Snatchers (Book 9): The Dead Don't Scream (5 page)

Chapter Nine

The dangerous walk to the outskirts of Rugeley's town centre was long, but would be worth it if everything fell into place. Theodore Davidson had passed The Arches—Rugeley's large railway bridge—and went down the dark alleyway, bag on his back. He was now by the wiry fence, but with the darkness, no one could see him.

He had been here many times and noticed that more people had been put on fence duty, and the barbed wire that had been applied was good for nothing for what
he
had planned. He knew the security was going to increase after his tussle with the scarred man from a few days ago, but with vengeance on his mind, nothing was going to stop him.

Still wincing with some discomfort from his wound, Theodore Davidson pulled out his recently sharpened kukri and began cutting open the wiry fence downwards. Once he achieved this with little fuss, he checked out his work and pushed the fence that now had two flaps, like a doorway, that was possible to walk through, but the opening wasn't necessarily for
him
. Pleased with his 'work', he crept away from the field that was full of tents and livestock, then crept back to The Arches, out of sight.

Now without his jeep, he eventually wanted to flee north with one of the lorrys. He knew that the key was available—whether it was on a guard or in the ignition—because he had watched the place long enough, with Frederick and Willie, to see that occasionally they had to pull the lorry back for returning vehicles.

He took his bag off his shoulder and scanned the place for any of those dead bastards. It seemed clear. There were a couple of abandoned and crashed cars, and he also noticed a vehicle sticking out of an Indian takeaway shop. Because of the darkness, he wasn't sure if it was his jeep that had been taken after he was attacked, but it looked similar.

He felt the scab on his right cheek. The cut that was given to him by the ugly-looking man would heal eventually, but he was going to be left scarred.

It was dark, but the fat moon overhead provided some kind of light. He took a tea-towel from out of his bag and a lighter from his other pocket, and went over to one of the abandoned cars. He opened the passenger door of a vehicle that had crashed into a wall by the Radio Rental shop, and thought the target was perfect.

The car was going to be set on fire.

It was out of sight from the camp and was at a crossroad where it could be seen by many of the dead. He took another peek around and could now see two of them shambling underneath The Arches, towards him. He had no idea where they came from. It was as if some of them could smell fresh flesh from afar.

He placed the tea-towel and lighter on the seat and cut open the side of the leather upholstery with his kukri. He pulled out a small bottle that had petroleum in it and doused the towel. He then tucked the towel into the seat and lit it. He stood back and watched the fire grow and grow.

He looked around and saw another three dead walking behind the other two. He disappeared down the alleyway, hid for a while and watched as more of the dead came.

He laughed at the scene.

Where the fuck did they come from?

He had walked nearly two miles from Spode Cottage, having only to put down three on his travels, then he created a bit of fire and they appear from nowhere.

Almost as if they were aware that burning wasn't good for them, they never ventured so close to the car that they caught on fire, but they did hang around the vehicle.

The scene was like a twisted, ghoulish bonfire night for the dead, and Bear sniggered at what his eyes were witnessing. He had no idea that this many would have turned up, and he hadn't even ignited the tanker yet. He wanted to hurt the camp—the same camp that had people inside that had hurt him, humiliated him, and stolen from him. If he could cause damage and provide some fatalities, it'd be the best way to punish that scarred ugly motherfucker that cut him. And if he could get his hands on that little bitch that shot him with the arrow...

He couldn't see exactly how many were now present around the burning vehicle, but guessed that there was nearly twenty. He stepped out of the alleyway and decided to get their attention before they began to stagger away from the burning car, after all, it was food they were after and a burning vehicle provided
no
food.

He whistled over to them before they lost interest and staggered elsewhere, and all of them twisted their necks and gazed at Bear for no longer than two seconds before advancing towards him.

He waited and waited until they were a matter of yards from his frame, then began to step backwards. With his bag over his shoulder, he walked away. Once he was deep in the alleyway, the darkness grew, but the dead herd continued to walk towards him, some of them with their arms outstretched. A couple of them fell and stumbled over one another, and once Bear reached the exposed part of the fence that he had cut open, he stepped through it and was now on the field, officially on the grounds of the Sandy Lane Camp.

He remained where he was, hoping that they'd follow his lead, and was delighted when the first one went through the fence. More came, and with a smile on his face, he backed off so he was out of danger. Once a dozen were in, he ran along the perimeter of the grounds, and some of the dead scattered and began to walk around the tents, disturbing the animals in their pens.

It was only a matter of minutes before people, and possibly the livestock, were going to be ripped to pieces. Bear was desperate to set fire to the Lea Hall building and starve these people, but torching the tanker was his next priority. He needed to attract more of these things from afar, steal the HGV by the railway bridge, then get out of the place before any harm could be done to him.

He knew they had shotguns, and knowing that they had ex-inmates Pickle and Bentley on the camp, he knew some of the people had it in them to take care of him if he hung around for too long.

No. The Lea Hall building wasn't going to be touched. He didn't have time.

