Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) (76 page)

Chapter Forty Four

"Is she gone?" Pickle said sadly.

Karen shook her head. She was still sitting next to Shaz, holding her hand. "Not yet."

Pickle stood yards away from the girls and was in the kitchen, fixing himself and Karen a glass of water. His eyes went to the main door of the caravan, as he heard a small squeak coming from the door handle as it was being pushed down. Vince stepped in, gave Karen a slim smile, and walked over to Pickle.

"What's the damage?" Pickle whispered, out of earshot from Karen.

"Well," sighed Vince, rubbing both hands across his face. "The livestock seems to be okay, and the water-well hasn't been touched, so we should be fine as far as pollution is concerned."

"I meant," snarled Pickle, "the casualty damage."

Vince shrugged. "Not sure yet. I've told people to stay indoors until we've cleared things up. Jasmine Kelly is hysterical; she's being comforted in Rosemary's caravan with young Lisa. I've seen the Dicksons and little Kyle refuses to leave the bedroom. The whole thing's a fucking mess."

"What a shit morning."

Vince looked over to where Karen and a dying Shaz were and said softly to Pickle, "I know this sounds harsh, but once we're done here, I want you by my side when we clean up. I'm short on guys. Robin's dead, David Chatting is missing, and nobody has driven out to tell the watchmen at Armitage and the Ash Tree what has happened. I thought they might have heard or seen the explosion and come back."

Pickle sighed, "Well, they're in for a shock when they find out."

"I know it's a stupid question," Vince called over to a distraught-looking Karen, "but how is she?"

"Dying," was the only word that Karen could muster without looking up.

"Who's going to...?"

"I am," said Karen. "I volunteered."

A silence enveloped what was the left of the group; Vince cleared his throat and said, "For what it's worth. I'm sorry."

"It's worth nothing." Karen looked up at Vince and revealed a small smile. "But thanks anyway."

Vince headed for the door, stopped, and took one last look at Sharon Bailey. He exited the caravan and left Pickle and Karen alone with Shaz.

There was silence for another five minutes and Karen felt for Shaz's pulse in her neck. Karen leaned her head over, tears spilling over Shaz's hair, and kissed her on the forehead. "Goodbye, Sharon. I hope you see Spencer on your travels. I hope they're waiting for you."

Pickle whispered over. "Is she..?"

Karen nodded. "There's no pulse."

Pickle asked, "Would yer mind if I say a prayer for her?"

"Why would I mind? She was your friend too." Karen wiped the tears away with her forearms and beckoned Pickle over. "Come on. We'll do it together. I only know The Lord's Prayer."

Pickle smiled and walked over to the woman he loved like she was his own daughter. "The old classics are the best."

They both went onto their knees and lowered their heads, and Pickle began reciting. He looked to the side of him, at Karen, and had only managed the first line before she burst into tears once more. Pickle put his arms round her and kissed her on the cheek and brought her closer to him.

He finished off the prayer, then slowly stood to his feet.

He knew what was to be done next. They both knew what needed to be done next, but Karen was having second thoughts.

"I'll leave you two to be alone." Pickle stood to his feet. "I'm just outside, if yer need me."

"I want you here," Karen announced. She looked at him with her dark, rainy eyes. "I want you by my side."

"Are yer sure?"

She nodded once.

"How..?" Harry Branston allowed his sentence to trail. He wasn't sure if he should finish the sentence. In fact, he wasn't sure if he should have started the sentence in the first place.

Karen knew what he was going to ask:
How are we going to do this?

She said, "I'll try and make it as dignified as possible. I'll use a steak knife. Through the eye." She placed her hand over her mouth; she couldn't believe what she was saying.

Pickle agreed with Karen's idea and said, "So we're going to put her at peace the way we put away Grace Kindl?"

"Who?"

Pickle smiled. "Wolf's wife. Vince's mum."

"Oh." Karen had forgot about that incident, despite it only being three weeks ago. "I thought I used a sharpened handle of a wooden spoon to do that."

"Okay," smiled Pickle, "Miss Contrary."

"I'll put a sheet over her face, and put it through her eye. She can be buried next to Jack."

"I think Vince will be burning the bodies that don't have living relatives. I think Jasmine's mother will be buried, but—"

"She will be buried alongside Jack," Karen growled with her teeth clenched together. Her eyes were wide and a drip of saliva ran for her mouth like a rabid dog. "That's what she wanted. She told me that she wanted to be buried, along with that bracelet that she'd lost."

