Snatchers (Book 9): The Dead Don't Scream (21 page)

Chapter Forty Two

Elza and Ophelia had been by the brook for the last ten minutes. They had collected water in their jars, bathed naked, and their trip had become the more spectacular when they clocked an apple tree by the side of the brook. Elza never thought for a minute that an apple tree would be present, but did hope for berries, edible leaves and mushrooms—the latter was also available, ten yards from the apple tree.

Once they had finished bathing, they got dressed and their bags were filled with apples, mushrooms and jars of water. Then the girls decided to relax for a few more minutes and dipped their bare feet in the cold water. They wouldn't be able to visit here every day, but would certainly be back, now that they knew the place existed.

"This is heaven," Elza purred, looking over to her friend who was sitting next to her. There was no expression on Ophelia's face. She sat with her bat by her thigh and stared into the water.

Elza continued to gaze at her mentally-scarred friend and thought that she saw tears gathering at the bottom of her eyes. Maybe she was just tired.

Neither one of them were close to their families before the catastrophe began, and Ophelia never hesitated when Elza suggested that they needed to leave the heavy populated city of Birmingham. Elza looked at her friend with sympathy, was about to ask her if she was okay, but a disturbance in the woodland, opposite the stream, made the girls vigilant.

They both quickly put their socks and boots on, grabbed their bats and stood to their feet in anticipation. They wondered what it was that had disturbed the trees: Deer, survivors ... the dead! They didn't have to wait long for the result.

The two girls were convinced that it was the dead in the trees and were now heading for them, but they still couldn't see a single one yet.

Elza took a few steps back, away from the edge, and said to Ophelia, "Wait until they cross the stream. I don't want to pollute the water, any more than it is already, with their blood."

Ophelia nodded her head in agreement and took a few steps back also.

Five ghouls shambled out of the woods and speeded up their pace once they had clocked the girls. Crossing the brook had slowed them down a little, their rotting legs waded through the water. Suddenly realising that killing these five would be a waste of energy, Elza had a change of heart and told Ophelia that they should just jog away from the danger instead and head back to the church.

From behind, a pair of icy hands grabbed a hold of Elza's face, making her scream out. The two girls were so focused at what was in front of them, they weren't aware what could be to the side.

Elza dropped her bat and began to panic, expecting a set of rotten teeth to bite into her flesh, but it didn't happen. Thanks to the quick-thinking of Ophelia, Elza had been saved. Ophelia had ignored the five in front and went to help out her friend. The pair of them wrestled the creature to the floor, and Ophelia put the thing out of its misery with two strikes to its head once Elza was free from its clutches.

Elza picked up her bat and was taken aback by the speed of the other five. She was grabbed by two of the ghouls and Ophelia began kicking out, pushing them away from her friend. The two girls from Moseley, Birmingham, began to whack at anything that came towards them. The worn bats did what they had been doing for many weeks: They battered the skulls of these diseased beings.

Three dropped in a bloody heap and the now exhausted girls had just the two to sort out. Ophelia could see that her friend was tired and pushed her back so she could deal with the two dead herself. She swung her bat and cracked a female beast at the side of the head, but it never fell. Elza stepped in when the other remaining fiend also attacked Ophelia.

Elza rammed her bat with the flat-end at beast number two, and panicked when it went for her. She dropped the bat and both Elza and beast fell to the floor. Elza grabbed its throat, as Ophelia began to smash in the brains of her final victim, and was horrified at how strong the thing was.

The teeth of the rotten vagrant were inches away from Elza's face, and an exhausted Ophelia looked over to her friend who was in dire need of help.

Ophelia staggered over, but before she had chance to swing her bat and put down the beast that was on top of her friend, the thing's head jolted forwards and it fell on top of Elza. It was no more.

Elza tried to get her breath whilst the rancid body was still on top of her, and then tried to roll the disgusting corpse off, but Ophelia already began to drag the fiend away from her friend.

Elza sat up, thanked her friend, then looked around the woods, wondering what had happened.

Ophelia helped Elza to her feet and now both women gazed around the wooded area. What had just happened? Ophelia turned back to Elza's final attacker, went over to it and crouched down. She inspected the body and urged Elza, who had now moved away from the corpse, to come back over and take a look by gesturing with her hand.

"What is it?" Elza puffed out and staggered the three yards back to where she was attacked. She crouched down next to her friend and gazed at the face of the defunct creature. "What the..?"

Something had pierced the back of its head, had gone out the other side and went through the forehead. Elza knew what it was, but was baffled at the whole situation. She felt the sharp metal tip with the fingers, which protruded out of the front of its head, and looked at her equally-baffled friend. "It's an arrow."

Elza turned her head and looked into the woodland.

"Who's out there?" Elza stood straight and called out. "Whoever you are, we owe you. Come out and show yourself."

