Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) (82 page)

Chapter Fifty Four

"Ready to go?" queried Vince, as both Karen and Pickle stepped outside.

Karen nodded and threw the bag of clothes over her shoulder. She looked around her street as if she was never going to see it again, and took a deep breath in.

"Memories?" Pickle asked.

"A few." Karen closed her eyes and felt a stray breeze touch her features. "Obviously not as many as the place where I grew up, but a few."

"Yer wanna hang around for a bit?"

"I don't think that's a good idea." Vince pointed up ahead and they could see that there was five ghouls entering the small street.

Pickle scratched at his dark hair and exhaled noisily, "We're gonna have to cut through them to get back to the truck."

"Well thanks for that, Captain Obvious." Vince cackled. "I knew we should have parked outside the house."

"Sorry," Karen lowered her head. "That's my fault."

"Well," Vince lifted his machete up. "It may be a while before we do this again, if Lee's camp is as safe as he says it is."

Karen and Pickle had been in many areas where they thought they'd be safe, and wasn't as confident as Vince, but decided not to rain on his parade.

Pickle also prepared his machete. He looked at Karen and joked, "We'll get these. Yer just stand back and watch us do our magic."

Karen felt tired and never protested this time. She took a step back and watched the two men—one she loved, and the other that was growing on her—take those things apart.

Karen didn't know whether Vince was showing off, but he hacked manically at the things and had already put three down, whereas Pickle was more controlled, stabbed the first one through the centre of the skull, then swiped the legs of the other and brought the machete down, the blade going straight through its forehead.

"Good work," Vince was out of breath, but trying to act cool as if he wasn't affected, aerobically.

Pickle looked down on himself, his clothes were spotless, then looked at Vince. He was covered in Snatcher's blood. His face had caught some of it, but his clothes received the worst of it.

Pickle laughed, "I think yer need to develop a new technique. Yer get any o' that blood in yer eye, yer fucked. That's what happened to Jack's boy."

"You don't need to worry about me, Pickle."

"I'm not." Pickle pointed over to a house from the street and said, "Looks like those things are in some of the back gardens."

Vincent took a step forward to get a better look. He then saw two Rotters stumble out of someone's drive, as if they had come from the back garden of the place.

Pickle waved at Karen and pointed behind her. "Time to go, I think."

She turned around to see the two in her street, but they were a fair distance away, hardly a threat.

"Karen!" Pickle cried, as another appeared from the side of Karen's house.

She turned around, dropped her bag as the bottom of her T-shirt was grabbed, let out a shriek, and pushed the thing away as the teeth had managed to touch the skin of her arm. It lunged for her, and she began wrestling with the child-Snatcher and was finding it difficult to push the little beast over, which would have given her valuable seconds to reach for her machete. This thing was either strong or she was very weak, she went for the latter. She moved her hands up and grabbed the thing by the ears, to make sure she wouldn't get bit, and pulled its head back.

Pickle and Vince were already making their way over when Karen pulled the thing's head back so hard, its neck ripped open and its head flopped back. The infant Snatcher continued to stumble around once Karen let it go, its head was horizontal, almost decapitated. She pulled out her machete and rammed the blade into the exposed neck and saw the top of the blade pop out at the top of the skull. She removed the machete and watched it drop.

She had no anger towards the little beast. How could she? In the old world, like all of them, it had been a victim. She felt sympathy for the thing and that sympathy doubled when she walked around its body and, despite its now hideous look, saw that it used to be a little boy from her street called Harry. He was a boy Karen would baby-sit for now and again and also had taught him how to whistle.

When Karen ran away from a horde of them on the tenth day of June, Sunday, Harry was one of the horde that was aching to get to her. Back then, as Karen climbed over the gates of Stile Cop Cemetery, and landed on the grass on the other side, Harry was one of the dozen Snatchers that had their arms through the gaps of the steel railings, desperate to rip her to pieces.

Overcome by sadness, she remained glaring at the poor soul.

"Did yer know him?" She felt the warm hand of Harry Branston on the back of her neck.

"Kind of." She looked around the street to see most main doors were open as if the people had fled, and the lack of cars on the drives suggested that this was the case.

All those weeks ago, when she returned to her street, shortly after fleeing Gary's clutches, the street was heaving with the dead. Now, like most places in this town, it wasn't as busy with the rotting walkers. Maybe they had dispersed and had walked in their hundreds across fields, in the woods, and along country lanes, seeking out more prey to rip apart, eat, and swallow fresh bloody meat that would drop into their defunct, hopeless stomachs.