Pickle lowered his head as if he had been told off by his mother. "No sign o' the bracelet?"

Karen shook her head and said, "I don't think we'll find it. We'll just have to bury her without it."

"Bracelet or no bracelet, she'll still be with her son."

Pickle went over to the kitchen and pulled out a steak knife from the drawer. He grabbed a tea towel and placed them by the side of Karen. She looked at the knife and towel with disgust, then her face saddened and glared at Pickle.

Karen confessed, "I can't do it."

"She's gone." Pickle tried to reassure her. He picked up the towel and placed it over Shaz's face. "All we'll be doing is stabbing the shell that she used to dwell in. Her soul is elsewhere now."

"I know. I'm being stupid."

"Yer not." Pickle patted her hand. "But if we don't do this soon, then her shell will eventually be taken over by somethin' evil."

"I can't." Karen peeked at the tea towel that was now over Sharon Bailey's face. "She had such beautiful blue eyes. It'd be a shame to pierce one of them."

"She won't be needing them where she's going." Pickle smiled at Karen comfortingly, as she began to sob again. "And besides, if we don't hurry, she's going to change. And those eyes aren't gonna stay blue anyway. Yer know that."

Karen was heartbroken but tried to make a small joke out of the dire situation. "Why do you have to make so much sense?"

"I've always been the boring one o' any group I've been involved in."

Karen picked up the knife and Pickle could see she was shaking. Her soaked, brown eyes stared at the forty-three-year-old former inmate, and she tried to speak, but her throat was so choked with emotion, she couldn't get the words out.

"I'll tell yer what." Pickle gently took the knife off of her. "We'll do it together."

He grabbed the handle of the knife, his large hands covering the whole of the black handle, and Karen placed her own on top of his.

They both glared at one another, both holding the jagged blade, but it was Pickle that was in control of it. He moved the knife over to Shaz's face and placed the tip of the blade on the material of the tea towel, on the left eye, the nearest one to them.

"Just try and remember," he said. "She's already gone."

Karen tearfully nodded, and closed her eyes once Pickle drove it in. Her eyes remained closed when he pulled it back out again, and Karen immediately took her hands off of his.

He stood up and went over to the kitchen, and put the knife straight into the pedal bin without looking at it. He asked Karen, "Do yer want some time to yerself before we move her?"

She never answered him verbally, she just nodded her head.

Pickle stepped out into the morning sun, shut the door behind him, and strolled by the carnage. He saw Vince and a couple of men a few yards away, to his left. They hadn't seen him, but he needed to do something before he met up with them and began clearing up.

He walked into his unlocked caravan and headed for the bedroom. He took in a deep breath, sat down at the side of the bed, and then began massaging the temples with his forefingers. He was getting a headache, and he wasn't sure if it was the macabre morning that he and the rest of the residents had just experienced, or that he was dehydrated.

Maybe it was both.

He had fixed himself and Karen a drink earlier in her caravan, but had just remembered that he never touched it. He hadn't had a drink of any kind since yesterday.

He removed his machete from his belt and gently placed it on the side-table, then he began massaging his temples once again. It was a pain that he had never experienced before, and for a second he envisaged having a brain haemorrhage. That would have been typical, he thought: Surviving six weeks of this, and then dying of something that some would call 'natural causes.'

He lay on the bed and broke down, sobbing into his pillow. His heartbreak wasn't just for Shaz, it was for everybody.

It was for the people who had lost their lives on the camp, for everyone across the country who had gone through hell. He cried for KP, Davina Pointer, Jamie Thomson, Janine Perry, Kerry Evans, Thomas and Jack Slade, Shaz—everyone that he had come into contact with.

This is hopeless. This whole situation is hopeless
.

Curled up, still sobbing like a baby, Harry Branston howled, "Oh God! Why? Why?"

Seven minutes later, he pulled himself together and left the caravan, looking for Vincent Kindl.

Chapter Forty Five

Bentley's car had entered Rugeley. His vehicle turned right at the roundabout, passing a pub called the Stag's Leap, and headed for the heart of the town centre, Globe Island. He knew it was risky going this way; there was danger everywhere, but at least he was carrying Glen, his Glock 17.

"Do you think this camp, where your dad's at, will take us in?"

Helen half-shrugged. "I hope so. I don't know where else to go."

