“Shit.” Karen couldn't help herself and began to cry as she approached the toddler that was lying on the floor. She stroked the poor soul and gave him a kiss on his head. She stood to her feet and looked at a dazed Harry Branston. He was used to violence, but this episode was something that would take a while to get over.
A toddler was dead, a resident had had her throat cut, and the assailant plunged his own knife into his heart rather than be caught. The situation was both macabre and bizarre.
“What do we do?” Karen asked a dazed Pickle.
Harry Branston couldn't give her an answer at first. He was speechless.
“Pickle?”
“What is it?” He looked at Karen and she could see his face had drained of colour.
“What do we do now?”
“Nothing we can do, not now,” Pickle sighed. “Need to check the other houses. We'll ... clear up later.”
A shell-shocked Pickle and Karen stumbled out of the house of 14 Colwyn Place and trudged their way over to Paul Dickson who was standing at the main gate, still holding the empty shotgun. As soon as Pickle and Karen's presence was clocked by the guys at the wall, they all made their way over to them.
Stephen Bonser was the first to ask Pickle and Karen what was wrong, but they never received an answer. Pickle and Karen's eyes widened as they saw four figures walking out into the middle of the road.
Vincent Kindl and Stephen Rowley appeared from 15 Colwyn Place and were ushering two WOE men towards the main gate. It appeared that not all had escaped.
As they got nearer, Vince called over to Pickle, “We found them in the back garden!”
Pickle told the rest of them to stay where they were, stepped from the crowd and walked over to meet Vince and Stephen. Pickle stopped walking, and then Vince, Rowley and the two men did the same.
Pickle glared at the two men. The one on Pickle's left was tall, grey, thin, and was clean-shaven. The one to the right was of average height, had a dark beard, and was young looking.
“We've checked five of the houses,” said Vince. “We went into Bonser's, and that was clear. Sandra and Lynne are both dead, nobody went into seventeen, so the medical stuff hasn't been touched, and the Danson family are fine. They were in the attic.”
Pickle nodded. “We ran into a bit o' trouble. Beverley and the wee fellow are dead.”
“Oh shit,” cried Rowley.
“We were in your back garden, and that's when we found these guys trying to get in your house.” Vince pulled two blades from his pocket. “They were carrying these.”
“We'll have a proper check o’ each house after we have dealt with these two,” Pickle spoke up. He raised his machete and said to both men, “The pair o’ yer, get on yer knees.”
“Do we really need to get on our knees so that you can speak to us?” the tall man said with a smile.
“With me yer do.”
Both men dropped to their knees and kneeled up with their backs straight.
Pickle walked around the two kneeling men and began, “This is a place with decent people, but we're no pushover, I can tell yer that for nothing.”
“Are we supposed to be scared?” The tall man began to laugh and spat on the floor.
Pickle swallowed his anger and tried his best to remain calm, to remain in control. “We just need something.”
“What?” the tall man moaned.
“We need to know where yer based.”
“And why do you want to know this?” The tall man began to laugh and queried further, “To attack us? With these people? Do you realise how many guys we have back at our pad?”
“I want to know where yer stay. I need to talk to Drake, face-to-face. Talking is the only way we're gonna sort this, rather than tit-for-tat killings every week.”
The tall man lost his smile and donned a more serious face. He shook his head. “I don't know.”
“We don't want to lose any more people, and I'm sure Drake doesn't want to lose any more men, or women for that matter.”
The tall man and the younger guy, still on their knees, slowly turned and gazed at one another.
Pickle continued, “This Drake fellow is not going to let this lie, is he? We've killed some o' yer guys. We had no choice. All that's going to happen is more retribution.”
“So what do you want from us?” the younger guy asked. “What can we do?”
“Keep your mouth shut,” the tall man snapped at his colleague. “I'll do all the talking, sonny.”
“I think yer know,” said Pickle. “Yer two can come with us, show us where yer stay, and get Drake to come out and speak to me. I'll return the pair o' yer alive as a gesture o’goodwill.”
