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

by Whittington, Shaun

  “He must have what?”

  “Nobody searched him before he was put in the car.”

  “Searched him?” Drake laughed. “The cunt was tied up. So are you blaming me for this?”

  “No, no, Drake. That's not what I'm saying,” John sobbed. “I don't know how he got away.”

  “You can't even accept responsibility for your actions,” said Drake. “That's no good to me. I need cunts to hold their hand up if they make a mistake. We all make mistakes.”

  “I wasn't on my own,” the kneeling man said desperately and pointed to the other WOE man that was now sitting in the back of the Audi. “Bill was there as well, your own second in command. We both let him go behind a tree, on his own.”

  “But he ran away with his hands free. If he tried to run away with his hands still tied, he wouldn't have got very far. He would have lost his balance, fell over, and would have struggled to get back up.” Drake sighed and rubbed his face in thought. He said, “I'm disappointed that you're trying to drag Bill into this to save your own neck. I already know that Bill played a part in this, which is why he's going to get a severe talking to when we get back. I might even have to strip him from his duties. You, on the other hand...”

  “What can I do to make things right?” the man asked, still holding the knife that Drake had given him.

  “I want you to take that knife and stab yourself through the thigh.”

  “Wh-what?”

  “You heard me, cunt,” Drake sniffed. “Doesn't matter which thigh. Any one will do. And then we're even. You have put me in a very embarrassing position. What am I supposed to tell the people back at the base wanting justice?”

  “But Drake.”

  “But nothing!” Drake yelled, making the man jump with fright. “Stab yourself in the thigh. That's the only way you're gonna make things right.”

  “This is crazy. Please...”

  Drake had no more words for John; he just glared at him, waiting for him to inflict his deserved punishment.

  Knowing that he could face death if he didn't do this, John grabbed the knife with both hands and began to hyperventilate. He knew that what he was about to do was going to be extremely painful, but he didn't want to die.

  He closed his eyes tight, cried out and brought the knife up. He released another cry as he brought the blade down and into his left thigh as Drake watched with a smile on his face. He collapsed to the floor and writhed on the grass in pain. Drake could see that the blade had gone right in and was satisfied at what he could see.

  “Good.” Drake nodded. “I will have my knife back now.”

  He reached over, grabbed the handle of the three-inch blade and pulled it out. The injured male screamed out as Drake did this, and clutched at his bleeding leg. Drake wiped both sides of the blade on the grass and put it into his pocket. He stood up and looked to his men who were still waiting patiently, engines still running. “Time to move out!” he called over to them.

  Drake then went over to two riders and began to speak to them for a couple of minutes. Both nodded after Drake had finished talking, and the bikers turned their vehicles around and headed back where they had come from, back to Little Haywood.

  Drake got back into the Audi. The engine had never been turned off, and it was a simple matter of taking off the parking brake and slipping the vehicle into first for the driver.

  “Wait. You're leaving me here?” the injured man cried.

  Nobody answered him.

  The Audi sped away, and was followed by the four pickup trucks and many mopeds. None of the men looked to the side at the injured man.

  John continued to scream and beg, but his words fell on deaf ears. He began to sob with the pain and feared what awaited for him. Being injured and alone wasn't a great recipe for survival in this macabre world. John lay back and tried to cope with the pain, but he was struggling. He took his jacket off and ripped a sleeve off his shirt. He put the jacket back on and used the sleeve to tie it around his injured thigh.

  “Help me!” he cried. “God, help me!”

  *

  The Audi had been on the road for a couple of minutes and the three people in the car, Drake, the driver, and Bill in the back, hadn't exchanged words. The driver decided to eventually speak up.

  “What about the camp?” the driver asked Drake. “Are we going back there sometime?”

  “What about them?” Drake sniffed and ran his fingers over his shaved head. “They stuck to their side of the bargain. Can't be punishing them because I've got a man that's a useless cunt. Or should I say ... was a useless cunt. Let’s not forget that Harry spared my stupid arse brother as well.”

  “What happens if that Paul guy goes back to the camp?”

  “I don't think he will.”

  “What makes you so certain?”

  Drake leaned his head back on the Audi's head restraint and chewed his bottom lip in thought. “Paul won't go back there. If he does he'll he putting the rest of them in danger, and he'll know we're looking for him.”

  “So where do we start looking for him?”

  “We don't. We're not wasting too much time and petrol looking for that prick, but I'll keep two bikers around the Haywood area for a week or so, just in case. I've sent two guys back to the street to let them know about the situation, just in case those residents start getting paranoid when two of my men are riding about.”

  “Who knows?” the driver said. “Despite the killings, maybe we could work together, especially with the winter around the corner.”

  “That's what I was thinking.” Drake nodded. “And I'll tell you another thing. That Harry bloke ... I like him.”

  “And we're definitely not bothering with Dickson anymore?” the driver queried further.

  “The cunt will die eventually. Gonna have to break the bad news to the guys back at the base about his escape.”

  “Or we could say he was already dead.”

  “No. I’ll give them the truth. Gonna have to tell them why we’re two men short as well.”

  The driver nodded and the rest of the journey to Stafford was made in quiet.

