“Right, David, isn’t it?” Jamo said.
David looked up and nodded.
“You have nothing to worry about,” Jamo tried to appease the boy.
“Okay,” David said nervously.
“We’re just going to ask you a few questions, okay?”
“Okay.”
“What facilities do you have at this hospital?”
David seemed reluctant to say anything and Jamo warned David that he would get stabbed if he didn’t comply.
“We have loads,” David said. He then revealed all, including the greenhouses, vehicles and the clinic, and Jamo seemed impressed by what he was being told.
“The other thing I want to know is ... how important is Pickle to this group in Stafford?”
David cried out, “Don’t touch Pickle. He’s one of the most respected people in there, and we’ve only been there a couple of weeks.”
“Is he that influential?”
David nodded.
“So he’s highly thought of?”
Again, David nodded, but spoke this time. “They all love him.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah.” David was beginning to relax and said further, “He’s a nice man, but he has a dark side to him.”
“Don’t we all?”
“Once ... he cut a man’s throat to make a point.”
“Okay, okay.” Jamo patted the youngster on the shoulder and told him he could go. “Right, go back inside and get Richard Marsden out here.”
David nodded obediently and went back inside. Marsden stepped out seconds later.
“I hope you were nice to him,” he laughed.
“Of course.” Jamo smiled and added, “And he sung like a canary.”
“So what’s the outcome?”
“Just like you guessed.” Jamo scratched his head and added, “Pickle is one of the top guys. They seem to love him. And they have a shit load of supplies and medicine back at this hospital.”
“So they wouldn’t be best pleased at this hospital if he was killed?”
Jamo smirked. “You could say that? It would be something of a tragedy.”
Marsden looked away and thought for a few seconds. “Right, get the two kids out of there and take them to the same place where we’ve put that Richard fella.”
“What we doing with Pickle?”
“Manson wants to see him before we do anything with him.”
“Okay.”
Marsden put his hand in his inside jacket pocket and pulled out some blue thin rope. “Tie him up first.”
“Will do.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Karen had been in the clinic for half an hour and was mulling over what Vince had told her about Drake. Karen was about to leave the area and confront Drake about what Mildred had seen, but a patient had arrived.
The woman was Christine Keeling. She was a heavy woman in her fifties, a hypochondriac, and claimed that she had a headache. Two days ago she thought she had breast cancer, but Karen examined her and told her that she had pulled a muscle in her chest.
“I was just about to leave,” Karen said to Christine.
“Oh, I won’t stay long,” said Christine, and sat down opposite Karen and crossed her legs.
Karen couldn’t hide her annoyance and asked Christine what was wrong with her.
“Terrible headache,” she responded. “I’m really worried about it because my cousin died of a brain haemorrhage when she was just thirty-two, and my mother always suffered from migraines.”
“You’re probably dehydrated,” Karen moaned. “Just try and drink as much as you can. I know we were a bit short yesterday, but this morning the guys brought a load of water back. The sooner this place gets a water supply set up, the better.”
“I agree.”
“I’ll give you some paracetamol to take.”
“Is that it?” Christine huffed. “Is that all I’m getting?”
“It’ll sort your head out.”
“And what about my back?”
“Your back?”
“My back has also been killing me.” Christine began to rub the side of her back and winced.
Karen thought she was play-acting and she had no time for people like Christine Keeling.
She had heard a couple of days ago that Christine had hardly done a day’s work since she arrived at the hospital two months ago. She had been complaining about aches and pains since she arrived and she had managed to get away with doing nothing. Karen couldn’t understand how Drake let her get away with this, but there were rumours that she did sexual favours for Drake.
“Just take what I’ve given you,” Karen said, trying to hide her annoyance, “and see me in a couple of days and we’ll see how you’re getting on.”
“Fine,” Christine huffed and snatched at the painkillers that were sitting on the table. She stormed out of the ward and Karen shook her head at the cantankerous woman.
“Right,” Karen spoke to herself. “Now I can go.”
She stood up and left the ward, heading down the corridor, and was outdoors after a minute.
She headed for the reception building and her destination was her old staff room where Drake usually hung out, but she managed to clock him outside, talking to two guys she didn’t recognise.
He saw her hanging about and he excused himself from the two males, knowing that Karen wanted a word.
He walked over to her, wearing a daft grin, and asked the twenty-three-year old, “What can I do for you, Karen?”
“I need to ask you something.”
He folded his arms. “I’m all ears.”
Karen ran her tongue across her bottom lip, now unsure whether to bring the subject up now. “You killed Mr and Mrs Greendale from Amerton Farm. Why?”
Drake couldn’t hide the surprise on his face and wondered how the fuck she knew.
She could tell by his face that he had no idea how she knew, and she decided to come clean.
“Mildred was in contact with the woman as she lay dying. Mildred said that she told her that a skinny man, minutes ago, had attacked her and her husband.”
“Oh.”
“Oh indeed.”
