Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) (15 page)

Chapter Thirty

"I've got a bad feeling about this trip to the camp."

Karen was given a cup of orange diluting juice by Wolf and took a sip, but it tasted unusual. She had no idea if it was her, or if the water from the sink was decidedly dodgy.

"Stop fretting." Wolf sat down next to her, and patted her thigh. "Those...
things
don't stand a chance against those four, especially Pickle. It is
Pickle
you're worried about, isn't it?"

Karen lowered her head and half-shrugged awkwardly. "And Shaz, of course."

"He's as tough as nails." Wolf spoke confidently and began to run his fingers through his grey beard, and kept on repeating this action.

For some reason, Wolf stroking his beard was beginning to irk Karen, and she didn't know why. The more he did it, the more she became angry. She bit her bottom lip, trying to stifle herself from saying anything, but to no avail. She said at last, "Do you
have
to do that?"

"Do what?"

"Stroke that stupid beard, like it's a friggin' cat or something."

Wolf's eyes widened and was taken aback by Karen's vicious outburst. "Well, I'm sorry—"

"No," she interrupted, and dropped her head in her hands, ashamed of herself for speaking to him like that. "I'm a cow. I shouldn't speak to you like that."

"It's probably your hormones and the worry of Pickle being out there."

"Probably." Karen then laughed and placed her hand over her mouth, thinking about the recent past.

"What is it?" Wolf was intrigued.

It took a while for Karen to compose her hilarity, but when she did, she said, "I snapped at Pickle the other day, and he jokingly told me that if I spoke to him like that again, he was going to kick me in the growler."

Wolf raised a smile, then lost it and screwed his face with perplexity. "I have no idea what that means."

"Doesn't matter," Karen groaned, overwhelmed with nerves. "I just wish they'd hurry up."

"If they've managed to get a vehicle they'll probably be there by now, feet up, having refreshments, before coming back up here."

"And if they're on foot?"

Wolf couldn't give Karen an answer. "Erm..."

"It's okay." She smiled at his feeble attempt on trying to make her feel better. "I just hope they're safe, that's all."

"They should be okay." Wolf slowly got to his feet, his knees cracking as he stood up straight, like they did sometimes. "Pickle told me that those things were more of a danger when there're groups of them." He adjusted his straw hat and headed for the inside of his cabin. "I'm gonna have a chocolate bar, if you and Shaz haven't ate them all. Want one?"

Karen pulled a face to suggest that the last thing she needed was a bar of chocolate. "I would rather eat shit, thanks."

"A simple
no
would suffice," Wolf laughed, and added with his tongue in cheek as he went inside. "You didn't need to release a profanity."

"Oh, shut up," she whispered.

*

Tommy's appetite was naturally low for most of the day, but his stomach finally began to growl for food, and he decided to open up a can of chilli beans to temporarily halt the protests from his tummy.

After his modest meal, followed by a generous drink of water, he lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, thinking about his former life and what the future held for him now. He thought about the only person he cared for, his mother, and was pleased that she died of natural causes and wasn't around to continue seeing the world turning into shit.

He tried to think back only a day ago, and the story Hooper had told him, followed by the story Megan had revealed. It seemed that a lot of people had their own horrific story to tell, and what unnerved Tommy a little was that the last two people he had conversed with, Hooper and Megan, appeared to be psychologically damaged from what was happening.

How many more individuals were so fucked up that they were a danger to themselves and, more importantly, a danger to other survivors? Being subjected to that kind of violence was going to unstable the average person, but it was worrying that some people, who used to be normal before, could now be a danger that Tommy could do without.

He thought about the stress, depression, and the fear and anger that people of young and old would have to live with, and was concerned how that was going to affect rebuilding societies.

Tommy lay back and held his handgun in front of him. He pressed the small button by the trigger and released the magazine to see how many rounds he had left. He reached in his bag and pulled out a fresh magazine and placed it on the bed. He pulled the slide back and took out the round in the chamber and put the bullet into the magazine he had just released. The old magazine was tossed in the bag with the other four full ones, and he slotted in the new one. There was no round in the chamber, and this is what Tommy wanted from a safety point of view. Tommy was paranoid that he could wake up in the middle of the night, maybe a little disorientated, and end up having an accident with the gun that lay by his side.

He was just being over-precautious.

He placed the weapon by his left side and closed his eyes. The small part of the window had been pushed open to allow air into the room, just like the other bedrooms on the first floor, and Tommy could hear no sound whatsoever. He imagined what sounds would have greeted him if this was a normal day.

