Snatchers (Book 9): The Dead Don't Scream (6 page)

Chapter Eleven

Still in her day clothes, Karen stared at the ceiling, puffing petulantly because she couldn't sleep. She turned on her side and closed her eyes. Maybe if she tried a different position she would drop off. She only managed thirteen seconds before she sat upright and said, "Fuck it."

She got off the bed and before she had chance to leave, a knock was heard at the door.

She asked, "Who is it?"

"It's the milkman," Pickle cackled from behind the door. "Who the fuck do yer think it is?"

She told him to come in. The door swung open and Harry Branston walked in fully-clothed, dressed in black with his boots on.

"Jesus Christ," Karen cackled, then put her hand over her mouth. "You look like the Milk Tray man."

"I'm surprised yer remember the advert," Pickle smiled and took the ribbing well, "considering yer age."

"Anyway," Karen sat back down on the bed. "What are you doing, knocking my door and being fully-dressed?"

"I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd go for a walk." Pickle then started to snigger. "Even if I did fall asleep, yer probably would have woken me up with the fucking racket yer were making, with yer huffin' and puffin'. I knew yer were awake, so I just thought I'd let yer know where I'm going."

"Was I
that
bad?"

"Aye. Just as well yer pregnant, otherwise you'd be getting a punch in the growler."

"Is that right?" Karen playfully put her hands on her hips and said, "And where do you think I'd kick a man who calls himself The Horse?"

"I don't call myself
The Horse,"
he sighed and flushed red. "I wish I never told yer that now. Like I said before, it was a nickname I had when..." Pickle then stopped explaining himself when he saw Karen laughing hard, holding onto her sides. It was good to see her laugh like that. It was rare he'd get a smile from Karen these days, and was milking this rare occasion.

He smiled and looked at the woman. God, he loved her. Yes, she was a pain in the arse and she was a moaner. He loved her and had only told her once, and that was when Vince's camp was under attack from the dead, but she knew. He didn't
need
to tell her.

"Anyway," Karen had managed to compose herself and cleared her throat. "Maybe I'll come out with you." Karen yawned and made an exaggerated noise before closing her mouth. "I'm bored out of my tits lying here."

"Don't yer think yer need the rest?"

"Obviously, but I can't friggin' sleep."

"Hurry up then," joked Pickle.

"I've only got my shoes and socks to put on."

"I'll wait for yer downstairs, if yer swollen ankles can make it."

Karen snickered, "I've met some pricks in my time, Branston. But you're the fucking cactus."

Pickle sighed and shut her bedroom door before making his way downstairs. "Yer have got two minutes," he said as he began making the descent to the ground floor.

Karen only had a pair of socks and her boots to put on, and once she did this, she stood up. "Oh dear." She felt giddy and held out her arms to keep balance as the room span. For a few seconds she felt like she was on a boat on rough waters. Maybe she had got up too quickly. Maybe she had high blood pressure.

She finally left the room and saw Pickle patiently waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. She trotted down the stairs and both individuals walked through the living room and kitchen to get to the main door. Pickle was the first to step outside; Karen was next and shut the door behind her. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. "I think this is just what I need."

"Not feeling too well?" Pickle enquired. He looked at her. The twenty-three-year-old had on a blue creased T-shirt, was wearing green combats and her hair was greased back behind her ears.

"Just had a dizzy spell upstairs."

Pickle linked arms with Karen and said in a serious tone, "We'll take a slow walk around the block."

"Okay. Maybe the fresh air will help get me to sleep."

Both frames of the former inmate and nurse jumped when a huge explosion could be seen at the side of the Lea Hall building, across from where they were staying, some fifty yards away.

"Holy fuck!" was all that Pickle could muster. But it was more than what came out of Karen's mouth. She stood in shock, her eyes like flying saucers. She had never seen an explosion like it, and they both turned as the flash had temporarily blinded them, the heat being felt on the faces of both shocked individuals.

"I need to go and get my machete," Pickle announced and glared and Karen. "This is no accident."

"I need to get mine as well."

"No." Pickle pointed at Karen and said sternly, "Yer going back in the house."

"No chance."