Drake decided to tell the truth. Karen had been straight with him, so it was the least he could do.
“They refused to give up the chickens and decided to stay behind.”
“So you killed them?”
Drake nodded and seemed uncomfortable. “An argument broke out and I lashed out. What can I say?”
“Drake,” Karen shook her head, “that’s fucked up.”
“They said they were up for the move and then we travel all that way and they had changed their mind. I was pissed off, and I thought: those chickens would be a great asset for the camp, especially as they have three cocks and more could get produced.”
“Well, you didn’t kill the woman straightaway. She was still alive when Mildred got to her.”
“I thought a stab to the gut would be enough.” Drake hunched his shoulders.
“So you just killed them, made up a story that people had attacked them, and then walked away?”
“Pretty much.” He nodded. “They were old anyway.”
Karen stared in shock and gulped hard. She eventually spoke and said, “Sometimes I wonder what kind of leader you are.”
“The kind that puts his people first. They were an old couple. Going back empty handed wasn’t an option. They’ve had their life.”
“Pretty savage, Drake.” Karen shook her head. “That’s quite an ageist attitude to have.”
“That’s me.”
“So when people get to a certain age in this place you’re gonna get rid of them?”
“No, don’t be silly, but I’m not bringing OAPs in that can’t contribute. I don’t want passengers in this place.”
“Like Christine Keeling?” Karen said.
“Christine’s situation is different.”
“Because she tugs you off now and again, is that it
?”
“No.” Drake snapped and was starting to become annoyed.
“I hear she hasn’t done a day’s work since she got here. Maybe she drops to her knees for you, now and again, and smiles like a doughnut, as Vince would say.”
“It’s nothing like that.”
“So why soft on her, and harder on others? That’s not good leadership Drake, is it?”
“I’m doing my best, Karen.” Drake ran his hand over his head and groaned, “Christine has issues with her health. Now, is there anything else you have to say?”
“Yes, actually.”
Drake put his hands up and said, “If this next rant of yours is going to be about Pickle and the others, don’t bother.”
“You can’t leave them out there.”
“I can. And I will.”
“They might need our help.”
“They’ll return. You mark my words. Okay?”
Karen didn’t respond, turned on her heels, and then walked away with large angry strides.
Chapter Forty-Six
Paul Dickson wasn’t sure how long he had been staring into space outside his cabin. He guessed hours and did what he always did, and re-lived the old days.
He heard faint voices and looked over to the farmhouse in the distance and saw two figures leave the place.
This had been the first time he had seen people around that area since he had been here, and guessed that they were just people passing through. So he wasn’t seen, he lay on his front and continued to watch.
The two figures were male and Paul could see that they looked like big men, muscular. A third man appeared from out of the farmhouse and could be seen dragging a female out of the place and taking her into a barn. Two minutes later, the man left the barn without the woman and went over to his two pals and all three appeared to be having a laugh with one another. They all started to make hand gestures, pointing behind them and to their left. To Paul it looked like they were planning on doing a trip.
He didn’t know for sure, but Dickson was convinced that the men had taken over the house and it wasn’t theirs in the first place, but who was the woman in the barn?
As long as they don’t come up here, he thought.
He continued to look, convinced that the three men were bad ones, and decided to get a closer look at them, if that was possible. Before he could move, one went back inside and then quickly returned with a rucksack on his back.
The three conversed for a minute and then all headed to the left of the house and appeared to be leaving. Looking for supplies, Paul thought.
Dickson waited a few minutes, just in case they suddenly returned, and then walked around the circumference of the field and descended down the grassy hill. A cluster of trees were situated twenty yards from the barn, and Paul knew checking out that place was for the best before turning his attention to the house itself.
He reached the back of the barn and tried to be as quiet as possible. He didn’t want to disturb the woman inside, and if they suddenly all returned for whatever reason he’d be seen and more than likely dealt with.
He sneaked to the side of the barn and was baffled why it hadn’t been locked properly. There was no padlock to be seen.
He grabbed the handle of the large door, took a quick peep behind him, and then slowly opened it. He released a depressed sigh and didn’t need to step inside. He could see the woman lying face down on the barn floor and it looked like she had been bludgeoned to death. Her head had been caved in, and a bloody baseball bat lay three yards from her. Whoever went inside had thrown her in and then performed the vicious assault.
Paul shook his head. He had no idea if she was a part of them or a captive, but he guessed that she might have been a source of enjoyment for the three men, but had grown tired of her.
He closed the barn door and headed for the house, bag hanging off his shoulder.
He placed the bag on the kitchen table once he was inside and checked the living room. With the three men out, he felt almost relaxed and kept his machete in his belt.
He checked the kitchen cupboards and came across six tins of beans. He took another peek behind him and then grabbed the tins and stuffed them into his bag. He placed the bag back on the table, and decided to take a quick look upstairs before leaving with the food that could keep him going for a week or two if he rationed them.
