Snatchers Box Set, Vol. 4 [Books 10-12]

by Whittington, Shaun

  “They should be sticking to the main road,” Pickle huffed.

  “I don't mean to be patronising, Pickle,” Paul paused and felt like he was being cheeky to a man he greatly respected, “but if I was walking along the main road and I heard an engine in the distance, I'd be hiding. Wouldn't you?”

  “Probably,” said Pickle. “They could 'ave ran into a bit o' bother and headed to our place via the woods.”

  “Maybe once we get to that medical place and turn around, we should go back to Haywood a lot slower, give them a chance to flag us down if they are in the woods.”

  Pickle shook his head and moaned, “I was certain that there'd be along this road. Just thought it'd be a matter o' pickin' them up.”

  “You know what it's like. You run into a horde of those bastards and you have to go another direction for some respite.”

  “Fuck me silly.” Pickle had gone round a bend and was greeted by some straight road with woodland on either side of it. Unfortunately, there was also over a dozen Snatchers shambling along the road, fourteen in all.

  “Okay.” Paul rubbed his hair. “That's not good.”

  “Another mile and we'd be there.” Pickle looked at the dead with disdain, then switched off the engine. “Smelly bastards,” he hissed. “I suppose all we can do now is turn around and go back, and hope we've passed them. I'll go slower this time. If we go slower and they are hiding, then it'll give 'em a better chance o' spotting us and jumping out, like yer said.”

  Paul nodded his head in agreement.

  “Desperate, I know.” Pickle groaned, “What do you think we should do?”

  Paul remained silent, staring at the fourteen that were slowly heading towards the vehicle, not giving Pickle an answer.

  “Paul? What do yer think?”

  Paul slowly shrugged his shoulders and said calmly, “Do you think we can take them?”

  “No, I don't.” Pickle's tone was adamant. “Don't think there's any point either.”

  “Why?”

  “I'm pretty sure that Karen, Vince and Stephen have progressed a mile in a day from where that chemist is based. Surely to God. They're probably further back. Let's just turn around and slowly go back to Haywood.”

  “But what if you're wrong?” Paul kept looking forward, his face was devoid of any expression, making Pickle feel a little uncomfortable. “Freddie said there were a lot of the dead. Maybe they've hardly made any progress. Maybe they've gone a different direction altogether. Maybe they're still near the chemist.”

  “It would be good to go that last mile and see if they're there, for peace o' mind.”

  “Agreed.” Paul nodded.

  “However,” Pickle rubbed his stubbly chin in thought and shook his head at what was ahead of them, “going out and killing fourteen is too many. It's a bit o' a risk, considering that the guys might not even be further up. And I'm not using the vehicle to mow them down. If I use the jeep as a weapon and it breaks the radiator, or whatever ... we'll be walking home. I think me and yer are in John's bad books as it is, without losing a vehicle as well.”

  “Fuck that prick,” Paul muttered whilst grinding his teeth.

  Pickle leaned his head back on the head restraint and began to speak to Paul whilst still looking forward, out of the windscreen. “Look. Yer need to start acting a bit ... normal at that place. I mean...”

  Halfway through Pickle's sentence, the passenger door opened and Paul stepped out and slammed the door shut. He was now outside, carrying Pickle's machete and leaving him the mace. He was walking in front of the vehicle, leaving Pickle stunned.

  Pickle lowered the driver's window, stuck his head out and yelled, “What the fuck are yer doing? Are yer mad?”

  “I'll distract them.” Paul stopped and turned around and added, “As soon as the road is clear, then go on. Go that extra mile just in case they're still back there. Don't wait for me.”

  “Get in. This is madness.”

  Paul smiled and said, “I've already made my mind up.”

  “If yer really have to go...”

  “I do.”

  “I'll wait by the bridge for yer.”

  “Don't bother putting yourself at risk, Pickle. I'll make it back to Haywood. And even if I don't, nobody's going to miss me, apart from Karen.”

  A baffled Harry Branston yelled, “What's happening to yer?”

  “Nothing. I'm fine.”

