Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) (53 page)

Chapter Forty Eight

His eyes opened and his head ached. He scanned around and it took a while for him to understand that he was upside down. The realisation that he had been involved in a smash eventually occurred, and the flashbacks of getting clipped by another vehicle emerged in his mind.

He rubbed his sore neck and knew that once he unclipped himself he was going to fall. He looked to both sides, seeing that both windows were shattered, and knew he needed to get out as soon as he could. He checked his body quickly with his hands, seeing if there was anything broken, but he was satisfied that there wasn't any major damage despite his medical experience being very limited.

Once his belt was released, he tried to move around so that he wasn't upside down, and tried to get his bearings. He sat cross-legged in the car, technically sitting on the inside roof, and placed his head in his hands. The pain was unbearable, and it was beginning to dawn on him that he had lost everything.

He had lost his sister, his only surviving family member since his elderly mother and father were ripped to pieces on the first weekend it was announced. Since that incident, and staying in a house with little food in the cupboards, he came to the conclusion that living there was unfeasible. His sister lived two streets away, alone, and she was the first person he went to when he decided to leave the house. They met up with a few men from his sister's street, some of them were casual lovers of his sisters', and they had decided that being brutal was the only way to survive this horrendous dilemma that had been handed to the country.

Gavin had had many failed relationships behind him, and was living with his parents, short-term, until he got back on his feet. His sister had been living off the state for many months and had only been out of Drake Hall prison since January, after serving two years for glassing a barman that called her a 'mouthy bitch'. His sister had moaned that she wasn't given the right change and verbally abused the barman. After calling her a mouth bitch, she called him over and shoved the broken bottle in his face three times in front of a packed pub on a Friday night.

Still sitting with his legs crossed, Gavin decided to attempt to crawl through one of the exposed windows of his damaged Audi that he had stolen weeks ago. He made his mind up and thought it'd be best to crawl through the passenger side, as it didn't look as damaged and crushed as the driver's side.

He placed the palms of his hands on his knees, ready to move, but paused when he heard the sound of shuffling feet outside the car. His heart began to gallop and his pulse hammered under the skin at the side of his neck. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

He lay down to peer out from the broken windows, and could see two sets of feet moving away from the defunct vehicle.
At least they're moving away
.

He decided that now was the right time to make a move.

The man was drenched in perspiration, and began to crawl through the passenger door. He welcomed the cool air as soon as it hit him, and the drizzle that fell from the heavens made the experience even more agreeable. All he needed now was a drink of water. He had no idea how long he had been out, but he felt dehydrated.

He was nearly out of the vehicle and unperturbed about his hands leaning on the fallen glass on the road, as his main worry was his trouser leg being stuck at the corner of the window. He pulled his left leg, hard, but couldn't seem to get it free. Releasing a profanity he tried again, and was this time successful. He struggled to his feet, and his heart almost stopped when his brain had registered what was around him.

"Oh, fuck me."

In front of Gavin was dozens of the dead, walking to...he didn't really know and neither did they, but they hadn't seen him. They had their backs to him while shuffling forward. The two that had walked past the car were at the back of the crowd, but there were five others that were behind him and the toppled vehicle, trying to catch up with the other dead.

Catching up with the other creatures was no longer something that was important once Gavin was spotted. All five had perked up, as if they had been given an adrenaline shot, and began briskly shambling towards the man with more zest.

Gavin ran to the right and chose to avoid the crowd in front of him and not risk running at the five behind him. He leapt over a fence that led to a huge field, but was struggling with the one strip of barbed wire that was situated two inches above the final wooden panel of the fence. His trouser leg was stuck.

He writhed and struggled as the wire cut into his flesh, but he knew that if he didn't struggle then it could become a whole lot worse for him. He took a quick look behind him and could see the five heading to the fence, towards him.

Despite that there was no grabbing or sinking of the teeth by these diseased fiends so far, Gavin began to scream as he struggled to get his clothes free from the barbed wire. He was certain that he didn't have much time left on this earth, unless some kind of miracle was about to occur, and looked around to see that the majority of the creatures were still walking away but the other five were advancing.

His left leg was finally grabbed by the first creature, and it wasted no time in taking a bite out of his left calf with its rotten teeth. Gavin released a high-pitched scream when another bite tore into his left Achilles heel from a different beast. His struggling continued, and a few seconds later all five were around him, clawing and biting him.

Gavin threw his hands back and slapped at some of them. He knew he was finished, but the option of dying and turning into one of these freaks was much better than being eaten alive. He slapped at another creature while his left calf was receiving its third bite, and the thing caught his hand with its teeth. Its yellow teeth closed and he released another yell of pain when three of his fingers were bitten off, leaving just his thumb and forefinger left.

He threw up over his left arm as his legs were being attacked. The vomit slid down his arm, and covered his freshly mutilated hand that had three fingers missing and was pouring with blood. He was sick again, and now prayed for a quick death.