  Chapter Forty Nine

  He had ran for so long that he was certain there was no WOE men behind him. They must have given up, or hadn't even bothered to chase him in the first place. He was miles from Little Haywood and he had no food or water on him. As far as they were concerned, he hoped, he was going to die one way or another.

  He approached a large sycamore and decided to pee against it. He then ran for a few minutes more, just in case, just to make sure that he was clear from Drake's men.

  He stopped running and tried to get his breath. With his wrists still sore, Paul Dickson staggered through the woodland and a further surge of adrenaline went through his veins once his ears picked up the sound of a stream up ahead.

  He ran unsteadily over to the flowing water and dropped to his knees by the bank of the stream. He dipped his head in and drank the water. He knew that drinking straight from the stream wasn't ideal, as far as his health was concerned, but he didn't care. His throat was so dry that it hurt, his body craved water, and only mouthfuls of the cold liquid could ease the craving.

  He spent minutes on his knees, slurping the cold water, and only turned away from the running stream when the sound of a snapping branch alerted his senses.

  He looked up and quickly got to his feet when he spotted a creature heading clumsily towards him, like a drunk on a Friday night.

  The creature was male, dressed in a pair of black joggies and a red Liverpool FC football shirt, but had no shoes on his feet.

  Paul sighed as it came towards him, and looked around to see which was the clearest path for him to run.

  He chose east and ran along the dirt path that was partially covered in bracken. The creature tried to follow him, but fell over as its foot struck a large root that was sticking out of the ground.

  Paul glanced over his shoulder and could see that he was making good ground, but what i
f there was another one up ahead? What if there was more than one? A horde? He had no weapon on him to deal with the situation, and the blade he had used to free himself was dropped once he ran for his life—not that a razor blade would be sufficient to put down a Snatcher anyway.

  He stopped moving when the sound of disturbed plantation could be heard ahead of him. He waited and waited, aware that the beast from before that had fallen over the tree root could catch up with him, and moaned when another dead being came out of the trees and hobbled in his direction.

  The creature shambled down the dirt path, getting nearer to Paul, and now an exhausted Dickson had given up trying to run from these fuckers. His breath was heavy as he waited for the beast to get near, and once it was in range, he front-kicked the thing in its midriff, sending it flying backwards and crashing to the ground. He staggered over to the dead thing and brought the heel of his boot down, caving in its skull.

  Dickson then fell to the floor, panting hard and staring at the diseased black brain that could be seen hanging out of the cracked skull.

  Another sound forced his head to turn and Paul could see two men coming out of the trees, both wearing black and holding a knife each in their right hand. The guys were human, but Paul was aware that some humans, not all, were just as dangerous as the dead these days.

  “Oh, give me a fucking break, will you?” Paul moaned at no one in particular.

  The two men seemed reluctant to approach the man, but were given some confidence when they could see that his hands were holding no weapon.

  “He doesn't have anything on him,” one of the men said in a relieved voice. He was dark and was a few inches shorter than his partner.

  “Yeah,” said the other, and pointed at the defunct creature, “but he still managed to kill one of those things, didn't he?”

  “Hey!” called out the shorter man. “Hey, mister. Where are you from?”

  Paul was convinced that these two men were good guys, not like some he had come across over the weeks. The way they talked and the way they carried themselves, convinced Dickson that they were just normal survivors.

  “Give me a drink,” Paul groaned, “and I'll tell you all about it.”

  Both men turned and looked at one another, unsure what to do next.

  “Sorry, we can't do that, mister,” the shorter guy said. “We don't know who you are. We've met a few unsavoury characters on the road.”

  Paul chuckled, “Tell me about it.”

  “You might attack us.”

  “I won't.”

  “You look a little stressed out. Did you do something bad?”

  “I've done a lot of things bad. Gonna just fucking give me a drink.”

  Paul was beginning to get annoyed, which the two men could see, and this only added to their reluctance to approach him.

  “Let's leave him,” the shorter guy said to his pal.

  His taller friend disagreed and said, “We can't just leave him wandering around the woods; he'll get killed.”

  “That's not our problem.”

  “I can't let this happen.” The tall man took out a bottle of water from his bag and took a few steps forward, but his pal grabbed his shoulder and dragged him back

  “Don't,” the tall man’s pal said, pointing over at the dead Snatcher that wasn’t far away from Paul. “He managed to kill one of the dead without a weapon, so what do you think he could do to us?”

  “Relax. I've got it.”

  The tallest of the two men approached the sitting Paul Dickson with caution and said to him, “I'm gonna give you this drink, but before I do, I'm just gonna tell you that I can give you something to eat as well as this bottle of water.” The man turned around and Paul noticed that he was carrying a small rucksack. “I'm giving you stuff, so you don't have to attack us. We found these bags a few days after—”

  “Alan!” said the smaller of the two men. “Stop waffling, give the guy the water and let's get the fuck out of here.”

  “Sure.” The man called Alan crouched down to Paul's level and began to screw his face at Paul. He stared at Dickson for a few seconds and both Paul and his pal were wondering what was up with him.

  “Wait a minute,” Alan said. “I know you.” He then passed Paul the drink and stood up and took a step back.

