“What’s up?” Vince asked.
“Look,” Pickle began and felt awkward. He respected Vince greatly, but he didn’t always agree with some of the things he said. “What yer said to Terry, about his daughter, was a bit out o’ order. Do yer agree?”
Vince nodded and sighed, “I know. Sometimes I forget what I’m saying.”
“That doesn’t really make sense,” Pickle chuckled.
“What I mean is that sometimes I don’t think before I speak.”
“Just be careful.” Pickle spoke softly, and looked to his side and could see Terry closing the gate. “When you speak, yer words can only be forgiven, not forgotten.”
“Oh, right.” Vince nodded. “Is that some kind of passage from the bible, a Chinese proverb?”
“Nope.” Pickle shook his head and a smile developed across his features. “Mental Mickey used to say it to me from C Wing.”
“Mental Mickey?” Vince guffawed. “Well, he sounds fucking delightful.”
“He was a pal of Kyle Horan and Jason Bonser’s. Had a PhD in sports psychology.”
“How did he end up in prison?”
“Quite a sad story really. I always thought his nickname was harsh, but it’s what they called him.”
“Okay,” Vince sighed with impatience and repeated his question, hoping to get an answer this time. “And how did he end up inside?”
“He was a college lecturer and ended up losing his job because he was having an affair with his nineteen-year-old student. His wife left him and he turned up at Cannock College one day, after being suspended, and went into the staff room where some o’ his colleagues were, and began stabbing them.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“I know.” Pickle nodded. “He was eventually overpowered, three members o’ staff were injured, and one was killed immediately after receiving a wound to his heart.”
“And on that light note,” Vince mocked, “I’m off to finally release a huge brown number and then go for a lie down.”
“A lie down?” Pickle rubbed his face and added, “And what about our guests that we need to take back?”
Vince ran his fingers over his scarred face and sighed. “Oh, I forgot about those two.”
“Forgot?”
“Yeah. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Pickle began to laugh, holding onto his stomach with both hands, and almost doubled over. “All four of us literally walked through the gate only a few minutes ago. What’s wrong with yer?”
“I’m losing it.” Vince placed his right palm over his mouth and looked concerned. “The other day I went to the river to collect some water and forgot to take the plastic canisters.”
“I heard about that.” Pickle was still laughing. “Maybe the Alzheimer’s is finally kicking in.”
“God, don’t say that. That’s all I need.”
“Didn’t yer tell Karen once that the best thing about Alzheimer’s is that yer always meeting new people?”
Vince stood up straight and a large reminiscing smile slowly emerged on his face. “I cracked that joke to Clare as well, months back.” God, Clare. I still miss you. And you, Jack.
“Maybe karma is getting her revenge,” Pickle said. “Saying stuff like that is not nice, Vince.”
“I know. If my memory gets any worse I could probably plan my own surprise party.”
“Come on.” Pickle threw his arm around Vince’s shoulder. “Let’s go and join our guests. Karen will be wondering who the fuck they are.”
“Okay, but I need to go over to my house and curl one out right now. As for Karen, she’s probably already attacked them, thinking they’re thugs.”
Pickle gazed at Vince with wide eyes and said, “Shit. Yer could be right.”
He then began to jog over to the house and Vince ran the other way, heading for his place.
Chapter Five
Half an hour had passed and Peter and Roger had been given coffee and biscuits, and then it was time to leave the street, and Little Haywood altogether. Karen hadn’t been seen, and Pickle assumed she was upstairs having a lie down.
Pickle was driving, Vince was at the other end of the passenger seat, with Peter and Roger sandwiched inbetween the two men. The pickup went over the hump bridge and went by the pub on the right, moving onto the Rugeley Road and passing the garden centre to their left.
Pickle noticed Roger looking back as they passed the wrecked pub and asked the man, “Bring back memories for yer?”
Roger turned back round to face the front. “A few,” he said with a recollecting smile. “Me and my ex-girlfriend used to go there every Sunday.”
