to the very top of the hill, where he and Karen had their falling out, and the moment he arrived at the top, he sat his bum down and pulled his knees into his chest.

He glared up at the wonderful sun that shone down, and a smile emerged on his face. It was one of the few moments that Harry Branston was pleased to be on his own.

It was good to be alive, he reflected. The sun on his face, the greenery around him, and the soup and wine he had the previous night, made him thankful for what he had. The grave of Grace Kindl, ten yards from his left, was the only thing that soured the moment a little.

Harry stood to his feet and began to stretch his worn body; he then hit the ground and began doing press ups. He preferred pull ups, but any kind of exercise would do him. Even though he had had plenty of cardiovascular exercise over the days with the constant walking and the odd running episode from those creatures, it was good to do a bit of exercise on
his
terms.

After ten minutes, a puffy Pickle wiped his brow with his forearm and decided to take advantage of the cool wind that was around at one of the highest points of Rugeley Town, and allowed the wind to cool his frame down after his short exercise session. Pickle now sat down with his legs crossed and looked up to the beautiful blue sky. He then mumbled, under his breath, a prayer:

"Father, thank you that you sent your son to bring me life. Life in the fullness. Life for eternity. Thank you that I share Christ's resurrection life. That Christ is alive in me. And his spirit dwells deeply in my being. Right now I receive your healing. I receive the same power that raised Christ from the grave. I receive your life. I receive Your strength."

A bird that he could not name, flew above him and had interrupted his spiritual time. Pickle looked with his hand almost covering his eyes from the blinding sun, but the bird had now disappeared. He was pleased to see that life for some animals and birds was going on as normal.

He continued, "Thank you that all things are possible for those who believe. Thank you that you are moving
in
me right now. May I continue to receive from you. This hour and every hour. Amen."

He puffed out his cheeks and tears fell from Harry's eyes.

Chapter Thirty Two

It had been a mundane few hours for Jack and Johnny, and the two individuals had spent most of the morning sitting in separate bedrooms, thinking.

Johnny had spent most of the time reflecting about Jack's rant and the kind of 'luck' that the survivors had had in order to stay alive. Johnny's saving grace was the factory. It was secure; had food, and was a safe haven, albeit temporarily.

He had no idea the exact amount of time he had spent lying on the bed with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling that desperately needed painting. He was even unsure whether all the time he was in the room had been spent awake. He was certain he'd either had had a power nap or was drifting off when he got a fright. Whatever gave him the fright forced him go to the bedroom window that looked out onto the back gardens, but he couldn't see anything.

Johnny closed his eyes once again, even though he felt that his bladder needed emptying. He began daydreaming about the future, and what on earth was going to happen next. His daydreaming was short-lived however, as he heard the front door being shut.

"Shit."

His eyes opened as wide as they could, and despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins, he was unable to move. He had no idea why the front door of the house had been shut. Had Jack gone for a walk? Was he tired of Johnny and decided to go out there alone? Was it something else? Had one of those things got in? Or had the gang tracked the men down and wanted revenge for the treatment of their colleagues?

Johnny was still unable to move, even when he heard the slow, clumsy footsteps progressing up the stairs. Once the footsteps were heard on the landing, Johnny had found some energy from somewhere and quickly rolled off the bed and crawled underneath it.

He was now lying on his front, and already the sweat was trickling off of his forehead as he waited for whatever was outside the bedroom door to come in.

There was a knock on the door, but Johnny didn't answer. He was too scared to answer. There was a second knock, but straight after the knock, the door swung open, and all Johnny could see from where he was lying, was a pair of shoes.

"Johnny?"

It was Jack's voice.

Thank fuck
.

Johnny slowly and sheepishly crawled from under the bed, and saw that Jack Slade was confused. Jack never bothered to ask him what he was playing at, and instead decided to speak to him as if his rant from earlier had never happened.

"I was speaking to the old woman next door," Jack began.