While Karen was being comforted, Vince walked over to the two Rotters at the end of the street and took care of them with ease. He then walked back over to Pickle and Karen. He didn't want to seem like an idiot, but the silence between the group was boring him. He was eager to get back. He looked at Pickle who was patiently waiting for Karen to finish her visit.

Vince bit his bottom lip with impatience, and began to tap his thighs, loud enough for both Karen and Pickle to hear. He couldn't help himself and finally asked, "Shall we go then?"

"In a minute." Karen took one last look around and had a sad smile on her face. Her neck then twisted to the right as if she had seen something.

"What is it?" Pickle knew there was something wrong straight away.

"I don't know." She walked across the road and pointed at the house with the closed main door. "I saw the bedroom curtains twitch."

"And?" Vince half-laughed. "Come on, let's go. We're not on a rescue mission, and we need to get back to my camp. I don't like this hanging about."

Karen ignored Vince and gazed at Pickle. "Please," she begged. "If there're people in there, then I know who they are."

"Who are they?" asked Pickle.

"A nice family. They have two daughters, and..." She stopped talking and lowered her head sadly. "We can't leave them in there, if they are alive. They could be starving."

"You heard Lee." Vince was unsure whether Karen's charitable behaviour could be counterproductive. "We're not a part of his crew yet because they haven't voted. We can't be bringing people to his camp when we're not even members ourselves yet."

Karen asked, "Why not?"

"I dunno, It seems like we're just doing what we want. Isn't it disrespectful?"

Pickle said, "I think Lee's a good man. He said himself they could do with more people."

"And if he does refuse them when we go back," Karen began. "Then I'm off. I don't want to be involved with a camp that has no empathy for human life. Especially for good people. There are a lot of survivors out there that are nasty bastards, and the reason why they are still living is because of their selfish and brutal behaviour. And we've crossed paths with some of them."

"What's your point?" groaned Vince.

"My point?" Karen pointed at the house. "People like that deserve to live. If the world ends up becoming a place that has a majority of evil people, then there's no point in carrying on. Civilisation needs to continue."

"For fuck's sake." Vince pulled out his machete, shook his head and headed for the main door of the house. "You don't half talk some shit, Bradley."

Pickle followed him. Karen raised a smile and walked behind the two men.

Pickle turned to Karen and nodded to her tummy. "Be careful. Don't want yer losing the little one."

"This is the last one." Karen pulled out her blade as they were nearer the house. She joked, "I've got a feeling that once Lee finds out I'm pregnant, I'm going to be banned from leaving the site anyway."

Pickle chuckled, "Good."

Chapter Fifty Five

Vince and Pickle forced the door open and removed a few tables and chairs. It was possibly the worst barricade they had ever seen. Before going inside, they began knocking the door to see if anything dangerous was lurking on the ground floor of the place.

One Snatcher stumbled into the living room, from another room that they guessed could have been the dining area, and the two men allowed it to walk towards them. They guessed that it was the father of the family, and he had turned all those weeks ago. They didn't think it was a lone ghoul from outside as there was no sign of forced entry. The windows were intact, and the main door itself had just been forced open by the two men.

Pickle motioned with his head that they should retreat outside for a while. They reached outside and Vince took a few steps back. Pickle stood to the side, out of view, whistled, and waited for the creature to step out. Karen watched from the pavement and guessed that both men were going to kill it outside rather than in the house. They had more room to manoeuvre, killing it outside, and it was a lot safer.

As soon as the creature stepped out of the front door, Pickle grabbed it by its hair and began smashing its face off of the outside wall, caving the face in. Pickle let go of the hair and allowed it to drop to the floor. The creature was on its back, face smashed to smithereens. He then bent down and dragged it onto the front lawn.

He looked round to see he was being stared at by Vince and Karen. "What?"

"I think you need anger management," joked Vince.

"Just letting off some steam. Come on. Let's go inside."

All three walked in, now that the beast had been taken care of, and trudged upstairs. Karen remained on the ground floor, and told Pickle she was feeling nauseous and might pop into the kitchen to see if there was anything to drink.

Pickle and Vince checked the first floor rooms, including two bedrooms and a bathroom, and then they went to the front bedroom. They were certain that there was people in there because it was the front of the house that Karen had seen movement.

Pickle gently knocked the door, and before anybody could verbally respond, Pickle said through the door, "We're here to help. We came here because a friend o' ours saw yer in the bedroom. She used to live here. Karen Bradley. We've been out there, we have survived so far. Do yer realise that yer only about a quarter o' a mile from a camp that has food, water and shelter, as well as security?"

