Snatchers (Book 10): The Dead Don't Care

by Shaun Whittington

  "Enough." The rotund Rowley snapped and added, "Let's just concentrate on getting home."

  Vince huffed and increased his pace with anger, leaving Karen and Stephen behind.

  "He'll calm down in a bit," said Karen, trying to reassure Stephen. "He's usually quite relaxed and jokey when shit happens ... usually."

  Stephen turned around and looked panicky. Noticing this, Karen asked if he was okay.

  Stephen Rowley shook his head. "What happened back there, with the gang of Creepers ... I'm not used to seeing that many, not really. I think I might have pissed myself a little."

  Karen smiled. "I admire your honesty. And I won't tell anybody about the pissing episode."

  Stephen smiled and cleared his throat. It sounded like he was a smoker, or ex-smoker, and Karen winced when he did this. "You have any family, Karen?"

  "Any family?" Karen scrunched her face in thought and told Stephen, "I presume most of my family are dead. My mum? I have no idea about her. My dad lives in Glasgow with my stepsister, Kelly. My friends..." She hunched her shoulders. "What about you?"

  "I have a sister ... somewhere." He smiled and Karen could see tears forming at the bottom of his eyes. "Her name's Emma. Lost contact with her after the first week. I hope she's okay."

  "Nice, was ... is she?" Karen gave off an apologetic look for saying was.

  Stephen grinned and nodded. "Nothing like me. A good looking girl. Blonde curly hair." He patted his large stomach. "I'm the opposite. Where she used to have the guys lining up, I used to repulse women. Still do."

  Karen laughed, then immediately put her hand over her mouth and apologised to Stephen. "Repulse women? I think you're exaggerating a little, don't you think?"

  Stephen pointed at himself and asked with a cheeky grin, "Would you do me?"

  "Definitely not."

  Stephen burst into hysterics and shook his head. "I like you, Karen."

  *

  Harry Branston and Danny Gosling sat in silence as the jeep made its way through the country lane. Since leaving Celia's they hadn't come across a single Snatcher, and that was the way that Danny liked it.

  They came to a straight stretch of road and Danny raised a smile, knowing that they were near Colwyn Place.

  "Yer did okay." Pickle broke the silence and shifted the vehicle into a lower gear. "Yer hear me?"

  "What?" Danny looked confused.

  "I said ... yer did okay."

  Danny made a short laugh, telling Pickle that he didn't believe him.

  Picking up on this, Pickle said, "It's not easy being out there. Most people don't make it. At least with me around, yer can have some kind o' guidance."

  Danny smiled and sighed, "Don't you think that sounds a little patronising?"

  "A little. Sorry." Pickle began to laugh. "But I'm right. If I dropped yer off right now and Colwyn Place never existed, how long do yer think yer would last?"

  "I'd be okay." Danny's response wasn't convincing.

  "Well, I've been out there, in the thick o' it."

  "And your point being?"

  "I've had to shoot, bash and cut through so many heads that I've lost count. I've killed people to stay safe, stayed in the woods for days on end, spent days without wiping ma arse. Yer think yer could cope with that? Yer think yer could cope with dehydration, constant headaches and constipation?"

  Danny never answered.

  "Sometimes being hungry is the least o' yer worries." Pickle continued, "Stick with me and I'll toughen yer up. One day yer might be on yer own."

  The jeep slowed down and eventually came to a stop once they reached the gate. Pickle waited patiently for James Thomson to pull the gate back. Once he did, he drove the vehicle in and grinned once he saw the motor-home.

  "They're back sooner than I thought," said Pickle.

  Danny was unresponsive and remained silent.

  Pickle parked the jeep, stepped out of the vehicle and was quickly greeted by John Lincoln. Pickle could tell by Lincoln's face that something was wrong.

  "Everything okay?" Lincoln asked.

  "Aye." Pickle nodded. "What's up?"

  "We've got a bit of a problem."

  "What kind o' a problem?"