Johnny sat on the edge of the bed, wiping his brow. "Oh, so there
are
some people alive in the street then."

Ignoring his remark, Jack continued, "Apparently the street has hardly seen any action during the outbreak. Mrs Doyle, the woman next door, said that in the three weeks, she had only seen two monsters go by her front window."

"So what are you saying, we should stay where we are?"

"Well, because the street is relatively hidden, and people have chosen to stay indoors, there has been nothing to attract these creatures."

"Did you ask them about those looters?"

Jack nodded. "She said that she has never seen anyone like that. She even said that she pops over the road to her friends for a cup of tea and a chinwag every evening."

"Those idiots are only a matter of streets away," said Johnny. "It may well be rosy in the garden for Mrs Doyle and her other coffin-dodger friend, but it's only a matter of time when their food runs out or those crazies, both dead
and
that gang, come here and rob them." Johnny then suddenly looked at Jack with befuddlement and scratched his bald head. "And how on earth does she get a cup of tea when the electrics are out?"

Jack shrugged his shoulders. "Camping stove, maybe."

"Is that it?" Johnny stood to his feet and bent over to touch his toes and stretch his back.

"No." Jack sat down on the bed next to his friend and added, "She also said that she has a daughter and a granddaughter who, in the first week of the outbreak, had fled to Armitage, but only got so far because some men had blocked the road off. They eventually allowed them to stay. This information was given to her when the mobile phones were still working. Anyway, the blockade is at the Spode Cotttage."

"The pub?"

Jack nodded, and then teased, "And what's behind the Spode Cottage?"

It had been years since Johnny had lived in that area, but he answered, "I think I can remember a massive hedge, eight feet in height that no one can get through."

"And what's inbetween the back of the pub and that hedge?"

Johnny thought for a moment and couldn't find an answer.

Jack sighed, "The caravan park, of course."

"Of course," Johnny said in a whisper. "Do you think they'll let us in?"

"Only one way to find out."

"But how are we gonna get there? It's three miles away."

Jack pulled a face, that didn't give Johnny too much confidence, and tucked both of his lips in while he began to think. Jack reached into his back pocket and pulled out a set of keys and shook them.

Said Johnny with confusion, "They're the jeep's keys."

Jack nodded slowly, slightly mocking Johnny. "Yes they are. And we're gonna get our wheels back this afternoon."

"What if those twats have taken it?"

"Then we come back here."

"I dunno." Johnny stood up, and was all tense again, and began pacing the floor. "Why don't we steal a car from the street?"

"Have you
seen
the old cars in this street?"

"So what? Give me a sane reason why we should go back for that jeep?"

Jack could see that just the thought of going back had turned Johnny into a bag of nerves. "I'll give you three reasons. Reason one: I don't wanna be stealing a vehicle from some poor soul who's gonna need it in the future. Reason two: Even if I wanted to steal a car from the street, I have no idea how to hotwire a car anyway. Reason three: The jeep's perfect. It's got gas, and it's solid. It's exactly what we need. And...Reason four: It'll be fun."

"You said
three
reasons," Johnny sighed, "and that last one wasn't funny, by the way."

"You have two options, Johnny." Jack took on a more serious tone and stared at his companion who was far less enthusiastic than Mr Slade. "You can either come with me and possibly go to a place where it may be secure, and have other people we can be around with plenty of food—"

"You don't know that for sure; there could—"

"No I don't," Jack interjected. "Or, you can stay here for the next few weeks, hiding, drinking your own piss, and eating the leaves and the grass from the back garden, 'cos that'll happen eventually if you decide to stay here. You can't order online for food anymore; those days are gone. You're gonna have to go out there and get it for yourself."

"Yes, I know that," Johnny snapped. "Don't patronise me."

"So what's it to be?"

Johnny held his arms out as if the answer was blatantly obvious. "I'll go with you."

"Good." Jack headed for the bedroom door and opened it to leave. "Be sure to have a piss; we go in ten minutes."

