Snatchers (Book 9): The Dead Don't Scream (10 page)

Chapter Nineteen

The sound of an explosion had stirred both Elza and Ophelia, and both females decided to check out what the noise was all about. It was dark, but they had been in far more dangerous places than this.

Elza stared at her friend. Ophelia nodded the once at her companion and both women left the church, bats at the ready.

They strolled down Hislop Road and turned left onto Queensway. Their feet reached as far as Ashleigh Road before two of the dead staggered out of the cul-de-sac, and both females took a step back with their bats ready to strike.

Their first kills were nerve-wracking moments, but now they disposed of the dead with little signs of fright on their faces. It was now the norm. The dead weren't as frightening as they were in the beginning; now they were more of an annoying obstacle to remove. They were only frightening when they were in large numbers.

Elza had destroyed her 'admirer' with one strike to the side of its head, and was now waiting for Ophelia to finish smashing the brains in of hers.

They continued with their walk, but stopped once more as they could see in the distance, inbetween the gaps of the houses, a huge fire licking the sky.

Thirty-one-year-old Elza Crowe turned to her friend and said, "Come on. Let's see what's happening."

They could see three more dead up ahead, along the road of Queensway, and decided to avoid them. Elza and Ophelia turned right at Hardie Avenue, then took the first left at Sankey Crescent, which was a shortcut to Sandy Lane. They passed the abandoned garages and went down a small path to the main road, and could now see the fire in all its glory and a crashed lorry by the side of them.

"Jesus." Elza made a small smile as she watched the burning tanker. The occasional scream could be heard in the distance and she saw that there were reanimated corpses everywhere. Hundreds of them.

Ophelia grabbed Elza's arm. Elza understood her friend's consternation, and she nodded in agreement that they should both be getting back before more of the dead dispersed and found themselves on the Pear Tree Estate. Elza briefly thought about the two girls they had met in the church, a few days ago. They had mentioned a camp. This must have been it. They were even invited back to it, but Elza turned them down.

"I'm glad I never took them up on their offer," Elza muttered to herself.

She turned and walked away, with Ophelia by her side, and the two young women went back through Sankey Crescent and looked up to the top of Hardie Avenue. They could see behind them that some of the dead from the camp were already beginning to disperse.

Some were already on the Pear Tree Estate.

There were only three, but Elza was certain that dozens would be on the estate as time passed.

*

Paul Dickson had covered his ears with his palms for the last fifteen minutes to drown out the screams from outside. He had now managed to build up the courage to remove them. Once he did, a buzzing sound was all that greeted him.

At first he was calm about the situation—he had been through something similar at Vince's camp, but it was clear from the screams that this was much, much worse.

The buzzing continued to torture his ears. What was it?

He stood to his feet and straightened his back. Then he walked over to the bedroom window that looked out onto Sandy Lane. He could now see the reason for the sound, but it wasn't really buzzing. It was hundreds of the dead, outside, groaning. Some just stood, whilst others were forcing their way into houses. It was like a slowed down or doped-up version of Black Friday.

Paul gulped and shook his head at the horrific sight. He went to the back bedroom and saw that some of the dead from Sandy Lane were filtering through into the back gardens. He was caught in two minds whether to flee or stay, and began to pace the bedroom carpet.

What would he do if Kyle was still here?

He'd stay.

But Kyle wasn't here.

He was dead. And Paul believed that dying wasn't going to reunite him with his son in some kind of heaven or an alternative spirit world. He didn't believe in the afterlife.

It was a nice thought, but he just didn't buy it.

Even now, he couldn't cling onto hope that it could be possible.

He knew, or at least he thought he knew, it was all bullshit.

You live, then you die.

End of.

He peered out of his window once more and could see that the infected crowd had diluted a little. But was that because the dead were leaving the area, or because they were pushing forwards and going into the gardens and through the front windows of the houses?

Were some walking through Hill Street and going onto Burnthill Lane?

That was Paul's worry.

If the dead got to these streets then they'd be surrounded. There would be no way out of the area at all. The house he was in could eventually be his tomb.

If they didn't force their way into his home and devour the man, there was a strong possibility that they could starve him out.

He continued to pace the floor for another minute or so, and his decision was made when the sound of glass shattering came from downstairs. He had no idea whether it was from the main door or the kitchen window, but the house was now vulnerable and this unnerved the man.

He went through to the back bedroom once more and looked out. There were a few scattered in the gardens, but none in his own. Most gardens were separated by fences, so that would give him some protection if he decided to escape.