With already twenty of the dead inside the camp, a blown up tanker that would probably attract more from afar, and removing one of their barriers, a lorry, he was sure that the camp would get its just desserts.

*

Elza and Ophelia had managed to drag their tired legs to the top of Hislop Road. Elza turned to her left to see the abandoned youth centre. They were twenty yards away from the entrance to the church grounds where they were staying, and were ready to take their boots off and rest their aching feet.

"That was hard work," Elza spoke up. She took a water bottle from her pocket and took a quick swig. She handed it to Ophelia, but her silent friend shook her head, her eyes gazing up at a window from one of the houses to their right.

"What's up?" asked Elza. "You see something?"

Ophelia nodded and pointed at the house that had spooked her.

"It might be nothing."

Ophelia flashed Elza a look she had seen before.

"Okay," Elza sighed in defeat. "We'll check it out. What did you see? A man?"

Ophelia nodded and held up one finger, telling her friend that it was just the one individual she had seen.

Elza nodded, and they both walked along the road until they were near the gates. They took their frames over to the house with Elza leading the way.

They tried the front door, but it wasn't budging. So they went round the back. Elza looked at the overgrown grass, then tried the back door. It already looked to have been forced open. Both women took off their bags and put them against the wall of the house. Elza went straight in, but Ophelia hung around outside and seemed distracted by the shed at the bottom of the garden.

"I thought we were supposed to be checking out the house?" Elza huffed and waved her hand at her silent, and sometimes frustrating, friend, and decided to check out the ground floor of the house on her own.

Once it was established that it was clear, Elza waited on Ophelia, who eventually turned up and was now inside the place, and could see that she was raging.

"What's up?" Elza asked. She had no idea why she asked Ophelia this. She hadn't spoken in weeks.

Ophelia glared and looked upstairs.

Concerned about her friend's unusual behaviour, Elza insisted on going upstairs first. She went up, with Ophelia closely behind her, and stopped once she reached the landing. Elza went to the bedroom where Ophelia had claimed to have seen the man, and opened the door to see a dishevelled male, with a scruffy beard, the room stinking of faeces and urine.

"I mean no harm." The man was sitting on the floor and took a swig of his own piss from a plastic bottle. "I was just looking out, that's all. I know you two girls."

"Who are you?" asked Elza.

"Just a survivor." The man began to cackle and looked like he had lost his mind. "You stay at the church. I saw you kill two men a few days ago and—"

Ophelia barged past Elza and struck out at the man with her bat. He screamed out, and collapsed to the floor as he took two blows to the head before Elza had a chance to drag her friend back.

The man was curled in a ball, groaning, and wasn't moving.

"What are you doing?" Elza asked her silent pal.

Ophelia looked at Elza blankly.

"What is it?" persisted Elza.

Ophelia urged her friend to follow her, which she did. Both women left the man curled up, headed to the ground floor and went outside.

Ophelia, holding her bat in her left hand, pointed at the shed. Elza looked at her friend strangely, then walked through the overgrown grass to get to the wooden hut. She tried the door, which had been prised open by Ophelia, with the help of her wooden weapon, and opened it.

Elza wafted with her free hand as the flies buzzed in her face, and looked down at the sad sight.

"How long you reckon she's been here? Two or three months?" Elza turned around and stared at her friend.

Ophelia shrugged her shoulders and shook her head.

Exasperated, Elza sighed, "Why don't you speak anymore?" It was a question she had asked many times, but this was the first time she had asked in a week. She missed the old Ophelia White.

There was no response.

Elza turned back round to look back into the shed and said, "So the guy's a beast." Her eyes never moved from the dead child that was no older than six. She was tied up, arms behind her back, feet were bound together. Elza thought that the man must have kidnapped the poor child before the apocalypse had kicked off and was forgotten about when all hell broke loose. She was unsure if the girl was alive at the time and had eventually starved to death. Unless he had already killed her, but getting rid of the body had to be abandoned because of this new world.

Poor little thing.

Elza allowed the scene to sink in, and the more she stared, the angrier she became. She closed the shed door, turned on her heels and headed back to the house, with Ophelia closely behind her, and went to the first floor and barged into the bedroom.

She stopped and stared at the pathetic-excuse-of-a-man who was still groaning, curled up on the floor. She placed her bat against the wall and strolled over to the male and began kicking him, forcing him to groan and scream as the boot flew into his stomach, his back and his hands were now covering his head for protection. Her kicking frenzy stopped and now appeared out of breath, then she turned around and nodded to Ophelia as she walked out of the room, grabbing her bat on the way out.

Ophelia grasped her bat with both hands and brought it down many times until the man's head caved in. She wiped the bloody bat on the back of his clothes and spat at him before she walked out.

Ophelia stepped out into the fresh air and could see that Elza was waiting for her, bag on her back. Ophelia picked hers up, that was against the wall, and threw it over her shoulder. It was time to go.

Both exhausted girls headed back to the church as the evening was creeping up. They had bags of food to unpack.

