“We are in the apocalypse, aren't we?”
“Alright, smart arse.”
David looked up to the heavens with a squint, “If it starts to get wet, I'm going inside.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Vince joked, then immediately held his hand up, realising that David was just a minor. “Shit, sorry. Did I say that out loud?”
“It's okay.” David MacDonald gave off a rare smile. “You wanna hear the stuff that used to come out of my old man's mouth.”
“I forgot myself for a minute.” Vince cackled and shook his head at himself.
“I hear some of the guys are going over to No Man's Land later on.” David nodded in the direction of the six-foot concrete wall.
“That's right. Four of them. Pickle is taking Danny, and Craig is taking Jez.” Vince ran his fingers over his grey hair and felt a little drizzle of water coming from the clouds above. “Danny and Jez need a bit more practice killing the Rotters, especially if we're gonna start sending them out on regular runs.”
David huffed, “I wish they'd take me.”
“I think they should.” Vince turned to the side to look at the young man. “I think your age is irrelevant, but Lincoln has a bee in his bonnet because you're a minor. At least you're volunteering.” Vince looked around the street and saw Gareth Broadgate sitting on his lawn, and to the left were the two women from number twenty, Lynne Smithers and Sandra Roberts. “Unlike some.”
“Not everybody wants to do it,” David spoke up.
“It's not something that gets me hard, killing those freaks, but it has to be done sometimes.”
A silence enveloped both males, but it wasn't something that made them feel uncomfortable. They gazed out for a minute and seemed lost in thought. Vince called it gouching. Kindl turned and looked at the youngster and could see his eyes filling.
It wasn't surprising.
David MacDonald was fourteen. He had lost his mother before the announcement, and his infected dad was put to death by Sheryl Smith, by ramming her blade through his right temple. And his only remaining friend, Charles Pilkington, was no longer around. It was a lot to cope with for the young man.
David released a sad breath out and Vince asked what was wrong.
“It's nothing,” said David.
“Tell me,” Vince urged. “You might feel better getting things off your chest.”
“Do you think about the people that you've lost?” asked David. “Even the ones that you didn't know very well?”
“Yes, I do.” Vince said with zero hesitation. “I think about the people and miss some of them. Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't miss your dad.”
“That's alright.” David MacDonald smiled. “He wasn't the best father in the world.”
“But he was still your old man.”
David nodded. “He was. He slapped me about a bit, but he was the only family I had left.”
“I suppose I miss Rosemary the most, and, of course, Lisa.” Vince lowered his head and sighed, “I know I dick about and say silly stuff, but I think about them all ... almost every day.”
“All?”
Vince nodded. “Even from my old camp at Spode Cottage. I think about Claire, Jack and Shaz. There was a young guy called Gareth Mason who I used to take the piss out of.” Vince laughed, looking up as he thought about weeks gone by. “He once asked me for advice about a girl he fancied, Jasmine Kelly. Both of them are now deceased.”
“I remember her.” David nodded. “She came to Sandy Lane with some of your lot.”
“There were others. Trevor Barkley. Man, he was a useless bastard. David Watkins. Now, he was the reason why my camp was invaded by the dead.”
“What happened?” David asked.
Said Vince, “He got obsessed with some revolver back at a farm and went out on his own to get it, bringing back a horde with him. I suppose little Kyle was partly to blame for making a hole in the hedge after befriending a rat.” Vince paused and tried to remember some others. “Henry Bowes, Gail Kelly, who was Jasmine's mum, David Chatting, Robin Barton. I even think about the old birds, May Worthington and Gina Harrison, now and again.”
“What happened to the old ladies?” David queried. “Were they victims of the dead, when they got into your camp? You never brought them with you to Sandy Lane.”
“They died,” Vince sighed, “but they weren't killed by the dead.”
“I don't understand.”
“When the camp was under attack, some dick, I think it was Geoff, panicked and shot a gas canister. Both of the old ladies burned to death in their own caravan.”
