Snatchers 11: The Dead Don't Knock

by Shaun Whittington

  “And what was this surprise that you had for us?”

  “Surprise?”

  “You mentioned it last night.”

  “Oh yes.” Chris smiled and said, “Come outside and I'll show you. There’s something in the shed. It's my way of saying thanks for the ride.”

  Chris gestured for the girls to leave the house. Stephanie picked her bag and bow up and led the way, Ophelia followed behind, with Elza leaving last out of the girls. They exited the house and Chris told them to walk to the shed. He still had his knife on show and made sure that the girls were yards in front. Elza peered over her shoulder, making sure that Chris was a reasonable distance away, making the man giggle.

  “Relax,” he said. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

  “I am relaxed,” Elza huffed and pointed at the door of the shed and asked Chris, “So is this thing locked or what?”

  Chris shook his head. “No, it's not locked.”

  Elza could see that Stephanie and Ophelia were already by the door and had stopped walking. Elza didn't hesitate at all. As soon as she reached the shed's door, she pulled it open.

  “I think the owners must have left it because they had no room left in their vehicle,” Chris began. “They must have taken as many canisters as they could and left the rest.”

  He could see the surprise on their faces and placed his hand on his chest, grinning. “Let's call it a peace offering.” Chris stopped behind the girls and added, “So are we happy? This little trip here wasn't a complete waste of time, was it?”

  The girls stared at the red canisters. There were six in all. Six ten-litre canisters of diesel were sitting on the floor of the shed. There were other utensils in the shed, but it was the six canisters that took the girls' fancy.

  “Ten litres of gas in each canister,” said Chris. “You pick up two canisters each, one in each hand, and that'll be ten kilos to carry back to your vehicle. Very doable.”

  “And why are you not helping?” Stephanie turned round and asked.

  He smiled. “I have a lower back problem.”

  “Of course you have.”

  “Right then,” Elza sighed and tucked her bat in her belt. Ophelia did the same and Stephanie placed her bow over her shoulder and the bag over the other. “It'll be a struggle to the car, ladies, but it's sixty litres of gas that we can't leave behind.”

  With Chris walking behind the girls, he watched as they struggled to their vehicle that was on the country road. They managed to get all six in the boot and Chris announced that he would sit in the back.

  He placed his hand on Stephanie's shoulder and rested the knife on it.

  “I thought you didn't want to take us by force,” Elza said.

  Chris grinned and responded, “Relax. I won't hurt her. It's just in case you try something.”

  “It's still force.”

  “Let’s call it insurance. Me and the girl will both sit in the back.”

  *

  Ten minutes later, the vehicle was now out of Rugeley and on the Rugeley Road, heading to Little Haywood. No words had been exchanged and it was Stephanie that broke the silence by making small-talk with the man from the farm. Chris' knife was pointing at her side, but she wasn't nervous. She genuinely thought that he was just desperate and was doing this because he had no other option. But she would still try and flee from the man if the opportunity arose, just in case.

  The vehicle went by a bed and breakfast establishment on their right; they took a bend, then once the road began to straighten up they could see a small group of the dead twenty yards in front of them. Elza began to slow down and eventually brought the vehicle to a stop. There was only five in the middle of the road, but going through them wasn't an option.

  “You two take care of them,” Chris spoke from the back. “Stephanie is staying here with me.”

  “We'd be better with Stephanie outside,” Elza tried to explain. “She's a skilled archer.” Elza pointed at the bow and rucksack that was by Stephanie's feet. “She could take out a few of them before they reach the car.”

  “I don't give a shit,” Chris laughed. “If I'm left on my own, you three could turn on me.”

  “Look here,” Elza snarled. “We could have turned on you when we were back at the farm, when we were heading to the shed.”

  Chris grimaced and held the knife tighter, pushing it gently into Stephanie's side. “Don't make me do this.”