Escape? But where?

More glass shattered from downstairs.

"Fuck it."

Paul checked his pocket to see if his knife was still there—it was—and took in some deep breaths, psyching himself up.  "Shit, Paul," he muttered to himself. "I hope you know what you're fucking doing."

He began to pace the floor and started a debate with himself, wondering if leaving would be the right thing to do.

He was getting ready to leave. But where would he go?

He then remembered an incident when Kyle and Lisa came face-to-face with one of the dead. Charles Pilkington and David McDonald had twisted Kyle and Lisa's arm to break into the school to see some ghost. It was a prank that was supposed to scare Lisa and Kyle, especially Kyle, but it went terribly wrong when a reanimated corpse appeared, but it could have turned out a lot worse. It turned out that there was more than one, and a couple of guards had to go in and remove a bunch of reanimated pupils. They had ran into trouble, so more went in and finally killed every single one of the turned children.

He knew where to go now.

The school.

Chapter Twenty

Bentley had made a decision to leave the house, but Rick Morgan was too petrified to move anywhere. His fear was making him indecisive and Bentley was becoming agitated with the man.

"We're gonna have to leave!" Bentley exclaimed. He was standing up and towered over the sitting and petrified Rick Morgan, and had a cleaver in his right hand that he had taken from the kitchen.

Rick shivered, "I'm going nowhere."

"But if we stay here any longer they could get into the house. They're already doing that with the others. Haven't you been listening?"

"Of course I've been listening!" Rick cried and nodded over to the window that Bentley had opened slightly. "All I've heard for the last couple of minutes is groaning and smashing. I don't want to go out. I want to take my chances in here."

Bentley sighed, exasperated with himself for being so impatient. Not everybody was the same. Not everybody was cut out for this world, and Rick was one of them. He would sometimes forget that even after two months, being face-to-face with the dead was a frightening experience for most.

There were hundreds of the things and fighting them wasn't an option. Running was. But Rick Morgan was in no mood to run anywhere.

Bentley crouched down, so he was eye-level with Rick, and said, "Okay. I'm going to say this once more, just like I did a few minutes ago: I'm leaving, with or without you. I'm going to go through the gardens before it gets too congested, over the metal railings and into the school. The place has no supplies, but it'll keep us alive until the morning."

"I can't do it." Rick shook his head, sobbing. "I just can't do it."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because I'm scared."

Bentley smiled and said, "And you think
I'm
not?"

"You don't look like you are." Rick looked at Bentley. Bentley could see the fear in Rick's face and felt for the man.

"The reason why I want to leave and go over to the school," Bentley said with a soft tone, "is because I don't want to die tonight. If we stay here, there's a good chance we'll die. You need to understand that."

"And if we go out ... there's also a good chance—"

"I'm not going to argue with you any longer." Bentley rubbed his head and announced, "I'm going right now, whether you're coming or not."

Rick stared at Bentley with a blank look and gave Drummle no response.

"Fine," Bentley moaned. "Have it your way."

Bentley then pointed at the shotgun that was leaning against the wall. "Only use that if they get inside and upstairs. You don't wanna give them an excuse to smash their way through."

"You not taking it?"

"Too loud." Bentley shook his head, and placed his cleaver in his belt. "Besides, there's only two cartridges or shells in the thing. I don't have any more. Glen, my Glock, is back at my house, but I won't miss it one bit. I think I'm gonna avoid guns from now on."

Bentley shook Rick's hand and wished him luck. He went to the other side of the house, opened the bedroom window and climbed out. He never looked back.

*

Bentley slid down the drainpipe of the house with the cleaver still in his belt. He was certain that none of those things were present in the garden, but still looked below before his feet touched the ground.

He walked briskly over to the end of the garden and began to climb the six-foot fence. He peered his head over and could see three of the dead on Burnthill Lane, by the railings of the school where he wanted to go over. He could dodge them easily, he thought, but his presence would make the three follow him and they'd be hanging around, by the railings. This could attract more of the dead and could stop other survivors from seeking refuge at the school.

He climbed over and landed on the pavement of Burnthill Lane. All three heard his feet hit the floor; they twisted round and went for him. He turned, taking his blade out, and ran at the nearest one, a female teenager dressed in a bloody pink dress. He hacked at it, the blade going in quite easily at the front of the skull. He pulled out the cleaver and went for ghoul number two. This one was an adult male, and clumsily stumbled over the motionless body of the teenager in the pink dress. Bentley never hesitated and brought his boot down onto the back of its head.