David was taken aback by what Vince had told him. The Sandy Lane incident was bad enough, but Vince had now gone through it twice. David sighed and began to think about his short-lived friendship with Charles Pilkington.
“I miss Charles,” he said with sadness.
“Of course you do. Charles Pilkington was your friend.” Vince made a thin smile as he reminisced further. “Rick Morgan was a weird character. So was Sheryl.”
David said, “I liked Bentley.”
Vince nodded in agreement. “So did I. I miss Lee as well. No idea what happened to him. Dead, more than likely.”
“I'm trying to think of others from Sandy Lane.”
“There was Simon Benson, Kirk Sheen, Charles Washington, Helen and John Waite, Nicholas Burgess,” Vince paused, and then sniggered, “And who could forget Daniel? I think he used to go to high school with Karen many moons ago.”
David MacDonald began to laugh and shook his head whilst still cackling. “Daniel. I forgot about him.”
“Yep.” Vince's face went solemn and noticing this, David quickly regained composure and stopped cackling. “He’s also dead as well.”
The drizzle from above was getting a little heavier, forcing David to get to his feet. He turned and told Vince that he was going inside his digs, at 7 Colwyn Place, a house he shared with Stephen Rowley.
“How're you getting on with Stephen?” Vince asked the teenager before he had chance to move away.
“Okay, I guess. I don't see him that much.” David pulled a face as if he was unsure whether to say the next short sentence. “He grunts a lot.”
“Yeah, that does my head in as well.” Vince smiled.
“But the nighttimes are the worst.”
“He does it during his sleep as well?”
David nodded. “I can hear him through the wall. It can be quite annoying sometimes.”
“Jesus Christ,” Vince huffed and shook his head. “I'd be sneaking in there and putting a pillow over the twitchy bastard. Why don't you creep in there and punch him in the throat?”
“It's crossed my mind, once or twice,” David laughed. He then held his hand up to wave cheerio to Vince. “I'll see you later, Vince.”
“See you, kid.”
Chapter Three
An hour had passed, and by the concrete wall stood Jez, Craig and Danny, all waiting for Pickle. All individuals had blades in their pockets, and on this particular trip Craig had decided to leave his hockey stick back at his new digs at 15 Colwyn Place. James Thomson lived there originally, but he spent so much time over at Stephen Bonser's, at number twenty, Lincoln decided to give the two male newcomers number fifteen.
“Hurry up, Pickle,” Danny moaned under his breath. “I'm fucking dying of boredom here.”
“Look.” Craig pointed up to Pickle's bedroom window and all could see the man waving at them. He then held up two fingers, telling them that he'd be down in two minutes.
Craig gave him the thumbs up and turned to Jez. “You got a blade on you?”
“Well, I'm not gonna be able to kill one of those things with my fingers, will I?” Jez was a little embarrassed that Craig was speaking to him like that, in front of Danny.
“Well, actually you can.”
Ignoring Craig, Jez turned to Danny and asked him, “For a roast chicken dinner with all the trimmings, would you have sex with a Freak?”
/>
Taken aback by his bizarre question, Danny Gosling stroked his dark beard and screwed his eyes at Jez. “A what?” Danny scratched his head. “A Freak?”
“He means a Creeper,” said Craig. “Or a Snatcher. I think that’s what Karen calls them.”
“What kind of a stupid question is that?” Danny asked.
Jez said, “Just answer it.”
“For a roast chicken dinner?” Danny looked up in thought, knowing that the silly question was to simply pass the time until Pickle made an appearance.
Jez nodded.
“For a roast chicken dinner ... I'd let one suck me off.”
All three guys roared with laughter, which soon died down when Pickle walked out of his front door, dressed all in black, machete tucked into his belt.
“It's the Milk Tray man,” Craig laughed.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Pickle with a smile, taking the ribbing well. “I've heard it all before.”
Craig could see that Danny and Jez were confused by his quip. “A bit before your time, lads.”
“Why do they call you Pickle?” asked Jez. “Kind of a weird nickname, don't you think?”