  “Fine,” Elza huffed and left the vehicle, with Ophelia copying her. Chris and Stephanie watched from the back, looking through the windscreen as Elza and Ophelia put down the five dead with ease.

  “Wow,” Chris whispered, lowering the knife. “They're fucking good.”

  He suddenly dropped the knife and found that he couldn't breathe.

  With watery eyes, he watched helplessly as Stephanie left the vehicle quickly. He held onto his throat where she had hit him with the side of her left hand, and tried to massage it.

  “Little bitch,” he gasped.

  He wiped his eyes and reached for the passenger door. It opened and he fell out.

  He struggled to get to his feet, and didn't look behind him when he began to hobble away from the girls, heading back to Rugeley.

  *

  Elza and Ophelia wiped their bats on the clothes of the dead after dealing with them, and both turned when they heard one of the doors belonging to the vehicle open. They watched as Stephanie ran towards them, and could see Chris falling out of the other side of the vehicle, holding onto his throat.

  Elza stepped forward, but Stephanie grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back.

  “Don't,” said Stephanie.

  “He threatened us. He threatened you,” Elza said. “I can't let that piece of shit go.”

  “He was desperate, that's all.”

  “The problem with you, Stephanie, is that you're too nice.” Elza shrugged off Stephanie's grip and took another step forward.

  “Please,” Stephanie begged. “For me. Don't do this.”

  “If he’s so nice, why didn’t you stay in the car?” Elza grinded her teeth as she asked the question.

  “I … I don’t know. Just to be on the safe side.”

  Elza glared into Stephanie's blue eyes and released a frustrated sigh. Elza shook her head and said, “God, I must be going soft.”

  Stephanie managed a small smile, but it was short-lived when she saw Elza give Ophelia a nod of the head.

  Ophelia marched forwards, passing the vehicle and was now jogging after Chris, who was running like a drunk.

  “Don't do this!” screamed Stephanie.

  Elza and a helpless Stephanie Perkins watched as Ophelia had caught up with the man. Ophelia struck Chris with her bat on the back of his head. He fell hard on the tarmac and never got up again.

  Ophelia stood over him and raised the bat. Stephanie looked away, but Elza watched coldly as her friend smashed the man's brains in with four more strikes to his skull.

  Once she was finished, Ophelia dragged the body to the side of the road and returned to the vehicle, and sat in the front passenger seat.

  “Right,” Elza said to the teenager. “Let's go. We're five minutes from Haywood.”

  Elza headed back to the vehicle and stopped when she realised that Stephanie hadn't moved.

  “Move it!” Elza yelled. “I don't know about you, but I could do with a decent sleep.”

  Stephanie did what she was told and moved with reluctant feet. She sat in the back and closed both doors that were open.

  Elza returned to the driver's seat and started the engine. She looked in the rear view mirror, at Stephanie, and asked her what was wrong.

  “What's wrong?” Stephanie seemed surprised by Elza's query. “You know what's wrong.”

  “Tell me.”

  “You said you wouldn't kill him,” cried Stephanie.

  “I didn't,” Elza said calmly and pulled the vehicle away. “Ophelia did.”

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  The jeep tu
rned left and went by the Wolseley Arms pub and was now on the road to Colwyn Place. Stephanie was in the back and had tears in her eyes. The punishment that had been delivered to Chris was far too much and she was beginning to wonder if these two were a liability. She knew Elza was a tough cookie, but the talk of killing residents a few days ago and now this was making her think twice if she wanted to be under the same roof as these two.

  “You okay?” Elza looked at Stephanie through the rear view mirror when she asked her the question.

  Stephanie turned and looked out of the passenger window, staring out as the trees and shrubs whizzed quickly by her eyes.

  “So ... you're not talking to me then?” Elza spoke with a smile.

  “There's nothing to talk about,” Stephanie huffed and folded her arms.

  “Don't tell me you're still upset about that Chris fellow.”

  “Still upset?” Stephanie couldn't believe what she was hearing. “Still upset? It was only minutes ago you bashed his brains in.”

