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

by Whittington, Shaun

  As Arthur clocked the body that was face-down on the grass, he put his Mossberg in both hands and could feel his heart galloping. He had no idea who the man was, but his main concern, his only concern was for his wife and son. He checked the house cautiously and called out his wife's name, but he got no answer. He then went to the barn and opened the wooden door. It was empty. The two men weren't there anymore.

  He scratched his head and was perplexed, wondering what could have happened. Did the two men manage to untie themselves and had turned nasty, forcing his wife and son to hide? He then turned to the body on the grass. But who was that?

  He bent down, leaned over the body and turned him over. Blood was all over his midriff. He had been shot. Maybe Hector did this, he thought. But where is he? And where's the missus?

  He took a proper look at the man's face. He recognised him and said, “What the...?” He suddenly jumped when the man gasped. He was alive, for now.

  This just wasn't making sense.

  The man was Ollie Goldwin. He was a fellow farmer that lived a mile up the road. He was a nice man, had three daughters under the age of sixteen and this had been the first time Arthur had seen him in a week. Arthur had only seen him a few times since the outbreak. In the old days they used to drink together and sometimes help each other out, business-wise.

  Arthur couldn't understand what had happened. Why would such a nice man like Ollie be gunned down by his son or wife? It didn't make sense. And where were they?

  “Ollie?” Arthur could see the poor man was seconds away from death and asked, “What happened?”

  “Some man.”

  “Some man?” This short statement did nothing to dilute Arthur's confusion. He wondered where Ollie's jeep was. Did he walk? He guessed, like his own, it had been stolen by desperados. “What are you doing here, Ollie?”

  “Walked here ... to see ... how you were ...” He struggled for breath. “... and wanted you and ... your family ... to join us. We still have ... livestock ... and ...”

  That was all Arthur could get out of Ollie before he took his last breath. Arthur sighed and was saddened by the man's death, but the confusion was still there.

  He stood up, took his gun and decided to walk around the back of the house.

  He only reached as far as the tractor when he dropped to his knees and broke down.

  He sobbed for minutes as the bodies of his son and wife lay behind the defunct tractor. He sat and crossed his legs, and realised that all he lived for was now gone. But he still didn't understand what had happened. Ollie said some man. He didn't say men, which would make Arthur think that the two men from the barn had escaped and caused this carnage. Ollie said man.

  Arthur Grassington had managed to compose himself. He wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands and stared at his poor family. His loving wife; his baby boy.

  He never vowed revenge for the person or persons responsible for this. He simply lay back on the grass with tears in his eyes, placed both barrels under his chin and squeezed the trigger.

  Chapter Forty Three

  Elza and the girls were predictably given 2 Colwyn Place by John Lincoln when they had returned yesterday evening, and enjoyed a good night's sleep. When he was told that their church was overrun by vagrants, he sympathised with the girls but was deep-down delighted to have more people, especially people that knew how to handle themselves, even the fourteen-year-old that was with them.

  John was aware that one of the main problems with Colwyn Place was that they had many people that couldn't look after themselves. He needed more people for runs. If people kept on getting killed whilst out there, like Brian Marley and, more recently, Nick Gregory, the place was going to suffer.

  Elza, Ophelia and Stephanie went straight into house two. Lincoln apologised to the women, when they arrived yesterday evening, and told them that he'd get Beverley to organise a 'welcome pack' by the morning, or the afternoon at the very latest. He told them further that the basement was locked, because that was where they stored weapons, and had decided to relax the 'weapon law' he had imposed weeks earlier, not that people were obeying it anyway.

  Neither female seemed bothered and were more excited about using the solar-powered shower that was available.

  Vince was surprised, and pleased, that Stephanie was back.

  Once he woke up and stepped outside, he spotted her from her room and called out. She opened the window and asked what he wanted. He asked her to come outside once she was showered so they could hang out. She did as he asked half an hour later.

