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

by Whittington, Shaun

  “Yeah, but we're still taking two,” Vince huffed. “It's not gonna take much to cut those gardens. Leave the other one. Let someone else have it. Someone will take it eventually.”

  They grabbed a hand mower each and pushed them towards the automatic doors that were already open. The mowers were making too much noise for the men's liking, but there was nothing else they could do. They were too heavy to carry.

  It took both men to lift one mower into the back of the pickup, and once both were in, Vince asked Stephen if he wanted to go back in and have a 'nosey' inside.

  “I'd rather just go back, if it's alright with you, chap.”

  “Come on. Just a quick look around. Do you really want to go back now and be bored out of your mind in that street?”

  “Of course not, but...”

  Vince sighed and could see Stephen lowering his head.

  Kindl asked, “What is it?”

  Without any hesitation, Stephen explained, “I've killed dozens of those Creepers, Vince.”

  “I know you have.”

  “And I've been on countless runs, mainly with Nick Gregory.”

  “I don't understand where you're going with this, Stephen.” Vince stared at the man with sympathy. Rowley seemed upset and embarrassed at what he was telling Vince.

  Stephen said, “I'm not as confident as you lot. Before you lot came along, I was kind of the main man, along with a few others. But you guys, you, Pickle and Karen are fearless. You guys take it to a new level.”

  “Fearless? I wouldn't go that far.”

  “Everyone else thinks you are.”

  “Isn't that a good thing? Good for the camp?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Anyway, Pickle told me you jumped out of the RV to distract a horde of Rotters, you know, just before Freddie left you in the shit. That's a pretty brave thing to do.”

  “Brave ... maybe, but I was shitting myself.” A tear formed at the bottom of each eye belonging to Stephen, and Vince asked him what was wrong.

  “It's okay, chap.” He wiped his eyes and stood up straight, clearing his throat. “I get bad days like this, now and again. Don't you?”

  “Occasionally. Usually when I think about my sister, Rosemary, my son and my mum and dad.”

  “Your mum and dad? You hardly mention them. What happened to them, chap?”

  “My mum had turned and my dad had kept her tied up to a chair. Karen had killed her with a sharpened wooden spoon handle.”

  “Karen?” Rowley looked confused.

  Vince smiled and tried to explain, “Karen and Pickle had come across my old man’s cabin when they had nowhere else to go, and me and a guy called Jack went there when we were stuck in the woods after a disastrous hospital run. That's how I met Karen and Pickle. A week or so later, my dad was thrown from a pickup and surrounded by a shit load of the dead. He was badly injured, and Karen killed him before the dead could rip him apart.”

  “Let me get this straight.” Stephen scrunched his eyes in thought and was trying to digest what had just been said to him. He couldn't believe what he had just been told. “Karen killed both of your parents?”

  Vince nodded the once. “Yep.”

  “But that's ... fucked up, chap. And you're still friends?”

  “To be fair, my mum was technically already dead when Karen killed her. And my dad's killing was a mercy one. So ... yeah, we're still friends.”

  Stephen shook his head and put the palms of his hand on his head, now looking to the heavens. “Wow.”

  “What's up?” Vince asked him.

  Stephen removed his hands and looked at Vince. “The more stories I hear about you guys, the more I realise how easy some of us have had it. This is what I mean about you guys taking it to a new level.”

  “It's not a competition, Stephen.”

  “But what you've done has been incredible. You travelled, on your own, to Little Haywood from Rugeley—”

  “Brereton,” Vince corrected. “Well, technically it was Armitage.”

  “Brereton?”

  “It's a tiny town that's next to Rugeley,” said Vince.

  “Anyway,” Stephen tried to start again. “You travelled all the way to Little Haywood to get revenge on the Murphys, after finding out that they never became victims of the apocalypse, you've been in two camps and each one has been attacked twice...”

  “What's your point, Stephen?”

  “It's a hell of a story, chap.”

  There was a silence between them for over ten seconds, and Vince broke the silence and tried to joke, “Come on. Let's go home before you start blubbing again.”

