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

by Whittington, Shaun

  Karen knew what Joanne meant straightaway. With people perishing the week before, John Lincoln dying and Paul Dickson leaving, the place was deathly silent.

  Karen nodded her head in agreement. “It’s too quiet. I’m just waiting for a tumbleweed to blow by.”

  Joanne shuffled over on her step and patted the space that was next to her, asking Karen to sit down.

  Karen sat next to Joanne on the cold concrete step and asked, “You don’t mind if I smoke?”

  “No, that’s fine,” said Karen and laughed, “You can set yourself on fire for all I care. How many have you got left? You must be running out by now.”

  “A couple of packets,” Joanne laughed. “I’m gonna be murder to be around once they’re done. I knew this day would come, though.”

  “Well, if we ever come across any more on a run, I’ll grab some.”

  “Thanks. You want one?” Joanne opened the packet and held it under Karen’s nose.

  “I shouldn’t.” Karen smiled.

  “Is that a yes or a no?”

  “It’s a yes,” Karen laughed. “Why the fuck not? It’s not as if I’m pregnant anymore.”

  Joanne passed Karen a Marlboro Light and sparked her up. Karen took in a deep intake of the toxic fumes and did her best not to cough her guts up. She released the blue smoke from her mouth and suppressed a cough that was itching to escape.

  “Been a while?” Joanne cackled, noticing that Karen was struggling.

  “I only used to smoke now and again when I was out for a drink with the girls.”

  “Out for a drink with the girls,” Joanne Hammett snickered and shook her head. “Wow. Those days are well and truly gone.”

  “Tell me about it.” Karen took in another mouthful of smoke before blowing it out in a controlled manner this time.

  The girls were drenched in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Joanne and Karen sat and smoked their cigarettes and Karen glared over at Stephen Bonser, wondering if he was missing his lover, James Thomson.

  Karen was beginning to realise that the cigarette was a bad idea and was struggling to finish it, now feeling nauseous and becoming giddy. She didn’t want to offend Joanne, after all, she didn’t have many left. So she took a few more drags until there was just millimetres left of the poisonous stick, and then dropped it to the floor and stubbed it out with the sole of her boot, telling her self mentally, never again.

  “Fancy a walk?” Joanne asked and stood to her feet, also putting out the cigarette.

  “A walk?” guffawed Karen. “Where?”

  “Just around the street a couple of times. I like to stretch my legs now and again. It helps me think.”

  “Um ... okay.” Karen thought it was an unusual thing to ask, especially as her and Joanne were hardly bosom buddies.

  Both females were now on their feet and began to head to the concrete wall and went by 10 Colwyn Place. They continued for a few more yards and Karen looked to her right, clocking Craig in the window, and gave him a wave. He waved back, and then carried on doing his body squats in his living room of 15 Colwyn Place.

  “You like him, don’t you?” Joanne began to tease.

  “Who, Craig?” Karen nodded and added, “He seems like a nice guy. Shame about that young boy Jez.”

  “He’s going somewhere tomorrow, isn’t he?”

  “That’s right.” Karen tucked her dark hair behind her ears and continued, “He’s going out to do some recruiting, to see if he can bring any people back. We need them. He’ll probably be away for a couple of days, but he’s used to being out there on his own.”

  “You gonna miss him?” Joanne said with a smirk.

  “Shut up,” Karen laughed.

  Karen nodded over to the Danson’s house, over at 18 Colwyn Place, and said, quickly changing the subject, “We don’t see much of them lot, do we?”

  “I know,” Joanne sighed. “They’re really struggling. I pop in to see them now and again, but they live like recluses. It’s their kids I feel sorry for.”

  “Maybe I should go over sometime,” said Karen. “I’ve been here three weeks or so and I’ve hardly spoken to them.”

  “You could always try,” Joanne said, “but since that attack by Drake’s men they’ve got worse. They open the door when we do the supply rounds, but that’s it.”

