The tin was over the flames for a few minutes and a ravenous Paul Dickson felt that that was long enough. He pulled out a plastic spoon from his bag and began to dig in whilst his jar of water continued to boil.
It took just seconds for him to get through the tin. The last spoonful of beans went into Dickson’s mouth and he felt a prick on the back of his neck. He froze and could see two men walk from the side of him and were now in front of his eyes. It was the men from the farmhouse. He knew it was them.
The men he could see were bearded, in their late thirties/early forties, and were all wearing trench coats that hung just a few inches from the ground.
The man with the grey beard was the guy that decided to speak up. Dickson guessed correctly that he was the leader. The third man was obviously the guy that had the tip of a blade to the back of Paul Dickson’s neck.
“A tin of beans?” the man with the grey beard spoke up. “How were they?”
Dickson continued to chew his last mouthful and never answered. He winced slightly when he could feel the blade going into his neck by millimetres.
“He’s talking to you, arsehole,” the voice said from behind.
He still never answered and the leader nodded at the man beside him to take a look in Dickson’s rucksack. He stepped over to the bag and he looked inside.
“A few things in here, Malky,” he said. “Including five tins of beans.”
“Five tins.” the Malky character made a facial expression to Dickson, asking him to explain himself, but he remained tight-lipped.
“So that’s six tins, including the empty one by his feet,” said the man from behind.
“Well done,” Malky snickered.
The guy that had gone through Dickson’s bag looked angry and pulled out a knife from his leather holster. “So you’re the guy that robbed us and killed Billy.”
He took a step forward, but Malky placed his arm out, stopping the man from progressing any further. “Let’s do him slowly, Dave,” said Malky.
Dave nodded and was told to go over to their captor and take his machete away. He did just that and stood next to Malky, holding Dickson’s machete in his right hand.
“Can’t we just do him now?” the man behind said, his knife still on the back of Dickson’s neck. “All I need to do is push this knife in and we’re done.”
“Not yet.” Malky eyed Dickson who stared into space. “I wanna fuck him before we finish him off.”
“Can I fuck him as well?” Dave asked.
Malky nodded. “Yeah, but I’m doing him first.”
Dickson remained calm and placed his hand in his right pocket. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Were they seriously having a discussion who was going to have sex with him first?
The three men continued to converse and Dickson could feel the tip of the blade easing off.
“What’s shall we do with him first?” the Dave character asked.
“I reckon we should stab him in the legs for a starter,” the man from behind said.
Dickson continued to stare out and could feel the blade resting on his shoulder as the man behind continued to talk.
“Sounds like a plan,” the Malky character said.
“Then maybe we should take his eyes out.”
Paul lifted his hand up to his forehead and began scratching it. He took in a deep breath and mentally counted to three. Once he reached three, he then grabbed the man’s wrist and pulled him over his shoulder, hitting the ground. Dickson had the lid from the beans in his right hand and slashed at the man’s throat before the other two knew what was going on. Dave was the first to react.
He raised the machete and ran towards Dickson, but Paul had already pulled out his knife, held the tip of the blade with his fingers and threw it at Dave, who was only yards from him.
The man fell back as the blade hit and buried into his stomach, dropping the machete, and Dickson quickly picked up his machete and stood up straight. Malky sighed and was standing with his knife in his hand and knew he couldn’t compete with a blade the one Dickson was holding. He threw his knife to the floor and held up his hands in surrender. He looked over at Dave and could hear he was in some discomfort, groaning, and writhing around the floor. His other companion was already dead, still bleeding out.
Malky looked behind him, in two minds whether to try and make a run for it or not.
“Run, if you want to,” Paul spoke with a monotone voice. “But I’ll catch you up. Trust me.”
“Spare me,” he begged. “I’ll just leave and you’ll never see me again.”
“Funny,” Paul said with a smile. “Minutes ago I was gonna be gang raped by you bunch of pricks.”
“I just—”
Paul shushed the man and told him to sit down against one of the trees. Malky did as he was told and Paul walked over to him. He raised the machete and rested the tip on Malky’s shoulder, wondering what to do with the man.
“Look, let me go,” Malky continued to beg.
“And why would I do that?”
“We were just annoyed that you stole from us and killed our friend. You have to understand that.”
“Do I?” Paul groaned and took the blade off the man’s shoulder.
“We’re all in the same boat. We—”
Dickson slowly drove the blade into the man’s stomach and Malky’s eyes widened in horror. Paul showed no emotion as he continued pushing the blade in and Malky now tried to grab Dickson by the sleeve, but by the time the blade came out through his back, Malky was losing consciousness.
Malky’s eyes remained open, but his hands dropped and his head drooped to the side. Dickson pulled out the blade and turned his attention to the Dave character who was still groaning with the knife still buried in his belly.
He casually walked over to the fire and kicked dirt over it to put it out, then picked up his rucksack and picked up the jar and put it inside. His adrenaline was pumping through him and he decided to walk it off, but he didn’t want to go too far. He went over to Dave and pulled the knife out of his belly.
“I need this back,” he said, wiping both sides of the blade on the man’s sweater.
