Snatchers 11: The Dead Don't Knock

by Shaun Whittington

  Dickson then fell to the floor, panting hard and staring at the diseased black brain that could be seen hanging out of the cracked skull.

  Another sound forced his head to turn and Paul could see two men coming out of the trees, both wearing black and holding a knife each in their right hand. The guys were human, but Paul was aware that some humans, not all, were just as dangerous as the dead these days.

  “Oh, give me a fucking break, will you?” Paul moaned at no one in particular.

  The two men seemed reluctant to approach the man, but were given some confidence when they could see that his hands were holding no weapon.

  “He doesn't have anything on him,” one of the men said in a relieved voice. He was dark and was a few inches shorter than his partner.

  “Yeah,” said the other, and pointed at the defunct creature, “but he still managed to kill one of those things, didn't he?”

  “Hey!” called out the shorter man. “Hey, mister. Where are you from?”

  Paul was convinced that these two men were good guys, not like some he had come across over the weeks. The way they talked and the way they carried themselves, convinced Dickson that they were just normal survivors.

  “Give me a drink,” Paul groaned, “and I'll tell you all about it.”

  Both men turned and looked at one another, unsure what to do next.

  “Sorry, we can't do that, mister,” the shorter guy said. “We don't know who you are. We've met a few unsavoury characters on the road.”

  Paul chuckled, “Tell me about it.”

  “You might attack us.”

  “I won't.”

  “You look a little stressed out. Did you do something bad?”

  “I've done a lot of things bad. Gonna just fucking give me a drink.”

  Paul was beginning to get annoyed, which the two men could see, and this only added to their reluctance to approach him.

  “Let's leave him,” the shorter guy said to his pal.

  His taller friend disagreed and said, “We can't just leave him wandering around the woods; he'll get killed.”

  “That's not our problem.”

  “I can't let this happen.” The tall man took out a bottle of water from his bag and took a few steps forward, but his pal grabbed his shoulder and dragged him back

  “Don't,” the tall man’s pal said, pointing over at the dead Snatcher that wasn’t far away from Paul. “He managed to kill one of the dead without a weapon, so what do you think he could do to us?”

  “Relax. I've got it.”

  The tallest of the two men approached the sitting Paul Dickson with caution and said to him, “I'm gonna give you this drink, but before I do, I'm just gonna tell you that I can give you something to eat as well as this bottle of water.” The man turned around and Paul noticed that he was carrying a small rucksack. “I'm giving you stuff, so you don't have to attack us. We found these bags a few days after—”

  “Alan!” said the smaller of the two men. “Stop waffling, give the guy the water and let's get the fuck out of here.”

  “Sure.” The man called Alan crouched down to Paul's level and began to screw his face at Paul. He stared at Dickson for a few seconds and both Paul and his pal were wondering what was up with him.

  “Wait a minute,” Alan said. “I know you.” He then passed Paul the drink and stood up and took a step back.

  Paul remained on the floor, drank the full bottle in one go and was now checking the burn marks on his wrists. He said, “Sorry, but I don't know you.”

  “You freed us,” Alan cried; he then turned to his friend. “This is the guy that saved us at the farm.”

  Paul shook his head and had no idea what this fellow was talking about.

  “Shit!” Alan's friend began to laugh and placed his hand over his mouth. “I know who you are now.”

  Paul sighed impatiently and said to the two men, “You're gonna have to enlighten me, because I don't know what the fuck you two are talking about.”

  Alan said excitedly, “You saved us. You saved the pair of us.”

  Paul was none the wiser and it showed on his face.

  “We were tied up in that barn, on the farm,” said Alan. “Those crazy bastards were going to eat us. They'd already killed our friends. You came in and untied us. Remember? It was only about a week ago.”

  Paul nodded. He remembered now.

  The Alan character said, “Sorry we didn't hang around to thank you properly.”

  “That's okay.” Paul smiled. “Good to see you both kicking about.”

  “So what happened?” Alan asked. “Did you manage to get out of there unscathed?”

  “Yeah.” Paul nodded. “After I shot the boy and cut open the woman's throat. I think I killed the husband as well.”

  Both men gazed at one another and began to chuckle to themselves.

  “Shit, man.” Alan's partner spoke up, took his rucksack off and reached into the bag and pulled out another small bottle of water and a packet of biscuits. “We certainly owe you one.” He handed the water and the biscuits to Paul, and Paul took them.

  Dickson stood up, drank the water in one and passed the empty bottle back to the man and thanked him.

  “I'll be seeing you,” said Paul. “Good luck with ... surviving and shit.”

  “Wait!” Alan exclaimed. “Why don't you join us?”

  Alan's partner nodded in agreement and reiterated what Alan had said to Paul.

  “Thanks, guys.” Paul put the biscuits into his pocket and smiled at the two men. “But I'm better off on my own from now on, and I'm terrible company anyway.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am.” Paul held his hand up and pointed behind him. “Careful. There’s a creature not far from here.”

  “Okay, man. Thanks.”

  “Laters, guys. Be careful. It's crazy out there.”

