Snatchers (Book 7): The Dead Don't Yield (24 page)

Chapter Fifty One

July 24th

It had taken most of the morning, but a team of individuals had gone into the school and began removing the dead one-by-one. A pick-up truck was parked outside the railings as bodies were passed over and placed in the back. Once it was full the truck, driven by Charles Washington, then parked up at the Lea Hall building and then the bodies were placed on and around the patch of grass to the side of the building.

Exhausted and covered in almost black blood, Sheryl, Lee and Bentley were dumping the last bodies. Lee wanted to just leave them to rot in there, but Bentley insisted on moving the bodies as the school could eventually be somewhere to use.

One last look around inside the school was achieved by a group of four individuals, then they got washed up and had lunch.

Half an hour later Lee James was in his house and was sitting, thinking about his wife, Denise, and his kids, who all perished when they were in the woods. He did what he could to protect them, but he had failed and was lucky not to be bit himself.

A knock on Lee's door interrupted his quiet time, before he was due to go to the barrier. He got out of his chair and could see the blurred outline of a female through the frosted glass of his door. He sighed and opened it, knowing he was about to be greeted by Karen Bradley.

He huffed jokingly, "What have you come to moan about now?"

"What do
you
think?" She had her hands on her hips and her face was raging. "They're still not back."

"They probably ran into a bit of trouble."

"That doesn't help."

Lee rubbed his hands over his head in exasperation and began stroking his thin beard. "They'll be fine. Stop worrying."

Karen was close to tears. "Something's wrong. I can feel it."

"That's bullshit. You can't
feel
anything," snickered Lee. "Look, I'm sick of saying this to people and I'm sick of repeating myself, but we lost Luke, and had one person missing. Four went out to look for Bentley, Sheryl and I came back, Bentley came back, now we have two missing. Do the maths. If we keep sending people out to look for others, then there could be nobody left."

"Don't fucking exaggerate." Karen was furious and looked like she was ready to strike out. "Can't you even take a drive alongside Hednesford Road? I'm not asking you to get lost in the woods, just drive along the two mile road and back."

"What would be the point? If they've managed to find the road then there'd be on their way back."

"What if they're exhausted, dehydrated, starving? Have you ever tried walking two or three miles in that condition? You've never experienced the woods the way
we
have in the early days. It saps you."

"Don't patronise me, Karen."

"I'm not." Karen tucked her brown hair behind her ears and looked like she was calming down a little. "I'm just saying that I know what it's like to be out there, dehydrated with a banging head and starving. Even if they make it on the Hednesford Road, those last two miles can feel like twenty." Karen paused and looked at Lee, knowing now that he was thinking about what she had said.

He bit his bottom lip in contemplation and began, "Okay. Me and a couple of others will go out and drive along the road for a while, but that's it."

Karen smiled.

"I suppose a quick drive won't hurt."

Karen mocked, "You sure you and your colleagues won't need to vote on this first?"

"Don't take the piss, Karen."

Karen's anger had disappeared, and now her face seemed to be pleading. "Can I tag along?"

"No chance."

"Why not? All I'll be doing is sitting in a truck."

"You
know
why. You're not leaving this camp with the condition you're in."

"Look—"

"Karen!" Lee interjected and pointed at the young woman. "Listen to me! It's not happening!"

"Fine!" she huffed, and her face reddened as she turned on her heels to leave.

Lee giggled as he watched the twenty-three-year-old storm off. "Crazy bitch," he muttered.

*

With Bentley Drummle sitting in the back, Sheryl and Lee made themselves comfortable in the front of the pick-up truck. Sheryl insisted on driving, which didn't bother Lee or Bentley, and soon left once Daniel had reversed the HGV so they could get out of the camp.

The beginning of the journey was made in silence.

The vehicle passed the entrance to the Pear Tree Estate, and went into the area of Draycott Park. The truck then passed the
Welcome to Rugeley
sign, swerving and sometimes running over bodies from weeks gone by, and had now exited the small town, now on the Hednesford Road, swerving around a burnt out Porsche and passing the Stile Cop Road on their left.

They had been told the story of the Porsche by Pickle. The story that Pickle had passed onto them was a story that was told to Harry Branston by Vince which had come from Jack Slade, days before he died.

Pickle had told them a few days ago that the Porsche was taken by an inmate, at the beginning of the disaster, who was at first reluctant to leave when he was first opened up; he finally decided to leave the prison. He was called Gary Jenson, and eventually bumped into Jack Slade and became friends for a few days until Gary was raped and murdered.

They had crashed the car into a horde after a fuel run, and the vehicle wasn't fit to drive after this. Gary decided to set the defunct car alight to stop the many Snatchers from following them, but they walked through the fire with ease and followed them up Stile Cop Road. Some followed the men, or tried, across the field, whereas others went further up the Stile Cop Road.