Both women gazed into the woods, into the area where they thought the arrow had come from, but neither were entirely sure if the individual or individuals were still around. Both Elza and Ophelia stood either side of an oak tree and continued to gaze into the woodland. Their ears picked up a faint snap, as if a twig had been stepped on, confirming that the person that had saved their skin, or at least Elza's, was still present.

"Show yourself," demanded Elza. "Come down here. You hungry? We can feed you."

Finally, a voice emerged from the trees. It was a female voice. A
young
female voice. "I walk alone."

"So do we," Elza looked at Ophelia, "but I'm willing to make an exception with you."

"You don't even know me," said the voice from the trees.

"True." Elza nodded. "But you helped me out. I won't forget that."

Elza waited patiently for a response, but she never got one. She looked at the defunct contaminated creature on the floor, arrow sticking out of the back of its head, and said, trying to lighten the situation, "That was some shot. A fluke, was it?"

Still no verbal response.

Ten seconds later an arrow flew out from the woodland and hit the oak tree, at head height, the women still standing on either side of it. Elza and Ophelia simultaneously moved their heads to the side and gazed at the pine arrow that was sticking out of the tree. They looked at one another, both with blank expressions on their faces, then looked back into the wooded area. Elza cleared her throat. "I guess not."

"Look," Elza began, "I don't have time to be waiting around. We're gonna go now. Feel free to show yourself and join us."

Elza and Ophelia turned, grabbed their bats and bags and were ready to leave. Elza looked over her shoulder and said, "If you change your mind... We're staying at a church, on the estate. You're more than welcome to join us, especially now we know you're a female."

There was no response.

Elza Crowe was getting tired of this. Yes, this individual had saved her, but she wasn't prepared to wait around all day for her to make an appearance.

The girls walked away and didn't get very far when a voice bellowed out, "Wait!"

The girls stopped and turned around. They saw a young girl step out of the greenery, clasping a bag, bow over the shoulder and wearing a black waterproof poncho. The black poncho confused Elza, considering that the heat in the woods was suffocating, but chose not to comment about it.

The teenager made a slow walk down to the brook and stopped when she was a matter of yards away from the two women. Elza could see that she was a pretty thing, five-five in height, blue eyes and had long blonde hair that was tied back.

Elza put her hand on her chest. "I'm Elza," then pointed at her friend, "and this is Ophelia."

The young girl nodded at the pair of them and asked, "So where's this church?"

"The Pear Tree."

The young girl nodded and smiled. "I stayed near there."

"What happened?"

"It never worked out."

"Well,
this
will." Elza looked confident and the young girl could see that these women were tough survivors; their performance with the ghouls earlier had also addressed this.

"Usually when somebody introduces themselves," Elza said with a smirk, "they usually introduce back."

The girl looked nervous and tightened the bobble that was holding her blonde ponytail together. "I'm Stephanie," she finally said. "Stephanie Perkins."

"How old are you?"

"Fourteen."

"Over two months and you're still kicking about. Impressive that you're so young ...
and
not dead."

"I came pretty close yesterday."

Elza put her arm around the tetchy-looking teenager and added, "Well,
Stephanie Perkins
, let's go to your new home."

The three girls walked through the woods, and spent the journey back to the Church of the Good Shepherd, getting to know one another. Ophelia was her usual quiet self.

Walking out of the woods, going over Cardboard Hill, passing the football field and onto the estate had taken just over an hour.

They had one more hill to walk. Hislop Road. Then they were home.

Chapter Forty Three

The black Range Rover pulled out of the street once the steel gate had been slid across. Once again, Nick Gregory and Stephen Rowley were in the front of the vehicle, and this time they had two passengers in the back.

They had been asked to travel to the Stag's Leap pub, in Rugeley, to see if there was any food and drink to bring back. This was going to be their last trip to this town, as it provided very little supplies these days. Other places like Colton, Colwich and Abbots Bromley had also very little. As the weeks went by, the supplies had dwindled. Even the farms around the country area were bare and the livestock was nowhere to be seen.

After this trip, John Lincoln had suggested that a more dangerous trip to Stafford or Cannock would have to be planned. Both places were a few miles away. These large towns, much larger than Rugeley, had a greater chance of having produce, but the danger would be higher because initially, in the old world at least, the population was greater. The usual thinking was that the larger the population, the greater the danger.

Rugeley used to have a population of twenty-two thousand, whereas Stafford's was nearly seventy. Cannock's was even more.

The street in Little Haywood, that was blocked off from the rest of the village, had back gardens and greenhouses that were being put to good use. An assortment of vegetables were present and growing in many gardens, but Lincoln and everybody else knew that with the cold weather not far away, stocking up was a necessity. Being near the Wyevale Garden Centre helped a great deal with the initial set-up, but the garden centre that used to sell gas, seeds and sheds had now almost ran out of stock.

