Snatchers (Book 3): The Dead Don't Cry by Shaun Whittington Page A
Authors: Shaun Whittington
Tags: Zombies
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end of the woods and come to a dirt path that has a hill. At the top of the hill is a place where I used to go to as a child, called Cardboard Hill. I know there used to be some kind of shack up there."
"I have a feeling that that place would already be spoken for." Pickle smiled and released a chesty cough, like a forty-a-day smoker. Christ, not another virus .
"Maybe." Karen nodded in agreement. "But that's not the reason we're going that way. The top of the hill gives a view of the back of Rugeley. We'd be able to see what places were swarming, then maybe we could try the emptier streets and get a place for the night."
"Like the house in Heath Hayes? And look how that turned out." Pickle was teasing Karen a little, and waited for her sharp response.
"Yeah, but this time we won't have Jason Bonser leading them to us in their hundreds." She then looked at Pickle for a reaction. "What do you think?"
She could tell by Pickle's face that he was devoid of ideas and made a facial expression telling Karen that he would go with her plan, as there was nothing else he could think of. "What if this... hill is infested?"
"Why would it be? It's a hill; a steep fucker. You've seen those cocksuckers try and climb stairs; their legs can't take it. Not only that, but the hill should be clear of humans as well."
Now she had the ex-inmate confused and he responded with puzzlement, "I don't understand what yer mean."
"No mad bastard with a house is going to go and head for a hill and be exposed out in the open."
"If they see us, these things could still get up this hill yer talkin' about." Pickle reminded Karen, "Stile Cop, Heath Hayes and the sports centre—no matter where we go, these things usually find us in the end. Their determination should not be underestimated."
Karen did her best to convince Pickle. "We made too much noise at Stile Cop with KP shooting Davina and Isobel screaming. Heath Hayes was our own doing. If we had killed Jason Bonser, he would never have led a horde of them our way. And as for the sports centre: they were already heading for us in their dozens anyway. We didn't have much of a choice."
"I hope yer right."
Karen smiled at her companion and playfully slapped him on the back. "Shit, so do I."
Chapter Eleven
Jack woke up with a fright, and found that he was being shaken by Johnny.
Jack looked up at his skinny features; the blue boiler suit was almost hanging off him, and Jack widened his eyes in a way of waking himself up a little quicker. He then immediately thought that something was wrong and bolted upright, twisting his neck from side-to-side, scanning the factory area. "What is it?"
"Calm down. It's nearly ten 'o'clock," announced Johnny.
"What? Really?"
"You slept for nearly thirteen hours."
"Shit." Jack began to laugh and scratched the side of his hair where the grey was. He thought about the last time he had slept so well: Glasgow City Centre, at his four-star hotel. "We're gonna have to go soon." Slade then began to rub his forehead, thinking back to his sleep. "Man, I haven't slept like that since..." Jack allowed his sentence to trail off and Johnny could see wretchedness emerging on Jack's face. Jack then shook his head, angry with himself.
Johnny asked, "What's up?"
Jack lowered his head, tears forming around his eyes. "My son's been dead for only a few days and I'm laughing. That's not right."
"You have to laugh some time or another."
"A few days?" Forty-year-old Slade was annoyed with himself that any kind of positive emotion had managed to seep through only days after Thomas had had such a violent death. He thought to himself that if this was the old world, and he was caught by a relative, laughing, days after his son's death and before his funeral, they would be baffled and not impressed if he expressed such an emotion. He was supposed to be mourning the loss of his son. Or maybe he was just being too hard on himself.
Johnny put his hand comfortingly on Jack who was
"I have a feeling that that place would already be spoken for." Pickle smiled and released a chesty cough, like a forty-a-day smoker. Christ, not another virus .
"Maybe." Karen nodded in agreement. "But that's not the reason we're going that way. The top of the hill gives a view of the back of Rugeley. We'd be able to see what places were swarming, then maybe we could try the emptier streets and get a place for the night."
"Like the house in Heath Hayes? And look how that turned out." Pickle was teasing Karen a little, and waited for her sharp response.
"Yeah, but this time we won't have Jason Bonser leading them to us in their hundreds." She then looked at Pickle for a reaction. "What do you think?"
She could tell by Pickle's face that he was devoid of ideas and made a facial expression telling Karen that he would go with her plan, as there was nothing else he could think of. "What if this... hill is infested?"
"Why would it be? It's a hill; a steep fucker. You've seen those cocksuckers try and climb stairs; their legs can't take it. Not only that, but the hill should be clear of humans as well."
Now she had the ex-inmate confused and he responded with puzzlement, "I don't understand what yer mean."
"No mad bastard with a house is going to go and head for a hill and be exposed out in the open."
"If they see us, these things could still get up this hill yer talkin' about." Pickle reminded Karen, "Stile Cop, Heath Hayes and the sports centre—no matter where we go, these things usually find us in the end. Their determination should not be underestimated."
Karen did her best to convince Pickle. "We made too much noise at Stile Cop with KP shooting Davina and Isobel screaming. Heath Hayes was our own doing. If we had killed Jason Bonser, he would never have led a horde of them our way. And as for the sports centre: they were already heading for us in their dozens anyway. We didn't have much of a choice."
"I hope yer right."
Karen smiled at her companion and playfully slapped him on the back. "Shit, so do I."
Chapter Eleven
Jack woke up with a fright, and found that he was being shaken by Johnny.
Jack looked up at his skinny features; the blue boiler suit was almost hanging off him, and Jack widened his eyes in a way of waking himself up a little quicker. He then immediately thought that something was wrong and bolted upright, twisting his neck from side-to-side, scanning the factory area. "What is it?"
"Calm down. It's nearly ten 'o'clock," announced Johnny.
"What? Really?"
"You slept for nearly thirteen hours."
"Shit." Jack began to laugh and scratched the side of his hair where the grey was. He thought about the last time he had slept so well: Glasgow City Centre, at his four-star hotel. "We're gonna have to go soon." Slade then began to rub his forehead, thinking back to his sleep. "Man, I haven't slept like that since..." Jack allowed his sentence to trail off and Johnny could see wretchedness emerging on Jack's face. Jack then shook his head, angry with himself.
Johnny asked, "What's up?"
Jack lowered his head, tears forming around his eyes. "My son's been dead for only a few days and I'm laughing. That's not right."
"You have to laugh some time or another."
"A few days?" Forty-year-old Slade was annoyed with himself that any kind of positive emotion had managed to seep through only days after Thomas had had such a violent death. He thought to himself that if this was the old world, and he was caught by a relative, laughing, days after his son's death and before his funeral, they would be baffled and not impressed if he expressed such an emotion. He was supposed to be mourning the loss of his son. Or maybe he was just being too hard on himself.
Johnny put his hand comfortingly on Jack who was
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