Snatchers 11: The Dead Don't Knock

by Shaun Whittington

  “I'm popular tonight,” he said. He could see that the young woman looked sad and he asked if she was okay.

  She hunched her shoulders.

  “Gary?”

  Karen nodded and said, “I think Pickle is having a little moment as well. I decided to give him a few minutes to himself.”

  “And there was me thinking that you came over to experience my sparkling personality.”

  Karen never responded and dipped her head. Paul could see she wasn't in a joking mood and his heart went out to his female pal. She wasn't as tough as she made herself out to be.

  “I keep on forgetting that Pickle has also lost a loved one,” sighed Paul. “That JP fellow had died before I came onto the scene. What was he like?”

  “His name was KP, not JP.” Karen smiled. “I hardly knew him, to be perfectly honest. We had a chat around a campfire and had a couple of conversations after that.”

  “Was this at Stile Cop?”

  Karen nodded. “All I know was that he had been in jail with Pickle, and had a few tattoos, including a black and purple one on his shoulder. I never got the chance to get to know him. The last time Pickle and I both saw him was when he left the prison van, after I gave him a bullet for his Browning.”

  “To shoot himself.” Paul nodded. He was already aware of this story.

  “Yeah,” Karen nodded, “but he didn't.”

  Paul nodded again. Another story he was aware of was that KP hadn't shot himself. His gun had been found by Daniel Badcock and there was a round in the chamber of the gun. Karen had come across the Browning when Daniel showed her around the Lea Hall building. She took the gun and hid it in a drain on Burnthill Lane in case Pickle came across it and reacted in a way that would put him in danger.

  Their conversation had come to a premature end.

  “Anyway,” Karen said, “time for me to get my head down. I'm knackered.”

  “Okay.” Paul leaned in for a hug. Karen never responded, so he then awkwardly took a step back and was now a little embarrassed.

  “Come here,” Karen laughed, realising what she had done, and grabbed Paul, pulling him towards her. She kissed him on the cheek. “Night, Dicko.”

  “Night, Karen.”

  “I think we're due a cuddle session, don't you?”

  “Like the Sandy Lane days.” Paul revealed a wide smile. “I'm up for that.”

  “In a few days.” She smirked and jokingly added, “That's if you can tear yourself away from Joanne.”

  “Jealous?”

  “A little.” Karen leaned over and kissed him once more. “Laters.”

  Paul went back inside and trudged his way up the stairs after shutting his main door. He reached the landing and walked through his already-opened bedroom door. He went over to the window and stared out. It was evening, but it was still light. He sat on the edge of the bed and took his boots off, then threw himself on the mattress, releasing a long and exaggerated groan.

  “Ah, I fucking love bed,” he spoke with a smile on his face.

  *

  He had been asleep for around three hours, but Paul Dickson was beginning to stir already; it was a few minutes shy from midnight.

  The man had been having pleasant dreams for a change.

  He had been dreaming that he was at the park with Kyle. In the dream, Kyle was a toddler and was not even two years old. There was no sign of Julie or Bell in the dream, but it was still a welcome one after all the nightmares he had had. In his dream, he looked around and could see that he was in Rugeley, in Elmore Park.

  He pushed his son around and would occasionally lift him out and put him on the baby swings or on the small roundabout. Then they went over to the pond to see the swans and ducks, or the whack-whacks as Kyle used to call them.

  They strolled over the small wooden bridge that went over a stream, and were at a large cage where they kept rabbits, Guinea pigs and white rats. In a separate cage, they kept a peacock. It would normally make a racket and would give Kyle a fright, making the little man burst into tears.

  When they moved away from the animal cage, Paul began to feel restless, stiff, and this was when he began to wake from his dream.

  His sticky eyes opened and he began to lick his dry lips. He tried to rub his eyes, but it was proving a difficult task to do. It took a few seconds to realise that it had been a dream and he was lying on top of the bed in one of the bedrooms of 13 Colwyn Place. He couldn't move because someone, a man, was sitting on top of his stomach and kneeling on his arms.