  John stood for a minute and reluctantly told Pickle the story that Freddie had told him. Freddie had told John Lincoln the truth.

  To John's surprise, Pickle didn't look flustered at all. Pickle reassured John that the three that Freddie had abandoned would be okay. He was obviously unhappy with Freddie, but Pickle said that it was done and nothing could change it.

  "I thought you'd be fuming." Lincoln looked relieved.

  Pickle patted John on the shoulder. "They'll be fine. It's not ideal, but they'll be fine."

  "How can you be so sure?" Lincoln was still perplexed by Pickle's relaxed manner.

  "Yer don't know Karen and Vince like I do. Relax."

  "But what happens if they don't turn up by the end of the day?"

  "Then I'll go looking for them. First thing."

  John lowered his head and cleared his throat. "Look, about Freddie..."

  Pickle flashed John a smile. "It's okay. I won't touch him."

  Chapter Twenty One

  Despite the warning from Lincoln after his first solo venture into No Man's Land, Paul Dickson had jumped the wall once again. He watched Pickle return with Danny, then when everybody went inside, he decided to take another walk. The street was barren when he approached the wall and made sure James Thomson, who was by the steel gate, had his back to him when he did this.

  Paul Dickson kicked at the loose gravel as he walked on the pavement of the desolate street. He looked around the area and tried to imagine what it was like four months ago.

  He imagined people going to work, returning from the supermarket in their cars, pulling up on their drives, taking out the groceries and going into the house. He wondered if children filled the streets, especially on a weekend, and wondered what games they played. In his day, it was games like hide-and-seek, kerby and football, but games consoles seemed to be the thing with most children in the 21st century. Maybe if the street had children, back in the old world, they'd be inside on their iPads, hudls, PCs or their phones.

  He reached the end of the street and saw the usual carnage that he had seen before. He seemed emotionally unattached when looking at the blood, entrails and mutilated bodies around him. Even the decapitated female's head on one of the lawns unmoved the man. Was he becoming desensitised with this world or was he simply not caring anymore?

  He took in a deep breath and a small smile developed on his features. He was thankful that he was alive, thankful that he had managed to escape that house with the dozen of naked beasts after him from a few days ago, but he needed to be away from the four walls that John Lincoln had given him and away from the claustrophobic street. He was luckier than most, but he needed some space. He felt like he was losing his mind, and even the friendship of Pickle, Vince, and especially Karen didn't stop him from becoming depressed, having constant suicidal thoughts and wanting to kill one or two members that lived in Colwyn Place.

  He walked into a side street, decided to walk another mile, but had no intention of going by his old house, the same house he had left over five weeks ago, the same house he shared with Julie, Bell and Kyle. The reason why he and Kyle left the house in the first place was because the Murphys had set it on fire after they had broken in.

  Was that the last memory he wanted of his family home? To return and see it as a black, burnt out mess?

  His stroll was unproblematic, which was just as well, as he patted his pockets, front and back, and realised he had no knife on him. He stopped and looked ahead. A man was dead. A crash helmet was by his body. He looked to his right to see the incredible looking building of St Mary's. He peeked from side to side and decided to walk along the abbey for the second time today, and remembered the story that John Lincoln had told him about the place. Paul decided to check it out.

  He promised hims
elf that even if one of those dead fucks was round the back he would run away, especially now that he was unarmed. He went down the side of the building, reached the back of the abbey and saw a basic garden with a few water features and old statues. Usually, in an archaic building like a church or an abbey, old graveyards would be present. Not in this one. It was a garden unspoilt by old, mouldy headstones.

  Maybe the headstones had been removed, but the dead's bones remained in the ground. He didn't know; he didn't care either.

  He looked to a door by his side and noticed it was shut. Despite it being shut, a heavy-looking water feature was leaning against it. That's what John was talking about.

  Paul crept over to the door and placed his ear on it, but he heard nothing. He was bored, but he didn't want to risk doing anything silly by moving the feature and having a look inside. He then stood up straight and began to stroke his chin in thought.