When Vince told Pickle this story, Pickle thought that maybe some had gone through the woods as well as making their way up the road, and this led to the attack on Stile Cop that had killed the officers and made Karen, Pickle and his lover, KP, flee the scene, eventually leaving in the prison van.

Sheryl took a quick glance to her left, looking up the Stile Cop Road, then faced forwards as they went by it.

"You okay?" questioned Lee. "Did you see anything?"

Sheryl shook her head twice and kept her eyes on the road. "How far are we actually driving out?"

"Not far. Don't worry, we won't even need the sawn-offs that are in the back of the truck."

"How far?" Sheryl asked with impatience.

Lee announced, "We'll get to the entrance of the industrial estate, then we'll turn around and go back."

"Okay."

They made it to the entrance with no hullabaloo whatsoever. Sheryl turned the vehicle around, moaning that the short journey was a waste of petrol, then began to head back to the camp.

Lee began to chuckle. "That should keep Karen off my back for a while."

"I can't stand that whiny cunt," Sheryl sniffed. "She's always fucking moaning about something."

Lee was taken aback by Sheryl's comment. It was a strong statement, even for her. "She's not that bad once you get to know her."

Sheryl never responded.

"What about up the Stile Cop Road?" Lee queried as they were only hundreds of yards from the road that was to their right.

"What about it?"

"They could have got lost and ended up in that direction."

"They're fine." Sheryl shook her head with anger and huffed, "They're grown men. And if they're as tough as people say they are..."

"Just go up the road and back," Lee snapped and gave Sheryl a dirty look. "Now who's being a whiny cunt?"

"Fuck off." Sheryl seemed reluctant to go up the road, but eventually turned right, and drove up the steep Stile Cop Road, staring into the cemetery that was on their left. As soon as they reached the top, she turned the vehicle around, near the entrance of the beauty spot, and drove back down the hill. "Happy now?"

"What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"Something's up."

She looked to her right as the vehicle neared the cemetery again and sighed, "Give me a minute, will you?"

She slowed the vehicle and eventually brought it to a stop. Lee never questioned why she was doing this, and neither did Bentley as she got out of the truck. Both men remained silent.

She approached the cemetery's gates. She climbed over and, with her back to the men, she stepped forwards a few yards and stared at a headstone from the first row.

Inside the cemetery Sheryl Smith glared at the headstone and then lowered her head. No tears were spilled and no breakdown occurred.

Sheryl stayed silent for a minute, then lifted her head up, ready to leave the place. Was she praying?

"I didn't realise," a voice came from behind her. It was Lee.

She gasped in fright, turned around and snarled, "Don't go creeping up on me like that!"

Lee was behind the large gates and hadn't attempted to climb over, but he could still see the headstone that Sheryl was standing by.

"I'm sorry," said Lee, referring to her loss. "I had no idea."

"It doesn't matter now." She approached the gates and before climbing over, she said, "It's done."

"How did it happen?" he asked her.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Does it matter?"

"You don't have to be so cold," Lee said sympathetically. "You can talk to me, if you want. I have lost my family, remember? I have a cry on a daily basis. There is no shame in it."

"Good for you." Sheryl had climbed over and was now standing yards from Lee.

"You sure you don't wanna talk?" Lee gazed at the woman and added, "You're not on your own. A lot of us have lost people, and Vince lost his son, Brian, also in the old world."

"Let's just go," Sheryl said, ignoring his irritating question.

"Jesus, you're worse than a man."

"Let's get back to the truck. I need a shit." Sheryl hurriedly went back to the truck.

"Okay." Lee had given up talking to Sheryl and took one last look at the headstone before going back to the truck. It read, in gold engraving on the black marble:

Buddy Smith

To my darling husband, Buddy

You are the
most precious thing in my life

Love you and will always miss you

Sheryl

Underneath the gold engraving, it was established in white lettering that Buddy Smith had died four years ago.

He was thirty-three years old.

Chapter Fifty Two

The fourteen-year-old girl had rested and was now traipsing through the greenery, the bracken stroking her thighs. The hood of the black waterproof poncho was down to enhance her vision through the woods. The day was going to be another murky affair. The dark clouds hung above and the rain finally came. It appeared to be just a drizzle, but the greenery protected her from most of the saltwater that fell, and she knew that out in the open she'd be soaked.

She was holding her crowbar in her right hand, now that the plantation had become more congested and suffocating, and was preparing herself for the worst case scenario. She had to learn from her mistakes.

