Snatchers Box Set, Vol. 4 [Books 10-12]

by Whittington, Shaun

  Pickle shook his head. He had some explaining to do.

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  For the last half an hour, food had been consumed and liquids had refreshed the tired and dehydrated bodies of the returned.

  John Lincoln had done his best to persuade the girls to stay and help this community to 'grow', and Elza thanked the man for his kindness, but insisted that the church on the Pear Tree, at least for the time being, was where they stayed.

  Stephanie looked indecisive for a while, which was understandable. She knew these people and loved Vince, but Elza had taken her in when she was sleeping rough in the woods. Stephanie didn't want to turn her back on the two women, especially Elza.

  Pickle and Karen had volunteered to take the girls back to the Pear Tree and told Lincoln that the trip there and back should take no longer than half an hour, providing there were no incidents.

  Lincoln asked the three girls when they wanted to go, and was surprised when Elza said straightaway. Lincoln was thinking that they were going to stay the night, but it appeared that the girls, mainly Elza, had other plans.

  Pickle was going to be doing the driving and Karen was in the passenger seat. Elza, Ophelia and Stephanie were out on the pavement, saying their farewells. Elza thanked John Lincoln for his hospitality and he asked once more if she would consider staying.

  “Thanks, but no thanks.” Elza smiled. “But if ever you're passing the church, feel free to pop in.”

  “That's very kind.” John scratched at his large belly and cackled. “But I haven't left this area since ... for a while. Seriously, if you run into trouble and feel you have nowhere to go, you'll be welcome here.”

  Elza thanked John again and went into the back of the jeep, with Ophelia following, leaving Stephanie standing on her own.

  Vince walked up to the teenager and they both held each other for a few seconds. Once they broke away, Stephanie apologised to Vince for not staying.

  “Don't worry about it,” said Vince, and tried to joke, “It's boring round here anyway. And some of the people...”

  “I like these girls, especially Elza.” Stephanie looked guilty for going. “Wherever Elza decides to go, I'm going to follow her.”

  “I can understand your reluctance to stay in a camp like this. How long did Sandy Lane last for you? A couple of days?”

  Stephanie smiled. “Something like that.”

  “Just knowing that you're alive is something.” Vince placed the palm of his right hand on the back of Stephanie's head and gently kissed her on the forehead. “Sorry I'm not coming with you. Leaving you on that estate and saying goodbye would be a tad difficult for me.”

  “I understand.”

  Stephanie turned on her heels and was the last to enter the vehicle. She turned and peered through the back window, waving at Vince. He held his hands up and gave Stephanie the thumbs up.

  Elza and Ophelia both placed their bats by their feet, and Karen and Pickle had done the same with their machetes in the front. Pickle opted to leave the mace back in the living room of his house, and managed to acquire another large blade from 2 Colwyn Place because Paul had took his when he left Pickle's vehicle.

  The journey wasn't eventful at all.

  Pickle drove along the Rugeley Road after passing Wolseley, and turned right at the roundabout, passing the Stag's Leap pub/restaurant and did thirty along the Western Springs Road. As soon as they went this way, Karen gave Pickle a suspicious look.

  “Why are you going to the Pear Tree this way?” It was a dumb question. She knew why. And Pickle told her the truth.

  He said, “We're goin' the Sandy Lane way. At least if we go that way we can 'ave a wee look, see if anyone has returned. We can also have a look into the Lea Hall building and see if there's anything left.”

  “There's nothing left,” Stephanie blurted out from the back.

  “Yer girls surely haven't used up the lot, 'ave yer?” Pickle gazed at the rear view mirror, looking at the back, waiting for an answer.

  “Not us,” Elza spoke up. “We went to the building a couple of times to fill our bags, but the third time we got there...”

  “Go on.”

  “Some guys were there. There was about twenty of them. They were on mopeds and a red pickup was with them. After that, we thought it'd be safer to try further into the woods.”

