Snatchers (Book 11): The Dead Don't Knock

by Shaun Whittington

  “I know yer not,” said Pickle, “which means if yer don't calm down I'll be giving yer a slap.”

  Vince gently placed his hands on Karen's shoulders and pulled her back. “Come on. Calm down.”

  “Let me repeat what I said before,” said Drake. “Give us this Paul and nobody else gets hurt. Simple.”

  “Not a chance!” Karen screamed. “No way!”

  Pickle turned to her and growled, “Keep it shut!”

  “You can't just hand Paul over. These fucks killed a kid.”

  Drake glanced in Pickle's direction. “What's she talking about?”

  Pickle paused for a few seconds before adding, “A toddler died yesterday. One o' yer guys suffocated it to shut it up.”

  Drake's eyes widened and seemed incensed by what Pickle had told him. “I'm sorry about that. My gang has been around for years, but over the last few months we've recruited guys that used to have families, but some we recruited were originally prisoners from Stafford, so we may have some bad apples. I can't control my men when they're out there, and I'm pretty certain they don't tell me everything that has gone on.”

  “I understand.”

  “Let me ask you a question, Harry?” Drake turned and pointed at the gate. “Do you want my men on the mopeds to take their helmets off and see if any of them were the perpetrator? I'll kill him myself.”

  “No need. The man's dead.”

  “Oh.” Drake sighed, “Look, I know we're partly to blame for the loss of life on your part, and I'm not happy that a kid died, but give us Paul and we'll leave peacefully.”

  “Why?” Karen cried. “So you can take him back to Stafford and torture him to please the people that want him dead?”

  “Yep,” Drake said with no remorse, “something like that.”

  “Look,” Pickle rubbed his stubbly chin in thought and asked Drake, “Is there any other way we can sort this out. We have supplies, we—”

  “We have supplies coming out of our ears,” said Drake. “Just Paul. That's all I ask, and the rest of you folk can live in peace until another bad bunch turns up, and there will be others. You think we're bad? Just wait another six months or so.”

  “You can't do this, Pickle?” Karen said softly, now lowering her head.

  “Use yer head, woman.” Pickle didn't like the idea of handing Paul over, but the other option wasn't bear thinking about. “If we refuse to hand Paul o'er, they'll get him anyway, but the rest o' us will die. Yer want that to happen? You want the Dansons to be butchered? Their two kids? David MacDonald? After all that boy's been through, do you think it's fair that he ends up getting killed?”

  “Just for the record, Harry,” Drake spoke up. “Parents and their kids would have been spared. I’m many things, but I’m not an animal.”

  Tears began to form in Karen's eyes and frustratingly knew that Pickle was right. There wasn't any other option.

  Chapter Forty Two

  “What do you reckon?” Stephanie asked Elza.

  The pair of them were standing in the bedroom window, because the view was better from there, and Ophelia had chosen to hang out downstairs, almost unbothered about the visit.

  “What do I reckon to what?” Elza finally responded, still hypnotically staring out.

  “About what's going to happen?”

  “I dunno.” Elza shrugged her shoulders. “The signs look good, though.”

  “Good? Good, how?”

  “Well, if they wanted to attack us like they did when we were absent, they would have done it by now. The fact that they brought a load of guys with them but kept them behind the gate is a good sign. I suppose it depends on how well the talks go.”

  “God, I hope it goes well,” Stephanie said with a shudder. “So many people died yesterday.”

  “I hope it goes well too, but I'm ready to fight, if need be.”

  Stephanie turned and gazed at Elza and wondered what Elza was like when she was a normal woman, before the apocalypse fucked her up.

  “Do you think that guy is Drake?” Stephanie pointed at the tall, thin man.

  “Who else could it be? It must be.”

  “I hope it doesn't get too heated.” Stephanie looked on with nervous eyes.

  “I know.” Elza nodded. “I don't think having Karen down there is a good idea, not with her temper.”

  The girls looked on and tried to watch the body language of all seven that could be seen. It looked positive for a while, until Karen became upset about something.

