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

by Whittington, Shaun

  “I heard about your camp,” Stephen said and added, “You lost a lot of people there in one swoop, didn't you?”

  “Ten in all,” said Vince sadly. “And I think about them everyday, and the ones we lost from Sandy Lane as well.”

  Rowley cleared his throat and looked at Vince sheepishly. “I'm sorry about before. Maybe I was a bit harsh.”

  “Like I said ... it's just my way of coping with things.” Vince lifted his chin and began to reminisce. “Me and Lee James went to a buddy's funeral years ago and privately cracked jokes to ourselves at the wake.”

  Stephen scratched his head and widened his eyes in surprise. “I don't know if I could do that.”

  “It's just the way we were. If it was me that had died, Lee and my other pal would have done the same.”

  “What kind of jokes did you say?” Stephen hunched his shoulders. “Just out of interest.”

  “Well...” Vince began to ponder. “My mate used to take viagra. He didn't need it; he told us that it made him last longer under the sheets. So we cracked jokes about there being more than one stiff in the box and wondered if the funeral directors had trouble getting the lid on. You know, that kind of shit.”

  “Me and you are really like chalk and cheese, aren't we, chap?”

  Vince never answered Stephen and added, “His missus was there, crying and stuff, then a month later she ran off with his work pal. To be honest, I had no idea what he saw in her. Ugly thing, she was. No wonder he needed the viagra.”

  “He must have liked her.”

  “Don't know why. I wouldn't have banged her with yours. She had a face like a bag of smashed twats.”

  “A bit harsh, chap.”

  “Seriously, Stephen,” continued Vince. “She also had tits like a roofer's nail-bag.”

  Stephen decided not to respond to Vince's comments and turned to Bonser and began to chat to him about how nervous he was because of another potential attack. Bonser was honest and told both Rowley and Kindl that he had a bad feeling about today.

  In truth, all three of them did.

  *

  Harry Branston smiled at Danson and asked him to open the gate and let him out. Danson did as he was told and asked Pickle where he was going.

  “O'er there.” Pickle pointed over to the field that was opposite the street. “I need to do something that I should have done yesterday.”

  After helping to bury the bodies yesterday, all the people involved were so exhausted that they washed when they returned to the street and went straight to bed. Some didn't sleep; some went for a lie down, but were haunted by what they had witnessed and grieving for the people that had been lost.

  Pickle nodded at Danson and thanked him. He crossed the road and went into the field, heading for the graves. All the people that had been killed were buried together, in one hole.

  Pickle's boots stopped once he reached the graves and shook his head. The scene overwhelmed the man and he fought back the tears. He massaged the lump in his throat, with his right hand, and shook his head.

  “How many more do there have to be?” he said. “How many?”

  He ran his fingers through his dark, clammy hair and slowly dropped to his knees, putting his hands together.

  He closed his eyes, dipped his head and began to pray.

  “God, our Father, Your power brings us to birth, Your providence guides our lives, and by Your command we return to dust. Lord, those who die still live in Your presence, their lives change but do not end. I pray in hope for my friends, and for all the dead known to You alone. In company with Christ, Who died and now lives, may they rejoice in Your kingdom, where all our tears are wiped away. Unite us together again in one family, to sing Your praise forever and ever. Amen.”

  Pickle rose to his feet and stared at the area where the dead lay. He took in a deep breath, wiped his eyes and walked away, back to the camp.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Once Pickle had returned from the field, he told Karen and Vince that he was going to 'disappear' and get some air. They asked if they could join him, and he said yes. Pickle told Bonser and Rowley not to worry and that they wouldn't be going far. He just needed to get out of the street for the sake of his own sanity.

  No vehicle was taken. They simply walked out of the gate, all three of them, and turned right. They walked along the Wolseley Road and made little chat until they reached the bridge that went over the Trent. Small talk about the past was then made, and Pickle, Karen and Vince, who were all armed with machetes, climbed over the wall of the bridge and sat on the grass bank of the Trent.