Only a week ago she had walked into somebody's back garden, looking for food, and went into the greenhouse to pick herself tomatoes. A ghoul that was stuck at the back of the greenhouse—she presumed it used to be the owner, came from nowhere and grabbed her as she was munching on a ripe tomato. She fell backwards with the thing on top of her, the bow digging into her back, and had managed to get the rotting beast off of her. She scrambled through her bag as it was trying to get to its feet, and managed to put it out of its misery with the crowbar.

Her short daydreaming of yesteryear had come to a close once her ears picked up the sound of rustling branches. She knew that it could be anything, but her heart galloped and she feared the worst. She stood still and took off her bow as her eyes clocked a figure walking through the woods from thirty yards away.

She aimed her arrow and waited patiently. She crept a few steps and tried to follow the noise. She then gazed at an area of the woods that appeared to be open, and could see two men she had seen before. One was skinny and was talking, whilst the other individual appeared to be quite muscular and was silent.

She squinted her eyes and saw something else that caught her eye, behind the men, something that they hadn't seen yet. She half-laughed at the men. The skinny individual was still moaning about something and both of them noisily dragged their feet. It appeared that stealth wasn't their strong point. Maybe they were just tired.

She could now see that many yards behind the men the figure was now a ghoul, and there were many others behind them.

"Shit. There's dozens of them."

She pulled the string back on her bow and aimed the arrow in the direction of the two men. There were many trees in her way, and she tried to find a sufficient gap.

*

"Great." Vince smiled. "It's raining." He opened his mouth and tried to catch the drops of water that fell out of the heavens, but there was little water going in. "Fuck. It's not raining hard enough."

"Stop yer moaning." Pickle began to laugh. "Yer always fucking moaning."

"We all have our faults, Pickle We all have our hang-ups," said Vince. "Look at
me
. I've always been paranoid that one of my balls is bigger than my other two."

"I don't know what's worse: The dehydration or yer jokes."

Despite the sleep that they had both managed, both men were still exhausted. And dehydration and hunger was still a problem.

"I'm really tired, Pickle." Vince was staggering around and his left shoulder banged into a tree trunk, knocking him down. Pickle helped him up.

"It's okay." Pickle tried to remain positive and could see that Vince was giving up.

"I'm never looking for anyone again. Even if it's you."

"I wouldn't want anyone to look for me anyway. I can handle myself."

"Fucking hell!" Vince bumped into another tree, but managed to remain on his feet this time.

"Alright." Pickle nervously looked around. "Keep yer voice down. It's so congested here, we don't even know what's ten yards in front of us."

"I need a drink." Vince looked at Harry Branston. "I'm sorry for whining like a bitch, but I'm not as strong as you."

"Right," Pickle ordered. "Stop."

Vince did as he was told and Pickle asked him to turn around. Once Vince did this Pickle began to take the bag off of Vince's shoulders. Pickle rummaged through the bag and took out a sawn-off and some empty tins. He put the sawn-off into his own bag and threw Vince's into the bushes. "Giving you nothing to carry should make things a little easier."

They veered left onto a dirt path and could hear the sound of disturbed branches behind them. Out of the bushes came a lone ghoul, lunging out. It fell on top of an exhausted Vince, and before Pickle had chance to grab the handle of his machete a whizzing sound went past his left ear and an arrow struck the side of the ghoul's head.

It collapsed on top of Vince, who quickly pushed the thing off of him, and both men stood around and scanned the area for the mysterious archer.

"What do yer think?" Pickle asked Vince.

"Dunno," he murmured, his heart beating out of his chest from his near-death experience. "I suppose you probably think it's a gift from God."

"Don't mock me, Vince." Pickle then turned away from Vince and said, "Probably somebody who just happened to be in the same vicinity as us. That was some shot, considering the amount of trees that are here."

"Maybe it was the same guy that we saw the other day."

Pickle never responded and gasped, "What's that sound?"

Both men's ears pricked up and they both began to jog away from the sound. They couldn't see anything, but it was obvious, by the moaning and the clumsy steps, that there were many of the dead heading towards them.

They came across the stream and Vince immediately went over to it and began scooping up the water in his hands and drinking. He didn't care if the water was polluted, or if a corpse had been sitting in it for weeks. He was desperate for any kind of fluid.

"Shit." Pickle took a look around where they were.

"What is it?" Vince asked inbetween drinking scoops of water, slurping noisily. "What's the matter?"

"Where do we go?"

Vince stood up and could see that their options of escape was limited. Without having time to reflect, they began to run away as the sound of the dead grew louder. They both stopped and could see a hill to the right of them, and the River Trent two hundred yards to the left.

The first six beasts came out of the woods and into the open.

Asked Vince, "Shall we run?"

"We might be able to take them."

