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

by Whittington, Shaun

  “Paul.” Pickle laughed as he thought about Dickson. “Yer gonna be missed, son.”

  He lost his smile and opened his eyes. He thought he could hear noises coming from behind him. He sat up straight and took a look over his shoulder to see that the noises were coming from Karen Bradley.

  “Bradley.” Pickle smiled. “Yer need to work on yer stealth, girl.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “I wasn't sure if you wanted to be on your own or not, but I needed to get out of that place. Some of the people were doing my head in.”

  “What's up?” Pickle's eyes gazed at Bradley's frame as she sat next to him.

  “Now that the Drake thing is over, people keep asking me what's going to happen to the camp and who's going to lead. I swear, if one more person asks me if I know what's happening...”

  “They're probably just scared. Who's asking?”

  “All the shitebags,” she huffed. “The ones that have never killed a Snatcher, like that Jim Danson, Joanne, and the old fucker from number three.”

  “There's nothing much to change as far as the camp is concerned, although the security needs tweaked. Everyone has to muck in, now there're less people here. It'll be fine. We might have to organise someone to go out there, not just for the day, but even for a few days and try and bring survivors back.”

  “Like some kind of scout?”

  “Something like that.” Pickle nodded. “Many are dead, including Jez, and Paul’s gone. There're only a few o' us left now.”

  “The more people are here, the more mouths to feed,” said Karen.

  “True.” Pickle agreed. “But we need more people to make this place more productive. Not only that, if we get attacked again...”

  “Paul would have been a good choice for the scout job. He's a loner, and he's certainly fearless now.”

  “I agree, but he's gone. We need to forget about Paul.” Pickle looked at Karen's sad face. What he was saying was brutal, but true. “He's alive, but he's gone.”

  “Do you think we'll ever see him again?”

  Pickle lowered his head and sighed, “I don't think so. I think Paul knows coming back here will put the rest o' us in danger.”

  “But if he did turn up at the gate…?”

  “I'd turn him away. If one o' Drake's bikers spots Dickson in our company, then another attack could happen. We had an agreement. Them lot losing Paul is nothing to do with us; it was their fault as far as they're concerned. There was no mention o' a razor blade when those two bikers showed up. They said it was down to incompetence by some guy called John. As far as Drake's concerned, his men's stupidity allowed Paul to escape. But if Paul's spotted back here and we're hiding him...”

  Pickle didn't need to finish the sentence. Karen knew what he meant, and he was right.

  She revealed a sad smile and accepted the fact that she would never see Paul Dickson again.

  After a couple of minutes of silence, Karen cleared her throat and said, “All the people that have been hiding are gonna have to step up.”

  “Agreed.” Pickle briefly looked at Karen, gave her a few nods of the head. “I'm gonna start taking people like Jim Danson and Joanne out on runs and o'er to No Man's Land, just to give them some experience. No more slackers. Not on ma watch.”

  “Your watch?”

  “I liked what Lee James had in place at Sandy Lane, with the voting system, but that worked because there were a lot o' people. This place is small and needs a leader and I'm gonna ask them sometime today if they want me to do it.”

  “I can't see anyone objecting.”

  “Me neither.”

  Still sitting, Pickle crossed his legs. His body language was telling Karen that he was ready to go back. He stood up and stretched, moaning as he did this. Karen also stood to her feet.

  She said, “We could get Craig to do the scouting thing, if you're serious about trying to bring people back. He's hard as nails, and was a bit of a loner for months until he met Jez. So he’s not afraid of being on his own. Maybe he could take Danny with him.”

  “I’ve hardly seen Danny since the attack. I think it hit him hard.” Pickle paused and pondered. “Maybe yer right about Craig. He's been through hard times.”

  “Haven't we all?”

  “Hard times, good times or tough times ... it hasn't stopped me believing in God. We're all struggling, Karen.”

  “Even Vince?”

  “Even Vince,” said Pickle. “We're all struggling, but some o' us are better at hiding the pain than others.”

