“I reckon I could take him.” Drake smiled and this made Stephanie smirk. It was very rare people saw the playful side of him, but he liked this girl.
“You reckon?”
“Yeah, no problem,” Drake laughed. “One hand behind my back.”
“I heard that he took down three guys for calling him a name. He broke a guy’s neck once, with his bare hands. He even cut a man’s throat to send a message to intruders not to enter the camp.”
Drake leaned back and smiled. “Am I supposed to be scared?”
“Nah, just making conversation, giving you the facts.”
Drake wore a more serious expression on his face and asked the young girl, “So what’s your story?”
“My story?”
“Everybody has a story.” Drake scratched the outside of his itchy nose and added, “What’s yours? You must have lost your parents?”
Stephanie hunched her shoulders and was reluctant to tell Drake anything. She feared that if she talked about her family she’d choke up and cry. She decided to tell him the shortened version.
“Let’s just say things happened and I ended up on my own. I spent a lot of my time in the woods, setting up snares, filtering water, making fires ... that kind of thing.”
“How come you’re so good with a bow?”
“I’ve always had it with me.” Stephanie could see that Drake was unsure what she meant. “I used to shoot. I was training for the Commonwealth games, but ... well, you know the rest.”
“And then Pickle took you in?”
“Before that I met two women, Elza and Ophelia. They were staying at a church called The Church of the Good Shepherd, and then we...”
A knock on the door disturbed Stephanie’s flow and an intrigued Drake huffed out an anxious breath, annoyed that they had been interrupted.
“If it’s not important, I’m going to rip your balls off!” he yelled.
“Sorry,” came the voice from behind the door, a voice he didn’t recognise. “I’ll come back later.”
Drake shook his head and could see that Stephanie looked uncomfortable.
“Sorry about that,” he said.
“Anyway, what’s going to get done with these two guys?”
“I’ll have a word,” Drake groaned. “See what they have to say for themselves.”
“I suppose that’s better than nothing.”
“Don’t forget some people here have lost friends and relatives at Colwyn Place. I know we attacked first, but some find it hard to comprehend that.”
“Well, if it continues,” Stephanie said, tightening the elastic band that kept her ponytail intact, “then I’ll take care of it myself or I’ll tell Pickle.”
“You’ll do no such thing, young lady.” Drake released a small chuckle because of the teenager’s boldness. “Leave it to me. Nothing gets done around here without my say so.”
“Okay.” There was a look of satisfaction on Stephanie’s face and Drake felt he could trust her to behave.
“Is there anything else that you need, now you’re here?” he asked her.
She shook her head and stood up. She paused and opened her mouth to say something.
“Yes?”
“You kicked your own man to death in Colwyn Place. Do you think that was absolutely necessary?”
“Probably not.” Drake sighed and admitted, “I don’t make a habit of doing those kind of things, but I lost my temper on that day. It’s good to install a little fear in people if you’re a leader, don’t you think?”
“I think respect is more important than fear.”
“Maybe a bit of both is needed.”
“I don’t agree.” Stephanie placed her hands by her side and said further, “Everybody respects Pickle, but they don’t fear him. He’s as hard as nails, but he only touches people that cross him.”
“Maybe I need to learn from the master,” Drake said sarcastically, annoying Stephanie a little.
“I think it might be too late for that,” she said, and headed for the door. “I’ll see myself out.”
She shut the door behind her, leaving Drake alone. He gently waggled his head from side to side and mumbled, “Cheeky little cow. But I like her.”
Chapter Twelve
Pickle was on his way back and the pickup made a few turns and they could both see a familiar car at the side of the country road. They could see that it was the same vehicle that they had found Richard and Tracy in when they pulled up. They could see that neither teenager was in it and nowhere else to be seen.
“Maybe they’ve gone for a walk,” Karen said, but Pickle wasn’t so sure.
He said, “I think they probably had a better offer.”