  He went to the front of the abbey and decided to go back, over the wall of Colwyn Place, and sneak back into his house as if nothing had happened. There was nothing in this part of Little Haywood, but it was nice to be in a different area, with no people.

  Paul strolled along the road and began to hum a tune in his head. It had been a while since he had listened to music. He missed his music. He tried to remember the song and the band responsible for this tune. He remembered. A Means to an End by Joy Division.

  His walk was uneventful until he saw one of the dead stumble out of a side street and onto the main road. Paul stopped walking and released a heavy sigh. He didn't feel nervous at all as the ghoul spotted him and staggered in his direction.

  He remained standing still, waiting for it to approach him so that he could run around and then away from it. He had been informed by the residents that there were still a couple of strays spotted from the wall, but most had been killed and the strays hardly approached the concrete barrier.

  He allowed the thing to go over to him, but just as he was about to run away, something had frozen his legs. The creature was female and had the same features as Julie. Apart from the tattered dark clothes that she was wearing, the female creature didn't look too dissimilar from how Julie looked when he saw her in the supermarket car park, in her Renault Clio, with his daughter in the back.

  He stared at the ravenous beast and could feel his eyes watering as the vision of his wife and daughter plagued his mind.

  Before he had a chance to move and before he had a chance to pull himself together, he jumped as it grabbed his shoulders and tried to bury its head into his chest. He pushed the thing away, watching it tumble to the floor, but couldn't bring himself to harm it. He began to run away from it and never looked back.

  The concrete wall was in sight.

  He ran by the abandoned cars and overgrown lawns to both sides of him, and stopped once he had reached the wall. He looked behind him, but couldn't see the female beast. He then turned his attention to the barrier and peered over. It seemed clear, so he climbed it and once his feet landed on the other side of the wall, in the new Colwyn Place, James Thomson came storming over. Paul had been spotted.

  "What the fuck are you doing?" James Thomson's body language was threatening, but Paul Dickson looked unruffled.

  "I fancied a walk," Paul said, as if it was nothing.

  "You can't just leave whenever you feel like it," Thomson snarled. "You stupid prick."

  "Why?"

  James couldn't find the words to respond to Paul's query, so Paul tried to walk away, back to his house, but James grabbed him by the wrist.

  Paul glared at the large man with fury, forcing Thomson to gulp and let go of him. James Thomson was a hard man, but he saw something in Paul's face that unnerved him. He was convinced that they had a mentally unstable person on their camp. In his experience, a mentally unstable person was far more dangerous than a person who could physically handle himself.

  "Just don't do it again," James said, this time more softly. "If John finds out..."

  "Fuck John," Paul hissed.

  "Wait a minute. We took you in, and this is how you—?"

  "You took me in, so what? Does that mean I have to suck your dick now?"

  James looked baffled by Paul's comment and couldn't find a verbal response at first. All he managed was, "John is greatly respected round these parts. You should show some gratitude."

  Paul added, "Why? He does fuck all. He walks around with that daft smile on his fat face and orders people about."

  James gulped, trying to control his anger. Eventually, he said, "Get inside. Have a lie down."

  "That's what I was about to do, before you came over with your bollocks."

  James couldn't help himself anymore and snarled, "I could snap you in two, you little shit, if I really wanted to."

  "I've lost my wife, daughter and recently my son," Paul said in a soft tone and a wore a thin smile that sent a shudder down James' frame. "Do you honestly think I give a shit about what you can do to me?"

  "I'm really beginning to dislike you." James clenched his fists. "Maybe you should be taught a lesson."

  "You can't break a man that is already broken. Threaten me all you want, you and your housemate, Stephen Bonser. I don't give a shit. There's nothing and nobody that can stop me from sneaking into your rooms and cutting your throat while you two cunts sleep in your beds." Paul took a step forward and growled in James' face. "Absolutely nothing."

  "Are you ... you threatening me?" James stammered. "And Stephen?"

