Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) (11 page)

Chapter Twenty Two

Thanks to another main road up ahead, the woods were beginning to thin out once again. Despite the macabre scene the last time he stepped onto a main road, Tommy raised a smile. He took a look over his shoulder one last time, for fear of the dead and also the madman from Paisley, and stepped onto the hot tarmac.

He looked down either side of the lane, and although it was tempting to walk down these roads and check out if there were any solitary homes available, it meant he was left out in the open, exposed to the dead and living predators.

On this stretch of road he could see a building in the distance, to his left. It looked like a detached home, rather than a farmhouse, and he immediately walked left to check the place out. He had a bag of food on his back; he also thought that there could also be some scraps inside, and it was a lot more secure than sleeping in the woods or an abandoned shack.

Maybe it could be a permanent thing.

As he gained nearer, he took his Glock out, put a fresh magazine in, then pulled the slide back and chambered a round. As soon as he was standing opposite the house, he noticed that the small iron gate was open. The front garden was very small and there was no vehicle on the drive.

Tommy walked onto the premises and the first thing he saw was a black Labrador, lying near the front door, with its head removed from its body and a screwdriver driven through its ear. The head lay five yards from the rest of its corpse, and Tommy had no idea how this had happened. With his gun in his right hand, he tried the door, but it wasn't budging. He walked round the outside of the house and saw a large back garden that had grass that was in desperate need of being cut. It was all clear. He relaxed a little, and began checking out the windows which all seemed to be shut.

He went back round the front and decided to knock through the small glass panel and try and open the door by putting his arm in. This was done with success, and as soon as he opened the door, he stepped inside with paranoid eyes, looking all around him. It was a small house. He shut the door behind him, took a few steps forward, and was immediately in the kitchen. There was a door to his right, and when he opened it, all that was in there was a refrigerator. He opened it up and shut it immediately once the smell assaulted his nose.

In front of him was a door with frosted glass. He looked inside, and although clear vision wasn't going to be achieved by peering through frosted glass, there didn't seem to be any movement inside.

He placed his hand on the doorknob, twisted it, and opened the door towards him. He peered in and the clear room told Tommy Burns that the whole ground floor of the small house was clear.

His ears then suddenly pricked upwards when he heard the sound of feet above him, from one of the bedrooms. The timid thuds were speedy and not clumsy or dragging. This told Tommy that whatever was in the house, it wasn't a ghoul. He assumed it was human, rather than an animal of some sort, but had no idea if it was male, female, and if it would be a danger to him. He thought that the person of the house had a right to kill him, after all, he had just broken in, but decided to point his gun at the door leading to the stairs. He was now convinced that the individual was making their way to the ground floor.

He was wrong.

The footsteps had stopped, but Tommy knew the whole house needed to be checked out.

The footsteps could be heard again; they were faint, as if the person had taken off their shoes. This time they
were
making their way downstairs. Tommy pointed his gun at the door once again, preparing himself for the worst case scenario.

It seemed to take an age for the person to reach the bottom of the stairs, but once they did, they opened the door straight away, suggesting to Tommy that they had no idea somebody else was in the house.

A young girl entered the living room. As soon as she clocked Tommy, she stopped walking, gasped, and remained still, unaware of what to do or say. She was no older than thirteen, wore spectacles and had blonde hair that was tied in a ponytail.

Tommy lowered the gun and apologised immediately to the young girl, raising his other hand.

"How did you get in?" she spoke at last.

"I'm sorry." Tommy took his heavy bag off of his back, and apologised for the second time in a minute. "I thought the place was empty. Well, I hoped..."

The young girl then gulped and asked nervously, "Are you here to...hurt me?"

"God, no."

"I'm living in my room. I've been doing that ever since the weekend it started to happen."

The outbreak had been happening a lot longer than that, but he knew what she meant. She meant the weekend it was officially announced that the UK, possibly the world, was totally fucked.

"I have things to eat and drink." Tommy pointed to his bag.

"So do I." She smiled, and looked to be losing her tension now that she was certain that this gentleman was not a threat, despite forcing his way into her house.

"Where're your parents?" asked Tommy.

"Dead," she said with little sentiment.

Tommy assumed they had been dead for a while, unless the young girl was a cold individual, and she had weeks to get used to the idea. "And what's the story with the dog outside?"