  “I did a chocolate round the other day, but they never answered their door, so I just popped the goodies through the letterbox.” Karen continued to gaze at the house as the pair of them walked briskly. “Everything’s cool with Drake now, isn’t it? So I wonder why they never leave that house. It can’t be good for them, mentally.”

  “They’re struggling. They’ve always struggled.”

  Joanne and Karen looked over to the empty house where Lynne Smithers and Sandra Roberts used to stay. Then the girls peeked at the next house where Ian and Derek Ferguson stayed before they were killed. All four had been victims of Drake’s men.

  Karen was still seething that so many people had lost their lives, despite killing a lot of Drake’s own men when they entered the street, but knew that giving him Paul Dickson to create some kind of truce was the only reason that the people in the street were still alive today. When Drake showed up at the gate, he proved that he had more than enough people to burn Colwyn Place to the ground. And thank God Paul escaped.

  “We have a couple of empty houses, thanks to Drake’s boys,” Karen was the first to remark after a couple of minutes of silence, but there was no response from Joanne. The two girls went by Terry and the gate and went past his house at 1 Colwyn Place.

  “I miss Paul,” Joanne suddenly blurted out.

  “God, so do I.” Karen smiled and thought about Dickson once more. “He was a crazy fucker, but he’s definitely someone you’d want on your team.”

  “He was okay once you got to know him. Although...” Joanne didn’t finish her sentence and lowered her head.

  “I know,” Karen said with a smile.

  “You know?” Joanne wasn’t sure what Karen knew.

  “Pickle told me that you came onto him not so long ago, and he threw you across the room, or something like that.”

  Joanne smiled. “He told you?”

  “Paul told Pickle, and Pickle told me.” Karen smiled and added, “I knew Paul for almost two months. When we first met he was just a frightened man with a kid, and had also lost his wife and daughter.” Karen paused and thought back almost six weeks ago. “When Vince’s place was attacked, Paul and his son hid in a caravan while Pickle, Vince, me, and some others battled with those dead cocksuckers. Fast forward five or six weeks later, and he’s driving through a street in a pickup he had stolen from one of Drake’s men that he had killed, and entered the street like fucking John Rambo. I think it’s fair to say that this new world has changed him.”

  “Who’s John Rambo?” Joanne narrowed her eyes, confused.

  “Seriously?” Karen laughed. “And you’re older than me?”

  Joanne was confused and said, “Who is he? A footballer or something?”

  “Forget it.” Karen chuckled gently.

  “Let’s do two more rounds and call it a day.”

  “Why?” asked Karen. “Getting tired already?”

  “Nope. It’s that time of the month.” Joanne took a quick peek at Karen and said further, “Need to change the pad that I’m wearing. I’m bleeding like a stuck pig.”

  “Lovely,” Karen sighed and screwed her face in revulsion.

  Chapter Fifteen

  For Pickle, Vince, Roger and Peter, getting rid of the dead was a simple matter of watching them fall down the pub’s concrete steps and putting them out of their miserable existence once they had tumbled near their feet. Twenty-seven had been killed, and the only problem the guys had now was removing the bodies that were blocking the entrance to the steps.

  The four men took seven minutes to drag the bodies under a tree that was situated at the side of the car park. Once they were done, or once they thought
they were done, they headed to the steps, ready to enter the establishment.

  Pickle warned the three males that there could be a few strays lurking about so they shouldn’t relax just yet. Pickle stepped through the shattered glass of the back door and was weary of any shards to either side of him and above him.

  He was the first to enter and twisted his face because of the smell. Vince wasn’t far behind him, and Roger and Peter were next. All four cautious men had their weapons out, machetes for Pickle and Vince, knives for Roger and Peter, and all four crept through the bar area.

  Not a soul could be seen.

  “We need to check the toilets,” said Pickle. “We also need to check the upstairs living arrangements, the cellar, and the kitchen before we can relax.”

  “Can’t we just check the cellar and kitchen, and then just fuck off?” moaned Vince.

  Pickle shook his head. “I don’t want any nasty surprises. And besides, if there’re people inside and need help, they can come back with us.”

  “Isn’t that supposed to be Craig’s job now?”