  The pair of them turned around and made slow progress to the steel gate of Colwyn Place. Ophelia slid the gate back, and Pickle thanked her as he and Karen entered the street.

  They could see Stephen Rowley and Stephen Bonser chatting by the concrete wall, Old Tom peering out of his front window, and Jim Danson’s wife sitting on her doorstep with her kids.

  Vince Kindl stepped out of his house and began to cross the road. He had done the nightshift stint, only had a few hours sleep, but felt okay for now. Unlike Karen and Pickle who had their machetes tucked in their own belts, he appeared to be unarmed.

  “Oi, Kindl!” Pickle called over.

  Vince turned and smiled at his two friends. He went over to the pair of them and asked where they had been.

  “Needed some time out,” was all that Karen told him.

  “Tell me about it,” said Vince. “It's only early morning and already I'm sick of being inside those four walls. I just can't seem to sleep properly since doing the nightshift.”

  “Where're yer off?” asked Pickle.

  Vince hunched his shoulders and revealed a little cheeky smirk. “Just thought I'd go round and see Joanne. See how she is.”

  “She's probably missing Paul,” Karen said.

  “Yes.” Vince nodded, then lost his smile and said solemnly, “She'll probably need some comfort, a shoulder to cry on.”

  Pickle shook his head at Vince and couldn't help smiling.

  “What?” Vince laughed. “Why are you two looking at me like that?”

  Pickle laughed, “Yer an animal, Kindl.”

  Karen agreed. “You're only going over there to see if you can get some action from a vulnerable woman.”

  “Honestly,” Vince feigned disgust on his face and shook his head, “I don't think I've ever been so insulted. And you guys are supposed to be pals? Really?”

  “So you're going over there out of the goodness of your heart?” Karen queried her friend.

  “Yes.”

  “I hear Old Tom is still shaken after the attack. Are you gonna visit him as well?”

  Vince smiled. “Nah, probably not.”

  Pickle said, “And yer definitely going o'er there to give her some comfort?”

  “Yes, I am.” Vince paused, then held his hands up to Karen and Pickle and said, “However, if she's in the mood, bends over and pulls her knickers to one side ... I'm not going to turn it down, am I?”

  “That's what we thought,” Pickle sighed with a grin and began to shake his head.

  “Laters.” Vince winked at the pair of them and was watched as he went to Joanne's front door and knocked it. She answered it and Vince stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

  “He has no chance,” Pickle laughed.

  Karen agreed and giggled, “There's more chance a rocking horse taking a shit than Kindl getting balls deep with Joanne.”

  Pickle gazed at Karen with narrow eyes. “Yer really do have a way with words, yer know that, Bradley?”

  Karen shrugged and said sarcastically, “It's a gift. You can't teach that kind of shit. It's something I was born with.”

  “Come on,” Branston sighed and placed his arm around her shoulder. “Let's go back inside and get a little snack.”

  “Okay.”

  Once they had reached their house, Pickle opened the door and allowed Karen to step inside first. He turned around before entering the house himself, and saw Vince stepping out of Joanne's place with the young pr
etty woman giving Kindl some verbal abuse. Pickle laughed and shook his head.

  He then lost his smile and released a gloomy moan.

  Things were changing, and not necessarily for the better, but Pickle needed to keep going, keep surviving.

  It was all he could do.

  Surviving was a natural animal instinct, and Harry Branston knew it was sometimes painful to be alive, but he was glad he was still around. And he was glad that he still had Karen. She was a tough woman, but on occasions he had heard her weeping in the next room.

  However, just because she cried, didn't mean she wasn't a strong person. Pickle had lost count how many times he had broken down since this had started.

  Back in prison, before the world had turned to shit, the Chaplain told Pickle that the inmates that appeared to be the toughest and strongest were the ones that smiled through the pain, cried behind closed doors, and fought battles nobody knew about. It was what most people were doing now.

  Vince was full of quips and rude one-liners, but Pickle didn't know for sure what Vince was like when he was on his own, when he was lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. Maybe Vince cried every night. Maybe Vince Kindl had wept for his parents, for Jack, Rosemary, Lisa and Kyle. Pickle wasn't sure.