Chapter Ten

Bentley Drummle and Rick Morgan were now on Burnthill Lane. Their walk from Hill Street to where they were now had been a quiet affair, and when they passed the school, Bentley thought about his and Daniel's brush with death when they were in the school's gym, on top of the climbing frame, with the reanimated pupils underneath them, aching for their flesh.

"Do you never think about killing yourself?" Rick asked with some nervousness in his voice.

Bentley was stunned by Rick's out-of-the-blue comment, and took a peek at his companion as they continued to walk side-by-side one another with a slow stroll. Bentley decided to ignore the question, and as they came to a set of houses to their left on Burnthill Lane, Rick asked Bentley again.

"No, not really." Bentley looked uncomfortable and sighed, "Well, obviously when I lost Laura I thought about it, but... Doesn't
everybody
think about it? What kind of a question is that?"

"I was thinking about it last night." Rick kicked at the ground and had his shotgun in his left hand. "I was just wondering if I was the only person that thought about it."

"Of course you're not." Bentley thought it was a naive question, but remembered that Rick had had a strange and rather sheltered life. Some of the things he would say would be very immature, similar of what a teenager would say. And then there was his mixed up sayings:
When I was young, my parents were worried about me and wanted me to see a psychopath
, and
I feel like a kid in a sweat shop
were some of Bentley's personal favourites.

Rick never continued his talk about committing suicide, which pleased Bentley, and the pair of them had just passed Jimmy Mac's old house. The house was still being used by the odd person, because of its solar power facility, and considering he was never an original resident of this area, Jimmy Mac was lucky to get such a place.

When Bentley arrived at the camp, with Helen Waite at his side, he couldn't understand why James McDonald—Jimmy Mac—had managed to get such a place. Maybe his aggressive attitude got him what he wanted. Or he was just lucky.

Looking at Jimmy Mac's old house, Rick said aloud, "I wonder how young David is coping."

"His dad's dead and he's now living with his friend," said Bentley. "I'm sure he's having a ball."

"But it was still his dad."

"He was an arsehole. David's better off without him."

Rick was baffled by Bentley's strong comment, but chose to ignore it. He then could see that the road was bending to the right and they were now descending a little. Another five-minute walk and they'd be at the barrier by the Globe Island.

"Do you like Michael Jackson's music?" asked Rick.

Bentley went wide-eyed and thought it was a strange, random question to ask. Michael Jackson? He hadn't heard
any
music in two months. Bentley decided to play along. "Not particularly, no. Why would you ask such a weird question?"

"I used to have a friend, many years ago, who thought he was Michael Jackson."

"Well, he sounds ... perfectly sane," was Bentley's sarcastic response.

"He once walked into a bank and handed over a piece of paper, stating that he was robbing the place. They gave him the money with no boogaloo—"

Bentley sighed and corrected, "Hullabaloo."

Ignoring Bentley's correction, Rick continued, "And then a few weeks later he was feeling suicidal, so he jumped off a motorway bridge and happened to land on a passing truck full of hay."

"That's the most fucked-up, trippy story I've ever heard." Bentley shook his head. "And it's also bullshit."

"It's not bullshit."

"How do you know?"

"Because he told me."

"Well, there you go."

Rick stopped walking, looked at Bentley and asked him, "What's that noise?"

Bentley had also stopped moving, and cocked his head to the side to listen out for whatever Rick could hear. "I can't hear anything."

Rick then screwed his face to suggest that now he couldn't hear anything, but then something was heard by the pair of them.

"Is that ... screaming?" Bentley remained still. It had gone silent again.

"Maybe it's just people playing about." Rick continued with his walk and Bentley followed suit, but their strides were a lot quicker this time.

"Maybe," Bentley didn't seem so sure, but he didn't want to unnecessarily panic either, "but it sounded like screaming and ... shouting."

"We'll soon find out what it was when we get to Sandy Lane." Rick didn't seem to be unnerved by the noises. The noises could have been from the animals on the football field. They could have been from the guards at the barrier, messing about. It depended on who was on watch. The sounds could have also come from young David McDonald and Charles Pilkington, but then Rick thought that it was a little late for the youngsters to be out. There was no school anymore, but Lee and the others made sure that people had some kind of normality. Going to bed at a decent time, unless you were a night shift guard, was one of the ways of keeping some kind of normality, although a curfew as such had never been put into operation.

Trying to break the tension, Rick asked, "Who was the last person to come to Sandy Lane? We don't seem to have many visitors coming to the barrier anymore."

"Maybe there ain't many people left," Bentley said coldly. He then stopped walking as his ears picked up that sound again, and this time it was a lot louder and clearer. He looked at Rick and could see the horror on his face. They had both heard the same thing. It was from a distance, but the screams were unmistakable.

Rick said, "That doesn't sound good."

"No shit, Columbo." Bentley took a hold of his shotgun with both hands and said, "Come on."

"Where're we going?"

"Just head towards the screams."

It was nearing ten-thirty, and a few seconds later an explosion occurred.