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

by Whittington, Shaun

  Grabbing his hockey stick tightly, Craig took the stairs and headed for the dusky landing, despite it being daylight outside. He guessed that the reason why the place was almost in darkness was because the bedroom doors were closed and the window to every room had its curtains drawn.

  He guessed right.

  He reached the landing and decided to open the door that he was facing. With his heart racing, he pushed the door open and could see it was the bathroom, an empty bathroom. It was a large and luxurious room, which consisted of a toilet, bath, shower and a bidet.

  He had three more rooms to try.

  The nearest one to him looked like a guest room. It had no personal touches, just a plain single bed, cupboard and flowery wallpaper. The second bedroom was another empty room, and made Craig’s heart drop with sadness. The room belonged to a teenage boy, he guessed. Kasabian posters were littered across the wall; a Marshall amplifier was in the left corner with a Gibson SG leaning against it. Other accessories were scattered on the carpet of the room.

  Craig checked the cupboard and could see it was clear. He also remembered that there was no car in the drive. These people must have left on their own accord.

  But where? Where was safer than a big house in the country?

  He left the room, dragged his feet across the cream carpet, and opened the final room with zero hesitation this time. He looked down on the bed and gasped. He took his heavy bag off of his shoulder and carefully placed it in the corner of the bedroom, then looked back over to the bed.

  *

  Karen had been talking to Stephen Rowley and Stephen Bonser about Terry Braithwaite. They had brought it to her attention that he had looked withdrawn and the two men worried for his mental health.

  She said she’d have a word with Pickle, but not straightaway because Pickle and Danny had just returned and both went into their homes.

  Karen smiled at Joanne who was out wiping down the solar panels, and decided to go over and head back to her place at 10 Colwyn Place, the same place where Pickle stayed.

  She stepped inside and popped her head in the living room to see her male friend lying on the couch, groaning, with his boots off.

  “You okay?” she asked him.

  His eyes were closed and his hands were behind his head. Without looking at her, he put both thumbs up, telling Karen that he was fine.

  “I wonder when Vince and the rest will be back.” Karen spoke, hoping to get a response from a man that look destined for a nap.

  “He’ll be back,” Pickle groaned. “Don’t yer worry, Bradley.”

  “It’ll be great if they come back with stuff from that warehouse,” she continued to talk, even though she was certain that Harry Branston would have liked to have been left alone. “I know we’re doing okay with the veg patches and we have stuff stored away from other runs, but maybe we won’t have to ration as much when the winter hits us.”

  “Food and water is not the problem anymore,” Pickle mumbled. “Especially now that we have very few mouths to feed. Having no fuel is our biggest problem. Once the winter is o’er, the food is down, and we have to plant more vegetables, we’ll need wheels to go out and get more...” Pickle was tired and couldn’t find the word he needed to end his sentence. “...shit.”

  The sound of engines could be heard by both, making Pickle quickly get to his feet. Both people of the house went over to the living room window and looked out. They could see two vehicles that they recognised enter the street and both peeped at one another with a smile.

  “Let’s see if they have good news,” Pickle said, heading for the door and outside, despite having nothing on his feet apart from a pair of black socks.

  Both Karen and Pickle approached the RV and the jeep that stopped in the middle of the road, and almost simultaneously the engines were switched off.

  Vince and David stepped out of the jeep and Stephanie was a few seconds behind them, leaving the RV.

  Pickle couldn’t help himself. He was like a child on Christmas day and immediately went to the side of the RV and opened the door to have a look inside. “Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed.

  Karen already knew it was good news. It was very rare that Pickle would blaspheme like that.

  Pickle stepped inside the RV whilst Karen began to talk to Vince, David, and an upset Stephanie to see how they had got on and why it had taken so long. Three minutes later, Pickle stepped out with a big grin and approached Karen, Stephanie, David and Vince to have a word.

  “This is fantastic.” Pickle beamed and added, “Have a look, Karen. There’s tons o’ food.” He then scratched his head and said, “Um …Where’s Elza and Ophelia?”

  Stephanie placed her hand over her mouth and began to cry.

  “They were killed in the warehouse,” Vince decided to speak up. “Stephanie nearly didn’t make it either.”

  “I don’t believe it.” Pickle looked shocked. The last thing he was expecting was the news of the deaths of Elza and Ophelia. They were tough bastards, he thought. “I don’t know what to say.” He then turned to Stephanie, his face white as a sheet. “What happened to yer afterwards, after the two o’ them…?”

  “I had to drive the RV back myself.” She cleared her throat and tried to control herself. “I got stuck in the mud and the dead arrived. Luckily, Vince turned up, and with the help from some mad farmer I’m now okay. There was still stuff left at the warehouse, but I’m not sure a second run would be worth it.”

  “Well, I’m glad yer still alive.” Pickle leaned forwards and kissed Stephanie on her clammy head.

  “Something else happened,” she announced. “Something that I haven’t told you all. Another incident happened.”

  “What kind o’ incident?”

  Stephanie lowered her head and began, “When I was stuck in the mud, when Vince came and the dead were around the motorhome ... that had been the second time I had lost control of the vehicle.”

