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

by Whittington, Shaun

  The speaker smiled and said with calm, “We come from a place where we have food and drink aplenty. We're not here to steal.”

  “That's good.” Pickle nodded. “Because yer will need more than four guys just to take me on, let alone the rest in the street.”

  “We're not here to fight.” The man flashed Pickle a smile. “If we came here to cause trouble, we'd be here with many other guys.”

  “Many?” Lincoln gulped.

  “We could bring forty Wrath of Evil guys here, if we really needed to.”

  Pickle smiled. “Wrath of Evil. So that's what the WOE stands for. It's your club's name?”

  The man nodded. “Yes.”

  “He's lying.” Karen shook her head and scoffed, “Forty guys, my arse.”

  “I'm not lying,” the man laughed. “Trust me, darling.”

  “I'm not your fucking darling.”

  The speaker turned to his other three bearded buddies and laughed, “Feisty one here, lads. Drake would like her.”

  Lincoln cleared his throat, noticing things were getting tense, and said, “So what do you gentlemen want?”

  “We want you to bring out Jez and his buddy. We need to take them back with us.”

  John looked at Pickle with wide eyes, then looked back at the men and said, “We don't have a—”

  “Don't fuck with me, fat man! I know they're here! We've been watching this place for days; remember? And I just saw the way you looked at him.”

  “Why do you want them?” John asked.

  “Jez is a traitor and his pal killed one of our guys, and also attacked another and stole his bike.”

  “They've left,” John spoke up.

  “You're lying. Why would they leave a place like this?” The gang member pointed at Colwyn Place through the gate.

  Pickle knew these guys weren't fools and decided to step in. “It's true that we let them stay a little while, then they headed out this morning. As far as I'm aware, they're not coming back.”

  All four bikers turned to one another and began talking with muffled voices. The voices eventually stopped and the designated speaker turned to face Lincoln, Pickle and Karen through the gate. “If they're not here, then you don't mind if we search the place, just for peace of mind. We'll search every house, and you can even shadow us if you don't trust us.”

  There was no response from Karen, Pickle or Lincoln, just confused looks.

  “If you don't let us in, then we're gonna have to assume that they're still here and that you've been lying to us.”

  Lincoln could feel Pickle glaring at him and turned to face the former inmate. “What?” Lincoln snapped at Pickle.

  “Just let them in,” said Pickle. “It's either four o' them now, or forty o' them later, but pissed off.” Pickle was aware that Jez and Craig could be found, but was hoping that they were watching this scene unfold from their issued house, then maybe they would hide or escape over the back garden fence. The latter would be a better option than hiding in the house. Pickle had briefly toyed with the idea of giving the pair of them up in order to protect the camp from more potential visits and pestering from these people, but that would be giving the two males a death sentence.

  Lincoln released a groan and said to Pickle, “Do what you think is best.”

  Lincoln took a step back and Pickle walked over to the gate and slowly slid it across. The four men got off their bikes and walked through the gate nonchalantly. Neither men pulled out a weapon, but Pickle was certain that they were carrying. Gallivanting around the countryside in this new world, unarmed, would be madness.

  “We'll make it quick,” the spokesman of the four men said. “If you're telling the truth and they're not here, then you'll never see us again.”

  Pickle smiled. “Is that a promise?”

  The man grinned at Pickle's cheeky remark, then spoke up, “Tell everyone to vacate their houses. I don't want to walk in on anything embarrassing, if you know what I mean. We'll be quick and we'll start from that house,” he pointed at 20 Colwyn Place, “and make our way to the other side. Then we'll go.”

  Lincoln nodded and instructed James Thomson and Stephen Bonser to start telling people to vacate their homes for a short while.

  Whilst this was happening, whilst people were vacating their homes and spilling out onto the street, Vince could be seen approaching Pickle and the rest, and held his hands out. “What's going on?”

