He stepped inside with his machete still in his belt, still wedged under, and crept through the place. It was a lot spookier when there were less people around. He reached the bottom of the stairs and looked up and called Vince, in almost a whisper, but loud enough to be heard.
No answer.
Pickle placed his hand on the machete handle, ready to get it out, and placed one foot on the stairs that led to the first floor, but that was the furthest he progressed. His ears picked up the sound of an engine and this stopped him from going upstairs because he had left a seventeen-year-old Richard and two fourteen-year-olds on their own.
He headed for outside and jogged his way over to the van. His heart sank when his eyes clocked a black Range Rover with Marsden and three other guys standing outside it.
Marsden was holding a shotgun, facing Pickle from twenty yards away, and waved at him as if he knew he was coming. Hutty, Jamo and a face Pickle didn’t recognise were also with him. There was no sign of Manson, and Pickle put this down to his two mutilated hands he received the day before. He was probably back at the village, recovering, Branston thought.
Pickle stood straight, placed his hands together, and asked, “Is there a problem?”
“Not for me, no.”
“I see yer managed to replace yer tyres.”
Richard Marsden nodded and smiled. “That was a low thing to do.”
“Had no choice. Needed to make sure yer weren’t gonna follow us.”
Pickle had a quick look over Marsden’s shoulder and wondered where the other three were.
As if he could read his mind, Marsden told him, “They’re in the back, which is where you’re going.”
“Do yer really need a gun?” Pickle folded his arms and nodded at the two-barrelled weapon Marsden was holding. “Why don’t we sort this out? Just me and yer.”
“I’m not stupid,” Marsden laughed, and pointed to his bruised face. “I’d come off second best if I went toe to toe with you, Harry.”
“Just shoot him, Rich,” Hutty spoke up. Pickle noticed that Hutty was carrying Stephanie’s bow and the bag of arrows. He probably had Richard and David’s knives as well, Pickle thought. “The kids will come in handy, but I don’t trust this prick. We don’t need him.”
“Shooting him is too easy.”
“I agree with Hutty.” Jamo spoke up.
“I don’t give a shit!” Marsden snapped. “Don’t you remember what he did to us yesterday? Have you seen the state of Freddie’s hand? That poor bastard has been off his face with painkillers since we arrived back at Gnosall on foot.”
“He had it coming,” Pickle called over.
“We really hit the jackpot today, lads,” Marsden said, ignoring Pickle’s comment. “We caught Harry Branston that attacked us and mutilated Manson, we get food and also a van. That’s revenge, supplies, and a set of wheels in one swoop. Not a bad day’s work, but I ain’t killing this man for what he did to us. That’s too easy. He’ll be our prisoner.”
They all started laughing and Hutty, Jamo, and the other individual patted Marsden on the back and continued to giggle.
“I could have killed yer yesterday,” Pickle said. “I spared yer life.”
“That’s where you fucked up, Harry. You’re a tough bastard, I’ll give you that, but you’ve got too much of a heart. Always have done. Now get in the back of the van, or I’ll start bashing in heads.”
“Is that right?” Pickle smiled.
“Yeah, that’s right.” Marsden said, “Maybe I’ll start with the young girl. Now, get the fuck in the van.”
Pickle puffed out a breath and walked towards the back of the van, glaring at Marsden. “Okay.”
“Give your machete to Hutty before you go in.”
Pickle did as he was told and tossed the blade over to Hutty, who failed to catch it, making him look stupid.
Pickle eyeballed Marsden and said, “If yer really want me, take me, but they’re just kids in there.”
“One of those kids put an arrow in my mate’s hand. Kids can be just as dangerous as adults in this world. Age doesn’t matter to me. They’re with you, so I’m taking them.”
“Yer should let them go.”
“Oh, yeah? And what if I let them go and they go running to Stafford and they come back with Drake and a crew?”
Pickle opened his mouth to ask how he knew the name Drake, but never bothered. They had met the day before, but introductions never took place.
“They’ll come looking for us,” Pickle snapped. “We know about yer lot and the way yer treated the villagers in Gnosall. Shelley Tavernier told us about the way yer treated people.”
“Shelley Tavernier?” Marsden rubbed his chin. “Name rings a bell.”
“She escaped. She’s now with us.”
“Let them come.” Marsden shrugged his shoulders. “They’ll die. Every single one of them.”
“At least let the kids go.”
“Not gonna happen, so don’t bother mentioning it again. Now get in the back.”
Marsden raised the gun, so it was now in line with Pickle’s face. He thought about turning the gun around and using the butt end to hit Pickle in the stomach, but the thought of Pickle grabbing the gun and then turning it on Marsden did cross his mind.
Pickle said, “I thought yer didn’t want me dead yet.”
“I don’t.” Marsden still had the gun raised. “But if I have to shoot you, I will.”
“I can’t let yer take those kids.”
“They’ll be fine.” Marsden smiled. “We have four individuals from a camp that knows where we stay. We’re short on supplies, so maybe we can start doing a trade. Let’s see how much Drake values your lives.”
