Vince, Craig, Jez, Bonser and Rowley turned quickly to see a red truck heading towards the entrance, and all ran towards the pavement, out of the way.
The vehicle went through the opened gate and whizzed by Pickle and the other residents, heading towards the gang in the middle of the road. Slowly realising that the red pickup was theirs but was not being driven by their gang member, one of the two men that were leading the herd to the main gate screamed at his pals to run.
The front two were hit by the pickup, one of them bouncing off the bonnet and the other going under the wheels, but instead of ploughing through the rest of the crowd, the vehicle suddenly stopped.
Paul Dickson stepped out of the vehicle, shotgun in his right hand, and raised the gun calmly at the first man that ran at him. Paul squeezed the trigger and saw the man's chest take a hit, killing him instantly. At this point, the crowd began to back off and started to sprint away. Paul pointed the gun at the now-fleeing gang and released another shot. Pickle and the rest began to charge at the men, and watched as the frightened WOE members climbed back over the wall and ran down the old part of Colwyn Place.
Pickle glared out over the wall, at the old part of Little Haywood, with Karen, Craig, Jez, Bonser and Rowley next to him. All were now panting heavily, and as soon as the last man had disappeared from their view, Rowley asked Pickle a question he had no answer for.
“Where do you think they parked their bikes?”
Pickle shook his head and all could now hear the faint sounds of revving engines.
They hadn't parked them too far away and were now fleeing, back to Stafford, or at least the Colwyn residents hoped.
Pickle turned around and looked down at the street. He saw the pickup, the same pickup he was driving when they fled Sandy Lane, the same one he had hit Ina with. There were three men on the floor, two that Paul had hit with the pickup and the other that he had shot. Two of the men were clearly dead, but the one that had bounced off the vehicle was alive and moaning. They all watched in silence as Paul Dickson, still holding the shotgun, nonchalantly walked over to the groaning man, turned the gun around, and rammed the butt of the gun onto the man's head, twice, cracking open his skull.
Unflustered at what he had just done, Paul Dickson stood up straight and looked at Pickle and the rest of the shocked faces that were glaring at him.
“Are there any more?” Paul asked.
Pickle shrugged his shoulders and suggested, “Let's check out the houses, just in case.” He then flashed Paul a stare and added, “It would be good to have one alive and try and get some answers.”
Pickle turned to Karen and told her to go with him. Vince and Rowley were to pair up together, and the rest to stay near the wall. Pickle and Karen were going to check the houses, starting from 1 Colwyn Place. Vince and Stephen were going to start at 20 Colwyn Place and work their way down until they met up with Karen and Pickle.
“What about me?” Paul asked. “What do you want me to do?”
“Shut the gate,” Pickle ordered. “Stand by it, hold that gun like a boss and look fucking mean. Basically ... be yourself.”
“The gun's empty, Pickle.”
“Aye, but they don't know that.” Pickle looked around at the carnage and sighed, “We'll clear up later, but these houses need to be checked before we even think about relaxing.”
*
Stephanie was nodding off in the armchair whilst Chris, their male captor, was tying his shoelaces, his eyes always looking up at Elza and Ophelia who were still sitting on the couch.
He leaned against the armchair and said, “Sometimes I wonder what happened to the folk that used to live here.”
“They must have fled,” said Elza.
“More than likely.” Chris nodded. “I suppose the dead turning up in the field a few weeks ago kind of protected me. In a way, they're the reason why I didn't get more visitors. Who's gonna try a farm that has so many dead in its field? Apart from you crazy bastards.”
“Why didn't you just hide?” asked Elza.
“I had no intention of hiding from you girls.”
“No, I mean, why didn't you hide and then take one of us hostage, rather than sitting in that armchair, in the dark, like some kind of Bond villain?”
“I had wanted to ask nicely first.” Chris laughed and pointed at his knife, then Stephanie. “This is not me. I'm doing this because I'm desperate. I'm actually a nice guy.”
Elza sighed, “So you keep saying.”