  “Look, yer have lost yer family. In the old days they would have given yer drugs to dope yer, maybe even given yer a counsellor and probably would 'ave had family around yer to help with yer grief...”

  “What's your point?”

  “Yer don't have any o' that, but yer still have people that care about yer. Me ... Karen.”

  Paul smiled and playfully winked at Pickle. “I'll see you soon, buddy.”

  “Don't do this, Paul.”

  “I'm already doing this.”

  Pickle watched helplessly as Paul Dickson turned around and walked towards the fourteen dead. He held the machete in his right hand but never used it. Pickle watched in horror as Paul then stopped and allowed the dead to gain on him until they were an arm's length away. He then quickly turned on his heels and headed for the woods, all fourteen following him. He disappeared in the greenery, and eventually, one by one, so did the Snatchers that were following him.

  The road was clear and Pickle smiled at Paul's bravery—or was it craziness?—and muttered, “Yer fucking nutter, Dickson.”

  He dropped his head and said a small prayer for Paul. Pickle then started the engine back on and slowly pulled the vehicle forward. He peered to the left, into the woods, and could see the backs of the last few of the dead, following Paul.

  The road was now clear.

  *

  Paul Dickson peered over his shoulder to see the dead group still following him enthusiastically, although the uneven ground, stumps and ditches were proving difficult for some of them. Out of the fourteen that were following him, three were on the floor after tumbling over, and were trying to get to their feet.

  He slowed down for a minute, giving them a chance to catch up, keeping a hold of the machete with his right clammy hand. He didn't think he was going to need it, but the blade gave him extra confidence.

  They were only ten feet into the woods, and Paul could see Pickle's vehicle pulling away. Some of the dead turned when hearing the engine. Maybe some were going to head back to the main road.

  After a few seconds of hollering from Paul, every single one of the dead headed towards him. He had to go deeper. When it was time for Pickle to head back, with or without the three, he was going to need that road to be clear.

  He looked ahead and a smile emerged on his face. Ten yards away, he could see that Julie and Bell were waiting for him. They were both smiling, both human, and were waving at him. Paul waved back and looked to his right to see his beautiful Kyle. He placed the large blade under his belt, then took his son's hand and Paul whispered, “Hello, big chap.”

  Kyle's perfect round face, scattered in freckles across his nose and cheeks, smiled at his daddy. Paul placed his hand on his son's soft cheek and kissed his head.

  A groan from behind startled Paul. He quickly turned, making his neck crack, and could see that he had stopped walking and the first ghoul wasn't very far away at all.

  “Shit.” He turned to Kyle and said, “We better keep moving, big chap.”

  Kyle wasn't there. Paul looked behind and could see that his wife and daughter weren't there either.

  “Jesus.” He rubbed his head in confusion and asked himself, “Am I going mad, or what?”

  Swallowing his hurt that was strangling his throat, Paul Dickson began to feel the rage build up inside him. Paul pulled out the machete, lifted it up, eyes wide with anger, and walked towards the herd.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Jez and Craig stepped into the house that Craig had been staying in and both went into the living room. Jez sat on the couch and stared at his
feet. He could feel his eyes welling and didn't want to look at Craig. Despite being alive in the third month of this disaster, Jez had never experienced something so horrendous. Burying people was bad enough, but with a child involved... And it wasn't even the dead that had caused this carnage; it was human beings, or so-called human beings.

  Tears fell and he cleared his throat, still staring at his feet.

  “You okay?” he heard Craig ask him. Jez couldn't see for sure, with his blurry eyes, but he was sure that Craig was now sitting in the armchair, opposite him.

  “I don't know,” Jez spoke. “I don't think so.”

  “Anything I can do?”

  Jez shook his head.

  “In time, you'll get used to the horrors of this new world.” Craig didn't want to come across as patronising, but he felt like he was with someone who lacked experience of this world, despite being alive in the third month. Craig was interested in Jez's background and how he had survived, considering he was so soft.

  “I don't want to get used to the horrors of this new world,” Jez finally responded.

  “You're gonna have to, otherwise you're not gonna last another three months.”

