Snatchers (Book 7): The Dead Don't Yield (23 page)

Chapter Forty Nine

With a sawn-off in their right hand, Lee James and Sheryl Smith opted to go into the school to see what was keeping Daniel and Bentley who had been gone for half an hour. They both had a bad feeling, but the experience that Daniel and Bentley had was surely enough to put down just the one Waster. So what was the hold up?

After they had climbed the railings to get onto the school grounds, they took the short walk to the entrance of the place and began to assess the size of the window they had to climb in. The kids had managed to get through a reception window, but the glass in the main door was now shattered.

They carefully climbed in, trying to avoid some of the shards of glass that were still stuck in the frame, and went straight for the first floor where Charles Pilkington had told them where they had seen the janitor.

They went up the staircase in silence and with caution, then opened the wooden double doors to see the first floor's corridor. A slumped body could be seen in the distance and Sheryl and Lee crept down the corridor, unsure whether the thing on the floor was actually defunct.

They stood over the body; Lee gave it a kick and then inspected its wounds. "They were here."

Sheryl ran her fingers through her short black hair and wondered aloud, "And why didn't they go back to the gates?"

"Maybe they decided to check out the rest of the school." Lee's face suggested he was unsure.

"Well, they're taking their fucking time about it."

"Daniel was the main man that checked the place in the first days. He feels responsible. I know the kids shouldn't have broken into the school, but they could have all been killed."

"Little cunts," Sheryl huffed.

"True," Lee laughed, "But Charles and David are just fourteen. Remember being that age? Things are different and harder for them now."

"Stop sticking up for them."

"It's true. They've lost loved ones." Lee shook his head at the lack of empathy coming from Sheryl Smith. She was certainly a strange individual. "Now, there's nothing for them. There're no girls, no football, no computer games...no fun."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Well...they're probably just fucking bored."

Sheryl remained silent. She didn't want to continue a pointless argument about the youth of today. Changing the subject, she asked, "So you think they're probably in the other building?"

Lee nodded.

"Let's go and get them."

They went back down the staircase to the ground floor, sawn-offs ready, and exited the building, still with perplexity scrawled over their features. As soon as they entered the other building, baffled why this one was unlocked, they checked out the computer classrooms, one-by-one, and finally reached an open door that read 'Library'.

They both hesitantly peered inside and immediately pulled their T-shirts over their noses as the recognisable stench of death hit them. Their eyes witnessed body parts strewn across the floor. Decapitated heads sat on the ground, and intestines were scattered about like spaghetti.

No doubt, there had been a massacre here.

"What's that noise?" Sheryl nudged Lee.

Lee replied, "It sounds like groaning."

They both turned around and peered down the corridor. They made small steps towards the sound, and could see that they were now approaching the school's gym.

Sheryl was now leading the way and slowly poked her head around the corner and looked into the gym hall. At least twenty of the dead, all pupils in bloody uniforms, were in the corner of the place, trying to get at Bentley and Daniel who were at the top of a wooden climbing frame. She then turned back to Lee.

"Well?" whispered Lee.

"They're in there, but we don't need sawn-offs," she said quietly. "It's an Uzi we need."

"What?"

"Go take a look."

Lee did just that, and the groaning coming from the dead sounded worse because it was occurring inside a gym hall that provided lots of echo. Once he stopped looking he stood face-to-face with Sheryl. His features quivered with fright, but it was abundantly clear that he was desperately trying to put on a brave face. He was fighting a losing battle.

"So...what we're gonna do," Sheryl explained, taking control of the situation, "is shoot as many of these things as we can. As soon as we do that, most of them should disperse away from Bentley and Daniel and head for us, which should make it easier for Bentley and Daniel to escape. They could probably take some of them down from behind, and we also can use the butt of the guns if we get desperate enough."

"Okay." Lee was in agreement. "He put his hand in his pocket, feeling for more cartridges.

Sheryl nodded, then walked into the gym with Lee by her side. Both of them were now holding their sawn-offs with both hands, and once Bentley and Daniel clocked their presence, the relief on their faces was self-evident as their grins almost stretched from ear-to-ear.

Both Lee and Sheryl looked at one another and she said, "Let's kill some cunts."

"They're just children," Lee sighed at Sheryl's choice of words.

"Not anymore."

