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

by Whittington, Shaun

  Vince's eyes narrowed and took a step further forward. “It can't be.”

  The young girl smiled. “It is.”

  “Stephanie?”

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Paul Dickson was dizzy, panting, and slowly sat down with his legs crossed. His face was soaked in dark blood. He didn't care about this. There was a brook near by, he could hear it, and once he had the energy he was going to make his way over and splash his face. Maybe he would even try a risky drink before washing off the blood.

  He lowered his head, trying to catch his breath and slowly lay on his back, staring up at the sky. His chest rose and sank as his breathing and heart rate was on its way to becoming normal. He tried to come to terms of the magnitude of what he had done. Suddenly, a groan could be heard, making the forty-one-year-old sit up.

  Paul stared at the fourteen bodies that were lying on the floor. Pickle claimed killing fourteen between the pair of them was a difficult task. Or was he just being cautious? Killing fourteen is too many was Pickle's exact words.

  Paul sighed and struggled to get to his feet. He strolled over to the bodies, clutching the bloody blade in his right hand, and tried to see where the groaning was coming from. The heads all looked to have been penetrated by the machete. He was sure he didn't miss one out.

  Suddenly, he could see some movement. It was a female ghoul, at the back. He walked around the lying dead, just in case there were others still active, and stood over the groaning beast. He was grabbed, and continued to gaze as the creature tried to crawl closer to Paul.

  Taking his time, Paul finally rammed the blade through the back of its skull, pulled it out, then went over to where he was sitting before. He sat back down with a slump and looked at the carnage he had created.

  The whole episode of killing these things was a blur.

  He remembered hacking at the things like a madman, and yelling and screaming as he did it. Now he had calmed down, and he realised what he had done was stupid and reckless. If any of that contaminated blood that was flying about had got into his eye, or if he had been bitten...

  Whilst he sat, he wiped both sides of the blade on the grass that was in front of him, then placed the machete by his side. He needed to get back to the main road, but Paul couldn't move. Not yet. He was exhausted, and shifted backwards on his backside until he was up against a tree. He leaned his head back on the trunk and closed his eyes.

  The woods were almost silent, apart from the noise in the background of a running stream. He was going to wash ... eventually, in that very same stream. But not yet. He was going to rest for five minutes. Then move off of his arse.

  At least that was the plan.

  *

  Vince had given Stephanie Perkins a long hug when his brain realised who it was. Karen was next. Although she didn't know Stephanie as well as Vince, she was glad to see another Sandy Lane survivor.

  “We thought you were dead,” Karen said, her eyes wide with astonishment.

  “I nearly was.” Stephanie sighed, thinking back to that frightening episode when her, Bentley and Paul had left the school and reached the back of the Horns pub. “Bentley was killed, but Paul...”

  “Paul made it.” Karen smiled and added, “He's with us at this new place.”

  “That's great news.” A smile stretched over the youngster's features, making Vince smile.

  Vince and Karen shook hands with Stephanie's two other accomplices, Elza Crowe and Ophelia White. Karen had met the girls before at the Church of the Good Shepherd when she was with Sheryl. Vince's first and only meeting with them was when they were at the Lea Hall building on Sandy Lane.

  Stephen Rowley was confused and demanded an explanation, which he got from Vince.

  As they walked along the road together, Stephanie told Karen and Vince about how she escaped with Bentley and Paul, when Sandy Lane was attacked. She told them about Bentley dying and was pleased that Paul had made it.

  By the time they had reached the Wolseley Arms pub, Vince put his arm around Stephanie and pointed at the place. “Remember that?”

  Stephanie nodded, making her blonde ponytail swing gently. “How can I forget?”

  Vince explained to a perplexed Rowley, “I went on a run and ended up in the River Trent. This girl had saved me and took me into that place. Then we were attacked by the Rotters. Some car had crashed, but it's not there anymore, and we hid for hours. Then we tried to fight our way out and two of your lot,” Vince nodded at Rowley, “came along and saved our arses. I think it was the Ferguson brothers.”

