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

by Whittington, Shaun

  Vince shook his head. “That farmer saved you. It’d be rude not to have one drink with the guy. Besides, we need his tractor to pull the motorhome from this … swamp. If we refuse the tea…”

  “He might refuse to pull the RV out,” Stephanie finished the sentence for him.

  “Something like that.”

  Stephanie’s eyes narrowed and Vince smiled, understanding why she was bewildered.

  He said, “I know it’s a little strange, but it’s what the man wants. And he did do us a massive favour. To be honest, I think he’s been starved of company.”

  “How long do we have to stay?” the fourteen-year-old groaned.

  “Not long,” Vince snickered. “We’ll be back at Colwyn by the time you know it.”

  Vince then beckoned David over.

  David stopped a few yards from Vince and Stephanie, and asked Vince what was up.

  “Nothing’s up,” sighed Vince. “Just follow me.”

  David MacDonald obediently did as he was told and the pair of them made the short walk to the motorhome. Vince opened the door and told David to stand outside, whilst Stephanie watched and wondered what Vince Kindl was doing.

  Vince went inside the RV and came out and gave David a box of tins. Vince then grabbed himself a box and left the vehicle. He placed the box on the floor, shut the RV’s door, and then picked up the box of tins again and headed for the farm.

  “What are you doing?” Stephanie asked Vince, once the two males had passed her with a box each. “You’re not giving away some of our food to him, are you?”

  “Absolutely,” said Vince, but David remained quiet.

  “But why?”

  “Because he saved your life,” said Vince, and was now walking away from Stephanie. “It’d be rude not to give him anything.” Vince then stopped walking and turned around, shrugging his shoulders the once. “Are you coming or what?”

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Craig Burns had reached Shugborough Hall. It was a place that was more for visitors than anything else, and Craig knew going inside would be a pointless waste of energy. The tourist spot was a stately home near Great Haywood, and was situated on the edge of Cannock Chase, about four miles east of Stafford. It was a building that dated back to the sixteenth century.

  Craig wanted to check the houses that were across the field, only a few hundred yards from the main entrance to Shugborough Hall, in a small street opposite a pub called The Barley Mow.

  He was aware that the image of a man on his own, with a bag over his shoulder and carrying a hockey stick, would possibly frighten certain individuals, but he had to try and be successful in this new role that Pickle had given him.

  He crossed the field and headed for the small street. After this he was going to continue along the main road, and try a house that had been in the news decades ago relating to a shooting incident carried out by the IRA.

  Craig could see a dozen houses and puffed out a breath, knowing that knocking on these doors for a response could be a fruitless exercise. He was correct with his assumption.

  Almost.

  Once he reached the ninth house and pressed the still-working doorbell to the right hand side of the door, a window opened above him. He looked up and could see an elderly man, late seventies, staring down at Craig. Craig could see that the old man looked gaunt and didn’t know if he had always been naturally thin or he was starving. Here was a man in his late seventies, possibly on his own, three months into the apocalypse. Craig was certain that a man like this had hardly been out. He couldn’t imagine the fragile man going out on a supply run of any kind, or even killing one of the dead.

  “You okay up there?” Craig asked him.

  The man nodded. “Please, leave me alone. I don’t have anything for you.”

  Craig thought about the state of the man and how Pickle wanted him to bring people back to strengthen the camp. But this particular individual wouldn’t strengthen the camp by any means. How could he? They had Old Tom in Colwyn Place and he was hardly seen, never contributed because of his age, and when he did make the odd appearance he did nothing but moan.

  Bringing back a man like this, if his fragile body could survive the walk back, would not benefit Colwyn Place at all. Even if it meant leaving the man and allowing him to die, Craig knew he couldn’t take him back with him, so he decided to move on.

  “I’m sorry to have bothered you,” said Craig. “I’m looking for someone.”

  “You have a place to stay?” the old man asked. There was almost begging in his eyes and Craig felt guilty for the reply he was about to give.

