Chapter Three
Pickle rubbed his hairy chin which annoyed him. He had never had a beard and was always a clean-shaven individual. His grey jogging bottoms and his black T-shirt were days old now, and he wondered when he was going to get himself a new set of clothes. For three nights they had slept in the woods, and they were now on the brink of starvation; their stomachs were empty and now they had to leave the area and venture somewhere where food was available.
The woods were reasonably quiet and the original plan was for the group to stay in there for as long as possible. The more days passed, the less chance there would be of those things to deal with, or so they hoped. But the hunger was now drawing them out.
Karen sat down and the main unpleasant experience of the woods wasn't the fear of the Snatchers, but the fact that they had to do their business with no toilet roll for the last three days; leaves were all they had, and the twenty-three-year-old former nurse was paranoid about picking up infections.
Karen watched as Paul and Jade were standing ten yards away, giggling to one another as if it was a private joke. The pair of them had become close over the last few days, but it was innocent, especially as far as Paul was concerned as his wife, Jocelyn, and his two-year-old daughter, Hannah, were constantly talked about by the thirty-one-year-old.
She put her head in her hands and Pickle asked what was wrong. "I'm thirsty," answered Karen.
"Tell me about it. I haven't drank water since the sports centre, just a coke and a bottle of vimto."
"I've been in and out of the woods for the past fortnight. I could murder a cup of tea and a hot shower."
Pickle laughed, "A cup of tea would be great. I've even thought about breaking back into my old prison."
"Seriously?"
Pickle shrugged. "There should be a generator o' some sort to keep the place goin' for a few weeks, but I suppose it'll be overrun with those things now; either that, or some gang have claimed it."
"Probably," Karen said, then winced with the pain in her head.
"What is it?"
Karen looked over to Paul and Jade who were standing ten yards away, and seemed to be involved in their own conversation. Karen put her forefingers to her temples and winced again. "It's nothing. Just a headache." She then cupped her right hand, sharply breathed into it and took a sniff of her cupped hand. "My breath smells like shit."
Pickle smiled. "Don't worry about it. We all stink."
For the last three days the four individuals had been trying to stay low, but the lack of food was beginning to entice them out. The group, after living off rations of crisps and juice, were finally running out of food, and Pickle knew that staying in the woods was not practical unless they came across a stream of pure water and a field of animals. This, of course, was nothing but a pipedream, because for the last three days they had remained in the woods, they had no idea where they were. They never had a plan; they just wanted to stay reasonably safe and away from roads and general population.
Their thinking had now changed. They needed to be hydrated and have food in their bellies.
When they left the sports centre, the goal was to somehow find sanctuary, because all Pickle, Karen and Paul had done since the beginning of the outbreak was to run away from those damn things. Even though being in the woodland made them less vulnerable to predators, they were also hidden from any chance of being picked up by a rogue driver or any other kind of help. They didn't know how many miles they had walked over the last three days, but it was becoming clear that the woods were thinning out and appeared to be coming to a halt, which now pleased them.
Wordlessly, they all stepped out onto the edge of the area onto a country road. They were out in the open and it felt good. Being in the woods was the safest option, but the heat was stifling and it was good to feel the cold wind on their sweat-stained shirts.
They were all desperate for washes; their mouths were rank with the stench of not brushing for days, and they seemed to itch all over from a concoction of the dirt and the heat. Throughout the nights, they had all slept on the grass with one keeping guard.
Jade had estimated that she had probably had seven hours sleep over the nights, if she was lucky. Her body was sore; her mouth was as dry as sand paper; her teeth ached from the neglect, and she stunk. She had become used to this as the rest were also stinking; it seemed to be something that was just accepted now. Jade Greatrix was still a nervous wreck, even after three days of being outside, and Karen was still irked by Jade's presence and had hardly said a word to her over the three days.
Jade was the first to speak while the rest of the group had their eyes closed and looked up to the dull sky, enjoying the breeze that caressed their frames.
"So what happens now?"
Nobody answered her straight away.
Eventually Pickle spoke, "Not sure. I think we should have a wee sit down and discuss what our next move should be."
Jade was the first to slump onto the grass bank at the edge of the road. Paul did the same and began moaning about the smell that was coming from his body. Paul Parker lowered his head and thought about Jocelyn and Hannah. He hoped they were okay, but he also knew that they may not be alive anymore. He realised it was pointless and now too far and dangerous going back to his house, but it was still killing him not knowing where they were or how they were doing, or if they were even still breathing.
