Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) (46 page)

Chapter Thirty Seven

July 10th

Paul and Kyle had slept well in the cabin, despite Bentley's snoring in the next room. The image of Daisy had plagued him at first, but he finally dropped off. Paul had enjoyed the sleep with no interruptions, and was finally awakened by the wildlife from the woods, mainly the birds tweeting in the trees.

Because they had gone to sleep earlier, Paul and Kyle had opened their eyes before their hosts. Paul and Kyle sneaked out of the cabin, not wanting to wake up Bentley or Laura, and took in some fresh air.

Despite the place being reasonably secure, having the area surrounded by barbed wire and being in the middle of nowhere, Paul stayed close to his son, and they walked over to a tree stump and sat on it to take in the morning sunshine that could be just about felt through the trees.

Paul could see that the barbed wire had been wrapped around the area four times, meaning that there were four strips. The only way these things could get in was if they dropped to the floor and crawled underneath, but they lacked the intelligence for that—or so he hoped.

A few minutes later Bentley strolled out of the cabin, wearing all black—jogging bottoms and a T-shirt. He approached the father and son who were both sitting and sharing the stump, and Bentley rustled Kyle's hair and patted Paul on the shoulder. He asked, "Sleep okay?"

"Brilliant. Thank you so much." Paul cleared his throat and announced, "We'll move on once we get some breakfast—"

"You don't have to go anywhere. I've already discussed this with Laura when you two were asleep last night—"

"But—"

"No buts," Bentley snapped. "You're staying for as long as you want. This little man," he pointed to Kyle, "needs a break."

At this point Kyle walked over to the home-made barbed wire fence and began losing himself in his own world, making airplane and gunfire noises while the adults continued to talk.

"You seem really well set-up." Paul looked around the camp. "You got plenty of food and water?"

Bentley nodded with a smile. "Also have a water filter, two replacements, detergent, plenty of toilet roll, a battery-powered radio and lamp, purification tablets, a cistern for collecting rainwater, plenty of gas, torch, some spare clothes, amongst other shit."

Paul looked aghast. "Generator?"

Bentley smiled. "Gas, but we only use it in emergencies."

Paul laughed, "You really are a prepper. I didn't know whether to believe you in the car."

Bentley smiled, his soft eyes were warm, but said in a serious tone, "I don't bullshit, Paul. Not unless it's necessary."

Paul released a sigh, leaned over and whispered to Bentley, making sure his son couldn't hear, "My wife and daughter are missing. She went to a supermarket on the day it was announced, a couple of miles away, and they never came back. I was going to ask if you could look after the boy while I went out to look for them at this place. The not-knowing is fucking killing me."

"I could imagine." Bentley's response seemed heartfelt, and added, "Me and Laura were wondering last night whether you had a wife or not. I suppose that's the mystery solved."

"Would it be okay if I left Kyle for a while?" Paul's eyes were pleading. "If I can't see Julie's car there, I'll come straight back."

"And if you get yourself killed, we're stuck with the boy."

"I won't..." Paul began to think, shook his head, and lowered it sadly. "It's selfish, I know. I wasn't thinking."

Bentley pointed at the barbed wire around the area of the cabin. "This place is reasonably safe, and Laura knows how to take care of herself."

Paul looked at Bentley, not knowing where he was going with his speech.

Bentley added, "Leave Kyle here, and I'll come with you. Straight to the supermarket and back, regardless whether we find them or not."

Paul's tears flowed and couldn't help himself. He hugged a clearly-embarrassed Bentley, and the muscular man gently pushed Paul away. "Get breakfast and we'll leave later."

Bentley stood up and took a look at the place around them. Noticing this, Paul asked, "How long have you been up here?"

Bentley smiled. "In short, I have always known there was something wrong. Like I told you before, I've been preparing for this for years. Guns, batteries, a well, gas canisters—I've got the lot. I built the cabin myself. I'll tell you all about it in detail one day, maybe. Just not now."

"What about making fires?"

"Steel and flint is all you need. But I have matches and firelighters at the moment."

Bentley walked away, headed back to the cabin and began whistling a tune that Paul didn't recognise.

Kyle walked back over to his dad, once the strange man had left to go back inside the cabin, and gave him a big hug. They broke away, and Kyle turned his back and stood to the side of his daddy.