"I'm telling yer, Karen..."

"Listen," said Karen.

Pickle stayed still and could hear screams from a distance, coming from their left. Pickle put his hands on his head. "What is happening?"

"The last time I heard screams like that," Karen took a hard gulp before adding, "was at Vince's camp, when we were attacked."

"On this camp?" Pickle shook his head. "No."

"Well, something's happening."

Leaving Karen standing alone, Pickle ran upstairs, disappeared for a few seconds, then returned with two machetes. "Here. I suppose there's no point arguing with yer."

Karen took the machete off of him and the pair of them headed down Sandy Lane, and they weren't the only ones that were out. Scores of people came out onto the street, soaked in intrigue at what was occurring.

It was nearly half past ten.

*

Vince was dreaming. He was on his own, running from the Rotters and making little progress. In the middle of the road was piles and piles of dead bodies, like they used to be by the Lea Hall building, and it was impossible to get by them, so he had to go onto the pavement. The trouble with the pavement that he was on was the stickiness of it. The pavement was soft, almost swamp-like, and the harder he ran, the harder he hit the sticky substance and his feet sank in, making his escape difficult.

He looked over his shoulder and saw the army of the dead behind, but they weren't as close and he was now gaining ground. Vince looked around, panting like a dog, and couldn't work out where he was. He then passed a shop to his left and recognised it as the shop he robbed many weeks ago when he was at his old camp.

He now realised he was in Armitage.

Still on the pavement, his sticky feet made their way to the entrance of the famous Armitage Shanks business, passing The Swan pub to his left, and passed a primary school to his right. It was there he had stitch, and was finding it difficult to run, even with the dead behind him. They were a fair distance away now, so he tried to lightly go through the pain and reduce his speed. The pain seemed to be tolerable.

His journey had become more difficult as his weary feet began to run up the steep hill, the pavement getting stickier and his pace getting slower. He took a peep over his shoulder and could see the dead now gaining on him. Their speed was poor, but their progression didn't seem to be affected by the pavement.

Vince puffed and panted, and let out a yell to give him that extra bit of energy to get him over the hill. It seemed to have worked.

Once he was over, his heavy feet made their way down the road, and a figure in the distance could be seen from an out of breath Kindl. His feet suddenly stopped as his eyes recognised the little frame and he gasped, "Brian?"

He smiled and tried to run towards his little boy.

Brian was standing near the bottom of the road, on the pavement, inbetween the Spode Cottage and the Plum Pudding pub. The scores of dead bodies that were scattered along the road were beginning to diminish, and Vince's progression was taking a turn for the worse as his feet were now getting slower.

"Brian!" he called out once more, flabbergasted at what he could see.

The harder he ran, the more his feet stuck in the pavement, causing frustration for him. He looked over his shoulder and could see that the herd were getting closer. He looked straight on and tried to increase his speed, but to no avail, and the groans from behind were getting louder. He was beginning to panic and his son was now standing in the middle of the road, crying and calling out for his daddy.

"Brian!"

Vince was going nowhere fast, and with a mixture of tiredness and the sticky pavement, his movements had stopped altogether. He was frustrated and frightened.
Frustrated
because he wasn't far away from his standing son, and
frightened
because the dead were five seconds away from taking him down.

"Brian!"

He released tears and blew his son a kiss. The boy caught his daddy's kiss and blew one back.

Vince was then taken down by the dead mob from behind, and cried out as the muscle and cartilage in his shoulders and back were torn away. Six seconds later, the gang tore out his insides.

*

Vince woke up with a start.

His head was perspiring and his heart was going ten to the dozen. He wiped his clammy head with his forearm and could also see Rosemary stirring next to him.

"What is it?" she moaned.

"Nothing," he lied. "Go back to sleep."

Rosemary didn't need to be told twice, and turned to the other side and dropped off, lightly snoring.

Vince looked over at his watch that he hardly wore and could see it was nearly half ten at night. Vince's ears then picked up something that he had heard before.

Screaming.

It reminded him of what had happened at his own place and brought the bad memories flooding back. At first he thought nothing of it. It was only half ten; it could be anything. It could be people carrying on. Once the shrieks were heard again, he began to panic. He jumped out of bed and looked out of his window.

