Snatchers (Book 3): The Dead Don't Cry (20 page)

Chapter Forty Two

"How did you sleep?"

"Horizontally," was the answer from Jack to Vince's question.

Vince released a chortle and said, "Please don't tell me you're still thinking about that friend of yours."

"Er, well it did cross my mind once or twice last night when I was trying to sleep."

"Look, we've been through this before—"

"I know, I know." Jack held his hands up to stop Vince from repeating himself. "You'd think he'd be nothing but a hindrance anyway, even before he was bit."

"You saw how he handled himself with just the one of those fuckjobs."

"I also saw his head exploding in front of me, which was a trifle worrying."

"You're a sarcastic fucker, aren't you?" Vince laughed.

"What's the punishment for sarcasm in this mental camp of yours? Castration?"

Vince had initially knocked the door and walked straight in, before engaging in conversation with his new guest. He now made himself comfortable in the caravan and sat next to Jack who was half-naked, lying under a sheet on the couch. Jack sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was still tired from the disturbed sleep he had had. It hadn't been a sleep of the normal kind; it was more like three power naps. He never slept for longer than a two-hour period, and every time he woke up, he thought of Johnny.

Asked Vince, "So are you ready?"

Jack got out of bed and glared at the man. He still had no idea how Vince had all those scratches across his face, but didn't have the energy to ask, and certainly didn't want to listen to another banal story from the forty-five-year-old.

Jack put his screwed up T-shirt over his head and asked, "So where're we going with this...
run
of yours."

"Just up the road," Vince began, and started to scratch his grey hair. "You'll come with me and Claire. We've raided a couple of the pubs up the road, but there's a newsagents that hasn't been touched yet, so we're gonna try that today."

"And what if this newsagents is being occupied?"

Vince laughed, "And what're they gonna do? Beat us with sweets and cigarettes?"

Jack sat down and placed his elbows on his knees; he then rubbed his eyes with the right palm of his hands and released an exasperated sigh.

"What is it now?" Vince was growing impatient, and waited for an answer off of his ungrateful guest. "Every time I look at you, you've got a face like a smacked arse, as if someone has pissed in your porridge."

Jack finally answered, "I'm not harming people, simple as that."

"I don't give a cunt's hair what you think. You play by
my
rules. It's all about survival of the fittest, Jackie boy. You're either with us or not. Most of the places we've been to have been empty, so stop panicking."

Jack took to his feet again and took a swig from the bottle of water that was sitting on the side of the sink. He stared into nothingness and was testing Vince's patience who was waiting for some kind of response from the new guy.

Jack looked over at Vince. "Give me five minutes."

Chapter Forty Three

"For fuck's sake, Harry!" Karen cussed.

As soon as she woke up, she made her way outside and could see that Pickle was no longer in the garden. His sleeping bag was rolled up, and it looked like there wasn't anywhere else to look, so she knew he wasn't on the grounds. She hoped that he had gone to the side of the hill to relieve himself.

She took her machete and slipped it under her belt. She could then hear the creak of the cabin door opening and saw a dishevelled-looking Wolf, standing and rubbing his hair, confused. "What's going on? Where's Harry?"

"Fuck knows," Karen said.

"Maybe he's just gone out for a pee, or..."

"I'm gonna check."

Wolf never protested and went back inside his cabin, picked his hat from the kitchen sink, went back outside and placed it on his head. He looked to the heavens and a smile broke out onto his face. "It's gonna rain. I better get the buckets ready and place them outside on the grass. Should collect a fair bit today, judging by those clouds."

"Just drink from the tap, you paranoid old fool," Karen muttered under her breath as she walked away.

Wolf continued to prattle on, but Karen wasn't really listening to him; she was more concerned about where her friend had got to. She opened the tall gate and left the premises.

She was now standing in the grass, underneath the threatening clouds that hung above her. It looked like the area was seconds away from torrential rain. She then unexpectedly threw up on the grass, a situation that lasted a minute.
Shit; not again. Where did that come from?

As soon as she began walking around the hill, she could already feel a few specks of saltwater hitting her face. She looked to the top of the hillside, but couldn't see him. She decided to quickly walk to the peak and see if he was on the other side. She knew he wouldn't have gone back into the woods, as that would be pointless. As soon as she reached the top, she looked down and scanned all around the hill, but there was no sign of him, or any other life for that matter.

"Where the fuck are you, Pickle?"

