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

by Whittington, Shaun

  Elza opened a cupboard, noticed that there was nothing in there, and said to Ophelia and Stephanie, “Upstairs. Then we go outside and check the shed and the rest of the grounds.” Elza reached the bottom of the stairs and led the way. “I got a feeling that this has been a pointless trip.”

  Once they reached the landing, the girls looked around the dusky area and could see four doors. Elza guessed that behind three of those doors were bedrooms. She went for the nearest one and made hand signals to Stephanie to suggest that her and Ophelia would stand on either side, Elza would open the door, and Stephanie would stand in the centre, with her bow drawn. Both adult females lifted their bats, and were at either side of the door. Stephanie dropped her bag on the floor and took an arrow from it. She slipped it on the bowstring, pulling it back, and then nodded at Elza to tell her she was ready, and waited for the woman to open the door.

  Elza took in a deep breath, turned the knob, and then gently pushed the door open.

  It was the bathroom. It was empty.

  Elza had a quick snoop around and then left the room, shutting the door behind her. “Next one,” she whispered.

  Elza, Ophelia and Stephanie repeated the routine with the next two rooms. There was nothing inside these rooms either and nothing they could use or take back to Colwyn Place.

  One room left.

  “After we've checked this one out,” Elza spoke softly, “we'll go outside and see what's in that shed. There must be something here.”

  A gentle thud coming from behind the door put the three girls on high alert. Stephanie pulled back the bowstring, aimed it at the door that was still shut and was anticipating that something could happen. Elza and Ophelia stood by either side of the doorframe and looked at Stephanie to see if she was ready. The fourteen-year-old gave them both a quick nod, then Elza reached for the door handle, gave it a twist, and pushed the door open. The room was in darkness. Despite it being morning, there was no light and a blackout blind covered the window.

  Stephanie continued to aim in the dark room, but nothing could be seen.

  All three females held their breath, expecting something to jump out of the darkness, and all stared into the room.

  “Is there anyone in there?” Elza called out.

  “Yes, there is,” said a male voice.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Paul Dickson passed a street to his left called Richardson Way, and was pleased about the lack of dead that bad been around on his journey so far. He didn't want to become too confident, but at the moment it had been an easy trek. Even the sound of an engine had never been heard.

  Paul had passed the alleyway that led to 'The Bloody Steps' and the canal, and was heading for the bypass that had only been built five years ago. Three miles and he'd be back at Little Haywood.

  For Dickson, it was a feeling of deja vu. He had made this journey on his own before.

  The last time he had made this excursion, he had bumped into a man who was friendly at first, but attacked him, forcing Paul to kill him. He then spent the night at a house, unaware it was full of naked Snatchers.

  He liked to escape from the street now and again, occasionally go for a walk, but this had now been the third time in three weeks he was heading back to Haywood from a fair distance. The second time was last week, when he distracted a horde and led them into the woods to clear the road for Pickle.

  Whether he was allowed back in or if he was kicked out of the camp, Paul hoped that this would be the last time he would have to make such a journey on foot.

  Up ahead, on the left, a body could be seen. He made small and slow steps towards the body and could see that it was a female, but it wasn't a Snatcher. The body looked fresh, only hours, maybe a day old. There wasn't a mark on her, apart from the ligature marks on her neck. It looked like she had been strangled to death and this baffled Paul.

  Why would someone kill another for no reason?

  Paul sighed at the sad sight and could see the female was no older than thirty, attractive, and more-than-likely didn't deserve this.

  He walked away and approached a roundabout, but stopped when he looked down a road to his left and could see two black pitbulls trotting nonchalantly towards him, side by side. Paul gulped and was certain that if he ran, they'd probably run after him.

  And then what? Rip him apart? It depended on the last time they had eaten.

  He never worried about stray animals, especially dogs, when out on his own. He was only concerned about the dead and other humans. In truth, he had hardly seen any domestic pets since the outbreak. And now two were trotting towards him, and he had no idea what was going to be the outcome of this.

  He puffed out an anxious breath and went over to the dead woman, taking off her shirt. He wrapped the cloth around his left arm, in an attempt to protect himself from potential bites, and waited for the dogs' move, praying that they would simply walk on by.

  But they didn't.

  They both stopped in unison, yards from him, and began to growl and snarl, showing their intimidating teeth. By the look of their snouts and mouth, it appeared that these canines had fed not long ago, but were still obviously hungry. Their features were covered with dried in blood and Paul wondered if it was an animal or person that these dogs had devoured. He didn't hate the dogs; he knew that they were just hungry and wanted to feed, but it was either him or them, and he certainly didn't want to die in such a horrendous manner.

  He cussed under his breath because of his bad luck and the snapping of the blade from earlier, and tried to work out how he could kill these things before any serious harm came to him. He was unsure how to kill one, let alone two, and the panic that ran through him prevented him from thinking straight.

  He knew running wasn't an option, so he tried to make himself look big and snarled back himself. He was hoping that this desperate act would stop him from being attacked, but it didn't work.