  “You can be a right tosser, Vince,” Rowley said with a small smirk. “You know that, don't you?”

  “Yeah, but you still fucking love me.”

  Vince headed for the passenger side of the pickup and went inside. Stephen got into the driver's side and started the engine. The short journey to Little Haywood was made in silence.

  Chapter Ten

  It had been a quiet and mundane four hours for Paul Dickson. He was supposed to have gone out with Pickle, to pick up a family at a cafe in Colwich, but it had been called off by Lincoln for reasons that weren’t explained to him.

  On five occasions, he had thought of yesteryear and reduced himself to tears, but he had put it down to boredom. He was sitting on his doorstep, his head was down and his eyes were closed.

  “You look in a worse state than I am,” Paul heard a voice say above him.

  Paul smiled, but never looked up. He didn't need to. He knew it was Joanne.

  He did the polite thing and eventually looked up, making Joanne tilt her head to one side when she clocked his glassy eyes.

  “I think the beard makes me look ill,” he said, stroking the hair on his face.

  “I like it.” Joanne smiled.

  “Haven't really spoken to you since yesterday,” Paul began. “What have you been up to?”

  “Just the usual bullshit,” she giggled and gave off that wonderful smile. “John had me on stock check duty this morning. I've got to give the panels a clean later. It wouldn't surprise me if he got me to cut the lawns with the hand mowers that Stephen and Vince brought back.”

  “Keeping you busy then, huh?”

  “I'm not complaining,” she said, her fingers nervously playing with her blonde hair. “It's the way I like it.”

  Paul stood up on his feet and leaned against the doorframe, facing Joanne. He stared at the twenty-one-year old. She was only five-three, but a stunner. The law student's blonde hair and blue eyes would melt most men, but Paul never saw her in that way.

  Paul glared across the road once John Lincoln stepped out of his house. Noticing Paul's stare, Joanne asked the man, “What is it?”

  “Why do people look up to him?” He shook his head, still baffled why a man like John was running the street. “He does nothing but order people about.”

  Joanne hunched her shoulders, “We need a leader, Paul.”

  “Pickle's a leader.”

  “True,” she nodded, “but Pickle is new, and goes out on almost every run.”

  “So, what's your point?”

  “He could die any day,” she said bluntly. “We need someone that'll be around for a while.”

  “Around for a while?” Paul scoffed and pointed over at Lincoln. “Look at him. He's a heart attack waiting to happen.”

  “That's not nice.”

  “It's true, though.”

  “Don't get me wrong, I appreciate what Pickle does for us, what you all do, but Pickle puts himself on the firing line every other day. He can't keep that up in the long run. Nick Gregory couldn't.”

  “You can't compare Nick Gregory to Pickle,” Paul laughed and scratched his dark hair. It was in need of a wash.

  “You never knew Nick.”

  “No, but I've heard about him. Comparing Nick Gregory to Pickle is like comparing Bananarama to The Beatles.”

  “Anyway,” Joanne groaned, not w
anting to start an argument, “just thought I'd come over and invite you in for supper.”

  “That's very kind, but I'm not hungry.” Paul placed his right hand comfortingly on Joanne's shoulder. He was glad they were friends again. “Tomorrow?”

  She nodded. “Sure. Tomorrow. Why not?”

  “I think I might turn in anyway.”

  “It's only eight.”

  “I know, but I'm tired. At least I'll be fresh for the morning, eh?”

  Joanne smiled and turned on her heels, ready to walk back over to her house.

  “Joanne,” Paul called out.

  She turned around to face Paul. “What?”

  “Thanks for the invite. I appreciate it.”

  She smiled and began to walk away. “Good night, Paul Dickson.”

  He watched as she entered the house and was about to enter his own when he heard Karen calling his name. She jogged her way over and was greeted with a small smile by Dickson. He looked tired.

  “I'm popular tonight,” he said. He could see that the young woman looked sad and he asked if she was okay.

  She hunched her shoulders.

  “Gary?”