“Surname's Branston. Branston Pickle?” Pickle explained in short.
Jez had no idea what he was talking about.
“Forget it. Anyway, if yer think Pickle is lame ... I used to know a guy called Daniel Badcock.”
“Bullshit,” snickered Jez.
“It's true, and that was no nickname, that was his real surname. Dead now, though.”
The laughing soon stopped.
“Badcock,” Danny shook his head. “And I thought Gosling was bad enough. At school my nickname was Goblin.”
“Well, I'm Burns, so I'm okay.” Craig then clapped his hands together and said, “Right. Are we ready to go over?”
“Burns?” Pickle rubbed his stubbly chin in thought.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Now, where have I heard that name before?”
Craig shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea, Pickle. It's quite a common name. It's nothing unusual.”
“You don't have a brother called Tommy, do yer?”
“No, I don't.” Craig shook his head. “Why do you ask?”
“A couple o' months ago, when I had been briefly split up from ma group, I met a guy called Tommy. His name was Tommy Burns. He took me in when I was in a bad way, looked after me, but the poor bastard never made it. We both headed into the woods, tryin' to go back to Vince's place at the Spode Cottage, but Tommy was taken down and...” Pickle looked up and could see that all three individuals were staring at him. “Anyway, it doesn't matter now. It was the fourth week it had happened.”
“Pickle!” a voice bellowed behind the men.
They all turned and stared, and could see the plump John Lincoln standing on his doorstep, arms folded, waiting for Harry Branston to come over to him. Pickle exhaled noisily and made the walk over to 6 Colwyn Place.
“Everything okay?” Pickle asked as he reached Lincoln.
“Just needed a quick word in private.” Lincoln cleared his throat and had a quick look around. “About what you, Stephen and Vince told me on Monday...”
Pickle turned to his left and right, making sure no residents were in earshot of the two men. “About seeing those four bikers?”
Lincoln nodded.
“What about it?”
“It was my call to make sure that nobody else found out, as I didn't want to be spreading fear throughout the street.”
“Why are yer tellin' me stuff that I already know?”
“I don't know whether I'm being paranoid or not, but are you sure nobody else knows? The Danson family have been a little off with me, Beverley has hardly said a word, and Terry seems a lot more jittery these days.”
“I think yer bein' paranoid.” Pickle tried to appease the middle-aged man. “Karen knows, but nobody else, not even Paul.”
“But the others...”
“Terry, like Paul, has lost his entire family, Beverley is wary of Paul and thinks he's a little weird, and the Danson family, as long as I've been here, hardly step out o' their house. Nobody knows. Calm down.”
“Good.” Lincoln nodded and pushed his spectacles back up his nose. “I've been worried sick all week, but if those guys wanted to make an appearance, they would have made one by now.”
“Agreed, and upping the guards at the gate and putting a man by the wall would have only raised suspicions amongst the rest o' the residents.”
Lincoln nodded his head in agreement. “You're right. I suppose you're looking forward to leaving the camp for a few hours.”
“Too right,” Pickle laughed. “Since we told yer about those four men, yer haven't let me, Vince or Karen go out on a run.”
“I needed you here ... just in case.”
“I totally understand. At least we've got the girls.”
“That's right.” John Lincoln raised a smile and added, “Elza, Ophelia and Stephanie have only come back with scraps over the last few days, not really worth using up the petrol, but I'm grateful that they're here.”
“Anyway,” Pickle looked over at Danny, Craig and Jez, who were patiently waiting by the concrete wall, “I better get back. Who knows? In another week's time, Jez and Danny could go out on runs together.”
“I hope so.”
Pickle walked away, but then stopped and turned around. “About getting other recruits...”
“I know.” Lincoln nodded. “I was going to approach Lynne and Sandra from number twenty.”
“As soon as Jez and Danny are up to speed, possibly Freddie as well, we can take Lynne and Sandra on board and see if they're up to being out there.”
“They might turn me down.”
