Snatchers (Book 8): The Dead Don't Pray by Shaun Whittington Page A
Authors: Shaun Whittington
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
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corpses. The truck entered a tiny village where only a dozen houses existed. Three of the dead were standing in the distance, with their backs to the truck, and turned around once they heard the engine.
Celia pointed at the white house at the end of the street. "That's my house."
"Right." Pickle stopped the vehicle. "Me and Bentley will take care o' those three before yer go in."
Celia and Rick remained sitting, whilst Pickle and Bentley got out of the vehicle and walked over to the beasts. The two men took out the dead with little fuss.
"Wow, they're really good," Celia gasped, then noticed Rick was staring at her. "Problem?"
Rick look hypnotised and said, with no hesitancy, "You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen."
"Er ... thanks, I think." Celia wasn't paying too much attention to Rick, and looked out the front to see Pickle and Bentley nonchalantly walking back to the vehicle.
"Do you have a boyfriend?" Rick asked her.
Celia gasped and look bewildered. "Are we seriously having this conversation? Are you asking me out?"
Rick's face flushed; he took in a deep breath and stammered, "W-w-with the world the way it is, I'm not sure I'd get another chance to ask somebody out. I've never asked anyone out before, in fact, I've never..."
"Okay, this isn't weird at all," Celia sarcastically responded. "I appreciate the ride, but we're in the middle of an apocalypse, my parents could be dead, and my trust in men isn't that great at the moment."
Rick added, "I just want to know what it's like to hold a woman, to stroke and sniff her hair, to..."
Celia sighed with impatience. This man was making her feel uncomfortable. "I was gang-raped two weeks ago, I haven't showered in weeks, and even if I was interested in hooking up with somebody, it wouldn't be you."
"Oh." Rick looked upset, but soon put on a brave face once Pickle opened the passenger door, whilst Bentley stood in front of the vehicle.
"It's clear," Pickle announced to the young woman. "I'll take yer to yer house and we'll check it out."
Celia got out and, without saying cheerio to Rick, she walked with Pickle and wiped her clammy hands on her dirty uniform.
Pickle took a look around the empty street, and thought that if the Sandy Lane camp didn't exist he'd like to stay in this area. He approached the wooden door and gave it a knock. He could see Celia was nervous and gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. She flinched, and immediately felt guilty the way she reacted to him. Not all men were the same, she had to remind herself.
Pickle knocked again, and said to the twenty-six-year-old, "I'll try three times, then I'll break in and see if the coast is clear. Yer can wait here."
Celia nodded in agreement, but a noise above their heads immediately made Pickle and Celia look up.
A woman in her fifties peered out and placed her quivering hand over her mouth. "Thank the Lord," she cried.
Celia burst into tears. "Mum."
Pickle could feel himself filling up and took a slow breath out. The mature woman disappeared from the window, and after a few seconds had passed, the main door opened. Standing in the doorway was the woman and Celia's father. Pickle took a step back as the young woman hugged her parents. All three were in tears and finally the portly, bald man, Celia's father, broke away from the family embrace and thanked Harry Branston for bringing their daughter back.
"How have yer been copin'?" Pickle asked the man in his sixties. "Yer have plenty o' water and food?"
"We have a well in the back garden, but we haven't eaten in days," the elderly man announced. "We'll cope ... somehow."
"Okay. Be back in a mo." Pickle walked over to the truck and asked Bentley to give him a hand with one of the barrels. He did without questioning the man, and the two men struggled to carry the barrel full of tins along the street. They eventually had to drag the barrel, and lifted it once more to get it inside the house that belonged to Celia's parents.
"This should
Celia pointed at the white house at the end of the street. "That's my house."
"Right." Pickle stopped the vehicle. "Me and Bentley will take care o' those three before yer go in."
Celia and Rick remained sitting, whilst Pickle and Bentley got out of the vehicle and walked over to the beasts. The two men took out the dead with little fuss.
"Wow, they're really good," Celia gasped, then noticed Rick was staring at her. "Problem?"
Rick look hypnotised and said, with no hesitancy, "You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen."
"Er ... thanks, I think." Celia wasn't paying too much attention to Rick, and looked out the front to see Pickle and Bentley nonchalantly walking back to the vehicle.
"Do you have a boyfriend?" Rick asked her.
Celia gasped and look bewildered. "Are we seriously having this conversation? Are you asking me out?"
Rick's face flushed; he took in a deep breath and stammered, "W-w-with the world the way it is, I'm not sure I'd get another chance to ask somebody out. I've never asked anyone out before, in fact, I've never..."
"Okay, this isn't weird at all," Celia sarcastically responded. "I appreciate the ride, but we're in the middle of an apocalypse, my parents could be dead, and my trust in men isn't that great at the moment."
Rick added, "I just want to know what it's like to hold a woman, to stroke and sniff her hair, to..."
Celia sighed with impatience. This man was making her feel uncomfortable. "I was gang-raped two weeks ago, I haven't showered in weeks, and even if I was interested in hooking up with somebody, it wouldn't be you."
"Oh." Rick looked upset, but soon put on a brave face once Pickle opened the passenger door, whilst Bentley stood in front of the vehicle.
"It's clear," Pickle announced to the young woman. "I'll take yer to yer house and we'll check it out."
Celia got out and, without saying cheerio to Rick, she walked with Pickle and wiped her clammy hands on her dirty uniform.
Pickle took a look around the empty street, and thought that if the Sandy Lane camp didn't exist he'd like to stay in this area. He approached the wooden door and gave it a knock. He could see Celia was nervous and gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. She flinched, and immediately felt guilty the way she reacted to him. Not all men were the same, she had to remind herself.
Pickle knocked again, and said to the twenty-six-year-old, "I'll try three times, then I'll break in and see if the coast is clear. Yer can wait here."
Celia nodded in agreement, but a noise above their heads immediately made Pickle and Celia look up.
A woman in her fifties peered out and placed her quivering hand over her mouth. "Thank the Lord," she cried.
Celia burst into tears. "Mum."
Pickle could feel himself filling up and took a slow breath out. The mature woman disappeared from the window, and after a few seconds had passed, the main door opened. Standing in the doorway was the woman and Celia's father. Pickle took a step back as the young woman hugged her parents. All three were in tears and finally the portly, bald man, Celia's father, broke away from the family embrace and thanked Harry Branston for bringing their daughter back.
"How have yer been copin'?" Pickle asked the man in his sixties. "Yer have plenty o' water and food?"
"We have a well in the back garden, but we haven't eaten in days," the elderly man announced. "We'll cope ... somehow."
"Okay. Be back in a mo." Pickle walked over to the truck and asked Bentley to give him a hand with one of the barrels. He did without questioning the man, and the two men struggled to carry the barrel full of tins along the street. They eventually had to drag the barrel, and lifted it once more to get it inside the house that belonged to Celia's parents.
"This should
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