  Both dogs ran at Dickson; he brought his boot back and kicked the one on the left under the jaw, making the animal squeal, then was taken down by the second as it jumped and sank its teeth into the left arm that was wrapped in the shirt, but Paul quickly got back to his feet.

  As expected, the dog shook its head, trying to sink its teeth in further, and Paul punched the canine in the face repeatedly, but it had no intention of letting go. The other canine, still smarting from its kick, ran at Paul once more whilst he was still wrestling with the other one. He couldn't believe what was happening. Of all the things that had happened to him over the months, he didn't think his demise was going to be down to a couple of dogs.

  The dog running at Paul took another kicking; this time it was kicked on the nose and released a cry of pain and began to retreat back. Paul walked backwards with the other canine still attached to his arm, and was struggling. It was a small dog, but it was powerful, and the game of tug and war with Paul's arm was beginning to become painful.

  He could now feel the teeth sinking in and fell on his backside, searching for something, behind him, with his right hand. His hand went through wet crisp packets, a stone and an empty beer bottle. He grabbed the bottle and smashed it off the pavement whilst the hungry canine kept its teeth in the bandaged left arm, still shaking its head. Paul cried out as the teeth sank further through the cloth, and drove the broken bottle into the dog's throat three times.

  The animal let go of Paul's arm and walked back a couple of yards, blood running out of its throat. It was silent; it was retreating, and it finally lay down on the floor. Paul was certain it wasn't going to get back up again and bleed out, so he turned his attention to the other mutt. It was still there, but it looked unsure on what to do. Its companion was dying and it began to cry. Both man and dog were glaring at one another, each one refusing to back down, and Paul turned on his heels and slowly walked away, passing the bleeding animal on the floor.

  Confident that the remaining dog wasn't going to attack, Paul kept on walking. He turned around to make sure there were no surprises, and could
see that the standing dog still hadn't moved. He faced forwards and lengthened his strides to get away from the danger and began to unravel the cloth on his arm, hoping that the wound wasn't as bad as it felt. The shirt was taken fully off and Paul threw it to the ground, inspecting the left forearm. It had a few punctures, but it didn't look too bad. Little blood had been drawn.

  When he reached Little Haywood, Colwyn Place, he was going to get Karen to take a look at it.

  He took one more look around and could now see that the standing dog was eating its dying companion. Maybe the dead woman was next. Paul shook his head at the disgusting scene and kept on with his strides. He never turned around again.

  *

  The journey on the Rugeley Road to the Wolseley Arms pub was a quiet affair. After the incident with the dogs, Paul was pleased to get an hour of no incidents. He had no idea what time it was now, but was pretty sure that more than half of the day had passed. Getting to Colwyn Place by the evening was doable, providing that there were no more macabre episodes.

  He reached the twin roundabouts and could see the garden centre to his right, the Stafford Road straight ahead, and the pub opposite the garden centre.

  Dickson reached the outside of the pub, went round the back to the beer garden and decided to sit down on one of the wooden benches. It was time for a much needed rest.

  He had one mile left to go, but his legs were aching and his throat was as dry as sandpaper. Maybe there were liquids, any kind of liquids, inside the pub.

  Paul finally dropped the broken bottle to the floor and dropped his head in his hands. He began to think about the man he had become. Even in the last five or six weeks he had changed dramatically.

  He remembered the shaking mess he was when he held onto that hammer whilst Lance Murphy was making his way up his stairs. Paul was a nervous wreck and lashing out with the hammer was an act of fear and desperation to protect his son, as well as Daisy and Lisa who were in his house at the time.

  Fast forward five weeks and Paul had sliced open a middle-aged woman's throat and killed her fifteen-year-old boy. It was something that had to be done, but this time there was no remorse from the psychologically damaged man.

  His eyes felt heavy and stifled a yawn. His head suddenly dropped an inch, forcing him to sit up straight. “Jesus,” he murmured.

  Paul had nearly nodded off.

  With the adrenaline gone, Paul Dickson was getting sleepy.

  He stood to his feet and moaned, “Come on, Dickson. Just one mile to go.”

  He looked at the pub and pondered on whether to go inside for a drink. He decided not to, but the sounds of engines ahead of him had forced him to change his mind. It was a familiar sound. It was a sound that he had heard a few times the previous week.

  He tried the back door of the pub, the same pub Pickle, KP, Janine, Jamie, Laz and Grass stayed at in the first week, and found that it was open. He stepped inside with wary feet.

  The place was smashed up, wrecked, and Paul smiled in the dusky room when he spotted some bottles of tonic water. He could hear from outside that the engines were getting louder, and took three small bottles and began to make the slow journey upstairs. He reached a bedroom that looked out onto the Wolseley Road and sat down, glaring out of the window from behind the blinds.

  Paul was aware that he hadn't checked the other rooms and a nasty surprise could be lurking, so he went over to the door and dragged a chair behind it, then went back over to the window and looked out. He was going to wait for the vehicles to pass, then try the kitchen and find something for a weapon. It was only a mile away to Colwyn Place, but it was just in case.