  She stepped outside, leaving an exhausted Elza and Ophelia still curled up in their new beds, and saw Vincent Kindl sitting on the kerb, on his own, outside his house.

  She took a stroll over, enjoying the morning breeze as she did this, and sat next to the middle-aged man. She was now dressed in an old red housecoat and was barefoot.

  “Nice gown,” Vince mocked.

  “It was already in the house.” Stephanie grinned. “It smells a bit.”

  “I just thought that was your overall odour.”

  “Cheeky pig.” Stephanie leaned back and punched Vince on the arm and both of them began to laugh.

  Once their laughing diminished, Vince became serious and announced, “I'm glad you're back. Not too bothered about the other two, but you ... I'm still here because of you.”

  “They're both okay.” Stephanie decided to stick up for Elza and Ophelia.

  “If you say so.” Vince looked over at the house she was staying at. “The ugly one doesn't say much, does she?”

  “Ugly?” Stephanie knew he was referring to Ophelia and didn't like his choice of words. “She's had a rough time. Anyway, she's not ugly.”

  “You're too nice, Steph,” Vince cackled. “She has a face like a smacked arse. She'd make an onion cry. Even a tide wouldn't take her out.”

  “You haven't changed, have you?” Stephanie tried to hide her smirk, but Vince saw it. “You're hardly Channing Tatum yourself, are you?”

  “Who? Tanning Chatum?”

  “Channing Tatum,” Stephanie corrected with a giggle. “He's a film star.”

  “He used to be,” scoffed Vince. “He's probably dead now.”

  Vince could feel Stephanie looking at him. He turned and asked her what was up.

  “I have missed you, you obnoxious pig.” She leaned her head to the side and rested it on his shoulder.

  “You wouldn't have me any other way.”

  “True.” She cuddled up to Vince and he put his arm around her shoulder. They remained there for a few minutes and their quiet was disturbed by Stephen Rowley. He had left his house and was on his way over to Vince and Stephanie. Vince guessed that Rowley wanted a word with him.

  “Alright, Steve?”

  Stephen flashed Vince a stern look.

  Vince had genuinely forgot that Rowley didn't like being called Steve. He held his hands up as a way of apologising. “Stephen, I meant to say.”

  Getting the feeling that Rowley wanted a word with Vince alone, Stephanie made an excuse that she was feeling cold and went back indoors.

  “I'll see you later,” Vince called out as Stephanie approached the door of her new house. “Get some rest.”

  She turned around and saluted Vince.

  “Cheeky cow,” sniggered Kindl.

  Vince was now sitting alone, and Rowley was standing over him.

  “Sit next to me,” Vince urged Stephen. “Standing over me like that makes me feel uncomfortable. What is it?”

  “Look, chap,” Stephen began and placed his bottom next to Vince's. “I'm guessing that out of all the Colwyn residents, apart from your own people, I'd like to think that I'm closer to you lot than any of the other residents, including Lincoln.”

  “Look,” Vince showed the palms of his hands to Rowley and tried to joke, “I ain't sucking your dick.”

  “Chap,” Stephen groaned. “I'm trying to be serious.”

  “Okay, I'm sorry. You're closer to us th
an the rest. I'd agree with that.” Vince nodded. “What's your point?”

  “First of all, I'm not a grass. I'd like to make that clear.”

  “Okay.”

  Stephen grunted, cleared his throat and twisted his neck. It was something that Rowley couldn't help, but it still annoyed Vince. “People are moaning about you lot, especially the fellow that's missing.”

  “Paul? Have you any idea what he's been through?”

  “I could imagine, chap.” Stephen then cleared his throat once again and added, “I heard one individual saying that he hoped that Paul didn't make it back, that he was a weirdo and an accident waiting to happen.”

  “Well, thanks for the information, Stephen. Me, Karen and Pickle will take care of Paul when he comes back, which will probably be sometime today. Pickle has told John Lincoln that he's gonna take a ride out later on. If Karen doesn't go, I may take a ride out with him. Got nothing else on this morning.”