  Harry Branston didn't want to look back with regret, but to move on with hope. He was once told that hope was being able to see that there was light despite all of the darkness.

  He wanted to continue and be alive, but he didn't want to do it on his own; he wanted to do it with Karen.

  Still standing on the doorstep, Pickle jumped when he heard Karen yell from inside the house, “You coming in, or what?”

  Pickle smiled and went inside, shutting the door behind him.

  Book Twelve: The Dead Don’t Yell

  Chapter One

  August 25th

  As soon as Vince Kindl stepped out of his house, he took in a deep breath and shut his eyes. It was good to be alive. He shut the door behind him and looked up to the burning ball of fire in the sky.

  For the last three days the people of Colwyn Place had nothing but rain. The sun was now back, and there was hardly a white cloud drifting along the blue sky.

  Vince opened his eyes and could see Stephen Rowley by the concrete wall. Stephen had been on the nightshift guard duty and Terry Braithwaite was at the other end of the street, by the gate.

  They needed more people.

  After losing people from Drake’s attack and watching Paul Dickson being whisked away in Drake’s pickup, the place was short on numbers and didn’t feel the same anymore, now that familiar faces had disappeared.

  He looked up and could see a figure waving at him from the person’s bedroom window. It was Stephanie Perkins. She must have just woken up, he thought. He waved back and blew the teenager a kiss, and then made his way over to Rowley.

  Stephen was facing the wall, away from Vince, and could hear the steps coming from behind. He turned around and saw Kindl dressed in black boots, black combats, and had a green T-shirt with “I Hate Christmas” emblazoned across the shirt in red lettering.

  “Morning, chap,” Stephen greeted Kindl.

  Vince nodded at Rowley. “Steve.”

  Rowley flashed Kindl a hard glare.

  “Stephen, I meant to say,” Vince corrected himself and held his hands up. “Anything happened?”

  “Not really.” Stephen grunted and twisted his neck.

  Vince could never get used to Rowley’s habit. It turned his stomach every time he did it. Vince had told Terry Braithwaite the other day that he liked Stephen, but wouldn’t want to be stuck in a lift with him; otherwise he would end up punching him in the throat.

  “Any sign of Drake’s men?” Vince asked Stephen as they both peered over the wall, down the abandoned part of Colwyn Place.

  Stephen shook his head. “I think that’s them finished.”

  When Paul Dickson escaped, Drake ordered two bikers to roam around the Little Haywood area in case he turned up. He never did. The people of Colwyn Place were convinced that Paul was miles away from the place now, maybe even dead, and it appeared that Drake was thinking along the same lines, as his men hadn’t been seen at all the day before.

  “You know what I was thinking, chap?” Stephen said, and then cleared his throat.

  “Let me guess,” Vince said, and held his hand up to stop Stephen from continuing further. “Why doesn’t Tarzan have a beard? Why is dyslexic such a hard word to spell?”

  “Er … no, chap.” Stephen squinted his eyes at Kindl and opened his mouth.

  Vince looked up in thought and continued, “Why do they call it rush hour, when nobody is actually moving?”

  “Are you gonna let me speak?” Stephen shook his head with a straight face and looked annoyed. “I’ve always wondered...”

  “What?” Vince huffed. “Spit it out, Stephen.”

  “Why mopeds?” Rowley looked at Vince for an immediate answer and repeated his question but lengthened it. “Why do most of Drake’s men ride on mopeds? I don’t get it.”

  “I dunno.” Vince hunched his shoulders. “I think they always did, when they were a biker gang before the apocalypse. I suppose the type of bike is a part of the uniform. A bit like the Hells Angels. They ride Harleys, don’t they?”

  “I don’t know, chap.”

  “They do.” Vince nodded. “And you know why?”

  “No,” Stephen sighed.

