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

by Whittington, Shaun

  “He wasn't going to use it. He was a desperate man, desperate to survive, and let’s not forget about the gas he gave us.”

  Elza never responded. She liked Stephanie and didn't want to be arguing with the teenager.

  Elza slowed down and reached the gate leading into the small street. Vince was on the gate and opened it. All three girls could see the sombreness on his face.

  Elza wound the window down and asked Vince, “What are you doing on the gate?”

  “Me and Pickle did the nightshift,” Vince began to explain to the girls. “Pickle couldn't last the distance; he went for a power nap a few hours ago, but I'm due to finish pretty soon anyway.”

  “Did we miss anything?”

  “Did you miss anything?” Vince snorted and walked to the side of the road. “We had some trouble.”

  Elza drove the vehicle in and pulled up outside Terry Braithwaite's house. All three stepped out of the vehicle, leaving their weapons inside, and Elza turned to see Karen and a tired-looking Pickle coming towards them, their faces were sombre.

  “What kind of trouble?” Stephanie eventually asked and added, “Are you okay, Vince? You don't seem your chirpy self.”

  “I know what'll cheer you up.” Elza went round the back of the vehicle and opened the boot. She beckoned Vince to take a peek at the six canisters of gas, but he never budged.

  Elza slammed the door shut and said, “Jesus, what is it?”

  “The place was attacked, wasn't it?” Stephanie had a sudden feeling that something really bad had happened and she was right.

  Vince nodded the once.

  Stephanie placed her hands on her head and cried. “It's like Sandy Lane all over again. What is it with me and—?”

  “Calm down.” Vince walked over to Stephanie and put his arm around her shoulder. “And you're not cursed, if that's what you were about to say.”

  “Girls,” Pickle spoke up once he and Karen had reached the three of them. “Good to see yer. We were worried about yer. Although, we did have other stuff to be concerned about as well.”

  “We ran into a bit of trouble,” Elza began to explain, “so we had to stay the night at this farm.”

  “I see.”

  Elza gazed at the three morose faces and asked, “Is somebody going to tell us what's going on? And where's John Lincoln?”

  “John's dead,” Karen said softly.

  “What?” Elza and Stephanie said in unison.

  “He had a heart attack. He was found late last night, but we didn't tell the others until this morning.”

  Elza took a quick scan around and snickered, “Is that why everyone looks depressed?”

  “Well, actually it's worse than that,” Karen informed her.

  “How worse?”

  “Far worse.”

  “Come on.” Pickle beckoned the girls to follow him. He went over to Terry's front lawn and sat on it, urging the girls to sit by him.

  Once Elza, Stephanie and Ophelia were seated, Pickle said, “We were attacked by Drake's men yesterday and we lost a lot o' people. Boy, we could have done with yer three here.”

  “I can't believe it.” Stephanie put her hands behind her head and tightened the bobble wrapped around her ponytail.

  Pickle sighed. “Including John dying, we lost eleven people altogether. Twelve o' the gang were killed also.”

  Pickle explained in detail about what had happened. He talked about the people that had died, including Beverley and the toddler. He talked about Paul Dickson's heroics, how he had turned up, killed some of the men and chased the gang away. They were also told that Paul had a psychotic episode when he killed a captured gang member in order to make the other one agree to take Pickle to see Drake.

  Pickle allowed the girls to take it all in, but only Stephanie seemed affected by what they had been told.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Paul Dickson could see that the three girls had arrived and watched as they talked to Pickle, Karen and Vince. He raised a smile and was pleased that they had returned in one piece. When they failed to return yesterday, he feared for their safety.

  He looked across at Joanne's house and gave her a wave, noticing her staring out of her living room. He gave her the thumbs up, asking if she was okay. She shook her head and walked away from her window, making Paul concerned for the young woman.

  He decided to walk over and see how she was.

