Snatchers (Book 7): The Dead Don't Yield

by Shaun Whittington

  Snatchers 7: The Dead Don't Yield

  By

  Shaun Whittington

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2015

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  The author uses UK English

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  Snatchers

  Snatchers 2: The Dead Don't Sleep

  Snatchers 3: The Dead Don't Cry

  Snatchers 4: The Dead Don't Pity

  Snatchers 5: The Dead Don't Breathe

  Snatchers 6: The Dead Don't Feel

  Snatchers 7: The Dead Don't Yield

  Snatchers 8: The Dead Don't Pray (tba)

  We may not enjoy living together, but dying together isn't going to solve anything.

  Helen Cooper from Night of the Living Dead.

  Snatchers 7: The Dead Don't Yield

  Chapter One

  July 21st

  "Okay, okay." The man held up his hand and looked up to the ceiling in thought. "I'll go first. The winner needs to get three points."

  "Well, hurry up." Paul Frederick began removing the remainder of the cashew nuts from the gaps of his teeth. "You've got ten seconds, Willie."

  Twenty-seven-year-old Johnny 'Willie' Wilson stroked his chin in thought and then ran his hand down his ginger ponytail. "Okay. How many number one singles did Oasis have in the UK?"

  "In the UK?" Paul Frederick questioned, scratching at his short blonde hair. "Number ones don't really have the significance that they used to have—"

  "Come on." Wilson, also known as Willie, was now smiling from ear-to-ear. Paul Frederick had been boasting about his music knowledge for days and Willie was now putting it to the test. There was going to be three questions each, and the loser was to give up their cigarettes. Each individual only had one packet left. There was a lot at stake. "How many?"

  "No idea."

  "That's was a difficult one," Johnny Wilson admitted. "That's one to me."

  "Okay." Frederick straightened his back and asked with no hesitation, "Great Things was a track by which band back in 1995?"

  "Echobelly."

  "Shit!"

  "Piece of piss," laughed Willie. "That's two to me and none for you. My turn to ask the question." Johnny Wilson remained sitting on the couch of the house that they had been dwelling in for the last couple of hours and chewed the inside of his mouth in deliberation. "Who did the cover for the track Atomic for the Trainspotting soundtrack?"

  "Shit." Thirty-one-year-old Paul Frederick leaned his head back and added, "Some girl sang it."

  "But what was the band called?"

  "Sleeper." He clapped his hands, burst into laughter and gave Willie the finger.

  Willie looked to his right to see their companion was sitting in the chair, in the corner of the room. The big guy had his head back, his eyes closed, but both men knew he wasn't sleeping.

  Willie smiled and then queried to himself, "What's the score? Two to me, one to you. If I get this next question right, you can hand over your cigarettes."

  Frederick scowled in thought, narrowed his eyes, then asked, "What was the debut single by Cast?"

  Willie stared hard at Frederick and a wide smile emerged slowly over his face.

  "Fuck!" exclaimed Paul Frederick. "You know, don't you?"

  "Finetime." Willie held out his hand, waiting for Fredrick's cigarettes to be placed on his palm. "I bought the single when it first came out."

  Paul Frederick slapped his packet of Benson and Hedges onto Willie's hand and snapped, "Bastard!"

  They both took a gander at the big man sitting in the chair. His muscular frame and six-four height made his body look like that the chair was too small for him, which it probably was. They remained glaring at the forty-three-year-old and the man sniffed hard, and eventually said, "Just because my eyes are closed, doesn't mean I don't know I'm being stared at."

  Both Frederick and Willie looked at one another, and Willie was the first to bravely speak up. "I was just wondering what we do now?"

  The huge man opened his eyes and sat up, making both Frederick and Willie twitch nervously. "Our bags are full of supplies from this place, and it's early morning. There's no rush."

  "I think he means: Where are we going after this? Are we staying here? Or..?" Frederick waited patiently for an answer from the big man that he and Willie had been with since the beginning of the apocalypse.

  The big man slowly stood to his feet, his six-four bulky frame towering over the two sitting men. Both Paul Frederick and Johnny Wilson were five-eight when standing, and even if they were on their feet, this giant of a man would still be looking down on the pair of them. But they had no room to complain. This man had helped crush many of those freaks with his bare hands, especially the weeks they had spent in the woods, and both knew they'd be dead by now if it wasn't for the man they called The Bear.

  The Bear said, "As soon as we're ready to leave, then we'll go."

  "Erm." Willie put his hand up as if he was back at school. "Where are we going to go? Over the weeks we've walked from Stafford, through Little Haywood, down to Colton. We've been to the woods and ransacked houses, we've—"

  "Rugeley." The man that was nicknamed The Bear cleared his throat and added, "Then after we're done with that town, we go on to Lichfield. We go wherever there's, or used to be, places that have a population."

  "The more populated, the more danger there is, though, Bear." Frederick stated the obvious. They all knew that that was the case. "Not just those freaks, but—"

  "We do what we've always done," The Bear sniffed, his almost-black eyes glaring at his two companions. "We have enough food in our bags for a week, but we can't be complacent. Complacency makes you hungry and thirsty."

