Snatchers (Book 11): The Dead Don't Knock

by Shaun Whittington

Rowley and Bonser remained staring in shock and were seconds from reacting, but a scream from behind them now made the two men twist their necks to the right, and they witnessed their friend James Thomson collapsing to the floor with a knife sticking out of his chest.

  Thomson's attacker had climbed over the wall, whilst the two Stephens were staring at the quick demise of Gareth Broadgate, and had leaned over and shoved his knife into James. Both men quickly turned around and struck James’ killer with their bats, forcing the man to yell out as the bats came crashing down on his head, arms and shoulders. Knowing that he didn't stand a chance, James’ killer began to retreat and jumped back over the wall.

  That was three that they had seen, but Bonser and Rowley knew that there were going to be more. Many More. And they weren't wrong.

  It was now a minute after nine.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Lynne Smithers and Sandra Roberts stood nervously. Neither one spoke to each other as the two twenty-six-year-old students stood, both shaking with fear. They both agreed to stay near the house, rather than hang near the fence and peering over, like some folk.

  Their back door was open, ready for them to flee inside in case of the arrival of danger. They both spontaneously volunteered and were now regretting it. They weren't fighters, never had been, but decided to stay in the garden with their bats that Lincoln had given them, just so that it looked like they were contributing in some kind of way.

  Lynne and Sandra were aware of the criticism over the last few days that they, amongst others, had never contributed outside the street and the two females wanted to do this to shut their 'critics' up.

  “What time is it?” Sandra turned to Lynne, but could see that Lynne wasn't wearing a watch.

  “Nine, I think.” Lynne sounded unsure. “It's gonna be dark soon.”

  “Can you hear a noise?” Sandra asked her friend.

  Lynne shook her head. The bat was being held with both hands of the inexperienced female now, but the weapon was still shaking.

  “I-I-I can't hear anything.” Lynne finally answered with a stammer. “What did it sound like?”

  “Running.” Sandra shrugged her shoulders, unsure herself if that was what she had heard.

  “Shall we go inside?”

  Sandra shook her head. “I want to do this,” she said with tears in her eyes. “I'm sick of the sniping and criticism, especially from the new people, that we do fuck all.”

  “It's the new people's fault that this is happening in the first place. If it wasn't for that Jez and Craig bloke, they wouldn't have come here and Terry wouldn't have killed—”

  “I know. You don't need to tell me about it.”

  “I wonder if—”

  A male yell, filled with anguish, made both females gasp.

  “What the fuck was that?” Sandra cried. “I think it came from the wall.”

  Lynne never answered, and watched with widened eyes as two men quickly climbed over their fence.

  She looked to her right and saw the fences from the other back gardens being climbed. Sandra stood in aghast, whilst Lynne stood still in shock and had dropped the bat. Two men landed in their garden, both dressed the same, but different in appearance. They ran at Lynne; she fell to her knees and began to beg for her life, pleading with the two males not to touch her.

  The two men ran by her and seemed more interested in Sandra, who had now decided to flee and went inside her house after her.

  Lynne was punched in the chest as they ran past, or at least she thought she had been punched, and collapsed to the side. She lay on the floor, struggling to catch her breath, and placed both hands where the dull sensation was coming from. She closed her eyes and tried to ride the pain out. Unbeknown to her, she had been stabbed in the chest and those eyes of hers never opened again.

  In the house of 19 Colwyn Place, Sandra Roberts tripped over the sofa as she tried to make her way to the front door and out into the street, but by the time she got to her feet, she was pulled to the ground by the two men and stabbed repeatedly in the back by both males. She died whilst they continued to stab her.

  *

  She thought she was about to have a panic attack once Pickle had left her garden. He had left her alone and Joanne Hammett was frightened. She looked at her watch and could see that it was 9pm.

  “Jesus Christ,” she huffed “What am I doing?”