There was silence.

Pickle added, "We can take yer there." There was still silence; not one voice from inside the room responded to what Pickle was saying. He added, "If we were bad people, we could 'ave broken the door in already. Come with us. Do this. Do it for the sake o' yer children."

He stopped talking and placed his ear by the door. He could hear movement; somebody was approaching the door.

Pickle gestured to Vince that they should put their weapons back into their belts. Once they did this, they both took a step back once the door slowly opened.

It was a woman. A frightened woman. Her hair was almost black with the grease, and the waft from the room suggested that they may have been going to the toilet in there, due to fear. She shook with nerves and was greeted with warm smiles by both men.

"I'm sorry." She shook, her lower lip trembled. "We're scared."

Vince gave her a warm smile and held out his hand. "Come with us."

She opened the door fully to reveal that she had two young daughters, both sitting in the corner of the bedroom and were huddled together. Both had dark hair, gorgeous things, but were malnourished and in dire need of a bath.

Vince was appalled at the way they were living and couldn't hold his tongue. "You can't live like this for a week longer." Vince beckoned with his finger. "Come on. You don't need to take anything with you. All you need is food, water and shelter, and
we
can provide that."

"What about my husband?" the woman asked. "He was downstairs."

"The...thing downstairs," Pickle said softly, "is now outside."

"Outside?" The woman pushed for more details.

"I've put him to rest." Pickle thought it sounded better than:
I've smashed his face to shit
. "Just get the kids to close their eyes when we leave, okay?"

"Okay."

One of the daughters put her hand up, as if she was in the classroom, and Pickle nodded over to the girl and said, "What is it, honey?"

"Excuse me, mister," she began in a sweet voice. "Did you get the other one as well?"

Pickle gawped at Vince in confusion, and Vince shrugged his shoulders. He also had no idea what the young girl was talking about.

"Other what?" Vince asked.

"The other beast."

"What are yer talkin' about?" Pickle began scratching at his dark hair. The girl wasn't making any sense at all.

"There's one we trapped in the kitchen," the mother spoke up. "My brother. Their uncle. We threw him in and shut the door before running for upstairs."

She tried to explain further why her brother was in her house in the first place, but Pickle ran away from her and headed for the stairs. Pickle had quickly remembered that Karen was going to look for something to drink in the kitchen, because she was feeling sick.

As he got to the bottom of the stairs, he stood in shock.

Karen had a ghoul pinned up against the wall, her two thumbs were deep into each eye-socket of the thing. She screamed out and began slamming its head against the living room wall. Once she pulled the thumbs out, it dropped to the floor and she reached for her machete in her belt and began hitting the thing.

Pickle stood back and Vince was now next to him. They both watched with horror as they saw the female losing it. She hacked and hacked, and the more she mutilated the already-defunct creature, the more she got hit with its blood that went on her clothes and sometimes hit her face.

She eventually stopped, exhausted, and collapsed on the couch.

"Do you think you got it?" Vince tried to joke. "Maybe if you give it one more strike."

Pickle looked at the ghoul. There was hardly anything left of the thing, from the neck up, apart from scattered skull and chopped up diseased brain.

"We never checked the kitchen." Pickle smacked the palm of his hand off of his head. "Sorry, Karen."

She waved at him, trying to get her breath back, unable to speak.

Pickle told Vince to go and get the family, and to make sure they kept their eyes closed until they were outside and had got off the drive.

Pickle said, "I'll help you guide them out." He then turned to Karen. "You sit and get yer breath back. This won't take long."

Karen panted, "Get my bag. I left it on the pavement."

Once the family had been ushered out of the house, Pickle returned and he sat next to Karen on the dusty couch and leaned back.

"Where's Vince?" she asked.

"He's in the truck with the girls, waiting for us."

Karen was still breathing heavily and had her head lowered, perspiration glistening on her forehead. "I'm not going mad." She looked up and gazed at Pickle. "We only lost Shaz yesterday, so obviously I'm a little fragile."

Pickle nodded and said, "I don't want yer involved in the move today if...
when
they decide to let us in. I want yer to do nothing, no lifting at all. Yer have been doing too much as it is."

To Pickle's surprise, Karen made a gesture with her head, telling him that she agreed with him.

Karen began to chuckle, and Pickle also smiled when he saw his friend express an emotion he hadn't seen in a while from her.

He asked, "What is it?"