  “What's going on?” Stephanie nervously asked Elza an impossible question.

  Elza shook her head. She didn't know.

  Elza Crowe leaned over and opened the window so that they could now hear voices, but couldn't make out what was being said.

  Elza began to shift uncomfortably as Karen's body language didn't look positive at all. They weren't sure if she was upset about what Drake had said, what Pickle had said ... they just didn't know.

  Stephanie was getting tetchy and gasped, “What's happening?”

  “I dunno.” Elza gently slapped Stephanie on her back and said to the fourteen-year-old, “If you had to, do you think you could hit that Drake guy from here with an arrow?”

  “What?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  Stephanie shrugged her shoulders. “If I needed to hit him first time ... then I'd have to aim for the body, just in case.”

  Elza pushed the window open as wide as it could get, giving the girls the option of leaning out, if that's what they wanted.

  Elza turned and gave Stephanie a hard, long and cold stare. “Go and get your bow.”

  “What?”

  “Things could kick off.”

  “I ... I can't.”

  “Just fucking do it. He's only one man.”

  “But they're dozens of them.”

  “True, but if you remove the leader first, then you've already won half the battle,” said Elza. “You're the only person that can do this, Stephanie.”

  “I don't know.”

  “Get your bow,” said Elza. “I'm not saying that we have to shoot him right away. There may be no need and it could start an unnecessary fight.”

  “Then why do you want me to get my bow?”

  “If that Drake guy or his other three guys start attacking either, Vince, Pickle or Karen, then he should get an arrow. Putting him down may make the guys behind the gate think twice about coming in. For all they know, there could be half a dozen archers in the street, and the reason why there weren't any present yesterday was because we were taken by surprise the first time they attacked.”

  “You've got it all worked out, haven't you?”

  Elza smiled. “Just trying to survive, Stephanie.”

  “Okay,” the teenager sighed. “I'll aim, but I'm not comfortable with this.”

  “That's all I'm asking ... for now.”

  Stephanie walked away from the window and left the bedroom, returning a minute later with the bow in her hand and five pine arrows in the other. She put four arrows on the floor and took aim with the one that she had kept in her hand. Elza produced a wide beam and the thirty-one-year-old gazed at the girl, who was just about young enough to be her daughter, with admiration.

  “I can see you looking,” Stephanie groaned.

  “Sorry,” Elza said.

  “It makes me nervous when I'm being stared at, and when I'm nervous my hands shake.”

  “Point taken.” Elza moved away but never went far.

  Stephanie could see Pickle out in the street, waving at 13 Colwyn Place. A few minutes later Paul Dickson stepped out.

  “Wait a minute,” Elza heard Stephanie say softly.

  “What is it?” Elza returned, stood next to Stephanie again, and looked out to see Paul out in the street and walking away from his main door.

  Stephanie lowered the bow and relaxed the tension on the string. They both watched in silence as Paul Dickson strolled calmly down the road and headed towards Pickle, Karen an
d Vince. He stopped when he was by them, confusing the two females that were watching from afar.

  Elza cussed, “What the fuck is going on?”

  Chapter Forty Three

  “Paul, do you wanna drink?” Joanne asked.

  Paul Dickson shook his head and continued to stare out into the street from Joanne’s bedroom. He was on the ground floor, looking out of the living room window, and watched with dread as Pickle conversed with the man that must have been Drake. He didn't look much, Paul thought, but neither did Napoleon. He was tall but skinny, and was clean-shaven. He wasn't what Paul was expecting at all.

  Joanne claimed that she was bored with watching what was unfolding and had decided to move away from the window, go downstairs and into the kitchen for a drink. But the truth was that she was frightened. She was certain that a fight was going to break out between Pickle and the rest, which would mean attack number two. Even with Elza, Ophelia and Stephanie back, Joanne was certain that everyone in Colwyn this time would be massacred. Drake had too many people with him.