With the dead pupils still with their backs to Sheryl and Lee, the pair of them walked a few more steps. They both raised their sawn-offs and started to open fire.

Two heads took a pounding, and the crowd slowly turned around whilst Sheryl and Lee reloaded. They snapped their guns shut, then put down another three as the dead began to shamble forwards.

"One more reload," Sheryl announced. "Then we'll need to leave."

With all the dead now a matter of yards away, most with their arms outstretched, Sheryl and Lee put another four down that were in front, their dark mushy brains exploding and decorating the faces of the dead that were behind them.

There was eleven left and all headed out of the gym, following Sheryl and Lee.

"I'm out of cartridges," announced Lee.

"I've got one left," said Sheryl.

Lee looked behind them. "They're actually gaining on us. Let's pick up the pace."

As they managed to get round the corner, Bentley and Daniel appeared from behind the crowd, now that Sheryl and Lee's distraction had cleared the gym hall, and began to put them down with their blades. There was only three left when Sheryl and Lee turned the butts of their guns round and began smacking at the heads of the remaining creatures.

They had did it. All twenty had been put down.

All out of breath, Daniel and Bentley thanked Sheryl and Lee.

"I'm sorry, guys." Daniel held his hands up. "I really did think that the place was cleared. I can't believe I forgot to check the library."

"No matter now," said Sheryl. "Nobody got hurt. That's the main thing."

"Still..."

"Let's just get out of here." Bentley was still panting and added, "I'm bursting for a piss."

"Me too," said Sheryl with a smile.

"Are we gonna get rid of these bodies?" Daniel gazed at the bloody carnage around them; the odour was its usual powerful and awful self, and the hallway was covered in large pools of thick diseased blood.

"Later," said Lee.

"Oops." Daniel pointed at a ghoul that was dressed like the rest of the dead: black trousers and a blue shirt. "That one's still moving."

Sheryl turned her gun around and released her last cartridge into the back of its head, its dead brains smearing the floor like a crushed grape. "Was."

Chapter Fifty

"It's getting dark," said Vince, looking up to the dreary sky.

"Tired?" Pickle threw off his bag and sat down.

"Well...obviously. I ain't slept in a day."

"Then yer better get yer head down first." Pickle looked over at Vince's watch. "If I wake you at three, yer will be getting at least five hours."

Vince looked reluctant to close his eyes, despite his tiredness.

"Just relax," Pickle tried to appease. "If anything happens, I'm here."

Vince sat down and sighed, "Just don't fall sleep."

Pickle snickered, "Not even forty winks?"

Vince threw Pickle a sharp glare. He didn't seem to be in the mood for jokes.

"Oh, so it's alright for yer to make a joke, and no' me?"

Vince closed his eyes and began cussing under his breath.

"What's the matter with yer now?" Pickle giggled.

"Can't settle."

"Yer have been sitting, literally, for seconds."

"You know, quiet times like these makes you realise the magnitude of what's happened."

Pickle nodded in agreement. "Yer know what I wonder sometimes?"

"What?"

"When's it all gonna end?"

Vince nodded and knew where Pickle was coming from. It was a question he asked himself every day. Vince asked, "Do you know what
I
wonder?"

"What's that?"

"Who picks up guide dogs' shit?"

"Or what happens if yer get scared half to death twice?" Both men burst into fits of laughter, while Pickle added, "I've always thought there was a decent man underneath tha' hard exterior. Even when I first met yer."

With his eyes still closed Vince announced, "I'm trying to think when we first met."

"Seriously?" guffawed Pickle. "Yer can't remember?"

"Nope."

"You and Jack turned up at yer dad's cabin."

"That's right. That was the first time I spent the night in the woods after we came back from Stafford Hospital. Our trucks got shot up. Claire and Paul was in the other truck." Vince then released a sad breath out. The names that he had just mentioned were no longer living anymore: Jack, Claire and Paul.

An eerie hooting filled the woods and Vince quickly opened his eyes. Seeing that he was startled, Pickle smiled and teased, "Deep underneath that tough exterior, yer a bit o' a wet blanket, aren't yer?"

"We're all human."

"No shame in that," Pickle spoke with a more serious tone in his voice. "I've shed many a tear o'er the weeks, especially for KP. Even had a breakdown after what happened at yer camp."