  Across the river, the back of The Wolseley Arms could be seen and Vince was the first to speak since they had sat down.

  “I can see why Paul liked to go for his walks,” he said. “It's good to get away from that place.”

  Karen nodded in agreement, but never responded verbally.

  “I never understood why John wanted to keep everyone in the street anyway, unless they were out on runs,” Pickle remarked. “Maybe it was a control thing.”

  Karen finally added to the conversation and said, “Or maybe he wanted to keep people safe.”

  “To be fair, Lee also didn't like it if you went off site at Sandy Lane.” Vince stared at the water and reminisced.

  “No, he didn't,” Pickle agreed. “But Sandy Lane was a large place. This place is just a small street and it's sometimes good for the mind to leave it for a while, despite the potential dangers out here.”

  “How long are you planning to stay out here?” Vince asked Pickle.

  Pickle hunched his shoulders. “Half an hour. No longer. Those men are gonna turn up later. I know it.”

  “Well, that's the main way they can get to our place.” Vince pointed over at Stafford Road that ran alongside the pub. “But the next time they might go the back way.”

  “Shame we didn't have our Brownings like the first week.” Karen playfully nudged Pickle, trying to lighten the mood. “Man, we'd create some serious damage.”

  “Aye.” Pickle smiled and added, “Especially with that shotgun o' mine. Jesus, I'd love to 'ave those babies back. They'd be no messin' with us, Bradley. Yer know what I mean?”

  “Too right.” Karen nodded. “If we had at least the handguns, then—”

  “But you don't,” interrupted Vince, bringing the pair of them cruelly back to reality.

  The three sat in quiet for a while before Vince spoke up and said, “Creating a roadblock on the Stafford Road would be a good idea. Then when they arrive, we could jump out on them.”

  “And what if there're fifty of them?” said Karen. “What if some are carrying shotguns?”

  “We've already talked about this. It's a bad idea. Even if we had no fatalities yesterday,” Pickle began, “we still wouldn't have the manpower to create something like that.”

  Karen said, “I know I mentioned an ambush before, but I think Pickle is right. I mean, what happens if we attack them but they've only come here to talk?”

  “Let's hope that's the case.” Pickle lay back and put his hands behind his head. “Talking is our only option to sort out this mess.”

  “What're you doing?” Karen laughed.

  “Relaxing and staring at the clouds,” said Pickle. “This is nice. Yer should do it, Bradley. It might take yer mind off things.”

  “Really?” she scoffed. “Do you think it'll take my mind off the fact that we're in the middle of an apocalypse, my fiancé being dead, losing my baby, and most of the people I get close to end up dying?”

  Pickle smiled. “I suppose when yer put it like that...”

  “I might just head back and crack one off.” Vince stood to his feet and said further, “I'm a little bored to be honest, I need a pee, and all I can think about is Joanne's arse.”

  Pickle chuckled, “Charming.”

  “I like a good arse,” Vince smiled, “but not in a Brokeback Mountain kind of way.”

  “Just stay a while and then we'll all go back tog
ether,” Karen suggested.

  “Fine, but I need to disappear behind that bush for a piss.”

  Karen looked away as Vince went over to a nearby bush.

  Pickle was still lying on the grass with his eyes closed and a small smile on his face. “This is what we all need,” he said. “Even the rest o' the guys like Bonser and Rowley. Sometimes yer just need a little time out from the real world, especially now.”

  “It can't be good for your mental health,” said Vince, returning to the two of them, “being cooped up in that street. Some have never left the place, like the Dansons and Joanne.”

  “If I do take charge, after we get through this other crisis,” said Pickle. “There're gonna be a lot o' unhappy people. A lot o' inexperienced people are going to be taken out on runs, will have to learn to fight... We can't expect the experienced guys to do double shifts whilst the others hide away and wash clothes.”

  “We'll probably have to go out and scout for more people,” said Karen.