  Jez lifted his head, eyes glassy and full of tears, and asked Craig, “Not going to last another three months? Is that a bad thing?”

  Craig smiled. He knew what Jez meant. “Depends on the person, I suppose.”

  “I'm too weak for this world. Come October, I won't be here.”

  “Yeah, you will.” Craig nodded confidently.

  “You think?” Jez began to wipe his eyes.

  “If you stick with me, then yeah.” Craig looked over with sympathy and added, “And I've decided that going back to my old flat, to Horsefair, is probably a bad idea. So, are you happy to hang around here for a little longer?”

  “Whatever you think.”

  *

  “I reckon another hour and we'll be there,” said Karen. She gazed up to the cloudy heavens and then turned and looked over her shoulder, waiting for a response from the beleaguered-looking Vince and Stephen who were behind her.

  “Have you two fallen out with me?” she giggled.

  “We're just knackered,” Stephen Rowley grunted.

  “My feet are aching like a couple of cunts,” Vince moaned, and wiped the back of his sweaty neck with the palm of his left hand. “When I get back to Haywood and see that Freddie...”

  “That's if he's made it.” Karen brushed her dark hair behind her ears, turned to the side and emptied both nostrils.

  “He better have made it.” Stephen twisted his face and said, “Don't wanna be losing that motor-home and the medical stuff inside it.”

  “I'm certain the little prick's made it,” Vince spat.

  “I think it'll be a while before Lincoln puts him out on another run.”

  “I wonder what story he made up when he got back.” Vince licked his dry lips and was getting a thirst already, despite being looked after by Sapphire and her crew. “I tell you something. I bet he wishes we don't make it, especially if he's told Lincoln some bullshit story, and then we turn up with the truth.”

  “He's not that bad, chap.” Stephen cleared his throat and added, “Just because you don't like each other, doesn't mean he wants you dead. He's young. He panicked.”

  “I'm not so sure.” Vince added, “That Freddie hates my guts. I heard a couple of days ago that he told his friend Danny that I had a face that looked like it had been drawn on a scrotum.”

  “It does,” laughed Karen.

  “You just have to ignore it,” Rowley intervened. “They talk. They're young boys and bored most of the time.”

  “Danny's not that young. He's twenty six.”

  “Yeah, but he doesn't act like it.”

  “I think he has his eye on Karen,” Vince began to tease, but Karen never responded and remained facing forwards, still walking in front of the two men. “I've seen the way he's been looking at her.”

  “Really?” Stephen scratched his head innocently, unaware that Vince was teasing. “I can't say I've noticed.”

  “Oh yeah,” Vince guffawed, still unsure if Karen was listening or not. “If Karen was a washing machine, I'm sure he'd love to put his dirty load in her. I bet he'd love to use her thighs as earmuffs and then play hide the sausage.”

  “Jesus, Vince,” Karen began to laugh. She was listening. “You always tell the same jokes.”

  “So you was listening.”

  “Of course.”

  He sighed, “I'm bored. That's all.”

  “I remember the old Vince, when we first met.” Karen had a reminiscing smile and looked upwards in thought. “He was a lot vulgar a couple of months ago.”

  “Was I?”

  “Oh yeah,” she giggled. “Remember when you told me to get on my knees and smile like a doughnut? Or the time you asked if I was a plumber because I was making your pipe leak?”

  “Yeah,” Vince beamed. “I like that one.”

  “And what about when you said to Shaz that you're no Barney Rubble, but you was sure that you could make her bed rock?”

  “I think you're disgusting.” Stephen stared at Vince and shook his head.

  “Jesus, it's just a laugh.” Vince looked at Stephen to see if he was serious or not. He was. “Are you telling me that you've never said things like that when you were in a relationship, or even in the workplace? Just for shits and giggles?”

  Stephen shook his head.

  “You've never asked a woman to lie down and pretend her legs hate each other? Or asked if you could kiss her in the rain so she could be twice as wet?”

  “No.” Stephen had his hand on his forehead and shrugged his shoulders. “Why would I say something like that, chap?”