"Neither do I." Bentley thought about his old house and remembered the last day he was in it. He was flicking through the channels after hearing about what was happening. He wondered if he should try and go back to his old home. But he still needed supplies of some kind. Now that his short-lived set-up that he and Laura once lived had hit the shitter, he was now convinced that maybe being in numbers was the safest way to go. The dead were bad enough, but thugs like the Murphy family and other desperados, who were law abiding citizens in the old world, were a danger, even to a man with a handgun.

"Wait a minute." Bentley eased his foot off the gas as he approached the roundabout, and saw a man with his arms waving. The vehicle came to a stop.

"You sure about this?" Helen looked agitated. "Just drive on. The Spode Cottage is only two miles from here."

"Hang on." Bentley held his hand up. "Let's see what the man has to say."

Bentley wound the window down and stuck his head out, although his left hand was on the Glock's handle, ready for the unexpected.

"Where you headed?" the man asked.

"I didn't realise you owned the road." Bentley tried to make a joke.

The man took it well and added, "I stay just there." He pointed at a blockade and turned back to Bentley and smiled when he noticed Helen in the passenger seat. "We've managed to clean it up, but this area was mental a few weeks ago with the Wasters."

"I could imagine."

"You headed somewhere special?"

"Spode Cottage, near Armitage." Bentley pointed at Helen. "We had no idea where to go, but she lost everybody and wants to see her father. He lives a few miles from here."
If he's still around
.

The man began to laugh and Bentley sensed that this wasn't a good sign, so he had to ask, "Something I said?"

"That area is swarming. I'd turn back if I were you."

"James!" a voice called out. It was a man standing by the barrier, holding a sword of some kind. "Who're you talking to?"

The James character called over, "Some guy and chick wants to find safety at the Spode Cottage."

The man also began to laugh. "It's too dangerous."

"Can you suggest anywhere else?" Bentley called over to the watchman at the blockade.

"Yeah," the man shouted. "Here! But we don't just let anyone in. We'll need to vote on it. Stay there for a few minutes, and I'll send some guys over to check you both out."

Bentley turned to a disappointed-looking Helen. It appeared that she wasn't going to be meeting up with her father today. Bentley said, "It's either this, or back out of this town."

She nodded, but never verbally responded.

*

Pickle had teamed up with Vince and two other guards and began assessing the damage of the caravan site. The caravan that had exploded was still smouldering and one of the guards, Geoff, who had pulled the trigger, still looked racked with guilt. Vince had been kind to Geoff, despite his serious faux pas, and knew that with the panic and the adrenaline running, it was something that could have happened to any one of them. Being responsible for killing two elderly ladies was tormenting the poor guy as it was, and Vince thought that reprimanding him further was a waste of time.

"Okay," Vince began. "Gail Kelly and Shaz will be buried near where Jack is. The rest, including the Rotters, can be burned. We'll take them to the usual place by the Plum Pudding pub, outside the barrier, and burn them there."

Pickle gave Vince a look of concern.

Vince tried to explain, "It doesn't cause too much smoke. We've done this before, and besides, if a couple of those things do turn up it'll be the explosion that did it."

Satisfied with Vince's response, Pickle nodded. "Me and Geoff will start moving the bodies. Anyone seen David Chatting yet?"

"Not yet. Get some others to help with the clearing up." Vince ordered, "Tell them that it's now safe. I'm going to look for David myself."

Pickle asked, "What do yer want me to do?"

"Take Gail Kelly to the other corner of the hedge, where she's gonna get buried. I don't want Jasmine to see her. And be careful. Don't pick her up, just drag her. Those things ripped her open, so if you pick her up her insides might...spill out."

"Yer want me to dig her grave as soon as possible?"

Vince nodded the once. "That would be great, Pickle. I'm gonna go around, check on the people after I've looked for David. Let's move."

The guards dispersed and Vince walked the opposite way, leaving Pickle standing alone. He muttered to himself, "And where the fuck am I gonna find a shovel?"

Pickle took a hold of Gail's body and dragged it near Jack's grave. He then looked around and saw the net curtains twitch in a caravan where the Dicksons were staying. He went over to the caravan and gently knocked the door. Paul opened it immediately. He was shaking and Pickle could hear gentle cries in the background.

Pickle said, "Vince will be around in a moment to tell yer that it is all over."

Paul revealed a relieved smile and called over his shoulder, "It's okay, big chap. It's all over. We're safe again."