  Paul looked to the side and could see the silhouette of Stephen Bonser standing near him, then turned and could see that it was James Thomson that was keeling on his arms, preventing him from getting up. Adrenaline ran through Paul's veins once he realised what was going on. These two men had broken in and weren't here for a friendly chat.

  Paul didn't want these guys to think he was scared, so he released a long breath out and tried to speak as calmly as possible. “Anything I can help you with, gentlemen?”

  “You were seen, climbing over the back garden fence,” Thomson snarled.

  As soon as this statement was made, Paul knew that Beverley had said something to the guys. “And?” he asked calmly.

  “The safety of this street is our main priority, and you are doing your best to fuck things up.”

  “And how am I doing that? I'm only going for a walk.”

  “Someone could follow you back; the dead could follow you back. Not only that, you make people in this street feel uncomfortable. It's time to go, Dickson.”

  “I'm not going anywhere,” Paul protested.

  “Oh, I think you are.” Stephen spoke up, then turned to James Thomson. “You got the keys to the jeep?”

  “Yip.” Thomson nodded. “Terry's on the gate and he's going to let us in and out. He promised he wouldn’t breathe a word. But before that...”

  James Thomson grabbed Paul by the throat with his left hand and rained down a punch with his right, knocking Dickson out.

  Chapter Eleven

  August 19th

  The Vauxhall Zafiri entered the Wolseley Road from Colwyn Place and all three girls, Elza, Ophelia and Stephanie, sat in silence as the vehicle went over the Wolseley Bridge, passing the wrecked pub to their right, garden centre to their left, and turned left onto the Rugeley Road.

  It had been a while since Elza had sat behind the wheel of a car, but found her feet within minutes. The drive to Rugeley was smooth and all girls still remained tight-lipped. Their destination was a farm, just outside of Rugeley, by a pub called The Yorkshireman.

  The farm had been spotted by the Fergusons, who were coming back from a run in Abbots Bromley. Ian and Derek Ferguson had told Lincoln days ago that there could be some things of interest for the residents of Colwyn Place at the farm. The only problem was that the field and path leading up to the farm had dozens of the dead scattered about. The Fergusons said it'd be suicide to try and kill the dead for whatever could be inside and around the place, but on hearing the story, Elza thought differently.

  With John Lincoln's blessing, the girls were allowed to 'check the place out', but Elza was determined to come back with something.

  They were heading to a roundabout, near a pub called the Stag's Leap to their left, and this area gave Stephanie flashbacks. This was where she and Vince were dropped off by a couple of guys from Colwyn Place when trying to head back to Sandy Lane. There was a horde, and Vince and Stephanie decided to bypass the horde by going down 'The Bloody Steps' and down to the canal.

  There were a few strays on the road, and Elza had touched the brake now and again so she could swerve by the dead without damaging the vehicle. They turned left and went by St Augustine's church, the Chancel primary school to their left, and were heading down the main road that went by Power Station Road.

  Once they reached The Yorkshireman public house, and turned right up a narrow lane, Stephanie finally broke the silence and said to Elza, “How do you know where to go? You're no
t even from around here.”

  “Lincoln gave me directions. Hardly difficult.” Elza began to slow the vehicle down and parked up by a gate. All three looked up, beyond the gate, and could see nineteen Snatchers in the field. The dead were hardly moving, but the girls knew that their presence would stimulate them.

  “How many arrows have you got?” Elza asked Stephanie.

  Stephanie answered from the back passenger seat, “About ten.”

  “Good.” Elza nodded and switched the engine off. “We'll let you take out ten, then me and Ophelia will take care of the other nine.”

  Elza looked to her friend in the front passenger seat and Ophelia gave Elza an approving nod.

  “Shame,” Elza sighed.

  “What's a shame?” Stephanie asked.

  “I thought this was gonna be a challenge.”