On a normal day he would probably hear the sound of Buddy, barking and playing at the front, the man or the woman of the house hoovering the rooms, and the odd vehicle moaning past the house, probably driving too fast, as most of them did on roads and country lanes in Staffordshire. This was why the area used to be a hotbed for car accidents.

A lot of drivers, especially male drivers under the age of twenty-five, had a notorious reputation of speeding along these roads. In the old world, it wouldn't be unusual for at least one fatality every fortnight. The individuals involved in these accidents usually had taken a bend too quickly, resulting in hitting an oncoming vehicle, crashing into a tree, or going completely off the road and landing in a deep ditch.

When Tommy was eighteen, he had the chance of going out with his two pals and two girls for a ride out. It was basically travelling in a car, while drinking cans of beer, then back home. Tommy was unwell on this particular day, so couldn't make it. His pals still went out, and in the morning he received a phone call to say that the car had been involved in an accident and that the passenger in the back, one of his friends, had been killed.

The car had gone off the road, landed in a deep ditch, and his friend, who was unfortunately not wearing a seatbelt in the back, was catapulted through the sunroof. Tommy later learned that when his pal was thrown forty yards, he hit a tree so hard that his legs snapped around his head.

Tommy remembered the next day that he went to Rugeley town centre on his own. It was Saturday afternoon, the place was heaving with shoppers and drinkers, and he sat on a bench near the war memorial that commemorated 117 Rugeley residents that died in WW1, and 38 residents that gave up their lives in WW2. He then lowered his head and cried for his childhood friend for thirty minutes.

Looking back now, Tommy couldn't help think that most people that he had known who had passed away were lucky. This was no place for someone to live, especially for a child. Maybe in a few months—well, in a few years, the country would rebuild and get back on its feet.

Maybe.

Chapter Thirty One

The group had stopped running, and the unsteady path that was littered with bumps in the ground had become too much for some of the beasts. The group could see from a far distance that some were continuing with their chase, albeit slowly, but some of them had fallen over and tumbled into the canal.

"When we get to The Ash Tree pub," instructed Vince, and pointed at the beasts that were behind them, "we'll get rid of the rest ourselves. I don't want any of these things near the camp."

Jack was the only one to respond. "It depends on how many there are. It's hard to see if there are many behind the ones we can see in front. I'm not getting my hands dirty if there're dozens of the things, while you've got men at the barrier with guns. Why should
we
do all the work?"

"Because," Vince cleared his throat, and looked a little sheepish with his following sentence, "people aren't gonna be best pleased to find I've come back empty-handed, with two less trucks and two less residents. I think bringing back a horde of Rotters would be the icing on the cake for my leadership demise, don't you?"

"Why are you so bothered about running it anyway?"

"I just feel it's better with me running the place. Either that, or fat Jenkinson. He's expressed an interest, but
he
couldn't run a tap."

"So you're a control freak?" Jack said jokingly.

"So what do you reckon, Shaz?" Vince ignored Jack's ribbing, and looked at the distraught thirty-year-old woman. "Fancy a nice cup of tea when we get there? Might even let you give me a hand to smash one out."

There was no response from Shaz, and she remained staring at the ground while the group marched on. Vince felt that Shaz was partly blaming him for Pickle's demise, but he wasn't to blame. He was just looking out for the groups' best interests. Vince reminded her of this. "I'm not to blame for all of this. Pickle did say:
If you ever see me bit, then leave me. I'm finished.
And he
was
bit."

Shaz couldn't hold her tongue any longer. "You seemed in a rush to push us back, out the way. We could've helped."

"And get killed?" Vince questioned an upset Shaz. She had only known Pickle for a week, but she was suffocated by the shock of his death. Vince added, "Pickle was holding back to make sure
we
were safe. That's the kind of brave man he was."

"How do you know what kind of man he is...was? You didn't know him."

"I know a leader when I see one."

Jack finally spoke and took Vince's side. "If we stayed any longer, Shaz, we'd have been killed as well. There was too many of them."

"You're not taking his side, are you?"

"What was Pickle's last words?" Jack asked her.

She hesitated on her answer. She hesitated on purpose because she knew the answer. They all knew the answer:
Run, you fool
.

The walk continued and to the left of them was Rugeley's power station, a blemish on the landscape, Jack had always thought. To the right, over the canal, was the back of new houses that had been built a couple of years ago. Every curtain in every room was drawn, and Jack wondered how many people were still living inside.

"Most are probably starving now," Shaz spoke up, as if she knew what Jack was thinking. Vince was now ten yards ahead of the two, and Jack was walking just in front of Shaz.

Jack agreed with her comment. "Just makes you wonder what's happening inside. If I hadn't been a father, I would have stayed in my own house, in Glasgow, but I couldn't just sit in there, knowing Thomas was four hundred miles away somewhere. I needed to be with him."