He nodded over to the woman sitting next to Elza. “She doesn't say much, does she?”
Elza shook her head and decided to be honest and pleasant to the man for Stephanie's sake.
“The pair of us went through a traumatic time months ago,” Elza began. “It was our first experience that it wasn't just the dead that was our enemy.”
“I'm sorry.” Chris seemed genuine with his apology. “And this isn't helping, is it?”
“This is nothing compared to what we've been through since.”
Chris gulped and pointed over at Ophelia with his knife. “How did she get that scar down her face?”
Elza smiled. “A bad man with a knife.”
“You don't give much away, do you?”
“Not if I can help it.”
Chapter Twenty Three
Pickle and Karen had been checking the houses quicker than Vince and Stephen.
They had crossed the road and checked on Paul and Gail Smith from number twelve, and then they approached 14 Colwyn Place. They were now on Beverley's premises and went round to the back garden.
They approached the back door and noticed it was slightly ajar, which concerned them both. They chose not to call out and entered Beverley's house with their machetes in their hands. Pickle went first as they entered the kitchen.
The whole of the ground floor was clear, and now it was time to go upstairs and check out the first floor. Pickle turned to Karen and placed his finger against his lips, telling her to be quiet. She had no idea why he did this. She wasn't fucking stupid.
Pickle led the way and took his time, aware that one of the steps could creak. Karen kept close behind, and once they were on the landing, they could both hear muffled cries and took a quick look at one another. Pickle went to the door where the cries were coming from. All doors were shut, leaving the landing in almost darkness now that night-time was near, and Pickle and Karen stopped by the door where the sound had come from.
He could hear more muffled sobs.
It was definitely Beverley behind the door, but who was with her?
Pickle gazed at Karen. He desperately wanted to speak to her. He wanted to know if he should open the door, or knock it and speak to whoever was with Beverley.
Karen gritted her teeth impatiently, waiting for Pickle to make a decision, but he was too hesitant for her. She huffed and placed her hand on the door handle, pushing the door open, and both individuals raised their machetes.
Both peered inside and saw one of the WOE men standing up with Beverley. He was behind the frightened woman and had his arm around Beverley's neck, and with his other hand he had a knife and placed the tip of it on her temple.
“Don't do anything stupid.” Pickle raised his hand and tried to calm the man before he did anything.
“Pickle,” Karen gasped. She lowered the machete and put her hand over her mouth, tears forming in her eyes. Pickle looked at a distraught Beverley, then his eyes gazed at the same thing Karen was looking at.
On the floor, by the side of the bed, lay the toddler that Pickle knew simply as James. He was lying on his back, was wearing his Postman Pat T-shirt and a pair of grey jogging bottoms. The little boy was dead; any fool could see that.
The nervous gang member protested, “He started to cry. I wanted to keep him quiet, but...”
“So he smothered him,” Beverley cried.
“Look, all I wanna do is get outta here,” the man said. “I don't want no trouble.”
“You won't be leaving this p
lace alive,” Karen snarled and took a step forward.
“Karen!” Pickle snapped, and pulled her back. “For God's sake, think straight.”
She snarled, “This prick's just killed a child.”
“Just let me go, man,” the gang member cried. “That's all I ask.”
Pickle said, “Yer know we can't allow that.”
“I think you can.”
Pickle took in a deep breath and sighed, “Just let the woman go and we can talk, what do yer say?”
“Bollocks to that. I killed a child. You lot are gonna kill me for this.” The man's hand shook and pushed the blade in by a millimetre, making Beverley cry out. “You have to let me go.”
Pickle shook his head. “It can't happen.”
The man nodded, admitting defeat, and huffed, “Fine.”
He lowered the blade and dragged the knife across Beverley's throat, making Pickle and Karen cry out in surprise. Beverley's eyes rolled, blood pissed out of her neck and her heavy frame slumped to the floor. The man then plunged the knife into his own chest before Pickle and Karen could get to him. He dropped to his knees; then fell backwards with the knife sticking out of his heart.
