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

by Shaun Whittington

  "I'm just saying, with the houses unlocked, what's stopping someone from inside or outside the camp sneaking in and butchering us, or at least some o' us, while we sleep in our beds? I suppose it doesn't matter if they're locked; if people wanted to get in, they'd get in, but do yer understand what I mean?"

  "Is there some kind of threat hidden in this statement of yours?" asked Stephen, confused by Harry Branston's remark.

  Pickle shook his head. "Just making conversation. Let's not get paranoid now, shall we?"

  Bonser gulped and was nervous by Pickle's comment. "Look, Pickle. That's fine. We'll start afresh tomorrow. If Paul's nice to us, we'll be nice to him."

  "Wait a minute!" Thomson walked over and grabbed Pickle by the shirt. "Don't come in here and tell us what to do. If Lincoln hears about this..."

  "Let go of my shirt," Pickle snapped.

  Thomson stared into Pickle's eyes, released his grip and took a step back.

  "I'll let yer off with that one," said Pickle. "But yer touch me again, and I'll crush yer."

  "I can have you." James Thomson began to laugh. "Why don't we go outside, in front of the whole street, and see what you're made of. Yes, I've heard stories, but stories can be exaggerated and grow into something they never were in the first place."

  "James." Bonser placed his hand on James Thomson's shoulder and told him, "Leave it, will you?"

  "I'm not having this twat coming in here, mouthing off." Thomson shrugged off Stephen's hand and snarled at Pickle. "Come on, Pickle. You and me, outside. What do you say?"

  "Yer don't wanna go down that road, sonny. Trust me." Pickle turned around and headed for the main door.

  Thomson lunged at Pickle and both men fell to the floor. Bonser screamed at the men to cut it out, and could see that the two big men were wrestling on the floor, like a couple of school boys.

  Thomson then released a scream. He fell off of Pickle and was now on his back, clutching his left hand with his right.

  "What is it?" Bonser was panicking. "What happened?"

  Pickle casually stood to his feet and brushed himself down, smiling at Stephen. "I'll be off."

  "He broke my fucking fingers!" Thomson wailed.

  Pickle screwed his face up and said, "It was just the two. Yer little and yer ring finger." He then turned to Stephen and patted his shoulder. "I'll get Karen round to bandage him up."

  "O-kay." Bonser looked stunned and didn't know what else to say.

  "Enjoy the rest of yer day, gentlemen. Play nice now."

  Pickle left the house and shut the door behind him, drowning out James' screams.

  Chapter Fifty Three

  "So what do you reckon to the house?" Stephanie Perkins asked.

  The teenager sat down on the couch and could see that Ophelia White was now oddly sitting in the corner of the living room, on the floor, and picking at her nails. She was clearly bored, but Stephanie was happy that she was in a place where there were other people.

  "I like it." Elza Crowe smiled. She was sitting at the other end of the couch, leaning her head back. Elza looked done-in after the wall incident and the digging, and wasn't far away from forty winks.

  Stephanie was aware that the Sandy Lane Camp only lasted a couple of days for her, but even if this place was only for a week, it was a welcomed break from the woods and the church, and also a lot safer.

  She was glad she was away from the church. She didn't want to mention this to the girls, however, especially Elza. She had kindly taken Stephanie under her wing. Although Stephanie had possibly saved Elza's life when she and Ophelia were attacked in the woods, Elza didn't have to invite Stephanie to join her. She and Ophelia could have just walked away. But they didn't. And Stephanie had a lot of respect for Elza for this.

  The church was a good place. It was better than any of the houses on the Pear Tree, because the church didn't have the smell of death in them and dozens of flies that seemed to appear from nowhere. The only trouble with the church was that when it came to looking for supplies, it was left abandoned and could be taken over by desperate survivors or even looters. Elza told Stephanie that she didn't want to leave anyone behind to 'guard' the building, in case the person behind was outnumbered and beaten, or worse.

  So, when they went out, they all went out together.

  It was the three of them that would go out, and it was the three of them that would stay indoors. No one ventured out on their own. Not out of the church grounds.