“Dangerous, don't you think?” The tall man developed a devilish grin and glared at Pickle.
“Dangerous, but we don't want to lose any more people.”
The younger man nodded and said to the tall biker. “That sounds fair.”
The tall man screwed his face at the youngster and snarled, “I thought I told you to shut the fuck up. Keep quiet. We're not doing any kind of deal with these pricks. Some of our guys came here to talk yesterday, and they killed two of them.”
“But, Stuart, we need—”
“Quiet, I said.” the tall man snapped at the youngster and added, “If you so much as breathe about our place, Drake will skin you alive.”
“Yer got a minute to make the right decision,” Pickle said with calm. “Or the two o’ yer will die.”
“Then so be it.” The tall man laughed, convinced that these people were bluffing.
“I'm fucking tired of this,” Paul Dickson cussed from behind, and walked towards the two men. He stopped beside Pickle and stared at the two men, still holding the empty shotgun in his right hand.
“Paul, I can handle this.” Pickle placed his hand on Paul's chest, but Paul ignored him.
Dickson shrugged off Pickle, gazed at the two men and said, “Last chance to cough up, gentlemen.”
“Fuck you.” The tall man laughed and spat near Paul's shoes.
“Fine.” Paul smiled, turned the gun around, held the barrel with both hands, like a bat, and swung it at the side of the tall man's head, making some people gasp in surprise.
“Jesus, Paul!” Pickle yelled, but he was ignored.
The tall man fell to the side, blood oozing out of his head and groaning. Paul stood to the side and took another swing at the man, this time killing him. Paul then threw the gun to the floor and grabbed the young man by the throat and screamed at him, “You're going to tell us where you’re based, or I'm going to smash your fucking brains in next!”
“If yer kill him,” said Pickle. “Then we'll never know where they stay.”
“I'll do it,” the young man cried. “I'll do it. Just don't hurt me.”
Paul smiled and patted the young boy on the cheek. “Good lad.”
“Get off yer knees,” Pickle ordered the youngster. “We'll take care o' our dead, clean up, feed, then we'll go and see Drake tomorrow. It'll be dark soon. This has to stop.”
Chapter Twenty Four
Over the last hour, the residents of Colwyn Place removed the bodies from the camp. James Thomson, Sandra Roberts, Lynne Smithers, the Fergusons, Gareth Broadgate, Freddie Johnson, his mother, Beverley and little James had been buried in the field that was opposite the camp.
The surviving residents were in shock, especially the original residents, but for Pickle, Karen and Vince it was all too familiar. Only this time it was the living that had caused the carnage, not the dead. And at least this time they didn't need to leave the place. They just needed to improve the security for the future.
The bodies of the gang had been dumped in the back of the red pickup, including the two from Terry’s garden, and Pickle and Paul drove the vehicle a mile from the camp and dumped the bodies at the side of the road.
The darkness was nearly at its full potential, and Pickle and Vince opted to stay guard for the night by the wall, and urged every
one else to get some sleep, if that was possible.
The surviving captured WOE member had been treated well. He had been fed, watered and was even offered fresh clothes, which he refused. He was then locked in the cellar of 1 Colwyn Place, Terry's house, and the topic of the whereabouts of Elza, Ophelia and Stephanie popped up between Pickle and Vince.
Both leaning against the wall, the pair of them saw Paul Dickson step out of his house. It was nearly eleven, almost dark, and Pickle and Vince beckoned him to join them. Paul was only out to sit on his doorstep and get some air, but went over to the two men after they called him over.
Paul reached the two men that he had known for weeks and raised his hand at the pair of them. “You guys okay?”
Pickle nodded. “Aye, thanks to yer good self.”
“In all the madness,” Vince began, “we never had a chance to thank you for your Rambo shit earlier.”
Paul smiled and just nodded the once.