  Stephen cracked a smile and said, “I remember hearing about that. I think I was out on a run with Nick Gregory when they brought you back.”

  “We had some laughs, didn't we?” Vince said to Stephanie.

  “I'm not sure about laughs.” Stephanie tightened the band on her ponytail and added, “I do remember going down the canal and you telling awful jokes.”

  Karen smirked. “No change there, then.”

  Karen went into detail about the Sandy Lane massacre from her point of view and told Stephanie who had died to her knowledge. She told the girls that when they left they decided to go to Haywood, but on the way there they accidentally hit a woman that belonged to a gang and Sheryl had been shot as a result of this, even though it was Pickle that was driving.

  Karen looked at Elza and asked her, “So how did you and Stephanie meet?”

  Elza smiled and told them that she and Ophelia had a 'little problem' in the woods, involving a few of the dead. They were struggling and Stephanie helped them out.

  “You still at the church?” Karen asked Elza, remembering that Ophelia didn't speak.

  “Yes.” Elza nodded. “We're still at the church. This is quite far out for us, but the food that's available in the houses on the Pear Tree is pretty low. Looks like we're gonna have to travel to keep on getting food.”

  Karen stated the obvious, “It won't be long before winter.”

  Elza sighed, knowing Karen was right. “Maybe if we get through the winter, we could set up a few vegetable patches round the back of the church.”

  “How's things, Karen?” Stephanie nodded at Karen's middle.

  Karen knew exactly what Stephanie was asking and placed her arm around the fourteen-year-old girl and said softly, “I lost the baby.”

  “Oh God, Karen.” Stephanie pulled away and looked like she was going to burst into tears. “I'm so sorry.”

  Vince went over to comfort Stephanie and Karen kept on telling the teenager that it was okay.

  “For what it's worth,” Elza began, “I'm also sorry.”

  Ophelia glared at Karen and produced a sympathetic smile and slowly nodded at Karen. She was also sorry to hear the bad news.

  “It happens.” Karen tried to brush it off, but could feel her voice quiver. “It's done.”

  Once they reached the roundabout, they all stopped. Going left led into Little Haywood. The road straight on would take them into Rugeley.

  “This is where we part ways.” Elza placed her hand on her baseball bat that was tucked under her belt. Ophelia had the same look, whereas Stephanie now had her bow over her shoulder.

  “No, it's not,” Stephen said. “This is where you come back with us. We'll feed you and then we'll get someone to take you back to the church. That's if you want to go back.”

  Stephen Rowley cleared his throat and twisted his neck. Elza was taken aback by Stephen's strange mannerisms and asked if he was alright, making Vince and Karen smile.

  “I'm fine,” Rowley grunted. “Are you coming with us or not?”

  All three girls nodded.

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Paul Dickson finally got to his feet and could hear the sound of running water becoming louder as he progressed nearer. He licked his lips at the thought of the cold liquid wetting the back of his throat. He knew that the brook would be contaminated to a certain degree, but his head pounded because of the dehydration, and he was willing to risk taking a few
mouthfuls of the cold stuff.

  He kept on walking west. The further he strolled, the louder the noise from the brook grew.

  He dropped to his knees once he reached it, cupped his hands and dipped them into the icy water, taking in mouthfuls of the freezing liquid. He took four large gulps altogether, but stopped when he heard a noise to his right. He slowly got off his knees and stood up straight, peering in the direction of where the noise came from. The area he was in wasn't as crowded with trees like some areas he had been in, and smiled when he saw the culprit of the noise scurrying along the ground and making its way up one of the trees: a grey squirrel.

  His eyes then clocked a strange-looking lump further up, alongside the brook. It looked like a ... body. Whether it was the body of a human or an animal—maybe a deer—he wasn't sure.

  He had to investigate. The intrigue was too much to ignore.