"It's a lovely morning." Paul breathed in and could smell the greenery around him. He looked to the side and saw Kyle with his head lowered. All Paul could see was the back of his head and his strawberry blonde hair. Paul bit his lower lip and stroked the back of his boy's head. "What's the matter, big chap?"

Kyle turned around and slowly raised his head. Paul could see the tear stains on his plump cheeks, and his red eyes that were heartbreaking to see.

Kyle finally answered. "I hate this," he cried. "I want things to be normal. I want to go out on my scooter, play with Ryan, go back to my football practice on Tuesday, I..." Kyle stopped producing words and placed his little warm hand on top of Paul's. He could see that his father was also struggling, emotionally.

"It's okay, son. It's okay."

Kyle cried, "I do love you, daddy. But I want mummy to come back."

"So do I, son." Paul stood straight and pulled Kyle into him, and both father and son embraced and released their tears of sorrow and frustration. Paul kissed his boy on his hair and took a sniff. He smelt the same as he did when he was a baby.

Paul broke away from the embrace, but Kyle continued to sob, saltwater streamed down, his bottom lip puffed out, and his beautiful green eyes were soaked.

"My poor boy." Paul wiped the tears away gently with his thumbs. "My poor, sweet little boy."

Chapter Thirty Eight

Pickle was the first to wake up in the stationery room. It had been an uncomfortable night, and some of that had been spent comforting Sharon Bailey who was still mourning the loss of her family. Vince thought that it may also have had something to do with Sharon being very close to an unimaginable death.

The group had been fed, watered, and had been untied. Vince thought it was a strange thing to do, considering that they were threatening to kill them all if no information was given to them. Pickle thought that it was a softly-softly approach, bearing in mind that the scare tactics of throwing Harry in the shed and then threatening to put Shaz in there as well didn't work.

All three were in a perilous situation, and once they all finally wakened, Pickle said to them, "So how are we goin' to get out o' this mess?"

"Even if we spill our guts, they're still going to kill us." Shaz spoke up.

Shaz's comment wasn't the positive remark Pickle was hoping for, but could understand the negativity. He knew that there was a good chance that this could be his last day.

"We could always ask to join them." Vince stood to his feet and could feel the glare from Shaz and Pickle. He tried to explain further, "And if they agree to this, we could turn on them when we get a chance—"

"They'll never fall for that shit. Not after what happened to his sister." Pickle snickered falsely, "We're as good as dead."

"So what do you suggest?"

Pickle shrugged. He was unsure himself. "The only thing I can think of is to just go mad."

Vince was uncertain whether to laugh or not. "Er...what?"

"When they arrive and tie us back up, we should go mad and grab their guns, or punch them or...anything!"

"They'll fill us full of lead."

"Possibly." Pickle nodded. "But that's the way I'm going. I'm not gonna be thrown into a shed and pulled apart by those dead fuckers. Even if I manage to take an eye out before I'm shot, it'll be worth it."

Shaz turned to Vince and remarked, "I thought maybe one of your friends would come to our aid. We've been missing for a while. They should be concerned."

"Nah," Vince shook his head, "they'd never leave their posts. That would leave the camp vulnerable and unprotected."

Pickle smiled and his eyes began to well up. "God, I bet Karen is worried sick."

*

"What time is it?" asked Karen, suddenly sitting up and forgetting where she was for a second. She could hear David yawn and could see the outline of his body in the dark attic. He looked at his watch and could see the glowing handles stating that it was nearly 7am. "Seven."

"Shit, shit, shit." Karen carefully got to her feet and could hear banging noises below her. She placed her ear to the hatch and could hear people walking in and out and plonking heavy goods on the floor.

"What is it?" asked David.

Karen shushed him and continued to listen for a further five minutes, while David impatiently sat up, puffing and sighing like a petulant child. She then began to glare through the small crack in the latch, desperate to get a glimpse.

After more minutes had passed, Karen announced, "I think they were filling the house with more food from the hangar. They've left one guard here, and the rest have gone back. It sounded like a wagon, like the ones Vince has back at the camp. From what I could hear there're six or seven of them, including that greasy fuck and his sister. The guard mentioned going outside to take a stroll." Karen shook her head. "I can't believe we slept so long."

"Our bodies must have needed it."