“We’re not gonna wait for them?”
“No point. They knew we were coming back, but it looks like they’ve opted for pastures new on their own terms.”
“Shame. I kinda liked the pair of them,” Karen groaned.
“So where to next?”
“Colwyn Place,” Karen said.
“Okay.” Pickle nodded. “We’ll just pop in for half an hour and then we need to head back.”
Pickle pulled away and was on the road for no longer than five minutes. He slowed the pickup once a tight bend could be seen, and took it in third gear, making the wheels squeal a little.
“Take your time, Pickle.” Karen huffed. “I don’t want to spend nearly four months into the apocalypse, only to die in a frigging car crash.”
“Point taken,” Pickle chuckled.
“I was thinking about Shaz,” Karen blurted out.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. We would have been great pals if she was still alive. We were at the time, I suppose.”
“I know what yer mean, Bradley.” Pickle smiled at the thought of Sharon Bailey and added, “We only graced her company for about two weeks before...” Pickle released a depressed moan and muttered, “It was a damn shame.”
Karen nodded in agreement and the pair of them became silent for a few moments.
A sad smile stretched under Pickle’s nose and he nodded and said, “Funnily enough, seem as though we’re talkin’ about the past, I had a dream about Jack Slade the other night.”
“Oh?” Karen brushed her dark hair behind her ears and probed further, “What was it about?”
Pickle cleared his throat. “He and Paul Dickson turned up together at the hospital.”
“Is that it?” Karen laughed. “A short dream then, eh? Anyway, Jack and Paul never knew each other.”
“I know. I did say it was a dream.”
“And even if Paul did turn up at the hospital—”
“Drake would kill him,” Pickle moaned. “I know. It was just a dream. Calm down, woman.”
They reached the Wolseley Arms pub and took a left, now on the Wolseley Road and half a mile from Colwyn Place.
“I hope everyone is okay,” Karen muttered under her breath.
In truth, she was more concerned about young Kelly. After her dad had lost his mind, he killed his wife and son, and then stuck the knife through his throat in his own kitchen. Karen thought the world of the little girl, but it was decided that she would stay behind and be looked after by Paul and Gail Smith once the majority of the people, including Karen, left to go to Stafford.
It had only been days since they had left for Stafford Hospital, but both Karen and Pickle knew that a lot could change and happen over such a short time.
“I’m sure they’re fine,” said Pickle. “Anyway, we’ll find out in five minutes.”
They passed a garage to their left and Pickle slowed the vehicle down once they reached the gate. The street looked the same, but nobody could be seen. There was no guard. There wasn’t one by the gate or at the other end of the street where the concrete wall was.
“Where is everyone?” Karen murmured.
Pickle shook his head, took his machete off Karen’s lap, and exited the vehicle.
They both approached the gate and could see a familiar fig
ure stepping out of 1 Colwyn Place. He was a tall man with ginger hair and a thick beard to match. It was Terry Braithwaite.
He approached the gate with a sombre look and produced a thin smile, a forced smile.
“We thought we’d pop in and see how everythin’ is.” Pickle had a look around and couldn’t see a soul.
“Just happen to be passing, eh?” Terry mocked. “What are the chances?”
“Okay, so we did a little detour to get here, but we went on a little run and thought we’d pop in to see how everybody’s doing.”
Terry snickered and shook his head at Harry Branston. “Hoping we’d be suffering, did you? Thought you’d turn up and we’d be begging to go to that place with you?”
“No, not at all,” said Pickle.
Terry could see Pickle was genuine and said, “It still sucks that you lot just buggered off and left us.”
Terry and the rest had a choice, and they chose to stay. Pickle didn’t want an argument with the large man and decided to change the subject. He took another quick scan around the street and asked, “Where is everybody?”
“Dead,” Terry said softly, and then lowered his head.
“What?” Karen gasped and could feel the tears filling her eyes already. The only person she thought about was young Kelly.
