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

by Whittington, Shaun

  He headed back into the woods, his senses on high alert, and headed back to the main road, the road back to Little Haywood.

  Chapter Forty One

  Jez was peering out of the bedroom window. He could see the evening drawing in and knew that darkness was only a few hours away. He could hear Craig snoring in the other room and had a look around the room that had been given to him. He liked Craig. Craig was a tough bastard, and Jez knew he was in better hands with Craig than those nutcases with the mopeds. However, he knew that if ever he was caught by any of those members on the road, he would be killed for his betrayal. There was no doubt about that.

  He yawned and headed for the bedroom window once his ears picked up the sound of an engine. He wasn't nervous. The doors were locked and was sure that the vehicle he could hear was probably just passing by. He peered out from behind the curtain once more and saw a black Range Rover pull over.

  From where he was standing, he could see that the vehicle was full of people and was taken aback when a good-looking woman, brown hair and tied in a ponytail, stepped out of the vehicle. She went to the side and pulled down her bottom clothing to urinate. Jez continued to watch, and once the woman returned to the vehicle and the Range Rover sped off, he released the curtains and went back to lie on his bed.

  He wondered if the people in that vehicle were good guys and wondered if they had a place to go to. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. He had a twinge in his groin area and now couldn't stop thinking about the woman that had got out of the Range Rover.

  *

  This time Pickle had decided to go to Little Haywood another way. Instead of going along Sandy Lane, he decided to go through Draycott Park and into Slitting Mill. This route produced memories for Karen as they went by her old street. She thought of Gary, when she left him as a Snatcher, and remembered when she returned some weeks later with Pickle and Vince and destroyed the Snatcher that was once Gary.

  As the vehicle went through Draycott and out of Rugeley, there were dozens of bodies, mainly charred, and a burnt our car that used to be a Porsche. It belonged to prison officer Jamie Thomson and was stolen from the prison staff car park by escaped inmate Gary Jenson.

  Pickle was on the Hednesford Road and went by Stile Cop Road on the left, then took a right into Slitting Mill. The black jeep went along the road and Elza announced from the back that she needed to 'wet her flaps.'

  “Wet yer what?” Pickle thought he had misheard the woman, and Karen was now in the passenger seat, laughing at Elza's comment.

  “I think Elza needs to go to the bathroom,” Karen tried to explain to the driver. “A piss, Pickle.”

  “Alright, alright,” Pickle huffed. “I get it.”

  He pulled the jeep over and parked it at the side of the road.

  “Try not to peek,” Elza tried to tease as she got out.

  “I'm gay,” Pickle said and laughed. “Minge just isn't ma thing, yer know. But if Vince was here...”

  Once Elza was finished, she got back into the vehicle and Pickle drove away, heading back to Little Haywood, back to Colwyn Place.

  Elza and Karen were talking about when they bumped into them at the Lea Hall building. They talked about Vince and when he touched Elza and she attacked him. Elza thought he was a creep, but Karen soon stuck up for him.

  “He's alright once you get to know him,” she said. “I hated him at first, but he grows on you.”

  “So do tumours,” scoffed Elza.

  “He's nice.” Stephanie also joined in. “I like Vince.”

  “I know you do.” Karen grunted, “And you saved his life. I'm trying to think when I started to like him.”

  Pickle laughed, “I think it took about four weeks before yer two started becoming civil to one another.”

  “Okay,” Elza spoke up and added, “if he's a good guy, then I believe you. Looks like me and Ophelia are gonna be getting to know him if we're staying at this Colwyn Place.”

  “It'll be good having three newcomers,” Pickle commented. “Feels like we don't belong there at the moment, but I'm sure that feeling will pass.”

  “How do you mean?” queried Stephanie.

  “Well, I had a minor altercation with John Lincoln, the guy that runs the show, and Paul has had a few run-ins with the locals.”

  “Are you saying that they could throw you out?”

  “I don't think that'll happen,” Pickle said. “They don't have much muscle in that place. They'll need me, Karen and Vince there, even Paul. Anyway, Vince is a legend round that area.”