  Paul walked past the two men and continued into the woods. Both men gazed at the back of Paul until he disappeared and the greenery had swallowed him up.

  Chapter Fifty

  “How're you holding up?” Vince asked Karen.

  Karen Bradley was sitting on her doorstep and Vince had been chatting with Pickle, who was taking a short stint at the gate, but Vince was now standing over Karen. The street was eerily quiet; most people were indoors on this evening and only four people were out, including Stephen Bonser who was by the concrete wall.

  “I'm gutted, obviously.” Karen groaned and rubbed her face. “I've done nothing but cry for the last thirty minutes.”

  “I know,” Vince sighed. “It's shit, isn't it?”

  “After all Paul has been through and what he did for the camp yesterday...”

  “Drake didn't give us much of a choice, did he?”

  She sighed and tucked her brown hair behind her ears. “No, he didn't.”

  “Have you seen Joanne?” asked Vince. “I was thinking about going over to see how she is.”

  “I tried her door,” said Karen, “but she wasn't answering. Probably best to leave her alone until she's ready.”

  Karen looked up at Vince, who was looking down on the twenty-three-year-old. She asked him, “You wanna sit down next to me?”

  “I'm fine here,” said Vince. “I'm gonna turn in soon. Think me and Terry are doing the nightshift.”

  “So you just gonna stand there and stare at my tits?”

  Vince smiled. “It's that obvious, huh?”

  “You really are a filthy beast, Kindl. You know that?”

  Both individuals paused when the faint sound of buzzing could be heard. The eyes of both Karen and Vince widened when the sound grew louder, and it was becoming clear that the sound was from mopeds.

  Vince looked over at Rowley who was by the wall. Rowley could also hear it, and only seconds went by when two bikes turned up at the gate.

  “Shit,” said Vince. “Now what?”

  “It's okay,” Karen appeased Vince. “It looks like it's just two of them. There's no sign of Drake.�
��

  “Shall we go over?”

  “No. Let's see what happens.”

  They watched as one of the men parked the bike, climbed off it and headed for the gate. The biker, dressed in the usual WOE attire, stood by the gate and seemed to be conversing with Pickle. It seemed reasonably friendly.

  The suspense was tormenting Karen, but she remained where she was and decided to stay there until the two men left.

  She and Vince continued to watch the gate, and the pair of them managed a small smile of relief when the bikers left. Pickle looked over to the pair of them and could also see Rowley by the wall, waiting in angst. Seeing that the three of them were itching to know what was happening, Pickle made his way over to Vince and Karen and also called Stephen over.

  Neither one of them impatiently asked Pickle what was going on; they waited for the former inmate to speak.

  “It's nothing to be concerned about,” said Pickle, holding his hands up. “They came for a chat, that's all.”

  “What did they want, chap?” Rowley was the first to speak up.

  Pickle revealed a wry smile and winked at Karen. “They were here to tell us that their presence will be around this area for a week or so. It's nothing to worry about.”

  “Their presence?” Vince looked agitated and began to rub his hands over his scarred face. “I knew this wasn't finished. That Drake character can't be trusted.”

  “Relax,” said Pickle.

  “How can you say that? You saw what they did yesterday. They attacked us out of the blue.”

  “I know they did. I was there, Vince.” Pickle smiled.

  “You can't trust them.”

  “I don't.”

  Vince sighed and said, “So why are you not bothered that their presence is going to be around for a week or so?”

  “They're not going to be hanging by the gate or the camp. They're gonna be riding around the area, that's all. And at least they've warned us beforehand that they're going to be about.”

  “So what's the reason why they're doing this, chap?” asked Rowley. “Intimidation? Do they think we're up to something?”

  “An incident occurred on the way back to Stafford. Drake isn't blaming us in anyway, but they want to hang around this area in case a certain somebody returns.”

  “What are you on about?” Vince scratched his head. “You're not making any sense.”

  Pickle laughed and winked at Karen, “Paul's escaped.”

  *

  His feet dragged through the bracken and despite the evening getting closer and the weather not being at its best, Paul Dickson could feel that his shirt was damp with perspiration. The heat in the woods was stifling, but he knew that by the time the evening was in full bloom, the temperature would have dropped and he'd be freezing. Staying in the woods wasn't an option for Paul.

  He wanted out of the woods and hoped to find some kind of roof over his head. Even if it was a shed or a barn, he didn't care. At least after a decent night's sleep he would have a whole day to find a better place to stay. Then there was finding supplies. His throat was dry already, and wasn't sure he could last a whole night without putting any kind of liquid in his body.

  He scanned the floor for any kind of branch that could be used as a weapon. He spent many minutes scanning the ground and finally found something that was adequate.

  It was a thick branch, over three feet in length, and Paul bent over and picked it up. It was a decent weight, not too heavy to hold, and was certain that it would be good enough to put down one of those freaks, if need be.

  Paul took a few practice swings and then carried on through the heavy plantation. With the experience that he had, he was sure that if he did come across the dead in the woods it'd be a few strays here and there he would have to put down. It wasn't common to find a large herd, as there was nothing in the woods for the dead as far as food was concerned. He wasn't bothered about bumping into the dead; he was more stressed about finding a place to stay for the night.