  He walked with small steps towards the lump, looking all around for any danger, and finally made it to the bulge.

  His eyes widened once his brain had figured out what he was seeing and he swallowed hard, now feeling the nauseous feeling building in his stomach. A creature lay on the ground. The trauma to its brain confirmed that it was once a contaminated being, and the flies that buzzed and flew in Paul's face made him step back a few yards. But it wasn't the flies that turned his stomach, and the nauseous feeling wasn't because the once-male creature was now a bloody and broken mess. It was its diseased arm that was in the water that made Paul retch.

  The creature was lying on its back, but its right arm was flopped in the water from the elbow to its rotten hand.

  Paul couldn't stop thinking about the four large gulps of water he had taken earlier, looked at the arm again, then threw up, whilst simultaneously swatting away the flies that hit his face.

  He looked around and wiped his mouth, accidentally swallowing one of the winged pests.

  It was time to leave.

  *

  John Lincoln was out in the street talking to Beverley from 14 Colwyn Place. She was with the toddler and the little man was sucking on a Digestive biscuit. Lincoln ruffled the boy's hair and suddenly turned when he heard a voice call out his name.

  The voice came from James Thomson. He was guarding the entrance. He had placed his baseball bat down, stood it up against the wall, and went to the steel gate to slide it back. Lincoln excused himself away from Beverley and walked over to the gate, where behind he could see six people.

  Lincoln recognised three of them, Stephen, Karen and Vince, making him smile, but the others he didn't know. He told James to hurry up and let them through, then welcomed them all back as they entered.

  They looked weary and John called on James to fetch them all some water. James ran to the house where they stored the supplies and returned a minute later, giving Stephen Rowley a two litre bottle of water. Stephen took a swig and passed it round. All six went over to the front lawn of Terry Braithwaite's house and sat their behinds down, resting their tired feet.

  John Lincoln stood over them whilst James went back to his post, picked his bat back up and closed the gate.

  “It's clear I have many questions to ask,” John Lincoln guffawed, looking at the three strangers, Stephanie, Elza and Ophelia. “But let's get you lot hydrated first. You guys look terrible.”

  Lincoln was dying to ask where these other three girls had come from, if they wanted to stay, and how bad was the trip after Freddie had left them in the lurch, but he decided to wait until they got their energy back.

  He cracked a smile as he looked at Karen. “You okay?”

  She nodded and said, “I've had better days, but...”

  She never finished her sentence and widened her eyes, telling Lincoln that she had spotted something or someone.

  Karen got to her feet quickly, surprising John, and paced forwards with angry strides. They all looked and could see that Freddie Johnson had stepped out of his house and was about to eat a biscuit. He hadn't noticed that they had arrived, but when he did look up and saw Karen Bradley storming towards him, he dropped the biscuit and opened his mouth to try and explain why he had left them in the shit.

  A right hook from Karen Bradley forced the nineteen-year-old to fall back into his house, making him collapse to the floor, giving him a bloody nose. Nobody spoke, not even John Lincoln, and the young woman went back over to the other sitting five and sat next to Vince who was trying not to smirk.

  Initially, Karen was calm when the three of them were abandoned, but seeing Freddie had produced a firing rage she couldn't control.

  Lincoln wasn't happy at what he had just seen and said angrily to Karen, “Better?”

  Without looking up at John Lincoln, Karen remarked, “Much.”

  *

  The journey to the chemist had been unproblematic, but it had been a waste of fuel. Apart from the odd Snatcher, there was no sign of any of the three that were missing. Pickle turned the vehicle round and went back onto the clear main road.

  He was heading back to Little Haywood, but this time decided to go at a slower speed.

  The pros of this was that if Vince, Stephen and Karen were hiding, then they would have a little more time to make themselves seen and flag the vehicle down. The cons were obvious. Driving at such a slow speed could make Pickle an easier target for bandits. There hadn't been any on the way to Stafford, but that could change on the way back.

