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

by Whittington, Shaun

  Aware that these diseased beasts could scratch at him, he tried to push off the one on the right, to give himself time to handle the other that he had around the throat. He pushed the one to the right away, but not very far, and reached for his machete on the ground, whilst still having the remaining one by the throat with his left hand.

  He could feel his fingers sinking into the dead flesh of the beast as it tried to push forwards and take a bite out of Pickle, but Pickle was the stronger of the two.

  He plunged the blade into the side of the ghoul’s head and pushed it away, trying to free the blade, but it wasn’t budging. The remaining one threw itself on top of an exhausted Pickle and again, like the first ghoul that had attacked him, Harry Branston grabbed its throat. This time he had it with two hands, and pushed its head up, turning away as three maggots fell out of its rotten mouth. Pickle was weakening, and could see the ghoul getting closer to him, no matter how hard he pushed.

  “Please, God,” he cried. “Help me! Give me strength.”

  The Snatcher snarled and moved another inch closer to Pickle’s throat. With every thing he had, Pickle released a cry and managed to find the strength to push the beast’s head up once more. His arms shook with fatigue and knew he had seconds before his arms would give way. Pickle released a gasp as the creature jolted and suddenly stopped. He could see the metal point of an arrow sticking out of its forehead and he allowed the creature to fall on top of him.

  Pickle closed his eyes, exhausted, and could feel the body being moved off of him. He looked up and could see a blood soaked Drake standing above him.

  “Well, that was fun,” Drake laughed, almost out of breath, and threw his bat to the ground. “Haven’t killed a shitload of DCs for weeks.”

  Drake offered Pickle his hand and Pickle took it. He stood to his feet and looked around the street. All the dead had been put down, and Stephanie Perkins stood on her doorstep with her bow now lowered. Pickle looked at the dead thing with the arrow sticking out of its head, then looked back over at Stephanie and raised his hand at the teenager, thanking her for saving his life.

  “That was some shot,” Drake said, referring to Stephanie’s heroics from a minute earlier.

  Karen approached Pickle and put her hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  Pickle nodded. He was numb and was ungainly on his feet. “They’re all gone?”

  Drake said, “Well, not quite. I’ve sent my guys outside to deal with those strays that were making their way down here, the ones we passed earlier that were by the pub.” Drake pulled out his knife and nodded down to the bodies of Bonser and Gosling. “There’s another two there, in the making. It’s okay. I’ve got it.”

  Drake bent down and Pickle and Karen turned away as Drake shoved his blade into the back of Bonser’s head, and then did the same with young Danny.

  Everybody was now out in the street, apart from Old Tom, even the ones that didn’t get their hands dirty. Terry, Joanne, Stephen, Craig, Stephanie, David, Paul and Gail Smith, little Kelly, Brenda Hatchet all went over to Pickle, but Pickle noticed that there was somebody missing.

  He looked at the faces of the residents and said, “Where the fuck is Vince?”

  A bloody Rowley and Hammett took a quick look at one another and lowered their heads. There was no answer.

  “Well, Where is he?” Pickle was beginning to panic.

  Rowley cleared his throat, grunted and twisted his neck. “Look, chap,” he began. “There’s something we need to tell you.”

  Chapter Fifty One

  Pickle, Karen and Joanne took the stairs of Vince’s place, with Pickle leading the way, and was anxious about entering the room. Still decorated in dark Snatcher blood, the former nurse and inmate approached the closed bedroom door of Vince’s usual room. Without asking Joanne, they assumed correctly that that was where they had put him.

  “It’s okay,” said Joanne in a soft voice. “Just go in.”

  Pickle tried the door and opened it with his fingers. The door swung open at a snail’s pace and both could see that Vince was lying on his back, eyes closed, and resting peacefully; his arms were out of the duvet and by his side.

  Pickle stepped slowly to the left side of the bed to get a better look, and all three could hear footsteps heading to the first floor. All three turned around to see that it was Stephen Rowley.

  “Is that you lot moved all those bodies already?” Karen asked.

