Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) (30 page)

Chapter Five

Harry Branston walked with lazy steps along the hedge, checking for any abnormalities. It was a boring job, but Vince wanted the perimeter of the camp checked on a regular basis now that a few more bodies were available. Pickle occasionally poked the hedge with his machete, and knew that if individuals were desperate enough to get onto the premises, an eight foot hedge was not going to stop them.

It was perfect as far as keeping out the Snatchers were concerned, but humans who were desperate or wanted to pillage an area would find no trouble getting in. Vince had focused so much on the dead that the threat of the living had hardly been given much thought.

Harry continued to walk beside the hedge and peered over to the Spode Cottage. The place used to be a pub/restaurant that was situated on the main road, near the camp, and used to attract people from afar for a good meal and a few drinks. Now it was used as a huge storeroom that stored food, drink, fuel, and other items that had been taken by Vince and his people on their many runs. It was also a place that could house individuals, but all the caravans hadn't been used up yet, and Vince didn't really trust putting people in a place where there was an endless supply of food and drink.

The place was under lock and key, and only Vince and two other men were allowed to go in. There was a well. There were also many animals in pens that had been brought in by farmers that had decided to flee their place, but if individuals wanted batteries, medical stuff, or a bottle of red wine, they asked Vince.

A trip to the Spode Cottage was all it took to give the residents what they wanted, as long as they didn't take liberties. The same people that occasionally asked for the odd treat, were the same people that washed clothes, made fires, cleaned the caravans and cooked huge pots of soup that were shared amongst the fifty or so residents that were now dwelling there. Day by day the camp was slowly growing. Some were obviously too old to do anything, but most contributed in one way or another.

Pickle saw a man he recognised, but was never introduced to, walk out of the Spode Cottage with a clipboard under his arm. He could see Vince approaching the man, and the pair of them were in a deep discussion about something. Pickle guessed correctly that they were discussing the supplies situation. After a minute had passed, Vince walked over to Harry Branston and greeted him with a warm smile. "Pickle, you fancy a run in a day or so?"

Pickle nodded over to the man with the clipboard, who was now walking away and disappeared into caravan four. "Anything to do with that wee talk with yer friend o'er there?"

"You don't miss a trick." Vince cackled, and placed his hand on Pickle's shoulder. "One of the farmer's sons used to work in a factory in Fradley."

"That's two miles from here—"

"He turned up a few days ago."

Pickle nodded. "Yes, I remember. His wife was killed."

Vince added, "He reckons that there's tons and tons of food and drink at this place, and—"

Vince's story was interrupted by a heavy sigh from Pickle, and this seemed to infuriate the man in charge of the camp.

Vince asked, "What is it?"

Pickle scratched at his short hair. It was itchy as hell and hadn't seen soap since the last time he had washed it a few days ago. He was in dire need of a shave as well. Eventually, Pickle spoke up. "Why don't we just live off what we've got?"

"We're starting to run low."

"Really? We have animals, vegetable patches. The Spode Cottage still has a shit load o' stuff—"

"Not as much as we used to have."

Pickle paused for thought, and said, "I don't think we should be risking lives to go to a place that may already have been raided and stripped. Look what happened with yer Stafford trip."

Vince bit his lip before speaking. "That was eight miles away, driving through residential areas. Fradley is
two
miles away, in the middle of the countryside. It'll be winter in a few months, and going out on runs is something that we're not gonna be able to do, especially if the weather has its way. And the lack of fuel is eventually going to be a problem."

"I don't know." Pickle rubbed his chin in thought. Vince had a good point, and instead of chastising the man, Pickle thought that maybe the man should be praised for putting himself on the line for others and planning ahead.

Added Vince, "This factory could help us get through winter comfortably. How many people in the UK are going to be able to do that?"

Pickle shook his head and sighed, "What's yer plan?" He still wasn't convinced, and Vince knew that if he wanted to go out there, he needed Pickle beside him, just in case.

"Simple. We drive out there, check the place out. If it's not being occupied, we go inside. If it has the produce, then we go back to the camp."

"Then?"

"Then we take one HGV from the barrier to Fradley, fill it up full of whatever we can get our hands on and come back." Vince glared at Pickle who was unsure. "It's a fifteen minute drive there, if that."

Pickle scowled at Vince and pushed his lips together. "These tins and jars will be on pallets, wrapped in cellophane."

"And?"

"How the fuck are yer gonna get this stuff on the back o' a wagon? Lift them?"

"Forklift trucks."

"There's no power, which means there's no battery to run the trucks."

"Ah," Vince put his forefinger in the air, stopping Pickle from adding any more negativity to the argument. "But the farmer's son say that they used to use diesel forklift trucks."

"So does that mean there should be fuel pumps there?"

Vince began to laugh. "Even if the pumps are dry and the trucks are in the red, and are low on fuel, it might be enough to load a few pallets on a truck. How long will it take? Ten minutes? Don't forget I used to do this for a living."

Pickle had no immediate answer, telling Vince that he was beginning to change his mind. "Yer said yerself, a few days ago: Every time we go out, something happens."

"And there's also a good chance that something could happen this time around, but it's a gamble I'm willing to take if it means we can spend four or five months living in luxury until the spring comes."

"It's only July. What's the hurry?"

"It's called preparation, my friend."

"Surely after four weeks they'll be nothing left in the place. Someone must have..." Pickle was lost in deliberation and asked in defeat, "So what's
in
this factory?"