“A horde broke in,” Terry began. “Everybody was out in the street at the time. They just took us by surprise.”
Pickle and Karen looked at one another, both trying to process what Terry had just told them, and then turned to the man.
Karen opened her mouth to ask Terry something, but she was put off by the sight of a woman and a child leaving 12 Colwyn Place and heading to the wall. It was Gail and young Kelly.
Terry turned to see what Karen and Pickle were looking at, then turned back round with a huge smile on his face.
“Just kidding,” he laughed, and then grabbed the gate and slid it to the side to create a gap that was enough for the two of them to squeeze through, but the two remained behind it. “Everybody’s fine. Come in.”
“Arsehole,” Karen huffed and couldn’t believe what he had just done.
“If I hadn’t broken yer nose last week,” Pickle moaned, “I would have done it now.”
Terry folded his arms and looked unimpressed on seeing the two of them. “What do you actually want?” Terry asked Harry Branston.
“To come in and see if everyone and everything is alright.”
“Nobody wants you here.”
“Karen?” bellowed Kelly, and began to run over to the gate with Gail jogging behind her.
“Yer were sayin’?”
Terry sighed and reluctantly opened the gate fully. If Pickle and Karen really wanted in, they could have gone round the side and jumped over a fence to get into one of the back gardens to get into the street, the way Drake’s men did weeks ago. At least he went the right way about it, and Terry knew he didn’t have it in him to restrain Pickle.
The gate was opened, Pickle and Karen stepped in, and Kelly ran into Karen’s arms. The two of them embraced, with Karen crouched down. Bradley then looked up and could see Paul Smith stepping out of his door and Brenda Hatchet waved at her through her living room window at number 8 Colwyn Place, but there was no sign of the Danson family or Old Tom. Most of the houses were empty and Pickle feared that even an attack from a trio of reprobates and the street would suffer. There wasn’t many left and only Terry was capable of defending himself.
Terry slammed the gate shut with anger, and said to Pickle, “Everything’s fine, supplies are healthy, so you don’t have to worry.”
“Security isn’t great, though, is it?” Pickle turned to the side and spat on the floor.
“We haven’t been attacked yet.” Terry couldn’t hide his anger and said further, “And the dead are pretty much non-existent round these parts.”
“Yer got someone on night watch?”
“I’m not daft, Pickle. Of course I have.”
“Yer daft enough to keep your Snatcher daughter tied up in yer basement, Terry.”
Terry gulped and his hands went into a fist. Paul Smith walked over to the pair of them and greeted them with a smile.
“How’s things your end?” Paul asked.
“Not bad,” Pickle chuckled. “Although it’s been a while since I’ve had some action.”
“I meant at the place in Stafford.”
“Great.” Pickle turned to Terry and said, “We have some supplies, if yer want it. I assume yer runnin’ low on a few things now.”
“That’s great,” Paul chipped in.
“We’re fine,” said Terry. “We don’t need your charity.”
“It’s not charity,” Karen spoke up. “Anyway, it’s not for you, it’s for everyone else in the street.”
Pickle turned to Paul Smith and asked him how things were.
“Not bad.” He nodded and added, “Going to the river to get water to filter. It’s a bit nerve wracking, but I’ve been hiding for too long. Could do with more people as well. You can feel quite vulnerable on a night.”
“Well, we will be back next week or so, and the offer to come back with us to Stafford is an open one.”
Paul looked at Terry, and both Pickle and Karen could see that Paul was in two minds whether to go or not with his family. Pickle thought that Terry was so stubborn that he’d stay at Colwyn if everyone left, rather than go to Stafford and live in luxury.
“We’re not going to that place where those murderers are,” Terry snapped. “Don’t you remember what they did to—?”
“I remember, Terry,” Pickle groaned. “I was there.”
“Murdering bastards.”
“Murderers? That’s what some o’ them think about us,” Pickle said with a cackle. “But in time things will get better if yer came with us. Think about it.”