  She wasn't Karen. Joanne was a sensitive thing that had been shielded from most of the horrors of this new world, and Paul knew that what had happened the day before would have scarred the woman, as well as many others. Their once-safe community was once thriving and a visit from thugs had created a lot of violence, leaving many Colwyn residents dead, but it could have been a whole lot worse if Paul hadn't showed when he did.

  He had been given much praise yesterday evening and this morning for his involvement, but remained humble and was a little embarrassed by the attention. Even Stephen Bonser had come to his door and also apologised about the way he and the now-deceased James Thomson had treated him. Stephen also thanked Paul for not telling people that he and James had kidnapped him and dumped him five miles away.

  He walked slowly across the road and headed for Joanne's place. Before he could raise his hand to knock the door, it opened, and Joanne stood shaking with tears in her eyes.

  No words were exchanged; she just opened the door wider and went back to her living room. Paul stepped inside, shut the door behind him and followed the young woman. When he entered the room, she was already sitting on her couch with her head in her hands.

  He remained on his feet, staring at her, when he asked her if she was okay.

  Joanne lifted her head and wiped her tears with the back of her fingers. “I just can't stop thinking about yesterday. I hardly slept.”

  “I meant to come over yesterday evening,” Paul tried to explain, “but going out with Pickle, removing and burying the bodies in the field—”

  “It's okay. You don't have to explain.” Joanne cleared her throat and added, “It's thanks to you that no more people died.”

  Paul's cheeks flushed a little. “I don't know about that.”

  “Paul, don't you realise what you did?”

  “I panicked.” Paul hunched his shoulders. “I was in a vehicle and saw those men and ... reacted. I lashed out.”

  “You play it down all you want,” said Joanne, now patting the seat next to her, urging him to sit. “But what you did was incredible. I think you'll be taking Vince's place as Colwyn's hero.”

  “It's not really a joking matter, Joanne. A lot of people died.”

  “I know. And I'm not joking. What you did was...” Joanne was running out of superlatives to throw at Paul.

  Paul sat down next to her and looked at the woman that he admired. She was beautiful and all he wanted to do was hug her, but after lashing out a week ago, he wasn't sure touching Joanne in any way would be a good move.

  “Do you know that I killed one of them, when they were unarmed?” Paul asked Joanne.

  She nodded her head. “I was told that you killed him to persuade the other man to cooperate.”

  “And what do you think about that? Do you think I'm an animal?”

  “I don't know.” Joanne hunched her shoulders and added with a sigh, “What you did was for the benefit of the camp, I suppose. I don't feel nervous in your presence, if that's what you're worried about.”

  “Good.” Paul looked relieved.

  “Well, not anymore, I don't,” she tried to joke.

  A silence fell on the pair of them and they both looked down, thinking of something else to say. Paul managed to shatter the short-lived silence.

  “I'm glad you're okay,” he said softly. “I know other people were killed, but if you was one of them, or Karen for that matter, I think I would go mad.”

  Joanne looked at Paul and a wide smile slowly stretched over her features.

  Paul also revealed a rare smile and asked Joanne
Hammett, “What is it? What are you laughing at?”

  “Some people think you're already mad.”

  “True,” he cackled.

  “You're stronger than you think, Paul Dickson.” Joanne patted his thigh and took in a deep breath. She opened her mouth, but no more words came out.

  Paul asked her, “Is there something else you want to tell me?”

  Joanne nodded. “Before we were attacked, Pickle asked if people would volunteer to protect the place. I volunteered and stood in my back garden.”

  “I know. I heard. You were very brave.”

  “No, I wasn't,” cried Joanne. “I didn't think it was going to be that bad—a couple of intruders, maybe. But people were butchered. I could hear the noises, and then I lost my nerve and hid inside.”

  Paul put his arm around her and moved closer to the woman.

  She dropped her head on his shoulder and continued to sob.

  “I can't believe the people we've lost,” she cried. “And that poor little soul and Beverley. What did that baby do to deserve that?”

