Chapter Thirty
A knock at the door made Joanne jump. She stood to her feet, walked out of the living room, reached for her main door and opened it to see Pickle.
“Pickle?”
“The one and only,” he laughed.
“What is it?”
“Charming.” Pickle put his hands on his hips and feigned hurt on his face.
“Sorry, I don't mean to be rude.” Joanne smiled and invited him in, but Pickle politely declined.
“I actually want yer to come with me,” he said.
Joanne was taken aback by his statement and asked, “Where're we going?”
“We're going to feed our guest. It's breakfast time.”
“The prisoner?”
“Yep.”
“Why do you want me to go with you?”
“I think our guest is on edge a little. A female presence may make him feel more relaxed. He said yesterday that he'd take us to see Drake, but Terry mentioned to Vince that the guy said that he had now changed his mind. Some o’ these guys seem quite loyal to this Drake fellow. I want him to know that he won't be harmed if he complies, despite what happened to the others.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Joanne seemed unsure. “Isn’t it a bit dangerous?”
“It’s okay,” Pickle tried to appease the young woman. “Terry got a chain from his shed and tied the man up in his cellar.”
“A chain?” Joanne screwed her eyes. “I heard he only tied his daughter up with rope.”
“Aye, but that was his daughter. This guy is a prisoner.”
“What's he having to eat?” she asked.
Pickle pulled out a bottle of water from his pocket, and a cereal bar out of the other one. “It's not much, but it'll do him for now.”
Joanne still looked unsure whether to go with Pickle or not.
“Look, most men are suckers for a pretty face.”
She sighed, “Okay, if you think it’ll help in anyway.”
Pickle walked away from Joanne's house, with her following behind. They reached 1 Colwyn Place and saw Terry standing outside.
“How is he?” asked Pickle.
“Mumping and moaning,” Terry snorted. “Says he needs a piss, and he’s also moaning about the chain hurting his waist.”
“Listen,” Pickle began, “thanks for doing this. I know this ain't easy with yer daughter being down there for months on end.”
“Don't worry about it.” Terry smiled thinly, headed inside and added, “You want me to come down to the cellar with you if you’re taking him for a piss?”
Pickle nodded. “I'll need you to watch him and shadow me, just in case he does anything daft.”
Terry nodded. “I'll get my bat.”
“No need,” said Pickle. “There's a thing prison officers use called come-along-holds. It's where two officers stand on either side o' the prisoner, and they hold the wrist and grab the elbow. Once he's unlocked, we'll walk him to the toilet—”
“Bollocks to that,” Terry snapped. “He's not using my toilet. He can use a bucket.”
“No chance. If we’re gonna soften him up, we need to treat him with respect.” Pickle sighed, “We'll take him to the side o' the house for a piss. Then we’ll take him back to the cellar, feed him, then we’ll see if he’s going to take me to this Drake fellow. Has he still changed his mind?”
“As soon as we'd put him in the cellar, he started going on about how he wasn't going to help us out, saying that he was a dead man whatever he did.”
“Okay.”
“So is that why Joanne's here?” Terry snickered. “Is she here to soften him up?”
“She'd soften any man up in this street, wouldn't yer say?” Pickle smiled and gave Joanne a playful nudge.
“Apart from you, Pickle?” Terry gave Harry Branston a gentle slap on the shoulder.
“Aye, apart from me. Brad Pitt would soften me up.”
Terry approached the cellar door, slid the bolt back and was the first to descend down the steps, with Pickle and Joanne following behind.
They reached the floor and Joanne could see, with the little light in the cellar, that the man was chained up. His legs and arms were free, but a large and long chain was tied around his waist and attached to a wooden beam.
“What's this?” the young man snapped. He was still dressed in his jeans, black shirt and leather jacket. “A welcoming committee?”
“We brought yer food and water,” Pickle announced. “I'll get yer something more substantial before we go to Stafford and see this Drake guy. Yer said yesterday that you'd do it, but I heard that yer have now changed yer mind.”