  Paul remained on the floor, drank the full bottle in one go and was now checking the burn marks on his wrists. He said, “Sorry, but I don't know you.”

  “You freed us,” Alan cried; he then turned to his friend. “This is the guy that saved us at the farm.”

  Paul shook his head and had no idea what this fellow was talking about.

  “Shit!” Alan's friend began to laugh and placed his hand over his mouth. “I know who you are now.”

  Paul sighed impatiently and said to the two men, “You're gonna have to enlighten me, because I don't know what the fuck you two are talking about.”

  Alan said excitedly, “You saved us. You saved the pair of us.”

  Paul was none the wiser and it showed on his face.

  “We were tied up in that barn, on the farm,” said Alan. “Those crazy bastards were going to eat us. They'd already killed our friends. You came in and untied us. Remember? It was only about a week ago.”

  Paul nodded. He remembered now.

  The Alan character said, “Sorry we didn't hang around to thank you properly.”

  “That's okay.” Paul smiled. “Good to see you both kicking about.”

  “So what happened?” Alan asked. “Did you manage to get out of there unscathed?”

  “Yeah.” Paul nodded. “After I shot the boy and cut open the woman's throat. I think I killed the husband as well.”

  Both men gazed at one another and began to chuckle to themselves.

  “Shit, man.” Alan's partner spoke up, took his rucksack off and reached into the bag and pulled out another small bottle of water and a packet of biscuits. “We certainly owe you one.” He handed the water and the biscuits to Paul, and Paul took them.

  Dickson stood up, drank the water in one and passed the empty bottle back to the man and thanked him.

  “I'll be seeing you,” said Paul. “Good luck with ... surviving and shit.”

  “Wait!” Alan exclaimed. “Why don't you join us?”

  Alan's partner nodded in agreement and reiterated what Alan had said to Paul.

  “Thanks, guys.” Paul put the biscuits into his pocket and smiled at the two men. “But I'm better off on my own from now on, and I'm terrible company anyway.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am.” Paul held his hand up and pointed behind him. “Careful. There’s a creature not far from here.”

  “Okay, man. Thanks.”

  “Laters, guys. Be careful. It's crazy out there.”

  Paul walked past the two men and continued into the woods. Both men gazed at the back of Paul until he disappeared and the greenery had swallowed him up.

  Chapter Fifty

  “How're you holding up?” Vince asked Karen.

  Karen Bradley was sitting on her doorstep and Vince had been chatting with Pickle, who was taking a short stint at the gate, but Vince was now standing over Karen. The street was eerily quiet; most people were indoors on this evening and only four people were out, including Stephen Bonser who was by the concrete wall.

  “I'm gutted, obviously.” Karen groaned and rubbed her face. “I've done nothing but cry for the last thirty minutes.”

  “I know,” Vince sighed. “It's shit, isn't it?”

  “After all Paul has been through and what he did for the camp yesterday...”

  “Drake didn't give us much of a choice, did he?”

  She sighed and tucked her brown hair behind her ears. “No, he didn't.”

  “Have you seen Joanne?” asked Vince. “I was thinking about going over to see how she is.”

  “I tried her door,” said Karen, “but she wasn't answering. Probably best to leave her alone until she's ready.”

  Ka
ren looked up at Vince, who was looking down on the twenty-three-year-old. She asked him, “You wanna sit down next to me?”

  “I'm fine here,” said Vince. “I'm gonna turn in soon. Think me and Terry are doing the nightshift.”

  “So you just gonna stand there and stare at my tits?”

  Vince smiled. “It's that obvious, huh?”

  “You really are a filthy beast, Kindl. You know that?”

  Both individuals paused when the faint sound of buzzing could be heard. The eyes of both Karen and Vince widened when the sound grew louder, and it was becoming clear that the sound was from mopeds.

  Vince looked over at Rowley who was by the wall. Rowley could also hear it, and only seconds went by when two bikes turned up at the gate.

  “Shit,” said Vince. “Now what?”

  “It's okay,” Karen appeased Vince. “It looks like it's just two of them. There's no sign of Drake.”

  “Shall we go over?”

  “No. Let's see what happens.”

  They watched as one of the men parked the bike, climbed off it and headed for the gate. The biker, dressed in the usual WOE attire, stood by the gate and seemed to be conversing with Pickle. It seemed reasonably friendly.

  The suspense was tormenting Karen, but she remained where she was and decided to stay there until the two men left.

  She and Vince continued to watch the gate, and the pair of them managed a small smile of relief when the bikers left. Pickle looked over to the pair of them and could also see Rowley by the wall, waiting in angst. Seeing that the three of them were itching to know what was happening, Pickle made his way over to Vince and Karen and also called Stephen over.

  Neither one of them impatiently asked Pickle what was going on; they waited for the former inmate to speak.

  “It's nothing to be concerned about,” said Pickle, holding his hands up. “They came for a chat, that's all.”

  “What did they want, chap?” Rowley was the first to speak up.

  Pickle revealed a wry smile and winked at Karen. “They were here to tell us that their presence will be around this area for a week or so. It's nothing to worry about.”