He stood up and went downstairs, dressed in his black boxers and a faded black T-shirt that had seen many years of washes. He entered the living room and peered out into the street to see Terry by the main gate, but nobody by the concrete wall.
It didn’t concern Vince a great deal.
What was one man by a wall going to do if the place was attacked again? It didn’t make any difference last time.
Vince’s breathing became a little shallow and could feel his heart pounding out of his chest. He felt a numbness there and placed two fingers from his left hand on his neck, feeling for his carotid artery. His breathing was becoming more difficult, his heart increased, and he felt like he was being smothered.
“Shit.” He was beginning to panic. “What’s happening?”
He sat down and decided to try some breathing exercises to get his breath back to normal. He took in a deep breath but winced, held it for eight seconds, and then released it out slowly for eight. He repeated the procedure, but every time he breathed in, a pain stretched across his chest.
He placed his hands behind his head and closed his eyes, trying to recover his breathing.
“Shit, shit, shit. This can’t be happening. Not now.”
He stood up and began to pace the floor. In truth, he had no idea what to do. He didn’t know what was happening to him. He feared a heart attack, but guessed it was more of an anxiety attack. Whatever it was, Vince Kindl felt helpless and was panicking.
He approached his main door and opened it. Maybe some fresh air would make him feel better. He sat on his doorstep and lifted his head up, allowing the soft wind to tickle his features. He took deep breaths in, pleased that the pain in the chest wasn’t there anymore, and continued to do his breathing exercises.
He looked up and gazed at the almost empty street, and was starting to feel better again.
He shook his head and managed a little smile. “Well, that’s never happened before.”
*
Zac Danson’s eyes opened and didn’t know where he was at first.
His eyes stared at the ceiling and released a sad sigh when he realised he was in his home. Worse than that, he was still living in this horrible new world where he had to stay in his house, soaked with boredom, had no friends, and didn’t go to school anymore.
The little boy yawned and wondered what he and his sister could do today.
He then heard sobbing. It sounded like his dad.
Zac rubbed his eyes and sat up when his dad entered his room. He was holding a knife.
“Daddy, what’s going on?” Zac was confused, and gazed at his dad as the grown man approached the side of his bed, shushed his boy, and told him to lie back down.
“Is it still early, daddy?”
“Yes, son,” Jim said, trying to suppress a sob. “Lie down and close your eyes.”
“Okay, daddy.”
The little boy did as he was told; he shut his eyes tight and gasped as the knife went into his stomach.
*
Karen Bradley opened her eyes and released a yawn as she gazed at the ceiling. She stretched in the musty smelling bed and gave off a loud and exaggerated moan, enough to wake Pickle in the next room. She began to get dressed and put on her boots, ready for what this day had in store for her.
She rubbed her crusty eyes and contemplated sitting up; but she wasn’t quite ready yet. Almost a minute later, she did sit up and she frowned as her recollections went back to the last time she had done a shift at work. She had had an argument with one of the consultants because of his indecent behaviour towards her. His name was Peter Forrester, but he was nicknamed ‘Filthy Pete.’
Sometimes if she bent over for something, like paperwork or a pen, and he was around he would make comments like, “While you’re down there, love?” or “Oh, go on. If you insist.”
Most comments the middle age man would make towards Karen would be sexual innuendos.
She had been told by her partner Gary that she should report him, but she didn’t see the point. A low grade nurse against a well respected consultant? There would be only one winner.
After his usual derogatory comments, the nightshift became worse because of the workload, and Karen remembered being almost in tears as she headed for her jeep in the hospital car park after her shift had finished.
Despite what she had been through, she couldn’t stop thinking how the world was before. Some days she’d hope it was nothing but a bad dream she was in, even if that meant waking up and never seeing Pickle again. If it was a bad dream, she’d have her Gary back, her friends, her mother, and she would make more of an effort to visit her dad in Glasgow as well as her stepsister Kelly.
She got off the bed and moaned as the soles of her feet touched the soft carpet. She remained standing and curled her feet, her toes going down, and brought them back up again. She crept to the bathroom, dropped her knickers, and sat down and peed in the toilet. She dipped her head and rested the forehead on her hands.