  "I'm not questioning you, Bear," Frederick protested weakly.

  "It sounds like you have developed a lack of faith." The Bear spoke in his usual croaky manner. "I'm quite happy to go on my own."

  Both Frederick and Willie glared at one another. They knew they'd be goners if they were alone. It wasn't just the muscle that The Bear provided, but simple things like having another person to keep watch in the woods when it was time for sleep helped massively. They were better in numbers, they knew it, even if The Bear frightened them more than the dead.

  Willie smiled, his bottom lip trembling a little. "Rugeley it is."

  The Bear growled softly, "We'll go now, considering we have plenty of daylight."

  Both men nodded, grabbed their bags and threw them over their shoulders. The men checked that they still had their baseball bats, one each, tucked in their bags and The Bear pulled out his kukri, inspecting the curved blade, noticing it needed a clean. He didn't see the point. He knew it was going to be used again sometime in the near future.

  Before the three men managed to put a foot forward, a thud could be heard from upstairs. The Bear cleared his throat and said to Willie, "You said that you had sorted them out."

  "Oops." Willie held his hands up apologetically and added, "I thought it was enough."

  Frederick began to laugh to himself and spoke up, "I couldn't believe that guy called you a big lump of shit." He nodded over to The Bear. "He must have had a death wish or something."

  The Bear didn't look amused. He never did. And Frederick ceased his cackling almost immediately. The huge man then snarled in Willie's direction. "When I tell you to do something, I want you to do it right."

  "It doesn't matter now," said Willie. "They're no danger to us
, and we're about to leave."

  "That's not the point." The big man glared at Johnny Wilson. "Get back up there and do what you should have done earlier."

  Willie sighed, "Okay." He dropped his bag on the floor and trudged his way upstairs like a bad tempered child that had just been told to get to bed.

  "We'll wait for you outside," The Bear called out, grabbing his own bag and Willie's, then leaving the house with Frederick by his side.

  Willie reached the landing and muttered to himself, "This is pointless. We're leaving anyway."

  He approached the main bedroom of the house and opened the door to see two bodies lying on the floor, both still dressed in their pyjamas. The male of the house was definitely dead, as Willie had dragged his knife across his throat, but he thought that stabbing the woman in the stomach three times was enough to kill her off.

  She was bleeding heavily, and he knew that if he left the room now she was going to die from the blood loss anyway. But orders were orders.

  It had been a while since the three of them had broken into the house, and when they did Willie was the one sent upstairs to 'remove' any life that was there. He couldn't remember what the man looked like. He knew he was in his fifties and overweight. The woman, however, he did remember. She was one of those women that appeared elegant and would have been striking twenty years ago.

  Willie stood over the bleeding female. There was little movement from her. She was definitely only minutes from death, but her arms were moving a little in a futile attempt to crawl. She was on her front, moaning, and coughing a little.

  "Sorry, love," Willie sighed. "I need to do as I'm told."

  Johnny Wilson bent down over the woman and placed his finger on the left side of her back where her heart was. He took out his trench knife and slowly pushed it in, near his finger, until the woman ceased her movements altogether.

  Chapter Two

  Vince Kindl and the farmers had spent days setting up pens and areas for the animals on the Lea Hall football pitches, with the help of others, and now that he had finally had a morning off he was bored. Since their move Vince and the rest of the people from the Spode Cottage site were settling in, had been given digs, and most had experienced a wash, thanks to some of the solar-powered homes on Burnthill Lane.

  Clean shaven with clean clothes, Vince walked along Sandy Lane and looked at the field. Next to the field was a building that used to hold functions, but it was used as storage now, just the way The Spode Cottage was used. Next to the building was a bowling green, with now long grass, and four abandoned tennis courts that Vince used to use when he was a young man in his twenties.

  Reminiscing of yesteryear Vince Kindl was miles away and literally bumped into a man called Rick Morgan. Rick was the same guard at the railway bridge barrier that was lambasted by Lee James for being cheeky when Pickle, Karen and Vince wanted to get through to Draycott Park, to Karen's old house. Vince had never liked him ever since.

  "Sorry, Vince," Rick said straight away, as both men's shoulders clashed.

  "That's okay." Vince spoke with a smile and added, "Just don't let it happen again, otherwise you'll be beaten to death with your own shoes."

  Rick scowled at Vince then looked to his feet. "But I'm wearing flip-flops."

  "I didn't say it was going to be quick."

  Rick Morgan looked perplexed, then took a quick gander at Vince's white shirt and then shook his head in disgust and walked away, muttering that he needed to be somewhere.

  "Honestly." Vince huffed, "Some people just don't have a sense of humour."

  "Vince!"

  Kindl turned to his left to see his old friend, Lee James, approaching. He was wearing slippers and donning a brown dressing gown; he had just stepped out of the house of 11 Sandy Lane, his home.

  Vince joked, "You're not gonna flash me, are you?"

  Lee looked at him blankly.

  "Jeez. What's wrong with everyone this morning? You've got a face like a smacked arse, and that Rick guy looked like somebody had just pissed in his porridge."

