Snatchers (Book 3): The Dead Don't Cry by Shaun Whittington Page B

clearly upset. "I bet it doesn't feel like a few days, though."
    "No it doesn't." Jack rubbed his face with both hands moving up and down. "It feels like weeks, months even."
    "Tell me about it." Johnny began scratching at his chest, his hand was underneath the boiler suit. "It feels like I've been in here for a year. It's just so boring. I even started telling myself jokes the other day. Trouble is, I've heard them all before."
    Jack smiled and added, "You're a good man, Johnny. You didn't have to bring me in. I don't know how to repay you."
    "Well," Johnny began to joke. "You can cover my back when we're out there, 'cos as soon as I see one of those things, I'm gonna be shitting a brick."
    "You'll get used to it, trust me."
    "You think?" Johnny looked around the factory, and although he feared what waited for him outside, he wouldn't miss the four walls that he had been surrounded by in the last couple of weeks. Added Johnny, "I was thinking about what you told me last night. I'm not sure I can handle it, to tell you the truth."
    "Yes you can," Jack scolded. He turned to Johnny and placed both hands on his shoulders and glared at him, not in a threatening way, but in a way to give him a boost. "Listen, I left Glasgow when this all kicked off. I travelled four hours on the M6, crashed the car, then took a motorbike to Rugeley and then Hazelslade, almost getting pulled off the damn thing by a horde of them. I then found my son. Then a good friend of mine was raped and butchered by two men, then I was picked up by a woman who took us back to a house, which then was invaded by hundreds of the fucking things. We struggled to escape; then the van got a flat and we ran into a sports centre; my son then died and I hung around when the rest escaped and the things broke into the place—"
    Johnny tried to get a word in, "Look—"
    "I also tried to hang myself," Jack continued, "but the belt loosened and I fell into the pool and tried to escape the crowd inside the centre. I then got outside and killed a few, before escaping over the fence in soaking wet clothes."
    Jack then stopped, knowing he was getting carried away, and took a breath in.
    Johnny cleared his throat. "I suppose when you put it like that, it makes my story look a bit bland."
    Jack guffawed, "I'm not comparing. I'm just saying: it's not a holiday out there, but after a day or so, you kind of get used to it. I know that sounds a bit weird—"
    "Just a bit." Johnny rubbed his hands off of his bald head and sighed, "I suppose I can either come with you, or eventually die slowly in this place."
    "Not much of a choice, is it?"
    "Not really." This time Johnny's eyes began to fill with tears. "But I do want to live."
    Jack then rattled the supervisor's keys in front of Johnny, and a wide beam emerged on his face. "Then we go as soon as we're ready." Jack was hoping that more of the dead hadn't materialised since he saw the two the other evening. It was information he still hadn't shared with Johnny.
    Johnny nodded, but the fear was written all over his face, and his body quaked with the nervous adrenaline shooting through his body. "Okay."

Chapter Twelve
     
    Karen Bradley and Harry Branston slowly trudged their way through the Staffordshire greenery and was relieved to have found a dirt path. Walking on the uneven ground and long grass was beginning to tire them out and make their ankles ache.
    Karen announced, "I think I know where I am now."
    Pickle cleared his throat and spat into the grass to the side of him. "Yer said that five minutes ago."
    "I know, but I recognise this path. I've been up here once or twice." Karen then pointed to her left. "Stile Cop is that way, about a mile away."
    Relieved that their journey through the place had been a quiet affair, they carried on and eventually came to the edge of the woods. Once they left the area, Pickle and Karen could see that they were now at the bottom of the hill that was nicknamed by the local residents of Rugeley as