Pickle pulled out his machete, but Vince sighed, "Do we have to?"

Pickle took a step forward and planted his blade in the side of the first ghoul's head. He quickly stepped aside and, as his first victim began to drop, the second ghoul was speared through its forehead.

Vince had managed to ram his blade through the third, but Pickle could see that it took a lot of effort for Vince to take just the one out, when usually he hacked at them like a maniac.

Pickle took one more out, thinking that there was only going to be two left, and was about to dip into his bag to take them out with the sawn-off, but many more Snatchers slowly came out through the trees in their many numbers. The scene reminded Pickle of how they were attacked back at Stile Cop in the first week. The dead were of a mixed variety: men, women, young and old, and children were amongst the gang of the thirty-strong horde.

"We can't take them," panted Vince, stating the obvious.  "Where now?"

"The hill." Pickle pointed at the river to their left. "That's the River Trent, so the Hednesford Road must be over that hill."

"I'll never make it."

"Yes yer will."

Both men took a run at the steep hill. Pickle still had the bag on his back and was making better progress with the climb than the exhausted Vince Kindl. There were a few rocks and small trees to grab a hold of to make the climb easier, but Vince just didn't have the energy and had only managed to go ten feet up.

"I'm not gonna make it." Vince looked over his shoulder and could see a few of the dead were now at the bottom of the hill and unable to get up, the rest were behind.

"Yes yer will," Pickle urged Vince. "We're halfway there already."

"It's too steep." Vince was almost in tears and was yards behind Pickle. Harry Branston stopped climbing and waited for Vince to catch up. He looked at the last part of the hill. The last five feet was practically vertical and Pickle knew that that was going to be the hardest part of the climb.

Pickle looked down at Vince and said, "Yer doing well."

Vince grabbed a hold of a small tree that was sticking out of the hill and pulled himself up further.

"That's the spirit," Pickle laughed, and began climbing again. "Another two minutes and we'll be there. That last bit looks a bit o' a bitch, but I bet—"

"Fuck!"

Pickle was helpless as he saw Vince fall. The small tree had come out by the root and Vince tumbled down the hill, still clutching onto the plant. Pickle gazed, feeling hopeless, and yelled, "Vince! Try and grab something! Anything!"

Pickle's desperate words fell on deaf ears and he hopelessly watched Vincent Kindl tumble towards the bottom of the hill where some of them were waiting for him.

"Oh shit, shit, shit." Pickle's heart was in his mouth and breathed a small sigh once Vince had reached out and managed to grab a rock. The dead were yards from him, reaching out, trying to grab at him, some almost stroking the soles of his boots with their outstretched fingers.

Vince looked up at the hill, and then saw Pickle and shook his head with a sad smile. He wasn't going to make it. He knew he wasn't going to make it. Not even the thought of being ripped to pieces gave him the energy to try and make the climb again.

He put his left hand up at Pickle, and this moved the forty-three-year-old Harry Branston. Was Vince saying goodbye?

Vince let go of the rock and fell to the bottom. He pulled out his machete and tried to stand on his feet as they encircled him. He was aware that there was only ten, but the other twenty or so weren't far away and if he didn't move soon, he was finished.

Pickle shook his head. "I'm coming!"

Pickle slowly climbed back down and knew that the only way out of this mess together was to unload the shotguns at the crowd, try and shoot their way through, then head back into the woods. It was an impossible idea. Even more so that they were both exhausted, especially Vince.

Pickle slipped a few yards as his hand slipped off a rock that he had a hold of, and looked over his shoulder once he had managed to gain his composure and looked down.

Vince was hacking like a maniac with the large blade whilst trying to progress through them, and kicked out at others that neared him. He had somehow got through them without being hurt, and the four defunct bodies suggested he had at least some energy left in his reserves. He was now struggling away from the crowd, away from the woods where more came out and he was now heading for the river. Pickle watched in horror as Vince held his machete up as he stood at the edge of the river bank, waiting for them to come.

Pickle had no idea what Vince had in mind. Maybe
Vince
didn't know. Maybe he was trying to entice them into the river; but now there seemed to be too many as they continued to pour out of the woods. The nearest few had now reached him and he took a few lazy swipes. He was spent.

"Oh Vince." Pickle couldn't keep his eyes away from what was happening, and gasped when Vince took one more swipe at the nearest ghoul. He was then grabbed by two of them, and all three fell backwards and into the river.

Pickle watched in horror as Vince was being swept away, with more of the ghouls stupidly falling in after him. All Pickle could see was arms in the air and Vince's head coming up once in a while, desperate for breath, while the river's current kept on pulling him further away.

As soon as Vince disappeared from view, Pickle lowered his head sadly. "Please God. Let him live. Let him live."