  “No, I don’t.” Craig shook his head. “Sorry.”

  Craig walked away with his head lowered, the guilt eating away at him, as the old man called after him.

  “Please,” he begged. “I haven’t eaten in a week. My wife died last month. She’s in the bedroom. I...”

  Craig couldn’t listen to anymore and began singing a Joy Division track in his head to drown out the man’s begging. Once he left the street, Craig had stopped singing Isolation and headed for the big house that was opposite the tiniest Burger King restaurant he had ever seen. It was a two-minute walk to the house that sat proudly on the left of the main road, and the road passing the place bent to the right would eventually bring an individual into Stafford’s town centre.

  Craig reached the house and approached the front door; he decided to be cautious and check round the back first.

  He walked down the long drive that ran down the side of the house, and could see a large unkempt back garden with a predictable overgrown lawn. He stepped carefully towards the back door and tried to look into the downstairs’ windows, but all windows, including the ones above, had their curtains drawn.

  The faint sounds of engines could be heard from the front, and Craig decided that it would be in his best interests if he stayed where he was, at the back of the house and out of the way, until the vehicles had gone by.

  The sounds came to a halt and the thirty-one-year-old man began to inspect the back door again and wondered if there was anyone inside. He went over to the side of the overgrown lawn and grabbed a handful of soil with his free hand, the other still having a hold of the hockey stick.

  He threw the soil at the top window to the right and repeated the process for the others. There was no response, so he decided to knock on the bottom window and tried to speak, telling that whoever was inside that he was here to help.

  Again, there was no response.

  “Well, well, well,” a voice came from the side of Craig, and he gulped when he could see two men, dressed in attire that he recognised. It was two of Drake’s men, and the sound that he had heard before must have come from mopeds.

  Like most of Drake’s men, it appeared that these men didn’t wear helmets when travelling, and Craig gulped when he clocked the one on the right holding a baseball bat.

  “Can I help you, gentlemen?” Craig asked, trying to play it cool, and then produced a large gulp.

  “What are you doing here?” the baseball bat-wielding man asked. He was six foot in height, stocky, and, like his pal, he had a large brown beard on his face.

  “I’m here to...” Craig was unsure whether to tell the truth or not. What was the harm? Drake and the camp had called a truce since the killings, but Craig decided to lie anyway.

  “What?” The man with the bat snarled, “Spit it out, son. Your mother used to.”

  Both men burst into hysterics and gazed over at a morose-looking Craig Burns.

  “Relax,” the same man spoke up. “We’re just fuckin’ with you. In fact, we’re always looking for new people, especially since we lost a few last week.”

  “I’m good.” Craig smiled.

  “You can’t survive on your own, son.”

  “I’m not on my own,” said Craig, and decided to come clean. “I live in a tiny community. In fact, my leader and yours had met a few days ago.”

  The biker, the main speaker, narrowed h
is eyes and asked, “Are you from that street in Little Haywood?”

  Craig nodded, but didn’t want to come completely clean. He didn’t want to tell them that he was chased by four of Drake’s guys, fell in a ditch, and killed one of them. Then he escaped and the one he knocked out ended up going with him. He didn’t want to anger the men. Even if there had been a truce, the two men could turn nasty and kill Craig right there if they knew that it was him that ran off with ‘Jez the traitor’ and had started this mess. Who’d know?

  Both men took a gape at one another and the man on the left, the silent one, lowered his head. The man holding the baseball bat said, “We weren’t there, but we heard about when your street was under attack. What happened to that toddler was messed up. That guy deserved to die.”

  “I know.” Craig nodded. “But what’s done is done. We’re all just trying to survive, but now we can do it together, with no hassle from each other.”

  “Why are you on foot?”

  “Petrol is something we’re short on these days.”

  The man with the bat nodded at his partner and gestured with his head for the man to leave. He did as he was told and the bat holder winked at Craig and said, “I’ll see you around, buddy. I’ll leave you to do...” The biker looked at the house and then at the back garden, “...whatever the fuck you’re doing.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Laters,” were the last words from the biker before he left.

