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

Chapter Sixteen

Daniel Badcock had ordered two guards to help him search the empty houses of Sandy Lane, Cross Road, Burnthilll Lane and Hill Street. Two others checked the fences. A dead fiend was found in the changing rooms and had killed someone, which meant that one of those things had managed to get in. But
how
did it get in? Did it somehow climb over the fence, or was it an infected human and had turned
inside
the camp? Whatever the reason, it frightened Daniel that one of them were inside, and saddened him greatly that young Kyle had to experience an awful and unimaginable death. Searching the houses seemed desperate and silly, but after what had happened to the school, he wanted the vacant ones checked once more for peace of mind.

Daniel sent two people round to tell residents to stay inside until told otherwise. The only people that were allowed out were the guards. Although nearly one hundred and thirty people occupied some of the houses around the area, there were many other places that were barren. In the first week, a lot of the houses were left by families as they fled to pastures new, hoping to reach somewhere safer, but some had turned inside their homes and other families had committed suicide.

He started at the end of Hill Street and worked his way down, very slowly. He had three houses to go before finishing with Hill Street, and opened the door to another three-bedroom semi-detached. He began checking the ground floor for any irregularities.

Once the living room and kitchen was checked, the first floor was next. The twenty-three-year-old peered his head into the bathroom, then checked out the bedrooms. The last room was the main bedroom. It looked clean and untouched, but Daniel knew that in this house a mother was found dead after her daughter had turned.

She had killed herself.

Daniel rubbed his head and sat on the edge of the bed. He was exhausted, and his jaw still throbbed now and again from the attack.

Putting his machete to the side of him, Daniel slowly dropped his head in his hands. He had never felt so tired.

"Come on." He tried to get himself motivated. "Just a couple of more houses to go."

He picked up his machete off the bed and placed it on the side-table. His eyes scrunched and could see a book standing up, inbetween the table and the side of the bed. It looked to have fallen down, and Daniel picked up the green book that he had now noticed was a diary. Even though no one was present in the house anymore, he felt guilty for opening it up, but his intrigue had got the better of him.

He flicked through the pages and, from January onwards, the only thing that was noted was appointments and holidays that had been booked.

Ready to put the book down, he came across the
June
section and could see that the pages were rammed with words in blue ink. It was unusual, considering the first half of the book was almost bare. Daniel then noticed the first date where the cluster of words were.

It was Sunday June 10th.

The virus had been announced the day before, but for a lot of people Sunday was when it really started for them, waking up to carnage beyond their scariest dreams. Most hadn't seen the news reports on the Saturday, and others that did weren't too concerned. It had been seen before: Mad Cow Disease, SARS, Ebola, Bird Flu... This was just another pie-in-the-sky virus. Wasn't it?

Daniel lay on the bed and began to read.

June 10th

What the fuck is happening? I've just spend two hours watching the TV, in tears, and it looks like the whole country is going to shit. I'm writing this in case me and Kate don't make it, and I really do fear the worst.

Just got off the phone to mum and dad and they're now in the attic. We're going to be contacting each other by text. The news tells us to fill our baths and barricade our main doors, but I don't see the point. If these things can break through my door, then stacking up a few cupboards against it is hardly going to make a difference. I've decided to take me and Kate, my four-year-old, upstairs to my bedroom and stay there, and have made my attic accessible in case the worst case scenario happens.

The street is now beginning to fill with screams; some of them are young screams, and I dread to think what kind of carnage is happening in my neighbourhood.

June 11th

Last night, I spent most of the evening in tears and watching TV. I then got my daughter settled in the attic, read her favourite book, The Fish Who Could Wish, to her, then went downstairs as soon as she drifted off. At 9pm I did something silly, especially considering the situation we're in and that I have a young daughter. Last night I got drunk. Two bottles of red wine was consumed and I woke up this morning with a stinking hangover. This morning I staggered off of the single bed and rubbed my sore head. I then scanned the room and wondered what the hell I was doing there. It took a few seconds for me to realise, and I burst into tears once again.

Although it is Monday and I should be at work, we're treating this day like a pyjama day. We've sat and played games all morning, with the news on in the background, and I made a cake in the afternoon. My little girl did ask a few times why I kept all the curtains closed, but I told her that I wanted the day to be about just her and me and wanted no intrusions. She's been asking about her dad and I told her that she may not see him for a while. He usually comes round to visit on a Saturday afternoon or evening, but with this thing happening, I fear he may be caught up in it, as he never showed up on the Saturday.

At seven we watched The Incredibles and both of us went to bed before nine. This time I went to bed sober. After tucking my daughter in, I was asked a dozen questions that were difficult to answer: Am I going to nursery tomorrow? Is daddy coming next week? Can I go to Grandma's?

My parents were not answering their phones anymore and I was thinking the worst. I lay on the bed with my girl and was soon forced out of it when I heard a scream from outside. I went down the stepladders of the attic and peered out of my bedroom window. Four of those things were around a woman I recognised and were ripping her apart.

The screams were horrendous, but I watched in morbid fascination, watching these things in action for the first time. Shuddering with fright, I looked around the street to see evidence of what had happened over the last couple of days. Blood had been spilt; I had counted at least four bodies, what was left of them, in the street and a car had crashed into a house on the other side of the road. To say I am frightened would be an understatement, but I'm a mother and I need to get on with it. I need to be strong for my little girl and hope help will come soon.