  Fortunately, when the church was overrun in their absence, it just so happened that they were with Pickle and Karen when it happened.

  There was a lot of bad luck when it came to the apocalypse, but these kind of lucky breaks were very welcome.

  If Pickle had simply dropped the girls off and left, then Elza, Ophelia and Stephanie would now be staying in a smelly house on the Pear Tree or Sandy Lane, or, if they could he bothered, they would make the three to four mile walk back to Little Haywood. After all, John Lincoln did clearly express that he wanted the girls to stay.

  The church had been taken over by other people, and the girls were now staying in a small place where the houses were reasonably clean, solar power was available, and it also looked like these people could survive the winter. A lot of supplies such as food and medical stuff was available in 17 Colwyn Place, and there were also vegetable patches set up in numerous back gardens.

  There was something bothering Stephanie; something that Elza had said when they were travelling back to Little Haywood from Rugeley.

  She asked, "Elza?"

  "Mmm?"

  "Remember what you said yesterday, in the back of the Range Rover, when you mentioned killing the strong characters at Colwyn Place?"

  "Yes, of course I do." Elza still had her head back, sitting on the other end of the couch.

  "Did you mean it?"

  "We could never do it with just the three of us."

  "Two of us," Stephanie spoke up. "I wouldn't get involved with something so ... cold."

  "If trouble begins to brew," Elza continued, "and Pickle and the rest are threatened to be kicked out..."

  "Yeah?"

  "Well, with Pickle's blessing, all those guys, the strong characters he mentioned, would be butchered. Then we start again."

  Stephanie Perkins gulped and for the first time she felt uncomfortable in Elza's company. "Just like that?"

  "Yep." Elza looked over at Stephanie coldly. "Just like that."

  Chapter Fifty Four

  Hours had passed and Vince Kindl stepped outside, straightened his arms above his head, reaching for the sky. He rubbed his hands over his scarred face and decided to stretch his legs. He had managed a short nap on his couch; it was just for ten minutes, but felt better and refreshed.

  He nodded at two females that were sitting on their lawn. He tried to remember their names. Lynne Smithers and Sandra Roberts. Both females had dark features and were both twenty-six years old. He briefly wondered what it'd be like if they ever had a threesome. Vince laughed. As if that would ever happen.

  He then lost his smile and began to think about Rosemary. And Lisa.

  He went over to the two girls to have a chat. He didn't know every single resident, a lot of them were very private, but he used this opportunity to get to know at least two of them better. He had only made a few steps when the two girls decided to take themselves back inside. Lynne Smithers was the last to go in, turned around and gave Vince a strange look before shutting the door behind her.

  "Charming." Vince snickered, "Still got it, Kindl."

  With his scars that he had, thanks to his father, Vince had always had to rely on his mouth to charm the ladies. Making them laugh was his strongest weapon. Laugh them into bed, but don't laugh them out of it, he always used to say to his workmate and occasional drinking buddy, Lee James.

  Vince sat down on the kerb, alone, and looked up to the murky sky. He took in a deep breath and began to think about his sister in Ireland. How was she getting on? Some of his
thoughts then went back to his childhood, but his daydreaming was short-lived when a voice brought him out of it.

  "Mind if I sit down, chap?"

  "Of course." Vince patted the kerb.

  Stephen Rowley sat down next to him and released a heavy sigh. He had changed his clothing, Vince noticed. Stephen had on a blue shirt with white stripes, a pair of khaki shorts and a pair of sandals, no socks.

  "What's up?" asked Vince.

  "It's been a stressful day."

  "You can say that again." Vince rubbed his hands over his face. "In times of stress, you can't beat a bottle of booze or the loving of a good woman. Or both."

  "Not much chance of that round here, chap."

  "I dunno. I think there's a few lookers here. Have you tried?"

  "Not really." Stephen cleared his throat. "I don't think the women are interested, to be honest."

  Vince cackled, "I suppose the apocalypse is hardly an aphrodisiac, is it?"

