Snatchers (Book 7): The Dead Don't Yield

by Shaun Whittington

  Pickle could see Vince was struggling and told him, "Six guys up ahead."

  Vince had managed to restore his vision and could see ahead of him a small bridge. It appeared that any kind of stream that used to sit under the bridge had dried out, for whatever reason, and all that sat under it now was a long trench-like hole that stretched for as long as the eye could see. The six young men, all in their twenties, moved forwards, over the bridge. They stopped when they got to the other side and all folded their arms, trying to look menacing, which Harry Branston found quite humorous.

  "What're you after?" an average sized youngster asked.

  "We're crossing that bridge," Vince pointed out.

  "Is that right?" The young man put his hand behind his back and pulled out a knife.

  "Aye," Pickle placed his hand on the handle of the machete, "that's right."

  The other five remained silent, and the young man, holding the knife, continued to talk. "What's the reason for you wanting to cross?"

  "The reason why we're going to cross is because we need to get to Hednesford Road, so we can get back to our wee camp."

  The young man turned his head to both sides and nodded to the men that were beside him. Four pulled out bats and the man on the far right, a large man, was holding a sword.

  The man who appeared to be the leader said, "We have a small camp in the woods. We have our wives and girlfriends in there, and—"

  "I know you're paranoid, and you just want to protect your family," Vince said, "but try and understand that we just want to get past so we can get...home."

  "And you try and understand that the threat to our safety is not just from the dead."

  "Oh, we understand tha'," Pickle began to laugh.

  "I tell you what," the young man spoke. "If you can beat Tiny here, then you can cross."

  Pickle assumed Tiny was the large man of the group. "Okay."

  Once Pickle announced that he was prepared to fight Tiny, the group of men, including Tiny, took steps backwards and went back to the other end of the bridge.

  Vince leaned over and whispered into Pickle's ear. "This is bollocks. Why don't we just dip into our bags and pull out the sawn-offs?"

  "I can take this guy," Pickle said with a smile.

  "You're fucking loving this, aren't you? I thought you were exhausted?"

  "This won't take much out o' me." Pickle pulled out his machete and placed it by his feet. He did the same with his bag. He then walked forwards and stepped onto the bridge. "Ready when yer are."

  Tiny gave the young man—the leader, Pickle assumed—his sword and took a step back onto the bridge. Tiny could see that Pickle was quite a muscular man, but if he managed to get this stranger in a headlock, his speciality, there would be no chance of escape.

  "Right," Tiny bellowed and clapped his hands together, highlighting his muscular forearms, grinning at Pickle. "Let's see what you've got."

  He took three steps forwards and cracked his knuckles as he approached Pickle. With both arms he reached forwards and Pickle swerved to the left. He gave Tiny a right punch to the throat before he had time to grab him. Pickle then kneed the gasping man in the stomach, and as the man bent over, holding his throat and drenched in panic, Pickle brought down his elbow into his back.

  As soon as the man collapsed to the floor, the other five men stared at one another, unsure what to do next. The leader raised his bat, signalling to Pickle that he and Vince still couldn't cross.

  "Now, now." Pickle shook his head and wagged his finger at the man. "That's not fair."

  "We can't let you pass!" the man yelled.

  Pickle casually strolled back to the other end of the bridge and reached into his bag. Vince did the same. Both men pulled out their sawn-offs, giving all five men a look of panic.

  "We could 'ave done this before," Pickle began to explain, "but we're nice guys and don't want any trouble."

  "Don't hurt us," the leader pleaded.

  "We're not here to hurt anyone. We're here to cross this bridge, as we have explained before."

  "You have to understand that we're trying to protect our family."

  "And I understand that perfectly."

  "It's just that there's a psycho out there—"

  "There're many psychos out there," laughed Pickle. "The apocalypse seems to be breeding them. But I suppose it doesn't help that four hundred inmates were released from Stafford prison, and are now, probably, scattered across the West Midlands. Some are good blokes, but most are bad men."