  “I know Pickle had upset John before he left with Paul yesterday. The whole place was talking about it, chap.”

  “And?”

  “And ... if you lot keep on going over his head, it won't be good.”

  “Just relax. We'll behave. As soon as Paul gets back, I'll have a word with them all and we'll square things with John and the others.”

  Joanne Hammett stepped out of her house and sat on the doorstep. She took out a cigarette and lit one up. Vince stared over and gave her a wave, but she never responded.

  “Charming,” he laughed.

  “Have you upset her, chap?” Rowley enquired.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “You like her, don't you?”

  “Of course I do. She's gorgeous.”

  “To be fair, chap “ Stephen grunted. “She's never really appealed to me.”

  “Really?”

  “Uh-huh. Looks too much like my sister, Emma.”

  “Wow. Now I would really like to meet your sister. Married?”

  Stephen smiled and shook his head. “No, she's not married.”

  Vince realised that Stephen hardly talked about his past and he guessed that maybe his sister wasn't around anymore. Or maybe he just hadn't seen her since the outbreak and didn't know whether she was alive or not.

  Vince decided not to ask any further questions about his sister, Emma Rowley, and tried to lighten the mood once more, the only way Vince Kindl could.

  “She kind of reminds me of an old flame,” Vince began and had another peep at Joanne. She was now coming to the end of her cigarette.

  “Who? Joanne?” Stephen wasn't sure if Vince was exaggerating or not. Vince was a strange-looking, some would say, ugly-looking man. He was too thin and had old scars over his features, and Joanne looked the type of woman that would date men that were fit and tanned.

  “Well, her face looks kind of similar to the girl I'm referring to.” Vince was beginning to backtrack, telling Rowley that he was exaggerating about one of his exes looking like Joanne Hammett. “She looks or looked like Joanne from the neck up, but this chick I used to see had an arse like a bag of washing and had more rolls than a bakers.”

  “Not cool, chap.” Stephen made it clear that he disapproved of the way Vince was speaking. “That's someone's daughter. And that poor woman could be dead now.”

  “Yeah,” Vince sighed and seemed unbothered that Stephen was offended. “More than likely.”

  “I mean, imagine that was your daughter and somebody was talking like that about her.”

  “You know what?” Vince stood up, informing Rowley that it was time to go. “You're right. Only lasted a couple of months with this girl anyway. There were issues in the bedroom department.”

  “Right, I need to go and get some water filtered.” Stephen also stood up and had heard enough from Vince.

  “She used to sweat more than a dog in a Korean restaurant,” Vince reminisced. “After we had sex, the sheets would be soaked.”

  “I'll see you later.” Stephen hurriedly walked away from Vince and left the scarred man standing.

  Vince had a chuckle to himself as he watched the back of Rowley disappear into his house. Vince then decided to go back to his own house. He hadn't been given a job to do and was hoping, after the last day or so, that he and some of his buddies would be given a day off.

  Fat chance!

  Vince started walking to his house and had only managed a few steps.

  “Vince!” he heard John Lincoln's voice bellow from behind him, stopping Vince in his tracks.

  “Oh, here we go,” Vince moaned.

  “Wait up!”

  He turned around, wearing a false smile for the rotund man, and asked what was up.

  Lincoln seemed to take an age to reach Vince, and once he did he was out of puff and struggling to speak.

  “Anything wrong?” queried Kindl.

  “Just seeing how you are.”

  “Really?” Vince didn't believe him. “Well, I'm fine. Is that it?”

  Lincoln stood with a thin smile and it looked like something else was on his mind.

  Wait for it. Vince was certain something else was going to pass John's lips before they made their separate ways.

  “Actually,” Lincoln confessed. “There is something else.”

  I knew it. “What?”