“Come on,” said Pickle. “They spend their time taking trips to the Trent, washing clothes, then bringing them back and hanging them out in the back gardens. That's all they do.”
“It has to be done, Pickle.”
“We need to do something, John. What happened at that wall, a few days ago ... the turnout was pathetic. Most o' yer people stood and watched.” Pickle was referring to the incident when a horde approached the concrete wall and some of the residents had to put them down as they approached.
“They're your people now as well, you know.”
“I don't wanna fall out with yer, I'm just sayin'.” Pickle turned and headed for the wall. “Right, I'm going o'er. See yer in an hour or so.”
Chapter Four
It had been a night of bad dreams for Paul Dickson, and as soon as he sat up in bed, he dropped his head in his hands as he began to relive the last dream he had had. He stood up, trying to shake off the images of Kyle's body floating down the river.
A week ago, he and Stephen Bonser went out to fill containers at the Trent. Paul had seen a young body float by, making him drop one of the containers in the river. That must have where the dream had come from.
Still dressed in yesterday's clothes, including the boots on his feet, Paul made his way downstairs and peered out from his living room window. He let himself out and stood outside on his doorstep, leaving the front door open.
He looked around the street.
He clocked the guard on the gate, John Lincoln talking to a resident on his doorstep, and the concrete wall to his side. It felt like Groundhog Day.
He saw Joanne Hammett in her bedroom window. She was fully clothed and looked like she was cleaning. She looked to her side, spotted Paul and waved at him, and he waved back. It took a few days to build a few bridges, but their friendship was back on track after a few days of talking. Paul jokingly told Joanne that he wouldn't throw her across the room anymore, so long as she left his cock alone.
He had his good days and bad days, but today ... he felt okay.
Pickle and Paul were going to go on a short run in the afternoon, after Pickle returned from No Man's Land. The reason for the short run was to pick up a couple of people from a cafe that Pickle had seen a few days ago wi
th Danny. Pickle had mentioned it to Lincoln the other day, and John seemed annoyed that he had left the father and the two children behind. Pickle told Lincoln that he had offered them a place to stay when he was out with Danny, but the man had turned him down.
Lincoln wanted the community to grow. He told Pickle that he would love to eventually remove the concrete wall and extend the new Colwyn Place and have a few more empty houses available, and then make another barrier. Bringing back the father and his two children would mean that every house in Colwyn would have been full, especially with Ophelia, Elza and Stephanie now staying in number two.
Paul Dickson didn't want to hang around for a few hours, sitting on his doorstep, waiting for the afternoon. So he went down the side of his house, patted his right pocket to make sure that his knife was still there, and went into the back garden of the house he was staying at.
It was time for a walk.
His boots dragged through the long grass of the lawn and reached the end of the garden; he was now facing a tall fence. He took a look behind him and stroked his dark thin beard that he allowed to grow over the last five days. He made sure residents from his side of the street hadn't spotted him from their bedroom windows, and then climbed the fence. He had jumped the wall a week ago, but he had been seen by Lincoln, then James Thomson on his second trip, so he didn't want to cause any more grief. He knew that Pickle and some others were in—or were going to be in—No Man's Land, so he decided to climb the fence and take a walk along the country lanes instead, rather than be in Little Haywood itself.
He climbed the fence, feeling the knife in his pocket pricking his thigh, and swung himself over, landing on the other side. He took his knife out and could see that on the other side of the road was a small privet hedge that seemed to run on for miles, and behind the hedge was a field.
Seeing that the place was clear of the dead, he placed his knife back into his pocket and went for his stroll. There was a slight cold breeze that stroked his features on this strange murky day, but Paul shook it off and continued with his meander.
He took in deep breaths as his feet hit the tarmac, and could see that the road was curving to the right up ahead. He followed the road and his walk continued. He had now been on the road for over ten minutes and the thought of being too far out and away from Colwyn Place never bothered him. He was enjoying the peace and quiet, which was made even more pleasurable because there were no dead about.
Snatchers Box Set, Vol. 4 [Books 10-12] Page 26