  Joanne had returned from the kitchen and, like everybody else in the street, Paul and Joanne glared out of the bedroom window. The window was slightly open, and the pair of them were trying to listen to what was being said.

  “Can you hear anything?” asked Joanne.

  “Not really.” Paul took a breath out and could hear voices, but couldn't make out the words that were being spoken.

  He and Joanne were leaning against the windowsill, and could see Vince, Karen and Pickle standing in the middle of the street. A black Audi was parked a few yards from them, and four men were standing by it.

  “What do you think that Drake guy wants?” Joanne questioned Paul.

  “No idea.” Dickson exhaled noisily at Joanne's irritating questions. “If he was going to hurt the camp, I'm certain he would have done it by now. I mean, why would he keep most of his men behind the gate? It doesn't make sense.”

  “I thought he'd be a bit more...” Joanne never finished her sentence and was now lost in thought.

  “A bit more what?” Paul asked her.

  “I dunno.” Joanne hunched her shoulders and was unsure whether she should say the next sentence, but she did anyway. “I just thought he'd be more scary.”

  “What?” Paul bit his lip, trying to stop a snigger. “What were you expecting? A huge scar down his face? A metal hook on the end of his arm? Two heads?”

  “Alright, don't take the piss. I'm just saying ... he's not as scary as I thought he would be.”

  “It's not about his look, it's about what he can do.” Paul Dickson turned and gazed at Joanne. “Manson and Hitler were hardly scary to look at, both small guys, but they certainly left their mark in history.”

  Joanne groaned and put her hand in her pocket. She pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and took one, then threw the packet on the nearby dressing table. She took out a lighter and asked Paul if he was okay if she smoked.

  “You can burst into flames for all I care,” Paul snickered. “Lung cancer is not really something I worry about these days.”

  “I can't watch this.” Joanne sparked up and moved away from the window as she took a puff on the stick of poison, whilst Paul continued to stare out. She took another drag and decided to inspect her bruised face with her free hand, by gently prodding the tender area with her fingers.

  She left the bedroom and paced up and down the landing, leaving Paul alone.

  Paul could see that Karen and Pickle were having an argument. Karen then fell silent and now looked upset. What the fuck is going on?

  Paul could feel his heart slamming the inside of his chest. He liked Pickle and Vince and wouldn't want to see the men harmed in any way, but Joanne and Karen were the only people that Paul cared about. Seeing them upset made him upset.

  Joanne returned from the landing and asked with a quiver in her voice, “Anything happened?”

  “Yeah,” Paul sighed and dropped his head. “Drake has just stabbed Pickle.”

  “What?” Joanne ran to the window and could see that Harry Branston was fine and was talking to Drake.

  “Sorry.” Paul held his hands up as soon as Joanne flashed him a hard stare. “Bad joke.”

  “Arsehole,” snapped Joanne. “This isn't the time or the place, Paul.”

  “No, it's not. I apologise.”

  They both stood next to one another and Joanne took a small bottle of water out of her pocket and passed it to Paul. He took it and sarcastically asked, “Does that mean we're still friends?”

  “For now,” she giggled nervously.

  Paul took a swig of the water and screwed his face as he swallowed the liquid down. “Jesus,” he groaned. “Has that been filtered?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Properly?”

  “I dunno. I didn't do it.”

  “Christ.” Paul pulled a face once more and added, “I've drank straight from a stream before and it didn't taste that bad. You sure you didn't piss in it?”

  Joanne huffed, “Now you're just being silly.”

  “Wait a minute.” Paul pushed his head forward a few inches to get a better look at what was happening.

  “What is it?”

  “They're all looking this way.”

  “Oh shit. Do you think some of those guys were part of the group that jumped the wall when you pulled out that shotgun?”

  “Even if they were, fuck 'em.” Paul hunched his shoulders. “All I was doing was protecting the camp. They can't be bitter about that, can they? Did they think we were just going to bend over and take it up the arse?”

  “I don't really like your choice of words, Paul. Or your tone.”

  “Yeah, well, if they come in here, I'll be ready for them.”