  “For a laugh.”

  “Shush.” Karen stopped walking and placed her hand up, stopping the two men in their tracks.

  “What is it?” laughed Vince. “You thought of another one?”

  Four dead creatures stumbled out of the woods and onto the road. Three were females, all dressed in jeans and a tattered T-shirt. All three looked no older than forty. The remaining one was a male, dressed in black, had long black hair and wore round tinted spectacles.

  “Fuck.” Vince narrowed his eyes. “Is that ... Ozzy Osbourne?”

  Karen pulled out her machete and the two men also pulled out theirs and strode forward. Karen made the first strike, putting one down. Stephen was more hesitant and eventually rammed his blade through the skull of another, whilst Vince hacked at the other two like a crazy person. The three of them bent over, panting, as the dark blood ran down their blades.

  “Well...” Vince was the first to stand up straight. “I hope that's it.”

  Three more came through the woods, in front of Karen, Vince and Stephen.

  “I'm too tired for this shit,” sighed Vince, making Karen and Stephen look.

  Still panting, the three of them approached the dead and Vince led the way. He pulled the machete behind his head and brought it down. The blade went through the middle of the skull, down four inches, but Vince couldn't get the blade free. The thing dropped to the floor and Karen told Vince to move out of the way.

  Stephen was grabbed before he had time to strike. Vince ran over to help out whilst Karen had struck the other one twice at the top of its skull. The twenty-three-year-old woman was exhausted and staggered over to Vince and Stephen. Vince had a hold of the dead creature's hair and was trying to pull it off of Stephen. Vince eventually pulled the ghoul to the ground, freeing Rowley, and both Vince and the creature hit the floor.

  Vince punched the Snatcher on the cheek and pushed it away with his feet. Exhausted, he crawled away from the being, towards Karen and Stephen, and stood up. All three were trying to catch their breath, especially the men, and watched as the stubborn creature got to its feet. Karen looked at the two men that were short of breath and told them that she'd take care of it.

  “If there's gonna be anymore surprises after this
one,” she said. “We're gonna struggle.”

  “We're struggling now,” Vince panted, just about managing to find the words.

  The remaining ghoul was an elderly being and Karen released a long breath out and grabbed her machete with both hands, ready to put this thing down.

  Karen took reluctant steps towards the Snatcher and gasped when an arrow flew out of the trees and struck it at the right side of its head. It stopped moving and seemed to take an age to fall. And once it did, it collapsed into a heap.

  Karen turned and stared at Vince and Stephen. They both hunched their shoulders and had no answer for her. Vince glared at the arrow and shuffled his feet forward. He hadn't seen anything like this since...

  Karen also scrunched her head in bewilderment and touched the pine arrow, then gazed into the dense woods where it came from.

  The sound of rustling made their hearts drop and all three released a frightened gasp.

  Vince released a sigh. Oh, fuck. More of them!

  “I hope that's a fucking deer,” Karen snapped, still trying to get her breath back from killing the dead earlier.

  Stephen Rowley grunted and said, “I don't think it's a deer, Karen.”

  “Fuck this.” Vince retrieved his blade and put his machete into his belt. “We're running.”

  Rowley and Bradley nodded in agreement.

  Before the three of them began to run and move away along the main road, three humans emerged out of the woods, all females, making Karen and Vince stare in disbelief. Stephen was confused.

  “What the..?” Vince recognised all three of them; so did Karen, especially the young girl. She was in front, holding a bow and wearing a black poncho, her blonde hair tied in a ponytail. She was with two other women, both holding baseball bats that had seen better days.

  “Hello, Vince,” was the young girl's greeting.

  Karen gasped, “I don't believe it.”

  “What is it, guys?” Rowley was confused, but nobody gave him an answer. “Do you know them?”

  Vince Kindl couldn't believe his eyes and took a step forward, screwing his face. One by one, he looked at the three females. His eyes then remained on the youngest of the three that had emerged from out of the woods, and now couldn't keep his eyes off of the young blonde girl who was smiling at him. She said, “How have you been keeping?”