“I suppose it brings back a few recent memories for me as well,” Pickle admitted. “When this shit started, me, a female officer called Janine, a male officer called Jamie, and three other guys, KP, Grass and Laz, stayed there for the night. We parked the prison van in the empty car park. Man, we got so drunk that night.”
Pickle had finished his sentence and was greeted with silence. He took a quick peep to the side and could see the confusion on Peter and Roger’s face.
Pickle burst out laughing and said, “Sorry. Maybe I should ‘ave explained. I used to be an inmate from Stafford Prison. The officers kindly released a lot o’ us when this thing was announced. If it wasn’t for Jamie and Janine, I wouldn’t be alive today.”
“Stafford Prison?” Peter queried. “Did you know a guy called Gary Murphy? He robbed a bank and shot some girl in the face. He had some brothers, Jason and—”
“No,” Pickle interjected. “Never heard o’ him.” Pickle didn’t want the Murphy name to be mentioned in front of Vince, especially as one of them was responsible for his son’s death years ago.
Pickle looked to the side of him to see if Vince was okay, and Kindl had a quick peep at the former inmate and gave him a reassuring wink. Pickle continued to concentrate on the road.
Roger had a small chuckle to himself and added, “I used to order fish and chips every time I went to the Wolseley Arms. She always ordered a salad. I swear she did it to make me feel bad.”
Pickle pressed the accelerator pedal down another half a centimetre and said, “Make yer feel bad?”
“Yeah,” Roger chuckled. “I had a bit of a belly on me back in those days, months ago. When a woman dumps you, it’s amazing how much weight you lose.”
Vince glared out of the window, watching the trees and bushes whiz by whilst the conversation was taking place. And then Peter decided to chip in and said, “I can’t stop thinking what state our town is in. I know people have died, maybe even our own mother, but I hope it’s not too bad.”
“All I can tell yer is what I’ve seen with ma own eyes,” said Pickle.
“Have you been there?” Roger asked.
“Stayed there for a while,” said Pickle. “It’s as bad as you can imagine: crashed cars, bodies, blood ... but no bombs were dropped. Rugeley’s only a small town, I suppose.”
“Why did you go to Rugeley in the first place? You used to live there?”
“I stayed pretty much everywhere, but I had a place in Haywood before being sent down,” Pickle began to explain. “Once we were released, we went to Stile Cop as soon as we left the pub. Then went to Heath Hayes, back to Rugeley at Cardboard Hill, where we stayed at a cabin with his dad.” Pickle pointed over at Vince. “Then we went to the Spode Cottage caravan park, then Sandy Lane—”
“Jesus,” Peter scoffed. “Sounds like you’ve been moving about more than us.”
“Canavar!” Roger screamed out.
Pickle faced forwards and cussed, the pickup ploughing into the Snatcher. An explosion of dark blood and rotting guts covered the windscreen and Pickle slammed on the brakes, bringing the vehicle to a screeching halt.
All four men were panting and had a quick look at one another to make sure everybody was okay. Vince and Pickle stepped out of the vehicle, and Peter and Roger did the same, inspecting the damage. There was no damage to the vehicle, but the ghou
l had been obliterated from the torso up.
Roger and Peter’s face winced and temporarily placed their hand over their nose to dilute the awful smell. Two arms, taken away from the body, lay on the floor next to the body of the Snatcher from the waist down. The rest of its body was over the bonnet and windscreen of the vehicle, and looked like it had been blended.
“I’ve got windscreen wash,” Pickle began to speak, “but I’m not too sure that that’s gonna cut it.”
“Try it anyway,” said Vince, standing with his hands on his hips. “I ain’t touching that shit with my hands. Don’t know what kind of crap you could pick up.”
“Okay,” Pickle huffed and went over to the pickup.
He sat in the driver’s seat and tried the windscreen wash, something he hadn’t tried since he had been at Colwyn Place, and released a sigh when the liquid squirted over the screen and the wipers cleared enough of the guts away to allow the driver to see properly.
“It’ll do,” Pickle said, stepping out of the vehicle, “until we find some water to clean the rest.”