  "And I'm not the best looking guy in the world." Stephen smiled and patted his large belly.

  "Well, that's true," Vince said without thinking. "But I'm hardly a catch myself." He pointed at his face. "But if you try, show them your personality, then there's always a chance. I don't think women are as judgemental as men. Although, let's be honest, men would shag anything."

  "Speak for yourself, chap."

  "I remember when I started my job as a fork lift driver," Vince began with a smile. "I pulled this girl from the office. She was a heavy girl. When I took her back to my place, I pulled her pants down and her arse was still in them."

  "That's not nice, chap." Stephen shook his head. "But you still made love to her?"

  "Made love?" Vince guffawed. "Guys don't make love. Making love is what a woman does while a man is screwing her. Anyway, she was a nice enough woman, and it was her that dumped me. She said I was too selfish in bed."

  "You know what I miss more than sex?"

  "What?"

  "Beer."

  "I hear you, brother."

  "I miss a cold Bud." Stephen closed his eyes and smiled, trying to remember what a cold beer tasted like.

  "I don't mind a cold Bud, but I'd prefer a warm bush."

  Ignoring Vince, Stephen said, "I suppose it would be nice to meet somebody, chap. But it's that fear."

  "And what fear is that?"

  "The fear of losing them."

  "Well, this has always been a problem, back in the old world."

  "Even more so now." Stephen tried to joke, "At least my hands work. They sort me out when I'm feeling frisky."

  Vince nodded his head in agreement and said, "Tell me about it. I mean, I'm no expert on masturbation, but I hold my own."

  Stephen grunted and twisted his neck. "You said you used to be a fork lift driver?"

  "That's right. I had other jobs before that. Many." Vince leaned his head back and closed his eyes as a soft breeze tickled his face.

  "Oh yeah?" said Stephen. "I've had one or two." He then puffed out his chest, forcing Vince to ask what was wrong.

  Stephen said, "Have you ever imagined what'd it be like once the dead are gone and some kind of order is restored?"

  "Not really." Vince shook his head and smirked. "Have you ever imagined a world with no hypothetical questions?"

  "I don't know what you mean, chap?"

  Vince smiled. "Forget it, Steve ... Stephen," Vince corrected himself.

  Vince then saw Pickle coming out of his house. He gave Vince and Stephen a wave and then he went over to Terry Braithwaite for a chat. Terry was one of the men that wasn't keen on Paul Dickson, and Vince wondered if the chat was related to Paul.

  Pickle then walked away and went by the solar panels. He then strolled by the wall and took a peep over. He stopped, and the look on his face made Vince get to his feet.

  "Now, what's up?" sighed Vince. Not more of the dead, please.

  Stephen also saw it and stood up also. Both Vince and Stephen walked over with hurried steps and both men stood either side of Harry Branston. Vince stood by Pickle's right and Stephen was to his left, both expecting there to be more of those freaks from the abbey. This wasn't the case, and a different kind of threat could be seen as they stared out.

  "Oh shit," Vince muttered.

  "Exactly what I was thinking," said Pickle.

  "What are they doing, chaps?" Stephen asked, then gulped hard.

  "They're spying on us," said Vince.

  "They're not exactly discreet, are they?"

  Pickle added, "I think they are spying on us, but it could also be a kind o' intimidation. Maybe they want us to know that we're being watched."

  All three continued to look.

  In the distance, there were four men in No Man's Land. Each one was sitting on their Vespa moped, all gazing, staring at the wall, staring at Pickle, Vince and Stephen.

  Rowley asked, "What do you think they're after?"

  "Could be anything," Pickle sighed. "They could be just curious, they could be after what we have in 'ere. Or they could just be psychotic. Or all o' the above."

  "Didn't you run down one of their girls, a week back?" Stephen asked. Vince could see that the man was now shaking.

  "Aye, but I don't think they've been spying on us long enough that they recognise me, Vince or Karen. Those four might not even be the same men that were with that group when we hit that woman." Pickle tried to remember the name of the woman he had accidentally knocked down. Ina.