  "Nope." Paul revealed a disturbing wide grin. "Just saying. Just making polite conversation." Paul turned away from James and opened his front door. "See you later."

  "I won't tell Lincoln about this conversation, or jumping the wall," James spoke up. "Not this time. But next time this happens..."

  "You do what you want. Lincoln is already aware of my wandering activities." Paul slammed the door shut.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  The sound of engines stirred the man out of his doze. He was dreaming about his brother and mum. They were both dead. He knew it.

  Craig Burns walked to the bedroom window and peered out from behind the closed blinds. He could see four bikers pull up, four men, two bikes. They were parked up by the house, two doors down, and he looked on with fascination, wondering what was going to happen next.

  The four bikers were without helmets, and were travelling on two Vespa mopeds. He could see they had leather jackets on and something was stitched at the bottom, but couldn't see what it was.

  Three of the men disappeared and went into the house from two doors down, but one hung around. Craig Burns continued to stare out, hoping they wouldn't come to the house that he was in. These houses were large and luxurious. It was obvious why they were trying them.

  He waited for a long eight minutes before the men emerged from the house, now carrying bags of food. The men placed the bags under their seats and on the back of their racks and storage at the sides of their bikes.

  They went in for one last trip, in the same house, and returned to their bikes with more bags.

  They seemed pleased with themselves, and Craig thought that there probably wasn't enough room for much more with the little storage they had on their bikes. He was disappointed when he saw the men go into the next large house, the one next to him on his left. He decided to try and find a hiding place, just in case they decided to try his house next.

  He had decided to try a place in the residence he had avoided since his arrival. The attic. He grabbed his hockey stick, went into the back bedroom and stood under the hatch of the attic. A ring on a piece of string hung above him, and once he pulled on it, the hatch opened and stepladders slowly came down. He took the hockey stick with him and once he was up, he pulled up the stepladders, closed the hatch and sat on his backside and waited. He looked around the attic and could see that it was a place used for storage. There were boxes everywhere, as well as a dusty acoustic guitar that only had three strings on it, and there was also an assortment of ol
d books by Robert Louis Stevenson, Charles Dickens and James Joyce.

  It wasn't long before the men arrived. Craig took in a deep breath and lay down, placing his ear against the hatch.

  He heard boots making their way to the first floor and the sound of male voices began to fill it. He heard them talking about the house next door and how it was empty. They then began to talk about the first house they had been in, the house that was two doors down from Craig. They seemed high, and the adrenaline seemed to be pumping through them by the sound of their excited voices.

  They entered the bedroom that was below the attic and talked about the people in the house from two doors down. A man, woman and a boy was there. They mentioned the man's name, Dave, his 'stupid' beard, and that his wife was a hell of a fighter. Craig shook his head on hearing their brief conversation. It appeared that this poor surviving family had not only been robbed of their supplies, but the woman had been attacked by these men. From what Craig could make out, the woman was attacked after the father and son had been 'dealt with', whatever that meant.

  "What about the attic?" Craig heard one of the men call out.

  Craig took in a deep breath and clasped his hockey stick, ready for a battle. There was a long silence before anyone responded to the man's query.

  Finally another voice said, "What about it? There was nothing in the other two attics. I'm not gonna bother my arse with this one. Let's just go back. Drake will be wondering where we are."

  After that statement, the men left and Craig could breathe easy. He lay on his back and looked up to the ceiling, sweat running from his forehead, and lay there for a number of minutes before making his way back to the first floor of the house, then finally the ground floor, once he heard the sound of engines fading away. What supplies he had left had been taken, and it was clear that he needed to go out and get more or even find a new place.

  He peered out of the living room window and could see it was clear. The stories of the family were bugging the man; he had made a choice to go round to check on them. He needed to go out anyway, eventually, to see if there was anything that could keep him going for a few days. He decided to return once he checked the house, then come back and grab the bowl from the kitchen and pick the berries and mushrooms the woods had to offer. There must be something there, surely.