Snatchers (Book 7): The Dead Don't Yield (13 page)

Chapter Twenty Six

He knew that the further he walked into the woodland, the harder it would be for his friends to find him if they came out looking for him, which he hoped they didn't. He didn't want others putting themselves at risk for him. Initially he had informed them that he would meet them back at the camp, but with him missing for the night, Bentley knew that they'd be a good chance that they were out searching.

He was aware that once he found a main road, he could use that and the signage to get himself back to Rugeley, but at the moment he was lost. In the old world, the sounds of vehicles would tell a lost individual that there was a road up ahead, but there were hardly any vehicles around anymore, and if he did finally reach a road, it was going to be down to luck and persistence.

He veered left and thought that heading north would just get him deeper and deeper into the humid woods. He had no bag of supplies with him, so he needed to get back as soon as possible before he died of dehydration.

This part of Cannock Chase was alien to Bentley, in fact most of it was, and had no idea if any waterfalls, bridges, cabins or ponds could be up ahead. He was walking into the unknown. He patted the front of his trousers to make sure his Glock 17 was still there, and puffed out a stress-filled sigh when he saw that he had to go through a cluster of trees that were in front of him.

He pushed his way through and eventually hit a dirt path. The scene was greeted with a welcome relief by Bentley, as the trees were now spaced out and he could see up ahead. Still plagued with paranoia he looked all around whilst he was walking, and could see one in the distance, up ahead, but Bentley was untroubled by this.

He could handle one. It was when they were in their gangs it was time to worry.

His mind then began to think about the strange incident at the stream. Who was that person dressed in the black waterproof poncho, and why did they go out of their way to help him...twice? It didn't make sense. And where were they now?

He shook off these thoughts and pulled out his gun to remove the sole creature up ahead. Maybe that was a bad idea. He put his gun back and looked around for some kind of thick branch. He eventually found something sufficient and was only yards away from the fiend. In its previous life it looked to be a man, possibly in his thirties, but it was now dead, rotten, and its features were so hideous that this was possibly the worst one Bentley had clocked his eyes on.

Its right cheek had been torn away; the eye on the same side was missing from its socket, and its bottom lip was hanging off as if it had bitten into it. Bentley drew the branch back and took a swing at the side of its head. It fell to the floor, but it wasn't dead...yet. He could see that inside the exposed cheek was hundreds of maggots, all wriggling around as if they were on speed, devouring the dead flesh that was on offer.

Bentley turned to the side and threw up, taking himself by surprise, then brought the heel of his boot down onto its face. Its demise was a messy affair, and Bentley wiped the dark gunk and diseased brain matter from his heel on the bracken.

He walked away from the minor carnage and headed down the path. His dry tongue investigated the roof of his mouth and could feel the wrinkles there—a sign of dehydration. He needed to come across another stream and wet the inside of his body. He had no idea where this dirt path was going to lead, but he knew it couldn't go on forever and must come to an end at some point.

He could feel his legs weakening and recognised that with little food and water in his system, especially for such a large man, he was going to weaken quickly. He needed to get back to the camp. He couldn't cope with another day out here. His knees buckled as he stumbled down a hole and fell to the floor. "Fuck."

He picked himself up and continued to stagger. The sweat poured down his back, soaking the hairs just above his backside, and the perspiration was also streaming out of his head with most of it being soaked up by his thick eyebrows and some of it stinging his eyes. His body couldn't cope with this much longer, he thought. Losing water from his body, but not putting any water back into his system was a recipe for disaster.

To the side of him he heard the snap of a branch, but as he scanned the area he couldn't see a soul in sight.

Another snap could be heard from behind, and he twisted his head round and gasped simultaneously. "Who's there?" he said.

There was no answer, and Bentley Drummle could feel his heart gallop to a higher rate than what he would have liked. He tried again. "Is there anybody there? I mean you no harm." He kept his gun tucked away...for now.

He gave up and continued to stumble along the path, now with a headache from hell. He rubbed at his temples, but knew it was a futile attempt to ease the smarting. It was water that he needed.

He took another look around and could see the whole area was completely clear. He decided to have a rest for a few minutes. He staggered over to a large tree and sat down against it. He wiped his brow with his forearm and took out
Glen
and rested it on his lap. He then leaned his head back and closed his eyes, aching for a stray breeze to cool his frame down, but it never came. His eyes remained closed until a rustle could be heard.

