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

by Shaun Whittington

"Yeah, maybe." Vince was unsure.

  "Let's keep moving," urged Pickle.

  They continued with their walk, with both of them picking up the pace, and then it was Pickle's turn to stop. "I saw something," he announced with a whisper, stopping Vince from progressing any further.

  "Saw what?" asked Vince.

  "There's something up ahead. I saw something move behind the tree."

  "A Rotter?"

  "No." Pickle shook his head. "I don't think it's a Snatcher. I don't think hide-and-seek is their strong point."

  Vince walked off the dirt path, through some bracken, and crouched down behind a tree. Pickle followed him and crouched down behind him.

  They both stared in silence and waited patiently. They then saw a figure, in the far distance. The figure was dressed in a black poncho with a hood, coming from behind a tree, and was now making their way through the woods, moving further away from them.

  "I wonder who that could be," Pickle murmured to himself.

  "Just a survivor," responded Vince. He then patted his friend on the back. "Come on. You know what'll happen if we don't get to that bridge in time."

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Karen Bradley was confused and disorientated. She opened her eyes and couldn't explain why she was on the floor, curled up in a ball. She sat up and brushed her brown hair behind her ears. Something was in her hair.

  What was it? Sand.

  She looked up to the bruised-looking sky and guessed that it was the beginning of a new day. She guessed that it could be around 4 or 5am, and scanned around where she was. She felt a chilly wind assault her frame and shuddered when she realised where she was.

  She was back at Stile Cop. But how?

  It was a dream, of course. She was dreaming.

  Karen got to her feet and looked around the sandy area. It was desolate. There were no bodies and there were no vehicles. It was just her and the wind.

  She slowly walked to the edge of the hill and looked down. It was a nice view, but there wasn't that much to look at. For miles she could see fields and farmlands, and a couple of villages. She closed her eyes and allowed the wind to caress her face.

  Shrugging off the bizarre situation she was in, she opened her eyes and decided to go back home, back to Draycott Park. She looked down to see that she was dressed in her Snoopy pyjamas, but had nothing on her feet. She walked towards the entrance/exit of the beauty spot and despite not having anything on her feet, she couldn't feel her soles smarting at all.

  She couldn't feel anything.

  She exited the area and was now on the main road. Behind her was the crossroad, but she needed to go the opposite way to get back to Rugeley, back to Draycott Park. She descended down the long hill and still couldn't feel anything on her feet. It was as if she was walking on air. A couple of minutes had passed and she looked to her left to see fields. To her right was another, more secluded, beauty spot and she was nearing Stile Cop Cemetery.

  She walked by the cemetery and felt the cold wind slap her frame, making her vertebrae shudder. It seemed strange that she could feel the wind, but not the ground beneath her feet.

  She had a hundred yards to go before she reached the junction and the Hednesford Road, but her hopes of getting home had been dashed once over a dozen Snatchers appeared around the junction, went onto the Stile Cop Road, and were now heading for Karen. She stopped walking and stared at what was advancing towards her.

  "Fuckers."

  She looked up to the heavens to see that there was hardly a cloud in the sky, and looked back at the advancing horde.

  She decided to make a run for it.

  She tried to move her legs, but they weren't budging. It was as if they were made of concrete. She couldn't even twist her neck; her head wouldn't move at all.

  "What is going on?"

  The group of Snatchers took more steps towards Karen, making her panic and fear the worst. She tried to move her legs again, but to no avail. She closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable, but the creatures had suddenly stopped once they were five yards away.

  Karen opened her eyes, shook with fear and shock as she looked at all the faces of the dead. Every single one of them were people she recognised. They were obviously infected, but their faces weren't so disfigured that she didn't know who they used to be before they were infected.

  They were all people, some good and some bad, that Karen had come into contact with over the last five weeks or so.

  Yes, it was a dream, but the scene was a strange one to behold. The group of the dead were almost encircled around Karen, and she looked to her left at the first ones and her eyes continued to scan until she reached the few in the middle.