  “Drake said he and his men would do it,” Rowley said. “Just wanted to see how he is. Did Joanne tell you what happened?” Rowley asked Pickle and Karen.

  “Aye,” Pickle responded and sat down on the bed. “The short version, on the way upstairs.”

  “A shame about Bonser and Danny,” Stephen remarked. Nobody responded verbally; they just lowered their heads in agreement with his statement.

  Karen gazed at Vince and said, “I’m glad he’s still alive. I don’t think I’m ready to lose anybody else.”

  “He’s fine,” said Joanne. “He just needs to rest, and the good thing is he didn’t lose too much blood. I went over to 17 Colwyn Place and got him some solpadol.”

  Karen inspected the wrapped up injured hand and was satisfied with the work. She asked Joanne, “Did you do this?”

  Joanne nodded.

  “Good work. I’ll wait until he wakes and then I’ll change the dressing.”

  “Okay.”

  “How much solpadol did you give him?” Karen asked.

  Joanne shrugged her shoulders. “I gave him three or four?”

  “That’s a lot.” Karen gazed at the scarred man’s face and added, “But it’s probably for the best.”

  “Didn’t you strap him to the bed, just in case?” Pickle inspected the side of the bed and could see that Vince’s arms were by his side as he rested.

  Joanne shook her head. “I never thought of that.”

  Karen placed her hand on Vince’s forehead. He was still warm. “If he was going to turn, he would have done by now. But he could have some mild kind of infection of some sort. He might be unwell for a while.”

  Pickle looked at Vince’s mutilated hand that had been struck just below the knuckle area. “And who did that?” He nodded down at the hand.

  “I did, chap,” Rowley confessed. “I thought it’d be best to strike there once the dead thing took his thumb off.”

  “Good. Quick thinking.” Pickle turned to Rowley and said, “However, I would have taken the whole hand off, just to make sure.”

  “Well, you weren’t there,” Rowley huffed and seemed irked by Pickle’s comment. “And didn’t you do that to Nick Gregory and he died anyway from blood loss?”

  Pickle cleared his throat and said, “Fair point.”

  “What now?” Rowley asked.

  “Now...” Pickle paused and looked at Karen. “Now, he continues to sleep it off.”

  “No, chap.” Stephen grunted. “I mean, what now with the street?”

  “I don’t know,” Pickle sighed and looked defeated. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

  Karen flashed Pickle a look that was seen by Joanne.

  “What is it?” Joanne asked the pair of them.

  Karen shook her head and asked Joanne, “What are you talking about?”

  “What was that look for? Are we keeping secrets from one another now?”

  A silence suffocated the room. Karen took in a deep breath and could see Pickle’s head lowered.

  “Okay,” Karen began. “I don’t know how you guys feel about Drake, especially after what happened to some of our people last week, but he’s made us an offer.”

  “After what he did to help with the street … just, I don’t mind him,” Joanne said. “I’m not happy that he took Paul away, but I can understand it.”

  “He didn’t have to help us out,” Stephen chipped in. “I suppose I’m grateful for that, but people like Terry…”

  “No, he didn’t have to help us.” Pickle nodded his head and added, “And
there would ‘ave been more o’ the dead on the street if he hadn’t driven his pickup into a horde o’ those dead bastards, but he did.”

  “So, what was this offer, chap?”

  Pickle sighed and began to explain, “Drake has offered to take us all in at his place.”

  Stephen and Joanne took a quick peep at one another. Stephen was the first to react. “When were you actually going to tell us about this, chap?”

  “I wasn’t at first.” Pickle decided to be honest. “I was hoping to start again and try and get new people on board and build something better. But after what’s just happened, I can’t help thinking that, with what we have left and our location, we’re vulnerable whatever we do.”

  “So you turned him down?” Joanne asked.

  Pickle nodded.

  “Let’s get this straight.” The rotund Rowley scratched his cheek and grunted, “So you weren’t even gonna put it to a vote or let us know anyway?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Pickle, his words drenched in regret. “I handled it badly, but after what’s just happened I think moving to Drake’s would be for the best.”

