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

by Whittington, Shaun

  Karen, Vince and Stephen climbed over, all landing on a patch of road that had no corpse on it.

  All six had managed to dump every single one in the back. The corpses were piled high and Pickle was aware that when driving back round to the field that was opposite Colwyn Place's entrance, one or two may fall off during the journey. He had to drive slowly and carefully.

  “Okay,” Pickle panted, “all of yer, get yerselves o'er the wall and I'll meet yer by the field. Bradley,” Pickle smiled and pointed his finger at Karen, “Jez and Craig are gonna be getting a few funny looks when yer all jump o'er and walk along the street, so run o'er to Lincoln and tell him what's going on.”

  “Let's go then.” A tired Vince was the first to climb back over the wall, followed by Stephen, Karen and Jez.

  Craig held out his hand, waiting for Pickle to shake it. “Thanks for this.”

  “Yer not in yet,” slurred Pickle.

  “I know that. But thanks for trying.”

  “No problem.” Pickle smiled. “This Lincoln fellow runs the show. If he refuses to let yer stay, there's nothing I can do about it.”

  “I understand.”

  “I think it'll be okay, though.”

  Craig finally climbed over, leaving Pickle on his own, and the former jailbird took a look around at the desolate street, trying to imagine what it must have been like three months ago: children playing in the street, adults washing their cars that were sitting on their drives, and young couples walking along, holding hands.

  “Shame.” Pickle shook his head. “A crying shame.”

  *

  Karen, Rowley, Vince, Jez and Craig were now over wall, leaving Pickle on his own. Pickle peered over the wall and saw the funny looks from some of the residents that were out as Jez, Craig and the others walked down the new Colwyn Place.

  He saw John Lincoln approach the group and they all stopped and talked for a minute. Lincoln then shook the hands of Craig and young Jez and this brought a smile to Pickle's face. Looks like they're in, Pickle thought.

  He returned to the pickup, started the engine and pulled away, leaving the village temporarily. He drove through the country lanes at a slow speed, not knowing what could be around every bend. He was nearly there, nearly at the front entrance of Colwyn Place. Pickle was pleased that after two and a half months, not a lot of macabre scenes could be seen on his travels.

  Being in the countryside had its negatives with food and gas being quite a travel away, but the danger, compared to what London, Manchester and Glasgow had to go through wasn't as bad. Little Haywood did have its influx of the dead in the beginning, but the Murphys had caused more damage with their pillaging and bullying.

  Pickle pulled the pickup by the steel gate and could see that the group had already walked through. He looked to his right, to the field, and saw Karen, Rowley, Vince, Jez and Craig waiting for him. Ophelia, Elza and James Thomson were sitting down next to a large hole that the three of them had dug. It didn't look quite big enough.

  They looked exhausted, and Pickle assumed that they hadn't finished and were just having a rest.

  Pickle looked to his right to see Terry Braithwaite standing behind the gate, in Colwyn Place, holding his baseball bat with both hands. Pickle gave Terry a wave, but there was no response from the man that lived in the first house of the street.

  “Fucking weirdo,” Pickle muttered.

  He then began to do a turn in the road, using reverse and first gear. Once the pickup was across the road, he backed the vehicle up and entered the field, making the short journey towards the group. On his short drive to this area he had only lost six bodies, and that was when he took a sharp left around a bend.

  As soon he stopped the vehicle, he pulled up the handbrake. The small door at the back of the pickup was put down by Vince and they wasted no time getting out the putrid smelling bodies. Jez and Craig were the first to grab a corpse and were quicker than the others. Pickle thought that they were trying to impress, now that they had been accepted into the camp. At least, he assumed they had been accepted, going by the handshake with Lincoln earlier.

  Once all the bodies had been placed on the ground, by the hole. Pickle told a worn out Ophelia, Elza and James that they should go back to the camp for a rest, and that he and the others would take over with the digging, but they seemed reluctant to leave.

  “I'm not sure that I should stay behind.” Vince began to stretch. “All that lifting, moving the bodies and all that, is starting to play havoc with my back.”