“It’s gonna be stinking,” moaned Vince.
“It’s that or nothing.”
Vince then saw something in the corner of his eye, coming from the back of the pickup. “What the…?” He continued to stare and slowly raised a smile. He knew what it was.
Roger and Peter walked back to the vehicle in silence and Pickle was next. Vince was about to walk to the back of the pickup, but a rustle in the small woodland to his right could be heard, alerting all four men.
“Just get in, Vince,” Pickle bellowed from the driver’s side, door still open, and then slammed it shut.
A male ghoul stumbled out of the trees and onto the tarmac of the road. Vince strode towards the contaminated being and front kicked it into the stomach, sending the creature flying backwards.
It hit the side of the road, on the grassy bank, and was struggling to get to its feet.
Pickle lowered his window and stuck his head out. “Vince, stop fucking around, will yer?” Pickle called out. “Kill it, if yer have to, and get back in the truck.”
“Let David do it,” Vince said.
Pickle opened his mouth, but he was so perplexed that no words fell out. He tried again and all he could manage was, “What are yer talking about?”
“If David wants to go out of the camp so badly, then he should do it and prove he’s capable, prove he’s an asset.”
Pickle had no idea what Kindl was rambling about and told him so.
Vince whistled sharply, like someone would beckon their dog, and the sheepish fourteen-year-old David MacDonald climbed out of the back of the truck.
Pickle stepped out and could see the shamefaced teenager, standing like a naughty child that had just been reprimanded.
Pickle stormed over to David. With one hand he grabbed the boy by his shirt. “Yer silly little prick. Yer been hiding in the back since we left?” Pickle had no idea why he had asked such a silly question. Of course David MacDonald had been hiding in the back since they’d left! Where the hell else did he come from?
“I’m sorry,” David cried. “I’m sick of being stuck in that place. Stephanie’s the same age as me and—”
“Stephanie has had a crash course in survival before she met up with Elza and Ophelia. But yer just a boy.” Pickle quickly patted him down and added, “And yer didn’t even bring a knife with yer.”
David flushed. “Um ... I forgot.”
“Erm … Pickle,” Vince spoke up. “Let me handle this.”
“Fine,” Branston huffed.
Vince called David over and told the young boy to stand next to him. Sheepishly, David MacDonald walked over and could see Vince pulling out his machete. He handed it over to the teenager and gave one quick nod of the head.
“What’s that for?” David said with a stammer.
“Well, it’s not to scratch your arse with, is it?” Vince pointed over to the Snatcher that was almost back on its feet.
“Let’s see what you got,” said Vince. “Kill it and I’ll take you out on the next run.”
“Vince, that’s not a good idea,” said Pickle.
Vince held his hand up to Pickle, telling him that he knew what he was doing, and David took the blade. Pickle went back over to the vehicle and stood against the front with his arms folded.
“It’s up to you how you do it,” Vince said to the nervous teenager, and took three steps backwards and was now at David’s left side. “Putting it through the top of the head is my favourite.”
“I’m-I’m not sure,” David stammered.
“Better hurry up. He’s coming.”
The dead walker staggered over to the petrified teenager and David made a half-hearted attempt at swinging Vince’s blade at the side of the head, but it hardly made a mark on the ghoul, although it did stumble backwards a few yards.
“And again,” said Vince.
Now a nervous Pickle began walking over to David, and was unsure he had it in him to put the creature down.
David took another swipe and this time the machete flew out of his hands and went whizzing over the contaminated being’s head, and landed on the grassy bank at the side of the road.
“Is that a new technique?” Vince laughed. “I haven’t seen that before.”
The Snatcher reached out its arms and was only a few yards from David MacDonald, but the youngster didn’t move. He was still. He was frozen with fear.
Pickle stood up straight nervously, concerned why David was still; and Vince was simply just looking on. Pickle placed his hand on the handle of his machete, ready to strike, but Vince finally made a move.