  “The Hells Angels were originally founded by a group of men that flew in the American Fighter Squadron known as The Hells Angels. After World War Two they couldn't find anything to equal the adrenaline rush they got from flying. Many of the guys had access to the Harleys that were used in the war at almost no cost. I think the deep sound of the engine was a bit of a rush for the guys.”

  “Are you making this up, chap?”

  Vince shook his head. “Why would I?”

  Stephen never responded.

  Vince gazed at Stephen with bemusement and asked him, “Is that it? With everything that has been going on and the people we’ve lost, this is the kind of thing that’s keeping you up at night?”

  “I was just curious, chap, that’s all.”

  Joanne Hammett stepped out of her house and was wearing a dressing gown; her presence was noticed by both men. She took out a cigarette and lit it. Vince was surprised she had any left. Maybe she was rationing them.

  “Is there any more chocolate from that run a couple of days ago?” asked Stephen.

  Vince shook his head. Karen did a chocolate round yesterday and that was the last. “Joanne had the last Twix.”

  “I used to love a Twix.” Stephen smiled and began to reminisce about the old days. “Especially with a cup of tea.”

  “Mmm.” Vince was lost in thought. “I wonder if one finger is enough for Joanne. Maybe she can handle two.”

  Stephen smiled and twisted his neck, this time without the grunt or the clearing of the throat. “You should give up on her, chap,” said Rowley. “She’s way out of your league. You are Stafford Rangers and she is Man City.”

  “True.” Vince nodded. “But with Paul away, she’ll need some new man company.”

  “You’ll need to behave yourself though, chap.”

  Vince turned and stared at Stephen with his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean ... watch what you say. Some females would take offence to some of the stuff that you tell me.”

  “Yeah? What like?”

  “Well...” Stephen knew there was a catalogue of rude remarks that Vince had said since he met him, but couldn’t think of one at that moment.

  “Well?” Vince widened his eyes. “I’m waiting.”

  “Didn’t you tell Karen the other day that women were just buckets for men to empty themselves into?”

  “That was just a bit of banter. I was just winding Karen up.” Vince laughed and had forgot about that remark. “Me and Karen have been like that since we’ve known each other. It’s just harml
ess banter between two people that know one another. Besides, she gave me a dead arm after I said it.”

  “Okay, chap, but some women, like Joanne, may class that kind of banter as a sexist remark.”

  “Sexism? Do you think with the world the way it is that we should be worried if people take offence to what others say?”

  “I’m just saying, chap,” Stephen grunted.

  “Well, for your information, Stephen, I’m not sexist,” Vince said with a straight face. “In fact, I have the utmost respect for every woman I’ve slung one up.”

  “See, it’s comments like that, chap.”

  “Oh, fucking shut up.” Vince moaned. “I’m not changing now. If some people don’t like me, then that’s just fine. They can take a seat with the rest of the bitches waiting for me to give a fuck.”

  Stephen decided to change the subject, seeing that Vince was unusually upset, and asked him, “When is Elza and the others going out to that place with the RV, chap?”

  “Sometime this morning,” said Vince.

  The day before, Vince and Stephen had passed a warehouse and investigated the place. It hadn’t been touched, but Vince was convinced that it must have been stocked full of tins, because he recognised the company name. He would have investigated further, but he already had a jeep full of supplies. When they returned, they told Pickle about the situation and Branston immediately wanted the place emptied before anybody else turned up. The street had flourishing vegetable patches, but tins of ravioli, beans and spaghetti was hard to ignore, especially with winter coming up. This type of food could keep for months and tins always had a generous best before date on them.

  On hearing the story, Elza Crowe had approached Pickle and wanted to do the run in the motorhome. She told him that she was bored guarding, and needed to be out. Pickle gave her, Ophelia and Stephanie the job. He liked the girls, and was growing concerned that they, especially Elza and Ophelia, were thinking about leaving the place.

  Vince and Stephen then saw Joanne go inside her house, but she wasn’t inside for long. She ran out of her house of 4 Colwyn Place and went straight into 10 Colwyn Place, Pickle and Karen’s house, without knocking, confusing both Stephen and Vince.