Chapter Thirty Three

"Another trip or so, and we should be okay for a few weeks," Wolf said with excitement coated in his words.

At last, there seemed to be a little light at the end of the tunnel. Before the arrival of Karen and Pickle, Wolfgang Kindl had envisaged his future of getting food by collecting mushrooms and berries from the nearby woods, and putting out traps for any kind of animal that came along.

Karen disappeared into the cabin, leaving the two men in the garden, and grabbed the bags for the next supplies trip.

"There're are a few people living in that street," Pickle said. "I think we should try another street in the future. We shouldn't get too greedy with this street; they'll need supplies themselves, and I don't think they're the type o' people to go out and hunt and loot for stuff."

Wolf cackled and looked at Pickle. "If they have a family to feed and they're starving, trust me, they'll do anything to survive. Once the food runs out, these barricaded folk that have boarded up their doors and windows will eventually come out."

"And the trouble with that," Pickle added, "is if these people eventually come out, more could be attacked—"

"Meaning more of those deadheads will be produced. By the time desperation kicks in, the people will be more dangerous than the creatures out there. There's a good chance that this cabin will be owned by new people in a few weeks. I've always thought that one day people will come up here and kill me, asking no questions, then take over the place. Then a few weeks down the line, the same will happen. This is one of the safest places in the town. No one has ever tried to get in, apart from you and Karen, but they'll come. As soon as the hunger and the dehydration kicks in, they'll leave their homes, kill their neighbours, maybe, then one or two will come up here."

"You seem certain."

Wolf continued, "If you had a young son, and he hadn't eaten for days, and you live in a world where the land is in a lawless state, what would you do to keep your child alive?"

"A lawless state or not, I'd do anything."

"Exactly."

Karen then emerged from the cabin, and threw Pickle his bag. "What are you two talking about?"

Pickle grinned and said, "Oh, Wolf was just cheering me up."

"Just being realistic, Harry." Wolf patted Pickle on the shoulder and with his old, tired legs he walked back into the cabin while Karen and Pickle left the premises.

"Make sure you lock the gate," Pickle shouted over to the occupier, and strolled through the grass in the glorious sunshine with his female partner beside him.

They walked in a comfortable silence and went down the decline and through the gap in the tall, surrounding hedge. They both slowly walked along the football field, scanned the spacious area, and enjoyed the warm rays heating up their skin.

"This'll be possibly our last time in this street," Pickle announced to Karen.

She nodded in agreement and said, "We can try the other street behind it, once we run out of supplies in the cabin. If there's anything left."

"That's exactly what I said to Wolf." Pickle smiled and was in agreement with Karen. "Like I said to David Pointer, when he was firing questions at me about survival: Let's just live for today and not worry about tomorrow."

"It would be nice to stay in the same place for a while, without running from those things every other week."

"I think our safest place was the multi-storey car park after what had happened at Stile Cop."

"No it wasn't," Karen laughed and waggled her head. "Safe from those things, maybe, but not safe from death itself. Another day up at that place and I would have thrown myself off from the boredom."

Pickle stopped walking and looked at his friend. "We've been through some shit, me and you, haven't we?"

"You could say that. This is how it's gonna be from now on."

"I know; after all o' those things we've killed, avoided, and ran from, in a few weeks' time our own death could be something we never would have envisaged, something unjust."

"Like?" asked Karen.

"Well, like being shot for our bags o' food, or the cabin gettin' stormed by some desperados."

"You're a cheery fucker, aren't you?"

"I was talking to Wolf; he had a few things to say, and some o' them made sense."

"
He's
okay; he's sixty-nine-years-old, he's had his life."

Pickle looked at his female companion with disappointed eyes. "Karen. That ain't nice."

"Aw, come on. He's had a good innings. Do you honestly think
we're
gonna have the opportunity to reach that age?"

"Probably not, but he
is
doing us a favour."

"Yep, and we're doing him one as well."