For a reason that he had no knowledge of, the skull of this one was a lot tougher to crack—quite literally—and had to try again. His second attempt produced a positive result and his heavy boot went through its skull, spilling out the diseased contents that were inside of it.

Number three was taken down with a slice to the forehead, like the first one, but as he withdrew the blade he dropped it as a slap hit his shoulder. He turned around and was face-to-face with another one that he had never noticed.

It snarled and grabbed Bentley's shoulders. It threw its head forwards, mouth wide open, ready to rip the flesh off of Bentley's cheek.

Chapter Twenty One

Once he had slid down the drainpipe and his feet touched the grass, Paul Dickson pulled out the steak knife from his pocket and scanned around in the darkness. He could hear the sounds of the dead, but they were in other gardens, and with most gardens having fences, it was difficult for most to go from one to the next.

He walked slowly to the bottom of the lawn and glared at the obstacle that was in his way: A six foot fence. This fence, once climbed, would take him to a pavement on Burnthill Lane.

He put the handle of the knife in his teeth and suddenly wondered what the hell was wrong with him. He was nervous, but surely he should have been trembling with fear being in such a situation.

The Paul Dickson of old may have even stayed in the house and blocked the bedroom door, but with no one to care for but himself, his mindset seemed to have changed. He had made a comment, after Kyle was killed, that he still wanted to live, but maybe his desire for living wasn't as strong as he thought. He quickly climbed the fence and landed on the other side.

He was surprised to see just four of those things meandering around the streets, but from what he could see, at the front of his house on Sandy Lane, it wasn't going to be long before Burnthill Lane was going to be flooded with these foul, smelly, diseased fucks.

The first ghoul had its back to Paul, and the forty-one-year-old rammed the knife into the back of its head and was surprised the knife went in so easily. The creature fell and Paul released a breath out when he pulled out the blade. This reminded him of when he had to kill two of them, when he went to the sports centre, many weeks ago, when he went to get the gallons of water that were available.

Creature number two was already staggering in Paul's direction and the other two followed behind. He marched forwards and decided to go for the soft temple and managed to ram the knife into the right one. He looked at the two dead that were straggling over to him and decided that killing these things should only be done if it was absolutely necessary. In this case, now that two had been removed, he was certain that he could run around the others and get to the metal railings which needed to be climbed over to get onto the school grounds.

Over at the railings, Paul could just about see a human, struggling with one of the dead. It was dark, but it looked like Bentley. With his bloody knife in his right hand, Paul Dickson ran at the two ghouls and then quickly turned to the left as they reached out for him. Passing them turned out to be easy, and he ran over to Bentley, but Drummle had already sorted out the problem by the time Paul had reached him.

Paul could see Bentley reaching for a weapon on the floor, a cleaver that he must have dropped during the struggle. Two whacks to the head had managed to stop the beast from taking a bite out of the exhausted Bentley Drummle. Bentley looked unsteady on his feet and managed to flash Paul a smile when he saw him. He soon lost his smile once the two dead began to head in their direction.

Bentley didn't want to have the dead around the railings, and reluctantly announced with a sigh, "We better move."

Paul nodded at the railings, putting the blade in his pocket, and was the first to jump on them, feeling the knife pricking his thigh. He was expecting Bentley to be climbing over the railings beside him, but he was still on the other side—the wrong side—when Paul managed to get onto the school grounds.

Paul cried, "Bentley! You better hurry!"

"I tried, but I'm knackered."

"Try again."

"I can take these two." Bentley was holding his cleaver, ready for the advancing two beasts. Paul wasn't convinced that Bentley could take them. He looked exhausted.

"Maybe you
can
take them," said Paul. "But didn't you see the other hundred or so on Sandy Lane? They'll be here soon."

"I'll climb over once I've sorted these pricks."

"That's if you have any energy to," Paul muttered under his breath, and all he could do now was watch.

Bentley hacked at the female beast and had managed to penetrate the top of its head, somehow. But once the creature fell, the tired Drummle was having trouble removing the blade. Paul called out Bentley's name, warning him that the other one was at reaching distance. Bentley managed to get the blade out and took a tired swipe at the thing, but the creature took a hold of his shoulders and tried to bury its teeth into his neck.

