Snatchers (Book 8): The Dead Don't Pray (7 page)

Chapter Fourteen

He looked up to the cloudless sky and shaded his eyes with his free hand, whilst holding the shotgun with his other. It was a glorious day and Paul Dickson wondered how warm it was on this Sunday morning. Twenty-two ... twenty-four degrees?

He guessed that Kyle had been away for around five minutes and wondered what was keeping him. He looked over and could see Karen Bradley heading towards him. She gave him a wave and he waved back, now walking across the field to meet her.

"Have you seen Daniel?" Karen called over. "He's supposed to be doing perimeter duty on the other side of the camp."

"I never passed him on my travels."

"I thought you could both do with something to drink." Karen had two bottles of water, one in each pocket. "One for you and one for Daniel, wherever
he
is." She could see that Paul's mind was elsewhere and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Kyle's been gone a while." Paul nodded over in the direction where the changing rooms were, but Karen never looked. "I'm gonna go check."

"Kyle?" Karen was baffled and had no clue what he was talking about. "What are you on about?"

"Rosemary brought Kyle over because he was upset. He walked with me for a bit, but then needed a pee."

"Where did he go?"

"Over at the changing rooms."

"Are you joking?" Karen shook her head. "It stinks in there. Pickle went in once and said he'd never go in there again."

"I told him to just go on the grass, by the fence, but he was embarrassed. He wouldn't even let me walk him to the changing rooms."

"He's very independent for a seven-year-old."

Paul smiled and nodded. "He's like his mother." He then looked up and pointed over at the door, his eyes widened with horror. Was he seeing things? He jogged a few yards across the field, Karen followed, and could see the changing room door more clearer now. "Shit!"

"What is it?" Karen was unsure why Paul Dickson was in such a panic.

"The ... the door's shut. I told him to keep the door open. It's pitch black in there."

Both Paul and Karen ran over towards the changing room's door. "Poor mite," panted Karen, a few yards behind Paul. "He'll be scared to death. There's no windows in there."

"I told him to keep it open."

Paul opened the door and pushed it open as wide as it could get, spilling daylight into parts of the room. Karen quickly turned away from the door and felt sick from the smell that hit them both. The foul stench also tortured Paul's nose, but his concern for his seven-year-old son was more of a worry for him.
Poor thing's probably frightened to death being alone in the dark, unable to find the door to get out
. His face then twitched as he took in a deeper breath.
Jesus, it stinks in here
.

"Kyle!" Paul called out, coughing a little. "Kyle!"

Paul and Karen both stepped inside. Paul, holding the shotgun loosely in his right hand, constantly called out Kyle's name, but there was no response. He wasn't by the urinals, and Karen began checking under the cubicles, but nothing was there. She stood to her feet, and said, "There's only the shower area to check. Maybe he's gone home."

Paul and Karen both had their T-shirts over their noses as they walked into the shower area, and Karen peered her head round to look in. She suddenly released a scream.

Paul barged past Karen, and felt his knees buckle once his eyes clocked the macabre and surreal sight of one of the dead, sitting down on the shower floor and stuffing entrails from a body into its mouth. His knees began to buckle and his face drained. The thing was aware that other entities were in the room, but the 'meal' he was enjoying appeared to be too good to be dragged away from.

"Oh no. Oh Paul." Karen sobbed over and over again.

It hadn't sank in just yet for Paul Dickson, but as soon as the sitting beast put its hands inside the torso of the little body once more, he dropped the shotgun and his whole body shuddered.

He took a step forward, but Karen held him back and gently pushed him out of the shower area. He fought back, and re-entered the area to help his boy, despite him being
beyond
help, and clocked the awful sight of little Kyle's body and his bloody face, his hazel eyes wide open. The body was still intact, but another few minutes and his little boy would be torn apart by this dead bastard.

Karen picked up the shotgun off the floor, went over, and front-kicked the creature off the body. She walked around and grabbed the snarling beast by its hand and pulled it across the floor with her left, whilst holding the shotgun with her right. It grabbed her ankle as it writhed on the floor, still chewing parts of Kyle, and she gave it a smack in the face with the butt of the gun, turned it around, and emptied a shell into its face.

Its face exploded; the contents were spread over the floor. The noise was deafening, both Paul and Karen's ears were ringing, and she dropped the gun to the floor next to the mushy brains that had been forced out of the creature's head. She took a quick peep of the remains of young Kyle Dickson, his belly had almost been emptied, and sobbed as she went back over to the shell-shocked father who was still standing at the end of the shower area, unsure what to do.