  Karen and Pickle both peeked to the side, at one another with wide eyes.

  Elza spotted this and asked, “What's with the look?”

  “Did they have WOE stitched on the back of their jackets?” sighed Pickle.

  “Dunno.” Elza hunched her shoulders. “We never got that close.”

  “And it was definitely a red pickup that they had with them?”

  “Definitely.”

  Karen looked at Pickle once more. It must have been the same pickup they had stolen from them after the WOE gang had shot Sheryl.

  Pickle and Karen's hearts began to beat faster as the vehicle turned left onto Sandy Lane and looked around at the carnage from weeks ago: blood, entrails, defunct Snatchers and a wrecked car could be seen. They passed the burnt out tanker to their left, then the crashed LGV that Bear tried to escape in a couple of weeks ago, and then turned left onto Queensway. They were now on the Pear Tree.

  “Listen,” Pickle began, and looked at Elza through the rear view mirror. “I'm gonna reiterate what John told yer back at Haywood. If anything happens that makes yer stay on this estate a dangerous one, then come back and join us. To be honest with yer, some o' the people at Colwyn Place are a little strange and it'd be good to have a few more normal folk around.”

  “Normal?” Elza snickered. “I'm hanging out with a woman that doesn't speak and a teenage girl that shoots arrows.” Elza turned to her fellow passengers. “No offence, ladies.” There was no reaction from either passenger.

  “I'm gonna be honest.” Pickle slowed down as they reached a house, 50 Queensway, and parked up at the bottom of Hislop Road. “If these WOE characters keep travelling through the West Midlands like they are, it's only a matter of time before they come across our little place. A lot o' the people in Colwyn Place are not ... let's say ... fighters. Some ... I hardly know. They keep themselves to themselves.”

  “Well, that's not good,” Elza said, “not in this world.”

  “I agree. If it was me in charge, I'd make sure every single resident, minors and the elderly excepted, would learn how to kill a Snatcher, filter water, as well as other things.”

  Karen huffed, “Some of the residents get away with murder, not pulling their weight.”

  “Well, not sure about that, Karen,” Pickle disagreed, “but some certainly have had their heads buried in the sand. But some are trying. A guy called Danny, for example, came out with me because he wanted to desensitise himself from the dead in case he had to be out there on his own. However, he needs some more practice.”

  “Practice?” Karen scoffed. “Most people, like ourselves, were just thrown into the deep end and had to get on with it.”

  “Well, if the dead or the living come to your little place,” Elza began, “it sounds like some of you could be in trouble.”

  “But if yer three stayed...”

  Nobody responded further.

  They all got out of the vehicle and made the steep walk up the road that led to the church. Nobody asked why Pickle had stopped at the bottom of the hill. They all guessed why. He was being cautious. And his caution was justified when the person in front, Elza, told everyone to get down.

  They went behind a brick wall that was opposite the defunct and abandoned youth centre. All peered over the wall to see six bikes outside the church. It was plainly obvious that the owners of the bikes had gone in the Church of the Good Shepherd, and Pickle gasped when Elza and Ophelia stood up, grasping their bats. It looked like the pair of them were going to take a chance and go in.

  “What the hell are yer doing?” Pickle stood to his feet and grabbed a hold of Elza. “Yer not going in. Yer
would be killed for sure.”

  “That's our place,” Elza snapped. “Let go of me, Pickle.”

  Pickle gave her an apologetic look and released his grip.

  “It's not your place anymore,” said Karen. “And if they leave, what's going to be left for you? Let's go before they come out.”

  Reluctantly, Elza and Ophelia followed Karen, Pickle and Stephanie back to the jeep. It wasn't what they wanted, but they were going back to Little Haywood.

  They had no choice.

  Chapter Forty

  Paul Dickson hit the tarmac with his tired feet and couldn't wait to get back through that gate of Colwyn Place, despite being aware that he wasn't the most popular of residents. He had had a falling out with John Lincoln, Stephen Bonser had never liked him, and now he had upset and frightened one of his very few allies: Joanne Hammett.