  “This virus has brought people together, but there're also a lot of people doing bad things for their own survival.”

  Paul rubbed Joanne's back and could hear her moaning. She seemed to be calming down now.

  “This is nice.” Joanne kept her head on his shoulder.

  “I used to have cuddle sessions with Karen like this when I was at Sandy Lane.” Paul smiled and began to reminisce. “We used to do it on the bed.”

  Joanne lifted her head, screwed her face at Paul and gave off a cheeky smile.

  “It was nothing sordid,” Paul gently protested. “It was just something that she needed, something that we both needed, I suppose. Strangely enough, we haven't done it since moving here. I thought with losing the baby...”

  “Maybe she's shut herself off ... emotionally.”

  “I don't know.” Paul rubbed his hand up and down Joanne's back and gave her a kiss on the top of her head. “I know you're scared. We're all scared, but we'll get through this.”

  “I'm just weak, that's all.” Joanne placed her head back on his shoulder and said with her tongue in her cheek, “Maybe if I hang around with you for long enough, I'll toughen up.”

  “Joanne,” Paul snickered softly, “I was the most spineless man you could ever meet a couple of months ago.”

  “But not now.”

  “No, not now.” Paul sighed and added, “I lost everything. I've now stopped giving a shit.”

  “You don't mean that.”

  Paul never responded to Joanne's comment and looked up as tears formed in his eyes and his throat began to harden. He cleared his throat and was pleased that Joanne had now composed herself. He asked her, “You want me to go now?”

  “No. Stay for a bit longer.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Craig Burns handed young Jez a glass of water and could see the young boy was distraught. The blonde haired teenager was sitting in the armchair and was numb from the events the night before.

  “Have you slept?” Craig asked him, but Jez never gave him an answer immediately.

  Craig gazed at the youngster and could see the bags under his eyes. If Jez had slept, it wasn't for long.

  Jez took a sip of the water and shook his head. “Hardly.”

  “This is not your fault ... it's not our fault.”

  “But are they gonna see it like that?” Jez was referring to the Colwyn residents. The young man wiped his eyes before continuing, “The only reason that gang came here in the first place was to look for me and you.”

  “If Terry Braithwaite had managed to keep it together...” Craig paused and decided not to go on. What was the point? Blaming individuals for the situation they were in wasn't going to bring people back.

  If anything, Craig could blame himself for the way that these events had unfolded.

  If Craig hadn't bumped into Pickle, they wouldn't be in Colwyn Place at all. If Craig had decided not to take a WOE man off of his bike and rode into Haywood on it, they wouldn't be in this mess. He could torture himself all day, thinking about things that had led to this.

  “I understand what you mean about Terry,” said Jez. “But some people aren't going to see it that way.”

  “Doesn't matter now. What's done is done.”

  “I was beginning to think that maybe I could settle here,” Jez began. “I was getting on with Danny and Freddie, and now this has happened. Freddie is dead because of me.”

  “People in this street know that these guys are bad news.” Craig sat down on the couch, opposite where Jez was sitting. “Pickle had some trouble with them a few weeks back, and look at that poor family at Slitting Mill.”

  “You don't have to remind me.” Jez lowered his head with sadness. “I was there.”

  “Anyway, these kinds of people were gonna pop up eventually. A lot o’ people think that killing and bullying people to get what they want is the only way to survive. Survival of the fittest, and all that. It's one of the reasons why I decided to stay on my own. And then we met Pickle and saw this place. A place where people are ... normal and kind and...”

  Feeling Jez looking at him, Craig laughed and said, “Sorry, I'm going off on a tangent.”

  A knock on the door made both men jump.

  Craig gestured Jez to remain where he was and headed for the door. Before he opened it, he knew it was Pickle. He could tell by the outline of the man, even with a sheet of frosted glass in front of him.

  Craig smiled thinly once the door was opened and greeted Pickle with a good morning.

