Vince began to pick his teeth with his dirty fingernail, and the only sound that greeted both men was the twitter of the birds above them in the trees. Vince took an intake of breath, but he never spoke. Pickle was certain that the man had something on his mind, and he chose to keep quiet and let Vince tell him in his own time.
“I think Joanne and I are getting serious,” Vince announced.
“That’s good.” Pickle turned and smiled at the man, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m pleased for yer both.”
“I liked Rosemary, but she was a casual thing. But last night Joanne and I slept in each other’s arms, you know, like they do in the movies.” Vince then blushed, and couldn’t believe the words that were escaping out of his mouth.
“Must be serious then,” Pickle chuckled.
“Usually, in the old days,” Vince began with a reminiscing smile, “I would shoot my muck and be dialling for a taxi straight after.”
“Beautiful.” Pickle dropped his head and then shook it.
“I remember I was with this woman and was doing her from behind. I then started thinking about taxi numbers, but I couldn’t remember any, and ended up losing my stiffy.”
“That’s a fantastic story,” Pickle tittered. “You should do stand up.”
“I did last night.”
“Too much information.” Pickle then narrowed his eyes and decided to change the theme. “If we do come across Marsden, how the hell are we going to stop his vehicle? A brick?”
“Well, I was thinking of making a stinger.”
“What the fuck’s a stinger?”
“It’s what the police use to stop a vehicle. You never seen those police documentaries? We could get some rope from somewhere, then sharpen about twenty or so branches.”
“Oh, bollocks to that.” Pickle stood up, walked to the side, and picked up a rock from the ground that was the size of his fist. “This should be enough. We might not have time to be fannying about with rope and twigs.”
“And now? We wait?”
“We can carry on walking along the road, if yer want, but as soon as we hear a vehicle, I’ll check it out and we’ll get our blades ready.”
“And if they have a shotgun?”
Pickle was lost in thought and said, “We have to try somethin’.”
The two men walked through the high bracken and talked about Paul Dickson and wondered what he was up to.
“Hopefully, he’s long gone,” said Pickle.
“I know Karen has a soft spot for him, but he became too unpredictable by the time we reached Colwyn Place.”
“He’s a loose cannon,” said Pickle. “Grief can affect people in different ways, especially when it’s yer whole family gone.”
“You’ve gotta admit that when he burst through our street in that pickup and started blasting, it was pretty fucking awesome.”
“I do hope he’s still alive.” Pickle nodded. “He was a different person before his son died, a gentler person, a man grieving for his wife and daughter. Then when Karen and Paul found Kyle in that changing room on Sandy Lane...”
“I went a bit mad when Brian died,” Vince admitted. “But I suppose Paul had no one left. He already lost his wife and daughter, and I think Kyle was keeping him sane.”
“Well, I do hope he finds peace soon. Wherever he may be.”
Vince agreed, and the two men continued to wade through the high plantation for a further few minutes and Pickle suddenly stopped, forcing Vince to do the same.
“What do you hear?” Vince asked, not picking up anything himself.
“A humming.”
“An engine?”
“Don’t know yet.” Pickle tilted his head. “Listen for a minute. I think it’s getting louder.”
Vince nodded. He could hear it now. It was definitely a vehicle coming their way.
“I’m gonna step out and have a look,” said Pickle.
Vince waited patiently as Branston stood near the road, at the edge of the woods, and poked his head out. The vehicle was becoming louder and Vince waited with patience.
Pickle turned to Vince and said, “It’s them. I recognise the jeep’s licence plate.”
“Are you sure?”
Pickle nodded, raising the rock in his right hand. “Get ready.”
*
Marsden applied the brake as the four individuals hit a bend. The brake was taken off and the accelerator applied once he could see that the road was straight up ahead.
To the side of Stafford Road they could see the occasional body at the side that had been obviously dragged. Manson was sitting next to Marsden, and Hutty and Jamo were quietly sitting in the back.
“Well,” Marsden began. “That was a successful trip. Probably not enough to keep the village going for a week, and the rationing may have to continue, but not bad all the same.”
“Yep, we really emptied that factory,” Manson purred with smugness. “That boot is rammed full of tins.”
“It’s getting harder and harder to get supplies as the weeks go by,” Hutty moaned.
“I know.” Marsden agreed. “We should use the farmlands to our advantage.”
“There’s a few farmers in the village,” Jamo spoke up. “We should pick their brains.”
“Agreed.” Marsden nodded, and turned the steering wheel slightly to his left as another bend was reached.
“I’m glad we stopped at that country house on the way back,” Hutty remarked. “Those canisters of water will make a nice change from that filtered piss we’ve been drinking.”
“I know,” said Marsden. “Just remember, keep your mouths shut. That water is for us. We’ll store it away somewhere safe.”
“Shame that family didn’t have any food and just the water,” said Jamo.
“I know, but we can’t be too greedy.”
“Makes you wonder how a family like that are still alive.”
“I’m sure we weren’t the only visitors they had over the last few months.” Marsden then turned to his passenger. “I don’t think your behaviour was necessary.”
