Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) (75 page)

Chapter Forty Two

Ten more minutes had passed and Shaz was carried to her caravan by a tearful Karen and a battered and bruised David Chatting. Shaz was placed on the settee and was sitting up. She was as comfortable as any one could be in her position, and was handed a scrunched up tea towel by Karen to press against the wound on her shoulder. It seemed a little pointless doing this, as both women knew what the eventual outcome was going to be, but it was done anyway.

"Has anyone seen Pickle or Vince?" Karen asked David, while attending to her friend.

"I'll go and look for them." David Chatting left the room, shut the main door behind him, and left the two girls alone.

Karen stared at Sharon Bailey. Her face was pale and her eyes bloodshot.

Karen wept, "I can't believe it's happened. After all we've been through in the last three weeks."

Shaz was bravely smiling and shivered when she said, "It is what it is. No point dwelling on it now."

"No point dwelling on it?" Karen's eyes were soaked and added, "If only I'd—"

"Don't start that
if only
crap, Karen. Nobody is to blame."

Karen placed her hand on top of Shaz's hands that were resting on her lap, and scanned around the caravan they had been sharing. "It seems quiet." Shaz never responded, and Karen continued, "Maybe it's all over now."

Shaz sighed sadly, "I don't think it'll ever be over. Although it is for me."

"Please don't talk like that."

"It's true." Shaz wasn't feeling sorry for herself, she had already accepted that her life was coming to a close. "Look, when I go, somebody is gonna have to put me away."

Karen stared at Shaz for a few seconds that seemed like a lifetime. She eventually said, reluctantly, "I'll do it."

"I didn't want to ask you. I wouldn't want to put that pressure on you."

"I'll
do
it."

"It doesn't matter who does it, I'll be gone anyway."

Karen placed her hands on Shaz's cheeks and more saltwater spewed from the bottom of her eyes. "You are so bloody brave."

Shaz smiled, her eyes squinted a little as she began to weaken. "It's been a pleasure knowing you, Karen Bradley."

"And you, Shaz."

"I want you to promise me something."

"What?"

"I know we discussed this a while back, and sometimes it's difficult to avoid these things..."

"What is it?"

Shaz smiled thinly, her face was slowly turning the same colour as snow, and pointed at Karen's tummy. "Try and keep that baby safe."

"I will. I won't have much of a choice come December, I'll be waddling by then and I won't be allowed to go anywhere."

Shaz smiled, but it couldn't hide the sadness in her face. "I'm going to miss that."

"I'm sorry. I never meant..."

Shaz raised her left arm up and went to touch her friend's face, but she paused when she had noticed something. "Where's my bracelet?"

"What?" Karen looked perplexed.

There was pain in Shaz's face and said, "I've lost my bracelet. The one that Spencer made me."

Karen was confused that, considering the situation she was in, Shaz was concerned about some bracelet.

"It's okay." Karen could see that Shaz was becoming hysterical. "We'll find it. Stop freaking out about it."

"I want to be wearing it when I..."

"Maybe you lost it outside, when...you know..."

Shaz placed her hand over her mouth. Karen knew this reaction. She had seen it many times before when working in the accident and emergency department. Karen ran over to the sink to grab a bucket, and made it back in time for Shaz to spew in it. A mixture of vomit and blood left her mouth in a sudden gush, and once she was finished she fell back against the settee.

Shaz grabbed Karen by her sleeve and begged, "Will you look for it? I want to be wearing it when I'm buried."

"When you're...buried?"

Shaz nodded.

"Okay." Karen stood up and headed for the main door. "You keep applying pressure to that wound."

"What's the point?"

"Just do it."

Karen carefully peered outside once the door was opened and stepped out into the deathly silence. Ignoring the body of Shaz's decapitated attacker to her left, Karen began scanning along the grass. "This is madness," she muttered.

Her eyes were suddenly attracted to two figures that appeared from around the corner. For a brief second she panicked, until she could see that the figures were Harry Branston and Vincent Kindl.

"It's clear," Pickle announced to Karen. "There isn't a single one o' those things left on the camp."

"It's going to take all day to...clear up," said Vince, sadly. "And we're gonna have to find out quick where they've come from. If there's a weak area in the camp, we need to fix it."

Karen didn't say anything to the men, she just broke down and Pickle ran over to her and held her as she fell apart. Vince knew there was something wrong with Shaz and slowly walked by the two friends that were embracing, and stepped into the caravan.

He entered the living room and his heart galloped when he saw the state of Shaz. Vince had always played the tough guy since the outbreak—somebody needed to be strong, or at least look like they were strong—and felt that his hard exterior was being damaged as the weeks went by. He took it hard when Claire had died, and more so when Jack passed away. Now Shaz was next, and Vince felt emotional looking at the poor woman. She had lost her husband and son over a month ago.

She didn't deserve this.

"What happened?" It's all that Vince could think of to say.