Pickle squinted his eyes; he was lost in thought and threw his head to the right, then to the left, looking down the country lanes.
Noticing his confusion, Karen asked, "What's up?"
His eyes narrowed, furrowing his brow, and began scratching his head. "I think I recognise this place."
Karen coolly nodded her head. "That's because we've been here before."
"What?" Pickle looked bemused. "When?"
"We've practically walked in a circle. Don't forget, I've lived in this area all my life. This road..." Karen allowed her sentence to trail off and paused, until Pickle's raised eyebrows urged her to continue with her sentence. Karen cleared her throat. "This is the very same road where KP got out of the van."
Pickle's face was emotionless, but he could feel a sick feeling in his stomach; his hand rubbed his thin beard in thought. "So...we're back at Stile Cop?"
"More or less. It's just round that corner and up the hill. Do you think we should check it out?"
The forty-three-year-old never answered her straight away; he was lost in deliberation. He stared down at the road and suddenly felt his body sway; he widened his eyes and looked back up to re-focus his blurry eyes. For a moment he thought he was going to pass out. "I don't know," he finally answered. "The last time we were there, we were swamped with the things. Don't yer remember what happened to Jamie and Janine?"
"Don't forget Davina," Karen chipped in. "Anyway, that was nearly two weeks ago, these Snatchers ain't gonna hang around if there's no...well....food about, are they?"
"Yer reckon the place could be empty?"
Karen made a face as if she was unsure what the outcome would be if they went back there. "Won't harm to check it out, then we'll take it from there."
"We're gonna have to eat...soon," Paul spoke up and began walking towards the pair of them.
Both Karen and Pickle nodded in agreement. Both their stomachs were beginning to grumble with dissatisfaction of the lack of action they'd been getting since yesterday. "I know there's a supermarket not far from here, but there might be fuck all in there now," Pickle half-scoffed.
"We could always try and go back into Rugeley," Karen said, "after we've checked out Stile Cop."
"Didn't yer tell me the town was swarming?"
"A while back, yes. But who knows what could be happening? We could be hiding in the woods while the Rugeley residents have...I dunno...kinda taken control of their town. Maybe it's been quarantined by the army."
"Or..." Paul smiled sarcastically at Karen's positive attitude, "maybe... there's no one left, because they've all been ripped to fucking pieces."
Pickle and Karen looked at one another while Jade picked her teeth with her little finger. She was in a world of her own, and never reacted to Paul losing his temper. Both Pickle and Karen never responded to Paul's angry outburst either. They knew he was still unsure whether his wife and daughter were alive or not, and put his fury down to frustration.
"Well," Pickle began, "food and drink isn't going to fall into our laps sitting here, is it? Something has to be done. We'll go to Stile Cop first, it's on the way anyway, see what's been occurring, then we'll go to Karen's hometown and see what we can get."
"A set of wheels would be good." Paul spoke as if he was in a daydream. His eyes were wide; he looked like he was a million miles away, and his short-lived anger had begun to evaporate.
"A set o' wheels would be great, but let's see what's about." Pickle investigated the inside of his mouth with his tongue and could feel the wrinkles in the roof. He was dehydrated. He knew he was dehydrated because his head was pounding and he hadn't shat for two days. "If any o' yer lot come across any thick branches, pick them up. I'm not going into that town unarmed. It's only Karen that's armed now."
"I'm sure we can outrun those things, if there ain't too many," Karen piped up.
"It's not just the Lurkers that we need to worry about," Paul spat; it sounded like he was becoming emotional; his voice shook as he spoke. "My friend, Gary, was raped and killed by two men," Paul looked over to Pickle, "in that very same supermarket you were talking about. I'm going nowhere, unless I'm armed with something."
"Well yer better find somethin' then," Pickle snapped.
This kind of talk did nothing to breathe confidence into Jade. What happened to humans pulling together? she thought. She sighed, and thought about her lonely existence being stuck in the sports centre. But at least she was safe, and had possibly another week left before supplies would have ran out.
"Okay." Pickle clapped his hands together in a futile attempt to rally the troops. "Are we ready?"
