Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) (29 page)

Chapter Two

It was a dull day as far as the weather was concerned, and after a restless night, plagued by macabre dreams of the recent past, Paul Dickson finally woke up. It was after nine, according to his Citizen-Eco watch, and he stretched out his arms and yawned a little too loudly. His sticky eyes took a while to open, and once they did, he could see his bedroom ceiling that could have done with a fresh lick of paint.

A few months ago this would have bothered him a little, but he had more pressing issues to contend with. His primary concern was for the little man lying next to him in his bed.

Kyle Dickson was seven years old, had strawberry blonde hair and an amazing pair of green eyes. It was just Paul and Kyle. Paul had no idea where his wife and daughter were.

As normal, like every morning, Paul's day started off with sadness as he thought about Day One.

They—some parts of the media—called it
The Sickness
, or,
The Summer Virus
.

At the beginning, the news on the TV broadcasted horrendous images of the vicious outbreak that had suddenly occurred, and had no explanation where it had come from. Once Paul came out of his shock he tried to contact his wife, but to no avail. She had gone out to the shops with his five-year-old daughter, Bell, an hour after the announcement. It was Sunday morning.

That Sunday morning, in the little town of Little Haywood, was like any normal day for Paul Dickson. The children, especially Kyle, were up too early for his liking. He wished his son would have a lie-in, but he had always been like that ever since he was a toddler. Paul and Julie had tried everything to let their son sleep longer on a morning, especially on a weekend, which meant that they would also get a decent sleep.

They'd tried keeping him up late. At one time, on a Friday night, Paul and Julie gave the kids a movie night, which consisted of watching a movie from the iPad and having a bowl of chocolate treats halfway through the movie. The children went to bed just after ten, and Kyle still woke up at 6am and looked fresh as a daisy. The trouble with a bored and lonely Kyle at 6am was that because his parents refused to get out of bed, he would go and wake his sister up. This would be followed by arguments, the use of the toilet, and storming into their parents' bedroom every now and then and telling on one another: "Mum, Kyle hit me." "Daddy, Bell said I'm a big baby." "Mummy, Kyle spat on my pyjamas." "Daddy, Bell's peed all over the toilet seat."

The result was the same every morning. One of the parents would get up, and the one that had a lie-in would allow the early riser to go back to bed for a couple of hours, later on in the morning.

On that June morning nothing seemed different when his kids got up. His seven-year-old boy and five-year-old girl were downstairs, and they were arguing with one another once they sat down in the living room.

Paul hated Kyle and Bell's love/hate relationship at the time, and most mornings he would have to send them to their bedrooms because of the severity of their verbal disagreements. An hour later, Bell and his wife went out to the shops.

He hadn't seen them since.

The news had been officially announced on the Saturday evening, but Sunday morning was the first he had heard of it. When he finally picked up his phone in the kitchen, he had seven missed calls, four texts and twelve notifications on Facebook.

That was over four weeks ago.

Now, still lying in bed, Paul's eyes began to fill up. He pined for those days, that he used to dislike, to come back. It still irked him that his wife, after being out for an hour with Bell, never answered her phone when he watched the outbreak being announced on the TV, and after four weeks, the not-knowing if his wife and daughter were alive was still killing him from the inside.

But he had to be strong. He had to be strong for Kyle.

Paul looked to the left of him and noticed that the little man was stirring. It seemed ironic that since the disappearance of his mother and sister, he was now beginning to have lie-ins. His seven-year-old's eyes were trying to open up, and he puffed out his red lips before he managed a wide yawn.

It was time to get up.

Chapter Three

Karen Bradley was awake and sat up in bed. She gazed around the room, wondering where she was. It took a few seconds to realise that her dream about being chased by three armed men wasn't real. She tucked her hair behind her ears and yawned loudly, followed by an inspection of her breath. She cupped her hands, breathed into them and took a quick sniff. Her screwed-up face suggested that it wasn't good. She stepped out of bed and headed for the living room area.

She was sharing the caravan with Sharon Bailey, so never flinched when she heard a bedroom door open. Dressed in a nightgown, Sharon walked into the living room and immediately put on a gas ring from the cooker.

