Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) (68 page)

Chapter Twenty Six

Fifteen-year-old David Watkins exited his caravan and left wearing a pair of camouflage combats that he had found in a cupboard, hanging up. A battered and bruised David Chatting had told the youngster earlier that when Vince returned from his garden centre visit, he was going to do two things: He was going to ask Vince if David could take a stint at barrier-duty, and he was also going to teach young David how to handle a shotgun. There wasn't an abundance of cartridges, so shooting practice was out of the question.

David Watkins was pleased when this was announced. He was aware that Vincent hadn't said
yes
yet, but he had already been out there on a run. He may have spent his time on that run hiding in attics and fields with Karen Bradley, and then throwing up on the way back, but he had still been out there. He had plenty of time to toughen up. He was only fifteen.

He was more pleased with the barrier-duty announcement than being taught how to handle a shotgun. He hated those things that they used. They were old farmer shotguns that took only two cartridges at a time. He would have been more excited to handle a 12G Browning Maxus Camo or a 410G Mossberg pump action than the antiques these guys were walking about with. The only thing that excited David more than anything was the revolver back at the farm. That was also fairly old, but it could be
his
if he took one more trip to the farm, alone.

The place was quiet, and he never understood why they didn't take it back with them. Sure, it only had two bullets, but it could come in handy. David then began to fantasise what it would be like to come face-to-face with one of the Rotters on a run. He then envisaged himself coolly pulling out the revolver and putting two slugs in its brain, watching it fall to the ground and hitting the tarmac with a thump.

Just the thought of it made his body shudder with excitement. What he did realise was that they never checked the house—not properly. A revolver with two bullets? There must have been a box of ammo somewhere, surely.

He walked near the hedge and saw to his left two elderly women walking arm-in-arm, Rosemary talking to one of the guards by the Spode Cottage and Kyle Dickson walking through the site with his dad. He continued with his walk and was heading for the left corner of the hedge, where Kyle Dickson had done some damage trying to get to his rat.

He looked around and saw the hole had been patched up. He gave it a kick, then smiled. It wouldn't take much to get through there, he thought. He scanned the camp from where he was standing. It was busy with people walking, talking, and doing their chores.

He was going to have to wait once it got quieter. If ever he got caught, Vince could kick him off of the camp altogether.

Maybe he should forget the idea.

He shook his head. He couldn't forget it. He wanted that gun, and every time he thought about being told off by Pickle, his blood boiled. Pickle said that he was just a kid and that he couldn't even look after a brush, let alone a gun.

"We'll see."

*

Karen bumped into a woman called Rosemary Donald. She was a single woman in her forties, and had been living on the caravan park for years. It was no secret that she and Vince had casual sex every now and again, and had been doing this even before the day of reckoning had arrived.

Despite her terrible taste in men, in Karen's opinion, Rosemary was someone she had talked to on a couple of occasions and enjoyed her company and thought she was funny. Despite being a casual lover of Vince's, she, like Karen, wasn't the biggest fan of men. Karen Bradley had guessed that Rosemary had been stung in the past on a few occasions by men, and going
casual
meant there was no relationship, meaning there was no disappointments for Rosemary anymore.

Rosemary had stepped out of her place, caravan fourteen, and smiled as she saw Karen outside.

"And how are you, missus?" asked Rosemary. "How's the..?" Rosemary pointed at Karen's stomach.

Karen raised her eyebrows and sighed, "It's still there, I think."

"A few more months and you'll be showing."

"I can't wait." There was sarcasm in Karen's voice and Rosemary turned her head to the side, like a dog, and put her hands on her hips. "What's the matter? Come on. Tell Aunt Rosemary."

"If you really wanna know—"

"I do."

Karen huffed, "I'm bored out of my tits."

"It is a dreary life being stuck on here, but I think in a few months' time, it might be safer to go to places."

"Where like?" Karen laughed and brushed her dark hair behind her ears. "Alton Towers? Drayton Manor? Down the town for a few drinks in Bo Jollies or in The Shrew. I think those days are well-gone."

"Alright, ye sarky bugger," Rosemary tittered. "It may take a while to get back to normal, but these things ain't gonna be around forever."

"Their numbers have certainly deteriorated." Karen nodded and added, "But I think that's because we live in an area of small towns and villages, where the places are separated by fields and the woods. We only seem to have pockets of them these days, but that doesn't mean it's like that in places like Bristol, Fife, Swansea, or Warrington."