She looked at the area of Flaxley and knew he wouldn't go in there, as it was a place he didn't know and had no importance. She then turned around and looked at the back of the Pear Tree Estate, and the street that they had acquired supplies from. It looked a little different from the back; there was now a house smouldering and it made Karen gasp.

She shook her head.

He's down there.

*

Another punch was thrown into Pickle's stomach as he remained sitting on the wooden chair in the middle of the living room, and this time he nearly fell off. He was being held by Wiry who stood behind him, holding his arms. Mangy glared at the ex-inmate and rammed his elbow into the side of Pickle's face.

"That's enough," Average snarled, and walked over to a battered and bruised Pickle. "What happened to the rest? There were four of you, and you split into two."

"Yeah," Mangy added, stroking the thick, dark beard that covered half of his face, "what happened to that dark-haired chick you were knocking about with? Give me ten minutes with her and I'd be up to my nuts in guts." He grabbed his crotch and then cleared his throat and spat on the living room carpet.

There was no response, and it appeared that their prisoner had been beaten too much to answer their questions.

Average then looked at Wiry and asked him about the family upstairs.

"It's okay," Wiry responded. "I just went up to see him. The guy promised he wouldn't cause any trouble, and told me that we could take what we want. He just didn't want us to touch his girls."

Specks was outside, filling the boot of both cars. He walked into the living room where a beaten Pickle sat and his other three companions stood, and announced, "I left the smaller gas tank and the stove on the side of the road. There ain't much room for anything else, so one of you lot will have to—"

"Just leave it there," Average snapped. "We have enough anyway. Let the residents have the tank and stove. I don't want them to think that we're
complete
bastards," he chuckled, and Mangy joined him.

Wiry asked, "So are we ready to go?"

Average nodded.

Mangy's laughing had begun to subside and then looked at Average with a more serious tone. "So what about him?" He nodded towards Pickle.

"I don't know." Average was lost in thought and looked over to Specks. "This man kicked you in the balls," he pointed at Pickle, "and then side-kicked you in the knee, so do you want some fun before we go?"

Specks was unsure and hummed and harred.

"Go on," Mangy teased. "Be a fucking man for a change."

Specks gawped at the man in the chair. His face was bruised; his nose looked broken, and his head was lowered as if he was almost unconscious.

Mangy laughed at Specks' hesitation and shook his head and said to Average, "We're gonna have to dump this one if he doesn't get his act together soon. I've seen bigger balls on a gnat."

Specks tried to defend himself, albeit timidly. "The guy's a mess." Specks pointed at Harry Branston, whose head remained drooping as if he had fallen asleep. "I just don't see the point. The guy's unconscious anyway."

Added Mangy, "This
man
and his friends made us look like idiots."

"Er...well, we
did
try and rob them," came the voice of Wiry who was still holding Pickle's arms back, stopping him from slumping to the floor. "I suppose they were just defending themselves."

"What is wrong with you bunch of pussies?" Mangy looked outraged, but Average looked to be bored of this whole episode and started to pick at his nails. He was ready to leave.

Mangy disappeared into the kitchen and returned a minute later, holding a pruning tool used for gardening. He then looked at Specks and said, "Let's see how unconscious this man
really
is, shall we?"

He opened the pruning tool and placed the little finger from Pickle's left hand, and took it off with the utensil. Pickle released a yell of pain and began to move in the chair as if he had been given an electric shock. The blood seeped onto the carpet from his wound, and Wiry was feeling queasy at what he had just witnessed.

"What'd you do that for?" Specks looked shocked.

Mangy began to cackle uncontrollably, picked up the severed little finger off the carpet, and began to tease Specks with it by dangling it in front of his face. Wiry was finding it hard to control their 'guest' who continued to writhe in the chair from the excruciating pain, and was also sickened by the unnecessary and sadistic act of violence.

Mangy could see that Wiry was struggling to control Pickle, so he picked up the shotgun that was leaning against the wall and rammed the butt of the gun into his stomach. Pickle bent over in agony and it felt like all the air had been sucked from his lungs.

"There was no need for that," Specks said. "Hasn't he suffered enough?"

"Stop your bellyaching," Average spoke at last. "I've decided that we're gonna kill him anyway before we go." He then turned to Specks and asked, "So is that the cars stacked full?"

Specks nodded.

"Right." Average walked through the living room door and began to trot up the stairs, and yelled, "As soon as I've had this piss, we're going."