  He continued north for another twenty minutes and could see that the trees up ahead were beginning to thin out, which was usually a sign of a road up ahead.

  There was.

  He eventually stepped out onto the road and walked fifty yards to the left where there was a crossroad. He decided to go right, and was now entering a village of name he didn't know. He didn't want to enter a place where there used to be people; he preferred to have come across a small cabin or farm, but the clock was ticking, it was getting dark, and he couldn't afford to be choosy.

  He walked the full length of the village and clocked a house with an opened garage to his right. He decided that this was the place where he was going to stay the night. He walked along the side of the house and checked the back. He was pleased that it had a small fence that led out into a field. If he needed a quick escape, for whatever reason, that was it.

  Despite being exhausted, Paul was certain that he'd be sleeping with one eye open. He checked out the back door and smiled as it opened with ease. It wasn't locked.

  With his thick branch raised, he checked out the ground floor of the place and then reached the bottom of the stairs. He guessed that with the door being open and there being no car on the drive, the family must have fled. He knew it was a family home because school photos of a pretty blonde girl, no older than ten, were everywhere he looked in the living room.

  When he reached the landing, his heart elevated. All bedroom doors were closed and the light outside was growing dimmer, so he was practically in the dark when he reached the first floor. He opened each bedroom, there were three in all, and was relieved that there were no surprises waiting for him.

  There was only one room left to try. He guessed it was the bathroom. He guessed right.

  He opened the door and could see that the bath was filled with water. It appeared that the people of the house had done what the government asked when the crisis was being announced, but must have left in the first few weeks as the water was filled right up to the rim. It had hardly been touched.

  Paul dropped the branch, fell to his knees and cupped his hands, dipping them into the water and slurping the liquid down. He couldn't believe his luck. There was a long hair in his mouth that must have been in the water, but he didn't care, he simply pulled out the hair and carried on drinking from the bath.

  He stopped drinking and remained on his knees, now panting. He stood to his feet and went back into the bedrooms again, trying to decide which one to use for the night.

  The master bedroom looked like it had already been slept in, probably months ago now, and he walked out to go back into the bedroom that obviously the schoolgirl slept in. It seemed wrong to stay in this one. He shook his head and tried the other room, which looked like a guest room.

  Like the other rooms, it smelt fusty because of the lack of air it had been getting for many weeks, so the first thing Paul did was open the window and had a look out onto the back garden. The garden was nothing special. It had an overgrown lawn, a shed that had already been opened at the left side, and a few small trees to the right at the end of the garden.

  Paul turned around and could see that the bed had been made and smiled at how lucky he was.

  Lucky?

  He lost his smile.

  He wasn't sure if he was lucky or not. Vince had once told Paul that he had no idea why he was trying to stay alive and that the lucky ones were already dead. Vince told Paul that it was something that a guy called Jack Slade had said to him, a man Paul had never met. A man called Gary Jenson had told Jack this. It was a quote that stayed with Vince. The luck ones are already dead.

  Paul sighed.

  So many people had died.

  He shook his head to stop himself from becoming emotional and went back downstairs to see if the doors, front and back, were shut, then used a small barricade to secure them both. He then went back to the first floor, into the guest bedroom. He grabbed the dressing table and dragged it across the carpet, so that it was against t
he door. He threw the heavy branch on the bed, then climbed onto the windowsill, pushed the window open further and relieved himself.

  Once he was finished, he jumped down, shut the window and lay on the bed with his boots on, just in case a quick escape was needed.

  He released a heavy breath out and put his hands behind his head with the branch lying by his side. He closed his eyes, tiredness creeping up on him quickly, and hoped he would dream of his family.

  He didn't.

  Chapter Fifty One

  Elza Crowe lay in bed with her hands behind her head, and began to think about how different her life was over three months ago when she worked in a shop. Her friend Ophelia could speak back then, and she smiled as she remembered the clubs they used to go to at the weekend. They went out on Saturday nights, as they usually worked Saturday daytime and had no work the following day.

  She looked to her left to see Ophelia sleeping. They would sometimes share a bed, depending on what mood either one of them would be in. It was getting dark outside, but Elza was wide-awake.

  Elza smiled at Ophelia and stroked her head. Elza's finger then gently ran down the scar on her friend's face and Elza remembered something from a few years back.

  Elza, Ophelia and a few other girls were working one Wednesday. It seemed like a normal day, up until two in the afternoon, then some guy walked into the shop. He was caught shoplifting, stealing a few dresses and putting them under his coat, and was confronted by the shop's security guard once Elza had notified him.

  The thief pulled out a knife, making the girls scream and the security guard to beg the man not to touch him. For his interference, the guard was slashed across the forehead and the shoplifter then panicked and ran away. Elza was so scared that day that she nearly quit her job.

  Her and Ophelia were so different now.

  The new world had changed them, not necessarily for the better, but they had to be who they are now in order to survive. The dead and the living had caused them numerous problems over the months, but anything that was a danger to them had been dealt with. It was the way of the world now, and all Elza cared about was Ophelia and Stephanie. She didn't care about anyone else.