  It didn't seem that long ago that she was in her second year studying Law at Keele University, and now here she was, in an apocalyptic world, holding a bat and not sure she was going to live to see another day. Her third year at Uni was never going to happen now.

  She took in a deep breath and released it as slow as she could. This was something she had tried years ago whilst she was taking her driving test. She had failed three times before and had tried everything to keep her nerves in check.

  She went for a breathing technique throughout the test and this seemed to have done the trick, but it wasn't working in the scenario that she was in now.

  The whole of her frame rattled with fear, and she released a short gasp when the sound of a male voice yelled out in pain.

  It was obvious from the scream that it was pain. Joanne Hammett couldn't take any more. She felt terrible for being such a coward, but she wasn't ready for this. Clubbing people to death wasn't her. She wasn't Karen Bradley. She had lived a privileged life since the apocalypse, and her inexperience with dealing with danger was clearly showing. She turned on her heels and headed back inside.

  *

  Pickle took a look at his Omega Speedmaster watch and could see it was 9pm. He had checked on Danny Gosling at number five, then went over the empty garden of 7 Colwyn Place where Rowley stayed and checked on Brenda Hatchet at number eight. Brenda was forty two years old, a large woman, and used to run her own cake shop before the shit hit the fan. She was one of the residents that didn't volunteer to help, and was too scared to open her door to Pickle. They communicated briefly with Pickle by the main door and Brenda in her bedroom with the window open.

  Pickle left Brenda alone, urging her to get into her attic. He departed the premises of 8 Colwyn Place, and went to the next house. He could see Freddie's mum in the living room. He asked her where Freddie was and she told him that her son was in the garden by himself.

  Good lad, Pickle thought.

  Freddie wasn't everybody's cup of tea, but at least he was standing his ground. At least he was trying.

  Pickle went round the back garden of Freddie's house and could see the nervous youngster. Freddie stood with his bat and breathed out a sigh of relief when he saw Harry Branston standing in his garden.

  “Just seeing how yer are,” Pickle said with a smile.

  “Shittin' myself, Pickle. If I'm being honest.”

  “That's normal. Yer not on yer own.”

  “Do you think they'll come?”

  “I don't know.” Pickle sighed and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “If they don't come tonight, they'll probably come tomorrow. I'm not sure, to tell yer the truth. I've come across some bad folk since this shit has started. I just don't know how bad these guys are, how bad this Drake fellow is.”

  “I don't think I've been so terrified in all my life,” admitted Freddie Johnson. He then looked over at his kitchen window where his mum was. “My mum wants me to stay inside, but I have to do this.”

  “She's just worried about yer, that's all.”

  “What about that young kid that used to be in your old camp?” Freddie asked Pickle. “David?”

  “He's inside his house at number seven.”

  “What's that noise?” Freddie cocked his head to one side, and Pickle ran over to the fence to have a look over. Three men were already climbing and were nearly over the fence, making Freddie gasp and forcing his mother to exit the house, screaming for Freddie to get inside.

  His mother grabbed Freddie's arm, but the young man was standing his ground, trying to shrug his mother off.

  All three men p
ulled out long knives once their feet landed in Freddie's back garden, and Pickle inflicted damage to the first one. With little hesitation, Branston pulled out his machete and swiped at the nearest man, almost severing his arm.

  The man fell on his front, groaning, but not for long. Pickle rammed the blade into the back of the man's neck and was hoping that this would make the other two assailants turn and leave.

  Pickle's barbaric action only spurred the men on and one plunged his blade into Freddie's mother's stomach. Freddie cried out and went over to his mum as she fell to the floor, but he was knifed repeatedly in the back by both men, receiving fifteen stab wounds. The youngster fell to the floor and died slowly, making his injured and conscious mother sob as she watched her baby die before her eyes.

  Both leather-wearing men then made their way over to Pickle who was now in the corner of the garden with his bloody blade raised. Pickle's machete was a much more fearsome sight than the blades these guys had, but the sight of the machete never stopped the two bearded middle-aged men stroll towards Pickle.