"Don't look!" she cried, again, pushing him back, away from the shower area. "You don't need to see this. You don't need to see this."

Paul walked backwards until his back was against the tiled wall of the changing room. Tears streamed down at a furious rate and his face wobbled. He slowly slid down, sobbing uncontrollably because he had lost his son. His strawberry blonde hair would never be sniffed again by his father. Paul would never get the chance to look into Kyle's hazel eyes, or wake up next to him anymore. And Paul's elbow would never be pinched and twisted again by his little man, the way Kyle used to whenever he was nervous.

Once he finished sliding down the wall, his bum reaching the floor, he tucked his legs into his chest and lowered his head. Karen cried for him, cried for the broken man that she had grown fond of.

"How did it get in?" Karen kept on repeating.

Paul Dickson was in no fit state to try and answer her question. He was engulfed with pain and grief, and couldn't believe he had lost his little man. He always said that without Kyle, with Julie and Bell dead, there'd be no reason for him to continue living.

"My little boy!" he cried. "My big chap. I'm sorry Julie. I'm so, so sorry."

"It's not your fault." Karen hopelessly tried to appease the devastated, guilt-ridden man, but her words of comfort were too early to make a difference.

Karen staggered over to Paul and sat down next to him. She put her arm around him and kissed him on his tear-stained cheek. She gazed at the broken guy and felt helpless. She then turned to face away from him, and both heads touched each other as they hugged and cried together.

"What am I gonna do now, Karen?" Paul sobbed, his frame shuddered. "What am I gonna do my without my little boy?"

Karen shook her head, still baffled.
How did it get in?

They both sat and cried for another thirty seconds before Daniel Badcock, Jon Talbot and a farmer they had never seen before, turned up to witness the carnage for themselves. All had heard the shotgun blast. The farmer immediately threw up, Daniel Badcock gazed in shock, and Jon Talbot broke down.

Five minutes later, Paul and Karen finally left the area and went to her house. Daniel had taken control of the situation and told Jon to spread the word what had happened, and that the changing room was now out of bounds until they could figure out what they were going to do with Kyle Dickson's remains.

Chapter Fifteen

Pickle, Lee, Bentley and Rick sat in silence for the rest of the journey there. Only five of the dead were seen with their eyes for the remainder of the trip, and despite Lee warning them beforehand that Lichfield was swarming with the dead the last time he was on a run a few weeks ago, it appeared that, so far, the place was no more inhabited with the contaminated creatures than Rugeley.

The red pickup truck turned left into a car park of the supermarket. They could see that few cars existed, and half a dozen of the fiends were scattered around, shambling in their dead world. To their left was the large forecourt that was a part of the supermarket business, and, true to his word, the new guy was right. The tanker stood motionless at the end of the fuel pumps, near the kiosk.

All four men got out and had a scan around.

"I'll check it out." Lee jogged over to the tanker and tried the door. To his surprise it opened, and once he peered inside his face went from baffled to delight in three seconds. Lee James began to laugh uncontrollably, which made Pickle, Bentley and Rick stare at one another. All three men were perplexed.

"Somethin' yer wanna share with us?" Pickle spoke up.

Now sitting in the cab of the vehicle, door wide open, Lee beckoned the men to come over and take a look for themselves. They walked over, and looked up to see inside the cab. Lee pointed at the dashboard, still giggling to himself like a child. The keys had been left in the ignition.

"I don't believe it." Bentley joined in with the laughter.

Pickle smiled, and Rick had the original expression on his face that Lee had. He was completely baffled how this large slice of luck had occurred. Luck was something that they wasn't used to.

"Well, that's a turn up for the comics," said Rick with a straight face.

"We won't be needing the empty barrels in the back of the truck if we have the tanker," said Lee.

"So what do you wanna do?" asked Bentley.

"I'll drive the tanker back," said Lee. "The rest of you can go back in the pickup."

"Seems a bit daft to go home with a load of empty barrels when we're just a hundred yards away from a supermarket." Bentley scratched at his neck in thought, and made the suggestion, "We could fill the barrels."

"What with?" Lee smiled, stroking his dark thin beard. "There'll be nothing left in that supermarket."

Pickle said, backing Bentley, "Only one way to find out."

"I suppose you can never have too many supplies," Lee sighed in defeat, knowing that Pickle had a point. He took the keys out of the tanker's ignition and put them into his pocket.