  Pickle queried, “The second time?”

  “I lost control earlier,” she began to explain. “I came off the road and stalled it. Then some guys turned up, threatening to take the motorhome and what was in it ... and other things.”

  Vince knew straightaway what Stephanie meant by ‘other things’, and his blood began to boil from hearing this story for the first time.

  “Did they hurt you ... touch you?” Vince asked with a frog in his throat.

  She shook her head. “I think they were going to.”

  “What stopped them?” This time Karen decided to join in on the conversation, with David MacDonald keeping his head down, but still listening.

  “A guy had turned up and killed them both.”

  “What guy?” Pickle asked her.

  “He had only just met up with the two that were going to harm me, and turned up later on because he was doing the toilet.”

  “What guy?” Pickle was becoming restless.

  Pickle and Vince didn’t understand what Stephanie was waffling on about, but Karen had an idea, and a smile stretched over her face.

  She said, “It was Paul, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, it was.” Stephanie smiled and nodded. “He’s still alive.”

  Chapter Thirty One

  Craig cleared his throat, but the individual lying on the bed never flinched. He then whistled and could see the person, a young female, move her head from one side to the next as if she was having a restless dream.

  She flinched again, as Craig released another sharp whistle, and she finally opened her eyes. She looked confused, then once she saw Craig and realised there was another person in the room, she sat up quickly and glared at Craig in shock.

  Craig could see the young woman looking over to her bag, he presumed, and was unsure whether to reach for it. It was sitting at the side of the bed, but Craig could see that the female was anxious and tried to calm her down.

  “It’s okay,” he raised his hand, trying to calm the woman. “I’m not a bad person. I’m just ... I don’t know ... lookin
g for people.”

  It was clear on her face that she was unsure what he meant, and she said with confusion in her words, “Looking for people?”

  “I’m sorry,” Craig giggled. “I’m not really explaining myself well, am I?”

  She shook her head once. “No, not really.”

  “Let’s start from the beginning.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hi.” He raised his right hand and produced a wide friendly smile. “My name’s Craig.”

  “Yoler,” she murmured.

  “Hi, Yoler,” he said. “I’m from a place a couple of miles from here.”

  “You have a camp?”

  Craig nodded and said with a thin smile, “That’s why I’m here. Well....” Craig began to laugh. “Not here exactly. I was originally going to come here and then go further if I couldn’t find anyone to join us.”

  Yoler swung her legs to the side and was preparing herself to stand up. She tried to process what the male stranger had just told her and said with uncertainty, “Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”

  “I suppose it is, but we’re getting to be quite desperate these days.”

  “Do you have guns?” she remarked. “I mean, just in case things turn ugly?”

  “We don’t need guns. We have a Pickle,” Craig snickered. He could see the confusion on Yoler’s face and told her to forget about his tongue-in-cheek remark.

  She stood up and began to stretch. “I mean, what happens if you bump into a bunch of guys, take them back to your place, and they turn on your people and take it for themselves?”

  “I would keep an eye on them for a day or so, make sure they’re not thugs, before inviting them back.”

  “Like you did with me, Craigy Boy?”

  Craig paused before speaking. His eyes clocked Yoler’s face and could see she was a lovely looking person and had a moptop Beatle haircut.

  “That’s different. You’re just one person. You’re just...”

  “What? A girl?” she laughed.

  “Look, I didn’t mean any offence.”

  Her dress sense suggested she was either a tomboy or she had just recently raided an army and navy store. She wore green combats, a camouflage shirt, and there were a pair of heavy-duty boots by the bed that she picked up off of the floor.

  She sat back down on the side of the bed and began to put the boots on. She never looked up at Craig once until she tied the laces on the final boot, which suggested to Craig that the female was reasonably relaxed in his company.

  She stood up and looked the man up and down. Noticing that he was carrying a hockey stick in his right hand, she nodded at the stick and asked him, “Did you use to play?”

  “No.” Craig scratched behind his left ear and added, “I took it from a kid’s bedroom.”

  “Not before the apocalypse, I hope?” she joked, immediately making Craig smile.

  “No, of course not.”

  Yoler cocked her head to one side and narrowed her eyes, making them look like long stitches below her eyebrows.

  Craig could see her confusion and said with a chuckle, “I took it out of an empty bedroom that must have belonged to a kid.”

  “What was you doing in a kid’s bedroom anyway?” she teased.

  “Piss off.” Craig shook his head with a grin, knowing that she was playing with him, and took his bag off and placed it against the wall. “The house was empty. I took this stick when I ran into trouble.”

  “Fair enough.” She sat back down and now seemed to be relaxed in his company. “What’s in your bag?”

  “Take a look.” Craig was beginning to warm to the young female.

  Yoler took a walk over and bent down next to the bag. She unzipped it and opened it up with both hands. “Jesus Christ on a cross!” she exclaimed. “How much stuff have you got in here?”

  “If I ration it, I reckon about four to five days worth of food. It’s the bottles of water that makes the bag heavy, though.”

  Craig realised he was waffling and couldn’t help notice that the young woman was trying to look interested, but she began to glance around the room whilst Craig was still speaking.