Manson shrugged his shoulders. “I knew the father was hiding something when we interrogated him. I had to do something.”
“By stabbing his son in his leg.”
“It was just the one stab,” Manson laughed. “I wouldn’t have done it if the guy spoke up.”
“The boy was no older than nine years old.”
Manson sniggered and hunched his shoulders. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“Anyway,” said Marsden. “We...”
Something bounced off the windscreen, making a small dent and all four jumping with fright, and Richard Marsden lost control over the vehicle and hit something hard.
Chapter Twelve
Karen had only been back minutes and showed Graham where he would be staying. The man had agreed to stay at the hospital and thanked Karen for helping him to get settled in. She left the man alone and headed for outside.
She hooked up with Joanne, ate lunch together, and the pair of them saw Drake over at the portaloos, talking to Beverley from the nursery. They could see him dropping his head and giving it a shake, then walked away.
“Trouble at mill,” Joanne tittered.
Karen smirked and joked, “Maybe she’s told him she’s not noshing him off anymore.”
“You’re terrible.”
“Well, you’ve heard the rumours, haven’t you?”
Drake made his way over to the females and managed a thin smile as he approached.
“Everything okay?” Joanne asked him, and nodded over to Beverley who was now heading to the outpatients building. “Knocked you back, did she?”
Drake never cracked his face and moaned, “There’s a fucking infection in the nursery.”
“Infection?” Karen looked concerned. “What kind of infection?”
“Lice.”
“I don’t think I have anything for lice back at the medical bit,” said Karen. “Normally I’d say plenty of washing and
combing, and hoover carpets regularly. Easier said than done these days.”
Drake nodded and started to walk away, but Karen spoke up and stopped him in his tracks.
“Anyway,” she said. “We need to have a chat about splitting the medical stuff. The food you can keep.”
Drake turned and folded his arms. “You’re joking, right?”
Karen knew Drake was going to react like this. “Most of the medical supplies came from the runs we went on.”
“When you say we, you mean the people from Colwyn like yourself?”
Karen nodded.
“You picked up that medical shit when you were on my turf, when you were a part of the hospital, so it stays here.”
“That’s not fair,” Karen huffed.
“It’s the way it’s gonna be.”
“Well, good luck dishing the drugs out when people are sick. I just hope you know what you’re giving them.”
Drake smiled and pointed at Karen, “We’re going to be allies, but don’t take the piss, sugar tits. What’s in this place, stays in this place.”
“Does that include the booze you’ve got stashed away in the old staff room?” Karen folded her arms and waited for a response off Drake.
There wasn’t a verbal one, but Drake tucked in his lips and both Karen and Joanne could see he was annoyed.
“It would be a shame if people found out what Frank has been dropping off at the staff room after his run,” Joanne now intervened. “They might be a tad disappointed that for months you have been benefiting from these runs that you hardly go out on.”
Drake’s anger subsided and a wide smile stretched across his face, almost in admiration for Joanne.
“You’re...” He paused and tried to suppress a laugh. He tried again. “You’re seriously blackmailing me?”
Joanne looked unsure and looked at Karen for support.
“No, she’s not,” Karen jumped in. “Just making a point. If you want the medical stuff to stay here, then that’s fine. There were a few things at Colwyn when we left anyway. Nothing of the magnitude we have here, but we’ll survive.”
Drake nodded with satisfaction and wagged his finger at Joanne.
“You’re starting to grow some balls, young lady,” he laughed. “I think Vince is a bad influence on you.”
Joanne smiled. “Actually, I’m a bad influence on him.”
“I bet you are.”
“You have no idea.”
Drake walked away, chuckling to himself, and headed for the outpatients building.
Karen hunched her shoulders and said, “Oh, well. It was worth a try, I suppose. He’s right about one thing, though.”
“Oh?” Joanne turned to Karen. “And what’s that?”
“You’re definitely getting braver.”
Chapter Thirteen
“This better work,” Kindl said with an anxious tone.
“Let’s find out then, shall we?”
Pickle stepped out and threw the rock. Vince winced and closed his eyes. He couldn’t see anything, but the sound of tyres screeching and the sound of metal colliding convinced him that the vehicle had been dealt with.
“Quickly!” Pickle yelled at Vince.
Both men ran out into the road and could see a black jeep, deep into the trees and on the other side. They pulled out their machetes and went to the back passenger seats first.
Pickle was at one side and Vince was at the other, opening the passenger doors.
Vince looked in and could see a dazed Hutty, and both men drove their large blades into the bellies of the men. Pickle killed Hutty and Vince had taken out Jamo.
Once the blades were pulled out, Pickle and Vince looked to the front and could see the driver, Richard Marsden, groaning and half unconscious, but the passenger seat next to him was empty.
The window of the passenger seat had been rolled down and there was no sign of Manson.
“Oh, no he doesn’t,” Vince snapped, and ran into the plantation after the vindictive man. Pickle didn’t see the point in trying to stop Vince, so he kept his mouth shut.