  Pickle was pondering whether to tell them the story about Paul and Joanne, but decided not to. “We'll need to keep a close eye on Paul when he gets back.” He looked at Karen.

  She nodded. “If you think so. I hope he makes it back.”

  “He will.”

  “So who are the strong personalities in this camp of yours?” Elza asked. She then looked to the side and noticed Ophelia had nodded off.

  “John Lincoln,” Pickle began. “A man called Stephen Bonser, James Thomson and another fellow by the name o' Terry. It's a bit o' a them and us mentality at the moment with a few o' them, but I'm sure it'll settle down. Maybe they're just paranoid o' us.”

  “Well, if it doesn't change, and you think this Lincoln guy is going to kick you off the site...” Elza allowed her sentence to trail.

  Pickle looked at her through the rear view mirror. He could see that Ophelia was asleep and Stephanie was staring out of the passenger window. “Go on.”

  “Then maybe we should kill the strong characters. Tell the rest of the folk this is how it is from now on, then we can all stay and everyone knows where they stand.”

  Pickle laughed, convinced that Elza was joking, “And how would we kill them?”

  “Easy. We stab them while they sleep in their beds.”

  Pickle looked at Elza once more, using the rear view mirror, and lost his smile when it was clear that her face was solemn.

  He had to ask, “Are yer being serious?”

  “Why not?” She shrugged her shoulders as if what she had stated was nothing. “If they're prepared to throw us out.”

  “If we did that, then we're no better than Jason Bonser, the Murphys and Theodore Davidson.”

  Elza laughed, “I have no idea of the names you just mentioned. I'm from Birmingham, not from around here.”

  Pickle and Karen peeked at one another with astonishment on their faces. Pickle scratched at the side of his head in thought and said, “Let me get this straight. Yer quite prepared to butcher four men?”

  Elza nodded. “If it means staying in comfort.”

  “I could never agree to that.” Pickle took a left and they went over the Wolseley Bridge. They weren't far away now.

  “You're too soft, Pickle.”

  “One thing I'm not, and that is soft.” He glared at Elza and added, “We will speak no more about killing innocent people in their beds. Got it?”

  “Pickle, I was joking.” Elza smiled and shook her head.

  Pickle smirked at Elza through the mirror and admitted, “Yer got me.”

  Elza had just told Pickle that she was joking about killing four residents she didn't know, but he played along. He didn't believe her. He thought she was being serious and thought that he would have to keep a close eye on Elza Crowe and her companion Ophelia White.

  Pickle turned into the street once the gate was slid back and hoped that Paul had arrived. It was getting late. If Paul wasn't here, then Pickle was going back out the next day sometime, whether Lincoln liked it or not.

  Chapter Forty Two

  August 13th

  Paul Dickson's black T-shirt was soaked with his sweat. It was overcast, but the temperature was high on this morning. Some Brits would class this weather as muggy. His thoughts were with the woman that he had briefly met and he had hardly slept, being curled up against the sycamore tree. He was lucky if he had had two hours of unbroken sleep.

  Vince had hardly
mentioned the mother of his only child and had presumed that she died with the other millions in the first weeks, so Paul didn't see the point telling Vince what had happened once he returned.

  He tried to stick to the main road and was certain that if he stayed here long enough, Pickle or someone else from the camp would come along to pick him up. He wasn't far away now, but he would welcome the last two miles to be sitting in a vehicle, as his feet were aching and felt like they were on fire.

  He came across a gate and looked to his left and saw a farm that he hadn't noticed before. He stopped walking and had a look around to see that nobody was about, and decided to open the gate and go in. What was the harm? If the place was occupied, then he would make his apologies and be on his way. If it wasn't, then he'd check the place out and see if there were any supplies for him.

  Hungry and thirsty, Paul Dickson decided to pop into the farmhouse and have a snoop around.

  He walked down the long dirt path which led to the farmhouse and reached the door, but he paused and decided not to knock. Not yet. There was a niggling in his head, telling him not to. A gentle thud was heard inside the barn that was next to the house, making the man gasp and twist his neck, and Paul decided to check that out first instead.