  “I didn't do anything.”

  “Okay, so Ophelia did it, but it was on your command.”

  “The guy was a liability, dangerous, and don't forget he had a knife pointing at you.”

  “He wasn't going to use it. He was a desperate man, desperate to survive, and let’s not forget about the gas he gave us.”

  Elza never responded. She liked Stephanie and didn't want to be arguing with the teenager.

  Elza slowed down and reached the gate leading into the small street. Vince was on the gate and opened it. All three girls could see the sombreness on his face.

  Elza wound the window down and asked Vince, “What are you doing on the gate?”

  “Me and Pickle did the nightshift,” Vince began to explain to the girls. “Pickle couldn't last the distance; he went for a power nap a few hours ago, but I'm due to finish pretty soon anyway.”

  “Did we miss anything?”

  “Did you miss anything?” Vince snorted and walked to the side of the road. “We had some trouble.”

  Elza drove the vehicle in and pulled up outside Terry Brathwaite's house. All three stepped out of the vehicle, leaving their weapons inside, and Elza turned to see Karen and a tired-looking Pickle coming towards them, their faces were sombre.

  “What kind of trouble?” Stephanie eventually asked and added, “Are you okay, Vince? You don't seem your chirpy self.”

  “I know what'll cheer you up.” Elza went round the back of the vehicle and opened the boot. She beckoned Vince to take a peek at the six canisters of gas, but he never budged.

  Elza slammed the door shut and said, “Jesus, what is it?”

  “The place was attacked, wasn't it?” Stephanie had a sudden feeling that something really bad had happened and she was right.

  Vince nodded the once.

  Stephanie placed her hands on her head and cried. “It's like Sandy Lane all over again. What is it with me and—?”

  “Calm down.” Vince walked over to Stephanie and put his arm around her shoulder. “And you're not cursed, if that's what you were about to say.”

  “Girls,” Pickle spoke up once he and Karen had reached the three of them. “Good to see yer. We were worried about yer. Although, we did have other stuff to be concerned about as well.”

  “We ran into a bit of trouble,” Elza began to explain, “so we had to stay the night at this farm.”

  “I see.”

  Elza gazed at the three morose faces and asked, “Is somebody going to tell us what's going on? And where's John Lincoln?”

  “John's dead,” Karen said softly.

  “What?” Elza and Stephanie said in unison.

  “He had a heart attack. He was found late last night, but we didn't tell the others until this morning.”

  Elza took a quick scan around and snickered, “Is that why everyone looks depressed?”

  “Well, actually it's worse than that,” Karen informed her.

  “How worse?”

  “Far worse.”

  “Come on.” Pickle beckoned the girls to follow him. He went over to Terry's front lawn and sat on it, urging the girls to sit by him.

  Once Elza, Stephanie and Ophelia were seated, Pickle said, “We were attacked by Drake's men yesterday and we lost a lot o' people. Boy, we could have done with yer three here.”

  “I can't believe it.” Stephanie put her hands behind her head and tightened the bobble wrapped around her ponytail.

  Pickle sighed. “Including John dying, we lost eleven people altogether. Twelve o' the gang were killed also.”

  Pickle explained in detail about what had happened. He talked about the people that had died, including Beverley and the toddler. He talked about Paul Dickson's heroics, how he had turned up, killed some of the men and chased the gang away. They were also told that Paul had a psychotic episode when he killed a captured gang member in order to make the other one agree to take Pickle to see Drake.

  Pickle allowed the girls to take it all in, but only Stephanie seemed affected by what they had been told.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Paul Dickson could see that the three girls had arrived and watched as they talked to Pickle, Karen and Vince. He raised a smile and was pleased that they had returned in one piece. When they failed to return yesterday, he feared for their safety.

  He looked across at Joanne's house and gave her a wave, noticing her staring out of her living room. He gave her the thumbs up, asking if she was okay. She shook her head and walked away from her window, making Paul concerned for the young woman.