Pickle went to the driver’s door and was unsure how bad Marsden actually was. What if he opened the door and Marsden pounced on him? He grabbed the handle and opened it.
He looked down on Marsden and could see he was out of the game. His head was moving from side to side, and he was groaning as if he was having a nightmare. This was no act. His eyes opened and he looked at Pickle the same way a drunk would. His eyes rolled and he could see his nemesis standing over him, holding the blade. His face was a picture of confusion and wondered how the fuck he had escaped.
“Don’t, Pickle,” he begged.
Branston put his machete into his belt and then pulled out a knife and put the handle inbetween his teeth. Marsden tried to mumble a few more words, but it was inaudible.
Pickle went to the back passenger seats and dragged out Jamo, then went to the other side and dragged out Hutty. Both men were dead.
“I’ll be taking this jeep,” he said. “If I can get the thing out.”
The two men were dumped in the bracken and Pickle went back to the driver’s side and patted Marsden down. He was carrying a trench knife that Pickle took and then dragged outside, once Branston unclipped the seatbelt. A moaning Marsden was sat up a tree, ten yards from the vehicle, and Pickle took the knife out of his mouth. He crouched down, facing Marsden, at eye level, and dragged the knife across Marsden’s throat.
*
The pain stretched across his chest and his lungs felt they were on fire. He had to take a break, otherwise he would fall down.
He could hear the running coming from behind him, but he couldn’t move any more. He was exhausted.
He hid behind a tree and peered around the trunk as the feet got closer. He could see his pursuer. He was twenty or so yards away, carrying a machete, and Manson pulled his head in and stopped peering, hoping that the man would continue going forward or go back.
Manson tried to control his breathing and made as little noise as possible, and listened out for any further noises.
All he could hear was the birds above him, and then suddenly the sound of boots moving through the woods could be heard.
Manson remained where he was and hoped the man would soon fuck off.
He knew that Marsden, Hutty and Jamo were dead. He just knew it.
He had managed to see the image of Harry Branston throwing the rock at the jeep, but never managed to say anything as it had all happened so quick.
Everyone was surprised about the attack, apart from Manson, and he reacted right away once the vehicle crashed. He had to get out. Fuck the rest! He had to get out, otherwise he’d be a dead man.
The sound of the man walking had faded and he released a sigh of relief.
*
Pickle stood up straight and looked around at the carnage, the three dead bodies, and could hear a rustle in the trees to his left. Vince reappeared and looked annoyed.
“Get him?” Pickle asked.
Vince waggled his head. “The fucker escaped.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Pickle sighed.
“Yeah, it does. That fucker raped and killed Stephanie.”
“I know what he did, Vince,” snapped Pickle. “I was there.”
Vince lowered his head and wiped his eyes. “What now?”
“We take this.” Pickle pointed at the jeep. “We’ll take a trip to Gnosall and tell them what happened. We’ll tell them to take their village back. Manson is no threat on his own.”
“And Manson?”
Pickle hunched his shoulders and pulled a face. “We lost him. No point wasting our time trying to find the prick.”
Vince kicked the ground in frustration and knew Pickle was right. He looked to his right and could see Marsden slumped up against a tree, his neck still spilling out blood down his front.
“I know it’s difficult,” Pickle said, seeing the anger on Vince’s features, “but we don’t have the time or the fuel to
fanny about and look for that dick. We need to get back to the hospital and start shifting people back to Little Haywood, back to Colwyn Place.”
“Do you think we should stop off at Colwyn first, on the way back, and let Terry know what’s happening?”
“Nah. It’ll be a nice surprise.”
*
Mildred Huxtetter entered the clinic area of Ward 22, and smiled when she saw Karen sitting at the desk with no one else in the room.
“Busy then?” Mildred chuckled.
“Bored out my tits,” Karen responded.
Mildred pulled out the chair that was opposite Karen and sat down.
“I’m actually here for a reason,” Mildred confessed.
“Oh?” Karen was intrigued and said, “So you haven’t come here to have a chat then?”
Mildred shook her head. “I think the painters are due in the next few days.”
“The painters?”
“You know.” Mildred smiled and flushed a rose colour.
“Oh.” Karen stood and went over to the second shelf and pulled out a box.
“How about you?” Mildred asked her.
“I think I should be okay for a while. It usually takes four to six weeks for a woman to get her period after a miscarriage.”
“I heard about that.” Mildred cleared her throat and dropped her head. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.” Karen sat down and handed Mildred the box. “Who’d want to bring a baby into this shitty world anyway?”
“You really mean that?”
Karen smiled thinly and shook her head. “Not really.”
“I suppose, when all this is done and dusted, whatever that means, women will still get pregnant.”
Karen started to laugh and a confused Mildred asked why she felt what she said was amusing.
“Pickle and I had a similar conversation when we first met,” Karen said. “I told him: Who in their right mind would want to give birth in a ditch and bring up a baby in this shitty world? It’d be madness. But he insisted that humanity still needed to exist.”
“I suppose that’s the kind of comment you’d expect from a man.”
Snatchers Box Set | Vol. 5 | Books 13-15 Page 51