  There were no vicious words exchanged between the men. The two intruders were wearing small smiles on their features, and both ran at Pickle at the same time. Pickle side-kicked the man on the left in the knee, making him collapse to the ground. The man on the right then lunged at Pickle with his knife, scratching Pickle's left arm. Pickle rammed his blade into the man's stomach. Pickle let go of the machete and watched as the man fell to the floor on his front, pushing the blade further and through his back. Pickle took a quick peep over at Freddie and his mother. Both were now dead, bleeding out onto the long grass.

  With a surge of rage running through his veins, Pickle went over to the only surviving assailant. He groaned, holding onto his leg where Pickle had struck him, and looked up to see that Pickle was now standing over him. The man reached for his blade, but Pickle stood on his right hand before he could inflict any damage.

  “How many o' yer are here?” Pickle snarled.

  The man looked up and laughed. “Too many for you lot to handle. We're everywhere, and came over at the same time.”

  “What are yer talking about?”

  The bearded man looked at his digital watch and showed Pickle that it was a minute after nine. “We had planned to attack at nine, on the dot.”

  “How many?”

  The man laughed, “A lot.”

  Pickle bent over and grabbed each side of the man's head and gave it a twist, breaking his neck. He stood up straight and began to leave the garden, intending on leaving for the main gate, but a male scream from the other side of the street made him rethink his plans.

  He took his machete and was now heading for the wall.

  *

  Ian and Derek Ferguson were experienced when it came to danger. They had been on many runs, had killed many of the dead, and had even been in situations where they had nearly lost their lives, but this situation was new to them.

  Two leather-wearing individuals tried to climb their fence, but as soon as their heads could be seen, Derek and Ian rained down their bats on their skulls. Despite the blows, both men managed to get themselves over the fence, but were both mildly concussed.

  One of the men tried to scramble to his feet, but Derek put him down. Ian killed the other that was lying flat on the floor with two strikes, then turned to the side and vomited on his grass once his eyes realised he had smashed a man's brains in.

  “Well, that was easy enough,” said Derek. He looked at his Casio digital watch. It was after nine.

  Ian nodded and asked, “What now? Stay here or see if everyone else is alright?”

  A male scream came from the distance, making both men gaze at one another in horror.

  “That sounds like it came from the wall,” Derek cried.

  Ian nodded. “Let's go and see.”

  Both men were still near the fence and tried to get their breaths back. They turned their backs on the fence and were about to make their way over to the street, but a dull feeling was felt in Ian's back and he fell to the floor. Derek turned around and saw a knife sticking out of his brother.

  “Shit. Ian!”

  Two more men climbed the Ferguson's fence and Derek decided to stand his ground. He didn't want to leave his brother alone, even though he was now dead.

  The two WOE men pulled out knives. Derek lunged at one, but a swiping blade slashed his left cheek. Derek screamed out, dropping his weapon, and gasped as the two men approached him.

  They stabbed him in his midriff five times and he fell to his knees, sobbing, knowing he was fucked. He felt one of the men walking around and then standing behind him. Derek knew what was coming next.

  Derek Ferguson knew that there was no point fighting it. He remained on his knees and lifted his head, giving the man easier access to his throat.

  The blade, of the man standing behind him, finally touched Derek’s throat and was dragged across it. Blood gushed out onto his T-shirt, and the last thing he heard before he died was the laughter of the two WOE men.

  *

  A cry from the wall shocked Karen and Vince, and both could see that Gareth and James were dead. Before they had the chance to go over, two intruders ran down the drive of the Ferguson's house and were in the middle of the street, and both men were spotted by Karen and Vince who were by the main gate.

  “Shit!” Vince cried.

  “They must have come from the back gardens,” Karen cried out. “Shit, Vince, they're coming over the garden fences.”