Pickle and Karen both stood in shock. It wasn't what they were expecting. They were expecting the man to eventually drop his weapon and give himself up, considering he was in a hopeless position. He had been underestimated, and it had cost Beverley her life.
“Shit.” Karen couldn't help herself and began to cry as she approached the toddler that was lying on the floor. She stroked the poor soul and gave him a kiss on his head. She stood to her feet and looked at a dazed Harry Branston. He was used to violence, but this episode was something that would take a while to get over.
A toddler was dead, a resident had had her throat cut, and the assailant plunged his own knife into his heart rather than be caught. The situation was both macabre and bizarre.
“What do we do?” Karen asked a dazed Pickle.
Harry Branston couldn't give her an answer at first. He was speechless.
“Pickle?”
“What is it?” He looked at Karen and she could see his face had drained of colour.
“What do we do now?”
“Nothing we can do, not now,” Pickle sighed. “Need to check the other houses. We'll ... clear up later.”
A shell-shocked Pickle and Karen stumbled out of the house of 14 Colwyn Place and trudged their way over to Paul Dickson who was standing at the main gate, still holding the empty shotgun. As soon as Pickle and Karen's presence was clocked by the guys at the wall, they all made their way over to them.
Stephen Bonser was the first to ask Pickle and Karen what was wrong, but they never received an answer. Pickle and Karen's eyes widened as they saw four figures walking out into the middle of the road.
Vincent Kindl and Stephen Rowley appeared from 15 Colwyn Place and were ushering two WOE men towards the main gate. It appeared that not all had escaped.
As they got nearer, Vince called over to Pickle, “We found them in the back garden!”
Pickle told the rest of them to stay where they were, stepped from the crowd and walked over to meet Vince and Stephen. Pickle stopped walking, and then Vince, Rowley and the two men did the same.
Pickle glared at the two men. The one on Pickle's left was tall, grey, thin, and was clean-shaven. The one to the right was of average height, had a dark beard, and was young looking.
“We've checked five of the houses,” said Vince. “We went into Bonser's, and that was clear. Sandra and Lynne are both dead, nobody went into seventeen, so the medical stuff hasn't been touched, and the Danson family are fine. They were in the attic.”
Pickle nodded. “We ran into a bit o' trouble. Beverley and the wee fellow are dead.”
“Oh shit,” cried Rowley.
“We were in your back garden, and that's when we found these guys trying to get in your house.” Vince pulled two blades from his pocket. “They were carrying these.”
“We'll have a proper check o’ each house after we have dealt with these two,” Pickle spoke up. He raised his machete and said to both men, “The pair o’ yer, get on yer knees.”
“Do we really need to get on our knees so that you can speak to us?” the tall man said with a smile.
“With me yer do.”
Both men dropped to their knees and kneeled up with their backs straight.
Pickle walked around the two kneeling men and began, “This is a place with decent people, but we're no pushover, I can tell yer that for nothing.”
“Are we supposed to be scared?” The tall man began to laugh and spat on the floor.
Pickle swallowed his anger and tried his best to remain calm, to remain in control. “We just need something.”
“What?” the tall man moaned.
“We need to know where yer based.”
“And why do you want to know this?” The tall man began to laugh and queried further, “To attack us? With these people? Do you realise how many guys we have back at our pad?”
“I want to know where yer stay. I need to talk to Drake, face-to-face. Talking is the only way we're gonna sort this, rather than tit-for-tat killings every week.”
The tall man lost his smile and donned a more serious face. He shook his head. “I don't know.”
“We don't want to lose any more people, and I'm sure Drake doesn't want to lose any more men, or women for that matter.”
The tall man and the younger guy, still on their knees, slowly turned and gazed at one another.
Pickle continued, “This Drake fellow is not going to let this lie, is he? We've killed some o' yer guys. We had no choice. All that's going to happen is more retribution.”
“So what do you want from us?” the younger guy asked. “What can we do?”