“I don’t believe that,” Pickle said. “Yer takin’ us because yer can. Yer saw an opportunity, so yer took it and like yer said, yer have supplies, a vehicle, and with me and Stephanie who shot an arrow in Manson’s hand, yer can get yer revenge.”
Marsden took in a deep breath and caressed the trigger of the gun. He was becoming impatient with Pickle’s reluctant behaviour.
“We’re a rough lot.” Pickle turned and spat on the floor. He then lied, “We have a lot o’ inmates from our prison with us.”
“We have our fair share as well,” Marsden laughed. “We have Robert McCallum with us, as well as Kyle Horan and Jason Bonser.”
Pickle smiled at Marsden’s desperate lies. He was thinking about keeping quiet, but he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
“Kyle Horan died at the prison,” Pickle laughed. “And I watched Jason Bonser getting ripped to pieces by the dead in Heath Hayes, so nice try.”
Marsden’s face was like thunder. His face reddened and his lips quivered with anger. “Last chance.”
Convinced that he would do it, if he had to, Pickle threw the keys on the floor and stepped into the back of the van and the door was quickly closed and locked.
Hutty got into the van and Marsden went into the driver’s side and could see Jamo and another guy getting into the black jeep.
Hutty took the gun off Marsden as he tried to start the engine.
“I didn’t think he was going to back down for a minute,” Hutty snickered.
“Tell me about it.” Marsden slipped the van into first and pulled away. “If he had grabbed the gun, we would have been fucked. The only two shells we had left were wasted yesterday, when that traitor Richard fucked things up.”
“Hopefully we’ll come across some shells on the next run.”
“I wouldn’t hold your breath.”
Hutty cleared his throat and added, “So what are we going to do with Pickle when we get back to the village. Are we gonna kill him?”
“Not straightaway.” Marsden revealed a sinister grin. “We’ll make him suffer first.”
Hutty pulled away with Marsden next to him. He looked in his wing mirror and could see the black jeep that Jamo was driving following behind.
They were heading to Gnosall.
Chapt
er Thirty-Three
Vince and Mildred could still hear the sound of shuffling feet behind them and remained sitting down with their backs to the door.
Mildred yawned and began playing with her bat.
Vince nodded at the weapon and asked her, “What’s the deal with that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well ... why a bat? Why a spike at the end?”
“Obvious, ain’t it?” Mildred released a short laugh and added, “In the beginning I used whatever I could get my hands on. I came across a bat when I was checking out a house. I used it for a week, but it ended up breaking. A week later I came across another one.”
“Another one? We’re hardly a nation of baseball lovers.”
“I got it from a sports shop.”
“I prefer a machete any day. Gets the job done straightaway.”
“It’s a lot easier with this.” She nodded at the sharpened nail at the end of the bat. “Don’t like using a blade. You have to get too close to the bastards to put them down.”
“Nah.” Vince disagreed. “A bat is too messy.”
“I disagree. I used an axe once, and it really boiled my piss trying to get the thing out every time I buried one into the head.”
Vince smiled and released a noise to suggest that he was amused at what Mildred just said.
“Did I say something funny?” she asked him.
“Kind of.”
“Explain.”
“You remind me of a girl that briefly stayed at my place.”
“Hot, was she?” Mildred teased.
“She was alright. A girl called Sharon Bailey, or Shaz.”
“Did you and her...?”
“With this face,” Vince laughed. “God, no.”
“It’s not that bad. I suppose you could always wear a mask.”
“Cheeky bitch.”
“I saw a group of people wearing hockey masks once.”
“Oh?”
“I was in the woods, not far from here, and saw four people with white masks, carrying knives.”
“Why masks? Intimidation? To prevent blood hitting their faces?”
“No idea. Never asked them. Not sure if they were good or bad guys.”
Vince ran his fingers over his short grey hair and a smile stretched across his face.
“Are you a Rugeley girl, Mildred?” he asked her.
“Not really,” she replied. “I kind of lived everywhere.”
She was vague and Vince decided not to push for any more information. This young woman was now going under a different name, so it was obvious she wanted to keep her old life away from new people. She had opened up a little to Vince, and he thought that that was progress. Mildred was new, so there was plenty of time for her to open up a little more. Maybe even find out her real name.
“I was thinking about the Rugeley Fair that used to be every year in the summer.”
“I think I went to one once,” Mildred laughed gently.
“They used to set up stalls and have these pathetic raffles where you get to win tins of beans or spaghetti hoops.” Vince shook his head and cackled, “There was even a throwing a Wellington boot competition, I remember that. I think there was a donkey ride once. They used to charge kids to ride on Billy the donkey. One year he never showed up and we all assumed he was dead. Never saw him again.”
Mildred held up her bat and turned to the side and looked at Vince. “I think it’s time to go.”
“I don’t know.”
“Look, I don’t know what’s keeping Pickle, but we’re gonna have to go sooner or later.”
Vince nodded and stood up, holding his machete. Mildred stood next to him and the pair of them stared at the door, waiting for someone to open it.
“You want me to get it?” she asked.