"Give me a break."

Bentley opened his eyes and could see a ghoul stumbling out of the plantation, opposite him. Huffing with anger, he got to his weary feet and shook his head in exasperation. He was too tired for this shit.

With little energy in him, he raised his gun and put it down with a single shot. The back of its head spat out dark blood as it fell to the floor in a heap. He knew it was a stupid thing to do, but he was exhausted. He moved away, once again, and told himself that he'd walk for another ten minutes and rest again. His throat was now so dry that it ached, and saliva was non-existent.

His walk was tiresome and after ten minutes there was still no sign of a road or the woods thinning out. There was no sound of water either, and Bentley was close to tears. He reached a more spacious part of the woods where the trees were less, and were so spaced out that he could see for hundreds of yards from all around. His legs were killing him, and he needed to rest them, even if it was for a few minutes.

Once more he sat down and rested his back against the tree trunk. His heavy eyes were stinging and he closed them once again. This time a stray breeze
did
caress his face and it felt glorious. The wind whispered into his ears and he smiled to himself until a crack could be heard.

Not again.

He opened his eyes and could see a figure standing ten yards in front of him, five-five in height, with the hood of the black waterproof poncho up, and shades covering the eyes. The shape was carrying a crowbar in its right hand, had a bag on its back, and the bow was sticking out from the individual's back, the string across their chest.

Despite the small frame it was a menacing sight to behold, and Bentley wasn't sure he was hallucinating due to dehydration. He licked his arid lips and said in a hoarse tone, "Hello."

"You look lost." The figure spoke up. It was a female voice, a young female voice.

"I am."

"Want to join me for dinner?" She used both hands to reach for the hood and slowly brought it down, then took off the shades.

Once she revealed her face, Bentley gasped and said, "Jesus. You're no older than fifteen."

"I'm fourteen." She held out her hand. "Come with me."

Chapter Twenty Seven

"I was once accused of stealing underwear from the neighbour's washing line, did you know that?" Vince Kindl was walking next to Sheryl and hadn't shut up for the last five minutes. He was beginning to get on Sheryl's nerves as the group continued with their walk in the woods.

"Is that right?" she said with gritted teeth.

"It is," Vince said. "When she came round and knocked on my door, I nearly shat her pants."

Lee shook his head and began to giggle to himself. "You still using your old jokes, Vince?"

"Old ones are the best."

Vince glared at Sheryl and could see that her face never cracked a smile. He added, "I went to a tampon convention a few months ago. I struggled to get tickets, but I managed to pull a few strings."

Sheryl sighed, "I'd give up now, if I were you."

Vince dropped back and walked beside Pickle, leaving Sheryl to walk alongside Lee James. "Well, she's a bundle of laughs. I even tried to use the old Kindl charm."

"Maybe that's where yer fucked up," cackled Pickle.

"We better find Bentley soon. Otherwise, this is gonna be a long day."

"I thought yer liked being away from the camp. Make yer mind up."

Vince nodded in Sheryl's direction and whispered, "It depends on the company."

Lee and Sheryl were strolling in front of Pickle, and Lee asked if she was okay. She had been through a lot in the last day or so.

"Yes, I am," Sheryl snapped. "I wish you'd stop asking me that."

"I'm just concerned, that's all." Lee stroked his dark thin beard and gave her an apologetic look that she didn't see.

"Well don't be."

Sheryl walked with her heavy boots and was wearing her green combats, and on this particular day had changed into a V-neck black T-shirt. Her hair looked like it hadn't been washed in days, but vanity was something that the twenty-nine-year-old never bothered with back in the old world before the day of reckoning, so she wasn't too bothered now about how she looked. She knew she was average-looking, she always had been, and despite having a figure to die for she rarely attracted men that she liked before the apocalypse.

"I'm fucking bored," Vince began to groan.

"God, is he always like this?" Sheryl huffed and glared at Lee for an answer. "He's like a child."

"No." Pickle spoke up from behind, beating Lee to it. "Sometimes he can be a
real
pain in the arse."

"And he's not now?" Sheryl shook her head.

"Er, guys." Vince began to cough to get their attention. "I
am
still here, you know."

"There's something up ahead!" Lee called out and nodded forward.

"What is it?" Sheryl asked.