  Pickle and Vince began walking across and the five men stood to the side, unblocking their path.

  Pickle took a quick look at the moaning Tiny who was still on the floor, in the middle of the bridge. "Tell Tiny: No hard feelings. But by my own standards...he was lucky."

  Pickle and Vince walked away, into the suffocating greenery and put their sawn-offs back into their bags.

  "Good luck, ma friend." Pickle said, and added, "I hope yer family and yerself get through this disaster."

  There was no response.

  Chapter Forty Three

  Paul and Karen were outside his house, waiting for the arrival of his son and Lisa, and the subject of Pickle's disappearance had reared its ugly head once more. They had just heard from a passing Kirk Sheen that Bentley had returned, alone, and this gave them some kind of hope.

  "This is bullshit," snapped Karen. "If you or I was missing, Pickle and Vince would be out there looking."

  "They'll be back." Paul tried to reassure her. "They're tough buggers, especially Pickle. You don't need me to tell you that. If Bentley can make it back..."

  "I have a good mind do go out there and look for them myself."

  Paul gave Karen a quick glance and thought, especially since she was with child, that it was an insane thing to say. He also thought that she would go out looking for them if they didn't return by the next day. But Cannock Chase was massive and stretched for miles and miles.

  "If you go out looking for them," Paul decided to open his mouth, "then you could be lost too. Then they'd be three people missing."

  "We can't just stay here. They went looking for Bentley, didn't they?"

  "Yes they did, and it was a disaster and ended up losing more people. Once bitten, twice shy." Paul placed his hands on Karen's shoulders and could see the concern in her face. He felt for her. "We don't know where they are, but they know where we are. Waiting for them is the best thing we can do. Bentley came back, didn't he?"

  "I dunno."

  "What happens if you go out looking for them, and they turn up? You'd be missing, and Pickle would probably go looking for you, putting him in danger, unnecessarily, for a second time."

  "It just stinks. The whole thing stinks."

  "If we keep doing what we want, then they're gonna end up kicking us out."

  Karen fell silent, and it was slowly sinking in that Paul Dickson's words made more sense than going out there to look for men who were more than capable of looking after themselves.

  "So your suggestion is to wait," she huffed.

  "That's all we can do."

  "Great."

  "Right," Paul took a step back from Karen and said, "I'm gonna love you and leave you. I'm gonna look for Kyle and Lisa; they're obviously not coming back. They'll be needing a snack."

  Karen leaned over and pecked Paul on the cheek.

  He laughed, "What was that for?"

  "For making sense. I can be a stubborn cow sometimes."

  "Just sometimes?" teased Paul.

  "Watch it, Dickson." Karen playfully punched Paul in the chest. "Don't forget who got you out of your vehicle when you and your son were stuck at that crossroad."

  *

  Lisa and Kyle were walking along Hill Street and could see David McDonald and Charles Pilkington kicking a ball against the wall of an abandoned house. Both boys were trying to smash the glass of the living room window.

  The ball stopped being kicked once Lisa and Kyle had been spotted.


  The rotund Charles Pilkington picked the ball up and put it under his arm and he and David strolled over to the two youngsters, both wearing disturbing grins on their faces.

  "You alright?" David looked at Lisa when firing the query. "What do you think of the camp so far?"

  "It's okay." She stood glaring at the boys, and now holding Kyle's hand. The seven-year-old was squeezing her elbow with his other hand, and she knew that this was a sign of the boy being nervous. He did this to her on the first day they arrived and Paul informed her why he was doing it. It was something that he had been doing to Paul and Julie since he was a toddler whenever he was in a situation that made him apprehensive.

  "What are you two up to?" David McDonald nodded over to Hagley High School and said, "Have you come to check out the haunted school."

  "The school's not haunted." Lisa released Kyle's hand and folded her arms. "You're talking crap."

  "It has been haunted for four years, ever since an English teacher hung himself in there," Charles Pilkington spoke, ball still tucked under his arm. "But it'll be worse now. When the dead arrived pupils were killed in there. They were eaten, and the dead were killed and dragged out of the building, but their spirits remain trapped in the school."