"Still," Rosemary sat on the step of her caravan, urging Karen to sit next to her, in which she did, "at least we have a good man in Vince. He has been a godsend. When this thing happened he took control, whereas everybody else was running around like headless chickens. He and Claire, God rest her soul, were amazing in the beginning."

"If you say so."

Rosemary looked at Karen. Her dark features made the twenty-three-year-old look Mediterranean, and was a natural beauty that Rosemary envied. "You're not a big fan of Vince, are you?"

"He's okay." Karen was unconvincing. The truth was that the first time she had met him she hated him, but after a few weeks he seemed...just alright.

"He talks about you when we're together." Rosemary began to cackle when she realised what she had said. "I don't mean when we're having sex."

"That's a relief."

"But he talks about you, and has told me about the things you and Pickle have gone through. If I'm not mistaken, I'd say he was in awe of the both of you. especially you, Karen. You're a beautiful young woman, you've lost your family, and you've spent weeks going from one place to the next, killing and running and...
more
killing."

"What's your point?"

"Well, there's a few." Rosemary smiled and stroked the back of Karen's hair like her mother used to, forcing tears to well in the bottom of her Karen's eyes. "You're an amazing person, but embrace being...
bored out of your tits
, as you say. Things could change next month. And as for Vince..."

"What about him?"

"He's misunderstood. When he's out there with the men, he acts all tough, and when he's with the women he comes out with cheeky sexist one-liners that would probably get him fired if he was in the workplace. But he's not all that bad."

"If you say so."

"I mean, don't get me wrong, he's an ugly bugger, but he makes me laugh. What we have is nothing serious; it's just a laugh. Seeing Vince used to keep me sane when I was bored and lonely in the old world, even more so now."

"He's a cheeky bastard. He told me that the best way to start a dishwasher was to start kissing the back of the woman's neck."

"But he doesn't mean anything by it." Rosemary smiled and said further, "I was moaning about my body the other week, and Vince said to me that I looked fine once I was bent over the sink with my knickers pulled to one side."

Karen revealed a thin smile and was lost in thought.

Breaking the silence, Rosemary stood up and asked, "Wanna come inside and get a brew? We can waste an hour gabbing and wait for them to come back from that garden centre."

Karen nodded. "Yeah, thanks."

Chapter Twenty Seven

The fully-loaded truck left the garden centre's car park and Vince peeped the horn at Lee and his friends, who were ready to go inside. The truck turned the corner and onto the main road back into Rugeley. It had been an exhausting hour or so for the three individuals and Vince was complaining of a sore shoulder.

"I'm knackered." Shaz ran her fingers through her sweaty hair, and wound the passenger window down, allowing more air to cool her frame. She sat forwards, as her back was saturated, and wafted her shirt in a desperate effort to cool down and eventually halt the beads of sweat from running down the arch of her back.

"Me too," Pickle announced. "I think I'll need a lie down. That last bag o' charcoal killed ma back."

"A fifteen-minute drive and we'll be there," said Vince. "My stomach thinks my throat's been cut."

Shaz smiled. "Hungry then?"

Vince nodded. "I could eat the scabs off a leper's cock."

"Well, at least we know the Sandy Lane Camp isn't a threat," laughed Shaz.

"Me and my paranoia." Vince nodded his head with a smirk. Despite the aches and pains, it had been a good day—his best day since this thing had started. The truck had been loaded with accessories for the camp, Vince had found out that the nearest camp was no threat and just a group of survivors trying to get on, and his old friend was still breathing. "I can't believe Lee's still alive. I gave up on him."

"I know." Shaz nudged Pickle, informing him that she was going to have some fun with Vince. "For a moment I thought you two were gonna kiss."

"Were you two lovers before?" asked Pickle.

"Very funny." Vince was in too much of a good mood to fall for Pickle and Shaz's teasing. "I'm not into men. Lee's a good friend. I'm glad he's okay."

Pickle pointed up ahead, and said softly, "Look. Up at the roundabout."

They all could see ten beasts spread out over the road. Vince slowed the truck down to see if it was worth going through them. He told Pickle and Shaz, "I don't want to speed up, and I certainly don't want to do any swerving with all that stuff in the back."

He stopped the truck and all three stepped out. The small group immediately spotted them and began stumbling towards the three. The things were almost in two groups. A tall male with a moustache led the group on the left, and a male teenager seemed to be leading a group on the right. It was purely accidental, but it looked comical to Vince. Pickle and Shaz had a more serious look on their faces.

Pickle pointed at the tall ghoul with a moustache. "I'll take care of John Cleese and his crew." He then glared at Vince and pointed to the blonde teenager that stumbled towards them, blood all around its chin, "You can take care of Justin Beiber."