“Yes I have,” he spoke with a cheeky smile.
“Why?”
“Because whatever decision I make, I'm going to die anyway. When that nut killed Stuart, I panicked, but now I've had all night to reflect. I'm ready to die.”
Pickle sighed with frustration and knew that the 'nut' the man was referring to was Paul Dickson. “We can protect yer.”
“Balls,” the man scoffed. “Anyway, I just can't do it. You don't understand.”
“I dealt in drugs for many years and spent a lot o' time in prison. I understand loyalty perfectly fine. I also understand fear.”
“Then you'll know why I’ve changed my mind.”
“We don't want to harm Drake. We want ... I want to talk to him. We've all lost people. It's time to put this to bed and stop fighting.”
The young man huffed and pointed to the chain that was tied around him. “I need to empty my bladder. I've been in discomfort for the last few hours, and I don’t wanna piss on the floor.”
“Discomfort? I thought yer were ready to die anyway.”
“Please,” the hostage begged.
Pickle nodded and gestured for Terry to unlock the man.
Pickle said, “We'll talk more later. Maybe I can convince yer.”
“Maybe.”
Pickle told Joanne to take a step back. She took two steps back and was now at the bottom of the steps. Pickle grabbed the prisoner's left arm and told Terry to grab his right once he had unlocked the chain. Terry nonchalantly unlocked the man and slipped the key into his pocket. He immediately felt a stinging sensation on his nose and his eyes were now watering.
Terry was confused and had no idea that the captive had struck him in the nose, and had also managed to get out of Pickle's grip and was about to flee.
The prisoner headed towards the steps, where Joanne was, and screamed, “Move!”
Feeling brave, Joanne stood in the way of the steps as Pickle began to move after him. The detainee grabbed her shoulders, but she wouldn't move, so he head-butted the woman, threw her to the side and made his way up the steps, with Pickle just a second away from grabbing him and pulling him to the ground.
The prisoner had made it to the top, and ran into the kitchen. He tried the back door that led out into the garden, but it was locked. If he could get out into the back garden and over the fence, he'd be safe. His only option now was the main door. He then ran down the hallway, heading for the main door, but a presence made him stop in his tracks.
Pickle had reached the top of the steps and was now standing in the hallway. The prisoner walked towards Pickle with his fists raised.
“I used to be an amateur boxer,” the youngster warned the former inmate.
Pickle never spoke. He just stared at the young man.
“I used to box for the police boys, the club in Rugeley.”
He swung a right hook at Pickle. Pickle leaned back, the fist missing him by centimetres, then kicked the youngster with his right boot inbetween his legs. The prisoner groaned and had a look of surprise and pain on his face. With both hands on his crotch, he fell to his knees, where Pickle remained standing over him.
Pickle then grabbed the back of his hair and pulled his head back and spat, “Back to the cellar for yer, sonny.”
He remained holding his hair and dragged him back down, his body banging and scraping off the steps as he made t
he painful descent. The prisoner screamed all the way down. Pickle chained him back up whilst Terry left to clean his nose, and went over to see Joanne. She was on the floor, sitting up, and holding her right cheek.
“Yer okay?” Pickle asked her, as Terry made his way up the steps.
“I think it might just be bruising,” Joanne said.
“I'm sorry. I thought I had him. Slippery little shit.”
“Don't worry about it.”
“I should have listened to Terry and made him use a bucket and kept him tied up,” Pickle sighed. “He was too quick. By the time he had struck Terry—”
“Pickle,” Joanne interrupted. “It doesn't matter.” She touched her cheek and moaned, “I think I'm gonna have a cracking bruise by tomorrow.”
The prisoner began to apologise and told the pair of them that he did what he did in a desperate way to escape.
“I wouldn't normally strike a woman,” the prisoner said. “You have to believe me.”
Pickle picked up the water and the cereal bar and put them back in his pocket.
“What're you doing?” the captive asked.