"That was some story you told me earlier on." Shaz was referring to when Jack had told her about waking up in the Glasgow hotel in the city centre, and his drive to his house, then the drive down south before the car blew two tyres. Then coming across a motorcycle and travelling to Rugeley, and then to Hazelslade where he eventually met Gary Jenson, like Pickle, another inmate from Stafford prison that had been released when the outbreak was announced.

Jack left out certain bits to his story, like the massacre of innocent citizens at the police station, being attacked by the pond, losing Gary in the supermarket incident, as well as details about his three-day stay in the woods, before a starving and dehydrated Jack Slade was rescued by factory worker, Johnny Jefferson.

Jack took a look behind him and saw that the creatures were far away, and there didn't appear to be many of them left. Maybe more had fallen into the canal.

Vince pointed up ahead, and yelled, "Nearly there."

Both Shaz and Jack could see the building of the pub, a place where Jack had had a meal many times. It was a nice pub; it was just outside of Rugeley, inbetween Brereton and Armitage, and in the old days, when he was in his twenties, he and his old friend used to drink there.

On most Saturdays, after a hard-working week, Jack and a friend of his, Jason Moore, would have a few drinks at the pub, sit outside, and order a meal. For most of the afternoon they would sit there and drink Stella and smoke Benson and Hedges until it was too cold to sit outside. When it came to this time, they'd walk from The Ash Tree pub, along the main road, sometimes popping in the Mossley Tavern for a few, then into the Wetherpoons bar for a few bottles of Kozel. Then they'd end up in Bo Jollys and spend the rest of their money on beer, playing pool and putting money into the jukebox, pissing off the locals with The Verve, Oasis and Led Zeppelin blasting out for hours.

Jack put his arm around Shaz, who was still in shock over Pickle's death. "Vince said that we're gonna get refreshments when we get back."

"Okay."

"You can come back to mine, if you want."

She looked up at Jack with rainy eyes. "Yeah, that'll be good."

Jack looked up to find that Vince had now stopped strolling and was patiently waiting for the remaining two. "Once we get by this pub, it's another half a mile and we're there."

"I live here," said Shaz with anger coated in her words. "I know where Spode Cottage is."

Vince then opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He tried again, and this time Jack noticed that Vince had something on his mind, but what?

Jack asked, "What is it?"

"What?" Vince tried his best to look like he had no idea what Jack was talking about, and stretched out his arms and feigned a yawn.

Jack sighed impatiently and shook his head. "Out with it."

"Out with what?"

"Come on, Vince. It's not like
you
to be shy."

Vince put his arms down and straightened his face in thought. He bit his bottom lip and twisted his mouth ever so slightly, telling Jack that he was unsure whether he should say what he wanted to say. Finally, Vince began, "Well, don't bite my head off, but when I get back I'll have some explaining to do. There's gonna be a lot of disappointed people once I've opened my mouth. We've lost Claire and Paul, the trucks and the medication—"

"So what's your point?"

"Another journey back to pick up Karen and...dad, is not gonna go down well with the locals."

"So you don't wanna go back for Karen, is that what you're saying?" Jack looked astonished at Vince. If he didn't go back for Karen, he'd also be leaving his own father behind. Was he really that heartless?

"Or are you too scared to tell her the news about Pickle?" derided Shaz, with anger in her words.

Vince huffed intolerantly and tried to explain, "I'm just saying, I don't think it'll be popular with the folks back at the camp. And with the news I have to give them, I could be fucking lynched."

"Most of them are elderly people. You'll be just fine." Jack knew that Vince wasn't a fan of going out of the comfort zone of the camp. The trip to Stafford was a daring project, and Jack felt that the way it ended may have dented Vince's confidence.

Asked Vince, "So what do you reckon?"

Shaz was the first to react. "We're going back for Karen, and if you don't wanna help, I'll go on my own."

Jack placed his hand on Shaz's shoulder. "You won't be on your own."

"Wow," Vince mocked, and began pretending to cry. "This is really bringing a tear to my eye. You kids are really breaking my heart."

"Why don't you grow up?" Shaz growled at the middle-aged man who was really starting to piss her off. "I'm gonna have a drink, something to eat, then I'm going back out. I'll go out on foot, if I have to."

"Relax." Vince shook his head and released a puff of air from his mouth, like a petulant child. "I was just asking for your opinion. Of course we're not gonna leave them up there. That would be wrong."

Jack looked at Vince with surprise, but knew that with Pickle gone, leaving Karen and his own father was the preferred option for him.