"Do you honestly think there's gonna be anything for us at this pub?" Nick asked the driver, Stephen Rowley.

Stephen twitched and cleared his voice raucously. "Probably not. Waste of time if you ask me,
and
petrol." Stephen looked in his rear-view mirror, staring at the two passengers in the back, and asked them, "What do you guys think?"

Neither one responded verbally. They didn't seem interested.

"We have enough gas," Nick scoffed. "Look at all the cars we siphoned in the rest of our village, the nearby farms, the gas we took from the garden centre—"

"Still a waste, chap."

"Look." Nick slapped Stephen's arm and pointed.

"Yes," Stephen sighed. "I can see."

They were both looking to the front and could see a man in the middle of the road, waving at them. Stephen Rowley slowed the vehicle down and saw nine naked beings that were yards behind the man. But they weren't of the human kind. Both Nick and Stephen took a quick gape at one another, baffled at such a scenario. They had never seen anything like it before.

"What shall we do?" Nick questioned Stephen.

One of the passengers from behind began to speak up, "We need to get rid of them—"

"I wasn't talking to you!" Nick snapped, without turning round. "You've only been at our place for a day. Just sit and be quiet."

Stephen Rowley twitched and loudly cleared his throat. "I agree with him." He nodded behind, at the passenger in the back. "If we don't get rid of them, they'll come to our gate."

"Or they could just walk past our entrance," said Nick.

"I'm not taking the risk, chap. And what are you gonna tell the guard at the gate when nine naked Creepers shamble by?"

Stephen turned off the engine, pulled the handbrake up. "I'm not getting the Range Rover any closer than that. And we're certainly not running these lot down after the dents it got from yesterday. There's four of us. We can take them."

Stephen got out of the car, urging the man in the middle of the road to hurry up and get in the vehicle. He was about twenty yards away and the dead weren't far behind.

Stephen remained standing by the opened driver's door, and waited for the man to get a move on. Stephen cleared his throat and stuck his head inside the vehicle as the man was getting near. "The dead aren't far away." He pulled out his knife, so did Nick, then looked at his two passengers in the back of the vehicle. "Ready, gentlemen?"

"Don't be too nervous." Nick turned and spoke to the two male passengers, a machete sitting on each of their laps. "Just follow our lead."

"Oh, I think we might be okay," one of them spoke up with a large pinch of sarcasm.

Nick swallowed his anger at the cheeky comment and left the vehicle. Nick and Stephen were standing on either side of the Range Rover.

"What's up with you? Not nervous, are you?" Stephen Rowley noticed that Nick looked flustered. "We've done this many times before."

"It's not that. It's those cheeky bastards." Nick huffed and nodded at the car, referring to the two passengers. "They only arrived yesterday and think they know it all."

"Maybe they do. We don't know their history."

Nick turned around and gestured rudely for the men in the back seat to hurry up and get out.

Coming out of the passenger side, on the left, was Vincent Kindl. Harry Branston stepped out of the vehicle at the opposite side and went round to the front of the Range Rover. Both men had their machetes clasped in their right hands. Ready to do what they had been doing for months.

*

Paul Dickson jogged towards the Range Rover and saw the two men get out of the front of the vehicle. He could understand why they parked so far away. They wouldn't be much use to Paul if the dead surrounded the vehicle and they couldn't get out.

He took a look behind him to see the dead walking in his direction, although they weren't gaining on him. He was getting closer, but suddenly stopped a few yards from the vehicle once the passengers stepped out. He looked at each one and a smile stretched across his face when he realised it was Vince and Pickle.

"You made it," cried Paul.

"You lot know each other?" Stephen Rowley remarked.

"Yer could say that," Pickle spoke up, and embraced Paul briefly.

"So what's going on, Paul?" Vince pointed with his machete at the small naked horde that were approaching. "I know you're a kinky bugger, but that's fucked up, even by your standards."

"Get in the Range Rover," Stephen ordered Paul, angry that Vince was making light of this serious situation. "We'll take care of this."

An exhausted Paul Dickson did what he was told. He sat in the back of the vehicle and watched the 'show' unfold.

Vince leaned over to Stephen and pointed at a female naked ghoul, at the end of the dead group, on the left. She was heavy, her skin was blue in colour, in her sixties, and her long saggy breasts swung like pendulums as she staggered towards them. "I don't fancy yours much."

"Are you deranged?" Stephen looked at Vince with confusion on his face, and said with a shaking head, "What is wrong with you, chap?"

Vince shrugged his shoulders with a blank expression on his face, and added, "Just lightening the mood."