  He decided to walk over and see how she was.

  She wasn't Karen. Joanne was a sensitive thing that had been shielded from most of the horrors of this new world, and Paul knew that what had happened the day before would have scarred the woman, as well as many others. Their once-safe community was once thriving and a visit from thugs had created a lot of violence, leaving many Colwyn residents dead, but it could have been a whole lot worse if Paul hadn't showed when he did.

  He had been given much praise yesterday evening and this morning for his involvement, but remained humble and was a little embarrassed by the attention. Even Stephen Bonser had come to his door and also apologised about the way he and the now-deceased James Thomson had treated him. Stephen also thanked Paul for not telling people that he and James had kidnapped him and dumped him five miles away.

  He walked slowly across the road and headed for Joanne's place. Before he could raise his hand to knock the door, it opened, and Joanne stood shaking with tears in her eyes.

  No words were exchanged; she just opened the door wider and went back to her living room. Paul stepped inside, shut the door behind him and followed the young woman. When he entered the room, she was already sitting on her couch with her head in her hands.

  He remained on his feet, staring at her, when he asked her if she was okay.

  Joanne lifted her head and wiped her tears with the back of her fingers. “I just can't stop thinking about yesterday. I hardly slept.”

  “I meant to come over yesterday evening,” Paul tried to explain, “but going out with Pickle, removing and burying the bodies in the field—”

  “It's okay. You don't have to explain.” Joanne cleared her throat and added, “It's thanks to you that no more people died.”

  Paul's cheeks flushed a little. “I don't know about that.”

  “Paul, don't you realise what you did?”

  “I panicked.” Paul hunched his shoulders. “I was in a vehicle and saw those men and ... reacted. I lashed out.”

  “You play it down all you want,” said Joanne, now patting the seat next to her, urging him to sit. “But what you did was incredible. I think you'll be taking Vince's place as Colwyn's hero.”

  “It's not really a joking matter, Joanne. A lot of people died.”

  “I know. And I'm not joking. What you did was...” Joanne was running out of superlatives to throw at Paul.

  Paul sat down next to her and loo
ked at the woman that he admired. She was beautiful and all he wanted to do was hug her, but after lashing out a week ago, he wasn't sure touching Joanne in any way would be a good move.

  “Do you know that I killed one of them, when they were unarmed?” Paul asked Joanne.

  She nodded her head. “I was told that you killed him to persuade the other man to cooperate.”

  “And what do you think about that? Do you think I'm an animal?”

  “I don't know.” Joanne hunched her shoulders and added with a sigh, “What you did was for the benefit of the camp, I suppose. I don't feel nervous in your presence, if that's what you're worried about.”

  “Good.” Paul looked relieved.

  “Well, not anymore, I don't,” she tried to joke.

  A silence fell on the pair of them and they both looked down, thinking of something else to say. Paul managed to shatter the short-lived silence.

  “I'm glad you're okay,” he said softly. “I know other people were killed, but if you was one of them, or Karen for that matter, I think I would go mad.”

  Joanne looked at Paul and a wide smile slowly stretched over her features.

  Paul also revealed a rare smile and asked Joanne Hammett, “What is it? What are you laughing at?”

  “Some people think you're already mad.”

  “True,” he cackled.

  “You're stronger than you think, Paul Dickson.” Joanne patted his thigh and took in a deep breath. She opened her mouth, but no more words came out.

  Paul asked her, “Is there something else you want to tell me?”

  Joanne nodded. “Before we were attacked, Pickle asked if people would volunteer to protect the place. I volunteered and stood in my back garden.”

  “I know. I heard. You were very brave.”

  “No, I wasn't,” cried Joanne. “I didn't think it was going to be that bad—a couple of intruders, maybe. But people were butchered. I could hear the noises, and then I lost my nerve and hid inside.”

  Paul put his arm around her and moved closer to the woman.

  She dropped her head on his shoulder and continued to sob.