Snatchers (Book 13): The Dead Don't Fear

by Whittington, Shaun

  “Jesus,” Drake snapped. “You Colwyn people are cheeky shits, especially you women.”

  “I’m telling you,” said Stephanie. “He’s gone.”

  “Don’t be daft,” Vince snickered. “He’s probably in one of the store cupboards tugging himself off.”

  “Vince,” Pickle sighed, pointed at Stephanie, and then dropped his head in his hands. “She’s only fourteen, for goodness sake.”

  “Oops … sorry.”

  Pickle asked the young girl, “Why would he run off?”

  Drake cleared his throat and told Pickle, Vince and Karen that Ronnie and John had been bullying David and he had to have a word with them both. He told them that he had dealt with it.

  Drake then called over to two guards that were spaced out by the hospital wall and told them to look for David MacDonald. They obediently nodded and left their posts.

  “Wait a minute,” Drake called over to John Collins seconds before he was about to enter the building; the youngster turned round. He continued to walk away, so Drake called him once more and told him to come over.

  John seemed reluctant to go over, but made his way, very slowly, and seemed nervous. He was still many yards away and his lack of speed was beginning to annoy Drake.

  “What is it, Drake?” John called over.

  “Get your arse over here!”

  John reluctantly trudged his way over and stopped when he was two yards from the imposing figure of Drake.

  “What is it?” John queried the leader of the camp.

  “Where’s your pal, Ronnie?”

  “W-why?” John stammered.

  “Just answer the cunty question, dickhead!” Drake snapped, making John jump with fright. “Don’t respond to my fucking question with another question. That is just fucking annoying.”

  John lowered his head and cleared his throat. He gently hunched his shoulders, but remained silent, telling them all that he knew something.

  “Just tell us where he is, John.” Pickle decided to join in, but with a calmer manner than Drake. “David may have gone missing, and I want to know what’s happened to make him shoot off.”

  “I have no idea.” John then turned to Drake and added, “I swear.”

  Drake sighed, began to chew the inside of his cheek in thought, and finally said, “I believe you. I want you to do me a favour.”

  “What?”

  “Somebody knows what’s happened. Go and get that cunt Ronnie and bring him back here. We’ll be waiting.”

  “But Drake. I don’t know where he is.”

  “Well you better go and fucking find him then, won’t you?”

  John nodded obediently and jogged away from Drake, Vince, Pickle, Stephanie and Karen. He had only been absent for three minutes when he returned with Ronnie Price.

  Ronnie and John were nonchalantly walking towards Drake and the rest, but Drake bit his lip. Ronnie had a bit of a swagger, but the adults knew it was fake bravado from the eighteen-year-old. The guy knew he was in trouble and was putting on a brave face.

  “John said you wanted to see me,” Ronnie said with attitude.

  Drake gazed at the youngster and never said a word at first. All were confused and it wasn’t until Ronnie lost his cockiness and began to shift uncomfortably that Drake opened his mouth.

  “I’m going to ask you a few questions,” Drake began, and pulled out a blade from his leather holster. Stephanie gasped, but none of the adults protested. Pickle was certain it was just a scare tactic. “If you don’t tell the truth, and I’ll know if you’re lying, then I’m going to get a little angry.”

  “What is it?” Ronnie gulped and they could all see his face quivering with fright.

  “David MacDonald may have left the camp. We don’t know for sure yet, but if he has, could you give me a reason why that’s the case.”

  Ronnie’s few seconds of silence had already told them that something had happened. It was too late for the youngster to protest his innocence.

  “It’d be easier if yer tell the truth.” Pickle spoke up, chewing his bottom lip and staring at the young man. “I know yer don’t like us and probably picked on David because he was an easy target, but we’ll come back to that. All we wanna know now is if yer did anythin’ to him and if yer know where he is.”

  “I don’t know where he is, Drake.” Ronnie had tears in his eyes and was beginning to realise that there could be consequences for his actions. He decided to tell the truth. They were going to find out anyway, and the two main things that Drake hated were liars and people that interrupted him.