  "That's rubbish." Lisa placed her arm around Kyle and could see his face covered in fright. "The virus was never announced until Saturday, when everybody was at home and the schools were closed."

  "It's been going on well-before it was announced," David McDonald chipped in, and added, "My dad—"

  "Just shut up about it." Lisa pointed at young Kyle Dickson. "You're frightening him." Lisa then turned to Kyle and said, "Don't you listen to them. The school is not haunted. There's no such things as ghosts."

  "There is too," Pilkington laughed.

  "No there isn't."

  "I tell you what." McDonald folded his arms, looking smug. "Why don't we all go in and walk around the school's corridors? If there's nothing in there, then you can have Charles' football and I'll get you both a bag of chocolate. My dad can get some from the Lea Hall building, but you need to keep it to yourself."

  "I think I want to go back to my daddy," said Kyle.

  "Ah," McDonald began to mock. "The little boy wants to see his daddy."

  Snapped Lisa, "Leave him alone!"

  "Poor little boy is scared of the ghosts."

  "I'm not," Kyle spoke up, albeit timidly. "There's no such thing as ghosts."

  Lisa pulled on Kyle's shoulder and said, "Come on. Let's leave these two losers to it." The pair of them began to walk away.

  "Chickens!" David McDonald and Charles Pilkington chanted the word over and over again, and then began impersonating, very badly, a chicken.

  Kyle stopped walking and Lisa did the same and stared at him. Kyle gulped and glared at Lisa for a long time, and she knew what was going through his young mind. "I don't want people to think I'm a chicken."

  "It doesn't matter what they think," Lisa huffed. "They're just a couple of sad bullies. Let's go home. I'm hungry. Your dad will be worried."

  "No." Kyle looked at Lisa. "I want to go in. I need to go in."

  "You don't need to do anything like this. This is the kind of thing that big boys do."

  "I am a big boy."

  "You're only seven. Only yesterday you were moaning at me that you missed your cuddly toys, Dino and Monkey."

  Kyle was adamant. "Let's just go in. Get it out the way."

  "You don't have to do this," she said.

  Kyle looked back at the two smiling boys then back at Lisa. "But if I don't they'll always call me a chicken."

  "So? Who cares?"

  "We have to live here now, Lisa, I just don't want..."

  Lisa sympathised with Kyle and could see the quandary the poor fellow was in. "Okay. If you're sure. But I'm telling you now: There is no such things as ghosts."

  "Okay." Kyle gulped and didn't seem so sure.

  Lisa turned to the two teenagers and announced, "Okay, we'll go in, but you two are leading the way."

  Chapter Forty Four

  Sheryl and Lee acknowledged one another as they both headed for the barrier. They both said 'good morning' and the embarrassment of what happened in the woods was only being felt by Lee.

  The pair of them started walking up and could see in the distance three guards, all waiting to be relieved of their duties by Sheryl and Lee.

  "Have you seen Bentley?" Sheryl decided to break the ice.

  "I went to see him an hour ago. He's doing well." Lee spoke up. "It's amazing what two litres of water and a little rest can do for you."

  "And he's been told about Helen?" Sheryl was referring to Helen Waite and her father who had both killed themselves.

  Lee nodded. "Yeah. I suppose it's nothing he's not used to." Lee cleared his throat and began, "Look, about what happened in the woods—"

  "Forget it. It was a moment of madness."

  Lee nodded. "We weren't thinking straight."

  "You could say that."

  Lee stopped walking and held out his hand. "So are we still friends?"

  "If that's what you want," Sheryl coldly said, and walked away without shaking Lee's hand.

  Lee didn't take offence to Sheryl's reaction. He had known her long enough to know what she was like. He just shook his head and said, while her back was turned, "You're a weird fucker, Smith."

  She never responded.

  *

  Karen opened her door, half-expecting there to be news of Pickle and Vince's return, but when she opened it she was greeted by the concerned face of Paul Dickson.