"How much gas have we got left in the canister?" Shaz asked.

"Enough." Karen yawned again, sat down, and took a look out of the window. The day was murky, black clouds hung, and it was clear that the area was just minutes away from rain. "About time."

"I might be going on a run soon," announced Shaz. She poured water from a bottle into a pan and put on four eggs.

"Today?" Karen remained sitting, her queasiness making her weak.

Shaz shrugged her shoulders. "Not sure. Should be about four of us."

"And I assume I won't be allowed to go," Karen huffed with petulance.

"For once, I agree with Vince." Shaz peered over her shoulder to look at her friend, but Karen's head was lowered. "You need to look after yourself. Anyway, you're kept busy, aren't you?"

"Busy?" Karen shook her head. "By doing medical rounds and dishing out drugs to the old people? It's shit, Shaz. If I was eight months gone, I'd understand—"

"Remember what we talked about? About taking a step back?"

Karen ignored her and sat back, her arms outstretched on the couch.

There was a rap at the door, and Karen took a look at the battery-powered clock hanging on the wall. It was just after nine. "If that's Mandy wanting me to do a morning round, she can bugger off. I don't know why she just doesn't go round herself. The old people here hate me."

"Maybe because you called Mr Jenkins a miserable prick."

"He is." Karen finally managed to get to her feet. She wandered over to the living room area of the caravan. She looked out of the window to see who was standing at the door.

"Who is it?" asked Shaz.

Karen turned to look at her friend. "It's Pickle."

*

"Ready when you are."

Vince was back on top of the HGV, waiting for the 'show' to start. Beside him, sitting down, was seventeen-year-old Harry Beresford, and his fifteen-year-old friend, David Watkins. Both young boys had their fingers crossed, hoping that their sixteen-year-old friend, Ollie Hopkins, wasn't going to fuck this up.

Ollie hadn't adapted to this new world well at all. If it wasn't for the protection from his friends, he would have died weeks ago.

The two guards had managed to bring out a Rotter from the canal and had carefully untied the material from around its throat, and freed the bloated deadhead that now headed towards the crowbar-wielding Ollie Hopkins.

While the two guards made their way back to the top of the HGV, Vince and Ollie's friends could see that Ollie was a nervous wreck, and that he was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane.

"There's nothing to be nervous about." Vince tried some words of comfort. He almost felt sorry for Ollie, after all he was just a scared kid. But this needed to be done. His camp was never going to be strong if it was full of people who were unable to fight. The fact that it had a lot of senior citizens wasn't helping matters, but what was he supposed to do? Kick them off the site? He had known these people for years before the apocalypse kicked off. He was harsh, but he wasn't
that
harsh.

The once-male ghoul stumbled towards Ollie. The youngster took a pathetic swipe at the creature, striking through thin air.

"You can do it," said Vince. "You have a crowbar. All this creature has is its teeth. You should have put him down by now."

"But I'm scared," Ollie cried out, the crowbar still shaking in his hands.

"That's understandable," Vince called out. "I was also scared when I first had sex, when I had my first driving lesson, and when I first killed one of these freaks when I saw one coming at me. You get the first one out of the way, and you'll find it gets easier."

Ollie took another timid swipe at the creature, but the crowbar simply bounced off its head and the dead beast continued towards the youngster.

His two friends began shouting words of encouragement from the HGV, but Vince feared the worst.

A teary Ollie closed his eyes and struck out once more, and this time the crowbar slipped out of his fingers and clattered on the road. The pair of icy hands grabbed Ollie around the neck, and his two friends screamed at Vince to do something...anything!

"Don't look away," ordered Vince, glaring at the two youngsters. "Watch everything."

There was a struggle between boy and beast. Harry stood up to go down and help out his friend, but Vince told him to sit.

Ollie released an awful, high-pitched scream once the set of dirty teeth ripped open his neck. He fell to the floor, writhing and screaming as dark crimson spewed out from the gaping wound.

"Keep watching," Vince yelled at Harry and David. "Don't look away."

