Read Snatchers (Book 7): The Dead Don't Yield Online

Authors: Shaun Whittington

Tags: #Zombie Apocalypse

Snatchers (Book 7): The Dead Don't Yield (19 page)

BOOK: Snatchers (Book 7): The Dead Don't Yield
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Chapter Forty One

 

The jeep arrived at a car park that used to belong to a Wetherspoons pub, but this establishment, like others, had been out of action since June 9th. They were at the edge of the town centre and wanted to see if there were more supplies to take before nothing was left.

They were into week seven of the disaster, so it was a long shot.

The town centre didn't offer much in the old world. It had a lot of charity shops, pubs, barbers, but there was a Greggs, some other food establishments, including Indian takeaway restaurants. There was also a Morrisons. There were other shops that were bare and had been closed down, which was due to the recession.

Bear had only one thing on his mind: food and liquids. There was a Guns and Tackle shop deeper into the town; but it was mainly a place that sold fishing gear and air-guns.

If he wanted any of the hard stuff he knew that the closest place was Hednesford, at the industrial estate. But he had managed so far with just a blade and his strength, so why use something that makes a loud bang and would attract the attention of the dead
and
the living?

The three men had a bag each that were emptied earlier in The Spode Cottage, and went to the back entrance of the Wetherspoons establishment. Bear nodded at Frederick to smash the window through. Frederick did what he was told and brought the bat down and hit the glass many times, only causing cracks.

Bear shook his head and grabbed Frederick by the shirt and dragged him back. "Step aside," he snarled.

Bear front-kicked the glass and watched it fall. Without saying anything, Frederick and Willie went in, Bear followed after them.

"Check the canteens for food." Bear pointed at Willie. "And you," he pointed at Frederick, "check behind the bar to see if they have, crisps, nuts, soft drinks even."

"What about you?" Willie bit his lip as soon as he asked Bear the query. He didn't mean for it to sound cheeky, but it was taken that way.

Bear slapped him across the head, almost taking him off of his feet. "Don't be a cheeky cunt! I'm gonna try and find the cellar."

Theodore Davidson walked off whilst leaving Willie rubbing his head, and scanned the floor. It was a large building and he was surprised, they all were, that nobody had tried to get in.

"Here!" Frederick called over.

Bear walked over to the bar and could see Frederick pointing at a hatch that was on the floor. Bear smiled and saw a hook attached to the end of it. He put his finger into the metal hook and lifted it with zero hesitation. The place below was obviously dark, but could see that a steep set of steps were provided to go down.

"I can hear noises," announced Frederick.

"So can I." Bear pulled out a lighter from his pocket and asked Frederick to get him a towel from the bar. Frederick handed Bear the towel and he lit it and watched it burn for a few seconds. Once half of it was in flames he dropped it down the cellar and watch it hit the floor, lighting the place up temporarily. With his widened eyes he could see six creatures stumbling around down there. Who knows how many more?

"Fuck." A shiver ran down Frederick's spine.

"Well that's pissed all over that." The Bear slammed the hatch shut and nodded for Frederick to put every packet of crisps and nuts from behind the bar into his bag.

"I'll go and check on Willie," said Bear. "Then we can see if there's anything else we can take from the town. There's a kebab shop round the corner. I'm not going until that vehicle's full."

Bear strolled over the huge carpeted floor and walked around the tables and chairs that had been set out. He made a three-sixty turn to see that there had been no sign of a struggle, and was also wondering how the scenario of the beasts in the cellar had occurred. He entered the canteen and saw Willie with a mouthful of something.

"Never mind yourself; fill the bag," growled Bear. "Anyway, what is there?"

Bear took his own empty bag off his shoulder and could see fruit and meat that had seen better days. But there was potatoes that could be cooked with a bonfire, and there was also boxes of crisps, nuts and pork scratchings.

"Not the healthiest," Willie said, still chewing, "but beggars can't be choosers."

"Get the boxes in the back of the jeep," Bear snapped. "And try not to eat anything else. Greedy cunt!"

Once Willie had filled the jeep, he came back for his bag and helped Frederick behind the bar, whilst Bear was still filling his in the kitchens. He came out with a full bag and marched outside with his other two colleagues. They put the three bags in the back, near the cardboard boxes, and slammed the back door shut.

"That's not bad." Bear looked at the three full bags. "Maybe we won't need to go into town after all."

"What's that over there?" Willie pointed.

Frederick looked in the direction Willie was pointing, and answered, "A building of some sort. Why?"

Willie laughed at himself and shook his head. "I thought I saw something."

"Me too," Bear spoke up. "Let's check it out."

They followed the burly figure and crossed the Horsefair road. There was signs of carnage present everywhere: blood, limbs and smashed cars littered the street. Bear placed his hand up and crouched down. "Stay there," he said to the other two. He ran across the road and went by the clinic and went down an alleyway. He came across a wiry fence and was opposite the Churchfields school and could see the Lea Hall building. There was a man on top of it, doing something to the roof. He saw the guy pick up a large dark square-shape and placed it by his feet.

"That's interesting." Bear got closer.

A camp maybe. And what was the man doing to the roof? Fitting solar panels, perhaps? What was in the building? People? Supplies?

It was supplies. It must be.

Bear could see a pick-up truck being loaded with stuff. He could see people walking along a street and two individuals had left a house.

The building is being used as a warehouse for supplies.
He smiled to himself.
And the people are living in those homes, which means the area surely must be blocked off
.

"Well, well, well. I think I've spotted something quite interesting," Bear began to snigger.