  “They're coming from everywhere.” Vince pointed over to the concrete wall. More could be seen climbing over and Rowley and Bonser were clearly struggling. The two WOE men began to run at Karen and Vince.

  Both men released shrieks, like war cries, and raised their bats as they ran at Bradley and Kindl. Karen and Vince were both holding their machetes, but Karen lowered hers and reached for her knife in her back pocket with her free hand. She took out the knife and held the tip with her thumb and forefinger, then threw it at the advancing man on the right.

  The blade stuck into the left side of the man's chest and he fell to the floor. The man on the left continued to run and when he got near, Vince put him down with one strike to the side of the head. Both Karen and Vince looked at the bodies on the floor, then looked at one another. Both men were groaning, on their backs, and both were still alive for now.

  Vince nodded towards the knife that was sticking out of the man's chest that Karen had thrown. “Where the hell did you learn to do that?”

  Karen hunched her shoulders. “First time I've tried it.” She then looked around and then over at the wall where Rowley and Bonser were trying to fight a few off. Pickle had appeared, ran over to the wall and was now trying to help Bonser and Rowley out.

  Karen said, “Seems like they're entering from the sides, over the fences, and over the wall. I thought they'd get at us through the main gate.”

  “Nah.” Vince shook his head. “Too obvious.”

  “We need to go and help out Pickle and the rest.” Karen raised her blade and was about to run, but Vince held her back.

  “Get off me, Vince,” she cried. “I can't leave Pickle alone.”

  “No need to go over,” he said. “Look!”

  Pickle and the rest were overwhelmed by the sheer numbers and decided to run down the street and flee to the main gate. There were no other residents of Colwyn Place to be seen, and Karen assumed that they were still in their gardens, dead, or had fled back into their homes, but strangely enough not a lot of the gang members had come down the drives of the houses. Maybe not many came over the fences, Karen thought. Either that, or the people of Colwyn Place had done themselves proud and had killed some or had forced some of the WOE men to retreat.

  Pickle turned around once he was at the gate with Bonser and Rowley, staring at the WOE men that were advancing, more were still climbing over. Now there were five at the main gate. Pickle, Karen, Vince, Bonser and Rowley didn't fancy their chances, but if they we
re going to go down, they were going down fighting.

  “Stand yer ground.” Pickle stepped in front of Karen, Vince, Rowley and Bonser. “If we die today, then that's just the way it is.”

  Nobody responded. They were too busy gazing at the eight men that were coming towards them. One more came over the wall; two came from the side of the houses and must have climbed the back garden's fences. Now there were eleven men, all holding a weapon of some sort, jogging towards Pickle and co. Two of the WOE men were in front of the rest of their group and seemed to be leading the other nine towards the main gate.

  “I think we have a chance,” said Vince. “Eleven against five. That's not too bad.”

  Another eight climbed over the wall and Rowley sighed, “Then again, chap.”

  From out of the front of his house, Craig Burns ran out with his hockey stick in hand and hit one of the WOE men from behind. The man fell and was helped up by one of his comrades. Now, the group that were heading towards the main gate turned and went for Craig, apart from the two men that were leading the gang. Craig put another man down temporarily and was overwhelmed with the sheer numbers. Jez came out of the house and the frightened young man ran straight towards the main gate; Craig did the same. It was either that or die.

  Craig was a matter of yards from Pickle and the rest when he stopped in his tracks. They could hear it. They could all hear it.

  The sound of a vehicle was advancing towards the street.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  The noise came from behind them and Pickle was the first to turn around. A red pickup from outside was heading for the main gate. It gave off a quick blast of the horn which confused Pickle. Why would the gang give off a warning before approaching the main gate? He then realised Paul was in the vehicle and that the crazy bastard was going to ram the gate if they didn't hurry up and open it.

  Pickle went for the handle of the steel barrier and pulled it back, grabbing Karen and taking her with him. He yelled to the rest, “Move to the side. Now!”