  “They're looking for Jez and Craig,” Pickle said in a voice loud enough for the men to hear, “but we told them that they've left. Craig killed one of their guys.” Pickle then nodded over to the crowd and whispered to Vince, “Go back o'er there and tell the guys that Jez and Craig have left, if they're asked.”

  Most of the people were now out in the street and remained in a loose circle, in the middle of the road. Most of them were there, apart from Jez and Craig, Paul Dickson, the three girls and Terry Braithwaite.

  “Where's Paul?” Karen scratched her head.

  “Bloody idiot's probably out for one of his stupid walks,” Lincoln said with gritted teeth. “And where's Terry?”

  They watched as Bonser and Thomson went into 1 Colwyn Place, Terry's place, then exited the house with both shaking their heads.

  The four WOE members stood with their arms folded and began to remark how bad the security of Colwyn Place was. They then turned and could see the look on Thomson and Bonser's faces.

  “Problem?” the speaker asked.

  Thomson blanked the WOE member and said to Lincoln, “Terry's refusing to come out.”

  “What do you mean?” Lincoln looked baffled. “Has he got a death wish or something? He needs to vacate his house like every one else is doing.”

  “That's okay,” the leader spoke up. “We'll just search the place with him in it.” He looked at two of his crew and told them to go in and even search the attic and cellar, if he had one. The two men nodded and strode towards Terry's already-opened main door.

  Minutes had passed and suddenly a male scream could be heard from inside the house.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Are you armed?” Elza knew that most farmers had shotguns and wasn't taking any risks. “Show yourself.”

  “Why should I do what you tell me?” came the voice from the dark room. “This is my gaff now.”

  Gaff?

  The girls recognised the lingo, as well as the man's accent. He was a Londoner, but they had no idea yet if he had fled London during the apocalypse, or he had moved up when the world was still a normal place.

  “We're not going to harm you,” Elza said.

  “Oh yeah?” The man began to laugh and added, “Then why has your little friend got a bow and arrow aimed at me?”

  Stephanie had no idea what she had been pointing at, initially, if anything, and it was clear now that the man was directly in front of her.

  “Whereabouts in London are you from?” Elza asked, trying to calm the male, especially if he did have a gun on him.

  “Doesn't matter now, does it?” the man snapped. “There is no London. Not no more.”

  “What are you talking about?” Elza remained by the doorframe, still out of view.

  “They bombed the shit out of it.”

  “Who's they?”

  “The RAF? NATO? I don't know, but I watched from my flat as they went to town on my city at the end of the first week.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Elza queried. “We're from Birmingham, and we didn't see anything like that.”

  “And how long has it been since you left Birmingham?”

  “Months ago.”

  “Well, I've got news for you, sister,” the man snickered. “It ain't there anymore. You can kiss your Bull Ring, Cadbury's factory and Villa Park goodbye.”

  “Villa Park,” Elza chuckled. “My family were Blues fans.” Elza then cleared her throat and put on a more serious tone. “You know what? There ain't nothing here anyway, so we'll just leave you in peace.”

  “Come
in and have a drink,” the voice from the darkness beckoned.

  “We're good.” Elza took a peek at Ophelia and Stephanie and asked, “Shall we go? This trip has been a waste of time.”

  Both girls nodded.

  “Stay and have a drink,” said the man. “I haven't had company in a while. Maybe I'll let you in on a little secret about this place.”

  “He's full of shit,” Elza said to her two pals. “Let's just leave.”

  “Actually ... I could do with a drink.” Stephanie licked her dry lips, still pointing the arrow into the room.

  Elza then looked at Ophelia. “And you?”

  Ophelia nodded.

  “There’s a drink in the car. We can…”

  “I could do with one right now,” Stephanie said. “And what about this surprise?”

  Elza peered into the room for a few seconds and said to the stranger, “I tell you what. Open your blind. Let in some light and let us see you. Then we'll come in.”

  There was silence, followed by some shuffling coming from the room. The blind was raised and, although not brightly lit, there was enough light for the girls to see in.