  “What’s the place like?” asked Joanne, beating Stephen to it.

  “I’m not gonna lie to yer,” Pickle said. “It’s magnificent.”

  Moaning from Vince had halted the conversation and all looked at the injured man. He was sweating and was now shaking his head from side to side as if he was having a nightmare. Karen placed her hand on his head and shushed him.

  She said, “He’s burning up.”

  A voice from downstairs bellowed up the stairs. It was Drake’s voice, and he yelled, “Pickle, that’s the bodies taken care of! We’re gonna head! I’ll keep in touch!”

  Pickle left the bedroom, leaving the door open, and stood at the top of the stairs. “Can yer wait a while?”

  “Why?”

  Pickle looked over to the three standing individuals who all gave him an approved nod. “Because I’ve changed ma mind. We’re comin’ with yer.”

  “Excellent.” Drake pointed at Pickle and told him that he wouldn’t regret his decision.

  “I hope not,” Pickle snickered, and returned to the bedroom where Vince and the rest were.

  More moaning came from Vince, and his eyes suddenly popped open. He looked around and twisted his face as the confusion grew, and then looked down to his hand. He gazed at the injured hand for a few seconds and realised what had happened. He remembered being bitten and Stephen standing over him, ready to strike him with the machete.

  “Vince?” Karen was the first to speak. “How are you feeling?”

  He tried to sit up and could see blood evident on all four individuals that were around his bed, especially Pickle and Karen.

  He asked, “Did I miss much?”

  Chapter Fifty Two

  Vince had told the former nurse that once he was fit he would like to use her thighs as earmuffs. It was an old joke he used to say to Karen and Shaz at his camp, and she laughed it off, telling him that he had more chance of being deep-throated by a nun.

  After the short banter, Vince had managed to fall back to sleep again.

  Pickle poked at Stephen and asked him to get everybody out in the street. He told him that Gail Smith was in his place, looking after young Kelly Danson, and reminded him to also get Old Tom from 3 Colwyn Place. The old guy had always been a recluse when John Lincoln was in charge, but he hadn’t been seen for days, except from the occasional appearance in his living room or bedroom window.

  Pickle, Karen, Stephen and Joanne left Vince alone and went outside. Pickle stood in the middle of the street, with Joanne, Karen and Stephen by his side, and could see that Drake was waiting for him. Drake patted Pickle on the shoulder and told him that he and his guys would wait outside the street, in the lane. It’d be a struggle, but with the space in the back of the pickup and the option of going on the back of the four riders, he was confident that all of the people from Colwyn could be transported back to Stafford, if all wanted to go.

  Two minutes had passed and, thanks to Stephen Rowley, everybody was out. Even Brenda, young Kelly and Old Tom.

  “Yer here!” Pickle spoke up, louder than normal, “Apart from Vince, yer all here! Good.”

  “What’s this about, Pickle?” Terry snapped. “And why the fuck are those pricks hanging about?” he continued to rant, obviously referring to Drake and his men.

  Pickle never responded to Terry’s comments. He took in a deep breath, and said to the people of Colwyn Place, “Put yer hands up if yer lot are sick o’ this shit.”

  “Sick of what?” Paul Smith asked.

  “Have yer had enough o’ people dying, had enough o’ the Snatchers, and had enough o’ the uncertainty o’ what awaits us every day?” The small crowd looked at one another, but nobody gave Pickle a verbal response. “Go on!” Pickle yelled, making some people feel uncomfortable. They knew Pickle was a hard man, but hardly saw him so animated. “Put yer hands up if yer have had enough!”

  The crowd of people began to gape at one another once more, and then they began to talk amongst themselves. Not one person answered Pickle’s query, so he tried once more.

  “I’ll ask again,” Pickle grunted. “How many o’ yer have had enough o’ this?”

  Apart from Terry and young Kelly that was by Gail Smith’s side, and had no idea what was going on anyway, everybody raised their hands.