  To her left was Gary. How many times had she dreamt about Gary? She had lost count.

  Next to him was a dead Shaz, snarling at snapping and wanting to devour somebody that used to be her friend. Her eyes weren't blue anymore, they were almost white, and the bite to her shoulder that she had received in the real world was present in this dream of Karen's.

  As her eyes slowly moved along she could see others. Harry, the little boy from her street was there. Next to him was Jack Slade. He seemed in good condition for a member of the dead. Apart from the eyes and pale skin he looked in better shape than most. Standing next to Jack was a reanimated Kerry Evans and his son, Thomas Slade.

  In reality some of these people hadn't turned, but it appeared that anyone who had been infected, killed, or had just disappeared from her life was in this dream. Oliver Bellshaw was standing next to young Thomas, and next to him was KP and the prison officers, Jamie Thomson and Janine Perry. In reality Karen knew that these two couldn't be Snatchers as she, Pickle and KP had witnessed their demise at Stile Cop. There would have been nothing left of them to reanimate.

  Gavin and his sister were next to the officers, arms out, snapping, and itching for a bite. Jade Greatrix and Paul Parker were also there. Karen knew Jade was dead. Weeks ago, Jack had told Karen that Jade had turned when he, Vince and Claire came across her one day, when they saw an overturned vehicle. Paul Parker still remained a mystery. He was assumed dead, and the last time she had seen him was when Jade and Paul split from Karen and Pickle during a melee with four men.

  The Pointers were next. David, Davina and little Isobel were there as members of the dead. In truth, Davina Pointer was the only member of the family that she was sure that was dead. The last time she saw David and Isobel was when they left Stile Cop in their car, after burying his wife.

  There were other faces there that she recognised. Jason Bonser was there, as well as David Watkins and young Harry Beresford. Robin Barton was to the right, near the end, reanimated, and had a thick dark line down his face where he had received his injuries from the petrol chainsaw, which he had received when the dead stormed Vince's camp.

  Next to Robin Barton was Pickle.

  *

  She woke up with a gasp. She looked around her dark room. She had no idea what time it was, but it appeared that Pickle and the rest hadn't returned. She began to control her rapid breathing and her mind began to wander.

  Why was Pickle in the dream as a Snatcher? Pickle wasn't dead.

  Most of the people that was in her dream had either turned or was killed in the real world. So why was Pickle a part of the crowd?

  She shook her head. It was just a stupid dream.

  Was it a premonition? No.

  She shook her head and giggled to herself, heart still racing. She wiped her clammy forehead with the back of her hand and tried to control her heavy breathing.

  It was just a dream. It was just a stupid dream. It didn't mean anything.

  Did it?

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Theodore Davidson stomped down the stairs and reached the living room of the diminutive cabin. He could see Johnny Wilson lying on the settee, and Paul Frederick on the floor. He stood over Frederick, crouched down and punched him in the stomach.

  Frederick woke up, gasping for air, wa
king Willie up as well. Once he got some of his breath back, he said, "What was that for, Bear?"

  "Snoring." The colossal figure glared at Willie. "And I thought you were supposed to be doing a watch."

  "Watch what?" Willie spoke up bravely. "I'm sure the Roamers can't get up that hill, and I don't think anybody's gonna come up. And even if they did, they're hardly gonna get past you, or us for that matter."

  "He's right," added Frederick.

  "Just get back outside." The Bear stomped back upstairs, and then bellowed from the bedroom. "And keep the fucking noise down."

  The two men looked at one another. They were dying to say something, but were scared in case The Bear overheard them.

  Willie sighed, "I better go outside."

  Frederick said, "See you later. I think I'll be doing the morning stint."

  Willie left the cabin, no weapon in his hand—he didn't think he needed one—and walked onto the front garden. He sat on the stump and placed his chin on the palms of his hands.

  Fuck. He was bored already, and had only been sitting for seconds.