Now that Pickle had ceased to struggle, Wiry released his arms and Pickle immediately fell from the chair and slumped onto the carpet in a heap.

Mangy looked at Wiry and a nervous-looking Specks; he then announced, "As soon as he's down from the toilet, this little puppy," he pointed at Pickle with the butt of the weapon, "is gonna get his comeuppance."

Chapter Forty Four

The reluctant Jack Slade made the short journey to the village of Armitage, and was surprised that he hadn't seen a single one of those things during the journey. They had driven in a pick-up truck and he went along with Vince and Claire.

"Well, here we are," Vince announced.

All three stepped out onto the main road where there was the occasional detached house, but overall it had little life even before the shit had hit the fan.

"Hey, Claire," Vince called out from the other side of the van. "What do you say when we've finished up here, you can come back to my trailer and blow me off, release some of that tension I've been feeling."

Jack looked at Claire in surprise, but she immediately shook her head. She said, "He's joking. He knows I wouldn't lower myself to be with a man like him, and that I'd rather blow a horse."

"Charming," Vince joked, and then looked at Jack and gave him a wink. "I'm quite easy to get along with once people worship me."

Jack hung back while Vince and Claire tried the main door of the shop. Unbelievably, it was open.

Claire was the first to peer inside and pulled out a large knife from the back of her trousers. She looked back and said to Vince, "I can't believe no one has tried this shop yet."

Vince looked around the main road and sighed, "Yeah, well, I have a feeling the residents in this area are probably too fucking scared to come out. Some of them are probably fathers; should be fucking ashamed of themselves, but I suppose we're all made from different stuff." He looked at a couple of houses, their windows were still covered with drawn blinds and curtains. "If they want supplies, they need to come get them themselves. First come first served; finders keepers, and all that. I'm not Robin Hood. I'm not gonna help them. I look after number one."

Claire nodded in agreement.

Even though Jack didn't know her background, it was clear that Claire looked up to Vince. Maybe he had saved her life a week or so back. He was unsure.

Said Claire, "All this stuff is practically sitting on their doorstep and they're still too scared to come out."

"Maybe they're still inside their houses because they've turned," Jack suddenly blurted out.

Neither one responded and both entered the newsagents, beckoning Jack to follow them. Jack gripped his crowbar and did what he was told.

As soon as they entered the murky shop, Vince pulled out a torch and began searching through the establishment. A lot of the items in the shop appeared to be missing and Jack guessed that the owners of the shop were upstairs, and
had
been since day one of the outbreak. There was plenty of alcohol and cigarettes in the place, but essential food like fruit was missing, although a few tins still remained on the shelf.

Vince pointed at the shelves and said to Jack, "Get all the tins in your bag."

Jack did what he was advised and went down the aisles and grabbed what he thought would be beneficial. He put tins of fruit, beans, tuna and soup in the bag he was carrying, filling it within minutes. He looked down the aisles and was baffled that Vince appeared to be behind the counter and was emptying the cigarette area. Claire was near a glass cabinet full of medicines and bandages, and was emptying the stuff into her own bag.

Vince turned around and saw Jack staring at him as he was putting the last packets of Benson and Hedges into his bag. He explained, "These are for the residents. We have a few smokers; it's the only pleasure they get these days."

"Seems a bit pointless, that's all," Jack spoke out. "You could've filled your bag full of tins, but you've got cigarettes instead?"

"It keeps 'em sweet. I'm not a smoker myself; I only smoke in bed, ain't that right, Claire?"

"I wouldn't know." Claire was still filling her bag, and as usual, she wasn't reacting to Vince's attempt at humour. "On your own, maybe."

Jack threw the heavy bag over his shoulder and was told by Vince to dump the bag in the back of the truck, grab another empty bag from the back, and return to the shop to steal more tins. Jack had managed to dump the heavy bag, and he quickly returned with an empty one in his right hand. As soon as he entered the shop, Vince told Jack to take the other two bags away that he and Claire had filled. Claire's was heavy, but Vince's was a lot lighter.

Again, Jack went outside to dump the bags and his eyes clocked two creatures shambling in the middle of the street, heading towards the vehicle. He put the bags in the back and looked to the left, down the road where the creatures were. He guessed that another two minutes, and they'd be near, but his consternation of their presence was very low. There was three of them, armed with weapons, so just two of these things didn't pose too much of a threat, but he thought it would be in Vince's best interests that he was still informed that danger, albeit diminutive, wasn't too far away on the outside.