“I can't reward bad behaviour.” Pickle walked away and Joanne followed him. He said to the young man, “I'll talk to yer later, when yer have calmed down. Maybe yer will have changed yer mind about taking me to see Drake.”
“But I still need the toilet.”
Pickle had reached the top of the steps and once Joanne was out of the cellar, he popped his head back in and yelled, “You can use the floor!” He then locked the door and headed outside with an injured and dazed Joanne.
Chapter Thirty One
Vince went over to the concrete wall, where Stephen Rowley and Stephen Bonser were standing, and asked the guys how they were.
“We're fine, chap,” Rowley answered, then twisted his neck and cleared his throat. “Just a bit anxious.”
“I know I didn't say anything yesterday,” Vince began, “but you guys did good.” Vince then turned to Bonser. “And I'm sorry about James. I know you two were close.”
“That's okay,” Stephen Bonser said sadly. “Pickle had spoken to me yesterday evening about James. Despite breaking his fingers, Pickle seemed genuinely sorry that he's no longer with us. Everybody seems to be talking about the toddler, more than anything.”
“I know. And what about John?” Vince shook his head. “You survive an attack from those arseholes, only to keel over and die in your own house from a heart attack. Talk about rotten luck.”
“What do we do about a leader now, chap?” Rowley asked. “You or Pickle seems to be the obvious choice. If James was still alive, he might have stepped in. Terry isn't mentally stable enough and—”
“I don't know. We can talk about it later,” Vincent said and nodded over to Karen and Pickle's house. “I'll bring the subject up. I'm going over to see them now anyway.”
“That Karen's a tough cookie,” Bonser laughed. “I don't really speak to her, but she was cool as fuck yesterday. James used to think that the stories about Karen and Pickle were exaggerated to make them seem tougher, but I think he was wrong.”
“He was wrong.” Vince smiled.
“I suppose you know them better than most.”
Vince smiled at Bonser and said, “About six or seven weeks ago, before I met them, Karen and Pickle were staying at a cabin.” Vince didn't want to tell them that the cabin belonged to his father, and that was how he met Karen and Pickle because he went there on foot after losing his vehicle with a guy called Jack Slade. That would cause questions and interruptions. He continued, “Karen and Pickle used to leave the cabin on Cardboard Hill and go to the back of the Pear Tree Estate to check out abandoned houses for supplies. Pickle had gone down on his own and had been gone too long, so Karen went down to see where he was. She knew, I don't know how, that Pickle was in this particular house and was being held against his will by four guys that they had a run-in with days earlier.”
“What happened?” Rowley asked impatiently.
“Karen was outside and hid for a while. Then two guys came out of a house and she attacked one man with a machete. She then picked up the shotgun that the man had dropped and fired it at the other guy. What she didn't know was that the vehicle the man was standing next to had gas canisters in it, with the boot still open. Some of the pellets hit the canisters and blew the car up, sending Karen and this man to the floor. Anyway, she went inside the house to find that Pickle had already taken care of one of the captors, and he had his little finger snipped off when the cunts were torturing him. There was four men in all, but one of them escaped in a car.”
“So that's how Pickle lost his finger.” Rowley smiled.
“Karen did all that?” Bonser asked with wide eyes.
“Yip, pretty much,” said Vince. “I was out on a run with a woman called Claire, now deceased, and we came across a vehicle, I think it was a Corsa, that had crashed. The man inside was dying, so I put him out of his misery. When Pickle told me that story about them a few weeks back and the fact that one of the guys had escaped in a Vauxhall Corsa, I then realised that I had killed the remaining man from that gang of four. And that was before I met them. Funny old world, isn't it?”
“Hilarious,” Stephen Bonser said almost hypnotically, then looked at Stephen Rowley, wondering if Vince had made that story up. Was he joking? Rowley had already told Bonser that Karen had killed Vince’s parents.
“Anyway,” said Vince. “I'll see you guys later.”