  He moved off the stump and sat on the grass.

  That's better.

  He lay back and decided to gaze at the stars for a while. He guessed that it was around ten o'clock and was so bored that he decided to count them, if that was possible. After a minute he had lost his way, so he decided to try again. Again, he'd lost count.

  "Shit," he groaned. "Once more."

  He counted with heavy eyes, knowing that it could take minutes to count them all in the vast sky. He was going to count every single one of them. He was determined to do it.

  *

  His eyes opened and his nose twitched.

  "Shit."

  He had fallen asleep, but he didn't have a clue how long for. If Bear had caught him, he thought, he'd be dead meat. He sat up and began rubbing his eyes. What was that smell? His nose sniffed the air, and he suddenly stood up and began sniffing again.

  It smelt like...burning!

  Johnny Wilson could hear the sound of burning wood and squinted his eyes in confusion. He then looked behind him and could see dark thick smoke spewing to the dark heavens, and now panic kicked in. How long had he been out?

  He ran to the gate and opened it. The heat smacked him in the face and it appeared that the cluster of trees in front was engulfed in flames. "Crap!"

  He ran into the camp and yelled in panic for both persons to wake up. Frederick woke in a panic, but Bear came down the stairs from the bedroom nonchalantly.

  "What the fuck is it?" Bear growled, putting on his shoes.

  "Fire!" Willie cried.

  "Where?" Frederick asked.

  "Everywhere!"

  Bear stormed outside and began checking over the six foot fence. He seemed to be taking his time, and was the only person out of the three that refused to panic. The other two went outside and followed him.

  "This was done on purpose," Willie stated.

  "No shit." Bear pointed at the part of the fence that was to the right. "We leave over here. Another ten minutes and this whole place is gonna go up."

  "What do we do?" Willie yelled. "What do we do?"

  "Don't piss your pants." Bear snapped his fingers at both men. "Get the bags. Get the car keys and we'll fuck off. Simple. Looks like we'll be needing that jeep now."

  "Who could have done this?" Frederick scratched at his head.

  Bear shook his head and knew exactly who was responsible for this. "Little cunt."

  *

  The teenager had now reached the football field, and looked up to Cardboard Hill. His eyes lit up and a smile stretched under his nose as he could see the smoke billowing. The pale youngster laughed and was certain that that maniac who cut off his hand was now inside, burning away, or at least being suffocated in his sleep by the smoke.

  He looked at his stump that had a fresh tea towel wrapped around it. He had no idea how much blood he had lost when he was unfairly punished like that, but he was still living, and despite the pain, he was certain that he was over the worst of it. The only thing that worried him now was infections. He was going to worry about that another day.

  He had done everything that he thought was possible. He had raided a house and managed to get bandages and painkillers. He even found a bottle of whisky and poured the whole bottle over the stump. Now that was an experience he didn't want to go through again.

  Still wincing with pain, the eighteen-year-old continued to look up at the hill, and said, "Burn, you fucker."

  He turned on his heels and walked back to the house he was staying at.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Pickle and Vince had spent the last ten minutes talking about the individual that they'd seen in the woods. Both agreed that the person was nothing but a lucky survivor, out there, living day-by-day. Pickle was convinced that the person in the woods had some kind of bow on their back, but Vince had laughed it off.

  "How long now?" asked Vince.

  "Another half an hour and we should be by the bridge."

  "Thank fuck!" snapped Kindl. "My feet are killing me like a couple of bastards, and it's getting dark."

  Pickle yawned and stretched out his arms. He then rubbed his watery eyes while Vince was beside him, singing a rude song about the Royal Family.

  "What the..?" Pickle didn't finish his sentence and squinted his eyes to focus on what was up ahead.

  "What is it?" asked Vince.

  "Have a look for yerself." Pickle blew out a breath of air and added, "Please tell me that I'm seein' things, Vince."