He place the knife back into his sock, the machete back in his belt, and made his way through the wooded area, leaving carnage behind him.
Chapter Fifty-Two
“Where the fuck is he?” Karen cried. She was surprised, confused and relieved.
Drake and Vince looked baffled.
Drake pointed at the male’s head and asked out loud, “Who’s that cunt?”
“I dunno,” Vince responded. “But it’s not Pickle, thank Christ.”
“So where is he?”
A lot of confused faces looked at one another and then Findlay spoke. “Drake,” he said. “The letter.”
“Shit. You’re right.”
Drake pulled out the envelope and tore it open like an excited child opening a present on Christmas Day. He opened out the A4 page and read it to himself quietly.
Karen’s patience was tested enough and asked, “What does it say?”
Drake never read the letter again; he passed it onto Karen.
“Basically,” Drake began. “We need to surrender all our vehicles, apart from the mopeds, and they’ll give Pickle up. Marsden wants the vehicles all topped up with petrol. That means we’ll have to go out on a run to get enough fuel for them.”
“And what if we don’t?” Vince asked, still waiting for Karen to finish reading the letter.
“If we don’t,” Karen said, passing the letter to Vince. “Then we’re going to receive another sack on Sunday evening.” She nodded at the letter. “He’s given us till midday, Sunday, to turn up with the goods. What day is it today?”
“Sunday ... I think. I’ll have to double check the calendar.”
“So we have a week.”
Vince read the letter and said, “It’s listed here the vehicles we have and that we’re not blessed with fuel. How the fuck does he know?”
“Somebody must have blabbed,” Drake moaned. “No good demanding vehicles if the tanks are nearly empty. Maybe Pickle said something to them to save his own skin.”
“Pickle wouldn’t do that,” Karen snarled.
“Well, he’s the only cunt that’s alive.”
“My money’s on David. Anyway, how the fuck are we gonna do this? Are we just going to dump the vehicles at Milford and walk home?”
“No other choice,” said Vince, fighting back the tears with Stephanie’s head only yards from his boots. “It says it in the letter. Drop the vehicles off at Milford Green, leaving the keys in the ignition, and they’ll deliver Pickle. I don’t think they’ll be giving us a lift back.”
Karen asked, “Why Milford Green?”
“It’s a spacey area. Nowhere to ambush them,” Drake spoke up.
“If David, or whoever, did grass, they also probably told them the numbers we have. I’m guessing we have a lot more people than they’re comfortable with.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” Drake held his hands up and added, “You’re talking like the decision has already been made.”
“You can’t just leave him there,” Karen cried.
“We have the Audi, three pickups, and they also have the prison van as well,” Findlay intervened. “If some people here find out we’ve just given up all of that for one guy who has been here for just over a week, there’s gonna be hell to pay. I can guarantee it.”
“I don’t know.” Drake paced up and down and rubbed his chin. “Finners does have a point. I mean, I like Pickle, but—”
“Drake!” Karen yelled. “You can’t leave him there.”
“Back in the old world,” Drake began. “Politicians would never give in to kidnapper’s ransoms, would they?”
“What are you saying?” Vince jumped in. “Are you not doing this?”
“That’s not what I’m saying at all. It’s just...”
“Yes?”
“It’s going to take a few days to get the extra fuel.”
“We have days,” Karen said. “We can get it, but what worries me is your reluctance to give the vehicles up.”
“For one man!”
“It’s Pickle,” she cried.
“Okay, okay. Let me think.” Drake paused and snapped his fingers and turned to Vince and Karen. “What if we go and get him ourselves?”
“What do you mean?”
“We can get to Gnosall ourselves,” Drake began to explain. “Take a few mopeds up there, dump them, walk the rest, and break him out of there.”
“And if we get caught, we all die.” Karen moaned. “No, stick to what has been instructed.”
“This is not happening.” Findlay shook his head and seemed annoyed. “I’m sorry for Stephanie and David, but giving up the wheels that are vital for supply runs will be detrimental for the rest of us here.”
“He’s right.” Drake nodded. “The people here won’t buy it, and there’s a few here that still don’t like you Colwyn lot.”
“Why don’t we put it to a vote?” Vince asked.
“That’s what I was going to suggest.”
“I already know what the outcome is gonna be,” Findlay said. “A vote would be a waste of time.”
“Okay,” Vince groaned. “We’ll tell people what’s happened and all the adults can take a vote. If the answer is no, I’ll go and get him myself.”
“I’ll come too,” Karen said.
“And me.” Drake nodded.
“They want the arrangement done at midday on Sunday,” Vince said, “so we have time.”
“Have time for what?” Karen asked him.
“We can’t just go there, turn up, and hope for the best,” said Vince. “We need to plan it. I say we go there Saturday morning on mopeds, dump the bikes a mile from the place. We need straight heads, and at the moment all I wanna do is kill the fuckers who did that to David and Stephanie.”
“And Richard,” said Karen.
“Of course.” Vince nodded, wiping his eyes. “If we go tomorrow, we’d have no clue what the set up would be like and we’d also be plagued with revenge and remorse. We need to go there focused. We’ll be prepared by the time Saturday comes along, and they certainly won’t be expecting us. Shelley Tavernier should provide us with information about the set-up they have. She mentioned people being beaten and raped. They probably did this out of the way from the public. Pickle is probably staying in the same place where they beat these people. They should treat him well if they think they’re getting something in return. Are we all agreed?”