He could see that the rest of the group were heading towards the meal that was trapped on the fence, and at this point he was now just wishing it was over. The pain was too much, and he almost welcomed his throat being ripped out.

Scores of grubby hands grabbed a hold of his AC/DC T-shirt and neck as the creatures exceeded in numbers. He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes.
Hurry up.

He winced and cried as his jeans were torn away, and his legs were ripped to pieces by dozens of diseased mouths. He was near to passing out from the loss of blood, while behind some of the things had their mouths full of muscle, tendons and ligaments, chewing slowly. He was still conscious when the first set of teeth tore into the muscles of the back of his neck, just above the trapezius. His eyes closed permanently by the time the crowd had torn him in half, spilling his intestines all over the fence and the grass.

They continued to feast on the defunct Gavin. His body was pulled and dragged by the beasts. He was devoured so much that his head and shoulders eventually fell away from the rest of his body, and landed on the other side of the fence to the disgust of the feeding fiends.

The beasts snarled and groaned, aching to get to what was left of the man's body. They pressed themselves against the fence in huge numbers, but the fence amazingly held out before they finally gave up. One by one they walked away from the remains that sat in the field, on the other side of the fence, and they all slowly headed for the junction, some of them still chewing the fresh bloody meat.

Chapter Forty Nine

After the incident of the collided vehicles, the trip back to the camp was a quiet affair. Vince sounded the horn of the truck as soon as he passed the guard that was situated around half a mile from the camp. He pulled over, chatted briefly with the guard, then continued to the camp.

Up ahead he could see the HGV and a guard waving. They must have recognised the truck right away, Vince thought. He then slowed down and waited patiently for the huge vehicle, that had been mainly serving as a barrier, to reverse back a few yards onto the grass bank so that Vince could get his vehicle through the gap.

Once this was achieved, Shaz and Pickle jumped out of their squashed vehicle and helped out the slightly-concussed Paul Dickson and his confused son, Kyle.

"New people?" a guard with white hair questioned. "No initiation test?"

Vince wasn't sure if the guard was being serious or not, but shook his head without a smile and looked at young Kyle. "Of course not."

"You're getting soft, Vince," the white-haired man spoke out.

Now Karen and young David had stepped out of their Vauxhall, and another guard on the opposite wagon bellowed, "Ah, the wanderer returns. Do you know that Lee got a slap because of you, darling?"

Vince took a gander at Karen for an explanation.

"Lee helped to get me out of here," she began to explain. "I twisted his arm."

Vince smiled. "I bet you're pretty good at that."

"Excuse me." Paul Dickson looked unsteady on his feet, and Pickle and Shaz immediately took a gentle hold of him. "Where do you want me to go?"

"Caravan seventeen," said Vince with no hesitation. "You and your son can rest. I'll send Karen to see you both later. We'll sort you out with water and stuff."

Paul Dickson was ushered away, and Karen pointed at the white-haired man who she had had a run-in with earlier, before she left the camp, and said, "I can't stand him."

"Larry's okay," responded Vince. "He just likes to run his mouth off now and again. He thinks he's the second in command."

Vince watched as Larry made his way down from the cab of the HGV. Larry was holding the shotgun, in a non-threatening manner, like a walking stick. He stopped a couple of yards when he reached Vince and asked, "What the hell's going on, Vince?"

"What do you mean?"

Larry looked over to another guard as if this had been something that had been brewing, something that certain people had been talking about. Larry sighed, "You disappear for a day or so, you come back with a small amount of food, and you bring back extra mouths to feed."

"We can always do with an extra pair of hands—someone who can fight, fire a gun—"

"That guy doesn't look like he could fight his way out of a paper bag," said Larry, referring to Paul Dickson.

"Not yet, but I can train him."

Larry huffed and shook his lowered head.

"What is it?" Vince asked with impatience in his tone.

"The Vince of three or four weeks back wouldn't have done this." Larry stared at Karen and pointed, "In the last week or so you've brought in...
ten
people?"

"If you don't like it, Larry..."

"Then what?" Larry took a step closer to Vince. "You'll throw me off the camp? You can't do that. I've lived here nearly fifteen years. Christ, I used to give you a lift to work every morning for two years when you lost your licence."

"Things have changed."

"Indeed they have." Larry leaned his shotgun against a tree and placed his hands on his hips. "I thought we agreed to be hard. I remember when Jack Slade turned up with that pal of his. I was there when you blew his head off once he was bit. You never messed about back then. Now, you go missing and then come back with food that won't last a couple of weeks—"

"We ran into trouble, Larry. And we lost the new boy." Vince pushed Larry in the chest, forcing him back a few steps. "Give us a fucking break." Vince then looked at the food in the two vehicles and said, "Make yourselves useful and get this food in the Spode Cottage. I need a rest."