“Seriously, though,” Pickle spoke up, “What yer did was ... fucking insane, but it helped to scare them away. I know I never mentioned anything earlier when we were in the pickup, getting rid o' the gang's bodies, but what yer did...”
“Forget about it,” mumbled Paul.
“What we also want to know is...” Vince paused then asked, “Where the fuck have you been and how did you get that truck in the first place?”
“I went for a walk to the Wolseley Arms pub.” Paul decided to lie about being taken from his bed by Bonser and Thomson. Thomson was now dead, and he was sure that Bonser was regretting what he did. “I saw some guys arrive at the Wolseley Arms on mopeds, but one guy was behind them, in the pickup. They parked up, so I jumped in the back of the truck and the rest is history.” Paul couldn't be bothered to go into any more detail. He was too tired.
“Well, I'm sure there was more to it than that,” said Pickle. “But thanks. Yer have saved a few lives.”
“Doesn't help the ones that are dead.” Paul cleared his throat and looked at the two men.
Vince and Pickle lowered their heads in sadness and both nodded.
Pickle said, “There's nothing we can do for them now, but if I can try and reason with this Drake fellow, face-to-face—”
“Is that such a good idea?” Vince asked.
“Not sure.”
“He might just kill you there and then.” Vince ran his fingers over his scarred face in thought, unsure whether facing Drake was a good move. It was certainly desperate ... and brave.
“I have to try something. Next time we might not be so lucky.”
“And why does it have to be you?” asked Vince. “Isn't Lincoln in charge?”
No one responded. It was obvious what they thought about Lincoln. Yes, he was a good organiser, but he was a leader that never got his hands dirty.
Stephen Bonser stepped out of his house of 20 Colwyn Place and stood up straight, taking in the air.
Pickle pointed over at Bonser and gave Vince a nudge. “Another one that can't sleep.”
“Not surprising,” Vince scoffed, considering what's happened.”
Pickle released a short, sharp whistle, beckoning Bonser over. Bonser looked at the three men and was reluctant to go over because of Paul's presence. He decided to be brave, took in a deep breath and made a slow stroll over to the three men by the concrete wall.
Stephen Bonser had no idea what this was going to be about. Were they going to have a chat about what happened earlier, or had Paul told them about the kidnapping? Even Terry had been involved. What would be done to him?
“How yer holding up?” Pickle asked the man once he reached them.
“Not bad,” Bonser responded and breathed a sigh of relief. It looked like that it was going to be a friendly chat.
“I'm sorry about James. I know we were hardly best pals, but...”
“It's okay. It's the toddler I can't stop thinking about, and I didn't even see the poor thing with my own eyes.” Stephen Bonser could feel himself getting emotional, smiled thinly and looked at Paul Dickson. He cleared his throat and said, “What you did earlier...”
Paul hunched his shoulders. “Forget it.”
“But the way we treated you... Especially me and James.”
Paul laughed, “I didn't do myself any favours, did I?”
“But me and James...”
Paul shook his head at Stephen, telling him to be quiet. Bonser had realised that Pickle and Vince didn't know about him and James snatching Paul from his bed, and was baffled why Paul was being so forgiving.
There was a blanket of silence over the four men, and Vince turned around and peered over the wall, into the dark empty street.
“It's gonna be a long night,” Vince sighed.
“Certainly is.” Pickle nodded. “We'll get our heads down for a few hours once the next lot turn up for the morning shift, then we'll head out with the prisoner and see this Drake fellow.”
“Have you ran this idea by John yet?” Bonser asked the former inmate.
“Not yet.”
“But do you think John will agree to this?”
“I have no idea.” Pickle hunched his shoulders. “I'm not gonna give him a choice. What's the alternative? For us all to sit about, shitting ourselves, waiting for the next attack? I don't think so.”
“We could move,” Vince suggested. “Go somewhere where they'd have trouble finding us.”
“No. We've moved enough o'er the last two months or so. No more. Besides, we've got a good thing going here. I'm not giving it up for these pricks.”