  Pickle ignored Kindl’s complaining; he told the guys that they should all stick together and the toilets were going to be checked first.

  They tried the gents and the disabled toilet first, but found them empty and spotless. There was a sign on the back of the disabled door. Some come here to sit and think. Others come here to shit and stink.

  “Classy place,” Pickle muttered.

  “Ever did it in a disabled toilet before?” Vince asked Pickle in a whisper.

  “Not now, Vince,” Pickle huffed and moved on to the female toilets.

  Pickle was the first to enter, but stopped suddenly, making Vince bump into him, and Roger and Peter doing the same to Vince.

  “What is it?” Roger asked from behind.

  “Whoa,” was the only word that came out of Pickle’s mouth once he looked around the place.

  There were blood smears up the wall, on the floor, and there was also blood in one of the three sinks, and a bloodied handprint on one of the mirrors above the end sink.

  “Some serious menstrual shit has been happening in here,” Vince joked.

  Roger leaned over and whispered to Pickle, “Is he always like this?”

  “No,” said Pickle with a straight face, and added, “Sometimes he can be quite offensive.”

  All four took a few more steps inside and stood in the sink area. They stayed motionless once their ears picked up movement from the end cubicle.

  “I’ll go check it out.” Vince left the three guys standing, careful where he stepped, and checked the door of the cubicle. It was locked. He placed his ear to the door and the moaning and snarling began once the sound of Vince’s breathing could be heard. Vince looked over to the three males.

  “One of the dead?” Roger asked Kindl.

  Vince nodded. “Either that or someone is severely constipated. Best to just leave. It’s going nowhere.”

  Peter turned to Pickle and said gently, “So where to next?”

  “Yer know the place better than I do,” said Pickle.

  Peter released a breath out and said, “Okay. We’ll check out the kitchens and upstairs. Have no idea where the cellar is.”

  “We’ll find it.”

  The four individuals left the toilets and went by the bar to go through a flip door that had a circle window. As predicted, there was nothing in the kitchen. No food. No ghouls.

  Pickle went behind the bar and headed for upstairs, leading the way.

  As soon as the four of them reached the dusky landing, the guys were greeted with four doors that were all open. Each guy checked a room each. Roger and Peter had checked a bedroom each, Pickle had the bathroom, and Vince was in the living room.

  Pickle, Roger and Peter returned to the landing and could see Vince in the living room, a few yards inside, motionless and staring.

  The three men stood behind Vince and gazed at what he was looking at.

  There was an overweight woman, dressed in black pants and a matching bra, standing in the corner of the room with her back to the men.

  Vince began to giggle, baffling Roger and Peter, and released a sharp whistle, making the dead woman turn around. Her black greasy hair hung over her rotten face, her white and bruised-looking belly hung over her panties, and her bottom lip had been ripped away, revealing her yellow and black teeth.

  Vince gave Pickle a gentle nudge and said, “I bet she was a bit of a goer in her day.”

  “Stop messin’ about, Kindl,” said Pickle sternly, but couldn’t help a smirk. “Just get rid o’ it. Or do yer want me to get it?”

  “I was thinking of keeping her for a bit, for David.”

  “What?”

  “Maybe we should get him to kill it, as an initiation test. Getting the first one out of the way is the hardest one.”

  Pickle shook his head and then thought that maybe Vince had a point. “He’s only a boy.”

  “But he wants to learn. And Stephanie...”

  Pickle nodded and said to Roger and Peter, “You guys check out the cellar, if yer can find it.” Pickle then turned to Vince and said, “I’ll give yer a hand with...”

  “We’ll call her Betty,” Vince laughed. “I like Betty.”

  The stumbling Snatcher made its way over to Pickle and Vince, as Roger and Peter checked out the cellar, and the two men took a side step, but Pickle had changed his mind. Pickle was ready to put his machete away, but instead he brought his blade into the side of its head and pulled it out immediately once it had done the damage.

  She dropped to the floor and Pickle could feel Vince staring at him.