  Karen nodded and said, “I think Pickle is having a little moment as well. I decided to give him a few minutes to himself.”

  “And there was me thinking that you came over to experience my sparkling personality.”

  Karen never responded and dipped her head. Paul could see she wasn't in a joking mood and his heart went out to his female pal. She wasn't as tough as she made herself out to be.

  “I keep on forgetting that Pickle has also lost a loved one,” sighed Paul. “That JP fellow had died before I came onto the scene. What was he like?”

  “His name was KP, not JP.” Karen smiled. “I hardly knew him, to be perfectly honest. We had a chat around a campfire and had a couple of conversations after that.”

  “Was this at Stile Cop?”

  Karen nodded. “All I know was that he had been in jail with Pickle, and had a few tattoos, including a black and purple one on his shoulder. I never got the chance to get to know him. The last time Pickle and I both saw him was when he left the prison van, after I gave him a bullet for his Browning.”

  “To shoot himself.” Paul nodded. He was already aware of this story.

  “Yeah,” Karen nodded, “but he didn't.”

  Paul nodded again. Another story he was aware of was that KP hadn't shot himself. His gun had been found by Daniel Badcock and there was a round in the chamber of the gun. Karen had come across the Browning when Daniel showed her around the Lea Hall building. She took the gun and hid it in a drain on Burnthill Lane in case Pickle came across it and reacted in a way that would put him in danger.

  Their conversation had come to a premature end.

  “Anyway,” Karen said, “time for me to get my head down. I'm knackered.”

  “Okay.” Paul leaned in for a hug. Karen never responded, so he then awkwardly took a step back and was now a little embarrassed.

  “Come here,” Karen laughed, realising what she had done, and grabbed Paul, pulling him towards her. She kissed him on the cheek. “Night, Dicko.”

  “Night, Karen.”

  “I think we're due a cuddle session, don't you?”

  “Like the Sandy Lane days.” Paul revealed a wide smile. “I'm up for that.”

  “In a few days.” She smirked and jokingly added, “That's if you can tear yourself away from Joanne.”

  “Jealous?”

  “A little.” Karen leaned over and kissed him once more. “Laters.”

  Paul went back inside and trudged his way up the stairs after shutting his main door. He reached the landing and walked through his already-opened bedroom door. He went over to the window and stared out. It was evening, but it was still light. He sat on the edge of the bed and took his boots off, then threw himself on the mattress, releasing a long and exaggerated groan.

  “Ah, I fucking love bed,” he spoke with a smile on his face.

  *

  He had been asleep for around three hours, but Paul Dickson was beginning to stir already; it was a few minutes shy from midnight.

  The man had been having pleasant dreams for a change.

  He had been dreaming that he was at the park with Kyle. In the dream, Kyle was a toddler and was not even two years old. There was no sign of Julie or Bell in the dream, but it was still a welcome one after all the nightmares he had had. In his dream, he looked around and could see that he was in Rugeley, in Elmore Park.

  He pushed his son around and would occasionally lift him out and put him on the baby swings or on the small roundabout. Then they went over to the pond to see the swans and ducks, or the whack-whacks as Kyle used to call them.

  They strolled over the small wooden bridge that went over a stream, and were at a large cage where they kept rabbits, Guinea pigs and white rats. In a separate cage, they kept a peacock. It would normally make a racket and would give Kyle a fright, making the little man burst into tears.

  When they moved away from the animal cage, Paul began to feel restless, stiff, and this was when he began to wake from his dream.

  His sticky eyes opened and he began to lick his dry lips. He tried to rub his eyes, but it was proving a difficult task to do. It took a few seconds to realise that it had been a dream and he was lying on top of the bed in one of the bedrooms of 13 Colwyn Place. He couldn't move because someone, a man, was sitting on top of his stomach and kneeling on his arms.

  Paul looked to the side and could see the silhouette of Stephen Bonser standing near him, then turned and could see that it was James Thomson that was keeling on his arms, preventing him from getting up. Adrenaline ran through Paul's veins once he realised what was going on. These two men had broken in and weren't here for a friendly chat.