  The man sat back down and pointed to the window. They thought that it was a bedroom, but it appeared that the room was an upstairs living room.

  “Apologies, ladies,” he said. “Because of the dreary day, the light isn't the best.”

  Stephanie could see that the man was sitting in an armchair. He had his hands on his lap, palms facing upwards, showing the girls that he was unarmed and had no intention of harming them.

  He said, “I don't have any hot drinks, I'm afraid.”

  Elza was the first to step inside and lowered her bat.

  The man noticed the stains and chips on the bat and laughed, “I see you've dealt with the dead on more than a few occasions.”

  “Not just the dead,” said Elza.

  The man's laughing stopped.

  Ophelia was the next to step inside, followed by Stephanie, who had now lowered her bow and put her bag on the floor. The girls could see that bottles of water and a half litre bottle of cherry coke was sitting by the man's feet. Elza walked over to the man, grabbed a bottle of water, then sat on the couch that was opposite the armchair. Ophelia sat next to her and Stephanie sat on the other side. Elza took a large swig from the bottle, and then passed it to the girls.

  Elza looked over to the man. He looked similar to a man that she and Ophelia had come across when they were staying at the Church of the Good Shepherd. He was thin; his hair was longer than probably what he was used to, and he had a full-grown beard that had streaks of grey in the chin area.

  “What have you come here for?” the man remained still, but his question felt threatening.

  “We thought they'd be stuff here for us,” Elza began. “Looks like we were wrong.”

  “So you were gonna pick up supplies and then shoot off, is that it?”

  Elza nodded. “And?”

  “And you had no intention of staying here, making this place your home?”

  Elza shook her head.

  “So you already have a place to stay, a camp maybe?”

  Elza cleared her throat and never answered his query.

  The man laughed gently, but he was angry from the lack of response from the females. “I give you my water and you can't even answer my questions,” he moaned.

  Elza remained tight-lipped, amusing the man, and changed the subject. “What about you? How did you get here from London?”

  Knowing that he wasn't going to get anything out of Elza Crowe, he smiled and decided to talk. He hadn't had company for a while, and now he had three females sitting in front of them. The main speaker from the female group was an attractive thing, he noticed, and wondered what it'd be like to take her from behind.

  “I'm lucky in some kind of ways,” the man began. “I had no family, not many friends, or even a job when this shit kicked off.” He paused, looked at the three females, but there was no verbal response. He added, “I did what everybody else did. I sat in, watched TV until the power went, and hoped for the best. The lack of power didn't bother me much. It was when the food and water began to run out ... I had to leave. It's funny, isn't it?”

  “What is?” asked Elza.

  “I watched my city getting bombed to fuck, yet it was the lack of food that made me eventually leave. I didn't leave until the last piece of bread, biscuit or fruit had been eaten. Makes me wonder why I waited to the last minute.”

  “You were probably hoping that the government would get the country under control again.”

  He sighed and chuckled, “Maybe. Anyways, I got tooled up and finally left my flat. Had to kill some of those beasts to get away. I stayed at a vacant house for a couple of days and met up with another survivor. We managed to find a vehicle and get out of London and up to Coventry before the vehicle ran out of petrol. My little pal was killed eventually. We got surprised by a group of those things, so I ran and managed to get a lift with another group of survivors who were going to Salford. They dropped me off at Stafford at my request and I've been here for the last three weeks. Found this place abandoned.”

  “But the entrance was full of the dead?”

  “Was?”

  “We killed them all to get here.”

  The man's eyes widened and looked impressed. “All of them?”

  All three females nodded.

  “They weren’t there when I first arrived. Since their arrival a week ago, I’ve been too scared to so much as look out the window.”

  “And yet you leave your door unlocked.”

  The man scratched his head. “Did I?”

  “You said you was dropped off at Stafford. How did you get from Stafford to Rugeley?” enquired Elza.