  “Why don’t you join us?” Craig asked her.

  “Join you?” The woman looked baffled. “I don’t even know you. For all I know you could be living with a bunch of horny retarded men.”

  “You know that isn’t the case.” Craig smiled and added, “I need to venture further, but you don’t have to come with me. I’ll take you to Colwyn myself, and then I’ll pop back out again tomorrow. Time’s pressing on. What do you say?”

  “Look,” The female scratched at her mop top and said, “I appreciate the offer, Craigy Boy, but I’m too tired to think right now. I’ve been up forty-eight hours straight. She looked at the battery clock on the side table that was still clearly working. “I’ve only had an hour of sleep, and then you come in with your creepy ways,” she joked.

  “Sorry.” Craig smiled and looked over at the clock and said, “Why don’t you have a few hours and then we can start heading, that’s if you want.”

  “So I’d be able to join your camp, just like that?”

  “Yeah. Just like that.”

  “Sounds too good to be true.”

  “I’d vouch for you.”

  Yoler asked the smitten Craig Burns, “And what’re you going to do while I’m sleeping?”

  “I’m gonna have a sniff around the area. Maybe I’ll come across more people, you never know.”

  “Maybe.” Yoler didn’t sound so sure.

  Yoler walked over to Craig and gave him a smirk. She stood close to him, her breath just inches away from his presence, and said, “Now, if you don’t mind. I’d like to shut the door and get some sleep.”

  “Okay. No problem.”

  “And I will be locking the door this time.” She nodded at the small bolt and then flashed Craig a cheeky smile. “No offence.”

  “No offence taken.” Craig gulped and felt a twinge in his groin. He hadn’t been this close to a woman since ... since his wife.

  “Right, I’ll get going.” Craig turned away and the door was shut behind him as soon as he stepped out. He heard the bolt from behind the door being slid across, which she should have done in the first place, and the man in his early thirties began to make his way downstairs.

  *

  Quint was pleased with the two boxes of tins that had been given to him, and went through the two heavy boxes that had been dumped on his kitchen floor.

  He smiled as he could see that he at least had thirty or so tins in each box. If he rationed the food he had left in his cupboards, plus the two boxes of tins, he could sit on his arse, do nothing, and still survive for over two more months.

  A smile stretched across his features as he could see beans, ravioli, spaghetti hoops, macaroni cheese and hot dogs. He hated ravioli, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, he thought.

  He picked up the heavy boxes and put them to the side, out of harm’s way. He was going to put the tins away, but not in the cupboard. He wanted to put them somewhere safe, just in case any other visitors turned up, or thugs.

  He decided to go out and look at the damage. He stepped outdoors and took in a deep breath. He patted his pockets to make sure his blade was there, and went down the road where the motorhome had been.

  Parts of bodies and limbs were scattered across the road.

  “What a fucking mess,” he sighed to himself. He thought about cleaning the mess up, just in case other road users in the future needed to get by, but then thought, fuck it. It was Quint that had created the mess, albeit for a good cause, but he told himself that it wasn’t his problem.

  He was about to turn on his heels and go back to the farm, but a stray creature could be seen staggering around the corner and stumbling over the body parts to try and get to Quint.

  “Determined little cunt, aren’t you?” snickered Quint.

  He continued to gaze as the contaminated male that fell over a decapitated leg.
It then slowly pulled itself up, and then continued to shamble towards the fifty-seven-year-old who was now standing with his blade in his right hand.

  The creature had finally reached Quint, but the journey it had made was pointless.

  It stretched out its arms and growled as it was now just a breath away from the farmer, but it soon dropped to the floor once Quint had rammed his knife in the left ear of the ghoul. He removed his knife once the creature was on the floor, and wiped the dark fluid on the tattered and dirty clothes of the dead being.

  Quint looked around and winced with the smell, placed his blade back into his pocket, and then decided to make his way back to the farm. Unless it was absolutely necessary, he decided to stay away from the road from now on. The smell was too much, plus he had survived with little trouble just staying at his place.

  He entered his premises, closed the gate behind him, and headed hack to the house. He walked through his house and into the kitchen and had another look inside the two cartons of tins. It was too good to be true. If there was just the one of them, the young girl, Quint would have taken everything that was inside the RV and then disposed of the vehicle and the girl, in case people came looking for her. It would have been a cruel act, but Quint wanted to survive by any means necessary.

  He stared at the tins and a smile emerged over his face. He wasn’t all bad. And he was going to prove it.

  He stood up straight, pulled out his blade, and headed for the small barn that was situated at the side of the farmhouse. He approached the door of the barn that had been bolted from the outside, had a quick look around, and gave it three knocks.

  “Are you decent?” he joked.

  There was no answer, so he slid the bolt back and entered anyway.

  The barn’s floor was covered in hay and four wooden pillars were present.

  The nearest pillar on Quint’s right had two people sitting on the floor; their backs were to each other, and they both were tied up with rope around their stomachs and around their arms. One was a male and the other a female and both looked frightened to death, even more so when they both clocked the blade in Quint’s hand.