"It's a hangar, like what they used to use in the Second World War, and the place is called
Fradley's Food Products
. It's a wholesaler that used to supply to restaurants, hotels—that kind of shit. If it hasn't been raided already it could have thousands of cans of food, water—fuck knows what else. Obviously the fresh and frozen produce will not be edible, neither will bread. But they have tins, jars, pasta, crisps—"

"Okay, I get the message." Pickle screwed his face in thought. "So who's going?"

"Me, you, Shaz...and one of the new boys."

"Is four enough?"

Vince acknowledged Pickle with a nod before answering with words. "Yes. Four is all I can spare anyway."

"Okay," Pickle sighed, "It'd be nice to get away from hedge-duty for a while. What about Karen?"

"Karen isn't going. Not in her condition." Vince's face was serious, and Pickle agreed with him.

Pickle began to guffaw. "Who's gonna tell her? You?"

"
You
can, " Vince laughed. "Anyway, she ain't missing much. All we're doing at first is checking the place out. Our day will consist of a fifteen minute drive, check the place, then a fifteen minute drive back. We'd only be out an hour at the most."

Pickle nodded in agreement. "I suppose if we take the HGV all the way there and the factory's empty, then we've wasted diesel."

"Exactly."

"And if we run into trouble?"

"Well, that's the whole reason why Karen's staying behind." Vince added with a smirk, "I may be a sexual deviant, and I may be a selfish tosser, but I don't want to be responsible for the death of an unborn child."

"Talking of children." Pickle straightened his back up. "I heard about what happened this morning. I bumped into a couple o' distraught young boys who said that yer made their pal fight a Snatcher in order to get into the camp."

"Pickle," Vince sighed, and gave off a thin smile to a man he had every respect for. "
I
run this camp. Please, don't question my methods. I'm trying to make this camp stronger, and that won't happen if we accept weak people."

"I'm just saying." Pickle tried to explain himself, hoping that it wouldn't spark off an argument. "We're only in week five, and we're doing stuff like this. Really? We only lost power three weeks ago. It wasn't tha' long ago we were a civilised society. It's like something out o' Mad Max."

"Things change." Vince shrugged his shoulders. "And I've been doing this initiation for a few weeks now."

"
I
never did it."

Vince laughed, "I've seen your lot in action. You, Karen and Shaz could take a Rotter with one hand tied behind your back."

Pickle breathed heavily and added, before walking away, "It just doesn't sit right with me. That's all I'm saying."

Chapter Six

As Paul checked the cupboard and the defunct fridge, he was beginning to realise that he was getting nearer to the day that he had been dreading for weeks: The day where there was no food.

He took a look in the downstairs bathroom, and could see that the bath was getting shallower with the water he had used to fill it. Paul Dickson needed to leave the house and find more supplies.

He had no qualms about doing this, as he knew this day would come sooner or later; his main problem was what he was going to do with Kyle. It was too dangerous to take him with him, but he also didn't want to leave him in the house alone. The poor thing would be frightened to death, unless Paul decided to go out on his run during the night.

Paul felt that it was more dangerous on a night, and if he ever got bit by one of those things, he'd be done for. Kyle waking up in the morning with no daddy, hardly any food and water, with the house locked up, wasn't bear thinking about.

No matter what option Paul thought of, every one of them was plagued with negativity and
what ifs
.

His first plan was to go next door. He hadn't heard a thing and he was uncertain whether they were laying low, or had somehow turned. There was also a gym a couple of streets away where he used to go. The place had a vending machine, but more importantly it had a cupboard inside the gym, and that was where they kept their gallons of water for the coolers that were used by customers.

When he was there, he would occasionally see an instructor go into the cupboard to change the water. The only people who knew about this were the few people that worked there and the small amount of members. Paul was aware that there was a small chance that even if the place had been raided by desperados, the cupboard may not have been touched. And water was more vital than food.

Paul was lost in thought. In order to get into the gym's doors, he would need at least a hammer. He knew that the longer he left it, the more chance there would be of the place eventually getting looted, but he was kind of hoping that some kind of government intervention would have happened by now, especially after four weeks.

Where was the army? Probably securing and quarantining parts of the Capital, Paul thought. And where were our allies? Maybe they were everywhere, like Manchester, Birmingham, Newcastle, but little towns and villages like his own was deemed as not as important because of the small four-thousand population it had.

The only reason why Paul and most other people were feeling neglected and isolated was because there were no news, no information. For all he knew, there could be safe quarantined areas in Birmingham, the nearest city from his small town. The trouble with this was that it was thirty miles away. He was too scared to drive with Kyle the two or so miles to see his mum, so the trip to Birmingham was a definite no-no.

Paul Dickson sighed and ran his fingers through his dark, greasy hair. He then walked into his daughter's room and peered out from the blinds to see his car still sitting on his drive. The wheels were missing, and the tank had been completely drained of fuel. This had been done by himself, so that there was no chance of the vehicle being siphoned or stolen. It felt like a good idea at the time, and it was something that he implemented after a few days. However, if ever Paul and Kyle needed to leave with the car suddenly, it could be counterproductive trying to re-fill the tank and to put on four wheels if they needed to leave in a hurry.

He had made a decision about their dwindling supplies predicament.

He was going to check the neighbours in the early hours of the morning, around 4am, to see if they were safe, and if they could spare anything.

At least at 4am it would be getting lighter outside, but Kyle would still be dead to the world. If his neighbour, Robert and his family, were unharmed, he thought that maybe they could work together in some capacity to feed their families. Surely they must be running out of food by now. They could go to the gym together, while Robert's wife, Daisy, looked after the kids.

Still glaring from the blinds, his train of thought was disturbed by three creatures shambling on the other side of the road. He held his breath and watched as they took an age to disappear from view and exited the empty street.