Ollie was crawling along the road, bleeding heavily from the neck, and his fruitless attempt to escape was unnerving his friends. He flipped over onto his back while the bloated beast stumbled over to him. Ollie was almost dead, and never cried out when the creature tore into his torso and began pulling out his insides.

"This is what happens when you hesitate." Vince looked at the boys who were now both crying for their friend. "No crying. It's
his
fault. If he really wanted to live, he would have killed it."

"But we're just young boys," Harry cried out, refusing to look any longer.

Vince could see anger in Harry's eyes, and was certain that this seventeen-year-old was having visions of taking Vince down. "Imagine we go out on a run and your friend, Ollie, is with us. We get attacked by twelve Rotters, but your friend freezes and can't take even one of them. What do you think would happen?"

None of the boys answered. They were both too distraught to answer.

"Tell me!" Vince yelled.

"We'd all die." David Watkins was the first to speak out.

Vince nodded just the once and smiled. "Indeed we would." Vince pointed at the massacre of Ollie, the creature still on its knees at the side of the body, pushing bloody entrails into his mouth, and added, "With Ollie dying, I may have actually saved your lives."

Harry Beresford stood up, leaned over and threw up. The vomit hit the road from a height, and caused a predictable splat as the contents of his stomach hit the tarmac. He wiped his mouth with his forearm and continued to sob for his friend.

Vince gave young David a nudge and said, "So you've killed three so far?"

David spoke hesitantly, tears still falling from his eyeballs, "Er...yes. I killed two of them last week."

Vince then pointed at the crowbar that Ollie had dropped. It was lying ten yards from the creature and Ollie's body. "Well, David," Vince cleared his throat and glared at the boy. "I think it's time for number four."

Chapter Four

Young Kyle had taken a while to get accustomed to the new life that he had. He had no more school to go to, but would spend at least two hours a day with his dad doing sums and reading; he had no friends anymore to see, and had to make do with playing with his dad or with himself. He was a lonely boy, and missed his mum and little sister terribly.

For the first three weeks Kyle would ask his dad every day where his mum and sister were, and this was answered by Paul with a
I don't know
or a
Not sure
. For the last six days Kyle had stopped asking, and in a strange kind of way the usually-annoying questions that were no longer being asked had worried Paul.

Was Kyle already forgetting that he had a mother or sister? Or had he just given up, and was certain that he was never going to see them again?

Paul Dickson was mooching about in his bedroom and took a look in his mirror. He had lost weight, and the grey at the sides of his hair was growing. He appeared to look old as well, and sighed at his overall appearance. Without his wife, his body was looking shabby. It was Julie that usually gave Paul a haircut with the clippers; she'd also cut and file his toenails. She would also remove the hair off his shoulders and back with either the clippers, on a grade 0, or with her waxing kit, if it was already on and she was doing her legs.

Kyle was now in his room, playing with his toys, while Paul took a look in his cupboard. He had still plenty of clean T-shirts hanging up, as he had been using his clothes sparingly, and had been using the washing machine up until the power went out during the second week. Two days after the power went, the water was next.

He began thinking about his sister and hoped she was okay. The last time he had spoken to his sister was the day before the power went. Like most other people, she stayed in her house and barricaded the entrances. Both siblings had also lost touch with their parents after three days, and he was concerned for their welfare.

Paul had initially adhered to the TV instructions of barricading, but after not having a single episode of one of those things coming near his house, he took away the barricades. His thinking was that his door and his patio door was solid, and if any of those things could break through, then a few cupboards and tables were hardly going to hold them back.

Paul was confident in his home's security, and even slept in his own bed. He was a light sleeper and knew that as soon as he heard as much as a window shattering, he and Kyle would be in the attic within seconds.

After finishing glaring at his body and mentally criticising its appearance, he walked over to his bed and sat down. His nose twitched and he leant down and sniffed the quilt on his bed. It was smelling fusty, something that Julie hated.

There were other quilt covers in the cupboard where the defunct boiler was, but he decided to give it a month. It wasn't bothering him, and Kyle didn't seem to mind either.