He took the wooden steps to the first floor with slow movement and went to check out the first bedroom. He checked all three and they were empty. Paul took a step forward, but paused suddenly when he heard some grunting coming from the bathroom. He screwed his face and cocked his head to get a better listen. The grunting continued and Dickson headed for the bathroom. The door was open by an inch and he placed the fingers of his left hand on the door, not sure if to open it or not.
Just take the beans and run, a voice screamed from inside his head.
Ignoring the voice of reason, he pushed the door open, and he looked down on a man who was defecating in a bucket. He was squatting over it with his jeans around his ankles. Paul winced when he saw the grisly sight and when his nose picked up the scent of excreta.
The man had a grey beard and scruffy dark hair, and looked up and his eyes widened. Dickson shushed him, but the man didn’t adhere to Paul’s instruction.
He called out, “Lads! Lads!” whilst trying to pull his jeans up.
Paul pulled out the machete and drove it into the man’s belly by six inches. He didn’t need to pull the blade out as the man fell backwards, jeans still hanging around his ankles, and cracked his head on the porcelain sink before hitting the floor, knocking over the bucket of shit.
Dickson knew he was dead. He didn’t need to check.
He looked down on the body and shook his head. He never thought there could be a fourth person inside. It never crossed his mind.
Paul Dickson sighed and kept his blade in his hand as he walked away and made his way downstairs.
It was time to go.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Harry Branston had no idea what was going on, but Jamo had tied his hands behind his back. Pickle questioned the reason but received no answer. Only until Marsden and Manson arrived the ex-drug baron knew.
Manson’s hands were strapped up, but the fingers were still poking out of the bandage.
Manson told Hutty and Jamo to take Stephanie and David out for some air. The two youngsters were taken out, leaving just Pickle, Marsden and Manson alone.
“Don’t go overboard,” Pickle overheard Marsden say to Manson.
Marsden left the garage through the side door and the tall Manson, real name Freddie Newton, pulled out a bag from his pocket and placed it on the floor.
“Alone at last,” he cackled. “Marsden allowed me some time alone with you. He wasn’t up for it, but I wouldn’t back down.”
Pickle gave him no response and instead fake yawned to annoy the man.
“Am I boring you?” Manson said. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna make things real interesting in a few moments.”
The tall man sat on the floor, five yards from Pickle, and crossed his legs. He leaned over and grabbed the bag and sat up straight.
Pickle knew his experience with Manson was going to be an uncomfortable one when the man pulled out six darts out of the bag with Union Jack flights on them.
“I can’t see a dartboard anywhere,” Pickle spoke up. He looked around and double checked the walls. “Definitely not one to be seen.”
“You’re the dartboard.” Manson’s eyes rolled and he looked unsteady, out of the game.
Pickle elevated his eyebrows and released a groan, “I thought as much. Can yer throw with yer hands all bandaged?”
“Not as well when the painkillers wear off.” Manson wiggled his fingers. “Let’s see, shall we?”
“Can’t wait.”
“Let’s play a little game,” Manson chuckled to himself, and then raised his head in thought.
“Go on.”
“Here’s a qu
estion,” said Manson, picking up the first dart. “How many people are in this hospital where you stay?”
Pickle hunched his shoulders and never verbally responded.
“Okay.” Manson threw the first dart and it landed on the left side of Pickle’s chest.
Pickle winced and looked down to see that it had stuck in real good and wasn’t about to fall off. It was sore as hell, but he tried to keep his face straight, giving Manson little pleasure.
Manson picked up another dart and asked the same question. Pickle knew that whatever was asked, he was going to experience the pain of six darts in him whatever was said.
“Too many for yer to handle,” he responded.
“That’s not a number,” Manson sighed, and threw another dart that hit Pickle’s belly. This dart had broken the skin, but wasn’t in as far as the first one and hung a little.
“Over a thousand people.”
“Wrong answer.” Manson had lost his sense of fun and angrily threw the dart, aiming for Pickle’s head, but he moved his head to the side and the arrow missed him by centimetres and bounced off the wall.
“Yer trying to put ma fucking eye out?” Pickle was annoyed by Manson’s actions and clenched his teeth. He didn’t mind being in this world with a thumb missing, but not an eye.
“You have a hundred people,” Manson said. “David has already said.”
“Then why the fuck are yer asking me?”
“Just having some fun. Although it hurts my hand every time I throw one of these bad boys.” Manson brushed his hair from his eyes and picked up another dart.
There were two left, excluding the one in his hand.
“How many vehicles do you have?” Manson asked.
“Why?”
Manson sighed that his question was responded to by another question, and threw the dart.
“Just tell me.” He could see that the fourth dart that he had thrown hit Pickle in the belly. This one looked to be in deeper than the other that was hanging, and Manson seemed pleased with this effort.
“We have a few mopeds...” Pickle paused and then said with a smirk, “A combine harvester, a couple o’ skateboards and a pogo stick.”
Snatchers Box Set | Vol. 5 | Books 13-15 Page 41