Vince walked away, and decided to have some alone-time before heading back to his caravan to clean up. As he walked through the camp he bumped into the odd individual and was welcomed back. He was angry with Larry, but thought that he had a valid point. To go missing and then come back with not much food, and two strangers, was hardly in his plan. But what was he supposed to do? Leave Paul and Kyle Dickson in their car? Even if he wanted to do that, Pickle and his crew wouldn't have allowed it anyway.

He got to the end of the camp and had a look around the eight-foot hedge. Would it be strong enough if the dead decided to turn up in their numbers at this particular part of the camp? He wasn't sure.

Vince sat down and crossed his legs. He glared at Jack's grave, that he was two metres from, and breathed out a sad moan. "Well, buddy. Things just don't seem to be getting any easier. Nearly died today, and I think that from now on we shouldn't leave the camp. I think we should keep within the place until things get a little desperate after the winter. You see—"

"Who are you talking to?"

Vince turned his head to see young Kyle standing. He looked nervous, and Vince had no idea why he was there on his own. Before he could ask, Kyle explained, "My dad was snoring, so I decided to go for a walk."

Vince smiled at the young boy. He looked so cute. "How's the caravan?"

Kyle said, "It smells a bit."

Vince released a belly-laugh and exclaimed, "Say what you think, young man. Don't hold back on
my
account."

Kyle looked at him blankly, and sat down next to him. "Who's that?" He nodded towards the grave.

"A good man," was all that Vince said.

Kyle never responded, almost as if he understood that Vince didn't want to elaborate on who was in the shallow grave.

"Excuse me...Vince?" the little boy spoke.

"Yes, son." Vince smiled. "That's my name."

"Are you okay?" The boy looked at Vince with his green eyes. "You look sad."

Vince coughed and looked up to the murky sky. Rain wasn't far away. "You kind of remind me of someone, that's all."

Kyle looked confused and gazed at the tall hedges. His mind was doing overtime, and Vince could see the youngster was using his imagination that adults struggled to do. "Do you think Batman could beat these monsters up?"

"Batman doesn't exist," laughed Vince, "but if he did, I think Batman would do just fine."

"I miss my mummy and Bell," Kyle blurted out suddenly. He kicked at the dirt and Vince could see the little boy's eyes welling.

"Is Bell your sister?"

Kyle nodded. "And mummy is my...mummy."

"I gathered that." Vince beamed at the young boy and, temporarily forgetting himself, he almost put his arm around Kyle to comfort the seven-year-old.

"Do
you
have a mummy or a sister?" the little boy asked.

"I have a sister. She lives in Ireland. But my mummy's now in heaven."

Kyle chewed on his bottom lip, thinking of what to ask next. He looked up at Vince and was going to ask about the scars all over his face, but thought that it would be rude to do so, just like it was rude to point or fart at the table. "Do you have any boys or girls?"

Vince was puzzled by the question. He furrowed his eyebrows at the boy and asked, "What do you mean? You mean girls and boys here on the camp? You want someone to play with?"

Kyle shrugged, and now looked confused himself. Too many questions.

Vince had no idea what Kyle meant, and enquired further, "Are you wondering if
I
have any children?"

Kyle nodded. He now looked nervous, and could see that this Vince person looked a little upset.

Vince knew that Kyle was just being an inquisitive young boy. The poor thing was missing half of his family, and had been stuck indoors for over a month, according to what the father had been telling them on the way back. Vince paused and thought about what he was going to say to the young boy.

He decided not to lie to him.

Vince took in a deep breath. He finally said to Kyle, "I used to have a little boy. He was about your age."

"What happened?" Kyle chewed on the inside of his mouth, nervously waiting for an answer from the scary-looking man. The man was taking too long to answer, so Kyle said, "Did the monsters get him?"

Vince smiled at Kyle's straightforward query. "Two years ago he was taken by a...bad man," was all Vince could muster, and then his eyes welled and his throat became stiff.

"What was his name?"

If Vince was talking to an adult, he would have told them to mind their own fucking business by now, but he knew the youngster didn't mean anything by his nosiness, and Vince was never angered by the youngster's probing.

"My son's name..." Vince paused, struggling to get out the words, "His name was Brian. He was six years old."

"I really hope we can live for a long time."

"So do I, Kyle." Vince felt for the youngster, and it broke his heart that hundreds of thousands of children had lost their lives during the outbreak. "What's your biggest fear?"

"Being hungry."

"We have plenty here."

"What happens when we run out?"

"For now," Vince was glaring at the boy, "we're okay."

Kyle looked up, thinking of another query to fire at this strange-looking man. "Do you think we could always do with some more, just in case?"

Vince was lost in contemplation, and thought about the abandoned food in the house and hangar.

Kyle had a point.