  Going back and seeing the people didn't matter to Paul. All he could think about now was his bed and a bottle of filtered water to wet the inside of his throat.

  The sound of an engine had made Paul go back into the woods once more and he continued to walk deeper in, hoping that he wouldn't be seen. The car roared by and now Paul turned and headed back to the main road. Walking in the woods was stifling and the bumpy ground slowed him down. It was safer in the woods, but it was quicker on the road.

  His steps had stopped when he saw a human female to his right. She had her hand resting against a tree and was stood still. She was shaking with fright and smiled at Paul, hoping he was a friendly individual.

  He could see the fear on her face. Was this man some psycho? There were plenty of them now.

  He raised his hand and produced a smile to try and calm the woman, who was only twenty yards from him.

  He called over, “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, but remained where she was.

  Paul placed his hand on his chest and said, “Don't worry. I'm not some kind of crazy person. I had a family ... once.” He paused. He didn't know what else to say to this woman.

  She took her hand off the tree and took a slow stroll over to him. She looked reasonably well-dressed and seemed in a healthy state.

  “Going anywhere?” he asked her.

  She shrugged and told him that she was staying with a family, but they had gone out to visit a relative and never came back.

  “So you have a place?” Paul asked her. “How come you're out here, in the woods?”

  She opened her mouth, but no words fell out. She seemed reluctant to answer.

  “It's okay,” Paul tried to appease her. “I'm staying somewhere. I got split up from a friend and I'm now heading back. You're welcome to join us.”

  She smiled, convinced that Paul was genuine and said, “Thanks, but ... I'm okay.”

  She glared at the machete that was under his belt. Clocking this he said, “For protection.”

  She patted her pocket. “I have a knife.”

  “It's been a rough few months, hasn't it?”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “You could say that.”

  Paul could still see that she was unsure of him and pitied the woman. He had no idea what she must have gone through to get this far.

  “Look, I know it's a messed up world now, but I'm a good guy. I lost my family, only lost my son a couple of weeks ago, and I'm just like you ... trying to survive, for reasons I still don't know.”

  The woman smiled, but it was a thin smile, a sad smile. She had long dark hair, her face was clean and despite there being no make-up on her face, he could see that she was an attractive thing. She cleared her throat and said, “I also lost a son.”

  “I'm sorry.” Paul took a step closer to the woman.

  She added, “I lost him before the apocalypse. He was taken from me by some sick person.”

  “I'm sorry to hear that.”

  “In a strange kind of way...” She paused, unsure whether to finish her sentence. “I wouldn't want him to live in this new world, hungry, tired and full of fear. I'm not saying I'm glad he's gone—”

  “I think I understand. My wife and daughter never came back when they left to go to the shops.” Paul began to explain his background. “Me and my son managed to last three months after the announcement, then he was attacked.”

  “You actually saw him dying?”

  Paul nodded. “My poor little Kyle. My big chap. Poor thing never managed to reach double figures. How cruel is that?”

  “My son never reached double figures either. My Brian was a lovely thing. So cute. He was only six when he...”

  “What happened to him?”

  She lowered her head and mumbled, “He was kidnapped.”

  “Oh shit.”

  She added, “He was out playing and was snatched. He was sexually abused. Two days later, after I reported him missing, he was found in a field. Dead.”

  “And the father?”

  She tried to compose herself, cleared her throat and added with a quiver in her voice, “He wasn't around in the beginning. Then he wanted to start spending time with him. He was devastated when Brian died and vowed to kill the man responsible, but the Murphy family were a well known bunch of thugs.”

  Paul looked at the woman with suspicion. Despite their demise, the Murphy name kept on popping up from time to time. Paul was lost in thought, but was soon snapped out of it when the woman asked if he was far from his destination.