  Paul didn't want these guys to think he was scared, so he released a long breath out and tried to speak as calmly as possible. “Anything I can help you with, gentlemen?”

  “You were seen, climbing over the back garden fence,” Thomson snarled.

  As soon as this statement was made, Paul knew that Beverley had said something to the guys. “And?” he asked calmly.

  “The safety of this street is our main priority, and you are doing your best to fuck things up.”

  “And how am I doing that? I'm only going for a walk.”

  “Someone could follow you back; the dead could follow you back. Not only that, you make people in this street feel uncomfortable. It's time to go, Dickson.”

  “I'm not going anywhere,” Paul protested.

  “Oh, I think you are.” Stephen spoke up, then turned to James Thomson. “You got the keys to the jeep?”

  “Yip.” Thomson nodded. “Terry's on the gate and he's going to let us in and out. He promised he wouldn’t breathe a word. But before that...”

  James Thomson grabbed Paul by the throat with his left hand and rained down a punch with his right, knocking Dickson out.

  Chapter Eleven

  August 19th

  The Vauxhall Zafiri entered the Wolseley Road from Colwyn Place and all three girls, Elza, Ophelia and Stephanie, sat in silence as the vehicle went over the Wolseley Bridge, passing the wrecked pub to their right, garden centre to their left, and turned left onto the Rugeley Road.

  It had been a while since Elza had sat behind the wheel of a car, but found her feet within minutes. The drive to Rugeley was smooth and all girls still remained tight-lipped. Their destination was a farm, just outside of Rugeley, by a pub called The Yorkshireman.

  The farm had been spotted by the Fergusons, who were coming back from a run in Abbots Bromley. Ian and Derek Ferguson had told Lincoln days ago that there could be some things of interest for the residents of Colwyn Place at the farm. The only problem was that the field and path leading up to the farm had dozens of the dead scattered about. The Fergusons said it'd be suicide to try and kill the dead for whatever could be inside and around the place, but on hearing the story, El
za thought differently.

  With John Lincoln's blessing, the girls were allowed to 'check the place out', but Elza was determined to come back with something.

  They were heading to a roundabout, near a pub called the Stag's Leap to their left, and this area gave Stephanie flashbacks. This was where she and Vince were dropped off by a couple of guys from Colwyn Place when trying to head back to Sandy Lane. There was a horde, and Vince and Stephanie decided to bypass the horde by going down 'The Bloody Steps' and down to the canal.

  There were a few strays on the road, and Elza had touched the brake now and again so she could swerve by the dead without damaging the vehicle. They turned left and went by St Augustine's church, the Chancel primary school to their left, and were heading down the main road that went by Power Station Road.

  Once they reached The Yorkshireman public house, and turned right up a narrow lane, Stephanie finally broke the silence and said to Elza, “How do you know where to go? You're not even from around here.”

  “Lincoln gave me directions. Hardly difficult.” Elza began to slow the vehicle down and parked up by a gate. All three looked up, beyond the gate, and could see nineteen Snatchers in the field. The dead were hardly moving, but the girls knew that their presence would stimulate them.

  “How many arrows have you got?” Elza asked Stephanie.

  Stephanie answered from the back passenger seat, “About ten.”

  “Good.” Elza nodded and switched the engine off. “We'll let you take out ten, then me and Ophelia will take care of the other nine.”

  Elza looked to her friend in the front passenger seat and Ophelia gave Elza an approving nod.

  “Shame,” Elza sighed.

  “What's a shame?” Stephanie asked.

  “I thought this was gonna be a challenge.”

  Stephanie opened the back passenger door and stepped out. She leaned over and reached in the back to grab her bow and the ten arrows, whilst Elza and Ophelia stepped out, grabbing their worn bats, Maria and Frieda.

  “Right,” Elza nodded in Stephanie's direction. “Do your thing.”

  *

  Karen Bradley had slept for nine straight hours. She stood up and put on her boots. She had slept in the clothes she had worn the day before, not for the first time, and headed downstairs for a drink of water and to brush her teeth.