Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) (63 page)

Chapter Fourteen

There was a knock at the door and Harry Branston had managed a half hour sleep after his fracas, and knew that if he slept longer he wouldn't sleep at night, so he welcomed the intrusion.

Pickle staggered towards the door, still half-asleep, and opened the door to see Shaz staring at him. Before he had a chance to ask her what she wanted, she began to speak. "Paul can't find Kyle anywhere."

Pickle rubbed his eyes whilst yawning. "And why is tha' ma problem?"

"I asked a couple of the men and the guy doing hedge-duty if they could help to look for him, but they don't seem to be giving a shit. They said that the man should stop panicking and that the boy is probably hiding under a caravan or something."

"Maybe they're right."

"I told Paul I'd have a look. Wanna help?"

"Not really," Pickle sighed

"Fine," huffed Shaz.

She turned to leave and was stopped when she heard the forty-three-year-old say, "I'll just get ma shoes on."

They both left and Pickle told Shaz to check under the caravans while he checked the hedge. Slightly perplexed that she had been given the tougher job—all Pickle had to do was walk the perimeter of the camp, she nodded in agreement anyway.

Pickle started at the right side of the hedge, near the blockade, and walked around, seeing if the youngster had somehow crawled underneath. He was always concerned that the hedge wasn't enough to keep out humans from climbing over, but the dead shouldn't be much of a problem. Pickle had walked by this hedge many times now and knew there were no gaping holes for anything of human size to crawl through, but checked anyway.

Ten minutes had passed as he continued with his laborious walk, and could see that Shaz was almost finished checking under the caravans. It wasn't looking good so far.

Pickle then saw Paul Dickson, out of his mind with worry, briskly walking towards him.

"I just bumped into Shaz," announced Paul. "Thanks for helping."

"What happened?"

"He went to the caravan to get some nuts, but never came back. Thanks again."

"No probs." Pickle took a look at the worried father. "No sign of him yet, though."

"I've looked all around. The guards at the barrier said they ain't seen him."

"He can't be far." Pickle winked with his left eye, to comfort the man. "We'll find him. No worries."

Both men walked to the end of the area, nearing Jack Slade's grave, and just as Pickle was about to turn on his heels and walk the final third of the hedge, Paul said, "Wait."

"What is it?"

Paul Dickson pointed to the ground, near the corner of the hedge, and Pickle could see a handful of nuts scattered on the ground.

Paul tried to explain, "Kyle was eating nuts before. But why waste them like that?"

Pickle crouched down and could now see a hole at the bottom of the hedge, not covered very well, and then clocked the nuts once again.

Pickle said, "Maybe he was feeding something."

"What like?"

"I don't know." Pickle pointed at the hole in the hedge. "But I think your boy has left the camp."

"Oh shit." Paul placed both hands on his head and began to sob. "Oh Christ!"

Pickle told Paul to stay where he was and ran back to his caravan. He returned with a machete in his right hand and said, "Let's not waste any more time."

He hacked at the hole to expand it a little, and Paul was looking at him with concern.

"It's okay." Pickle spoke with calmness. "We'll patch it up properly when we come back."

"When we come back?"

"Yeah. We're gonna get your boy back."

"Can we do that?"

"Vince put me in charge today. I can do whatever I want."

"I was told that Robin Barton—"

"Yer was told wrong."

Before Pickle had a chance to squeeze himself through the gap, a voice made both men spin around. "What's going on?"

It was young David Watkins. He had recently lost two friends, Harry Beresford and Ollie Hopkins. Ollie Hopkins never even made it into the camp, as he had failed an initiation test Vince had given him.

"Good." Pickle looked at David Watkins. "You can stand by this hole while we go under."

"What?"

Paul explained to a confused David. "My son has gone through there. Well...we think he has."

"There's a farm up there," said David.

Pickle crawled his way through, followed by Paul. David Watkins looked around, knowing that this was a chance to temporarily escape the monotony of the camp, and followed the men.

Once they were at the other side, Pickle lambasted the youngster for following them. "I thought I told you—"

"Please. We won't be long, will we?"

"Fuck's sake," Pickle snapped. "Come on then."

Seeing that Paul Dickson wasn't carrying anything and that young David Watkins was only holding a knife, Pickle pulled out his machete as they progressed to the farm, taking the lead. He announced, "Stay behind me. There could be a few nasty surprises lurking about."

Chapter Fifteen

Vince clocked the street and decided to get to his destination via the back gardens of the houses so he wouldn't be seen. He was sure that the Murphy family didn't know who he was. He guessed that the face of the son's father that was killed by one of their own, was something scum like this never remembered. However, an individual walking down the road, machete tucked in his belt and a shotgun in his right hand, would probably rouse suspicions if ever he was spotted.

He could see the house he wanted while standing at the end of the street, and counted the houses. He had six back gardens to go through before he reached the Murphy's residence. There was still a chance they could have left by now, but he had to check the place out before checking the rest of the town, then he'd be Rugeley-bound.

The back gardens were partitioned by six foot fences, making his journey a little bit more of a struggle than he would have liked.

He made his way across the gardens and fences without moaning about it, and was thankful that he had done it with no danger present. Not a trace of what was happening was evident in these gardens he had walked through. He never saw any bodies, blood, limbs...nothing. Maybe the people were dead inside, or the Murphy family's behaviour had forced families to leave the street in panic.

He was getting tired now and had one more fence to jump, and then he was on their patch.

He could see the back of their house from where he was standing, and stared up at the windows to see if there was any sign of life. It appeared that all windows, at least at the back of the house, had blinds that had been closed. Seeing
in
was impossible.

Vince peered over the fence and saw that it was clear. He threw the shotgun over, then jumped over with little hesitance, and landed awkwardly this time.