“Don't you think it's best for Lincoln to step aside?” said Vince. “He doesn't have your experience, Pickle. Or your balls.”
“We're still newbies in this place,” Pickle laughed gently. “I don't think the people in here will appreciate it if I start making the decisions.”
“What's left of us,” Bonser scoffed. “I can't speak for the rest of the people in here, but I wouldn't mind you being in charge. I appreciate everything John has done, but dealing with this situation is too big for him. Maybe we should have a vote.”
“At least Lincoln decided to grab a bat and hang about his garden,” said Pickle. “Yer have to give him some credit for that.”
“Not that it did any good,” Bonser spoke up. “I heard his back garden was never even breached, unlike the others. Jammy bastard.”
“He still stood his ground.”
Paul remained tight-lipped and lowered his head. He was listening to the conversation, but chose not to get involved.
“Speak of the devil,” Vince spoke.
They all looked up and saw Lincoln in his front window. He gave the men a wave and they all waved back. He then disappeared from his window and opened his front door.
Lincoln stood on his top doorstep with his arms folded and said, “Can I borrow one of you gentlemen for a moment?”
Pickle, Vince and Bonser groaned, but before any of the three could respond verbally, Paul told them that he'd go over.
Chapter Twenty Five
The hours went by slow, darkness fell, and the heavily bearded Chris sat up and allowed Stephanie to have the armchair for herself. She was nodding off and Chris felt sorry for the young girl. Ophelia and Elza were still awake, staring at the floor and making little chat with the man.
Elza knew she could take the man. He hadn't even asked the two women to hand over their bats. It was clear to Elza that he was genuine. He really did want to be listened to and was desperate for a place to stay and survive, but his threatening behaviour towards them and especially Stephanie had put her off taking him back to Colwyn Place. They already had one unstable individual in Paul Dickson. John Lincoln wasn't going to thank her for bringing Chris back with them.
Elza sat up. The tiredness was crippling her, but she couldn't sleep with him opposite her, his knife on show. How the teenager slept, Elza would never know. She must have been exhausted.
“You mentioned a surprise earlier,” Elza began softly. “What did you
mean?”
“I'm not telling you until the morning.” Chris was also clearly tired and stopped pointing the knife in Stephanie's direction. He placed it on his lap, knowing that if Elza moved for him, he'd have enough time to stick the girl before she reached him.
But what if that scenario did occur?
After stabbing the teenager, the two women would bash his brains in for sure. If he didn't do something, he was going to die anyway. This was his last shot. These three females were his last chance.
“I don't really know what else I can do to convince you that we won't try anything silly on the way to our place,” said Elza. “We should have gone when we had the chance, before it became dark.”
“I know you girls think I'm a pig, but if we get to your camp and I’m given the chance to explain myself to your leader, I can convince him or her that my actions here were done out of desperation. And then, ladies, I'll apologise to all three of you.”
“Just let Stephanie go, and we'll leave you in peace.”
“I can't do that,” the man sighed, exasperated. “Haven't you been listening? Don't you understand? If you leave me now, I will die here. I've been out there, scavenging. There's nothing left. You're my last hope.”
Elza sat in thought and suggested, “Why don't we all take a walk to our car. If you want to press your knife against Stephanie, then that's fine. But let's all go now and leave together.”
“It's too dark to travel, too dangerous now.” He nodded towards the window and added, “We're not going anywhere until dawn breaks.”
“So we just wait here until light?” Elza huffed, her face filled with annoyance.
Chris smiled and said, “That's exactly what you're going to do, like I said before, so I suggest you lot get some shuteye.”
“And what about you?”
“Oh, don't worry about me.”
“You'll need to sleep too.”
“I won't be closing my eyes with you three in my presence.” He then began to laugh and gently added, “And before you start to get your hopes up ... I've managed to stay awake for three days before, so I wouldn't try and plan anything.”
Snatchers Box Set, Vol. 4 [Books 10-12] Page 37