  A minute later, Craig could hear the engines being started, revving, and then waited until the sound of the bikes faded until nothing could be heard.

  “Right,” he said to himself. “Let’s do this.”

  He brought the hockey stick back and smashed the kitchen window through.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  The three individuals trudged their way up to Quint’s place, the thought of Elza and Ophelia’s deaths depressing them. Vince and David were carrying a box each of tins, and Vince was the first to step inside the door that Quint had left open for his guests.

  David and Stephanie stepped inside, and Stephanie shut the door behind her. All three hung around in the hallway, and Stephanie was first to go into the living room whilst Quint was in the kitchen, boiling his kettle on a camping gas ring. After a short discussion with Stephanie and David, Vince informed Quint that the teenagers didn’t want tea.

  Vince and David entered the kitchen and plonked the boxes of tins on the floor.

  “For your help,” Vince said.

  “Wow.” Quint shook his head in surprise and questioned, “Is that motorhome full of that stuff?”

  “There’s only ten boxes,” Vince decided to lie. “But these two are our way of saying thanks for getting rid of those dead bastards, and, of course, when you pull out that RV.”

  Quint nodded. “Tea first.”

  Vince and David went into Quint’s living room to join Stephanie.

  “You take sugar?” the farmer yelled from the kitchen.

  “No,” Vince yelled back.

  “Good,” Quint laughed. “Because I ain’t got any.”

  Minutes later, Quint returned with two hot cups of tea. He paused and saw that Vince and Stephanie were on the couch, but young David was slumped in the armchair, his armchair.

  Quint handed one cup to Vince and gazed at David MacDonald. “That’s my chair, son.”

  “Oh.” David immediately stood up and sat and squeezed inbetween Vince and Stephanie. “Sorry.”

  “So, is this your place?” Vince asked before taking a noisy slurp of the piping hot beverage.

  “Has been for years.” Quint sat and rested the tea on top of his right thigh. “Me and the wife have been here for over thirty years. It was my father’s before then. I’ve lived here all my life, and intend to die here, apocalypse or no apocalypse.”

  “Is your wife around?” Vince took another gulp and placed the cup on the floor, by his feet.

  Quint shook his head. “Nah, dead,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Oh.” Vince was taken aback by his calm and cold manner. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Quint snickered. “She was a fucking nag. Had to kill her myself a couple of months ago.”

  “Was she bitten?” David asked, but young Stephanie remained quiet.

  Quint shook his head. “We had an argument. Things got a little heated and she said that my dick was much smaller than her ex’s. So I took out my shotgun and shot her in the head, right over there.” He pointed at the large stain in the corner of the living room, near an archaic-looking lamp.

  Vince took in a deep breath and sat back, then a shocked David and Stephanie, who were sitting inbetween Vince, leaned forwards and gazed at one another with wide eyes.

  “I’m only kidding.” Quint burst into hysterics, making Vince relax immediately. “You wanna see your face.” He pointed at David. “You look like you’ve just burst in on your mother being spit roasted by the postman.”

  Vince smiled and had to remind their host that that kind of talk was unnecessary as both David and Stephanie were only fourteen, but Quint ignored Kindl.

  “So ... you’re joking, right?” David was confused, unsure if Quint was being genuine or not.

  “Of course I’m joking.” Quint lost his smile and said to the youngster, “Although I did kill her. She was bitten. Shotgun is no use anymore, so I’ve put it in the kitchen. Only had one shell left in it, you see. I was due to go to the gun store to get more shells, but then the apocalypse kicked off. Typical.”

  “What happened to your wife?” Vince bent over and picked his cup up off of the floor and took another slurp. This time he rested the cup on his thigh, but kept it steady with his right hand so it wouldn’t fall.