“I feel like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance kid.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“It’s a film about two outlaws. In the end they get trapped in this cave, just the two of them.”
“What happened?”
“They had to shoot their way out. Died in the end, or at least I think they did. The picture kind of froze at the end.”
“We’ll get through his.”
“Will we?”
“Fucking right we will. Ready?”
Vince shook his head. “No.”
“Let’s go then.” Mildred grabbed the door handle and pulled it open.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Quint headed inside the outpatients building and could see Rowley down the corridor. Rowley was in a wheelchair and struggling to get it going.
Quint started laughing and yelled, “If you’re struggling now, wait till you get outside on that rough ground!”
Rowley tried to turn around and eventually Quint stood in front of him and both men were face to face.
“You’ll need some help,” Quint said. “It’s the least I can do after the chocolate bar incident.”
“It’s just a bit stiff, chap.”
Quint took a step backward and inspected the wheelchair. He rubbed his chin and said, “My wife had one of these years ago when she fell down the stairs.”
“Oh, right.” Stephen grunted and twisted his neck. “Was she drunk?”
“No.” Quint shook his head. “She didn’t hoover the bedroom, like I asked, so we had an argument on the landing and I gave her a slap.”
“So you pushed her down?”
“No, I didn’t. I just told you. I slapped her and then she fell. There was no pushing involved.”
Rowley looked at Quint and was speechless.
Quint began to snigger and slapped Rowley on the shoulder and said, “Just joking.”
“What?”
“She fell down after tripping up.”
“You’re a sick man, Quint.”
“Yep. I’ll never change.” Quint ran his fingers through his grey beard and added, “Right. Back to this wheelchair.”
“I know.” Rowley moved his backside a few times, trying to get the thing to move. “I just don’t understand how it’s not working. I have crutches, but it’s tiring using them most of the day.”
Quint bent down and flicked a switch that was near the right wheel. He stood up and smiled and said, “Helps if you take the brake off first. I’ll catch up with you later. Gonna go out for a walk.”
*
For almost twenty minutes Karen hung around the area where the greenhouses and the shed were based, talking to people of the camp, until she saw Alan once more. Drake’s brother was alone and had come from the other side of the grounds where they kept the vehicles parked.
She watched as the man waved and talked to people. He seemed a popular figure, despite the fact she hadn’t seen him in the first week they were there.
He was talking to two women.
Karen recognised Patricia Johnson, but didn’t know the name of the other one. They were conversing and Patricia smiled and looked over Karen’s way, making her blood boil.
She was certain she was being talked about, but chose not to go over there and confront them.
It was a private conversation and they’d only deny it.
Alan walked away and Karen waited for the man to disappear round the corner of the building before following him.
Karen walked over, trying to be as casual as possible, and popped her head round the corner to see Alan now talking to Quint. The conversation was short, and Alan soon moved on and went into the outpatients building.
Quint was hanging around and scratched at his thick grey beard.
Karen released a sharp whistle and beckoned the man over.
“What am I, a fucking sheepdog?” Quint laughed.
“What did he say to you?” Karen asked, looking over both shoulders.
“Who?”
“Who do you think?”
“Alan?” Quint scratched again and added, “Just asking how I’m settling in, that’s all.”
“Anything else?”
�
�What is this?” Quint laughed. “What’s going on?”
Karen rubbed her face and was unsure whether to say anything. Was she being paranoid? Was she overreacting?
“Just tell me what he said to you, please.”
“He just wanted to know how I was doing.”
“And that’s it?”
Quint thought for a moment. “He asked how I knew you guys.”
“And what did you say?”
“I told him I met Vince and the two youngsters a couple of weeks ago. Is something going on?”
“I don’t know yet,” Karen sighed. “It’s probably nothing. Just don’t tell Alan I was asking about him, okay?”
“Yes ma’am.” Quint mocked in a Texan accent, and then saluted her.
“I’m serious.”
“I know.” Quint laughed and continued to mock. “Can I go now? Or do you want to know the last time I had a shite?”
Karen walked away in a huff and was about to head back to the clinic, but she spotted Darren. He was slightly hunched over and looked to be in discomfort. She thought it was the IBS, but she was wrong.
“What did Drake say?” she called over.
He looked her way and she knew straightaway that he had been assaulted.
“Did Drake do this?”
Darren never answered.
“Right, I’m gonna go and see him.”
Darren never verbally protested. He never tried to stop her either.
Karen stormed into the reception building and headed for the staff room. She opened the door and could see Drake with his back to her.
“What the fuck did you do to Darren?”
Drake slowly turned around and snarled, “What are you talking about?”
“Did you hit him or—?”
“Why don’t you mind your own fucking business?” Drake folded his arms. “What’s it to you anyway? Are you sucking him off?”
“Don’t be so foul.” Karen twisted her face and said, “He looked in a bad way.”
“He’s always in a bad way, that cunt,” Drake snapped. “He’s constantly sniffing, he’s never well, and he shits himself...”
“He has IBS,” Karen corrected the man. “I don’t think he shits himself. He just—”
Snatchers (Book 14): The Dead Don't Hate Page 13