  “Fair enough,” sighed Pickle. Pickle looked at the three shovels that were lying by James, Elza and Ophelia. “I'll dig.” Pickle walked over to one of the shovels and picked it up.

  “Me too,” Rowley said, and walked over to pick up the other one.

  “Now you're making me look bad,” Vince scoffed. “We should leave it to the morning. These bodies aren't going anywhere.”

  Karen walked over and picked up the remaining shovel, and all three began to dig to increase the width of the hole for the dead.

  Vince moaned, “Aw, come on, Bradley. Not you as well.”

  Karen snapped back, “Just because I've got tits, doesn't mean I don't know how to use a shovel.”

  Pickle stopped digging for a short while and told James, Ophelia and Elza to get themselves back to the street and wash themselves down. Jez and Craig too.

  They all left together, with Jez eyeing up Elza, suddenly realising that she was the woman from the other day that had stepped out of the vehicle at Slitting Mill and urinated. A smile broke out on Jez's face, but he decided to keep quiet. It was the same group.

  “Why didn't you just empty the pickup once the hole was ready?” Kindl asked Pickle, chewing his top lip in thought. “Rather than dumping the bodies on the ground, then having to drag them into the hole once it's finished?”

  “Are yer gonna help?” Pickle sighed, digging away. “Or are yer gonna stand there and moan?”

  “I don't have a shovel.” Vince then turned around and watched as Jez, Craig, James, Ophelia and Elza left the field, crossed the road and went through the gate once Terry had slid it back. He glared at Elza's backside and what a backside it was.

  “I can see you staring,” Karen piped up.

  “Can you blame me?” Vince guffawed. “Have you seen that arse?”

  “I know.” Pickle nodded. “That Craig fellow must work out.”

  “Har-de-fucking-har.” Vince smiled and added, “I'm obviously talking about Elza Crowe. Man, I'd give her something to crow about.”

  “You're an animal, Vince,” Rowley said with a smile, and continued digging. “Doesn't Ophelia take your fancy?”

  “To be honest, the way I'm feeling at the moment, I could mount a goat.”

  All three diggers burst into hysterics.

  “I'm glad you think it's funny.” Vince shook his head, but there was a grin on his face. “But I'm as horny as a priest in a titty bar.”

  A noise was heard by all and their sniggering stopped immediately. All stopped digging and they looked at one another, then Vince.

  “What did that sound like to you?” Karen asked nobody in particular.

  Vince responded, “Like a person in trouble. It sounded quite far away.”

  “Pickle?” Karen glared at her male friend. “What do you think? What do you think we should do?”

  Pickle shook his head. He didn't know. It could have been anything, not necessarily a human.

  “Pickle?”

  Pickle threw the shovel to the ground and walked towards the pickup. “Everybody get in the truck.”

  Pickle waited outside as they all got in the vehicle, all carrying machetes, and Karen also had a six inch blade in the front of her pocket for added insurance. Pickle got in last, at the driver's side, and sat in the seat. He took out his machete and asked Rowley at the end to pass him his mace off of the floor. Pickle sat it on his lap, fired the engine and drove away.

  The pickup took no longer than a m
inute to reach the Wolseley Bridge. The garden centre was to their left and the old pub was to their right when Pickle slowed the vehicle down. He took a right at the small roundabout and was on the Stafford Road for seconds when they could see, a few yards in front of them, four Snatchers. Further on, there were some that had been slaughtered, but the three nearest to them had their backs to the truck and a bald one was bent down on its knees, trying to attack whoever was underneath it.

  Maybe the individual was already dead and being feasted on, Pickle thought.