  “It was a silly idea,” said Pickle. “We can do something like this another time.”

  “If you say so,” Vince sighed.

  Both men began to head for the stairs and could see Peter and Roger standing at the bottom, looking up.

  “We’ve just been into the cellar,” Roger announced.

  Pickle raised his eyebrows. “And?”

  “There’re boxes and boxes of crisps and loads of wine and soda.”

  Pickle turned to Vince and said, “Okay, so it’s not healthy stuff, but it would be nice to taste a bottle o’ coke once in a while.”

  “Where’s the ... thing?” asked Roger, referring to the creature that was in the living room.

  “Got rid of it. Pickle had other ideas,” Vince said. “Right. I’ll get the pickup, bring it round to the car park and we can start filling it up. We’re halving the goods, right?”

  Pickle and Roger nodded.

  “Right, then.” Vince clapped his hands together and began to gallop down the stairs. “Better get to it. But first I need to go outside and piss like a racehorse.”

  *

  Moments had passed and the supplies had been moved and halved. Pickle reiterated that he would like Roger and Peter to go back with them and stay at Colwyn Place, but the two men were adamant on staying in Rugeley, at Hagley Road.

  Vince had a look in the back of the pickup and could see a substantial amount of stuff, albeit unhealthy. Vince told David to get out and sit in the front, and then grabbed a sheet from the corner of the pickup and placed it over the boxes of crisps. The boxes were light and Vince was aware that a sharp swerve could make the boxes fall over and they could even lose a couple.

  Vince and Pickle shook the hands of Roger and Peter and all men wished each other good luck for the future. Pickle entered the driver’s side, but Vince remained standing, lost in thought.

  “Vince,” Pickle said. “Get in.”

  “Give me a minute.” Vince grabbed a carrier bag from the back of the truck and ran back over to the pub.

  “What the…?” Pickle shook his head and then turned the opposite way to see that Roger and Peter had already gone inside.

  Pickle turned and looked in the direction of the pub and could now see that Vince was nowhere to be seen. He waited patiently for a few minutes and could see Kindl returning and the carrier b
ag looked full.

  Once he returned to the truck, out of breath, he entered the passenger side and dropped the bag by his feet.

  Pickle took a peek and could see the bag was open and what was inside.

  “Cigarettes?” Pickle queried.

  “Joanne’s running out, so I just broke into the cigarette machine.” Vince tried to explain. “And I know that Stephen Bonser used to smoke.”

  “Don’t yer think it’d be better for them to give up?”

  “Maybe.” Vince hunched his shoulders. “But it’s nice to have some kind of treats, whether we think it’s a disgusting habit or not. We don’t know how long any of us have left, so what’s the point being obsessed with staying healthy?”

  “Erm … because we don’t have hospitals anymore.”

  Vince scratched his head and said, “I never thought of that.”

  Pickle fired the engine and prepared the vehicle to move. “So this is not yer trying to get into Joanne’s good books, so then yer may have a small chance o’ getting into her pants?”

  “Pickle,” Vince cackled and placed his hand on his chest, feigning a look of surprise on his face. “I am disgusted and offended that you’re thinking like that. What kind of man do you think I am?”

  “So that’s a no?”

  “I’d settle for a blowjob, to be honest,” Vince continued to laugh. “I mean, a young girl like that and not getting any action … it’s such a waste.” He then nudged young David who was sitting inbetween them. “What do you reckon?”

  David never responded.

  “Yer foul, Kindl.” Pickle shook his head and pulled the vehicle away. “A bloody animal.”

  “No harm in trying,” said Vince, he then looked at David and said. “You close your ears.”

  David did as he was told.

  Vince continued, “You wanna see some of the hounds I’ve banged over the years, Pickle. Not including Rosemary, of course.”

  “Hounds?” Pickle scowled at Vince. “Have yer seen yerself lately? Yer have got a face like a carved up scrotum.”

  “Very funny.” Vince nodded. “I remember a girl I met when I was in my twenties.”

  “Oh God.” Pickle shook his head. “Here we go.”