  “I only did it because I love this camp and the people here, Drake.” The tears were streaming down Ronnie’s face and he was cowering, almost begging. “You have to believe that.”

  Drake puffed out a breath and asked, “What did you do?”

  “I went to his quarters and beat him up,” Ronnie confessed. “John had nothing to do with it.”

  Drake then turned to his left when he saw his two guards return from around the corner of the reception building empty handed.

  “Anything?” he called over.

  They both shook their heads and went back to their posts.

  Karen tucked her dark hair behind her ears and asked, “How the hell did he manage to get over the wall without being noticed?”

  “It’s happened before.” Drake hunched his shoulders. “To be fair to the guards it’s not the most stimulating of jobs, and the pay is pretty bad as well.”

  “So now what?”

  “He mentioned leaving to me earlier,” John spoke up. “I apologised to him about my behaviour and he mentioned about being somewhere secure, where nobody would dare to go.”

  Karen looked at Pickle. “Back to Colwyn Place?”

  “No.” Pickle shook his head. “Too far away and too dangerous. He’s still in Stafford.”

  “Then where?”

  “I have an idea.”

  “Okay.” Drake sighed and turned his attention back to Ronnie. “I specifically told you to leave the kid alone and moments later you beat him up?”

  “I just...” Ronnie couldn’t explain himself.

  Drake cupped his ear. “I’m listening.”

  “I...”

  “In your own time.”

  “I just couldn’t help myself.”

  Unsatisfied with Ronnie’s explanation, Drake remained stone faced, but deep down he was raging. He allowed his arms to drop to his side and released a thin smile.

  Drake swung his right arm and hooked young Ronnie at the side of his face. The teenager released a yelp and fell to the floor, clutching his cheek.

  “Sorry, Ronnie,” Drake mocked. “I just couldn’t help myself.”

  Drake then swung his boot in the kid’s midriff and was pulled back by Pickle.

  “Leave him, Drake. He’s just a kid.”

  “He’s eighteen. He’s not a minor anymore.” Drake kicked Ronnie in the stomach once more and this time Pickle stood in front of the man.

  “This ain’t helpin’ anyone, is it?”

  “You’re not in charge here, Pickle,” Drake spat and took a step back as he was beginning to show signs of calming down.

  “No, I’m not.” Pickle nodded. “Yer right. But I can’t just stand and watch as yer beat a kid.”

  “Is that so?” Drake snickered. “I heard a story that you cut an unarmed man’s throat just to make a point.”

  “Granted. It wasn’t ma finest moment, yer know.”

  Drake chewed his bottom lip in thought and rubbed his forehead. He looked down on a sobbing Ronnie and felt a trickle of regret for his actions, but was still angry that the teenager never took on board what was said to him.

  “Okay, Pickle,” Drake sighed. “So what now?”

  “I’ll go and look for him,” said Pickle.

  ”More fuel wasted,” Drake moaned.

  “I’ll go on foot. No need to take a vehicle. We’re not going out on a run and I won’t be going out o’ Stafford.”
r />   “I’ll come with you,” Karen piped up.

  “Me too,” said Vince.

  “And me.” Stephanie stepped forwards.

  “Fuck’s sake!” Drake looked at all four. “It doesn’t take four people to look for one kid.”

  “No point trying to stop us,” said Karen. There was a few seconds of silence and a stare-off between Bradley and Drake ensued. He was the first to break away from the gaze and released an angry puff of breath.

  “I suppose there’s no point trying to change your fucking mind, is there?” Drake snapped.

  All four shook their heads.

  He pointed at Ronnie who was trying to get to his feet, but struggling. “This cunt should be out there looking for him, on his own.” Drake grabbed the young man by the collar and pulled him, making Ronnie move a few yards. He fell over once again, grazing his hands.

  “Nah.” Pickle shook his head. ”If David sees Ronnie, he won’t come out o’ hiding. He’ll run a mile.” He then turned to Vince, Karen and Stephanie. “Get hydrated. We’ll leave on foot in ten minutes.” He then turned to Drake and added further, “We won’t be long.”