Drake and Karen nodded. There was no response from Findlay and the other two guards. All three were unhappy. Findlay was positive that the people would vote against giving up the vehicles in exchange for Pickle, but he didn’t want Drake to go with him. He liked Karen, but didn’t give a shit about Vince.
“What do we do now?” Karen asked.
“Let’s put these ... heads somewhere safe,” Drake moaned. “I’ll put them in the shed. It’s okay, I’ll keep them away from the hens.”
Vince wiped his wet eyes and said, “I need a drink.”
“Go to the staff room,” Drake said. “In the cupboard under the sink.”
“I suppose I better tell Tracy the bad news.” Karen wiped her eyes and cleared her throat.
Chapter Fifty-Three
He slumped in the chair, grabbing onto the bottle of whisky, and Vince Kindl unscrewed the lid. It had been a while since he drank whisky, and poured a small measure into a plastic cup.
He picked the cup up and had a sniff of the Irish triple distilled drink, and knocked it back. It gave him a nice warm feeling inside, but it wasn’t enough.
He poured another. This time the cup was two inches filled, and Kindl gulped the liquid down as if it was a cup of water. He stared at the bottle, contemplating whether to have another. He didn’t want to get drunk during the day.
His thoughts went to David and Stephanie, and hoped that they were killed before their beheadings. If that wasn’t the case... He shuddered at the thought of it and imagined the screams and the panic that Stephanie and David experienced before their demise. He never really gave Richard a thought and didn’t know who the other guy was.
“Bastards!” Vince slammed the table and repeated, “Bastards!”
He dropped his head and put his right hand over his eyes and began to sob. For minutes, Vince cried like a baby, and only composed himself when he heard footsteps approaching. He quickly wiped his eyes, clearing his throat at the same time, and then poured another drink.
“Last one,” he said to himself.
A knock on the door made Vince jump. The door wasn’t locked, but Vince stood up and staggered over to it, like one of the dead.
Vince opened the door and could see Joanne standing, in tears. It was obvious that she had been told the news.
The two embraced and both sat down at the table. Joanne could see that Vince had been crying, which wasn’t a surprise, as he loved Stephanie. Any fool could see that.
They sat opposite one another and had their arms stretched across it, holding hands.
“Karen told me,” Joanne confessed. “Just.”
Vince waggled his head and said, “I can’t believe it.”
“They were just kids,” Joanne cried. “Who would do such a thing?”
“We’ve come across some vile people in the past, but these lot have to be the worst.”
“What are we gonna do about Pickle?”
Vince shrugged and picked up the plastic cup, taking a sip. “You heard about the demands?”
Joanne nodded.
“They’re gonna put it to a vote. If the people here vote no, which they will, we’re gonna have to plan a way of getting him out of there. We have nearly a week to do it.”
“Is that wise?”
“We can’t just leave him there. What do you think he would do?”
Joanne lowered her head and nodded. He was right. Pickle would put his l
ife on the line for most folk.
Vince stood up and said, “I’m gonna get some air.”
“Okay.” Joanne also stood up and grabbed Vince by his arm as he tried to walk by. “I’m so sorry about Stephanie.”
He could feel his eyes filling once more and his throat swelling. “Yeah. Me too.”
The pair of them left the room and exited the building. Vince and Joanne stopped moving once they clocked Karen, thirty yards away near the greenhouses, with her arm around a distraught Tracy.
Vince and Joanne hugged, and then Joanne went over to Karen and Tracy. The first persons Vince bumped into were Rowley and Quint.
Quint was walking next to Rowley who was on crutches, and they had appeared from behind the building.
Vince was happy enough to try and walk off the way he was feeling, but Rowley called him over. Vince groaned, turned on his heels, and reluctantly made his way over to Rowley and Quint.
“You his chaperone today?” Vince mumbled, nodding at Quint.
“Something like that,” Quint laughed. “But I’m not fucking wiping his arse. Bollocks to that.”
“Don’t be so foul,” Rowley said, not seeing the funny side. “I can do that myself.”
“Anyway,” Vince sighed. “I take it you haven’t heard the news.”
“What news, chap?” Stephen grunted and cleared his throat.
“Pickle was caught by a gang. They took the van and he’s being held captive.”
“How do you know all this?” Quint queried.
“One of his guys dropped off a letter,” Vince started to explain. He gulped and took in a deep breath before muttering the next sentence. “As well as a sack of severed heads.”
Quint and Rowley looked at one another, and it was Rowley that asked Vince what the hell he was talking about.
“The new guy, Richard, Stephanie and David are dead.” Vince didn’t see the point beating around the bush, so he told them. “As well as a person we didn’t recognise. Their heads were dropped off in a sack, along with the letter. If we don’t comply, and give up the vehicles we have, they’ll kill Pickle.”
“They won’t give up the vehicles for one man,” Quint said.
Snatchers (Book 14): The Dead Don't Hate Page 20