He picked up the shotgun from the lawn and walked to the back door, his eyes scanning around him. He placed his hand on the door handle, and began to feel the carotid artery hammer from underneath his skin with his other. He was nervous. He hoped that this was going to turn out in his favour, although there was a small chance that they may have fled to pastures new.

He pushed the handle down and gave the door a nudge. It opened. He didn't know what to make of this.

Was it open because they didn't live there anymore, or was it left open because of their sheer arrogance?

It could be arrogance.

Who in their right mind would break into the house of a notorious family like these lot?

He stepped inside, aware that there could be danger around any corner, and slowly stepped along the hallway. He came to a door to his left. It was left ajar by a few inches, and he pushed it open. He entered the living room, gun now pointed, and was expecting it to be inhabited by at least one of those fuckers. He was wrong. As soon as he finished checking the empty kitchen, he now had the upstairs to check. He was now beginning to think that the family may have taken off.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and climbed them slowly, the paranoia was strong and he shook even more.

As soon as he reached the landing, he could see that he had four rooms to check. The room to his left was the first he entered, and gasped as he saw something that he wasn't expecting. In the middle of the room was empty cans and bottles. The bedroom itself was in dire need of decorating and the bed sheets looked like they hadn't been washed in months.

What made his heart giddy-up was the person that was in the room. In the corner of the room was a girl, no older than nine. She had her knees into her chest, her arms wrapped around her legs. She looked scared, and his presence made her body shake.

Vince could see the young girl was petrified. He was aware that his face was scarred, and guessed that holding a shotgun and having a huge blade tucked in his belt didn't help to dilute the little girl's consternation either.

"It's okay." Vince raised his hand to comfort the girl. "I'm not here to hurt you."

"No more, please," she begged, and obviously didn't believe him.

No more?

He had no idea what she was talking about and had now noticed that her right ankle was tied to one of the legs of the bed.

No more?

Vince kept his voice to a whisper, as he hadn't checked the other rooms yet.

"What's your name?" he asked. "I'm here to help. I'm Vince."

She never responded at first, she just shook with fright.

"It's okay."

Finally, she said, "My name's Lisa." Her brown, bobbed hair looked like it hadn't been washed in weeks, and tears fell from both of her eyes.

"And where's your family, Lisa?"

She shook her head sadly. "My dad and sister turned into those monsters. And the men killed my mum afterwards."

"Men?"

She nodded. "That live here."

"What are
you
doing here?"

"One of them ...does things to me." She began to shudder, and as soon as she released that statement Vince definitely knew he was in the right house.

"You're being kept as a prisoner." He sucked in a deep breath before he asked his next question. "Is his name Kevin?"

She nodded the once.

"Are they out?"

She nodded again, but added, "Some are. The old man is asleep in the next bedroom."

Vince's eyes widened as she released these words and made a hand gesture to the girl to keep quiet. He pulled out his machete from his belt and cut her free, then asked her to stay put while he went to the next bedroom. He put his machete back into his belt and picked up his gun off of the floor.

He told her that he would be back soon, gently closed the door behind and reached for the knob of the other door. He paused for a while, not knowing what could greet him. He finally twisted the knob and pushed the door open. There was a bed in the middle of the floor, and under the duvet was a human. Vince took a slow walk to the end of the bed and stared at the visible face.

He recognised the man straight away. He was the father of the family. He had no idea where the two sons were. They must have been out, causing havoc, somewhere.

Vince looked at the face and remembered it from the courtroom. He remembered how the bastard had punched the air when the case conveniently collapsed. There had never been any justice for his son, or other victims, and he now had the power to kill the creator of monsters like Kevin and Jason Murphy, before turning his attention to the two sons that were bound to return at some point. He was aware that one of their brothers was in prison as Pickle had told him, and Paul Dickson had accidentally taken out the youngest, Lance.

Including the old man, there were only three Murphys left.

Vince moved away from the bed and took a peek out of the window. There was just the one Rotter outside, and he still couldn't believe the arrogance of the old man leaving his door unlocked while he went for a sleep. These things couldn't open doors and struggled to climb stairs, but it still baffled him.

Seeing that the street was empty, Vince crept away and went into the next bedroom. "It's okay, Lisa. It's only me."

"Can I leave?" she said with a tremor in her words.

"Not yet," he whispered. "I want you to do something for me. I want you to hide in that cupboard and don't leave until I return. Got it?"

She never questioned Vince. She nodded the once and did as she was told.

Vince watched as she crept into the bedroom cupboard, and then he left the bedroom. Holding the shotgun with both hands, he entered the room where the old man was and slowly walked to the side of him. Vince could see the face poking out of the duvet, as the rest of the old man's body was covered. He raised the gun and pointed at the old man's head.

He glared for a while, and his heart skipped a little when the eyes of the man unexpectedly opened. His eyes were wide with fear and he was intelligent enough not to make any sudden movements while a double barrel was inches away from his forehead. The man gulped and wetted his lips, signalling to Vince that he was about to speak.

"What do you want?" the old man whispered.

Vince closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

He opened them again, and pulled the duvet over the mashed head and brain debris that was all over the pillow and sheets, then calmly walked over to the bedroom window. He then peered out of the window, once again, and waited.

He only had to wait a minute until a vehicle turned up. His stomach turned when Jason Murphy stepped out of the motor, and even more so when Kevin Murphy had stepped out of the car as well.

They both headed to the house, and Vince could feel his heart begin to gallop. Once the brothers entered the living room of the house, Vince heard voices down the stairs and listened in to the conversation. He then heard one of the men laughing and this made his blood boil. It was time to end these pair.

He took a cartridge from his pocket, put it into the shotgun and descended downstairs with both barrels full.