  He stopped the vehicle, grabbed his mace and hurriedly approached the three that were standing. He swung the mace to the side at the first creature, the spikes of the weapon embedded themselves into the skull, and it dropped. The other two turned round and quickly made their way over, but they had only managed to shamble a few yards until Pickle destroyed them with the powerful mace. The last one standing received a full bloodied strike to the top of its skull, caving in its head and face and pushing out black diseased brain matter that fell out onto the road. It then fell, and an exhausted Pickle staggered over to the bald obese creature that was on its knees, but Karen Bradley gently pushed Pickle away with the palm of her left hand. She walked by him with a knife in her right hand, leaving the machete in her belt.

  “I'll take care of this cocksucker,” she sniffed.

  Vince, Stephen and Pickle watched as Karen stuck the knife into the back of its hairless head, and watched as its body dropped on top of the individual underneath.

  Chapter Fifty One

  Paul Dickson could feel his legs getting heavier with the tiredness, and looked up, staring at the pub in the distance. He was getting closer, but it seemed to be taking ages to progress.

  Twenty yards up ahead, to the left, was a hump bridge. Paul used to be a resident of the old Little Haywood and knew that the bridge led to the back area of the village. He had no desire to go that way. He never wanted to see his old house again.

  Noticing his left shoelace loosening, Paul stopped walking and bent down to tighten it. His legs ached as he bent down, and knew that he was going to be stiff the following morning.

  He stood up straight and looked further on, shook his head and released a heavy sigh. A gang of dead staggered over the bridge and entered the main road. As soon as they saw Paul, they shuffled with more quickness in their movement.

  “Fuck,” Paul sighed and took out his machete.

  He didn't want to go back on himself; he was nearly home. He didn't have the energy to go somewhere else and try and lose these freaks. He had to go through them. He shook his head and released an exasperated moan.

  Holding the blade in both hands, he waited for the first ones to come. There were two, side by side one another, and Paul put both down with quick chops at the front of their skull. One fell, then the other fell, and Paul took a step forward.

  He looked to the side and could see a little gap to the right. If he tried to run past the small horde and through the gap, then maybe, just maybe he could escape without having to put any more down.

  He speared his machete into the skull of the next advancing beast and withdrew the blade out of the once-teenage girl, watching as she dropped to the floor in a heap.

  “Someone ... anyone,” Paul gasped. He was exhausted, his legs were like lead and he looked up to the heavens. “Give me strength.”

  Three more advanced with another twelve behind, and Paul took the one to his right out with a slice to the side of its head. He struggled to get the blade out and had to front-kick the other two who went for him. They staggered back a few yards and both were taken out. Twelve left.

  “This is impossible,” he muttered. His arms were beginning to ache, and even the adrenaline didn't seem to have much effect. At least when he took out the horde in the woods, he had decent energy levels.

  A bald, rotund man was next to enter Paul's space and was soon disposed of when Paul used his strength to strike the dead man's skull with his blade. The blade went straight down the middle of the skull and stopped at the bridge of its nose. Paul pushed the man away with his foot and took another step forward as it dropped.

  Three more went down as Paul spent ten seconds hacking like a maniac. Two more then fell, and now Paul Dickson felt like he couldn't go on anymore.

  A young girl, bloated, walked towards him. She looked like she hadn't even reached her teenage years, but Paul felt no emotion as he rammed his blade through her forehead as if it was a spike. Then he took another look and could see the gap was wider than before, probably because some had fallen. He hobbled away from the remaining five, but was grabbed by one when he thought he had nearly made it.

  The ghoul that had grabbed him was a female, no older than fourteen, and was wearing a pink bridesmaid dress. She snarled and tried to take a bite out of Paul's arm, but he pushed her over. She fell on her back and Paul jumped and landed the heel of his boot into her face. He lost his footing and fell over, dropping his machete, then tried to scramble to his feet, knowing that there was still four left.

  They were all males, in dark suits and covered in blood, and were gaining on Paul as the man in his forties was struggling to reach a speed that was good enough to flee the dead. He was totally exhausted and now had no weapon, and all he could think about now was getting to the pub. If he was still being chased by these four freaks by the time he reached the Wolseley Arms, he would have to go in, because he wasn't sure that he could make the remaining mile to Colwyn Place. He thought about hiding in the pub, in one of the rooms upstairs. He knew the place was a mess and smashed up, but if he could stay and lock himself in one of the rooms for the night and get rest, he'd be able to make the remaining mile the following morning, although he'd be dehydrated and very hungry.