  “Well, as you know, Paul Dickson is still missing. I know that Pickle wants to go out and look for him and I have no problem with that.”

  “And?”

  John Lincoln said, “When he returns, I want you to give him...”

  “A foot rub?” Vince said with a grin, “A head massage?”

  “This is no laughing matter, Vince.” John shook his head at Kindl and ran his chubby fingers through his hair. “Some of us are worried. I want you to give him a talking to, straighten things out. I've tried talking to him, but...”

  “He'll be fine.” Vince tried to relax a flustered John Lincoln. “He'll settle down. He's grieving at the moment.”

  “Do I have your word that you can keep him right?”

  “Well, I can't see into the future—”

  “Vince!”

  Vince released a big heavy breath out and said, “You have my word. Things will be fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Of course.”

  Chapter Forty Four

  Craig Burns strolled along the pavement, away from the house that they were staying at. Supplies had dwindled and Craig was becoming frustrated. All they had for food was the chocolate bars from the kiosk. Liquids were okay, but it was the lack of food that worried him, so he decided that he and Jez should go for a walk. The pair of them had rucksacks on their backs that had been found in the attic, and were both hoping to fill them with goods that would keep them alive. They had also brought along empty bottles that they were going to fill at the brook and Craig had put his hockey stick in the bag.

  They had only been on the road for seven minutes when sounds of engines forced Craig and Jez to veer off the path and behind a hedge. They sounded like they were quite far away, giving the boys plenty of time to hide. Manic thoughts began to plague Craig's mind.

  He turned to Jez and said, “All this walking for supplies is draining us.”

  “Ain't nothing else we can do.” Jez shrugged his shoulders. He then paused for a few seconds and said with a smirk, “If you was told you could have a mixed grill if you bit the heads off fifty goldfish, would you do it?”

  “What kind of a stupid question is that?”

  “Just answer it.”

  Craig looked confused then asked Jez with a serious face, “Do I have to eat the heads?”

  Jez nodded with a smile.

  “Probably.” Changing the subject Craig announced, “I've got an idea.” Craig grabbed his hockey stick out of his bag and added further, “I've got a feeling it's probably members from that biker gang.” He nodded at the stick, “I'm gonna try and take one of them out. Grab the bike and we'll shoot off. I think it's time to say goodbye to Slitting Mil
l today.”

  “That's a stupid idea.” Jez was beginning to panic. “If it's them, and I get caught and taken back to Drake, they'd skin me alive.”

  “Don't get caught then.”

  “Seriously, Craig.”

  Craig smiled and placed his hand on Jez's shoulder. He could see that the poor young man was petrified. “Look, I'll take one out, and you hide until I'm on the bike and ready to go. All you have to do is jump on the back.”

  “No ... I can't.”

  “It's not as if I'm harming nice people, is it?”

  “But...”

  “Stop panicking.” Craig began to laugh. The engines were getting nearer. They could both hear it. “I promise I won't kill anybody.”

  “I'm sorry,” Jez sighed and shook his head. “But if you get caught, I'll be well-gone.”

  “I kind of presumed that that would happen.” Craig smiled, admiring Jez for his honesty. “You just stay down.”

  Craig stood and crept to the edge of the road, hiding behind a tree. He could now see three bikers, one behind the other, coming from the left of the main road.

  Perfect, Craig thought. He would take out the individual at the back. But he needed to be quick.

  He took an intake of breath as they got nearer, and prepared to strike. Moped One went by, quickly followed by Moped Two, both bikes now disappearing around the bend that curved to the left.

  Craig jumped out from behind the tree and struck the third rider on the chest. The bike went by Craig and wobbled. It fell to the side and the man fell off. As soon as he came off, he quickly got to his feet, ran and tried to call after his two pals. Craig allowed the man to go free and picked his stick up, took his bag off and placed it inside. After putting the rucksack's straps over his shoulders, he then went over to the bike and picked it up.