"That's Buddy." Again, her response possessed little sadness, and said, matter-of-factly, "My dad chopped his head off."

"I don't understand."

"Why don't you come upstairs and I'll tell you all about it?" She looked at Tommy, and despite the fact that he was still holding the gun, pointing to the floor, she seemed certain that the intruder was friendly. "I've got a stove and a gas canister in my room. You fancy a cup of tea?"

"Absolutely."

"Come on then. But you need to be quiet."

Her last sentence perplexed Tommy, but he followed her upstairs and did what he was told. He was as quiet as a mouse, and wondered how a thirteen-year-old had acquired a gas canister.

Chapter Twenty Three

After a light snack, Pickle and Vince were in the corner of the garden, chatting to one another. Karen looked over and wondered what the discussion was about between the two men. It had been going on for five minutes and not one of them had cracked a smile or laughed during the conversation. This told Karen that whatever they were talking about was something to do with the group. So why not discuss it with them?

The two men finished their talk and Vince went back over to the group, where Karen stood, and Jack and Shaz were involved in their own discussion with their backs to the gate.

The group were asked to sit down by Pickle. This was the first time that an announcement like this had been made, and Karen knew there was something on his mind. Wolf stepped out of the cabin and sat down. Vince remained standing, leaning against the neglected shed, but Jack, Shaz and Karen sat down on the grass. Pickle slowly paced the area near the gate. He looked nervous, which made the rest of the group nervous.

Pickle was still dressed in black, like Karen, but was wearing a grey cardigan that belonged to Wolf. He claimed that he felt a chill, but the truth was that he hadn't told them of his attack yet, and was covering up his bandaged wound.

"We're waiting." Karen raised her eyebrows as high as she could, urging Pickle to hurry up with this meeting of his.

"Okay." He clapped his hands together. "I'll be blunt."

His silence and his inability to find any more words was infuriating Karen. She remained tight-lipped and swallowed her frustration.

Pickle finally said, "I think we should leave."

Pickle was surprised that not a word of protest had left the lips of Wolf, Shaz and Karen. He looked at the two girls, and was stunned that they never questioned his announcement. He was expecting a barrage of abuse, especially from Karen. Instead, they sat staring at him, waiting for him to finish speaking.

Pickle continued, "Staying here is slowly becoming dangerous. Wolf had predicted this from day one, and I think in a matter of time people are gonna be coming up here, and they won't be coming just for a visit."

Wolf nodded in agreement, but Shaz and Karen continued to gaze.

Pickle took off the grey cardigan of Wolf's and placed it on the ground.

Karen pointed at the material wrapped around his left forearm, and asked, "What happened?"

"I saw a family walking across the field. So I went down to see where they were going. They were on their way up here, just a normal family. But their young boy slashed me with a knife. Eventually I managed to persuade them to turn around and leave. I was slashed by a boy," Pickle pointed at his dressed wound, "and it was just a normal family, desperate to survive."

Wolf spoke up in support of Pickle's decision. "Next time, it might not be a family. The next time it could be a gang of armed men. We wouldn't stand a chance."

Pickle looked in Karen's way. "Even if we still had the Brownings, we don't have the numbers to protect the place. Once word gets out we're here, with possible supplies, half o' the estate will be up. We need to move, people. Soon."

"How soon?" Shaz asked.

"Tomorrow morning."

"And go where?" Wolf looked flabbergasted. He didn't realise Pickle wanted to go so rapidly.

Pickle looked over to Vince and gave him the floor. "Yer wanna do the honours?"

Vince stood up straight and walked from the shed to where Pickle was standing. He placed his hand on Pickle's shoulder and said, "Pickle and I have been having a chat."

Karen made a noise with her lips to show her displeasure.

Vince continued, "This camp that Jack and I are involved in can always use more people, especially young people who can handle themselves. I've already told you about the facilities we have. With you guys on board, the camp could have more protection and we could do more runs. It's perfect. Well...you know what I mean."

"Who's in charge of this camp?" asked Shaz.

"Me, of course." Vince flashed Shaz a smile, and gave her a wink that infuriated Karen. He added with a pinch of sarcasm, "I'm the brains behind the operation."