"Who didn't? You'd need a rock for a heart if you didn't feel anything that night." Vince closed his eyes again, and leaned his head back.

Pickle allowed there to be silence between the pair of them, but there was intrigue drilling away at him and he couldn't keep his mouth closed. "Yer never seem to mention yer parents much."

"Nothing much to say," scoffed Vince. "We weren't close, but I do miss my sister. And Brian." Vince opened his eyes and Pickle could see Vincent Kindl was becoming upset.

Pickle wondered if he should keep his mouth shut, but said, "Did it feel better after killing Kevin Murphy?"

"Not really. But I wasn't really doing it for me, I was doing it for justice for my son."

Pickle opened his mouth but paused, wondering if he should ask the next question. He gulped and asked, "And do yer think yer got it?"

"Not really." Vince ran his fingers over his stubbly, scarred features and shook his head. "I think if I even tortured him and took him apart limb-by-limb, it wouldn't have been enough."

"Well, yer shot him in the balls with a shotgun. Very hard to survive that in the old world. At least he experienced some kind o' pain."

"Being a father it was never enough." Vince's lips then began to wobble, and Pickle knew that a mini-breakdown was on the cards. "Sometimes it just gets to you."

"Are yer okay?"

Vince never answered verbally, he just shook his head. The tears fell plentifully and the man had now lost it in front of Harry Branston, a man he respected greatly, and didn't seem to be bothered as he was engulfed in a cloud of grief. He sobbed hard and loud, maybe too loud for Pickle's liking, considering the situation they were in, but the forty-three-year-old former inmate kept his mouth closed as his friend fell apart in front of him.

Pickle felt awkward and was unsure what to do. He took a hesitant step forward, about to crouch down and put his arm around the broken man, but Vince quickly composed himself and apologised more than once while furiously wiping his face with his forearm.

"There's nothin' to apologise for," said Pickle. "We're people. Sometimes crying is what we do, it's what we
need
to do."

"I'm sorry," Vince apologised once again and cleared his throat, while his fingers rubbed his soaked eyes.

"Yer probably not just crying for yer son. It's probably everything. Yer lost yer parents. I know yer say yer no' bothered, but they were still yer parents. Yer were also responsible for the camp and people died."

"Are you supposed to be cheering me up?"

"Then there's this Claire that I didn't know. Jack, Shaz..."

"I suppose everything gets on top of you after a bit."

"Yes it does. So there's no need to apologise."

Feeling embarrassed about the breakdown he couldn't stop, Vince blushed a little and desperately tried to change the subject. "I can't believe we have to spend another night in this place."

"
You
wanted to go," Pickle began to cackle. "Yer said yer were getting bored."

"So I did." Vince playfully slapped himself and added, "I think I'll stick to barrier duty from now on. I'm getting too old for this Rambo shit."

"Just get yerself to sleep," Pickle ordered jokingly.

Vince gave Pickle a Nazi salute and said, "Yes, Fuehrer," in a bad German accent. Vince puffed out his cheeks and  said, "Don't get wandering anywhere now. I don't want my throat being ripped out while I'm asleep."

"I won't be going  anywhere." Pickle pointed at a large thick branch that hung eight feet high to his left. "I'm gonna be doing a few sets of pull-ups on that branch. It's been a while."

"Seems a waste of time and energy to me."

"And that's probably why yer built like a twig."

Vince never responded. His small breakdown earlier seemed to have exhausted him and he was ready for sleep. He closed his eyes, this time relaxed, knowing that Harry Branston wasn't far from his side.

*

Karen Bradley had gone to bed early, and seemed to be spending the night in the house alone for the second time.

It was a humid night, despite the lack of sun over the last few days, and she wriggled about on top of the quilt in her Snoopy pyjamas.

She was restless.

Her mind was going a hundred miles an hour and was finding it impossible to sleep. She placed her hand on her belly and smiled to herself, wondering when she was going to feel the first flutter, the first sign that there was a living thing growing inside of her.

As her mind wandered she began thinking about Pickle and Vince—Pickle especially. She knew he could handle himself, and she knew he was in good company with Vince, who was no shrinking violet himself.

She sighed and was imagining all kinds of macabre images and scenarios in her head that reduced herself to tears.

She wiped her eyes and sat up in bed.

She shook her head and giggled to herself. "Karen, you're such a tit."