  He dragged his feet and peered over his shoulder, panting hard, and could see the four well-dressed males gnashing and snarling, aching to rip him apart. One was a few yards ahead and further than the other three, and was an obese bald being. The bald ghoul was the cleanest out of the four and only had a little blood on his shirt, his purple cravat still in place, and stretched out its arms. His hair was white at the sides and was pulling away even further from his other three colleagues.

  Paul cried out when he saw that the bald ghoul was gaining on him and could feel his limbs aching, his head pounding. His left foot dragged along the floor and lost his balance as the foot went on its side, twisting his ankle, then fell over. He put his hands out to protect himself as he fell, but still struck the side of his head on the tarmac.

  “Oh shit!” he screamed.

  He lay on his back, gasping for air, and could feel the presence of the heavy ghoul getting nearer. Paul tried to lift himself up, but all he could manage to lift was his head up off the floor. The back of his head rested back on the road, and all Paul could think about now was being with his family.

  He tried to get up one more time, but the result was the same. He hardly moved. Paul cried and shook his head, frustrated that his body wouldn't budge. “Please help me. Somebody help me,” he murmured.

  He hadn't given up. He wanted to get back onto his feet, desperately, but he was so exhausted that his body couldn't move.

  He closed his eyes and could hear a mixture of noises. He heard the sounds of dragging feet and groaning coming from behind him, a bird tweeting above him, and in front of him he could hear the sound of an engine, doors then slamming and human voices.

  He remained on his back and dropped his hands to the side as the obese creature reached Paul.

  “I don't want to die,” Paul said with calm, as if he was speaking to an individual. “Not yet.”

  The bald creature then dropped to its knees and clumsily fell on top of Paul Dickson. Paul tried to fight it off, knowing that the other three weren't far away, but the killing of the many from before had sapped his energy. The bald ghoul then buried its head in Paul's neck, inbetween his shoulder and his chin, making Paul scream out and tamely punching the ghoul with the little energy h
e had left.

  Paul closed his eyes and winced, feeling the teeth scrape on his neck. He hadn't been bitten yet. He had no idea what it was going to feel like, but it was coming.

  He knew it was coming.

  Chapter Fifty Two

  Paul Dickson kept his eyes closed, his breath still held, waiting for the inevitable bite that would rip his throat out. He wondered how sore it would be and hoped the blood pissed out as quickly as possible, as he didn't want the agony to be longer than necessary.

  It seemed to be taking ages for the bite to come, the seconds were like minutes, and he continued to wince and gritted his teeth. Any second now. But nothing.

  He slowly opened his eyes, twisting his face in disgust because of the sight and the smell. The left side of the creature's face that was on top of him was all that Paul could see and it wasn't moving. The lack of movement was welcomed, but baffled the man. Then he suddenly realised that there were three others that had been pursuing him as well as the obese bald ghoul that was on him.

  The head of the creature that was on top of Paul had suddenly moved, forcing Paul to gasp, but it wasn't moving on its own, it was moving because it was being dragged off of him by something or someone.

  He saw that it was Karen Bradley dragging the dead body of the creature, pulling out a knife from the back of its head and placing it into her pocket after wiping the blade on the tattered clothes of the deceased.

  She turned and looked down at Paul who was still on the ground. “We thought it was you. You okay?” she asked him.

  Vince, now standing over Paul, then looked down and said with a smile, “You comfy down there? You want a pillow?”

  “Stop pissing about, Vince,” said Pickle. “Help the man up.”

  “I'm okay. I've got it.” Paul sat up and could see the body that was on top of him by the side of the road. The other three had had their heads bashed in. He clocked Harry Branston and saw that Pickle's mace was covered in dark blood, and Karen had earlier pulled out her knife that she had obviously stuck into the back of Paul's attacker's head.