  Pickle sighed, “Yep, but who knows? We could all be dead tomorrow.”

  “I just love your positive way of thinking, Pickle,” Vince joked.

  “What's that noise?” Pickle sat up with a start and rubbed his eyes.

  “I can't hear anything.” Karen look puzzled. “Maybe you were dozing off and dreaming.”

  Pickle never reacted and the three of them were silent for a minute or so, until he spoke once more.

  He said, “No, I can definitely hear something.”

  “I can hear a buzzing.” Vince spoke up, rubbing his eyes. “A vehicle, maybe?”

  “That's what I was thinking.” Pickle nodded and pointed to his right. “It's coming in that direction.”

  All three were now on their feet, looking to the right. They were trying to look through the gaps of the hedges that were far away, trying to get a glimpse of what it was.

  “There!” Karen pointed.

  A large white transit van could he seen moving along the Stafford Road. They were all hoping that the vehicle was just some random family or individual escaping or going somewhere. They hoped that the van continued to go straight ahead, across the two mini roundabouts and onto the Rugeley Road, but it slowed down when it reached the pub and turned left. It was now on the Wolseley Road, heading for Colwyn Place, heading their way.

  “We need to stop that van before it gets to Colwyn,” cried Pickle.

  He ran towards the road, climbed the wall and Karen and Vince followed suit. All three crouched and hid behind a large bush.

  Asked Vince, “Now what?”

  Pickle looked around and picked up a large stone. “I need to take out that van.”

  “By putting through his windscreen?” Karen's face suggested that it wasn't a good idea.

  “Have yer got any better suggestions?” Pickle snapped. “If we jump out in the middle of the road, he'll just go through us.”

  Vince began, “Maybe it's not related to that gang and it's a scared guy that...” Vince didn't finish his sentence and could feel Karen and Pickle's stare. “Okay,” he admitted. “Who am I kidding? It's them.”

  “What if whoever's in there are here just to talk?” Karen questioned the former inmate. “There are no other vehicles with it.”

  “I don't think we can take that risk. There could be a dozen men in the back o' that van, all armed.”

  The van increased its speed; Pickle clasped the stone tighter and could see through the van's windscreen. He turned to Vince. “There's only one o' them in the front.”

  All three seemed hesitant, but then Karen said, “Fuck it. Just do it.”

  The van was getting nearer and Pickle was unsure what do to now. “Here goes.”

  He stood up and threw the stone.

  The windscreen cracked, the vehicle's tyres squealed and the van veered right and crashed through a picket fence. It eventually came to a stop in the field opposite.

  All three looked at one another, then took out their large blades. Pickle led the way as they crossed the road and entered the field.

  Harry Branston approached the front of the van, and could see a young man inside trying to start the engine after it had stalled when coming to a stop.

  If there were men in the back, they would have been out by now, Pickle thought. So what was in it? There must be something in it, otherwise, why bring a van in the first place? Why didn't the man appear on a moped if he was travelling alone to pass on a message?

  Pickle opened the driver's door and could see by the clothing that it was one of Drake’s men. He grabbed the man with his left hand and dragged him out of the vehicle and onto the grass. He then raised his blade and pointed it at the Wrath of Evil gang member.

  “Don't kill me, man!” the young man begged.

  Pickle stood over him with his machete in his right hand. “What’re yer doing ‘ere?”

  The man was young, dark-haired, and was of average height and build. He refused to answer Pickle's question and now Karen and Vince were standing over the man with their blades out.

  “Do yer really want us to hack yer to death right here?” Pickle snarled and raised the blade, resting it on the man's shoulder. “Cos that's what's gonna happen, if yer don't speak.”

  “What do you wanna know?” the man asked.

  “Why are yer here? And what's in the back?”

  There was still more silence and Pickle decided to do something. It was something that could backfire, but he tried it anyway.

  “Fine,” Pickle huffed. “Have it yer way.”