Lee then jumped out of the vehicle, and went over to the back of the pickup. He handed the guys a shotgun each. "Just in case." He then nodded over to the beasts that were staggering around the car park. "Use the butt of the guns for the ones that are outside. We don't wanna be attracting any more from afar."

"Yes, we know what we're doing." Pickle seemed agitated by Lee's patronising.

"We've done this before," Bentley gently mocked.

"Bentley and Pickle are more knowledgeable than
us
with these things." Rick was also amused at Lee's patronising. "You don't tell your granny how to suck mints."

"It's
eggs
," Lee huffed. "You don't tell your granny how to suck
eggs
. Stupid prick." Lee then turned to Bentley and Pickle. "I hope you've still got your extra cartridges handy."

"Let's just move it," laughed Pickle, putting his hand in his pocket to make sure that the loose cartridges were still there, "before Lee gives us another wee lecture."

"Har-de-fucking-har."

Lee led the way and came into contact with the first ghoul within seconds. He turned the sawn-off around and rammed the hard butt into the face of the thing, putting it permanently down. He continued walking to the entrance of the business and could hear, behind him, Pickle, Bentley and Rick doing the same to many of the creatures that approached them. The men got on his nerves now and again, but he couldn't ask for a better crew to watch his back.

Lee put his T-shirt over his nose as the smell of death hit him once he was inside. He hadn't seen anything yet, but he knew that the supermarket had carnage inside of it. Bentley and Rick did the same, but Pickle didn't bother. They both took a trolley each and went into the establishment further. The trolleys were a little loud when being pushed, and all four decreased their walking speed to reduce the noise of the clattering wheels on the supermarket's floor.

They gazed down the first aisle, where the fruit section was, and could see little fruit. But two bodies—or what was left of them—were lying on the blood-spattered floor.

Pickle felt a shudder as what he was seeing was very familiar; it was a feeling of deja-vu. He remembered the last time he had entered a supermarket. He was with KP, Janine, Jamie, Laz and Grass.

Grass—his real name was Connor Snodgrass—was attacked and eviscerated before everybody's eyes. It was the first time Pickle had seen such bloody destruction, and the screams and images would never be forgotten. He was sure of it.

"Stick together," Pickle whispered. "Don't split up. We don't know what's behind the corner o' every aisle."

"These trolleys are too fucking noisy," Rick spoke up, looking terrified and paranoid that he couldn't see if the establishment was clear or not. Twenty-five aisles that had shelves that were ten feet high made sure of that.

They went by a couple of other aisles—the fish and poultry section—and came across a tinned section. There was still produce there, but only enough for two trolleys, not four. Without saying anything, Pickle ditched his trolley and Bentley did the same. Pickle walked past Lee and Rick, and said, "Yer two push. Me and Bentley will fill."

Lee and Rick got to the centre of the aisle, shotguns sitting in the trolleys, then stopped when Pickle told them to. Pickle and Bentley put their weapons on the floor, and began filling the trolleys with tins of beans, ravioli, spaghetti hoops, tuna, salmon—pretty much everything they could get their hands on. The four men then left the supermarket, without having to be involved with any more killing, and went to the pickup and began unloading the tins into the empty barrels. This process took nearly ten minutes to achieve. Lee headed back to the tanker, whereas the remaining three were about to get back into the pickup.

"Where did
he
come from?" Bentley pointed at the exit of the place where a lone member of the dead shambled towards them.

"We'll just run it down," said Rick, desperate to get out of the place and back to the safety of the Sandy Lane camp.

Pickle turned the shotgun around, and sighed, "It's okay. I've got it."

Lee sat in the tanker, and Bentley and Rick sat in the passenger seat of the pickup, whilst Pickle removed the Snatcher by smashing its head with the handle-end of the gun. Once he did this, he turned around and headed back to the truck, but suddenly stopped by the bonnet. He looked past the vehicle and was staring at the supermarket. Noticing this, Lee wound the window of the tanker down and yelled, "What's up?"

Pickle pointed. "There's somebody on the top floor o' the supermarket. A young girl ... I think."

"A staff member?"

"Maybe."

Pickle never said a word more. He marched back over to the supermarket, gun still in his hand, and Lee jumped out of the truck and went with him. Bentley stuck his head out of the truck's window and yelled after them, "Where're you going now?"

"We've seen someone!" Lee yelled back. "Won't take a minute!

"You want company?"

"No. Just make sure nobody steals that tanker," Lee joked.