  “Do me a favour,” Drake said with almost pleading in his voice.

  “What?”

  “Don’t die. This camp needs you lot.”

  Pickle was touched by Drake’s concern and nodded at the man. “We’ll try not to.” Pickle winked and was about to move away, but Drake swung another boot into Ronnie’s midriff. Pickle was about to scold Drake for the unnecessary violence, but Drake held his hand up to stop him and giggled.

  “Last one. Promise.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Pickle and Vince walked with urgent strides with Stephanie and Karen a couple of yards behind them. They had walked the quarter of a mile to get into town, but not a soul could be seen, just the usual crashed cars, body parts and dead bodies.

  “Jesus.” Vince looked around the place and pointed at a pub called The Bear. “Been in there a couple of times. In fact, me and Lee James liked to hit Stafford now and again if ever we wanted to do an all day session.”

  “Do yer think—?”

  “I doubt it, Pickle.” Vince smiled and knew what his friend’s query was going to be. Would there be supplies left inside the pub, or any pub for that matter? After three months? Not a chance in hell.

  Most windows to the shops that they had walked by were smashed in. Probably raided and looted in the first days.

  “Hardly ever drank maself,” Pickle remarked. “But then again, I spent a lot o’ time in prison. I never saw the point in drinking until yer lost yer faculties. Seemed pointless.”

  “Lucky you.” Vince laughed and shook his head. “The trouble I used to get into when I went out.”

  “Bad, eh?”

  “Don’t get me wrong, Pickle. I never had a problem with drink. I was like any normal guy. I worked all week and played at the weekend, sometimes starting on a Thursday.”

  “What’s the worst that’s happened to yer?” Pickle looked at his Omega Speedmaster watch to see how they were doing for time.

  “Well, I don’t know.” Vince scratched his grey hair in thought. “I remember one time Lee and I were arrested. We were walking along this road here.” Vince pointed at the road ahead. “It was Saturday and we were having a drink in The Bird in Hand and playing pool. We drank more and then ended up on a bit of a pub crawl. We saw some road-works and decided to steal some lights and traffic cones.”

  “Why?” Pickle burst out laughing.

  “Dunno.” Vince hunched his shoulders. “Something to do. We hid the lights under our coats, but you could still see the flashing, and then a cop car pulled up and we were arrested.”

  “And where did yer hide the traffic cones?”

  “Well, that’s the thing.” Vince cleared his throat and seemed reluctant to finish the story. “We had stolen a cone each and we were wearing them on our heads, singing Go West at the top of our voices. Ever seen The Pet Shop Boys’ vídeo to that song?”

  “Aye.” Pickle groaned and couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. “Although it was originally a Village People song.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Vince chuckled.

  “What?”

  “Well, you’re gay.”

  “So that means I like The Village People?” Pickle eyed Vince and waited for an answer off the man who now looked a tad awkward.

  “Well...” Vince looked uncomfortable and struggled to respond.

  Pickle sighed and released a small chuckle. “Just because I’m gay, doesn’t mean I sit and watch The Wizard of Oz, wearing a Barbara Streisand T-shirt and go out roller skatin’ in ma free time.”

  “It doesn’t?” Vince laughed.

  “Doesn’t also mean I like The Village People, Erasure and Kylie Minogue.”

  “I like Kylie.” Vince thought back to that music video where Kylie was dancing and gyrating in her gold hot pants.

  “I’m talking about her music.”

  “But you would never think you were a gay man,” Vince said.

  “What do yer mean?” Pickle looked baffled and turned around to see Karen and Stephanie giggling at Vince’s expense.

  “Well ... you don’t walk gay, do you?”

  “God, give me strength,” Pickle sighed. “Walk gay? What the fuck does that mean?”

  “A lot of gay guys walk fast, don’t they?”

  “Are we really having this conversation?”

  “That’s true,” Karen decided to get involved, but her comment was tongue in cheek and mocking Vince Kindl. “I think a couple of years ago the government were going to introduce gay lanes on pavements, so heterosexual men didn’t keep them back.”