  “Right. Good.” Pickle clapped his hands together and added, “We’ve been given an offer by Drake.”

  “What kind of offer?” Terry was the first to speak up, and already didn’t like what Pickle had said. He wanted nothing to do with those WOE pricks, despite what they had just done to clear up the street.

  “He’s offered all o’ us residence where they stay at Stafford. It’s at the old hospital. We’ve seen the facilities that they have and they’re impressive. Better than yer could imagine.” Some people began to talk amongst themselves, but Pickle continued, “Initially, I turned him down, which he took well. But after what’s just happened.... We’re just never gonna be safe here. We stand a better chance in Stafford. We—”

  “No fucking chance!” Terry Braithwaite snapped.

  “Come on, Terry.” Joanne wiped her eyes and cried, “We’ve just lost Stephen and Danny. We can’t go on like this. That’s seven people in one week.”

  “It’s him!” He flashed Pickle a wide-eyed glare. “He’s cursed! As for going back to their place…” Terry shook his head and couldn’t help a snigger. He looked up and stared over at Harry Branston and pointed his finger at Pickle. “You remember what they did? What they did to our people?”

  Pickle nodded. “Aye, and I remember what we did to theirs.”

  “We were protecting the camp.”

  “Aye, we were. It started out as a friendly search for a couple o’ guys they were after, but your reanimated daughter and yourself started the ball rolling.”

  “Bollocks. You started the ball rolling, by bringing Jez and Craig in. That’s who they were looking for.”

  “I didn’t know that they were wanted men at the time. We did tell them they had gone elsewhere, then they searched the place and bumped into yer daughter in the cellar that no fucker knew about.”

  “This is not on me; it’s on you.”

  “We, Drake and I, could have talked the problem through. But being stupid enough to tie yer dead daughter in yer basement, who killed one o’ Drake’s men, and then yer losing it and then you killing one o’ the guys had prevented that.”

  “She was all that I had left.” Terry took a few steps forwards and was grabbed by Paul Smith, but was shrugged off. Terry’s face was full of rage, and there were tears in his eyes. “I’m not fucking going.”

  “Drake can’t control all of his men and know everything about them, just like John Lincoln and I didn’t know you had a Snatcher tied up in yer basement.”

  “Fuck off, Pickle.”

  “Fine.” Pickle nodded the once and said, �
�All the people that want to come, stand next to me. All the ones that want to stay, stay where yer are.”

  People left the crowd and the people that remained where they were and wanted to stay behind surprised Pickle. Why? Did they think they could make the place work, or didn’t they still trust Drake, despite that he and some of his men had helped to kill the beasts and clean up the street?

  Brenda Hatchet, Old Tom, Paul and Gail Smith and Terry were not going and stood together. Young Kelly was standing by Gail’s side and had no idea what was happening.

  Pickle never asked if they wanted to change their minds. He took their decision and said, “Right, everything that’s here, including the medical supplies, solar panels, the lot … is yours. I wish yer all the luck in the world, people, I really do.”

  “Are you going now?” The rotund Brenda asked.

  “We’re gonna get Vince out o’ his bed soon, then we’ll leave. Drake said that it’s an open offer. We will come back here in a week and ask yer guys once more.”

  “Don’t bother,” Terry snapped. “They’re fucking killers.”

  “We’re all killers, Terry,” sighed Pickle. “Well, most o’ us, but these killers, as yer call them, are offering us a place to stay.”

  “You’re a using bastard, Pickle,” Terry snarled. He took a step forwards and grabbed Harry Branston by his shirt with both hands. Karen and Stephanie protested, but Pickle waved them away and allowed Terry to have his rant. “You’ve said yourself that you’ve been from one camp to the next. Then you come here, to a place that has everything, and now that a better offer comes along you want to take it.”

  “And what’s wrong with that?” Pickle said calmly. “We’re all invited. What’s wrong with going for something better?”

  “You’ve been bad news ever since you set foot in here. For months we did okay. Yes, we lost a couple of people on runs, like Brian Marley, but never have we lost so many in the last week or so.”