All four approached the beasts. Vince and Pickle hacked at the dead like demons, putting the other two, Stephen and Nick, to shame.

Stephen and Nick had put one down each, whereas Pickle and Vince were working on their third. Vince side-kicked a naked middle-aged man in the knee and saw it fall forwards, hitting the floor. He brought the machete back and sliced it through the top of its head, then fell on his backside due to exhaustion.

Pickle hacked at his third victim at the side of its head, the blade getting stuck and refusing to move. He pulled at it again and could feel it slowly being released. "This is happening too often," he spoke out to himself. "Gonna need a new weapon."

He finally freed the blade and turned to his right to see Stephen and Nick trying to deal with the final naked being.

Stephen's knife was already sticking out of the left cheek of the naked female ghoul, and it was obvious that it had been a poor attempt to stab the thing through the eye socket. It had gone wrong.

Stephen was dancing about, like Sugar Ray, trying to retrieve the knife without getting bitten. Nick was also side-stepping, avoiding the thing's clutches, still holding his knife, waiting for the right moment, but shaking with nerves.

"Hurry up, yer bunch o' fannies," Pickle laughed at the two hapless men. "Yer wasting daylight."

The remaining female beast reached out for Stephen, and Nick thought this was the opportunity to stick his knife into the back of the head and be finally done with the dead bastard. He was wrong.

He lunged at the beast, but it quickly turned around and snarled at the wiry individual. He missed the target and was helpless when the creature grabbed his hand and sank its teeth into the bony limb. Nick Gregory screamed out, watching the naked female's rotten teeth tear some of his fingers away. What was left of his hand came free and he screamed as blood pissed out at an alarming rate.

Vince was now on his feet, stormed over and drove his blade through the back of the skull of the female Snatcher, the tip of the blade sticking out of the forehead, whilst Pickle went over to the screaming Nick and told him to be quiet, just in case he attracted more from afar.

Nick continued to gaze at his torn limb and moaned, biting on his other fist because of the excruciating pain.

"Stick yer hand in the air!" Pickle yelled at Nick Gregory.

"Wh-what?" Nick cried, wet tracks were present down his cheeks as his tears continued to fall.

"Just do it."

Nick put his left hand above his head and Pickle sighed, "The other one, yer stupid prick. The one that's been bitten."

Nick put his wounded hand up, like a nazi salute, watching the blood run down his forearm. "What's this for?" He continued to sob due to the pain. "Is this to stop the bleeding?"

"Er ... not quite." Pickle swung his machete at the limb, from the side, and took it off in one slice.

"Shit! No!" Nick fell to the floor and his screams reached a new level, from a mixture of shock and pain. Nick was beginning to get on Pickle's nerves, but there was also a danger that Nick could attract more of the dead.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Stephen shrieked at Harry Branston. "Have you lost your fucking mind?"

"I lost that years ago." Pickle took his shirt off, screwed it up and bent down to assist the bleeding Nick Gregory. He began to cover the stump with the shirt, and told Nick to hold his arm up, but he was too hysterical to listen to the ex-inmate.

Pickle showed Nick his left hand, with the missing pinky. "Don't worry. Yer get used to it."

Nick grabbed a hold of Pickle's sleeve, still screaming in pain, the blood draining from his face.

"Get him back in the Range Rover," ordered Stephen, now heading to the driver's side. Vince walked over to Pickle to give him a hand to carry Nick to the vehicle. Pickle told Vince to hold the blood-soaked shirt that was being pressed on Nick's stump.

Once Kindl did this, Pickle grabbed Nick by the back of his hair with his left hand, then punched him on the jaw, knocking him out.

Both Vince and Pickle picked Nick up and gently plonked him in the back of the Range Rover, as an anxious Stephen Rowley waited in the driver's seat, itching to go.

Pickle went into the front passenger seat and turned around to a shocked Paul Dickson. "Good to see yer, Paul."

Stephen yelled, "What did you do that for, chap? Why did you hit him? In case he attracted more of those things?"

"No." Pickle shook his head. "It was because he was getting on ma fuckin' nerves."

"Hurry up, Twitch." Vince slapped Stephen Rowley on the shoulder, then pointed at the wounded Nick Gregory. "This guy's losing blood, and I need to piss like a fucking racehorse."

Stephen Rowley pulled the vehicle away, did a quick U-turn and made the short journey back to Little Haywood.

"I'm glad you made it," said Vince to Paul.

Paul smiled and said without warning, "Bentley didn't make it. I saw it with my own eyes. I don't think Stephanie did either. Before she died, Stephanie told me that Rosemary and Lisa were killed also."

There was no response from Paul's outburst.

The short journey was made in silence.

Paul then spoke up once they neared the steel gate, which was the only entrance to the camp. "Who else made it with you? What about Karen?"

Nobody answered.