  "Probably just nervous about this little run to Hednesford."

  "He's not even going," laughed Vince. "Anyway, you've done runs before."

  "I know, but we still get butterflies. It's like a boxer before every fight. You just don't know what to expect."

  Vince placed his hands on his hips and proclaimed, "I wished you'd let me go. Pickle's champing at the bit as well."

  "Don't worry. You'll get your turn." Lee gave Vince a playful slap on the side of his arm. "Just remember that you're not in charge anymore."

  Vince sighed, "Don't I know it."

  "Anyway, the reason why I came out, dressed like this, was that I need to talk to you about something before I go."

  "What is it?"

  Lee James paused and scratched at his dark hair. "Your sense of humour."

  "Seriously?"

  "Look, mate. We've always had a laugh in the past, but I've had a complaint about you already."

  "Who from?"

  "Gillian Hardcastle."

  "The milf?"

  Lee sighed at Vince's choice of words but chose to ignore it. "She said that you called her a milf yesterday, and that you said that she would look so much better if your balls were resting on her chin."

  "That's right." Vince said with a straight face.

  "Vince," Lee sighed, stroking his dark beard in thought on what to say next. "Gillian had lost her partner only a week ago. You can't go round saying things like that. They don't know you like I know you. Just behave."

  "Anything else?"

  "Actually, yes."

  "For fuck's sake. Now what?"

  Lee pointed at Vince's white T-shirt. Emblazoned in black letters was the words: 'Blowjobs Suck.' "That has to go. We have youngsters here, and I don't think that's appropriate."

  "Don't you like it?" Vince looked down on the shirt and added, "I've got some similar ones to this. I bought them in bulk a few months ago. Now I just wear one for a week, then ditch it. It's usually covered in blood and all kinds of shit after a few days."

  "Just...please change the shirt. For me."

  "Okay." Vince walked off and then suddenly stopped in his tracks and turned around. "What time are you going on this run?"

  "In a couple of hours."

  "Who's going?"

  "Me, Luke, Bentley and Sheryl."

  "Her?" Vince had met Sheryl on a couple of occasions. She was of average height, but she was a tough bastard. She went on almost every run, had a temper that put Karen's to shame, and used the word cunt a lot whenever she spoke. "And you never even wanted me or Pickle to tag along?"

  "Four's enough. We only need one vehicle for this job, and you'll get your turn eventually."

  "Just be careful."

  Touched by his friend's concern, Lee remarked, "Always am. Anyway, you can see us off yourself at the barrier by the railway bridge. You, Pickle, and Rick will be on watch there for a few hours once we've left."

  Chapter Three

  Harry Branston clambered out of the musty-smelling bed, that used to belong to an old man before he had had a heart attack four weeks ago, and sat on the edge of it. His head dropped in his hands and began rubbing his face.

  He looked at the battery-powered alarm clock to the left of him, on the bedside table, and saw that he had been out for nine hours. Since he had moved to the Sandy Lane Camp, with the rest of the people from the Spode Cottage campsite, Pickle had never slept so well. This was his fourth day here and welcomed the sleep.

  His stomach began to grumble for food, any food, and knew that there was a few packets of croissants in the kitchen cupboard downstairs. Three to be exact. He told himself that he'd have one, and that Karen could have the others, considering she was eating for two.

  He finally mustered the energy to stand up straight, both knees cracking in unison.

  He smiled and chuckled, "Old fart."

  He then headed for downstairs to relax on the couch. With a co
pious amount of food stored in the Lea Hall building, from both camps, and the animals on the pitches, Pickle was pleased that the people of the site weren't being complacent and that runs for food were still ongoing. Lee James and a few others were due to leave for Hednesford this morning for weapons at an industrial estate, but another run for food was being organised by three others while they were away at Hednesford.

  A week ago they had tried to get to the very same building on the industrial estate, but it was swarming with the Snatchers and they had to abandon the run. They were going to try once more before somebody else beat them to it. They were told about the place ten days ago by a newcomer who used to work for a paint and decorating company at the estate, and told Lee and the rest about a gun manufacturer at the estate that sold other weapons which were purely for sport in the old world.

  In just a matter of days Pickle had got to know some of the people and he believed that there was trust between the thirty-odd people from the Spode Cottage and the hundred or so from Sandy Lane. Some were old friends anyway or ex-schoolmates or work colleagues from the old world. These were people that lived, shopped and worked together many moons ago.

  Despite this, not everybody was pleased by the new arrivals. The apocalypse had created the horrific dead, but it also created deadly humans and this had stoked up paranoia amongst some people. Who was good and who was bad? Were they letting in people that could possibly cause danger from within the camp?

  Pickle held out his hands and smirked when he saw the little finger from the left hand missing. Sometimes he'd forget about it. At least his nose was better.

  He went into the kitchen and took a plastic bottle from one of the cupboards and sat back down again in the living room. He took a swig of water from a plastic bottle and looked up to the ceiling. He could hear the gentle thuds moving about and smiled to himself; his friend had woken up. He could hear the footsteps of the female making her way down to the ground floor. The door to the living room opened and Branston gave the woman a smile as she entered.