“Using our roads for runs,” Marsden snickered. “Is that right?”
“Your roads?” Drake piped up. “Since when do you cunts own the fucking roads now?”
“It’s okay.” Pickle looked at Drake and held out his hand. “I’ve got this, Drake.”
Marsden smiled and pointed over at Drake. “Who’s this? Your new boyfriend, now that KP has croaked it?”
“A friend,” Pickle sighed, trying to ignore the remark.
“That van looks familiar,” Marsden said.
“Why block the road off?” Vince piped up.
“Recruitment,” was Marsden’s short answer.
“Recruitment? So you force people to come with you?” Vince mocked with a laugh after his sentence.
A banging could be heard at the side of the van and Pickle realised that Stephanie, Mildred and Quint were probably wondering what was happening. Pickle turned to Vince and told him to let them out.
The three stepped out and congregated at the front of the prison van.
There were now six of them and Marsden asked them what was in the back of the van. They looked at one another, but he wasn’t given an answer. This highlighted to Marsden that produce of some sort was in there.
“An armoured van and whatever’s in the back,” the man cackled. “That’s temping not to let you by.”
“We want past. That’s it,” said Pickle. “We don’t want trouble.”
Marsden sighed and unfolded his arms. He stood up straight and said, “I was nice to you last week, Harry. But with you using the roads and possibly raiding places we rely on puts my village in bad shape.”
“Your village?” Drake laughed. “You mean the place that you took over, where you killed people, raped women?”
Marsden was silent and wondered how this man knew such stuff. He remained quiet and swallowed his anger.
“Rich,” a voice called out from the passenger door.
Marsden sighed, “What the fuck is it?”
“The kid in here says he knows that Pickle guy.”
Pickle guessed correctly that the voice came from Freddie Newton, also known as Manson, and took ten yards towards the two jeeps.
Pickle had an inkling who could be stepping out of the jeep, and found that eventually he was correct with his guess.
He didn’t know his surname, but a seventeen-year-old Richard stepped out of the back passenger side, and Pickle could see it was the young man that was with Tracy when he and Karen found them sleeping in a car.
“How do you know him?” Marsden asked the teenager.
“Tracy and I met him on the road, last week,” Richard started to explain.
“What about the others?”
Richard shook his head and said to Marsden, “I don’t know about the others, but Pickle’s a good guy.”
“I know him better than you,” Marsden snapped, “and I can tell you he’s a violent psychopath.”
“But—”
“Keep quiet.” Marsden shushed the teenager and added, “Let the adults speak.”
Richard took a few steps back, whilst Marsden poked his head through the opened window of one of the jeeps and had a short, passionate discussion with three guys that he had been transporting. He then went over to the other jeep and had a word with the driver.
“Pickle?” Vince called out from behind and Branston looked over his shoulder. “Let’s go. I don’t like the look of this.”
Pickle held up his hand. “Give me a minute.”
Marsden took a few steps towards Pickle and both men were now a foot from one another.
“When I first saw you last week,” Marsden began, “I was genuinely pleased to see a familiar face, even though we hardly saw eye to eye.”
“And now?”
Marsden shrugged his shoulders. “Depends on you.”
“And what does that mean?”
Marsden cleared his throat and spoke with a soft tone so his voice wouldn’t be overheard. “Why don’t you come back to Gnosall with us?”
“As guests?”
Marsden shook his head. “As residents.”
“I already told yer I have a place.”
“I know you did, Harry, but I’m in a predicament now.”
Harry Branston screwed his face and narrowed his eyes. “Predicament? And what predicament is that?”
“My job is to feed my guys and girls. If I can’t do that, then they won’t look up to me.”
“It was always about power with yer. Yer used to be like this on H Wing, trying to be top dog.”
“Top dog?” Richard Marsden smiled. “There were too many hard people on that wing for a top dog. You being one of them.”
Bored by the talk, Pickle asked Marsden, “So, are yer gonna let us by or not?”
“Can’t let that happen.” Marsden shook his head. “Not yet?”
“We could have rammed through yer lot with that,” Pickle pointed at the van behind him, “but decided to be civil and have a chat.”
“We would have chased you down,” Marsden tittered. “Those kinds of vans only have a fifty to sixty maximum speed.”
“Yer vehicles would be in no condition to chase us in the first place after that thing ploughing through yer two jeeps.”
“Let’s not be childish about this, Pickle.” Marsden said with a groan. “What next? We’re gonna whip our dicks out and compare sizes?”
“No point.” Pickle smirked. “I’d win, hands down.”
Pickle could hear footsteps from behind and felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Drake, and he was now standing next to Pickle.
Drake’s presence was seen as an act of aggression and three individuals left the vehicles and now five people were standing outside, including a petrified Richard who didn’t want to get involved with the potential fracas. Pickle recognised Manson, Hutty and Jamo, all were carrying knives but weren’t drawn yet.
“Yer not helping, Drake,” Pickle spoke softly. “Yer just making things worse.”
“Look,” Drake began. “I would love to stand and chat all day, but we need to get back and I need to shit like a moose, so hurry the fuck up, the pair of you.”