  "What's up?" asked Karen.

  "Can't seem to find Kyle...again." Paul half-laughed and added, "I'm beginning to think I'm a terrible father."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "He went missing last week, when he went to that daft farm, looking for that rat. And we all know what that led to."

  Karen shook her head. "What happened at Vince's camp wasn't yours or Kyle's fault. David Watkins was at fault for that."

  "I still think that—"

  "Don't think," interrupted Karen. "You have nothing to feel bad for."

  Paul lowered his head and admitted, "With the loss of Bell and Julie it's just as well I can't get my hands on any alcohol, otherwise I'd be an alcoholic by now."

  Karen fell silent for a while and before Paul had a chance to ask her what was up, she finally spoke. "Sometimes we need something to deal with the pain."

  "Really? And what does the hard and unflappable Karen Bradley do to get through this?"

  She smiled and spoke softly, "I'm not as tough as most people make out."

  "Well I know that." Paul began to laugh. "Otherwise you wouldn't be needing a cuddle."

  Karen looked saddened by Paul's comment, and he immediately apologised. "God, Karen, I'm sorry. I wasn't mocking you. I kind of needed it myself." Paul held his arm out to put it around her shoulder, but changed his mind. "I'm an insensitive bastard."

  "It's okay."

  "No, it's not."

  Karen Bradley began to laugh and realised that Paul was still standing on the doorstep and she hadn't even invited him inside. "I'm forgetting my manners."

  Realising what she meant, he said, "That's okay. I better go and find Kyle and Lisa."

  Karen stepped out of the house, leaving the door slightly ajar, and said, "I'll come with you. I'm bored."

  They left the premises together and walked together, side-by-side, and Paul took a quick glance at Karen and said, "You never answered my query before."

  "What query?" Karen had no clue what he was talking about, and he could tell by her face that she was being genuine and wasn't purposely avoiding the question that he had fired at her earlier.

  "About...getting through this. I told you that I'd hit the bottle, if there were any bottles to hit, and then asked what you would do."

  Karen shrugged and said, "I suppose I do what most other people do. I cry."

  "I can relate to that
. But is it enough?"

  "Scream?"

  Paul laughed.

  "In the first few weeks I never had time to think about the magnitude of it all," she began. "But this camp, and Vince's camp before it, gave me safety I never used to have. I was used to sleeping in the woods, running from those things, killing them....it was endless."

  "And now?"

  "The scale of what's happened affects me more than it used to, now that I have more time on my hands." Karen stopped walking and took a look around the street. There was no one present, apart from Nicholas Burgess, who was standing outside the Lea Hall building with his back to them. "On a couple of occasions now, I..."

  Paul urged, "Go on."

  "The first time was just a little cut, but it never did anything for me. The second time felt good, like...I don't know. It just made me feel better."

  Paul stood, facing Karen, and his scrunched-up face told her that he had no clue what she was gabbing about. "Karen, what are you talking about?"

  "I've been cutting myself," she confessed.

  "What?"

  "The second time I did it I used a box cutter blade. I sat inside the bath, with my back to the door, and cut the inside of my thigh, so no one can see the marks."

  "Shit. I never realised."

  "Why would you?"

  "But...are you still doing it?"

  She shook her head. "I haven't done it recently, but I can't guarantee I won't do it again. It did feel good the second time I did it."

  "But you're a nurse." Paul looked astonished. "You must have seen this kind of stuff from patients, you know, more severe."

  She smiled. "So why do it to myself? Is that what you're thinking?"

  Paul was struggling to find an answer. He didn't want to offend the young woman.

  "I'm still human, Paul." Karen sniffed and could feel her throat tightening. "Just because people work in the medical field it doesn't mean that some of us don't take anti-depressants, or smoke, or even have a drinking problem."

  "Still..."

  Karen tried to joke, "Maybe more cuddles will stop me from doing this further."

  "If it stops you from harming yourself, then I'm willing to try it."