"It's the Rawnsley Bridge." Pickle was the first to speak. "I'm not an expert with these woods, but years ago there used to be a nature trail further up. It might still be there."

"I know it." Vince nodded. "I think I remember coming up here and doing this at school, and that was nearly thirty years ago. As soon as you cross the bridge there's a path that splits into two. One path goes into the Hednesford area, and the other, the one on the right, goes deeper towards the town of Cannock."

"Right, let's stop." Sheryl held both her hands up and said, "This is ridiculous. We're heading further and further away from where we parked the truck."

"This is the only way that Bentley could have gone," Pickle protested.

"But he's one man."

"I've known Bentley for years. He's a good man, and I'm not going to give up so soon, now that we're here. We've got hours and hours before it gets dark."

It was Vince's turn to speak up. "Bentley saved Paul and Kyle Dickson. He also picked up Helen Waite when he was heading back into Rugeley. I may not know the man, but he sounds like somebody worth looking for."

"Look," Lee tried to calm everybody down before a fight broke out. "Me and Vince have a watch on. Why don't, when we cross, we give ourselves another two hours of looking before having to head back to the car. As soon as those two hours are up, we go back on ourselves."

"I can live with that." Vince nodded in agreement.

"Good." Lee could now see the bridge up ahead and below it was a shallow stream. He pointed past the bridge and announced, "Me and Sheryl will take the left path. You guys can take the right."

"Okay."

"Two hours," Lee reiterated. "No more. You don't wanna be in the dark in these woods. We'll meet you back here in four hours. So it's two hours out there, and it should take you two hours to get back here."

Vince said, "Maybe we should have brought torches."

"Maybe, but there's two reasons why I didn't." Lee held out his forefinger. "One: I was never planning on staying the night." He then stuck two fingers up. "And Two: It would only attract the dead. You could probably see the light of a torch from a mile away."

"He might be back at the camp by the time we've finished looking for him," Sheryl said.

"True." Pickle nodded and screwed his face as if he had just thought of something, and said to Lee. "What happens if one pair o' us turn up at the bridge, but the other pair is still missing?"

"If me and Sheryl come back in four hours and you're not here, then we'll have to go to the camp without you. We can't put ourselves in danger, hanging about in the dark."

"But what happens if
we
get here, and
you
don't turn up?" Vince queried.

"Er." Lee was at a loss for words.

"
You've
got the truck keys."

"I can't leave them in the truck, somebody might come along..." Lee paused and snapped, "Look, it's not gonna come to that anyway." It was clear by Lee's face that this was something that he had never thought of. "Just make sure you're here in four hours, then we go home. If Bentley isn't back at the camp by the time
we
get back, I don't know what we're gonna do."

Asked Pickle, "Yer not gonna go looking for him the next day?"

"I don't know." Lee looked under pressure and seemed to be trying hard to keep his anger in check from all of these queries. "If we're gonna keep going out, taking people with us, using fuel, questions are going to be asked by the locals. This has never happened before. Don't forget, I'm not in charge here. We all are: Me, Sheryl, Gillian, Daniel, Jon, Rick, James, Luke..." Lee paused as soon as he mentioned Luke John's name and lowered his head in sadness. "We may need to vote on this, if we want to go out the next day, to see if people think risking lives for one life is going to be worth it. I know it sounds really harsh..."

"I bet James McDonald will vote no," scoffed Vince and spat on the floor as a fly flew into his mouth.

"It might not come to that," sighed Lee. "Let's see what happens. We'll see you here in four hours."

With their small bags over their shoulders, machetes tucked in their belts, the four individuals walked across the small bridge and could see the yellow arrows pointing to the left, welcoming the visitors to the nature trail. Sheryl and Lee went along the path and Pickle and Vince went on the right path.

All four had been on their paths for around five minutes and already they had disappeared from view. Vince looked at his watch. "We've got three hours and fifty five minutes."

Pickle looked concerned for his ex-inmate. "I hope he's back at the camp."

"And if he's not?"

"Yer have to respect the rules." Sighed Pickle, "If they decide not to go looking for him tomorrow, then we have to accept it."

"Seriously?"

"Vince, if I was lost out here, I wouldn't want the camp to be bringing out these people and wasting fuel for me. I like Bentley, I really do. I've known him for years, but I think Lee does have a good point."