  Vince stopped walking and Pickle did also, standing by his side. Vince gazed for a long time; eventually he puffed out his cheeks and said, "Well...either the trees are moving, and walking towards us. Or...we could be in a spot of bother."

  "How many, do yer think?" Pickle already had a rough estimate, but wanted a second opinion.

  "Twenty."

  "Can we take 'em?"

  Vince peeped at Pickle to see if he was serious. "Probably, but it'd be easier if we just outrun them," Vince laughed, shocked that Pickle was even thinking about going through this horde.

  "We have sawn-offs," Pickle began. "And a few more cartridges in our pocket. If we can take out four each, at least, then that leaves us with about twelve to destroy with our blades."

  Vince dropped his head in his hands and remained silent for a few seconds. "I'm sorry, Pickle, but have you lost your fucking mind?"

  "We need to get to tha' bridge, Vince. I don't wanna stay in the woods tonight."

  "Well, neither do I." Vince could now see that the group were gaining and both men had to come to a decision...fast. "But I don't really wanna die either. I kind of like living at the moment. I know you can't access Pornhub anymore, but life could be a lot worse."

  "Vince, I'm being serious."

  "Look." Vince placed his hand on Pickle's shoulder and was coming across as patronising. "Stop panicking, sweet cheeks."

  "Everything's a joke to yer, isn't it?"

  Vince never answered at first, then nodded over to the advancing horde. "I'll tell you what. Make a decision, and I'll go with whatever you decide." Vince took his bag off, unzipped it, then pulled out his sawn-off shotgun, expecting Pickle's answer to be the more dangerous option.

  "Fuck it. Yer right." Pickle kicked at the ground in defeat and said, reluctantly, "Let's go back."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah." Pickle turned around and began to walk away and pointed at Vince. "But I am not fuckin' happy about this."

  Vince followed Pickle and began to lightly jog, "Er... Branston. Don't you think we should pick up the pace a bit?"

  "Good idea."

  Both men began to jog away from the gang of the dead, and were now heading in the direction they had just come from.

  *

  Still embarrassed about his failed sex with Sheryl Smith, Lee James continued to walk in silence, plagued with mortification. He couldn't stop thinking about Denise, and had been
racked with guilt for being so intimate with another female after her demise.

  Sheryl Smith walked behind him and had made no attempt to make conversation since she had embarrassed him about his quick performance. She felt a little guilty about making fun of him, but it was her disappointment and frustration that made her lash out like that.

  She picked up the pace to get near Lee's side and took a quick peep, trying to catch his eye. She felt that he knew that she was looking at him, but he chose to ignore her. Had his male pride been hurt? she thought. Or was he feeling bad because of his family?

  "We're here," he finally spoke.

  Sheryl could see the small bridge up ahead. It was her turn to speak. "But they're not. What do we do?"

  "We wait for ten to twenty minutes." Lee stopped walking once he got to the beginning of the bridge, then looked up to the sky. It was reasonably light considering it was nearly ten o'clock in the evening.

  "Then what?"

  "You know what." Lee was sharp with Sheryl, but she was certain that it was because of the incident before. "We have to go." He pointed up to the heavens. "It's gonna be dark soon, and we still need to walk to the pick-up truck. We all agreed on this."

  "They'll be here."

  Lee sighed and had a quick scan around. He hoped that she was right, but he wasn't so sure.

  *

  Theodore Davidson, Johnny Wilson and Paul Frederick sat in silence as the Subaru jeep left the Pear Tree Estate and made its way along the country road. They had tried two places to get their heads down, but both were unfit for them to stay at. Neither Frederick or Wilson asked the driver, Bear, where he was taking them next. They could tell by his face that he was becoming exasperated, so neither men opened their mouths.

  The vehicle bypassed a pub as they entered a small village called Fradley, and both men were surprised that he never stopped at a lone house that seemed perfect. Maybe he had already decided where they were going to stay. The jeep passed through Armitage and began to descend down a hill. The Bear eventually brought the vehicle to a stop by a place called The Spode Cottage.