"What's the matter?" groaned Rosemary, pissed off that her partner had now woken her twice.

"I don't know," he answered, still peeping out.

"Come back to bed."

"I don't think that'll be possible." Vince Kindl had a dull feeling in his stomach and was beginning to shake with nerves.
Please, God. Not again.

Rosemary turned on her back and moaned once more, "You're beginning to get on my nerves, Vince. Come back to bed."

"Be quiet," he hissed.

Suddenly, an explosion lit up the whole of Sandy Lane and temporarily blinded Vince, forcing him to look away from the window.

"What the fuck was that?" shrieked Rosemary, and was now out of bed.

"The tanker."

"An accident?"

"This was no accident."

Suddenly Stephanie and Lisa burst into the room.

"What was that?" asked Stephanie.

"Come and take a look." Vince urged her to come over, and she did. And so did Lisa.

Rosemary held Lisa back and said, "It's not for your eyes."

Stephanie gazed out and whilst she looked on with amazement, Vince put his belt on his trousers and took the machete from behind the bedroom drawers and tucked it into his belt.

He walked towards the bedroom door, ready to make an exit, and pointed at all three females, one-by-one. "Nobody leaves this house." He then flashed Stephanie a look. "Not even you."

Chapter Twelve

The Bear had managed to cut his way through another part of a fence and stepped onto the rail-track, now off the camp, with no problems. He looked to his right to see the damage he had done and produced a smile as the tanker burned ferociously.

It was amazing what damage a lighter and a tea towel could do, he thought.

He never thought he could create this much carnage. He could see people coming onto the street to see what was happening, and to his right there were screams coming from the football field.

He ran along the track, stopped just under the bridge and began to climb the steep bank that led to the back end of Sandy Lane. Once he reached the top, he threw his bag over first, climbed over the metal fence and landed on the pavement. He was now on the other side of the barrier, standing next to the HGV. He could see that there were no guards. He thought that they were probably distracted by the craziness that was occurring: the blast, the screams, the raging fire from the tanker ... the dead in their camp.

He jumped into the cab of the vehicle and moved along to the driver's side. With the keys already in the ignition, he started the engine, sure that what was happening elsewhere would make his getaway easy, and slipped the vehicle into reverse to begin shunting his way out. It was near-impossible, so he looked at the dashboard to see if there was any way he could release the wagon and leave with just the cab on its own. He tried to uncouple the vehicle, but was struggling to find the appropriate ancillary tools. Maybe he needed to get out.

He jumped out and took a look at the airline and electrical connections at the back of the cab that were attached to the wagon part, but had no idea how to release them. The trailer support legs were already up—they were always up, but he had no clue, or time, to see how he could drive away with just the cab.

"Fuck it!" He went back inside, shut the door and punched the steering wheel in frustration. He only had one option. He was going to try and flee the area with the whole of the vehicle, cab
and
wagon.

He tried to move it again, but seconds later the driver's side suddenly opened and Daniel Badcock exclaimed, "Who the fuck are you?"

Bear turned and punched him in the face, making Daniel fall and land on his back, smacking the back of his head and killing him instantly. Kirk Sheen went into the cab, holding a shotgun, after seeing Daniel fall, and immediately felt the blade of Bear's kukri to his throat, severing his carotid artery. Bear then kicked him out of the cab and shut the door, leaving Kirk to bleed out on the road.

Bear finally began to move the vehicle, and damaged the wall in front whilst trying to manoeuvre his way out. He managed to get moving and slipped into a higher gear with his foot now down hard on the accelerator. He looked in his side mirror and could see the lorry was making ground, some twenty yards away from the railway bridge, but then heard a succession of blasts and began to lose control of the vehicle. "Shit." He gripped onto the steering wheel as tight as he could, but soon realised that the lorry was losing control and speed, then crashed into a wall. "For fuck's sake." He tried to get the vehicle moving, but it was going nowhere.

He grabbed his bag, opened the door and jumped out of the lorry. He then received a surprising punch to the jaw and fell backwards.