  He raised his machete over his head with two hands, giving the man the impression that he was about to be hacked to death. Pickle's actions had worked and scared the man so much that he cowered and raised both of his hands in front of him as a desperate way to protect himself.

  “Please ... don't,” he wailed.

  “Then fuckin' talk.”

  The man yelled, “Okay, okay! I'll talk! Just don't hurt me!”

  Pickle lowered the machete and said, “Ready when yer are.”

  “I have supplies in the back,” the young man began. “It's kind of a peace offering for you guys.”

  “A peace offering?” Karen laughed. “I don't believe that for a second.”

  Pickle looked at Vince and Karen. “Go check it out. The pair o' yer.”

  “It's just water and stuff,” the man said. “All three of you check it out, if you want. It's our way of calling a truce. Go on. All three of you take a look.”

  “No, it's okay.” Pickle gazed at the man and added, “I'll stay here with yer. Make sure yer don't do a runner.”

  “Fine,” the man gulped and began to look agitated.

  Pickle watched as Karen and Vince went round the back of the van to open the doors and asked the youngster, “So why is there just one of you this time?”

  “Drake said it would look less threatening if they sent a youngster on his own.”

  “True.” Pickle nodded, and was beginning to think that maybe his visit was genuine after all.

  “Fuck!” Karen yelled from around the back of the van.

  “Shit!” Pickle was about to run to the back of the vehicle, then realised that he'd be leaving the young man alone, allowing him to flee. “Stay there,” warned Pickle. “In fact...” Pickle grabbed the youngster by the shirt and punched him in the face, knocking him out.

  *

  As soon as the doors of the van were opened, dozens of Snatchers fell out onto the grass. Karen stepped back and screamed out “Fuck!” and reached for her machete. Vince did the same, and didn't know where to start. Many were on the floor and were now struggling to get up.

  Pickle had arrived with his blade out and witnessed for himself what was happening.

  Karen, Pickle and Vince leaned over and tried to take out the ones on the floor, but many were getting to their feet. There must have been thirty on the floor and another ten still in the van.

  More fell out and the rest in the back shambled towards the exit of t
he vehicle, towards Karen and Vince, falling to the ground as they stepped off the back of the van.

  Karen and Pickle front-kicked a few back to give themselves spare seconds, and rained blows at the closest beings that approached them. Dark congealed blood and diseased brain flew as the three of them sliced their way through the standing dead.

  The three took more steps back and could now see that the inside of the back of the van was empty and all the dead were out. They were now on the ground and getting to their feet.

  “We can't take this many on,” Vince said. He grabbed his machete with both hands and rammed it into the forehead of a teenage girl that was dressed in a yellow T-shirt and pink shorts.

  “We're gonna have to get back to the camp,” Karen panted. “We can run them down with the motorhome.”

  “Not this many,” Pickle cried out. Aerobically, the former inmate was struggling, and could see that nearly a dozen had been put down, but there were many left, over twenty, and were now advancing towards them, forcing the three to walk backwards.

  Once the three were on the main road, they continued to stride backwards in the direction of Colwyn Place. All of the Snatchers were now out on the road with them.

  Pickle turned to Vince and Karen and said, “Keep walking backwards, and let them follow yer. Be back in a sec.”

  “Where the fuck are you going?” cried Karen.

  Pickle ran to his left and jumped over the fence and back in the field, leaving Karen and Vince alone with the dead. A now exhausted Karen and Vince were still walking backwards, but were now keeping their distance and were too tired to put any more down. If they ran into any more difficulty, they could pay with their lives.

  The horde were scattered along the road as they meandered toward Vince and Karen, and both humans screwed their faces in confusion when they heard the engine of the van being started.

  The vehicle went out the way it came in, through the gap where part of the fence used to be, and headed towards the herd from behind.

  Pickle, now the driver of the vehicle, was only twenty yards away when he blasted the van's horn, making the dead all turn around in unison. The blast of the horn was to also warn Karen and Vince to move out of the way. It worked.