Snatchers (Book 8): The Dead Don't Pray

by Shaun Whittington

  With the rest impressed by his restraint, Pickle ushered Leader to the barrier and told the guard to reverse it back so all four, including Pickle, could get through. Once they were through, they marched away from the barrier, by the railway bridge, and Pickle turned around to see the guards and the rest all standing by the gap, watching them walk away, wondering where Harry Branston was going.

  "We'll be back!" Leader began to laugh and yelled at the people at the barrier, whilst Pickle walked closely behind him. "We'll be back, but next time we'll have an army!"

  "Oscar," Handsome spoke up. "Shut up."

  Pickle pulled out the open razor from his pocket and grabbed Leader from behind, his palm forcing his chin up, making him yell in panic. "Don't struggle," said Pickle. He heard protests from some of his people from the barrier, including Lee, but chose to ignore them. "It'll make things worse." He then nodded to the two men, including Handsome that was carrying the box, "Yer two are free to go."

  "But what about Oscar?" Handsome pointed at Leader.

  "I said that if any harm came to anyone on the camp, I'd cut them like a pig." Pickle showed the men the small cut on his tricep. "I need to make sure you two don't come back, and personally, yer probably better off without him anyway."

  "No." Leader began to beg. "Please don't—"

  Pickle dragged the razor slowly across Leader's throat, making both Handsome and his friend cry and gasp. Blood gushed out at an alarming rate, then Pickle released his hand from Leader's chin, allowing him to drop to the floor and bleed out. "Have a good day, gentleman," he said calmly, then pointed at the box that Handsome was holding. "Don't eat it all at once."

  Pickle walked away and threw the bloody razor to the side, whilst the men ran away, leaving their fallen friend to bleed out on the road. Wiping his bloody hands on his black trousers, Pickle finally approached the barrier and walked through the gap, ignoring the shock on the faces of the guards and Lee, whereas Bentley, Sheryl and Karen seemed unmoved by what had just happened.

  "This is ridiculous," Lee snapped and squared up to Pickle. "You can't just come here for a couple of weeks and start killing people. Maybe James McDonald was right about you lot."

  Pickle looked at Lee with cold eyes and kept on glaring at him until he began to quake with fear. Lee could feel his lower lip wobble because of the menacing sight of this unpredictable man. Originally, he thought Pickle was a nice individual.

  Lee gulped and said with a tremor, "I don't want killing on my camp."

  "Your camp?" Sheryl laughed falsely.

  "No thanks to Jimmy Mac, we nearly lost Jasmine Kelly," said Bentley, glaring at a shaken Lee. He folded his muscular arms and was clearly on Pickle's side.

  Lee nodded and said to Pickle, "We can't all be like you and Karen. We have a lot of nervous people on here—you would probably call them weak. We want people in here to be safe."

  "And they will be," Karen sniffed, and stood next to Pickle.

  Lee repeated what he had said before. "I don't want killing on my ... this camp."

  "It wasn't on the camp." Pickle finally said, then walked away.

  A shocked Lee said to Karen, "What's your thoughts on this?"

  Karen shrugged. "Pickle has his reasons, and they're for the benefit of all of us. So as far as that man is concerned ... fuck him."

  "You're just saying that because you're close."

  "Pickle has only hurt people over the weeks if it was absolutely necessary."

  "I agree," Bentley chipped in. "Fuck him." He also strolled away and Karen followed him.

  Before Lee could respond, Sheryl added, "And I'll second that."

  Chapter Forty Seven

  It was getting late, hours after the incident with the three intruders, and Bentley Drummle went home and was in bed, lying on top of the sheets. He had been given two paracetamol for the slight aching from his DIY tooth extraction a couple of days ago, but he seemed to have got over the worst of it. He stared at the ceiling, and like most evenings his mind wandered back to the day when he heard the news. He had been preparing for this for a while, and still was miffed that he could only last weeks out in the woods with the cabin that took him an age to set up, but he was still here. He was still alive, unlike Laura.

  His eyes filled as he drifted off back to the evening where it was announced that the day of reckoning had arrived.

  He remembered his tremulous hand holding the remote as he flicked through the channels manically. He wondered if it had finally arrived. Every channel had an anchorman, reporter or expert who was giving their opinion on the events that were occurring on this early June.

  He called in his partner, Laura, and she came in with two hot cups of teas and placed them on the floor and sat next to him.

  "Is this about those riots the other day?" she asked.

  He shushed her, something he never did, and instead of becoming offended, she immediately knew that something was bugging him.

  "Just watch," he ordered.

  The first channel he put on was SKY NEWS, followed by BBC1, and this was followed by other channels that were available on his cable. His face was ashen with the shock as he started channel-hopping.

  SKY NEWS: "Rioting have hit major cities, but the government have played down the events."

  BBC News: "Documents leaked from the science institute of London contradict government figures... "

  FOX News: "Little is known about the virus that is sweeping the UK. The government have said that the cases in the UK were isolated incidents and pose no threat to the residents of Europe."

  RT: "The UK government have been criticised in the press for playing down the pandemic, and the media claims that figures have been grossly underestimated at what is happening."