June 12th

I'm lucky if I got two hours of sleep last night. My daughter, bless her, snored for most of the night, but it wasn't her cold that kept me awake. The lack of communication is beginning to worry me from the media. Some news channels are not broadcasting anymore, and that can only be a bad thing, right? Anyway, more action has been witnessed by myself in the street, and it appears that some of the residents are fighting back. I saw four men in a group, all armed with bats, and taking out whatever beasts that were roaming around. The men are also going into houses, and I assume that they're going in to check on the people inside.

I'm too petrified to go out, and I'm praying that, if not today, they come to mine tomorrow. I'm beginning to run out of food and me and Kate are both going out of our minds with boredom. Fortunately we still have power. For now.

June 13th

The men came this morning and we had a chat on the doorstep about the surreal situation that was unfolding. They told me that a lot of people had decided to leave, which stunned me. I was in two minds if that was a brave thing to do or just suicide. I suppose they did what they did to keep themselves and their families alive, to have a better chance. Personally I listened to what the media told me and never left the house. I have family, like most people, but I'm not prepared to risk mine and my daughter's life to see them. At the moment they don't seem to be risking theirs to see me, but there might be a good reason for that. I don't want to think about that right now.

It has been a terrible evening. My girl is in her bed, out for the count, and I am trying hard not to drink any more wine and I'm now sitting and scribbling in the corner.

I've just heard the awful screams of a male. It's obvious what was happening to him as the screams went on for many seconds before silence reared its head. I sat there in tears, imaging him on the floor, lying there, dead, and his insides being stuffed in the mouths of those disgusting rotting bastards. I got up and ran to my kitchen sink and threw up.

June 14th

I never slept a wink last night. I know people say that and exaggerate massively, but I honestly never slept a second of sleep last night and now I'm feeling it. No matter how bad things are going, whatever disaster is happening around the world, humans still need to sleep, whether they like it or not, and right now I'm totally exhausted.

I passed out on the couch after lunchtime, and woke up nearly two hours later and couldn't find my daughter, my Kate. I searched up the stairs and couldn't find her; then I ran back down to the ground floor, wondering what the hell had happened. My heart was beating out of my chest and I couldn't breathe, then suddenly ... boo!

She was hiding behind the couch and wanted to scare me. She succeeded. I could have slapped her, but instead I broke down and gave her the biggest cuddle a little girl could get off her mother.

We have been asked to leave and go to Sandy Lane to be closer to the other residents, but I'm not so sure. I've got a feeling I'm not going to have a say in the matter. Initially I told them
no
, but I have a feeling, after four days, that they want to block the place off and get some kind of security. A few hundred yards past the Pear Tree there has been reports that many of those things are around the Draycott Park area. I'm hoping that they're heading out of Rugeley, rather than heading in. Anyway, I'm exhausted. It's nearly ten in the evening and my body is craving sleep.

June 15th

We were being moved to Sandy Lane, to be closer to other residents, and was told that it was safe to walk in the area. After leaving Hill Street, Kate and I was heading towards a place that had been abandoned, and the men were trying to put us in there to be closer to others so they could clear out the corpses on my street.

Kate and I went for a walk along the fence, near the Lea Hall building. Kate noticed a stray dog, on the other side of the fence, and tried to feed it with some mini cheddars that she had in her pocket. The dog staggered over to her and bit her on the finger. She immediately took unwell and I noticed the mangy mutt had bites to its body. I assumed that the dog was infected—although the TV didn't state that it was possible for animals to be contaminated, and that also meant that Kate could also be contaminated. When she complained of a sore head and sickness just minutes after being bit, I knew she was in trouble.

I took Kate back to our own house, against the men's wishes, and locked the door. I took her upstairs, carrying her, and placed her on my bed. I tried to shake her, but I couldn't wake her up. In just ten minutes she had fallen into some kind of coma, but to be completely sure I decided to wait until, or if, she turned. I cried for what seemed like an eternity as my baby girl slipped away, and when she eventually opened her eyes, she woke up as something else, but she wasn't Kate. I kissed her on her forehead and left the room.

In tears and sobbing uncontrollably, I left my house and noticed two men waiting outside. They could see how distraught I was and I told them what had happened. They asked my permission if they could 'take care' of Kate and I reluctantly nodded. I never hung around; I just left the house.

Heartbroken, I returned back to my home, once it had been cleared, to pick up some personal belongings and sat on my bed, crying. I opened up my diary and added more information to it, including what you are reading now, whoever you are.

Losing a child is the hardest thing a parent can go through. And although I'm no coward, I really can't see the point of carrying on. My daughter is/was my life, and if she is taken away from me then I have nothing to live for. If I have nothing to live for, then what's the point of still existing?

I'm sitting on the bed with a glass of water and a tub of painkillers on the side-table. I just don't see the point of being around, especially with the world the way it is. A lot of people have died in a terrible way, and frankly I just can't see it getting any better. I only stayed alive for my daughter, otherwise I would have done this earlier. What are the options that I have? Try and live in a new world without my daughter that has nothing but fear, death and pain in store? Or go to sleep and never wake up again? The latter seems the only option that appeals to me now that Kate has gone.