"The brains?" Karen guffawed. "You went on a run, lost your vehicle and got two of your people killed."

Vince tried to hide his anger. His liking for Karen was dwindling the more he got to know her, but he knew that she would be an excellent addition to the camp as far as muscle was concerned.

"Don't be disrespectful, Karen." Vince said with a straight face. "We lost two good people, didn't we, Jack?"

Jack nodded sadly, making Karen feel a little guilty.

"And didn't you get carjacked on the very first day?" Vince stood, waiting for an answer. The smugness on his face was clear, and Karen felt like smashing it in.

Karen said with fury in her tone, "You think you're such a fucking smart arse, don't you? I bet you can sit on a tub of ice cream and tell me what flavour it is."

"Look, this is getting ridiculous," Pickle intervened and urged Karen to be quiet.

Karen stood up, ready to go back into the cabin, but Shaz asked her sit back down and hear the man out. Karen sat down, reluctantly. "I'm sorry, but I'm not taking orders from Scarface over there. He gets on my tits."

"Right, this is the plan." Pickle spoke up. "Four of us will leave tomorrow for the camp. It's dangerous out there, so we're better in numbers. As soon as we get to the camp, we can borrow a truck from Vince, then get back up here to strip the cabin of the supplies."

"So who are the two staying behind?" Shaz felt like she was the only one asking questions. Either she was impatient and should allow Pickle to finish off what he was saying, or she was dumb, and everyone apart from her knew what would be happening.

"Karen and Wolf will stay behind. Wolf's too old to be walking to the camp anyway, if that's what we'll have to do, and we need a bit of muscle up here in case any more visitors decide to make their way up while we're away." He looked over to Karen and gave her a nod of his head, making Wolf feel even more hopeless. The sixty-nine-year-old man was unable to walk properly, and now a twenty-three-year-old woman was considered tougher than he was and would be protecting the supplies while the group were away.

"I've got a shotgun," Wolf protested. "You can
all
go. I'll be okay on my own. I can look after the supplies until you return with wheels."

Pickle shook his head. "It's not open for discussion. Karen's staying with yer." He then turned to the rest of the group. "Once we get to the camp, we'll grab a truck and drive through the estate and park it on the field, with one standing guard while the others go back to the top o' the hill. We then come and get Wolf and Karen, then we strip the cabin of everything it has, carry the lot down to the parked vehicle on the grass, then get the fuck out o' the place. It's simple."

"We need to get to the camp first." Shaz said with a slight negative tone.

"True." Pickle nodded and agreed with Shaz. "Travelling the two to three miles to the camp, especially if it is on foot, could create a number o' hazards for the group."

"Fuck the supplies. Let's just all go."

Pickle guffawed, "Wolf can hardly walk, and we're not leaving him here permanently."

Shaz then began to slap at her hair and eventually stood up and jogged around the garden, almost hitting herself. "A wasp," she yelled. "A fucking wasp. I hate them."

The insect flew away and headed in Karen and Jack's direction. Jack tried to remain cool with the women present, but couldn't help a little slap here and there, paranoid he'd get stung. Then it flew in Karen's direction.

She didn't move.

It finally landed on her right arm, and she used her left hand to slap her forearm and squish the pesky insect. She removed her hand and saw the little thing with its guts out. She flicked it away and sniffed, "Stripy prick." She then turned to the group who were all staring at her. She shrugged her shoulders. "What? It's just a wasp."

"But they're horrible things." Shaz looked nervous.

Jack agreed and half-joked, "I got stung at Drayton Manor Park when I was a kid. Been scarred for life ever since."

Karen shook her head at the conversation that was going on. Bewildered, she brushed her hair behind her ears and said, "We've spent the last three weeks smashing in brains and you're freaking over a wasp?"

Shaz pointed at the red mark on Karen's arm, it appeared that she was stung when she killed it. "But doesn't that hurt?"

"It stings a little." Karen laughed at the situation. "It's better than having your neck torn open, or being disembowelled while you're still alive to see it."

"I could imagine that would be the worst way to go." Vince tried to get in on the conversation that had turned lighter, thanks to the wasp incident, but no one else responded.

Pickle cleared his throat and spat to the side of him. "Right, let's get back to this plan of ours."