Vince laughed, "With pleasure."

"Er...what about me?" asked Shaz.

Nobody answered her as the men already began to hack away. Shaz joined in alongside Pickle.

Justin was the first to go. Vince's blade went into the side of its head and the thing dropped like a stone. The four behind lunged at Vince and he took another two out, this time stabbing at them and penetrating the skull. Pickle and Shaz had already taken care of the other five, and Pickle ran over to where Vince was standing and swung his blade at one that appeared to be a ten-year-old girl in its former life, decapitating the young beast.

Shaz swiped at the final standing creature and had got her machete stuck in its head. The blade had gone in inches, but it wasn't in enough to kill the monster, and the male creature tried to grab her as she was trying to pull the blade free. She gave up and let it go, and as the Snatcher followed her with the blade still in its head, Vince's blade went into its cranium and straight down the middle. Once it fell to the floor, Shaz had managed to pull her weapon free.

Vince mockingly shook his head at Pickle and Shaz. "Ten of them, and I took six of them out."

"Well done, you," Shaz said with sarcasm, but Pickle never responded.

The ex-inmate walked over to the decapitated head of the ten-year-old girl and noticed that it was still moving, its teeth still gnashing, desperate to eat something despite not being attached to its body anymore.

Pickle poked the tip of the blade in the thing's eyeball, and picked the head up, using the blade. He stared at the thing that used to be someone's daughter, and said, "Poor soul," before ramming its against a brick wall, smashing the head to shit.

He wiped the blade on the small stretch of grass to his right, looked at his two exhausted colleagues, and said with derision, "Well, that was highly enjoyable."

All three went into the truck, Vince fired the engine and pulled away. Eight minutes later, and with no more episodes of horror, all three had arrived safely at the camp.

*

Vince had sat down and rested his tired legs. He was sitting on a wooden bench at the side of the camp and threw his head back and sighed. "That's better." He kicked off his shoes and groaned in delight, welcoming the fresh wind that breathed on his sweaty socks and was cooling down his feet.

His moment of peace was short-lived, and as soon as he heard someone call out his name he muttered an expletive under his breath.

Vince never opened his eyes. He knew who the voice belonged to. It was Gareth Mason, a young guard who was a little clumsy but had a heart of gold. Gareth was twenty-two years old and had a knack of getting on Vince's nerves every now and again. He had turned up alone at the barrier last Thursday. He was still getting used to living on the camp and still mourning the loss of his mother.

Without looking at the young man, Vince spoke, "We were looking for you."

"Me. Why?"

"We arrived about ten minutes ago," said Vince. "We needed a few bodies to help move the stuff we got from the garden centre. It's done now."

"What did you get?" Gareth asked.

"Normal stuff. Barbecues, gas...chainsaw."

"Chainsaw?" guffawed the young man.

"Don't ask." Vince shook his head a little, trying to shake off a headache that had just emerged. It was a lie down that he needed. He was doing too much, on too little sleep. "We'll probably go back in a day or so. That's if there's anything left."

"Great. Maybe I can come next time." Gareth sat next to Vince without asking, and was about to say something to him, but he could see that Vince was exhausted and probably not in the mood.

Gareth tapped a rhythm on his knees, and Vince sighed, "What is it? You're hanging around like a bad smell."

"Nothing."

Vince opened his eyes and glared at the young man. "Either tell me...or go. I've had a hard day, and you're beginning to be a pain in the balls."

"Okay." Gareth began to chew on his bottom lip nervously. He wanted to get something off his chest and, although he was still someone he was scared of, Vince was the best person to ask. He had lived on the camp for years and knew pretty much everybody.

"I'm going to give you one minute to spit it out, then you're getting a slap for pissing me off." Vince folded his arms and gazed at the youngster, waiting.

"Well..." Gareth shifted uncomfortably on his bum. "It's...I..."

"Oh, Jesus Christ! Out with it, for fuck's sake!"

"Caravan nine."

Vincent Kindl was becoming irate with the young man, but was now a little intrigued on what he had to say. "What about caravan nine?"

"There's a girl there with brown hair."

Vince began to laugh. "You have a crush on Jasmine Kelly?"

"A little." Gareth Mason could feel his face reddening, and added, "Do you think she'd go out with me?"