  “Some dead cunt got her.” Quint ran his fingers through his long grey beard and explained further, “In the beginning, the first thing we did was try and protect our cattle, but one night, a week after the announcement, we woke up and they were all just ... gone. Either escaped or somebody had taken them.”

  “How have you survived for so long?” Vince asked the man.

  “The poultry in the shed kept us going. The chickens themselves and the eggs were a life-saver, until a few weeks ago. Now I just eat a tin a day from the cupboard.”

  “And your wife?” Vince tried again. “What happened to her?”

  A couple of strays got into the field,” Quint began. “The pair of us took them out, both of us carrying a pitch fork each. I didn’t want to use the last shell in my gun, in case it attracted any others from afar. Anyway, my clumsy cunt of a wife ended up getting bit by the last one standing. I took her inside and she never shut up from the moment I picked her up to the moment I placed her on our couch. She wanted me to put her on our bed, but my wife was a fat bastard, and there was no way in hell that I was going to attempt to walk up a flight of stairs with that fucking walrus in my arms. Anyway, I nursed her until she took her last breath.”

  “I’m sorry.” Vince gulped.

  Stephanie looked sad about the loss of his wife and said, “Me too.”

  “Don’t be,” Quint laughed. “I was just glad she finally shut the fuck up.”

  Vince had no idea whether Quint was always this heartless or if he was putting on a brave face in such a dire situation. He asked him, “What did you do with your wife’s body?”

  “I did manage to move her eventually, after I shot her. I keep her upstairs, in the bathroom,” Quint said with a straight face. “Sometimes I go in there and give her a cuddle on a night. Sometimes more.”

  Vince narrowed his eyes at the man and then looked at a confused David and Stephanie.

  Vince had to ask, “You’re joking, right?”

  Quint couldn’t keep his straight face up for long and burst into laughter. “Of course I am. What do you think I am, sick?”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “I blew her head off in here, and then dragged her into the bathroom.” Quint smiled as if what he had said wasn’t a big deal
at all. “Top up?”

  “No, thanks.” Vince shook his head. “No trouble from visitors?”

  Vince could feel the eyes of the two teenagers glaring at him, pleading with Vince that it was time to go.

  “None at all,” said Quint. The man rose to his feet and headed for his kitchen. His feet shuffled slowly out of the living room, and once he disappeared, David spoke to Vince.

  “Please, Vince, can we go,” he whispered. “He scares me.”

  “Really?” Vince puffed out is bottom lip and said, “Don’t you want to stay a little longer?”

  “No,” David and Stephanie said together, making Vince smile.

  “Fine,” Vince chuckled and nodded at Stephanie. “Do you think you’ll be able to handle that RV back to Colwyn once he pulls it out? I’ll drive in front, in case anything happens.”

  “I can manage it,” said Stephanie.

  “Right.” Vince placed his cup of tea on the floor and rose to his feet. Stephanie and David did the same. “Better tell Quint that we’re offski.”

  Quint walked in, holding the drink in his hand, and noticed they were all standing. He said with surprise, “You’re going?”

  “We need to get back,” said Vince.

  “Fine.” Quint’s head lowered, looking a little dejected. “I’ll get some rope and get the tractor ready to pull that RV out of the mud.”

  Vince, Stephanie and David stepped out of the farmhouse and thanked Quint for everything that he had done to help. They headed back to the road, whilst Quint walked to the left, carrying the thick rope he got from his kitchen cupboard. Seven minutes later, Quint had successfully pulled the RV out with Stephanie behind the wheel.

  They said their goodbyes to the large character and Quint waved, yelling, “So long, fuckers!” The farmer then jumped back in his tractor and went back to the farm.

  It was time for Vince, David and Stephanie to go home.

  Chapter Thirty

  Craig had cautiously checked every room downstairs. There was nothing of use for him in the place; it appeared that whoever stayed in the more-than-adequate home had departed, for whatever reason. There were no signs of a struggle in the place, not a single chair or a table had been knocked over, and not a sign of a single speck of blood was picked up by Craig’s eyes.