The Dead Don't Fear

by Shaun Whittington

  Snatchers 13: The Dead Don’t Fear

  By

  Shaun Whittington

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2019

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  The author uses UK English

  The fear of death is more dreaded than death itself.

  Publilius Syrus

  Snatchers 13: The Dead Don’t Fear

  Chapter One

  September 1st

  He ran his fingers through his grey hair and then inspected his clean-shaven face. The forty-nine-year-old looked around the abandoned car park and remembered the last time he had been here at the hospital. Vince Kindl was with three others, Jack Slade, Clare and Paul, and barely got out alive. Now the place was Snatcher free and had been cleaned up by Drake and his WOE crew, as well as other residents.

  Vince and the others had been at the hospital for a few days now and were settling in, despite the occasional negative comment made by one or two of the residents in the first couple of days.

  Vince leaned against a brick wall and had the keys to the van that had a full tank. He was waiting on Stephen Rowley and Craig Burns. Drake wanted three guys to go out on a run that could take a while, and Vince had opted to go, so long as he took guys he already knew. He had only been in the place for a few days and his offer had made some of the residents, who weren’t so pleased to see him at first, warm to him.

  Vince had picked Rowley and Burns without consulting them. Craig wasn’t bothered, but Stephen was nervous and was happy enough to stay within the walls of the hospital grounds. He was helping out a guy called Henry, looking after the produce in the greenhouses and the allotments, but he felt that he couldn’t turn the run down now that Vince had volunteered him. If he turned him down, it would make him look cowardly.

  Stephen Rowley appeared from round the corner and held his hand up at Vince. He grunted and twisted his neck, a habit that still annoyed Vince, and said good morning to him.

  “Morning,” Vince groaned. He ran his fingers from his right hand over his face and asked Rowley, “What took you so long anyway?”

  “What do you mean, chap. Craig’s not even here yet.”

  “What time is it anyway?”

  “No idea,” Stephen grunted and cleared his throat loudly, making Vince twist his face in disgust.

  They were now both leaning against the wall and Vince slapped Stephen on the chest when a familiar female walked by. Her name was Patricia Johnson. She was in her mid-thirties, had blonde hair, and Vince had noticed the striking woman as soon as he turned up at the hospital with Drake and the rest. She waved at the two men as she walked by them, and looked to be heading to the old A and E department.

  “Man, I’ve got a serious crush on her,” Vince admitted.

  “Chap, you have a serious crush on anything with a pulse. Karen, Joanne—”

  “Gotta keep your options open.” Vince smiled and shook his head. “If she invited me into her bed I’d never be off her. You’d have to shoot me.”

  Stephen giggled and twisted his neck, forcing Vince to side step away half a yard.

  “Jesus, Steve,” Vince moaned. “You nearly head-butted me, you twitchy bastard.”

  “Sorry, Vince, and—”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Vince held up both hands and huffed. “Don’t call me Steve. To be fair, I haven’t called you Steve in days. Anyway, I’m Vincent, but most call me Vince. Hardly a crime, is it?”

  “You called me Steve-O the other day. I didn’t like that either.”

  “Give me fucking strength.” Vince released a tired breath out and decided to change the subject and asked Stephen if he was nervous about going out.

  “A bit, chap,” was his response. “Still a bit pissed off that you nominated me, to be honest. And do you think you can drive with that?” Rowley pointed at Vince’s left hand, where Rowley himself had taken off half of it when his thumb was bitten by a Snatcher.

  “Yeah. Piece of piss.” Vince’s left hand was wrapped in a fresh white bandage. Karen had kept a close eye on it and he had been taking strong painkillers since he arrived at the place. He slept for the first day, but since then the painkillers had been getting him through it.

  “Why are you pissed off? You can’t hide in here and clean out portaloos and filter water, like Chris does.”

  “Who’s Chris?”

  “That small guy with all the lumps and skin tags all over his face. Weird bloke.” Vince folded his arms and said, “His breaths stinks as well.”

  “Everybody’s breath stinks, chap.” Rowley spoke up. “Everybody’s dehydrated. We don’t have mints, mouthwash … some people don’t even brush their teeth.”

  “I don’t think Chris does either. That guy takes it to a new level.”

  “What do you mean, chap?”

  “He came over to me yesterday and asked how I was getting on,” Vince began to explain. “I nearly threw up on his face. He smelt like someone had shat on a corpse. And he has a thing for Karen as well.”

  “Who doesn’t?” Stephen shrugged his shoulders.

  “Anyway, us lot going out is good for relations with the new people. Some of them don’t like us, especially as they lost people that we killed.”

  “Well, they did attack us first, chap. And Paul Dickson killed most of them.”

  “Yeah, well he’s long gone now.”

  Vince ran his tongue across the front of his teeth and realised they hadn’t been cleaned in two days. He was thinking about leaving Stephen to quickly give them a brush, seem as though they could be away for a couple of days, but a man with dark features and of average height appeared from around the corner. He was carrying a hockey stick, and was whistling a tune that Vince and Stephen didn’t recognise.