Karen ceased her giggling, lost her smile and groaned, "Stile Cop, the multi-storey car park, the house in Heath Hayes, the sports centre, Wolf's cabin, Vince's camp—no matter where we go, it still ends up going wrong."

"We still need to keep trying." Pickle could understand Karen's
the glass is half empty
approach to the new camp. "Lee told Vince earlier that in the last three weeks they have had no major incidents inside the camp."

"What do
you
think?"

"Like I said before, we need to keep trying."

Karen placed her hands on her chin and glared into space. She had no idea what was for the best, for her or her child, but Lee's camp seemed to be the only option left. Vince's could still work, but the confidence of the residents was low, and if everybody left and Pickle and Karen decided to stay at the place to see if they could make it work, they would have to start again. They'd need food. Do runs. And the lack of HGVs would be a problem, as far as security would be concerned, because there would be no barrier anymore.

Pickle cleared his throat and said softly, "Vince's waiting for us."

Karen stood to her feet and looked at Harry Branston. She smiled and held out her hand. He stood up himself and took her hand, and both left the house. They entered outside, into Karen's old street, and both headed towards the vehicle where Vince was patiently waiting. They could see that the family were in the back of the pick-up truck, huddling together, and Vince had both windows wound down.

"Everything okay?" called Vince as they were now both metres away.

"We were just having a moment," announced Pickle.

Vince wound the windows up, got out of the vehicle and went round the front to greet the two survivors. He said to Karen, "Your bag's in the back."

"Thanks." She smiled thinly at Vince.

Pickle asked softly, referring to the mother and two daughters, "How are they doing?"

"Okay, I guess." Vince shrugged his shoulders and screwed up his mouth. "They don't talk much."

"I wonder why that is?" Karen remarked sarcastically, unsure whether he was really being insensitive on purpose.

They got into the front and Vince started the engine.

Pickle looked around through the small back window to see the woman and her two daughters huddling together. It felt good to do something positive, and it gave him a warm glow inside that he had helped people.

"Lee will be okay with this." Pickle assured Vince, knowing that the man was unsure whether to be bringing people back to the new camp so soon. Vince didn't want Lee to think that they were being arrogant. Bringing people back to a camp that they weren't officially a part of yet may give out the wrong message, or even force them to be outvoted.

"You and Lee go back a long way," Pickle began. "When we get back, yer can explain that we're not being dicks, we just saw a family in distress and we couldn't turn our backs on them. If anything, it proves that we have a heart."

"I suppose." Vince was lost in deliberation. "But it's not Lee I'm worried about, it's the others. I don't want them to think..."

"I know."

"Fuck it," Vince scoffed. "We'll be fine. We'll be bringing about thirty back from our own camp, another three won't make much difference."

"Exactly. Stop being paranoid."

"Shall we just fuckin' go!" exclaimed Karen, agitated by the banal chatter.

"Jesus." Vince began to smile. "What's wrong with you?"

Karen turned to Vince Kindl and shook her head. "I've just returned to my home, and I've killed my Gary. What's wrong with me?"

"Shall we do this back at Vince's place?" Pickle became a little uncomfortable with the heated conversation. He didn't think Vince was being ignorant on purpose, he was just being...
Vince
.

Said Karen to Vince, "Anyway, I thought you were itching to get back to your camp, because of the lack of bodies at the barrier."

"I am." Vince then cackled, "Calm down, woman. We're going."

"Bentley has a Glock," Pickle chipped in. "The place will be okay. We've only been away for half an hour."

Karen sighed at Vince, "Let's just fucking move."

"Alright, potty mouth." Vince winked at Pickle and both men began to laugh. "I don't know how you put up with her for five weeks. She's got a mouth dirtier than a rubber toilet seat."

Karen never cracked her face and was sitting in the middle. She was sitting nearest Vince, next to the gear stick, and said in a serious tone. "You know what I was thinking?"

"No. What?" Pickle placed his hand on Karen's thigh. She looked a mess and was covered in blood from the Snatcher she had demolished earlier.

"I was wondering how my mother had died. And there's my stepsister and dad in Glasgow."

Vince remarked, "You don't know for sure—"

"
I
do."

"When I was younger my dad used to beat the crap out o' me," Pickle said. "I wish he was here now, frightened to death, with all of this kicking off. Some people seemed to have got off lightly."

Vince added, "When
I
was younger, I used to tell all my friends who visited the house that my dad collected empty bottles." Vince put the gear-stick into first and was ready to release the handbrake, preparing the vehicle to move off. "It sounded so much better than the truth. That he was an alcoholic."