“Feisty thing, isn’t he?” Marsden laughed.
Drake glared at the man, ignoring others around him. Drake then turned to Pickle and snapped, “Fuck these cunts. Let’s turn around and go a different way.”
Marsden took a step back and clicked his fingers.
A second after Richard Marsden had clicked his fingers, two guys that Pickle recognised from before, called Jamo and Hutty, ran at him and Drake. Hutty was an average man in size and went for Drake.
They both fell to the floor as Jamo reluctantly went for Pickle. Branston put a side kick to Jamo’s left knee and put the man down straightaway, making the man scream out in pain.
“Don’t do this, Richard!” Pickle yelled. “We’re not here for trouble.”
“Neither are we,” Marsden said. “Just hand me the keys and we’ll be on our way.”
Pickle turned to the side and saw Drake standing up and brushing himself down, whilst Hutty lay on the ground, face bleeding.
“This is stupid,” Manson snapped. “We shouldn’t be pussyfooting around these cunts.”
“Yer keep out o’ this,” said Pickle, pointing at Manson’s frame, real name Freddie Newton. “Leave the talking to the grown ups.”
Hutty and Jamo struggled to their feet and went back to the side of the jeep, shamefaced.
The rage was too much for Manson to contain and ran at Pickle, swinging his right fist, connecting with the side of Pickle’s face, but Branston hardly flinched. Marsden grabbed Manson and pulled him back, screaming at him to control himself.
“Apologies for my friend’s behaviour,” said Marsden. “He’s a loyal and passionate man. Rather highly strung.”
“Aye, he should be.” Pickle smiled and blew a raging Manson a kiss.
Pickle rubbed the side of his face and released a gentle laugh. “Yer gonna have to hi
t me harder than that, son.”
“Probably used to hitting girls,” Drake mocked the Manson character. He was seething, saliva running out of the corner of his mouth.
Marsden held his hands up and told everyone to calm down. He turned to his own crew and gave them a hard stare, then turned around and looked at Drake and Pickle.
“Last chance, Pickle,” Marsden said. “I don’t wanna hurt you and your posse.”
Manson took a step towards Pickle and pulled out his knife. Marsden told him to back off, but Manson wasn’t listening. He had always wanted to do Harry Branston when they were inside.
“Now, that’s not fair,” said Pickle. “We only came out here for a discussion and left our weapons in the van.”
“Manson!” Marsden yelled. “I swear, if you don’t back off, you’re out. Got it?”
Manson placed his knife in his leather pouch and took a couple of steps back.
“Discuss it with your people.” Marsden pointed over at the others by the van.
“There’s no need,” Drake piped up.
“Please, just do it anyway. We have all the time in the world.”
Pickle walked back to the van with Drake and Vince, and Mildred was the first to ask them what was happening.
“So?” she began. “Are these twats letting us by or not?”
“They’re annoyed that we’re using these roads,” Drake began to explain.
“They don’t own the roads, do they?” Quint scoffed.
“Of course not.”
“Just turn around and go another way,” Stephanie said.
“Nah, they’d catch us up,” said Drake. “And I don’t want these cunts knowing where we stay.”
“We can ram them,” Pickle began, “but there’s a chance we could get by, but their own vehicles are still operational, plus we could damage the engine in our van.”
“So what then?” Stephanie asked.
“They want us to join them at Gnosall,” Pickle responded, “which is obviously not happening.”
“And if we refuse?”
“Then they want the van and whatever’s in the back. He’s convinced something is in there.”
“I don’t care about the chickens,” said Drake. “It’s the van I don’t wanna lose.”
“Same here.”
“I say we ram them,” Drake snarled.
“Easy for you to say,” Stephanie spoke up. “I don’t wanna be in the back of that van if you’re going to try and go through them. If they catch us, or if the van topples over—”
“Okay, okay.” Pickle nodded and thought for a moment. “I’ll go and talk to them.”
“And say what?” Drake queried.
“Well, I’ll just be honest. What he wants isn’t going to happen.”
“Pickle?”
“It’s okay.” Pickle turned and winked at the group. “It’ll be fine.”
Pickle made the twenty-yard walk back over to the two jeeps. Marsden stood inbetween the front of the two jeeps and had his arms folded. The rest of his crew, apart from Manson and Richard, who was still at the side of the jeep on the left, were back in the vehicles.
“So what’s the verdict?” Marsden smiled, but he was certain that the response wasn’t going to be what he wanted to hear.
“I’ll keep it quick,” said Pickle. “We’re going to decline yer offer and yer won’t be getting anything off us.”
“Is that right?” Marsden couldn’t hide his anger and his bottom lip began to wobble.
“Aye, that’s right, and if we see one another on our travels, we either be civil to one another or we ignore one another.”
“I need to be selfish to allow our community to feed.”
“Then start growing shit and get a water system put in place, because one day winter will be here and we all might be out o’ petrol to make any more long distance runs.”
“You’re a patronising cunt, Harry. You know that?”
Pickle smiled thinly and said, “Now move yer jeeps, otherwise there’s going to be a bloodbath.”