  Craig Burns clocked Vince and looked at his watch.

  “Christ, you’re up early Vince,” Craig laughed, not even acknowledging Rowley’s existence. “Did you shit the bed or something?”

  “Don’t be daft,” Vince sniggered. “I haven’t done that in weeks.”

  Craig smiled. “Anyway, are we ready to go?”

  “Sure, but I’m driving,” Vince announced.

  Chapter Two

  Drake’s frame turned the corner of the outpatients building and the thin man who was six-four in height looked up to the dull sky.

  “Could do with some rain,” he moaned.

  He couldn’t remember the last time it rained. A week ago? Longer?

  He folded his arms and looked around the place he and his companions had built.

  He ran his fingers over his shaved head and took a walk over to the greenhouses and began to speak with a guy called Henry who mainly took care of the produce. The vegetables were flourishing and the food would only increase once Pickle and Karen returned from the garden centre in Cannock and returned with whatever they could get their hands on. Drake had composed a list of essentials, if it was possible to get them, and more garden utensils, seeds, and gas were the three essentials. Anything else would be a bonus.

  The place had never been so well off, but with winter not far away, Drake had sen
t Karen and Pickle to the garden centre eight miles away; he also had four bikers out searching the area of Stafford for anything of value to their community, and Vince, with two others, had just left to go to Stoke on a medical run. It made more sense for Karen to be on the medical run, but the instructions were clear: Take everything, bring it back, and Karen can sort the supplies out later.

  Drake looked at the high brick wall that circled most of the hospital, and his mind had drifted and began to think about his wife and son.

  His thoughts had been rudely interrupted when he heard a male clear his throat to the side of him.

  Drake sighed when his eyes clocked twenty-four-year-old Gary Bond. Gary meant well, but Drake found him an irritable individual.

  “What is it, Gary?”

  “Drake, I was just wondering,” Gary began nervously and then paused briefly. “Could I start helping out doing runs. You’ve never asked me to go out. I know I wasn’t a member of your biker gang, but—”

  “Let me just stop you there.” Drake held his hand up. “Gary, you deal with cleanliness. You filter water, clean out the portaloos, and—”

  “I want to do more, Drake.”

  “And I want to get sucked off by Jennifer Lawrence, but life can be a cunt sometimes.”

  Gary looked upset and was struggling to find more words, but nothing more tumbled out of his lips.

  “Look, Gary.” Drake tried to be pragmatic and patient with a young man he had no time for. “We all have our roles, and with the new guys like Pickle and Vince, hardcore survivors, we’re spoilt now for people on runs. You have no experience of killing the dead, and you can’t even drive.”

  “I won’t get experience if you keep me in here.” Gary was almost pleading and added, “You’ve never took to me since your guys picked me up in Stafford town.”

  “I never took to you?” Drake laughed. “I hardly know you. Do you know now there’re over a hundred people here since the new people arrived? One hundred and two to be exact. I don’t even know half the names.”

  “I know you hate me, Drake, but—”

  “I don’t hate you, Gary. If I hated you then I would send you back out there. Because there’s a good chance you wouldn’t come back.”

  “I just wished you would trust me, that’s all I’m saying.”

  “And I wish you would stop feeling sorry for yourself.” Drake leaned in, two inches from Gary’s face and gritted his teeth. “You’re alive, cunto, but there’re millions in this country alone that have died, and have died horribly.”

  “But Drake...”

  “Don’t feel sorry for yourself. Feel lucky.”

  “You’ve got guys out there searching the town,” Gary continued. “Karen and Pickle are out in the pickup, on their way to Cannock, and Vince and the other two are going to Stoke for this medical run.”

  “So what’s your point, Gary? And make it quick, because you’re boring the tits off me.”

  “Nine people are out there, Drake. Five of them are the new guys. How does that make me feel?”

  “I don’t know.” Drake huffed and added, “Why don’t you tell me?”

  Gary was frustrated, stuck for words, and decided that arguing with Drake was pointless.

  Drake gazed at Gary and was in two minds whether to hit him or not. He grinded his teeth together and walked away from Gary. He had to see Joanne Hammett and offer her a role in the washing department. It wasn’t an attractive offer, but she had made it clear that her experience being out in the open was limited and admitted that she was terrified of the Creepers and was quite happy to stay within the walls of the hospital.

  Drake began to whistle a tune and waved as he clocked Joanne who had just stepped out of the reception building.

  Chapter Three

  The red pickup had been on the road for two miles and there had been no sign of trouble. Harry Branston was in the passenger seat, staring out of the window, as the female driver went through the gears as the vehicle climbed the steep incline. Two new machetes were present by the man’s feet and had been given to them by Drake after they were picked up by his men from a store, after a run in Lichfield. There was nothing wrong with the ones that the two of them had been carrying for weeks, but they accepted the offer and handed their old ones in that were put in a room where unused weapons were stored.