Dejected and sleepy, Paul and Jade managed a tired nod and began to follow Karen who was already five yards ahead of them. Jade looked at the back of Karen Bradley and scowled. Jade knew that Karen disliked her, and the feeling was mutual, but nevertheless, she knew that Karen was a tough individual and that she would rather have her on her side than be against her.
She walked with Paul, their conversation was non-existent. Their feet dragged, their clothes were filthy and their morale was rock bottom. The two in front, Pickle and Karen, walked with more energetic and confident strides. They turned left at a junction to find a vacant road, which made them relax a little; there was no sign of life at all. Their strides continued, while Paul and Jade did their best to catch up.
"Nearly there," they heard Pickle say to no one in particular. A minute later, the two in front stopped and Paul and Jade did the same. Pickle looked to his left and nodded with contentment, while Paul and Jade eventually caught up and stood next to them.
They were at a crossroads and could see a few dead bodies to their right, while to their left, the road that led up to Stile Cop, there were even more bodies further up. There were two particular ghouls that were still active and at the side of the road. Their legs were crushed, and it was apparent that they had slowly crawled their way to the side. They didn't look to be a threat, and their presence was ignored by the group.
Jade released a smile and immediately said, "Somebody's been here," she half-laughed. "The army, maybe."
Pickle shook his head, which was noticed by an unhappy Jade. She was annoyed that any little hope she could grab onto was being wiped away by Harry Branston.
"What are you shaking your head for?" she asked with fury in her tone. "Who else could have done this? Who else could have killed these things?"
Karen gawped at Jade and said, "I hate to shit on your cornflakes, but
we
did this. Just over a week ago."
"What?"
"We got attacked one night." Pickle decided to clear things up and eliminate any confusion and false hope. "We lost a couple o' people. Anyway, Karen created a diversion so me and...KP...could escape with the van. The van killed a few on the way to meeting Karen back here," he pointed to the floor where they stood, then pointed at Karen, "then Wild Bill Hickock here began shooting a few."
Karen lowered her head, and thought back where she had a rush of blood to the head and unnecessarily shot the two ghouls, when she should have quickly jumped into the van.
"Shall we go?" Karen stared at Pickle.
They all began to walk up the steep road, stepping over the rotting corpses that even the crows had refused to eat. Another fifty yards and they'd be by the Stile Cop entrance, which they used to block off with the prison van not so long back.
Pickle looked over to Karen and winked. "This brings back memories."
"Yeah." She nodded her head in agreement. "Bad ones."
Chapter Four
Johnny took a walk around the desolate building, and stared at the huge aisles that were there for the cranes. The cranes would be used to go to ridiculous heights so certain car parts could be picked by the operator and then brought back to the ground floor, packed up, and then sent to its destination across the waters.
He sighed and thought that maybe the factory would never be used again, but he had more things to worry about. He had to admit it. His job didn't exist anymore, he knew that, and survival was his only goal now.
In the beginning of the outbreak he would get into one of the cranes and go right to the top part of the aisle, and that's where he'd go for a sleep. The last time that he tried that was on Tuesday. When he woke up in the cab, fifty feet above the factory's ground floor, he went to use the control panel to bring the crane back to the ground as he was peckish and needed the toilet. The crane wasn't budging, in fact, the whole factory was dim because of the lights above were not working anymore.
The power had finally gone, and Johnny had to perform the nerve-wracking task of climbing down the aisle without breaking his neck.
He snapped out of his self-hypnosis and puffed out his cheeks. The monotony was killing his brain, but he knew he was luckier than most folk. His experience with these things had been short and isolated, and knew that it was a lot worse out there, which was the reason why he had stayed behind. He was sure that if he had a family to go home to, the situation would be a lot different. But Johnny had no family, and for the first time in his life he was thankful for that.
He walked past the empty stations on the ground floor, that would have been buzzing with workers filling pallets full of parts and the aisles would be busy with forklift trucks, and he walked through the door that led to the canteen and toilets, and a staircase was to his right that led to the first floor such as the boardroom and other offices.
He walked through the gents toilets and relieved himself. Once he was done, he placed his ear against the locked canteen door. Those things were mooching about; he could hear it. He had spent the last week or so raiding his colleagues' lockers for food, and the canteen was closed on Saturday. He knew that if he wanted to continue hiding in the factory, the canteen was going to have to be opened sooner or later, as the place had food and also two vending machines. But that meant he was going to have to kill his two colleagues.