Terry seemed lost in thought for a while and then snapped out of his daze when Karen asked if he was alright.
“You wanna stay for a drink?” Terry asked them, taking them both by surprise.
“Really?” Karen looked surprised.
“Just because I’m not your greatest fan, doesn’t mean I want anything to happen to you guys.”
“I’m touched.” Pickle opened his arms and blew Terry a kiss. “Come on, Tez. Give us a cuddle.”
“Fuck off.” He waved Pickle away. “You want that drink or what?”
“Um...” Pickle looked at Karen.
“I wouldn’t mind a drink.” Karen leaned to the side and said to her male companion, “And I wouldn’t mind spending some time with Kelly.”
“Go on then. But I’ll need to bring the pickup into the street.”
Chapter Thirteen
“The trouble these days, Stephen,” said Vince, “is that women are few and far between.”
They were a couple of miles from Stoke and nobody had spoken since they had passed a pub called The Darlaston Inn. They were in a place called Stone and were close to a place called Trentham.
“I’ve told you before, chap,” Stephen huffed and was showing signs of annoyance. “Girls are the last thing on my mind.”
“Girls?”
“I meant women.” Stephen twisted his neck and cleared his throat, annoying Vince a little. “I’m just pleased that I’m alive, I have food to eat, water to drink—”
“But no woman to—”
“It’s not a big deal, Vince. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
Vince looked to the side and could see Craig smirking. He could see that Vince was badgering Stephen for his own entertainment, but Rowley was on a different level to the two men and was biting very easily.
“What about Big Bertha who does the laundry?” Vince asked with a straight face. “She seems to have a soft spot for you.”
“She’s about sixty, chap.”
“And about eighteen stone,” Craig chipped in.
“Yep, she’s a big girl. Apparently she’s lost four stone since June.”
“I don’t think
me and Bertha is a good idea, chap.”
“Why not?” Vince tried to stifle a smirk. “A woman with her experience ... she’d ride you into the ground. And I bet she sucks like a hoover.”
“For God’s sake,” Stephen said, ignoring Craig’s sniggering to the left of him. “She has the worst set of teeth I’ve ever seen.”
“She does have a manky set of nuggets.” Vince nodded in agreement to Stephen’s remark. “You wouldn’t let her nosh you off, that’s for sure. You’d probably be safer sticking it in a blender.”
“I’ve never noticed her teeth,” Craig piped up.
“Really?” Vince dropped a gear as they approached the Trentham roundabout. “Have you seen the film Predator?”
“Of course.”
“Well, you know when the alien takes his helmet off in the end...”
Vince went straight ahead on the roundabout and passed the entrance of Trentham Gardens. Craig could see the sign for Alton Towers and a wave of sadness crashed over him. He and his family were there when it all kicked off, at the Splashlandings Hotel.
The van turned left at the now defunct traffic lights and Craig spoke out, “Vince.”
Vincent Kindl sighed. “I see it.”
The van slowed down as they approached a minibus. Emblazoned on the side of the vehicle was “Highfields Scouts Club.”
“Wanna check it out or carry on?” Vince asked the pair of them.
Stephen never responded and Craig hunched his shoulders.
Vince pulled over anyway and brought the van to a halt, two car lengths behind the minibus. He stepped out and pulled out his blade once he shut the driver’s door. Craig and Stephen eventually followed him.
Vince approached the driver’s side of the minibus and peered in. Most of the windows were splattered in blood, but Vince could see inside. The driver was missing. The missing driver was soon something he had forgotten when he saw six of the dead in the back of the vehicle. They were young boys and were no older than ten.
“Jesus.” Vince shook his head and could see Craig and Stephen looking in at the other side of the vehicle. Craig look moved by what he was witnessing and Rowley also looked close to tears.
Snatchers Box Set | Vol. 5 | Books 13-15 Page 5