  He approached the door of the barn and peered inside. He could hear frightened gasps as his presence was noticed straightaway. The gasps confused him and he wondered what two young individuals were doing sitting on the floor. He opened the door fully and could now see the males were tied up.

  Their eyes squinted as the daylight crept in, and Paul knew right away that they were being kept against their will. The two men weren't gagged on this day, and they began to cry as Paul stepped near them.

  He held his hands up. “It's okay. I'm not here to hurt you.” He didn't have to ask them why they were tied up. He had guessed. He remembered the man in the woods, a few days ago, that wanted to kill him for his flesh as he was making his way to Little Haywood.

  He untied the two frightened men and once both were free, they thanked Paul, told them that a family of three stayed at the house, and then ran off.

  Paul should have told them about Colwyn Place, but they were now running away and Paul needed to make a sharp exit himself. If the people in the house could see that their 'produce' had escaped, he could be next on the menu if he hung around long enough. He wasn't sure if the occupants were inside the farmhouse or had left temporarily to go somewhere, but was certain that this was a place that wasn't safe and he should get the hell out as soon as possible.

  He decided to ignore his hunger and thirst and began to gently jog away, going the same way as the two men, and heading for the gate, back to the main road. He began trotting away, but his heavy legs were making his 'escape' a little more difficult and slower than he would have liked.

  “Stop!” a voice called out from behind him.

  “Shit.” Paul decided to ignore the command and tried to pick up his pace.

  “Stop, motherfucker, or I'll shoot!”

  Shoot?

  The command made Paul stop in his tracks. He was unsure whether the individual had a gun or not until he turned around, but decided not to risk calling his bluff and not to continue with his jog. Paul turned to see a young boy pointing a shotgun at him. He realised where he was now. Paul could see that it was the same young man that he and Pickle had passed the day before when they were on their way to find Karen, Vince and Stephen.

  “Come closer,” the boy commanded.

  Paul raised his hands and began to walk towards the youngster, then was told to stop once he was close enough.

  Paul sighed, his hands still up, “Now what?”

  Hector Grassington shook with rage as the gun pointed at Paul's head and he said, “You stupid bastard. Do you realise what you've done, letting those two go?”

  “I saved two lives from sick bastards,” Paul said with calm.

  “We're not sick,” Hector sneered. “We're surviving. Only the strong survive.”

  “That sounds like something your father probably brainwashed you with. Is he in?” Paul took a small step closer, making the youngster jittery, but he kept his hands up. “Relax.”

  Hector called out, “Mum! I've got a situation out here!”

  An elderly female leaned out of a bedroom window from the first floor and said, “What is it?”

  Paul could only see the woman's head. He could see that the woman was in her fifties, had a round face and he guessed correctly that she was a large lady.

  “This prick let those two go from the barn.”

  “Oh dear, your dad's not going to like that.”

  “When's dad coming back?”

  “Soon. He's still out hunting.”

  Hector gazed at Paul, his clammy hands holding the gun, and asked his mother what he should do next. Paul took another step forward and was now only a foot away from the fifteen-year-old.

  “Stay back!” Hector screamed, now caressing the trigger.

  “Just shoot him,” she shouted from the window, making Paul gasp.

  “What?” Hector wasn't sure if he had heard right. “What did you say, mum?”

  “Just shoot him in the head!” His mother yelled. “Don't shoot him anywhere else. I don't want you tainting good meat. Anyway, I'm coming down now.”

  She disappeared from the window and jogged down the stairs, hearing the gun go off. She smiled and brushed her grey hair back. She didn't want to drag the body into the barn. She was going to let the body bleed out for a while and wait for her husband to return. If her husband returned empty-handed, they were probably going to have to gut the man straightaway, especially now that the two men had escaped.

  She walked towards the main door and opened it. She strolled through, reaching outside and stopped suddenly. She couldn't breathe.