  He smiled when he thought of Karen. What a woman, Pickle thought. Twenty three years old and had bigger balls than some of the men that used to be on his wing in Stafford prison.

  For some reason, as he did a steady thirty along the road, his mind went back to the third week of this disaster and thought about the conversation the pair of them had when they had made it out of the woods. It was just before they had come across the cabin that belonged to Wolfgang Kindl, Vince's father.

  Karen had been moaning that she didn't know Pickle very well and wanted to know more about him. She asked if he had any nicknames, apart from Pickle.

  “Apart from Pickle? Just the one.” Pickle blushed.

  Karen nudged him in the side, playfully. “Come on, Branston,” she teased. “Out with it.”

  “Promise yer won't laugh?”

  “Oh, I can't do that.” Karen began to chuckle. She then saw that serious look off of him and she settled down. She coughed and asked him, “What was it?”

  “In prison, they used to call me...” Pickle lowered his head and cleared his throat. “...The Horse.”

  Karen bit her lower lip, trying to stifle the laugh that was aching to be released. It eventually was released and even Pickle smiled at Karen's hilarity that he hadn't seen before. It was good to see her laugh, even if it was at his expense.

  “The Horse?” Her cackling continued and now there was tears streaming down her face. “You're making me cry.”

  Pickle looked at Karen wiping the running tears from her cheeks with the back of her hands. “Better for the water to run from yer eyes than down yer thighs, Bradley.”

  She had almost managed to compose herself; confident that she could muster a sentence without it being interrupted with a giggle, she questioned, “Why did they call you that? Is it because you used to shit like one?”

  “No, you cheeky bitch,” he tittered. “Because I'm hung like one, of course.”

  “A sea horse?”

  “Very funny.” He feigned hurt on his features and added, “Back in my area I had quite the reputation.”

  “Oh, I could imagine,” Karen continued to mock. “Here comes Harry Branston, everybody. Quick, lock up your goats.”

  By the time Pickle had snapped out of his daydream, he realised that he had been on the road for half an hour and was now near. He could see the pub up ahead. Once he reached Wolseley Arms, he turned left, passing the garden centre, and was at Colwyn Place, hoping Paul and the rest were there.

  James Thomson slid the gate back, wearing a smile on his face. Pickle had the windows wound down and pulle
d the vehicle in at a slow speed, keeping it in first. He popped his head out and said to James, “What so amusing, ma friend?”

  “They're here.” James still had his smile.

  “Who? Karen, Vince and Stephen?”

  James nodded. “Plus others.”

  Pickle lowered his eyebrows. “Others?”

  “Take a look for yourself.” James pointed over at Terry's lawn and Pickle could see them all, sitting down: Karen, Vince and Stephen.

  There were three others.

  He recognised the two from Sandy Lane, after the massacre. He tried to remember their names. Was it Maria and Frieda? No! That was the names of their bats. It was Elza and Ophelia.

  He stopped the vehicle and jumped out when he saw a young blonde waving at him.

  Astonished, Pickle walked over to them, then stopped as he reached them. Karen gave him a long hug, and he acknowledged Stephen and Vince with a nod of the head once he had broken away from the embrace with his female friend.

  He looked at Elza Crowe, remembering her from Sandy Lane. The woman was attractive, any fool could see that, and had a brown ponytail that went down her back. She smiled at Pickle and he smiled back. He then gave Ophelia White a nod of the head. Ophelia wasn't as blessed as Elza in the looks department, and he remembered that she didn't speak. Whether this was something that she was born with, he didn't know yet. She had short blonde hair, and had a two-inch scar down her left cheek. It looked like it was recent.

  He then turned his attention to Stephanie Perkins. He stared at the teenager and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Stephanie?”

  She smiled. “Hello, Pickle.”

  “But Paul said...”

  She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Paul was wrong.”

  “Isn't Paul with you?” Karen asked. “I was just told by Lincoln that he was.”