  CNN: "To my knowledge there hasn't been a single case reported in America, Great Britain, or Western Europe. These figures have been taken completely out of context, and threat to human life..."

  ITV News: "Scientists in Newcastle have accepted that they could be three months away from producing a vaccine to what they're now calling, The Summer Virus."

  Bentley almost remembered the headlines on that horrible day word-for-word. It appeared that in some quarters of the globe, and in the UK, some were accepting that it was happening, whilst others were still in denial. It had been brewing for weeks, but it was officially announced on the second Saturday of June, and he knew that this was something that could be detrimental to the safety of the human race.

  He remembered keeping it on the ITV channel, and once the anchorman had finished his information, it cut back to a selection of six short interviews by random people that were filmed on the streets of London the previous day.

  Person One: "As far as I know, it's happening elsewhere and not here at the moment, but I wish they would tell us more. If it wasn't for social media like Facebook and Twitter, we'd know nothing about it."

  Person Two: "It's probably a joint-government experiment. You kill off half of the ever-growing population, and you save a fortune on food, water and gas."

  Person Three: "We should be okay."

  Person Four: "I don't think the government are doing enough. If they are, they're not sharing with the public what they're actually doing."

  Person Five: "I don't think the government are taking it seriously. They're in denial. And it's denial that is going to get people killed."

  Person Six: "I heard it's not airborne, and spreads from bite-to-bite. With aviation, it's probably already here. It's probably already global."

  Bentley had then changed the channel once more to the local news, and a female politician, The Secretary of State for School, Children and Families, was expressing her concerned views on what was happening.

  "We were sent a letter and an email by the health authorities on Thursday what procedures to take in case the virus hit any of our schools, and that if anyone is infected by the virus, they should be moved to isolation units. Their name would be posted up on the internet. The problem wit
h that is that not all parents have access to internet, believe it or not, and they wouldn't know where their children were.

  "We were told that the molecular structure of this particular virus was similar to bird flu, but I've heard from other sources that it was more similar to rabies, but a much more aggressive version. We don't know if it's waterborne, airborne, whether it's in contaminated animals or food. We don't know if it came from Mother Nature or even a from a terrorist laboratory. We have no idea about this virus; the government has told us nothing, and are still denying it in some quarters. We don't know where we stand..."

  After that, he remembered that he had put the TV on standby and then dropped his head in his hands. After a minute of silence, with his partner sitting next to him, he raised his head back up and gazed at her with a thin smile sitting under his nose.

  He stood to his feet; the man's muscular body towered over his partner and said with a defeated sigh, "Well, it's finally arrived. It's time to move."

  His partner, Laura Davies, nodded her head in agreement. "You were right all along."

  He then remembered nodding his head slowly and saying, "Yep. Unfortunately I was."

  Bentley Drummle released a small smile thinking about that day, and thought of Laura and her long ginger hair. She may have not been the best looking woman in the world, but she was his, and he was hardly an oil painting himself.

  He sniffed hard, feeling that the emotions were going to mess him up again, and wondered how long it was going to be until he could go to sleep on a night and think of Laura without breaking down in tears. The only positive about losing Laura Davies was that they never had children together.

  He turned on his side and began to cry, thinking of that terrible time when the dead attacked his camp in the woods, and losing Laura. There was nothing he could do. There was really nothing he could do. Before he had chance to jump in and save her, they were already tearing her apart, and she was seconds away from death. He didn't know whether he was cursed or had bad luck. It seemed that anyone he tried to help, eventually suffered. He tried to help Laura, but it was too late for her. He picked up a mentally unstable Helen Waite and took her to the Sandy Lane camp, then once her dad arrived from Vince's they both took their own lives. He also helped out Paul and gave him and his son a bed for the night in his short-lived camp, and now Kyle had perished.

  Eleven minutes of sobbing occurred before Bentley Drummle finally succumbed to sleep.

  Chapter Forty Eight

  July 31st

  It was nearly eight in the morning and Vince had slept through till four, on and off, whereas Stephanie had been up since half-three. Even John Lincoln was surprised at how long they'd both slept.

  When they both eventually went downstairs, John Lincoln had gave them both a bowl of dry muesli, some oatcakes and a litre of water each.

  After the meal was eaten rapidly, Vince and Stephanie were ready to go. Vince and his female companion had been hydrated and fed, and now they waited patiently for their ride that had been promised them by John.

  There was a knock on John Lincoln's door. The heavy Lincoln adjusted his specs as he got out from the armchair, onto his feet, and opened the front door to see two men. He asked the two males to enter the house, but they refused to enter and told John that they were in a rush. They wanted to drop Vince and Stephanie off as soon as they could. They had a run to go on, and needed to travel to a place called Abbots Bromley.

  Vince and Stephanie thanked John Lincoln for his hospitality, and left to go into the back of a black Range Rover that was waiting outside for the pair of them. The two men that never introduced themselves got in the front; they told Vince that they'd be going to Rugeley via the Wolseley Bridge. Before Vince was given a chance to protest and tell the men that that was the same area where they had to flee from, the blokes told them that a scout from their camp had reported back that the area was now clear and there was no sign of 'Shamblers' anywhere near that area.