Both man and beast fell to the floor, forcing Paul to attempt to climb back over, but he was struggling to do so. Bentley screamed out as the teeth of the creature scraped his skin. He found the strength to push it away, but was still struggling. The male beast released a groan. It tried to gnash at Bentley's fingers that were around its chin and stopping it from biting him. Paul wished that the thing was close by so he could stab it through the railings, but Bentley and the creature were too far away.

"Stand back," a female voice came from behind Paul.

Baffled, Paul did what he was told and then looked behind him to see who the voice belonged to. He could see it was Stephanie Perkins. She was already on the school grounds, behind the metal fence, and aimed the arrow and released it through the gap in the railings. Paul watched as the arrow flew through the gap and pierced the side of the creature's head.

Bentley, who was on the other side, released a relieved sigh and pushed the creature off of him, and remained lying on his back, panting. Paul could see more of the dead coming into Burnthill Lane via Hill Street.

"Bentley!" Paul called out. "Rest time over. You need to move your arse."

Bentley got to his feet when he clocked the horde coming around the corner of Hill Street and heading towards him. He ran at the railings and climbed over as if his life depended on it, in which it did, and somehow had found a new supply of energy.

Once he was over, and standing, his knees buckled, and an out of breath Bentley looked at Paul. "I thought I was done for," he panted, then looked over at Stephanie. "How many times have you saved my life now?"

Stephanie smiled. "I've lost count. Come on." She then told the two men to follow her into the school.

They didn't need to be told twice.

*

Rick Morgan had changed his mind. He had decided to try and get to the high school. Remembering what Bentley had said about the shotgun, he chose to ignore it and placed his knife into his pocket and took one last look out of the bedroom window that looked out onto the front. There were too many out there, on the road. It looked they were attending a gig of some kind.

"Jesus Christ!" Rick cried, and walked away from the room to get to the other side of the house. He peered out of the back room and saw that this area was so much darker than out at the front. The fire from the tanker had created a lot of light, as well as uninvited guests, but he could see silhouettes of bodies staggering around in some of the gardens. Thankfully, there were none in the one that was below him. But that could soon change if he hung around any longer.

All he had to do was climb down to the bottom, run across the lawn, then climb the fence over to Burnthill Lane. Simple. Right?

Because of Bentley's escape earlier, the window was already open and the groans from below sent a shiver down Rick's frame.

"Please. Let me get through this," he said, hoping that some kind of God or guardian was listening.

He took in a deep breath and left the building. He stood up straight on the windowsill and looked down. He grabbed onto the pipe, to his right, and slowly wrapped his legs and arms around it. He was a portly guy, but was confident that it could take his weight. After all, Bentley had managed it, and he was hardly a skinny man himself.

Rick slid down at a slow rate, and looked down to his left where the moans could be heard in the other garden. There were three in this one, and they were aware of his presence. He began to shake. "Come on," he tried to urge himself.

A slapping sound could be heard from the fence to his left. It gave him a fright, and the thirty-five-year-old lost his grip and fell the seven feet that was left to descend and landed painfully on the grass.

As he landed, he let out a scream as the knife in his pocket stabbed his thigh. He rolled along the grass, clutching onto the area where he was wounded. "Shit, shit, shit." He tried to stand, but it was excruciating, and hobbled in pain to get to the end of the garden. Both sides of the fence were now being slapped by the ravenous beasts that were behind it, dying to get a mouthful of flesh.

Rick put his hand in his pocket and managed to pull out the knife. It had had only gone in by an inch or so, but it was still painful and affected his mobility significantly.

He put the blade in his back pocket this time and tried to climb the fence. He yelled out as the pain to his thigh throbbed, but he somehow managed to get a leg over. He released another yell out as he got his other leg over, and allowed himself to drop over to the other side. He hit the concrete with a thump and released a cry when he twisted his ankle, the pain bringing tears to his eyes.

Maybe leaving wasn't such a good idea after all. He was beginning to have second thoughts.

Before he could lift his head up, his ears picked up a chorus of moans and he slowly peeped at what was in front of him. Dozens of the dead bumbled their way over to Rick Morgan, and he burst into tears on seeing this.

He guessed that he had broken, or at least sprained, his left ankle. This and the stab wound to his thigh made his escape almost impossible. Even going back over the fence seemed an impossibility, but he tried.

He stood, released a cry of pain and tried to pull himself over the fence. He was immediately grabbed by three of them, there was another thirty or so not far behind, and he winced as he was expecting the first bite, and he didn't have to wait long.

They ripped him apart in seconds.