Like before, Vince walked over to the creature and front kicked it in the stomach, sending it tumbling to the ground. He then casually walked by the Snatcher, whistling the theme tune to the cartoon Inspector Gadget, and went over to the grassy bank to pick his machete up.
From behind the now standing creature, he brought the blade behind his head and swung it down, hard, making the blade go through the centre of the skull, from the top, and stopping at the bridge of its nose. He pulled out the blade before it dropped to the floor, and then walked over to the youngster.
“You’re about as much use as the G in lasagne,” Vince said. “That’s why we don’t let you out. We’re not being dicks, you’re just not ready. I know Pickle took you out a few days ago and there was nothing around, but you’re gonna have to be patient. Maybe we’ll go out again and give you some practice, if you’re that desperate, but don’t ever sneak out again, or you’ll get a kick in the nads.”
David nodded with tears in his eyes, and one from each eye fell. David apologised for crying and Vince responded by lowering his head and glaring at the youngster’s middle in confusion.
Vince pointed at David’s crotch where a wet patch was present. “Don’t be concerned about the water running from your eyes, be more concerned about the water running down your thighs. Now that’s gotta be a proper ball stinger.”
David flushed red and then Pickle asked Vince what they should do next. Do they take David back or does he go along for the ride to Rugeley?
Vince said, “Just let him travel to Rugeley with us?”
Pickle asked. “Yer sure?”
Vince nodded. “He’s here now, and it’ll be good experience for him. Besides, he can’t go back now, looking like that.” Vince chuckled and pointed at David’s crotch.
“Okay,” Pickle sighed and told David to get in.
Pickle went back into the driver’s seat and Vince and a clearly embarrassed David trudged back over to the pickup. David went inside the pickup, but Vince pulled him back.
“No way,” said Vince.
“What?” David gazed confusingly at Vince, wiping his wet eyes with the backs of his hands.
“In the back, where you were before.”
“But why?”
Vince put both hands on his hips and leaned forwards, asking young David, “You know what you smell
like?”
David shook his head, still wiping the tears from his eyes.
“Like a teenager that has just pissed himself. And besides,” Vince pointed at Peter and Roger who were sitting quietly and patiently inside the truck, “There’s not enough room.”
Chapter Six
Elza, Ophelia and Stephanie had left the street and the driver, Elza Crowe, was struggling with the gears of the RV and kept crunching them whenever she went down to second. Fortunately she only needed second gear for the bridge and the roundabout, and once she was on the straight country road she’d be cruising in fifth.
They went by the Wolseley Arms pub and were soon on the main road.
“So how long do you think it’ll take to get there?” Stephanie was in the back, with the bags, bats and her Jaguar bow, and despite the improvement of the weather, she still wore her black poncho waterproofs. She had decided to break the silence. Elza had never said a word since they had left Colwyn Place.
“Depends how fast this heap of shit can go,” Elza sniffed and took a peek to her left, at her passenger. Ophelia was gazing out of the side window, hypnotised by the trees that ran by her.
That was it. The short conversation was over. Stephanie huffed, sat down on the sofa, and began to think about the recent past.
She had spent many a day on her own after losing her family. And then she saved the life of Bentley Drummle one day, twice. He had been trapped in a cabin and was surrounded by many Snatchers. She hid in the trees and picked them off one by one. Later, she found a man unconscious by a river bank and took him in to the nearest place, a pub, and nursed him. It was Vince Kindl, who had been swept away after a run that had gone wrong.
It was on that same day that Bentley had been saved by Stephanie.
Vince and Stephanie’s stay in the pub was a short one as their presence had been spotted by the dead. They had to leave the Wolseley Arms public house and headed for Little Haywood, but were surrounded by Snatchers.
Thankfully, a group from Colwyn Place came to their rescue and were taken back to the street. John Lincoln then organised a ride for the pair of them, but they had got only as far as the outskirts of Rugeley because of the dead. They left the vehicle and went down the canal way, and Stephanie had to endure Vince’s bad jokes.
Snatchers Box Set, Vol. 4 [Books 10-12] Page 54