“Keep your mouth shut,” the tall man snapped at his colleague. “I'll do all the talking, sonny.”
“I think yer know,” said Pickle. “Yer two can come with us, show us where yer stay, and get Drake to come out and speak to me. I'll return the pair o' yer alive as a gesture o’goodwill.”
“Dangerous, don't you think?” The tall man developed a devilish grin and glared at Pickle.
“Dangerous, but we don't want to lose any more people.”
The younger man nodded and said to the tall biker. “That sounds fair.”
The tall man screwed his face at the youngster and snarled, “I thought I told you to shut the fuck up. Keep quiet. We're not doing any kind of deal with these pricks. Some of our guys came here to talk yesterday, and they killed two of them.”
“But, Stuart, we need—”
“Quiet, I said.” the tall man snapped at the youngster and added, “If you so much as breathe about our place, Drake will skin you alive.”
“Yer got a minute to make the right decision,” Pickle said with calm. “Or the two o’ yer will die.”
“Then so be it.” The tall man laughed, convinced that these people were bluffing.
“I'm fucking tired of this,” Paul Dickson cussed from behind, and walked towards the two men. He stopped beside Pickle and stared at the two men, still holding the empty shotgun in his right hand.
“Paul, I can handle this.” Pickle placed his hand on Paul's chest, but Paul ignored him.
Dickson shrugged off Pickle, gazed at the two men and said, “Last chance to cough up, gentlemen.”
“Fuck you.” The tall man laughed and spat near Paul's shoes.
“Fine.” Paul smiled, turned the gun around, held the barrel with both hands, like a bat, and swung it at the side of the tall man's head, making some people gasp in surprise.
“Jesus, Paul!” Pickle yelled, but he was ignored.
The tall man fell to the side, blood oozing out of his head and groaning. Paul stood to the side and took another swing at the man, this time killing him. Paul then threw the gun to the floor and grabbed the young man by the throat and screamed at him, “You're going to tell us where you’re based, or
I'm going to smash your fucking brains in next!”
“If yer kill him,” said Pickle. “Then we'll never know where they stay.”
“I'll do it,” the young man cried. “I'll do it. Just don't hurt me.”
Paul smiled and patted the young boy on the cheek. “Good lad.”
“Get off yer knees,” Pickle ordered the youngster. “We'll take care o' our dead, clean up, feed, then we'll go and see Drake tomorrow. It'll be dark soon. This has to stop.”
Chapter Twenty Four
Over the last hour, the residents of Colwyn Place removed the bodies from the camp. James Thomson, Sandra Roberts, Lynne Smithers, the Fergusons, Gareth Broadgate, Freddie Johnson, his mother, Beverley and little James had been buried in the field that was opposite the camp.
The surviving residents were in shock, especially the original residents, but for Pickle, Karen and Vince it was all too familiar. Only this time it was the living that had caused the carnage, not the dead. And at least this time they didn't need to leave the place. They just needed to improve the security for the future.
The bodies of the gang had been dumped in the back of the red pickup, including the two from Terry’s garden, and Pickle and Paul drove the vehicle a mile from the camp and dumped the bodies at the side of the road.
The darkness was nearly at its full potential, and Pickle and Vince opted to stay guard for the night by the wall, and urged every one else to get some sleep, if that was possible.
The surviving captured WOE member had been treated well. He had been fed, watered and was even offered fresh clothes, which he refused. He was then locked in the cellar of 1 Colwyn Place, Terry's house, and the topic of the whereabouts of Elza, Ophelia and Stephanie popped up between Pickle and Vince.
Both leaning against the wall, the pair of them saw Paul Dickson step out of his house. It was nearly eleven, almost dark, and Pickle and Vince beckoned him to join them. Paul was only out to sit on his doorstep and get some air, but went over to the two men after they called him over.
Paul reached the two men that he had known for weeks and raised his hand at the pair of them. “You guys okay?”
Snatchers (Book 11): The Dead Don't Knock Page 12