  Joanne moved away from the window and paced nervously around the bedroom, hoping that these talks would finish on a peaceful note.

  Paul could now see Pickle waving at him and signalling him to join them in the street.

  “What does he possibly want with me?” Paul mumbled.

  Paul decided to ignore Pickle's beckoning and continued to glare at the seven individuals. All seven were still looking up at him, and going by the body language of Vince and especially an upset-looking Karen, it didn't look good.

  Paul moaned, “What the hell is going on?”

  “What?” Joanne took in a long drag of the cigarettte and stubbed the rest of the cigarette out into the ashtray. She raised her head and blew the smoke in the air before returning to the window and stood next to Paul.

  She asked, “What is it? What's wrong?”

  “They want me down there.”

  “What?”

  “Pickle wants me to go down.”

  “What the hell do they want with you?”

  “I have no idea.” Paul could now see Pickle waving at him again, beckoning him to come down and join them. “I need to go out.”

  “You can't go out.”

  “I don't really have much of a say in the matter.”

  “What do you think they want?”

  Paul sighed, “I'm off to find out.”

  Chapter Forty Four

  Karen, Pickle and Vince watched as Paul, still dressed in his blue jeans and black T-shirt, left Joanne’s place and slowly made his way over to the three of them. He gave them a smile, despite being aware that this wasn't a good situation, and stopped when he was standing next to Karen. He could see she was close to tears and felt her hand touch his shoulder. He then gazed at the four men that were standing outside the Audi.

  “Paul, I'm so sorry,” she said.

  “What's up?” Dickson asked. He looked at both Pickle and Vince, but neither one could look him in the eye.

  “Your arse belongs to me now,” growled Drake. “That's what's up.”

  “Pickle?” Paul gazed at Harry Branston and the pair of them finally looked at one another.

  “I'm sorry, Paul,” Pickle began, “but we've been left with no choice.”

  Paul
Dickson folded his arms and said, “One of you lot is gonna have to explain. And quick, because I'm getting a little bored with this already.”

  “Your antics yesterday cost me a lot of men,” Drake began in his husky voice.

  “I didn't kill all of them single-handedly.”

  “No, you didn't. In truth, I don't know who in here killed whom, and I don't know what men of mine killed your residents, but I know all about you. You stabbed the driver of the pickup in cold blood, and then you ran down two others and shot my cousin. You're responsible for four deaths, maybe more.”

  “I was protecting the camp,” Paul protested softly. “What was I supposed to do? Stand and watch?”

  “You had no choice, I get that.” Drake nodded. “But I have grieving people back home, wanting justice, revenge. Like I said before, I don't know which cunt killed whom. I don't know who did Shane, Derek, Gaz, Rich and the rest, but we know who killed Simon and Brian, because you were seen, and you shot my cousin Gerry.”

  Paul glared at Drake and never gave him a response. He wasn’t sure if Drake knew that he had also killed one of the captives as well.

  Drake said calmly, “You're not denying it.”

  “So what are you gonna do?” Paul created a wide smile and Drake noticed not a single quiver of nerves could be seen on Paul's face, something that Drake wasn't used to. “Are you gonna put me on the naughty step? Spank my bottom?”

  Karen rubbed her head and started groaning, temporarily breaking up the conversation.

  “What's up with yer?” asked a concerned Pickle.

  “Migraine,” Karen groaned. “Sorry, guys. Be back in a sec.”

  They watched as she entered the house where they kept the medical supplies, and Drake never continued with his talk until Karen could be seen leaving the house. He found her behaviour incredibly rude and disrespectful, but he managed to swallow his anger. She headed back over and told Pickle that she had to take a couple of aspirins.

  “Can we continue?” Drake said sarcastically. “Or does anybody need to take a shit before I carry on?”

  Nobody answered.

  “Anyway, where were we?” Drake snapped his fingers and pointed at Paul. “Oh yeah. You were about to say cheerio to your friends and get into the back of this black Audi.”