  “And how are yer two fellows?” asked the former inmate. It was clear that he had no malice towards Craig and Jez. “I know it's a stupid question, but I thought I'd ask anyway.”

  “I'm okay,” Craig said softly, hoping it was out of earshot from Jez, “but the little fellow is struggling.”

  “A lot o' people died yesterday. We lost a lot o’ people, including John. It's a lot for most people to take in.”

  Craig opened the main door wider and asked if Pickle wanted to come in.

  “Aye, thanks.”

  Both males stepped into the living room and could see the upset nineteen-year-old sitting in the armchair. Craig headed into the kitchen and Pickle decided to sit on the couch.

  “How are yer holding up, kid?” he asked Jez.

  “I'm struggling, to be honest,” the teenager admitted.

  Pickle nodded. “It's understandable. It's bad enough when the dead attack our own, but when it's man on man, and children are involved...”

  “Amongst others, that toddler is dead because of me,” Jez cried.

  “No, he's not,” Pickle sighed. “He's dead because some sick fuck wanted to shut him up. The guy wasn't right in the head. Trust me. I was there.”

  “What happened?” asked Craig, stepping out of the kitchen and now standing in the doorway.

  “Me and Karen went upstairs and he kind of knew he was trapped. He had killed the wee one earlier, to shut up his crying. He then killed Beverley, then did himself in.”

  Craig's eyes widened in shock and asked, “Why would he do that?”

  “Maybe the idea of being captured didn't appeal to him.” Pickle shrugged his shoulders and half-laughed. “I'm not sure, but I've got a feeling that he didn't want to get captured and possibly tortured.”

  “Would you have tortured him?” Jez asked.

  “Aye, probably,” Pickle replied honestly. “Although I didn't agree with Paul's methods to get one o' them to cooperate.”

  “That was crazy shit.” Craig shook his head. “That Dickson guy has a screw loose. Are you gonna have a word with him about his behaviour?”

  “Nope. Not with this incident, but with possible future ones I will.”

  “Are you sure, Pickle? Didn't you see what he did to that man?”

  “O' course I did, but he did it to rattle the other man and it
kind o' worked. I did something brutal myself to an intruder, back at Sandy Lane, to try and protect the camp.”

  “I do think his behaviour was ... brutal.”

  “I agree, but I'm not going to reprimand a guy that saved the street. This is how it is now. There're dangerous people out there, as yer well know. It's alright trying to create a civilised street like Colwyn Place, but it's a civilised street in a now brutal world. These WOE guys had jumped our fences and killed some o' our people. In two month's time it could happen again by a gang that are far more sick and desperate.”

  “It's going to be an interesting few months,” Craig said.

  “Isn't it?” Pickle smiled. “I do agree with one thing what one o' the bikers said yesterday, before we were attacked, when those four turned up at the gate.”

  “And what's that?”

  “Our security is shit.”

  Craig added, “It'd be better if we had more people. Especially now.”

  “What that guy said, about our security ... he was spot on. He slated the fact we have a wall on one side and just a steel gate with one man and a bat on the other.”

  “So what do you suggest?”

  “I don't know.” Pickle shook his head and said, “The security is pathetic in this place, but I'm not sure how we're going to improve it anytime soon. We need the necessary materials, and like yer said … we need the numbers. No point having high walls and fences if there's no fucker to guard it.”

  “Something to think about once this has blown over.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Does that mean you're in charge?” Craig asked. “Now that John's dead.”

  “I don't know what's happening. In Sandy Lane, Lee James used to have a voting system. Maybe we could do something like that. I don't want the locals thinking I'm taking o’er. I've only been here a couple o' weeks.”

  “It wouldn't bother me if you were in charge,” said Jez.

  “Me neither.” Craig nodded.

  “We'll see what happens, gentlemen.” Pickle stood to his feet and added, “In the meantime, I'll bid yer farewell. I'll see maself out. I'm off to see Joanne.”