  Some people had hinted that there should be someone on stockpile count and that individuals should hand in weapons after a run, but Drake insisted that people should carry weapons at all times in case of an attack. Four people were on guard inside the grounds and two were outside, a much more dangerous position to be in, and walked the perimeter of the wall and would raise the alarm in case of any outside threats.

  The two men that were on the outside on this day were two newcomers who had arrived with the rest of the Colwyn residents, Roger and Peter, and each man had a walkie-talkie in case a serious threat ensued.

  Karen Bradley slipped the pickup into fourth and looked to her side, at her quiet companion.

  “You alright over there?”

  “Aye,” groaned Pickle. “Just thinking.”

  “Careful,” Karen sniggered.

  “I think after we’ve done this run we should pop into Colwyn and see how everyone is. It’s only a mile out o’ the way.”

  “If you want,” she said. “Although it’s only been a few days since we left.”

  “I wonder how they’re doing?”

  “I hope Kelly’s alright. That’s the only one I really care about.”

  “I’m sure the Smiths are lookin’ after her.” Pickle moved away from the window and yawned. “They’re ain’t many left. I do worry if ever they get attacked. If that happens, they’re fucked.”

  Karen agreed. “I’m sure Terry can handle himself, but the rest like the Smiths, Brenda... They’re not fighters.”

  “Well, yer heard Drake. It’s an open offer. We should bring up the offer when we turn up, even give them some supplies if they’re struggling.”

  “Terry won’t like that.”

  “Aye, well, Terry Braithwaite can go fuck himself.”

  The vehicle reached a junction and Karen turned left. Four more miles and they’d be in Cannock. She reached a stretch of road and both could see an abandoned car ahead of them. Neither one said a word and Karen slowed the vehicle down and stopped behind it to check it out.

  “Shall we?” she said to Pickle.

  “If yer insist.”

  She turned the engine off, and they both stepped out of the pickup, with Pickle holding both machetes. He passed one to Karen and the pair of them headed to the car, with Karen approaching the driver’s side and Pickle at the other.

  Karen looked in the front and could see that there were no keys in the ignition. She took a step back and could see the tyres on the right hand side were flat. Pickle knew what she was looking at. He pointed to the tyres on his side and said, “These are flat as well.”

  “Pickle,” Karen gasped, and pointed to the back of the car. “Take a look.”

  Pickle bent down and could see two young people lying across the passenger seat, a male and a female.

  “Shall we wake them up?” Karen asked.

  “Not sure.” Pickle hunched his shoulders.

  “They might need our help.”

  “Maybe they like being on their own.”

  Karen was annoyed by Pickle’s hesitancy and said, “Only one way to find out.”

  Karen was confident that the car doors were open, but decided to knock the window. She was in no doubt that neither one of the individuals were the owner and it was an abandoned vehicle they had found to sleep in. The young girl was the first to make a move and placed her hand over her mouth once she sat up and saw Karen peering in. She had been given a fright.

  She was a pretty thing, long dark hair, and continued to look at Karen as she tried to wake her male companion by moving him.

  They both sat up and looked at Karen who gave off a friendly smile.
>
  The female released a short shriek when she turned and saw Pickle looking in at the other side.

  “Move away,” Karen said to her male companion with her tongue planted in her cheek. “You’re scaring them both with your ugly face and rapist look.”

  “I’m not that bad.” Pickle sniggered and went round the other side of the car to stand next to his female companion.

  The female leaned over and opened the passenger door, then both male and female greeted Pickle and Karen with nervous smiles.

  “How are yer two holding up?” Pickle asked the pair of them.

  “We’re okay,” the female was the first to speak. “We’ve been on the road a while, saw this car and decided to get our heads down.”

  “On the road?” Pickle queried. “Where are yer two from?”

  “Armitage.” This time the male spoke, and slowly the two of them got out of the vehicle and began to stretch.

  “Armitage ain’t that far,” Karen said. “I’m Karen. I’m from Draycott Park in Rugeley. And this is Pickle, he’s from...”

  Pickle laughed at Karen’s pause. “Her Majesty’s Prison in Stafford. The name’s Harry, but most people call me Pickle.”

  The man leaned in the car and pulled out a bottle from a sports bag. He took a swig and then handed it to his female companion, who refused. He then handed it to Karen, but she said that her and Pickle were good and had plenty of water in their own bag.

  “So ... what’s the story with the two of yer?” Pickle asked.

  They looked at one another and the man hunched his shoulders and the girl lowered her head with sadness.

  “Same as everyone else,” the man said. “We lost family members, our parents died, but we still have one another.”

  “Were you a couple before...?” Karen never finished her sentence, but they both knew what she meant.

  “We were together a month before it all kicked off,” the female said. “The second of May to be exact.”