Kindl walked over to the house of 10 Colwyn Place and knocked the door, but there was no answer. Vince knew they were in; he saw Pickle leave Terry's place not long ago, so he opened Pickle and Karen's main door and shouted, “Are you two decent?” He was answered with two yeses from upstairs and let himself in. With thirty-seven-year-old Gareth Broadgate now deceased, Vince had a house to himself and was bored already.
Vince sat down on the armchair and heard feet galloping their way downstairs. Karen stepped into the living room and greeted him with a smile.
“Alright, Bradley?” said Vince. “I heard you went over to see Joanne earlier. She okay?”
“I went over to see her about an hour ago?”
“And?”
“There's some bruising to her face, but nothing that won't heal. It’ll look worse tomorrow. No broken bones, so at least that's something. It looks worse than it actually is.”
Vince sighed, “Poor Joanne.”
“I think the prisoner did it because she was in the way. He probably wouldn't have touched her otherwise.”
“You're not sticking up for the guy, are you?”
“Of course not,” said Karen, “but I noticed that not all of these guys are sadistic rapists and killers. One or two looked frightened when they invaded us yesterday. This Drake guy seems to have a hold on them.”
“I don't think these guys were expecting us to fight back the way we did,” said Vince. “They certainly weren't expecting Paul to turn up in that pickup. Did you know that he'd spotted the pickup driver and jumped in the back of the vehicle? He punctured the tyre and once the driver stopped and got out, Paul killed him, then came here.”
“Jesus.” Karen shook her head in disbelief. “The Paul of old from weeks back is well and truly gone. I'm just glad he's on our side.”
“Me too,” cackled Vince. “The mad bastard.”
Karen walked over to the window and peered out into the street. “There's Paul going over to see Joanne now.”
“Does he know about her being attacked?”
“Don't think so. Oh well, looks like he's gonna find out once he opens that door.”
Chapter Thirty Two
Stephanie, Elza and Ophelia were sitting down in their living room, having refreshments. The news of the deaths didn't seem to bother Elza and Ophelia, but Stephanie was still upset. The death of the toddler affected her more than the others, and she couldn't understand why individuals could be so cruel to a defenceless baby, even in this world.
> Pickle had told her that he had come across groups of individuals who had caused them problems, but being attacked by a gang of people of this size, from an actual camp, was a first for everybody.
Stephanie was still uncomfortable in Elza's company and wondered if she should move house. She was eager to know who was going to be in charge. With John Lincoln dead, she assumed Pickle would be the next person to lead.
Stephanie stood to her feet, prompting Elza to ask where she was going.
“Out for some air,” was all that Stephanie said before leaving.
She stepped out and the fourteen-year-old clocked the other fourteen-year-old in the street, David MacDonald. She hardly spoke to the boy since she had arrived, apart from a hello and a good morning.
She saw the boy sitting on the doorstep of 7 Colwyn Place, a place he shared with Stephen Rowley, and decided to go over and speak to the teenager. She had heard he wasn't coping very well a few days ago, and felt sorry for him.
David stared into nothingness and looked up as Stephanie headed over towards him. He gulped and shifted uncomfortably on the doorstep. He went to stand up to greet the young lady, but then changed his mind and sat back down.
“Hi, there,” Stephanie greeted.
“Hello.” David gulped again and looked up at Stephanie who was standing over him. She was very pretty, too pretty for him, and her presence made him feel anxious. She was the same age as him, but seemed more grown up.
She giggled and pointed at part of the doorstep that David's butt wasn't covering and said, “Do you mind shifting along? It'll be nice to talk to someone my own age for a change.”
“Sure.” David moved along a few inches and Stephanie sat down next to him.
They both looked out onto the street and were enveloped in quiet for a few seconds before David MacDonald bravely broke the silence.
“I’m still shocked about what happened yesterday,” he said.
“I know.” Stephanie nodded. “I feel bad for not being here when it happened.”
“You weren't to know.”
“That's true.”
“You could have shot a few arrows from the safety of your bedroom,” David tried to joke. “You could have taken a few of them down if you were here.”
Snatchers Box Set, Vol. 4 [Books 10-12] Page 40