  "Anyway," Vince intervened, "they killed Sheryl and stole our pickup and supplies as compensation, so it's not revenge that they're after, even if we have been recognised."

  "Then what is it, chaps?" Stephen grunted.

  "I don't know," Pickle released a heavy breath and looked at Stephen and Vince, "but it doesn't look good."

  All four strangers started the engines of their mopeds that could be faintly heard in the distance, and Pickle, Stephen and Vince continued to glare. One by one, the mopeds turned around and rode away, slowly, in single file.

  Stephen puffed out his cheeks. "I better tell John what we've seen."

  Pickle agreed. "He might want to keep it a secret, just in case the other residents get frightened."

  "Maybe it's best if they are told." Vince looked at Pickle for a reaction. "I think it'd be best if everyone stays indoors until this problem is sorted."

  "Sorted?" Pickle asked, "And how are we supposed to sort this?"

  "We can talk ... or we fight, if they leave us no other option." Vince turned to Pickle and asked him with a stern look. "What do you think?"

  Harry Branston tucked his bottom lip in and raised his eyebrows in thought. "What do I think?"

  Stephen and Vince nodded, waiting for a verbal reaction from a man they both greatly respected.

  "Yer say that everyone should stay indoors until this problem is sorted, but how do we know we have a problem? They may never come back. We may never see these guys again."

  "Do you honestly believe that, Pickle?" Vince asked.

  Pickle exhaled noisily. "I don't know. It could be nothing."

  Pickle was still thinking and began to pick his ears. His ears were getting better now. They had been flaky for days, and Karen told him that he should try some hydrocortisone cream. Fortunately, even before the medical run, there was some that was available and was given to the former inmate. He applied the steroid cream on every other day and it seemed to be improving.

  "They seem to be everywhere these days." Vince narrowed his eyes in thought and added, "We should send a team out and if ever they come anywhere near this place, we should sort them out."

  "By killing them?" Pickle was unsure what Vince meant.

  Vince shrugged his shoulders. He didn't look sure.

  "I think we should calm the fuck down." Pickle smiled and placed his hand on the shoulder of Vince and Stephen. "Maybe they're just intrigued. We don't want to be starting something if that little visit of theirs was perfectly innocent."

  "Perfectly in
nocent?" Vince scoffed. "Do you really believe that?"

  "Maybe they're friendly," Stephen tried to put a dampener on the paranoia that was being felt.

  "Oh yeah?" said Vince. "Then why didn't they come over and introduce themselves, instead of staring at us from a distance?"

  "Because, Vince, and yer should already know this," Pickle began and stared at Kindl. "Every stranger in this new world can be a potential danger."

  The men and their bikes were now nowhere to be seen and not even the sound of their engines could be heard.

  "Yep." Pickle moved away from the wall and headed down the street. "Probably came across us by accident and were just curious."

  Vince turned around to look at the back of Pickle, but Stephen remained staring over the wall, looking down the old part of the street that used to be a part of Colwyn Place, but was now No Man's Land.

  "And what if you're wrong?" Vince called out, forcing Pickle to stop walking. "We've seen what they did to Sheryl. Jez and Craig told me a story about them earlier. They butchered a family for no reason. Jez was briefly a part of their crew, and I heard that name Drake being mentioned again. What if they're more than curious and want to take what we have?"

  "Well," Pickle turned around and ran his fingers over his stubbly chin, "If it's something more sinister, then we have plenty o' storms ahead o' us, gentleman. Plenty o' storms."

  Pickle headed for the gate and asked Stephen and Vince to follow him out of Colwyn Place and over to the field. They still had bodies to bury.

  THE END

  If you enjoyed reading SNATCHERS 10: The Dead Don't Care, feel free to email me your thoughts or leave a review where you've downloaded the book.

  Very kind regards,

  Shaun Whittington

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  Author's Note

  Once more, thanks again for downloading the latest Snatchers book and being patient. This one seems to have taken longer than any of the others, simply because I struggled with it and tried to give it a decent ending.