"Go out with you?" Vince was nearly choking with laughter, and he was almost doubled-over with his hands on his stomach. His anger didn't last long. His behaviour was doing Gareth Mason's confidence no favours at all, and Vince calmed down a little and added, "And where would you take her? A walk around the hedge? Along the canal to take the scenic view of Rotters floating in the water?" He continued to mock,
"Look, honey, a severed arm."

Ignoring Vince's ribbing, the young man said, "How old is she?"

With more calm in his voice, Vince answered, "I don't really know her. She's Gail's daughter, but I know she's nearly eighteen. I'd forget it if I were you."

"I just wanted to hang out with her, that's all," the twenty-two-year-old spoke defensively.

"You do what you want?" Vince rubbed his hands over his face. "I don't give two shits what you do."

"I wanted some advice."

Vince muttered, "Give me strength."

"I spoke to her the other day..."

Vince leaned back against the bench and put his hands behind his head. "And?"

"
And
...I think she likes me."

"Great." Vince smirked and said with mockery, "I'm really happy for you."

Gareth began looking into nothingness and a daft smile emerged on his face as he thought about Jasmine Kelly. "She's got this great dark colour to her face, and has some faint hairs on the top of her lip."

"What?" cackled Vince. "You mean she's got a moustache?"

"No," Gareth sighed at Vince's piss-taking. "Just a faint...I don't know."

"A faint Magnum P.I. number?"

"No!"

"Adolf Hitler?"

"Look, I'm gonna go if you're going to make fun of me. I'm just wondering what my next move should be."

"Right," Vince's face suggested that he was finished with his mocking, and said to the youngster, "You need to put the groundwork in."

Gareth looked confused and asked, "What does that mean?"

"I mean: talk to her, get to know her. Then see what happens in the future."

"Really? And what do you think will happen after that?"

"Shit, I don't know. You can't just talk to her a couple of times and expect her to drop her trousers, bend over her dining table, pull her knickers down and say:
Come on, big G. Please take me roughly from behind
."

"I don't think I would like that anyway." Gareth now looked confused. "Well, I suppose it would be alright."

"Try and make her laugh." Vince looked down at the grass and checked the soles of his shoes. "Women love it when men make them laugh. Laugh them into bed, but don't laugh them out."

Gareth paused for thought and scrunched his eyes. He then slowly nodded the once and said to himself. "Make her laugh. I think I could do that. I've got a couple of jokes."

Vince rubbed his face and sighed, "Really? Try me."

"Okay." Gareth released some air slowly out of his mouth and was beginning to become nervous in Vince's company. He began, "A guy walks into a local pharmacy and up to the counter where a lady pharmacist is filling prescriptions. When she finally gets around to helping him, he says,
I'd like ninety-nine condoms, please
. The female pharmacist looks shocked and says,
Fuck me.
The guy then shrugs his shoulders and says,
Okay, better make it a hundred
."

"And is that the best you've got?"

Gareth nodded, embarrassed that his favourite joke didn't even force a smile from Vince Kindl.

"Okay." Vince looked at the youngster. "Forget about the jokes and just be yourself. Don't try too hard. Okay?"

"I'm also worried..."

Vince sighed impatiently, "About what?" Was this pest ever going to go away?

"Well..." The young man blushed a rosy colour and stammered, "About my...my performance."

"Calm down. You haven't even asked her out yet." Vince shook his head at Gareth who was getting ahead of himself. He placed his hand on his chest and said, "Every man is different. All I can say is that for me, Mr Winkle is a bit like a toaster: He never pops up if the crumpet is too fat."

Staring at him blankly, ignoring his crass comment, Gareth added, "And I'm worried about my..."

"Your size?"

Gareth nodded. "I suppose you're going to tell me how well hung you are."

"I never brag." Vince wagged his finger at Gareth, now having some fun with him. "It's just one of my many, many outstanding features."

"So what do I do?"

"Whatever you do," warned Vince, now gently poking Gareth in the chest with his forefinger. "
If
you get lucky, don't make your first time forgettable."

"How do you know I'm a virgin?"

"Seriously?"

Gareth didn't even bother to protest. Vince could see right through him. "Okay. So if she likes me, and..." Gareth was confused on what to say next.

Vince puffed out his cheeks in exasperation. "If ever in the future you get to do the deed with young Jasmine, which I doubt, just make sure you crack one off before it happens."

"While she's there?"

"No, you fuckwit," laughed Vince. "Jesus. I mean on the day it is about to happen. Try and smash out a load before you go and plunder her depths, otherwise you'll end up blowing a load in your briefs, and there's no escape on the camp if you're an early squirter. You'll be a laughing stock. Not only that, we'll need a welder to remove your pants."