Just out of interest, and total boredom, Johnny took the stairs to the first floor. Walking past the boardroom and ignoring the thuds from the reanimated supervisor from inside the office, Johnny released a strident yawn and took a sip of the can of diet coke he was holding in his left hand. In the past he was always wary of drinking diet drinks because of the aspartame the companies put in the products, but now he had more things to worry about than aspartame.
He glared out of the window, and his eyes watered while he peered out into the country lanes that the factory was surrounded by. Although a nightmare to find for delivery trucks, the place had been saving a fortune over the years because it was out of the city and towns where the rent was extortionate.
Suddenly, his eyes clocked a figure stumbling out of the woods and onto the main road that was situated opposite the works' car park. Johnny gasped, but his increase in heart rate was temporary once the figure saw him looking through the first floor window and began waving at him with both arms.
It's human!
The man looked exhausted, almost drunk-like, and Johnny guessed that he was probably severely dehydrated and starving. For the first time he had been cooped up, Johnny ran down the stairs and opened the door into the secured car park and was welcomed by fresh air for the first time in a long time.
He ran over to meet the man and beckoned him over with his hand. "Over the fence," Johnny cried excitedly. "Climb over the fence."
Johnny saw the man stagger towards the wiry, six-foot fence, and he wondered if he was going to have the strength to make it over. Once the figure reached it, he stumbled on the grass and fell into the fence. He looked like his energy levels were at rock bottom.
Johnny took hold of the wiry fence to stop it from wobbling too much once the man had mustered the energy to attempt the climb. The man began to climb, and his arms and legs shuddered. His face was filthy; his hair was dark with grey at the sides, and he had a few days growth on his face.
Once the stranger had managed to get his arms over the fence, he pulled himself over with, what looked like, the last of his strength. Once he was over, he allowed his exhausted body to drop and land hard on the grass, on the other side.
Johnny winced when the stranger hit the grass. It sounded like a sore one. He took a look at the dishevelled man and shook his head. Johnny said, "Let's get you inside."
He helped to get the man onto his feet, placed his arm around his shoulder, and walked him back to the only door that led inside the factory, now that the shutters were down and secured.
Once they both got inside, the man collapsed onto the floor. Johnny helped him and sat him up against one of the wooden pallets that was filled with car alternators, waiting to be lidded and shipped to Jakarta. The man began to moan and was drifting in and out of consciousness. Johnny could see that the man's lips were dry and there was a little white gunk at the corner of each side of his mouth, suggesting he was severely dehydrated.
"Wait there," Johnny said. He didn't really know why he said this, as the man was incapable of going anywhere in his condition.
Johnny returned with a bottle of apple juice and a cereal bar. As soon as the weak man spotted the drink that Johnny was unscrewing, he grabbed it off of him and drunk it in one.
"Just be careful," Johnny cautioned. "Try not to drink and eat so fast." He then handed the man the cereal bar and went away to find another drink. He returned with a half-litre bottle of flat lemonade.
"There
is
more," Johnny spoke. "But it's in the canteen."
"Great." The man raised a smile and now took a swig from the bottle of lemonade.
"No...you see, the thing is," Johnny was trying to find the right words to explain his predicament, "there's two of those things in there."
The man's eyes widened, but Johnny tried to appease him straight away.
"It's okay," Johnny added. "I've locked them in."
"They can't get out?" The man's voice was hoarse and he loudly cleared his throat, which echoed through the factory.
"No. They can't get out." Johnny smiled.
"Okay," the man was clearly exhausted, but spoke with calm. "I'll sort them later, once I've slept."
"You'll sort them? Once you've slept?" Johnny was wondering if he was hearing things. "Look, I don't think you know the situation out there."
"Oh, I know," the man guffawed falsely. "What do you think I've been doing for the last two weeks? Not hiding in a factory, that's for sure."
Johnny then realised someone like this man must have killed one or two of those things in order to survive, but why was he outside and why was he not at home with his family? Was his family dead? Johnny then thought that, like himself, maybe he didn't have a family. It wasn't the sixties or the seventies anymore when you were classed as some kind of weirdo if you wasn't a man with a job, a wife, and two or three children.
Johnny asked, "What's your name? I'm Johnny Jefferson." He held out his hand.
The other man shook Johnny's hand and finally revealed his own name. "Jack."
Johnny snickered, "Surname?"
"Slade."