"Got taken by surprise," Shaz mumbled, her face was turning an ivory colour. "It's deep," Shaz sniffed. "The bleeding isn't as bad as you would think, but..."

Vince nodded.

Shaz never finished her sentence, but he knew that she was going to say that whatever the state of the wound, a bite was a bite. Seeing Shaz sitting up, looking pale and weak, reminded him of what Jack had to go through two weeks ago. At the time, Jack was scared and broke down, but Shaz seemed to be more valiant.

"I need you to find my bracelet," she said.

"I'm sorry?" Vince wasn't sure if she was hallucinating or not.

"The bracelet that Spencer made me. I lost it."

"Don't worry. We'll find it. I promise."

Outside there was bodies of the contaminated scattered about with their heads smashed to bits, people still scared and hiding in their caravans, and members of the camp that were now dead and had experienced an awful death. Vince didn't have the heart to tell a dying Sharon Bailey that her bracelet was the least of his worries, but had promised her that he would go and find it after he had left the caravan.

Karen and Pickle walked in. As they walked in, Vince left and told them what he was doing.

"You better get someone to see how John Waite's doing," Karen said to Vince. "It was seeing to that old fucker that got Shaz bit in the first place."

"It's not his fault," Shaz intervened, her words were almost a whisper. "You can't blame him."

As Vince left, Karen and Pickle approached Shaz and could see that she didn't have long to go. Karen noticed that Shaz was weakening and wasn't holding the towel to the wound anymore. Karen never re-applied pressure to it and could see that the bleeding wasn't too bad.

She sat next to Shaz and held her hand. Pickle could do nothing but stare at the poor woman. All three sat in silence, and Karen peeked at Pickle who was shell-shocked. He noticed Karen's stare, turned away and lowered his head. He began to pray softly while Karen held Shaz's clammy hand.

Sharon Bailey had now closed her eyes and passed out.

She was still alive, but not for long.

*

David Chatting was in tears as he trudged by the smouldering caravan. He took a quick peep at the place and could see that the front had burned away and could see, what used to be the living room area, the two elderly ladies huddled together, burnt to death, and their charcoal bodies were fused together from the intense heat. That wasn't the worst of it for David Chatting.

It had been over forty minutes since it had happened and for a while he wondered where his pal, Robin Barton, had got to. Once he approached the body of Robin and his chainsaw wound, he began to cry. While sobbing, David Chatting also could see through blurry eyes a score of dead bodies near Robin's body. He guessed correctly that they were the contaminated beings that had managed to sneak in, and their demise was down to Vince, Pickle, Karen, Shaz, as well as Robin, judging by some of the wounds.

Still grasping his shotgun, he checked with his other hand how many cartridges he had left. He had only used the gun three times and had taken out two of those things. It appeared that most of them had been slaughtered round at the back of the camp.

He looked behind him and wondered about the future.
Was
there a future?

He touched his face and winced with pain. He had taken some beating from Pickle, and had to admit to himself, once the dust had settled, that he fully deserved it. His behaviour and what he said was out of character, and he had never been in a fight before, let alone slandered somebody about their sexual preference. This whole apocalypse saga was screwing with him; he was convinced that he wasn't cut out for this changing world, but who was?

He continued to walk around the field and saw bodies. All three were unrecognisable and he had no idea who they were. Maybe if he got closer he'd be able to see who they were, but he didn't. He had seen enough.

He went to the Spode Cottage with heavy feet and could see that the place was eerily quiet. The animals in the pens had remained where they were and had been untouched and carried on sleeping as if nothing had happened, and he could see only four people meandering around the site.

David was one of the very few individuals that was allowed a key for the Spode Cottage. Now, it was a place that was used for storage, but back in the old days, it was a pub/restaurant. It was only seven months ago he had gone to the Spode Cottage for his Christmas meal with his sister, mum and dad. All three were now dead.

As soon as he let himself into the establishment, he closed the door behind him, still clutching onto his shotgun with his right hand. His sobbing had ceased, and tried the door to the cellar. Sometimes Vince would leave it unlocked. In this case it was locked, so David pulled out another key from the chain hanging from his belt, and opened the cellar door. David walked in and went to the bottom of the concrete steps.

He sighed, sat down on the cold, hard floor, then put both barrels in his mouth.

Chapter Forty Three

Her feet strolled on the same dirt path that she and Carla used to take before Jack was born. Her soles were becoming a little sore, but she tried to ignore the pain and looked out for the tree—not just any tree, but
the
tree.

Helen Waite had only entered the woods a few minutes ago and already could feel a chill. The trees had their uses when it came to sheltering an individual from the pouring rain, but they also shielded her from the sun and were unable to stop the sneaky wind from filtering through.

She could hear a stream up ahead and knew that she was near.