"We can't waste any more time." Karen grabbed the hatch, but was grabbed by a frightened David.

"What are you doing?" His words were soaked in fright. "What about the guard?"

"I'm gonna have to take him out."

"Kill him?"

"Knock him out or...something."

She opened the hatch and slowly descended to the first floor. She had no plan. She was going to creep downstairs in hope that the man was unarmed and small in stature. She took out her machete and decided to use the handle to knock him out.

She peered into the living room as she reached the bottom of the stairs. She could see through the window and saw the man in the back garden, holding his shotgun loosely in his right hand. He was of average build, and looked like he hadn't been washed in days. He was heading for the door, returning to the house.

Karen stood at the frame of the kitchen door, out of view. As soon as the man opened the door, she stepped into the kitchen and struck him with the handle of the machete. The man stumbled and dropped the gun. Karen tried to strike again, but he caught her with a swinging arm, catching her in the face. Before she could smack him a second time, he pushed her to the floor and grabbed his shotgun. Out of desperation she threw her machete at his face. It made a cut at the side of his head and he cried out, thinking the injury was a lot worse. Before he could pick up the gun that was lying on the floor, Karen stood on the barrel and kneed the man in the face.

He went for the machete, but Karen had grabbed the gun and, holding the barrel with both hands, she brought the gun down, smacking the handle on the top of his head. He managed to stagger to his feet and threw a left hook at her face. Karen stumbled and then young David ran into the room and opened up a kitchen drawer behind Karen.

The guard then ran at Karen, dazed and confused, and Karen brought her leg up and thrust her hips, pushing the man against the wall, smacking the back of his head and knocking himself out.

As soon as the man slumped to the floor, Karen turned around to see the comical scene of fifteen-year-old David Watkins standing with a butter knife being held in his shaking hand.

It took a while before Karen got her breath back, but when she did, she queried in bemusement, "What are you doing?"

David stood in shock, still holding the butter knife. "I was going to..."

"What?"

"I was going to attack him once you was out of the way."

"With that?" she pointed at his right hand.

He took a peek at the butter knife he was holding and blushed. "It was the first thing I took out the drawer."

"No shit." Karen nodded to the knife in his hand. "What was you going to do? Spread him to death?"

"Okay," David sighed. "So I panicked!"

"Don't worry about it." Karen sniggered at the young man. He meant well, but he was as much use as a chocolate fireguard—as her dad used to say.

"What now?"

"Get some food and drink from my bag. Then we check out the hangar."

David pointed to the unconscious man and asked, "What about him?"

Karen raised the shotgun and pointed it at the man's torso.

"Wait!" David yelled. "You can't shoot a man in cold blood."

"And what do you think he would have done to us? What do you think is gonna happen to Pickle, Shaz and Vince?"

"Can't you tie him up?"

"I suppose I could." Karen looked in the drawers for anything that would be sufficient to use to tie the man up. She eventually came across some washing line and used it to bind the man's feet and arms behind his back. Once this was done she ordered, "Let's pick him up," then nodded towards outside. "Put him in that shed in the back garden. At least then he's out of the way if any other persons comes back."

The back door was opened and they struggled to drag the man to the shed, but once they did a smell assaulted their noses, forcing David to be sick on the long grass. Once he had finished releasing what was left in his stomach, he asked, "What's that smell?"

"Death."

Karen opened the shed door and was shocked to see the massacred family: mother, father, and two daughters. All had been shot.

David cried, "Did
they
do this?"

"This family probably lived here before these lot came along." Karen flapped at the few flies that went towards her face. She then turned and stared at David with devilish eyes. "And you want me to spare this piece of shit?"

They picked the man up and threw him on top of the deceased family. Flies buzzed manically as the man's frame disturbed them.

Karen then walked away from the shed and headed back to the house and returned to the garden, holding the shotgun. As soon as she reached the shed, Karen pointed the gun at the man's chest and pulled the trigger. The man's chest exploded into a bloody mess and David jumped in fright.

Karen threw the shotgun into the shed and closed the door. She glared at a shocked David Watkins and said, "Come on."

His ears were ringing from the noise of the weapon, and he began to follow Karen off of the premises with quivering legs. He stammered, "What if somebody heard that?"

Karen never answered him.

"What about the shotgun?"

"Too loud."