There was a silence and even Manson had managed to hold his tongue. Pickle looked over to young Richard and gave him a thin smile. Richard and Tracy had found sanctuary, but were unaware at the time that it was ran by a dictator. Pickle was dying to ask Richard if he and his girlfriend were being treated okay at Gnosall, but he was hardly going to tell the truth if they weren’t.
Marsden gulped and tried to swallow his anger. He forced a smile on his face and offered his hand to Harry Branston.
”No hard feelings,” Marsden said.
Pickle gazed at the hand and hesitated before shaking it. He eventually did, and once he was finished and released Marsden’s hand, he asked him if he was going to move his jeeps.
“Absolutely.” Marsden turned to his guys in the jeeps and instructed them to start the engines.
Pickle thanked Marsden, turned on his heels and walked away with his back to him. Marsden then narrowed his eyes at Manson and gave him a short nod. Manson quickly went into the boot of the car on the left and pulled out a shotgun, handing it to Marsden.
Marsden took aim at Harry Branston, who was less than ten yards away, and fired before the rest of his crew by the prison van could process what was happening and warn him.
Chapter Seventeen
Karen had returned to the clinic and was desperately missing Pickle. They had only been out for a couple of hours and she wondered what she’d be like if anything happened to him.
She sat down behind the desk and logged her recent visits, and then asked the guard at the door, of name she didn’t know, if he had any issues he would like to speak to her about, seem as though things were quiet.
“I’m fine,” he said with a smile.
“You sure?” Karen held up a stethoscope and added, “I could give you a once over.”
“Honestly. I’m fine.” The guard laughed and said, “Are you that bored?”
Karen smiled. “That obvious, huh?”
The guard began to relax and Karen could see that he was probably a handsome man many years ago, but time hadn’t been kind to him. The man was only in his forties, had a thick grey beard, straggly hair, and was of average height. He was also carrying a bit of weight and Karen guessed that he was probably a lot heavier pre June, before the apocalypse began.
“You don’t have to stand guard and be all serious around me,” said Karen.
“I know,” the man began to chuckle. “It’s not as if I’m getting paid for this.”
“And Drake is out as well.”
“True.” He nodded.
Karen reached out her foot under the table and pushed the chair out at the other side, signalling to the man to take a seat.
He sat down opposite her and folded his arms. “So what now?”
“Tell me about yourself,” she said. “And by the way, I’m bored, so don’t think this is me being all flirty and stuff. It’s bad enough Drake and Findlay trying to fire into me and—”
“Let me stop you there,” the guard spoke with a chuckle. “First of all, my name is Derek. Secondly, you’re old enough to be my daughter, so you don’t have to worry, love. I’m not interested in women full stop.”
“You’re gay?”
He nodded. “Married many moons ago, had a family, then we broke up when I told the wife.”
“How’d she take it?”
“Very well,” Derek said. “We remained friends and it was the most amicable divorce ever.”
“Where are they now?”
His face developed into a sad one and Karen regretted her question. She told Derek that it didn’t matter and that he didn’t need to say anything, but he spoke.
“I was out drinking with the lads and got home just before midnight on the Saturday.”
“The day it was announced?”
He nodded. “I woke up Sunday morning around ten, still hungover, and put the TV on and checked my phone. It took me about an hour to get my head together.”
> “I’ve been there. I suppose we all have.”
“I opened my curtains and it just looked like a normal day. And then I jumped on my bike and headed for my ex’s house. I got there and could see no car on the drive. She had left to go north.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I received a text when I returned to my flat, telling me not to go looking for her as she had taken the kids on the M6 and were heading for Scotland.”
“And you never heard from her again?”
He shook his head and sighed.
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
Karen leaned back in her chair and looked at the crestfallen man with sympathy. Everybody had a tragic story, but it didn’t make it any easier on hearing people’s tales about the first days of the apocalypse.
“Let’s change the subject,” Karen suggested.
“Okay.”
“There’s a pack of cards in the drawer. Fancy a game?”
Derek smiled. “Sure.”
Chapter Eighteen
The gun was pointing upwards as it went off, forcing Pickle to duck. He turned around and could see Marsden wrestling with young Richard who had knocked the gun upwards a second before it was fired and now another shot rang out.
Pickle was ten yards from the van, and Vince and Drake were telling him to run back, but Pickle couldn’t just leave Richard. The young boy had saved his life and Marsden was going to kill him for sure.
An unarmed Pickle ran over to the two wrestling with the gun and could see Manson backing away, but two of Marsden’s men, Hutty and Jamo, had left their vehicles and ran at Pickle, holding a cosh each.
Hutty was the first to strike and caught Branston on the shoulder, but received a left hook into the side of his face for his troubles, the cosh quickly being taken off him, and another punch to the chin put the man down. Jamo hesitated striking Pickle, and his hesitation cost him as Pickle struck the cosh at the side of Jamo’s head, putting him down, and then Pickle made the short five-yard journey to where Marsden and young Richard were, still wrestling with the empty gun, but could still be used as a weapon of some sorts. Pickle could see the teenager losing the battle with Marsden. He raised the cosh and went over to the two of them.
Snatchers (Book 14): The Dead Don't Hate Page 6