  “Not too far now. Don't worry, I'm not going to ask where you stay, but I will wish you good luck.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You sure you don't wanna come back with me?”

  “Thanks. But I'm fine on my own. Really.”

  They both heard the tinny sound of a motor in the distance and looked at one another. Paul crouched down behind a tree and she did the same. They both waited in silence for it to pass. Paul could actually see that it was two mopeds going by. Once the sound faded in the distance, he stood up and so did the woman.

  “Time to say goodbye then,” he said and held out his hand.

  She shook it and nodded. “Yes.”

  “I didn't catch your name,” Paul said.

  She smiled. “Does it matter?”

  “Guess not.”

  Paul turned and walked away, heading back to the main road. The woman also walked away, in the opposite direction, heading deeper into the woods. He turned around and could see the back of her and continued watching until the trees swallowed her up. Where was she going?

  “So long,” he whispered.

  *

  Paul's feet were back on the tarmac and he had now been on the road for a few minutes. He could feel an irritating trickle of sweat running down from the back of his neck, down his spine to the top of his backside.

  He began to think about the brief meeting with the woman.

  He thought about her background, her son and how the poor thing had been killed by one of the Murphys. Fucking Murphys! They probably didn't know, or care, how much damage they had caused over the years. Fucking peasants!

  Paul then remembered some of the things she had said to him, reliving the conversation, as his feet continued to walk along the road.

  He suddenly stopped and scratched his head. “Wait a minute.”

  Her son was killed by one of the Murphys. It must have been Kevin Murphy, as he was a known sex offender. She also told him that the dad never showed interest until years after the boy was born. The son was also called Brian.

  “Shit!”

  Paul turned around and began running along the road, the opposite way. He tried to work out where he had come out of the woods when he had finished his conversation with the woman. He then veered left, entered the woodland and ran through the trees as if he was being chased.

  Puffing and panting, he managed to run half a mile through the wooded area, without falling over, and could now see that the woods were thinning out and that there was a road further up.

  He got out of the other side and was on the tarmac. He looked both ways and could see a body
in the middle of the road, further up. “Oh no.”

  He ran towards the body and knew that it was her. It was the woman he had spoken to earlier.

  His run began to turn into a jog, then a brisk walk, and could see clearly now that it was her.

  She was on her back, she was half-naked from the bottom down, and her jeans and pants had been thrown to the side of the road. She looked to have been strangled to death after being raped. Paul Dickson wondered if he was cursed.

  He guessed that he had said farewell to the woman only about fifteen minutes ago, maybe twenty. Now she was dead. She had survived for three months of this apocalypse, she meets up with Paul Dickson and she's dead minutes later.

  Paul crouched down and placed his fingers over her eyes to close them. He then wondered how her demise came about. It couldn't have been the WOE clan. She would have heard them approaching. They always seemed to travel by moped, sometimes a pickup. It must have been some random nutjob, lurking about in the woods. He checked her pocket and pulled out the small knife that she kept there.

  She never had chance to pull it out.

  It was small and looked blunt. He threw it into the woods and placed his hand on the woman's forehead. “I'm so sorry that this happened to you.”

  Paul put his arms under the woman's armpits, and began dragging her to the side. He lay her down gently and felt guilty for leaving her there. She was going to lie there for months, being nibbled on by the animals of the woods, but there was nothing else he could do. He had no tools to bury the woman, and he had no time to do it even if he did have the tools.

  He pulled out his machete and prepared for the unexpected. If there was a psycho out there, then he wasn't very far away, but if he or she was hidden and saw Paul Dickson walking with a large blade in his hand, they would think twice about jumping the man. Or so he hoped.

  He thought about her story once more: Brian. The Murphys. The father not being around in the early years.

  He was sure that the dead woman was Vince's old flame, the mother of his dead son, but couldn't be one hundred percent certain. He released a heavy sigh and decided that this was a story that Vince didn't need to hear once he returned to Colwyn Place.