  Four mopeds stopped outside of the pub and Paul gulped, wondering if they were going to check the place out or not. Maybe they already had in the past. All four men, wearing leather jackets, parked up their bikes and stepped on a pavement, at the side of the pub. The men were just below him; Paul reached for the window's handle and carefully opened it so he could hear the conversation between the four men. They all sat at the side of the road and were discussing about where they were going and what was going to be said. They were trying to figure out who was going to be the main speaker and had chosen one guy. The chosen one claimed he pretty much knew word-for-word the message Drake had for the 'community' that had been discovered a few days ago, and agreed to do all the talking.

  Paul overheard the men talking about a place up the road and knew from the description that they were talking about Colwyn Place.

  “Oh shit,” he muttered.

  He relaxed a little when the designated speaker told the guys that they were there to just talk, and talk only. Drake simply wanted to pick a couple of guys up and didn't want anyone to get hurt. The man that had chosen to be speaker told the rest of the guys that they should be there for no longer than five minutes, they should be pleasant, and try and pick up 'the subjects' without being aggressive.

  Paul looked up to the heavens and could see the day growing darker because of the suffocating clouds. It had been a long and tiring day. He stood and listened for a further ten minutes and finally perked up when the men hopped back onto their bikes and started the engines. Paul pulled back the blinds wider and watched as they took off along the Wolseley Road, away from the pub, heading to Colwyn Place.

  He decided to wait until they went by once again. They said that they just wanted to talk, and even if things got ugly, Pickle, Karen and Vince wouldn't stand for any of their nonsense. If Paul made his way back to Haywood on foot and bumped into the four men as they were making their way back from Colwyn, he was concerned that they'd turn ugly.

  Paul walked away from the window and checked every room of the pub upstairs. It was all clear and he started to relax. He went into the kitchen and went through the drawers. He pulled out a knife he liked the look of, and returned to the room that looked out onto the main road. He stood by the window and peered out of it. He was waiting for the men to pass by from Little Haywood, so then he could leave the pub and return to Colwyn Place.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “We have visitors.”

  John Lincoln was at the wall with Pickle and Karen, when Stephen Bonser approached them and made the announcement.

  Pickle nodded. “We heard the engines.”

  They looked down the street and could see four men on bikes behind the gate, engines still running. John Lincoln looked over and could see James Thomson at the gate gripping onto his bat, looking tetchy.

  Lincoln asked, “What do they want? Do they want in?”

  Bonser shook his head and nodded at Lincoln. “They want to speak with the man in charge.”

  John Lincoln puffed out a breath and looked to the side at Karen and Pickle. His confidence seemed to be draining from his face and his hands shook with nerves. They could all see that John was scared.

  John gazed at Karen and Pickle. “Wanna take a walk with me?” he asked them both.

  Both nodded and all three walked down the street, towards the steel gate, with Rowley, Vince and Freddie Johnson all outside, on their doorsteps, wondering what the hell was going on.

  Vince called out, “What's happening?”

  Pickle flashed Vince a smile and told him, “I'll fill yer in later.”

  “Want company?” Vince asked.

  “Maybe too many people would look threatening.”

  James stepped to the side as Lincoln, Karen and Pickle approached the gate, all unarmed. All three stopped once they were a couple of yards away, and Lincoln was the first to address the four men. All four men had beards. The bike engines were now off, but the four men were straddling them with their feet flat on the ground.

  “Is there anything we can help you with, gentlemen?” Lincoln said to the four men through the gate. At first Lincoln smiled, but once he did this he could feel his face quiver with fright. He lost his smile and waited for an answer off one of the men.

  The biker on the far left spoke up. “We mean you no harm.”

  John laugh
ed falsely, “I'm glad to hear it.”

  “Over the last couple of days we have been watching your little ... community, shall we say. I think some of your guys spotted us a few days ago.”

  As soon as this statement was made, Pickle knew it was the same men that he, Vince and Rowley had seen by the wall.

  “You make a habit of spying on people?” Lincoln tried to make a light remark and released a small chuckle, then pushed his slipping glasses up to the top of his nose.

  “Not really. We're scouts.”

  “Scouts?”

  “We go out and find people to join us. We also try and find places that still have supplies that would benefit us, like factories and shops. Then we go back to Stafford, where we're from, and inform our people about that place. Then a truck is sent over and the place is raided.”

  John asked, “And how's that working out for you?”

  “Very well.”

  “And you've come here to take from us, I gather?” Lincoln was hoping that the answer was going to be a resounding no.

  The biker at the far left began to laugh and the mood seemed to be changing. It started off friendly, but Lincoln, Pickle and Karen were sensing a little anger coming from the speaker.

  He said, “Paranoid, aren't we?”

  Sick of the small talk, Karen huffed, “What the fuck do you want? Out with it! You're beginning to bore the tits off me.”

  “Jesus.” The speaker snickered and his other three colleagues began to join him. “She's got a mouth on her, hasn't she?”

  Lincoln turned to the side and groaned, “Karen, that's not helping.”

  Pickle couldn't help but smile and said, “Tell us what yer guys want. I take it that it's not a cup o' sugar yer after.”