  Pickle smiled and put his arm around Vince. His ignorance was forgiving, as Harry Branston knew that Vince was an old school kind of guy.

  “Yer never had any gay friends, did yer, Vince?”

  Vince shook his head.

  “If this was a normal world,” Vince began, “you would have smashed my face in by now.”

  “No. I would have sat yer down and educated yer. We’re two men. You like tea, I like coffee, you like your women, and I like a bit of arse.” Pickle turned around and said to Karen and Stephanie, “No offence, ladies.”

  “Pickle,” Stephanie groaned. “I’m only fourteen. And didn’t you tell Vince off back at the hospital for talking like that?”

  Pickle blushed and apologised. He turned around and said to Vince, “Let’s change the subject.”

  Pickle held his hand up, stopping everybody in their tracks, and could see a church with the door open.

  “Shall we try it?” Pickle asked them.

  Vince shook his head. “If David was in there, why would he leave the door open?”

  “We’re passing it anyway,” said Karen. “May as well pop our heads in and see if he’s there.”

  Karen was the first to go in and could see that the place was clear. There was a door, possibly an office where the priest possibly wrote his sermons, she thought. She decided to walk down the aisle. This was something she always wanted to do, but she dreamt of it being with Gary and not during an apocalypse, holding a machete, because she was looking for a fourteen-year-old boy that had gone AWOL.

  Pickle was behind her, but Vince and Stephanie chose to hang outside.

  “Maybe it would have been best to let him come back in his own time,” Vince said to Stephanie. “If we drag him back to the hospital, against his will, then he’s only gonna try and escape again.”

  “I don’t know.” Stephanie was holding her bow in her left hand with her arrows sticking out of the rucksack. “I’m worried about him.”

  “Ah, bless,” Vince mocked.

  “I’m serious, Vince,” Stephanie groaned. “He’s lost his parents, he’s been going from one camp to the next, and now that Ronnie is starting to use him as a punchbag.”

  “I don’t think Ronnie is gonna touch David again after what Drake did to him.”


  “David doesn’t know that, does he? As far as he’s concerned he’s on his own.”

  Vince could hear footsteps approaching them and could see Pickle and Karen heading back out of the church.

  “Nothing?” Vince asked.

  “Not a dickie bird,” Karen huffed.

  “So now what?”

  “I tell yer now what.” Pickle looked at Vince and added, “We’re going back to ma old place.”

  All three looked perplexed and Pickle laughed and decided to elaborate.

  “We’re going to the prison.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Drake had been to see how Beverley was coping in the nursery. Joanne had informed him that she was struggling on her own, so he told Beverley that he would ask Stephanie to give her a hand, starting tomorrow.

  He walked by the greenhouses, acknowledging some of the guards as he walked by. A large shed that had been recently painted by David MacDonald was in front of him and a selection of vehicles, including mopeds, were sitting idly to his side. He walked by a large building that had been cleared but was left abandoned, and walked by the outpatients and reception block.

  He now stood outside the main door to the reception block and looked at the guards that were evenly spaced out near the wall, armed with bats and knives. A couple of the guards were guys he had known way back, when they all used to ride together. A lot of them looked vigilant and wired, but Drake knew it was all an act because he was present. It was a monotonous job and the only incentive was keeping the people inside the area safe as there was no pay as such, although guards did get extra luxuries like chocolate, biscuits and even alcohol, if it was available. It depended on what was brought back from the runs.

  “Cloudy day at last,” a voice came from Drake’s side, making him jump.

  “Jesus! Christ!” Drake exclaimed. He looked to the side and could see Small Chris. “Where the cunt did you teleport from, you creepy little bastard?”

  This individual was small in stature, around five feet, grey hair going thin on top, with a skin condition that had baffled everyone. The guy was in his late fifties and covered in round-like skin tags that were all over his body, with at least a dozen on his face, and most people on the camp felt for the guy. It wasn’t just because of his condition, but he had also lost every family member during the beginning of the apocalypse, including his elderly mother and siblings. He never married and Chris never had any children.