Her feet continued to drag through the dirt path, and she thought that she should give her aching feet a break and walk through the soft bracken that was on either side of her, inbetween the trees. Paranoid of adders, as well as spring-coil animal traps that could have been lying dormant for months, she decided to stick to the path that was now hurting her bare feet.

She walked for another minute and saw the apple tree by the brook.

She was near.

She hadn't been to this area in over a year, but she remembered that to the left of the apple tree was a ten yard walk before she got to, what they called,
their
tree.

She had made it, and it was still there.

Helen dropped to her knees and felt the engraving into the wood with the tips of her fingers. Her eyes began to fill up and she could see the carved heart into the bark with
I love you, Carla
engraved inside of the heart. Ever since she was a baby, Helen took her daughter up to the woods with her pushchair, and also for walks when she got older.

This seemed the perfect place to die.

She held out her wrist and placed the knife across it. She couldn't do it. She threw her head back and sobbed, stuck the knife into the ground and decided to close her eyes once she had calmed down.

It wasn't planned, but the exhausted woman had fallen asleep.

*

Her eyes opened as soon as she heard the groan of an engine. She struggled to her feet, unaware how far the vehicle was. She was unsure if it was coming her way, or had already passed by. She looked at the engraving that had been made and touched it with her fingers. She had decided that she wanted to live, or at least give it a go and see what happens.

She began walking briskly through the woods, in the direction of the noise, and finally managed to reach the edge of the area and step out onto the tarmac. It was early morning, she could tell, but she didn't know
how
early, or if the individual or individuals, that she was convinced were now heading her way, were friendly.

A black Mitsubishi jeep came around the bend and Helen Waite stepped out and put both her hands in the air as if she was praising Jesus. She closed her eyes, expecting the vehicle to zoom past her, but she could hear from the noise of the engine that it was beginning to slow down.

She looked inside the parked jeep to see one figure inside it. It was a man, a muscular man with dark hair. She opened the passenger door and peered inside.

"It's okay." The man smiled and seemed a genuine nice person. "Unlike those things out there,
I
won't bite."

Showing no emotion on her face or saying a word of thanks, she stepped inside and sat on the passenger seat, closing the door. The man drove away and didn't seem miffed that this woman seemed ungrateful. He could tell by her face that she had, like many others, been through the mill with this devastation that had rocked the country. He then noticed that the woman was wearing no shoes, which further proved that she may have lost her mind, albeit temporarily.

"So what's your story?" He felt he needed to break the ice in some way, despite the question leading to possible upsetting reminders of what the woman had gone through.

At first she didn't answer, and the driver was happy just to leave it at that, but she eventually spoke. "I lost my daughter and baby boy."

"Shit. Sorry." The man took a left at a junction. "Where you headed?"

"Nowhere. I don't know."

The man chuckled, "Looks like we're going to the same place." He then cleared his throat and took on a more serious tone to his voice. "I lost my partner only yesterday. I thought I was a clever bastard, but obviously not clever enough. I had a set-up in the woods. I thought it was perfect, but we woke up during the night to find our place was surrounded by those fuckers. We had barbed wire around the place and everything, but it only stopped a few."

There was no response from Helen, and the man had now passed the Wolseley Arms pub, went across two small roundabouts, and went onto the Rugeley Road, passing the Wyevale Garden Centre on the left.

The man continued, "I was going to head into Little Haywood, but I've heard of a few camps in Rugeley, so that's where I'm going. I..."

The man took a look to his left and began to smile. The woman seemed to be in a daydream and the man cleared his throat, startling the woman and forcing her out of her fantasy.

She asked, "What's the matter?"

"You haven't been listening to a word I've been saying, have you?"

She paused for thought, then turned away from the driver and began staring out of the window again, not even asking where they were going and why they were going there. "I'm sorry."

"That's okay." He shook his head and thought about someone that brought tears to his eyes. "And my Laura always used to say that it was
men
that never listened."

"Who's Laura?"

"My partner." The man cracked a smile. "She was attacked when they surrounded us in the woods."

She stopped looking outside, watching the trees and bushes whizzing past, and turned to look at her driver. "I don't get it. What were you doing in the woods?"

"Wow. You really haven't been listening to a single word."

"I'm sorry." She glared out at the front, and added, "I haven't been with it recently." She looked down to her dirty bare feet and it took a while for her brain to acknowledge that she had left the house barefooted.

The man asked, "What's your name?"

She remained glaring and suddenly asked, "Where are you going? Rugeley?"

The man nodded. "Is there a specific place you want me to drop you off?"

She shook her head, her face still devoid of any emotion. "If we're going this way, I suppose it'd be good to see my dad. If he's alive."

"Where does he stay?"

"Spode Cottage. The campsite."

"So what's your name?" The man had decided to ask for a second time, hoping for an answer this time around.

This time she responded, "My name's Helen Waite."

"Pleased to meet you, Helen Waite."

Helen Waite turned to the driver and asked, "What's yours?"

"I'm Bentley Drummle."