He walked over to his bedroom window and peeked out from the closed blinds. Nothing had changed. The weather was now dull, after a glorious few weeks of sun. The windows of other peoples' houses had closed blinds or shut curtains. The back gardens were lifeless. Maybe the grass was a bit longer, but that was all to see.

He reached for the handle of the window and decided to open it for the first time in a long time, and allow fresh air to get in. He was surprised at how different it was compared to when he first opened his window on the Sunday, after finding out about the outbreak. Now, it was tranquil and the birds happily tweeted their merry tune. But before, the outside world to Paul Dickson's ears was a mixture of speeding engines, car alarms and human screams.

"Oh, biscuits!" he heard Kyle shout from his room. That phrase was something Kyle had seen in a cartoon called Kick Buttowski. Paul thought that it was better than cussing like an adult.

Paul left the window open and walked into his son's room. "What is it, big chap?"

Still in his pyjamas, Kyle looked up at his dad and sighed, "I can't find Mr Freeze, daddy?"

A while back Kyle had been bought a Batcave with all the figures, including most of Batman's enemies.

"It's okay, son." Paul tried to appease him. "He'll be here somewhere." Paul then scanned Kyle's room and shook his head. The room was a mess, and it was no surprise he couldn't find Mr Freeze. Paul had a look under his bed and in his cupboard.

He had too much stuff.

Paul always told Julie that the pair of them had too many toys. Whenever Julie would go out to the shops with the kids and come back with gifts, Paul would always moan that it was just another thing to pick up when their bedrooms needed tidying. He didn't know whether it was because they had so much, but whenever they had a new toy they'd be quickly bored of it.

The perfect example was when they were both bought Furbies—it was the closest they could get to a real Mogwai—for Christmas. They were initially delighted with them, but after a couple of weeks they were never played with.

Still unable to find Mr Freeze, Kyle then kicked his action figures that were lying on the floor, and Paul said, "Hey, be careful. Grandma bought you them last Christmas."

Paul then stopped with his reprimand, and wondered how grandma and granddad—
his
parents—were coping. Losing contact after three days wasn't a good sign.

Since losing contact he had no idea how his parents were coping with this crisis, and on the same day he had also lost contact with Julie's parents as well. Even though he had wheels, there was not a chance in hell he'd go out there with Kyle in tow. It was too dangerous. And what if Julie and Bell eventually came back to an empty house?

Originally, he hoped Julie had gone to her parents, they also only lived a few miles away, but he phoned them in the first days and they told him that they hadn't heard from her. He just hoped that she was stuck in the shopping mall, and the doors had been closed and locked manually.

He didn't know what to think. The power continued for a few weeks after her and Bell's disappearance, yet he never heard from them. He would sometimes fear the worst, but he needed to be positive for Kyle's sake.

"Daddy?" Kyle spoke, with a recognisable sadness in his voice, pulling Paul out from his daydreaming.

Paul thought, here we go.
When is mummy and Bell coming home?

But he was wrong with his assumption. "What is it, son?"

"Can I see that video of me and Bell at the fair?"

Kyle was referring to the video that was taken a year ago, when the family went to the Costa Del Sol for two weeks. They went to a fun park called Tivoli World, and Paul had taken a video of them when they were on the big wheel.

Paul sighed, "You can't, big chap." Paul squatted down to his son's level and placed his arm on his shoulder, awaiting another breakdown. "I told you before; we have no electricity anymore, so I can't charge my phone. It's completely flat."

He looked at Paul with a blank expression and sat on his bed. Still in his PJs, little Kyle lay on the bed and curled up into a ball. He remained silent and Paul didn't know what to say to him.

Paul bent over and kissed him on the forehead. "That's it. You have a wee rest."

Kyle began to sulk. "I'm always...resting. You won't let me go out anymore."

"I've already explained, big chap." Paul tried to hide his frustration and kept on reminding himself the little fellow was only seven years old.

"I know," he whined, knowing what his dad was about to say for the umpteenth time.
"The world is in a bad way, and it's not good anymore because of the monsters outside."

Paul shook his head, exasperated. He was trying his best to keep it together, but it wasn't getting any easier as the days ticked by. In fact, the more time went, the more Kyle was becoming frustrated and lonely.