  Stephanie opened the back passenger door and stepped out. She leaned over and reached in the back to grab her bow and the ten arrows, whilst Elza and Ophelia stepped out, grabbing their worn bats, Maria and Frieda.

  “Right,” Elza nodded in Stephanie's direction. “Do your thing.”

  *

  Karen Bradley had slept for nine straight hours. She stood up and put on her boots. She had slept in the clothes she had worn the day before, not for the first time, and headed downstairs for a drink of water and to brush her teeth.

  She remained in the house for a further ten minutes, unsure whether Pickle was in or out, and opened the main door. She closed her eyes as the soft breeze glided over her features, and stared out at the street.

  “Morning, Karen.” Craig Burns smiled as he walked past.

  “Where're you going?” she enquired.

  “Off to see Lincoln.” He stopped walking and stared at Karen. “You okay?”

  “Never better.” Karen was puzzled by his comment.

  “Elza, Ophelia and Stephanie have gone to that farm they were talking about yesterday.”

  “They'll be fine. They're tough bitches.”

  “The trouble is they have one of our vehicles.”

  “Don't worry.” Karen knew what Craig meant. The girls had been trusted with a vehicle and there could be a chance that they'd never be seen again. Karen added, “They'll be back. They've got it good here. I trust them, especially Stephanie, and so should you.”

  “Okay.” Craig nodded his head. “I'll see you in a bit.”

  “Bye.”

  Karen decided to check on Paul. She made the short walk to his home of 13 Colwyn Place and knocked on the door. She had no idea of the time. Eight, maybe nine o'clock.

  She tried the door again, then opened it and called out his name. She stepped inside and slowly walked along the ground floor. She checked the living room and the kitchen. She looked through the kitchen window to see that the back garden was also clear. She went upstairs, and once she was on the landing she pushed open the bedroom door of the room that he normally slept in. The room was empty, but the bed looked liked it had been slept in.

  After checking the other rooms, she went downstairs and went back outside.

  “Yer look worried,” Pickle called over. He had just left their home and clocked Karen walking out of Paul's place.

  “He's not there,” she said.

  “Maybe he's gone for another walk.” Pickle sighed and shook his head. “Bloody idiot. He's gonna get himself thrown out. I personally don't think there's anything wrong with doing it, but I'm not in charge.”

  “Craig told me that Elza and the rest have gone to that farm.”

  “I know. They'll be back,” said Pickle. “Yes, they have a vehicle, but this place has to be better than living in some old church.”

  “I know, that's what I was thinking. I suppose if John trusts them...”

  “Look,” Pickle cleared his throat, turned to the side and spat on the floor, “when Paul gets back, let me know. We're gonna have to sit him down and have a word with him. We should have done it days ago.”

  “If they kick him out, then I'm going with him.”

  “That's what I'm afraid of. Yer do realise if yer two leave, then I'm going with yer, and so will Vince. And if that happens, Christ knows what that Elza and her dumb friend are gonna do.”

  “I think she was joking, the other day, about killing the strong characters.”

  Pickle sighed and glared at Karen, “I don't think she was.”

  *

  Paul Dickson opened his eyes and began to groan once the pain kicked in. He sat up and immediately placed his hands on his midriff where most of the pain was; his head was also throbbing. He moved across the grass and sat up against a tree. He looked around. He was in the woods, but he didn't know his whereabouts. He closed his eyes and tried to recollect his thoughts about what happened the other night.

  The one punch from James Thomson had knocked him out, but thankfully when he checked his face nothing felt broken. His eyes sockets, jaw, nose and cheeks felt fine, but his head was sore. He didn't have any memory of being dragged from his house and put in a vehicle. He had no recollection of being driven to the woods either. The only thing that he could remember was being kicked whilst he was on the floor by Stephen and James, then they told him never to return to Colwyn Place. He did remember that.

  He looked to the side of him and saw a rucksack. He reached for the bag and unzipped it. It was clear that James Thomson and Stephen Bonser weren't completely heartless. Two bottles of water and some food were in the bag that they had left for him, and they had even put his boots back on his feet.