*

A minute earlier, Karen and Pickle walked over the road to inspect the burning tanker from afar and bumped into Daniel and Kirk. Both were supposed to be on barrier duty, but the two men had been distracted by the burning tanker and wondered what the hell was going on.

Pickle could see a panic-stricken resident running up to them. It was one of the farmers. It was Bill Wright.

"Pickle!" he screamed. "They're in! They're fucking in!"

"Who's in?" Pickle was confused by his rambling.

"The dead. They're everywhere ... on the field!"

"Oh shit." Daniel shook his head.

Pickle and Karen were about to run over and check it out, but could see the HGV beginning to move, by the railway bridge.

"Somebody's trying to leave." Karen looked at both Daniel and Kirk.

Kirk nudged Daniel and said, "That explosion is gonna attract more from afar. If that HGV is removed..."

Kirk never finished his sentence. He didn't need to. Both he and Daniel ran towards the lorry, leaving Pickle and Karen undecided whether they should help them or head towards the screams coming from the field.

"Look!" Karen nudged Pickle and pointed up to the articulated lorry. They both saw Daniel climbing up to open the driver's door, Kirk wasn't far behind. He then fell out of it, landing hard on his back. Kirk bent over to check Daniel, then, wasting no time, went in with his gun. He also fell out and Karen and Pickle could see that his throat had been cut.

Karen ran over with no hesitation and Pickle ran after her as the lorry was beginning to manoeuvre its way free. By the time they got there, the lorry was on its way up Sandy Lane and Pickle and Karen, without conversing with one another, picked up a shotgun each from the recently deceased guards, and opened fired at the tyres of the vehicle, making four blasts. The lorry came to a stop by crashing into the side, and Pickle dropped the gun and ran over. Karen also dropped her empty gun, and followed Pickle, telling him to be careful and that the individual fleeing was probably the architect of what was happening. But her words were never heard.

Pickle was getting nearer to the cab and could see the door opening and a dazed-looking man jumping out. With everything he had, Pickle ran at the large individual and punched him on the jaw, putting him out cold.

With the area lit up by the raging fire coming from the tanker, Pickle could now see the face of the person that was trying to leave. He grabbed the unconscious man by his shirt, who was lying on the floor, with both hands and yelled, "I know yer! These people didn't deserve this!"

Pickle knew of Theodore Davidson from his prison days, and knew the guy was a psychopath, but creating this carnage was insane. Then it clicked with Pickle as Karen reached his side, puffing and panting. Vince had told them about being attacked back at the Spode Cottage and that Stephanie had to put an arrow in his back to stop him from killing Vince, but Pickle wasn't sure if it was the same Bear. Karen guessed who it was straight away, and could see the rainbow bracelet from Shaz's grave on the big man's right wrist, confirming he
was
the man at Spode Cottage that nearly choked Vince to death.

"That's Shaz's bracelet," she blurted out.

Pickle saw it and his anger for the unconscious man grew.

Distracted by the screams from afar, Pickle was torn in two on what to do. He said, "We need to help those people out, but I don't want to leave him here, in case he wakes up and flees."

"Fine." Karen pulled out a steak knife from her pocket and stabbed Bear's left and right thigh, one stab each, making the unconscious man groan. "That's for Daniel and Kirk." She then took the bracelet off of him and put it into her pocket. "He's going nowhere now. We'll talk to him later, if he's still alive."

They walked away from the lorry, picked up the empty shotguns that they had left on the road, put them behind a garden wall and took out their machetes. They were heading back into the camp. Pickle wanted Karen to go back inside, but he knew that his advice would not be listened to.

He tried again. He was right. Karen ignored him.

She was pumped up, holding her machete in her right hand. She took a quick look behind her, where they had left the injured assailant, and Karen gasped. Both Karen and Pickle stopped walking and both were now looking up Sandy Lane, where the barrier used to be. Coming out of the Pear Tree Estate, scores of the dead were leaving the place and heading down Sandy Lane, heading for the light, attracted by the flames and the screams.

Pickle and Karen turned and gaped at one another in horror, then looked at the small army that was heading for the exposed camp that had no barrier anymore.

They were coming. Dozens of them were coming.