  “What the fuck is this? The Spanish inquisition?” The thin man scratched his scruffy beard and stood up. He walked behind the armchair and began to pace up and down and seemed to be getting annoyed. “I'm here, pouring my heart out to you lot, and all I'm getting is question after question. You haven't even told me about yourselves.” He stopped pacing the floor and pointed at Stephanie. “You!” he yelled. “Tell me your story.”

  “Erm...” Stephanie was trying to think about what to say.

  “Tell him fuck all,” Elza snapped.

  “Oh, that's charming.” He began to laugh and sat back down. “I'll tell you all about myself. Maybe after I have finished, you'll understand that I'm actually a good guy.”

  *

  Terry Braithwaite had told Bonser to fuck off and leave him alone. Bonser told him that there were men outside, wanting to check the house, but Terry wasn't budging and remained lying on his bed. Bonser quickly left and Terry closed his eyes, but they soon opened again as soon as he heard his main door being tried once more. He was angry about the second intrusion. He just wanted some peace and quiet. He yawned and stretched and got to his feet quickly.

  People were inside. He could hear them.

  He didn't want anyone sneaking around his house like that Dickson fellow did a week ago, especially in the cellar. Not only would his secret be out, but someone could also get hurt.

  Since he witnessed Paul Dickson slide back the bolt of his cellar door, he had toyed with the idea of putting on a padlock, but knew that that would raise suspicion with the rest of the folk of Colwyn Place if a visitor spotted the lock. If he had a cellar with a padlock—nobody else had one—then accusations of helping himself and storing supplies could emerge, and how would he quell those rumours? By opening his cellar door and showing them that actually it's his reanimated daughter that he kept down there?

  Terry put his boots on and could hear more noises coming from downstairs and voices he didn't recognise.

  “What the fuck?”

  Unarmed, he left his bedroom and began the descent to the ground floor to find two strangers, both donning leather jackets, in his hallway with the cellar door open. It looked like the two of them were ready to go down.

  “
Get away from there!” growled Terry.

  Both men looked startled at first, and then their faces turned to anger. The tallest one told Terry to go outside and join the rest, which confused the man. The rest? Then when the other WOE individual went down the cellar's steps, the red mist came down on Terry Braithwaite.

  Terry ran and grabbed the tall man by the throat; both men fell to the floor. Timid punches were exchanged, but the dismal fight didn't last long. A scream rang out from the cellar and both men, who were tussling with one another in the hallway, let go of each other and scrambled their way downstairs.

  “Paddy!” the tall biker yelled. “Paddy!”

  The Paddy character was on the cellar floor. His throat had been torn open and he was bleeding out on the ground, gurgling, barely conscious. He was seconds away from death and Terry and the tall biker glared at the reanimated Kayleigh Braithwaite in the dusky room.

  “What the fuck is this?” The tall man turned to Terry and pulled out a knife from his back pocket.

  “No!” Terry screamed and ran at the biker, but was taken out with a left hook. Although he was still conscious, Terry helplessly lay on the floor and watched the biker ram his blade into his daughter's head, making the little ghoul drop to the floor.

  Terry curled up and began to cry, but his crying was short-lived when the tall biker turned around and booted Terry in the stomach. He grabbed Terry and tried to drag him up the steps, back to the hallway, but he was too heavy.

  “Get fucking up!” he yelled. “You're coming outside with me!”

  Terry rolled around the floor and groaned, “Fuck you,” then started to sob again.

  “What the fuck are you crying for? She was dead anyway, you stupid cunt.” The man turned to see his dead friend, then looked back at Terry. He was about to go over and take his knife out of the girl’s head, but had more to say. “And thanks to you—”

  The biker never had a chance to finish his sentence as Terry jumped up and wrapped his hands around the man's throat. The man panicked and grabbed a hold of Terry's shirt as the dizziness began to hit him. The biker managed to push Terry away and ran up the steps. Terry ran up the steps after him and grabbed the fleeing WOE character and punched him on the back of the head. The biker turned and threw a punch himself, but Terry had grabbed the man around the throat once more and squeezed as hard as he could.