  Paul Dickson had been waiting for her at the side of the door. He hacked his machete at her throat as she stepped out of the house. The blood from her neck pissed out, and the last thing she saw was her son lying on the grass, face-down.

  Paul removed the blade and watched as she collapsed in a bloody heap. He then took the shotgun that was leaning against the side of the house, the same gun he had grabbed off of Hector. Paul had made a grab for the gun earlier and the pair of them had a quick tussle, making the gun go off, then Paul had smacked the youngster with it.

  He walked over to the unconscious young man.

  Paul hesitated for a few seconds, then rammed his blade into the boy's back. He removed the machete, then wiped the blood on the grass and tucked it back into his belt. He knew that the father was due back and decided to drag the bodies at the side of the house, behind a tractor. He should have left, but he decided to take a look around in the kitchen and see if there was anything that could hydrate him. He wasn't to be disappointed.

  He walked in, now holding the shotgun. There was a bottle of water on the side, next to a large pan of soup. He drank the bottle in one and then used a wooden spoon to stir the soup. He could see large chunks of meat in it, and was pretty sure that it was human meat, so decided to give the soup a miss.

  He decided to go upstairs and see if there was anything he could use and take back with him to Colwyn Place. The bedrooms were basic and his nose twitched as he approached the bathroom door. He opened it and peered inside. The bath was covered in blood and had unwanted body parts in it. A severed head sat near the plughole as well as a foot. Paul shut the door and went back downstairs. It was like something out of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. He had seen enough.

  He went through the cupboards and pulled out a bag of raw carrots. He placed the shotgun on the wooden dinner table, sat down and began to eat the carrots.

  Once he had finished, he sat back and decided it was time to leave. He decided to leave the gun where it was. He was hydrated, he had eaten and he had rested. It was time to go.

  He stepped out and could see a figure walking through the gate and walking down the path. The man wore a grey beard,
had a hat on and a gun over his shoulder.

  Paul stepped back in, making sure he wasn't spotted. He went over to the table and picked up the gun. He didn't want to use it. He knew that the noise could attract threats from afar, dead or living, but on this occasion he felt he had no choice.

  With the gun pointing at the door and his finger on the trigger, Paul Dickson waited for the man to enter. Once he did, Paul gave the man a blast in the stomach. The man dropped his own gun and collapsed on the grass, face-down. He was still moving, but Paul knew that it wasn't going to be for long.

  Dickson then left the empty shotgun on the table, exited the house, picked the man's gun up and decided to blast him in the back and put him out of his misery. A metallic click was all that could be heard and Paul guessed that the gun was out of ammo or it had jammed. He threw the shotgun on the grass and headed back to the main road.

  *

  Arthur Grassington had had another unsuccessful stint hunting in the woods. He wanted to keep the two men in the barn for a rainy day, but it looked like that the rainy day had come early. He had his shotgun in his left hand and turned and spat on the floor.

  The fifty-eight-year old man walked, constantly sighing, and was now on the main road. His boots were becoming worn and his denim dungarees were in dire need of a wash. But the biggest worry for him was that his stomach was rumbling. His wife had made a large pot of soup, but even rationing the food would only keep them going for a couple of days.

  His son, Hector, had had to do a lot of growing up in the last three months. In the first month, he did nothing but cry and moan because of the situation of the world, but eventually he grew stronger. Arthur taught his son how to shoot, to skin game, and he also tried his first human meat only two weeks ago. Nobody wanted this, but with the cattle gone, the three of them felt that they were left without a choice.

  Arthur remembered the first person they had eaten. He had been out and came across an individual in the woods. His name was Garth Bateman, nineteen years old, and had told Arthur that he had escaped from an invasion of the dead. He told Arthur that he used to live in Rugeley, in a street called Sandy Lane, and that it had been turned into a camp. Arthur told the young man that he would feed and hydrate the beleaguered teenager, but instead he knocked him out when they reached the farmhouse and tied him up in the barn. After many days of persuading his son and wife that this was the way to go now, in order to survive, Garth was killed by Arthur and cut up for future meals.