As soon as Jack walked back into the shop, a voice bellowed out from behind a door, near the counter, "Leave my shop, and nobody will get hurt."

Vince and Claire immediately stopped what they were doing, and Vince burst into hysterics. Claire remained still, her face was deficient of emotion.

An Asian man walked from behind the door, holding a sword, and looked very nervous holding the thing. It was obvious it was a weapon he had never used before, and Jack was guessing that it was probably an ornament a minute ago, before the man had heard the noises in his shop.

"We're just going," Vince said casually.

"No!" the shopkeeper yelled; he walked in front of the counter and was now near Claire who refused to move. She was now in striking distance. "I saw you from outside; I want you to bring those bags back in, and leave my shop alone."

Vince nodded his head, and began rubbing his chin in thought. "You know what? You're right. What we're doing is terrible." He then pointed at the man who was shaking with the sword, and told him, "I'll be back in a minute."

Jack hadn't known Vince for long, but already knew that his niceness was fake and had gone out to the truck because he had something up his sleeve. That
something
was a shotgun.

Vince re-entered the shop and the shopkeeper cried in fright when Vince returned with the gun in his right hand.

The man dropped his sword as a sign of submission and, in tears, tried to explain, "Look; my family are relying on the shop for survival. We haven't had any trouble until you lot showed up. Please, I have a wife and three sons upstairs, all under the age of ten."

Vince laughed, "You have a wife under the age of ten?"

"What?" The shopkeeper was now baffled and didn't understand Vince's dark sense of humour.

"Well," said Vince. "I'm very touched by your story, but—"

"It's okay," Jack interrupted, and could feel Vince's cold glare. "We've got what we wanted. Haven't we?" He looked at Claire, then his eyes went onto Vince, but he wasn't getting a reaction. "We're taking the stuff that's in our bags, but there's still plenty left. As soon as we leave, you better barricade this shop. Your door wasn't even locked."

"Really?" The shopkeeper placed his hands on his forehead, and strangely began hitting himself. He then looked back up at the gang of three and added, "I must have forgot during all the panic. This door's locked anyway, so even if they got into the shop..." He pointed at the door behind the counter that led upstairs to his home.

"Just make sure the shop's locked as well, once we're gone." Jack then pointed around the shop at the remaining food, "And get all of this shit upstairs, into your house, before someone else takes it."

The shopkeeper nodded like an obedient child. "Yes. You're right. Thank you."

Without saying a word, Vince left the shop, clearly agitated by Jack taking over the 'gig', and Claire quickly followed behind.

Jack smiled at the nervous man and raised his hand to say farewell. The man returned the gesture with a grateful nod of his head, and then Jack walked outside to be greeted by a clearly-upset Vince.

"Well, you exceeded my expectations in there, Jackie boy." Vince's words were drenched in sarcasm.

Jack tried to explain, "The man was desperate, and you said yourself, we have plenty back at the camp."

Vince said, "Why don't you put a pair of knickers on my head, because you've just made me look a right cunt."

Claire wasn't getting involved in the bickering and silently went into the passenger side of the truck. Jack looked to his left and saw that the two beings were only ten yards away from the truck. Vince sighed and pointed at them, and said to Jack, "Make yourself useful and get rid of them. They'll only follow the direction of the pick-up truck and end up at the blockade by the end of the day."

"Okay." Jack nodded in agreement and went to the back of the truck to grab his crowbar. He walked up to the two ghouls and noticed one was much quicker than the other as Jack took a step forward. He put it down with a solitary strike and walked towards the second one, which was no older than fifteen when it was in human form and dressed in football attire. Jack hit the thing and it stumbled back. He shook his head and took another swipe, the hook-end of the crowbar embedding itself into the top of the cranium, and the ghoul dropped like a stone, its cranium spewing out liquid from its damaged head.

It frightened Jack how little it affected him putting these things down, but was convinced that this kind of cold attitude was keeping him alive. He knew these things couldn't be bargained with or felt pity for its victims. It was kill or be killed.

"As much as I would love to stay and admire the view," Vince was in the driver's seat and had his head leaning out of the opened window, "I need to get back to camp to see people, and more importantly, knock one out."

Jack never responded with words, but with the one quick nod. He walked over to the truck and jumped in the back, his crowbar still dripping with blood.