  They were told that the journey should take no longer than ten minutes, and both passengers in the back sat in silence. Stephanie had her crowbar, bow and bag by her feet, whereas Vincent had nothing. Even though they were going back to Rugeley and were told that the trip should be trouble-free, Vince was still concerned.

  Vince stared out through the window and could see that the scout was right once they entered the small area of Wolseley. They passed the car on the their left that had crashed, and both could see blood inside the vehicle. Little remains of the deer could be seen to his right on the road, and up ahead the roundabout appeared clear.

  The Range Rover turned and they passed the Wyevale Garden Centre that was to their left. They were now on the Rugeley Road.

  Still no words had been spoken, and Vince and Stephanie continued to gaze out of the window, pleased and surprised that no dead were present.

  Where did they go?

  The silence and the lack of the dead had come to an end once they reached Rugeley.

  The driver announced, "Looks like we've got trouble ahead."

  Vince and Stephanie looked to the front to see a horde of Rotters near a roundabout. To the beasts' left was a pub/restaurant called The Stag's Leap, a place Vince had been to a few times for a meal. Before the pub was built, there used to be a place there called The Eaton Lodge Hotel, which eventually shut down and was demolished.

  The vehicle slowed down and the driver said, "We're gonna have to turn around and come back another time." He eventually brought the vehicle to a stop, and turned to Vince. "Is that alright with you?"

  "Fuck that." Vince noticed that they were near a straight dirt path at the side of the road, to his left. The dirt path had a green metal fence on either side of it, and ran alongside a building that looked derelict. "We're nearly there. Another mile."

  "We're not risking our lives to get you through that horde," the driver spoke up.

  "I'm not asking you to." Vince opened his door. "Along that dirt path leads to the canal. I can get to the camp that way." He turned to Stephanie. "You coming? Or have you changed your mind and want to rampage through the woods on your own again?"

  "I'm coming," she said, and thanked the two men that had given them the lift. She took her weapons and bag, then shut her door and followed Vince. The horde weren't moving in a certain direction, and because they were so far away they never noticed Vince and Stephanie, or the Range Rover. The vehicle moved again and did a three point turn and drove away, heading back to Little Haywood.

  "Come on," said Vince.

  Stephanie put her bag over her shoulder and put her bow over the other. They went down the dirt path that was wide enough for only one person. Stephanie was behind Vince, as she wasn't from around these parts and had no idea where she was going, and nearly bumped into the back of him when he suddenly stopped. Vince had seen something up ahead. He turned to face the fourteen-year-old and demanded, "Give me your crowbar. I don't have anything on me."

  Stephanie Perkins looked ahead to see one solitary ghoul at the bottom of the alleyway, some fifteen yards away. She said, "I've got it." She took her bag off and plonked it on the floor, pulled out the piece of metal and gave the crowbar to Vince, then gently pushed him to the side. She reached for a pine arrow in her bag, took off her bow, then prepared it to fire.

  She pointed the bow towards the ground and placed the shaft of the arrow on the rest. She then attached the back of the arrow to the bow string with the nock––the small plastic component that had a groove for this purpose. The young girl then used three fingers to lightly hold the arrow on the string, her index finger was held above the arrow and the middle and ring fingers below. She then held the bow arm outwards, towards the target, her inner elbow parallel to the ground and the bow staying vertical.

  She then aimed and released the pine point, and both persons saw it hit the left side of the beast's forehead, going right in. It dropped to the floor, and although Vince was impressed with what he saw, he joked, "You were a little bit off."


  "It's dead, isn't it?" she huffed.

  He laughed, "It was dead anyway."

  "You know what I mean." Stephanie put the bow back over her shoulder. "So where does this dirt path lead to?"

  "It'll take you to, what is known around here as, The Bloody Steps. We'll need to go down them to the canal. Then we need to cross a small bridge to get to the other side and onto a dirt path that runs alongside the canal. That path will take us to St Augustine's Church where Dr William Palmer is buried. Then it's a half a mile walk into town to get to the Sandy Lane camp."

  She shook her head. "I don't know what you're talking about. The Bloody Steps? Dr William Palmer?"

  Vince sighed, "Seriously? You've never heard of Dr Palmer or The Bloody Steps?"

  She shook her head, and Vince began to explain as they began strolling down the dirt path. She took the arrow out of the corpse as she passed it.

  Vince began, "The steps that we're approaching are historically known as The Bloody Steps. Back in June, 1839, a woman by the name of Christina Collins was found murdered at that very same spot. Her ghost is legend in Rugeley, but never had been seen by a reliable source. The town hasn't produced an historical figure like Stratford upon Avon's William Shakespeare, but it still has its history. The only infamous character Rugeley has produced was the serial killer, Dr William Palmer, but that's something hardly to be proud of. Celebrating a doctor who killed members of his family is something Rugeley residents don't do. It would be like the east end of London paying homage to Jack the Ripper."

  "Great." Stephanie sounded less than impressed. "So what happened to Palmer?"