  Paul smiled, grabbed the bag and slowly got to his feet. He trudged through the bracken and was hoping to find a main road so that he could have some kind of inkling where he was. In the old days, the sounds of car engines would give him in an indication if there was a road up ahead. But now, he had to choose a direction and hope for the best.

  And so he did.

  Chapter Twelve

  Paul had been walking for fifteen minutes and produced a smile when he could see that the woods were thinning out. There was a road up ahead. He knew it. He decided to stop for a minute and threw the bag on the ground that was on his shoulder. He unzipped the bag and pulled out a tin of beans. He pulled back the ring pull and began to eat the beans, using his two fingers as a poor substitute for a fork. He then took a drink of water and proceeded towards the road. As soon as he reached it, he could see on the other side that there were more trees. He turned left and began to walk down the road, unsure where he was. He then patted his pockets and realised he was unarmed.

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  He kept to the side and scanned the side of him for any heavy-looking branches. He could see nothing of yet.

  He'd spent another ten minutes on the road and could now see a small caravan park to his left. He bypassed the place, paranoid that it could be a place full of danger, then slowed down his pace once he was past it.

  He could see a crossroad up ahead and there were trees to either side of him once again. He then stopped walking and had a three-sixty look around. He knew where he was now. He realised he was a mile away from Rugeley, near a place called Hazelslade, which was behind him.

  His feet continued to hit the tarmac and stopped once he reached the crossroad. He saw a few dead bodies scattered around him, and then looked up to see signs at the crossroad. Signage to the right told Paul that there was a place called Upper Longdon. The left sign informed him that Rugeley was one mile away. If he wanted to get back to Little Haywood, which was five miles away, he needed to pass through Rugeley.

  Five miles, he thought. Stephen Bonser and James Thomson had driven five miles in the dark, and then dumped Paul. He didn't realise they hated him that much.

  He turned left and went up a steep road, knowing that over the brow was a steep decline that he had heard about. He was on Stile Cop Road. Once he reached the flat part, he was greeted with scores of dead bodies, and could see that most of them had been crushed by a heavy vehicle of some sort. He stepped over the
bodies with his shirt over his nose, and could see an entrance to a beauty spot. He looked down Stile Cop Road and saw, in the distance, a few dead trying to make their way up.

  Paul released a heavy breath and decided to walk into the beauty spot and cut through the woods to get to the bottom of the road. It was a hell of a risk, but Paul was sure that the chances of the dead being in the woods, especially with a large part of it being on an incline, was low. Walking through the woods would also give him the opportunity to continue to search for something that could be used as a weapon.

  He walked further into the beauty spot and was greeted with more dead bodies, body parts and entrails that were many weeks old.

  “Fuck me,” Paul sighed.

  He had been told stories about Pickle and Karen, more than once, and how they had survived in the first weeks. This must have been the very same place where Pickle, Karen and the rest of the people were attacked. This very same beauty spot.

  He walked around the bodies, paranoid that some could still be active, and reached the woods. The trees seemed reasonably spaced out and Paul could see for many yards ahead, making the man feel a little more relaxed than before.

  He walked by a shallow grave that had a poorly made crucifix stuck into the ground, and descended downwards. The trees were becoming more condensed, so he slowed down his pace in case he bumped into anything untoward.

  He reached the bottom of the woods and could see a cemetery. Many of the dead were around the cemetery's gates, and Paul decided to turn right and walk along a dirt path that ran along the edge of the woods.

  His walk was only seven minutes old when he came to a hill. He could see that the climb was going to be a hard task, but thought it was something he had to do, because he was convinced that somewhere over the hill was Rugeley.

  He looked up the hill and puffed out a breath. He began to climb it, feeling a pain in his lower back, and was panting hard by the time he reached the top of it. He bent over with his hands on his knees and looked ahead of him. There was a cluster of trees straight ahead and he made his way over.