Chapter Forty Two

 

They had been in the woods for ten minutes since they had left the war cemetery, and Vince and Pickle's shirts were now saturated in sweat. Pickle made long strides through the bracken, whilst Vince Kindl was yards behind, struggling after his night of no sleep. The tiredness was now crippling him.

"How long now, do you think?" Vince moaned.

"Might be a mile or so before we hit the main Hednesford Road," Pickle replied.

"But what direction are we going? North? South?"

"No idea. I don't have a compass on me," responded Pickle with sarcasm, and added, "and it's not as if we can be guided by the sun."

Both men looked up to the heavens to see the whole sky carpeted with grey clouds. It had been like this for days, yet no rain had fallen. It was warm, muggy, especially in the suffocating greenery, and the sun hadn't been seen for a while.

Pickle stopped in his tracks, and an exhausted Vince did the same a few seconds later, almost bumping into his friend.

"Please tell me you can see a stream." Vince gasped. "I'm sweating my balls off here. I need to lie in a cold stream."

Pickle gazed. "There's no stream."

"Fuck." Vince wiped his arm across his forehead and groaned, "Every item of my clothing is covered in sweat."

"Stop yer moaning."

"My balls feel like they're sitting on a wet flannel."

"Well," Pickle nodded forward, "we 'ave other problems to take care o' now."

Vince tried to look with his stinging eyes and could see blurry shapes, too many to count. He rubbed them and tried to refocus. "What is it?"

Pickle could see Vince was struggling and told him, "Six guys up ahead."

Vince had managed to restore his vision and could see ahead of him a small bridge. It appeared that any kind of stream that used to sit under the bridge had dried out, for whatever reason, and all that sat under it now was a long trench-like hole that stretched for as long as the eye could see. The six young men, all in their twenties, moved forwards, over the bridge. They stopped when they got to the other side and all folded their arms, trying to look menacing, which Harry Branston found quite humorous.

"What're you after?" an average sized youngster asked.

"We're crossing that bridge," Vince pointed out.

"Is that right?" The young man put his hand behind his back and pulled out a knife.

"Aye," Pickle placed his hand on the handle of the machete, "that's right."

The other five remained silent, and the young man, holding the knife, continued to talk. "What's the reason for you wanting to cross?"

"The reason why we're
going
to cross is because we need to get to Hednesford Road, so we can get back to our wee camp."

The young man turned his head to both sides and nodded to the men that were beside him. Four pulled out bats and the man on the far right, a large man, was holding a sword.

The man who appeared to be the leader said, "We have a small camp in the woods. We have our wives and girlfriends in there, and—"

"I know you're paranoid, and you just want to protect your family," Vince said, "but try and understand that we just want to get past so we can get...home."

"And you try and understand that the threat to our safety is not just from the dead."

"Oh, we understand tha'," Pickle began to laugh.

"I tell you what," the young man spoke. "If you can beat Tiny here, then you can cross."

Pickle assumed Tiny was the large man of the group. "Okay."

Once Pickle announced that he was prepared to fight Tiny, the group of men, including Tiny, took steps backwards and went back to the other end of the bridge.

Vince leaned over and whispered into Pickle's ear. "This is bollocks. Why don't we just dip into our bags and pull out the sawn-offs?"

"I can take this guy," Pickle said with a smile.

"You're fucking loving this, aren't you? I thought you were exhausted?"

"This won't take much out o' me." Pickle pulled out his machete and placed it by his feet. He did the same with his bag. He then walked forwards and stepped onto the bridge. "Ready when yer are."

Tiny gave the young man—the leader, Pickle assumed—his sword and took a step back onto the bridge. Tiny could see that Pickle was quite a muscular man, but if he managed to get this stranger in a headlock, his speciality, there would be no chance of escape.

"Right," Tiny bellowed and clapped his hands together, highlighting his muscular forearms, grinning at Pickle. "Let's see what you've got."

He took three steps forwards and cracked his knuckles as he approached Pickle. With both arms he reached forwards and Pickle swerved to the left. He gave Tiny a right punch to the throat before he had time to grab him. Pickle then kneed the gasping man in the stomach, and as the man bent over, holding his throat and drenched in panic, Pickle brought down his elbow into his back.

As soon as the man collapsed to the floor, the other five men stared at one another, unsure what to do next. The leader raised his bat, signalling to Pickle that he and Vince still couldn't cross.

"Now, now." Pickle shook his head and wagged his finger at the man. "That's not fair."

"We can't let you pass!" the man yelled.

Pickle casually strolled back to the other end of the bridge and reached into his bag. Vince did the same. Both men pulled out their sawn-offs, giving all five men a look of panic.

"We could 'ave done this before," Pickle began to explain, "but we're nice guys and don't want any trouble."

"Don't hurt us," the leader pleaded.

"We're not here to hurt anyone. We're here to cross this bridge, as we have explained before."

"You have to understand that we're trying to protect our family."

"And I understand that perfectly."

"It's just that there's a psycho out there—"

"There're many psychos out there," laughed Pickle. "The apocalypse seems to be breeding them. But I suppose it doesn't help that four hundred inmates were released from Stafford prison, and are now, probably, scattered across the West Midlands. Some are good blokes, but most are bad men."

Pickle and Vince began walking across and the five men stood to the side, unblocking their path.

Pickle took a quick look at the moaning Tiny who was still on the floor, in the middle of the bridge. "Tell Tiny: No hard feelings. But by my own standards...he was lucky."

Pickle and Vince walked away, into the suffocating greenery and put their sawn-offs back into their bags.

"Good luck, ma friend." Pickle said, and added, "I hope yer family and yerself get through this disaster."

There was no response.

BOOK: Snatchers (Book 7): The Dead Don't Yield
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