The little man appeared from the back bedroom; he had the door open and was staring out, but he never left. Pickle waved, and Kyle Dickson waved back.

"Were there any fatalities?" Paul asked in a whisper, aware that Kyle was a few metres behind him.

Pickle bobbed his head and answered, "A few. Did yer hear that explosion?"

"Hear it? I think people in the next town probably heard it."

Pickle thought that Paul's statement was an over-exaggeration, but remained tight-lipped about it. "Anyway, I wanted to know if yer have a spade, or somethin' similar."

"I'll have a look." Paul began looking around the small place while Pickle remained outside, patiently waiting. Paul returned and said, "All I have is this." He handed him a small-handle shovel that was used for collecting rubbish.

"Fuck it, that'll do." Pickle took it off Paul and marched over to the hedge, dropped it, then went over to the mutilated body of Gail Kelly. He took a look at the poor woman. He could imagine what her death must have been like; he had seen it before with his own eyes. "Fuckin' shame."

He looked at the grass beneath his feet, then to the right at Jack's shallow grave, and sighed. This was going to be hard work. He began to dig.

*

Vince had looked everywhere for David and had only one more place to look: The Spode Cottage. He pulled out a key from his back pocket and opened the main door to the place where he used to go for a drink with his friend, Lee James.

He stepped into an area that used to be the lounge, and checked to his left to see if the machete was still in place. The place was now filled with boxes of tins, water, and other essential accessories. He went by the stacked boxes and was struggling to find his way to the end of the room, it was like a cardboard maze.

Once he finally reached the bar area and could see it was lifeless, the toilets and the kitchens were checked. Nothing. The cellar was the only other place he could check, then after that searching for David on the camp would have to be done again.

Maybe he had left the camp, Vince thought. Maybe he had had enough.

He opened the cellar door and reached for the light switch. Vince laughed to himself on doing this. "Idiot."

There was no electricity anymore, and the small generators were hardly used. They, as well as the diesel, were being saved for the winter for the portable heaters. They did have a generator in the Spode Cottage that powered the large freezer where meat was stored from the livestock, and they needed at least 700 watts to keep that going.

He walked down the steps of the cellar and reached for the lighter in his back pocket. With one flick, the room lit up and Vince saw the body of David Chatting. His body was slumped, brains had been scattered over the large wine rack that stood behind him, and the shotgun was by his side. "You stupid little bugger."

Vince didn't have the strength to remove David himself, so he marched back up the steps and went back outside.

He could see Geoff and a volunteer trying to move Robin Barton from where he was mutilated by the chainsaw, but his body wasn't going anywhere for the time being, as the volunteer was bent over, spewing up on the grass at the horrific sight of poor Robin.

Vince marched over to Pickle, who seemed to be struggling with the grave. He looked up to see Vince and announced, "This ain't easy."

"I'll give you a hand in a minute."

Both men were distracted as the figure of Geoff came bumbling over to them, sadness scrawled over his face.

Pickle asked both Geoff and Vince, "So how many people have died?"

"Well," Vince began. "Shaz, obviously. Gina Harrison and May Worthington were in the caravan that was on fire. It seems to have died a bit now."

Geoff lowered his head shamefully at the mention of the two women he had killed. He added, "There's young Gareth Mason, Robin Barton, Henry Bowes and Trevor Barkley as well, Vince."

Vince continued, "Gail Kelly and David Chatting."

"What? David?" Geoff was stunned, and said, "But I saw him not so long ago."

"Yeah, well, he's now dead. Blew his brains out. If you want any booze in future, I suggest avoiding the red wine, until we eventually decide to waste good water and clean the place."

"I'm going to move the last few bodies," Geoff announced. "Look, about the old girls, they're still smouldering away. They'll be too hot to touch—"

"Get some water on them. We'll move them when the time's right. You better tell people to stay in their caravans for now, forget about what I said earlier, otherwise the whole place will be needing a psychiatrist."

Geoff walked away and Vince felt a slap on his arm. He turned to Pickle and queried, "What's up?"

Pickle pointed at the bottom corner of the hedge. "I thought that had been patched up."

"It had." Vince stepped over Gail Kelly's body and neared the hedge. "Well at least we know how they got in. But I still don't get it."

Pickle pulled out his machete and got on his knees, near the hole, and could see the remains of a body through the hole, on the other side. "I think I might have an idea." He began to crawl through and told Vince, "Follow me."