Once she was finished, she looked down at her thigh. There were a couple of temporary scars present. It was from weeks ago, when they were based at Sandy Lane. She was putting on a brave face when she was at Sandy Lane. People saw her as this brave warrior who was also pregnant, but behind the scenes things were very different.
For a short period, Karen had resorted to harming herself, mainly cutting herself on the inside of her thighs, but had managed to overcome this incident, and she had no idea why she did it at the time. She didn’t have the urge to do it now. Maybe the pressure of the new world was becoming too much for her, and cutting herself was a way of relieving the tension. At the time, the pain made her feel more alive when she was feeling numb, but she knew it was wrong and needed to stamp it out quickly. She was okay now, though.
She shuffled her feet towards the window and looked out onto the street. She could have lived in worse places. In fact, she had lived in worse places.
She reached for the narrow top window to let in some air and stood where she was for a couple of minutes, allowing the stray breeze to circulate around the room. Her thoughts went back to the first days once more, remembering fleeing from her house after a reanimated Gary had tried to attack her. She drove to Milford, unsure where she was going, and eventually stopped at the beauty spot to catch her breath. She remembered trying the radio channels and then the Snatchers appearing from around the corner. She had driven through and over them, and even reversed to finish off the rest.
She created a thin, sad smile when she remembered she had spotted a child from a bedroom window that had seen what she had done, and waved her hand at the child, telling them to get down and stay out of sight.
She then began to daydream about her and Pickle’s brief stay at a house in Heath Hayes, in the second week, after the Stile Cop incident, but her thoughts were shattered when she heard a scream.
She opened her window and leaned out, about to call out to the guard to see what was going on, but another scream was heard, and this time she knew where it was coming from. It was coming from the Danson’s house.
Karen quickly left the room, galloped downstairs, and ran out into the street. She feared the worst.
Chapter Thirty Four
Karen ran across the front gardens, opened the Danson’s front door, and went into the living room, but not a soul could be seen. The screams had died as soon as she barged the door open, and all her ears could pick up was the sound of a male crying.
The sobbing was coming from the kitchen.
She placed her hand to her left side and realised she was without her machete, any weapon for that matter. But why would she need one? The Danson family were a normal family, a scared family, and there were no dead around, so why would she need a weapon?
She stepped inside the kitchen and could see blood drops on the linoleum. She looked up and could see the blood drops leading to Jim Danson. He was sitting on the floor, in the corner of the kitchen, blood running off a blade he was holding, and sobbing like a c
hild. The man was inconsolable.
Karen looked at Jim with aghast and was trying to work out what had happened. His knife was bloody, however, she couldn’t see any injury on the man.
She gulped and stared at the man, hoping he was going to explain to her what had happened, but she could see he was in no fit state to talk. He shook and he sobbed, and his behaviour sent a shiver down Karen’s spine
“Jim, what happened?” she asked him.
She received no answer from the broken man, but was then startled when she heard somebody coming in.
Vince stepped into the kitchen and gazed at the sobbing Jim Danson.
“What happened?” Vince asked Karen.
She shook her head, releasing no words.
Vince took a step forwards and crouched down so he was eye level with Jim.
“Jim,” said Vince. “What did you do?”
Still clutching onto the knife, Jim sobbed, “I had no choice.”
Vince turned to look at Karen. She hunched her shoulders. Both persons didn’t know what he was talking about.
“What happened, Jim?” Now it was Karen’s turn to query the man.
“It was for the best,” Jim continued to sob. “We can’t go on like this.”
Vince twisted his neck; staring at Karen with large eyes and said, “Check upstairs. I’ll stay here with him.”
Karen left the living room and hesitantly took the stairs, dreading what she was going to see. She reached the landing and could see that all bedroom doors were open. She approached the first bedroom door and stepped inside little Zac Danson’s room. She placed her hand over her mouth and began to cry.
The boy was in his pyjamas, under the duvet, and had clearly been stabbed to death. He looked like he was asleep from the neck up, but the duvet was down to his stomach, revealing his blood soaked Spider-Man pyjama top. Karen wiped her eyes and cried for the boy she hardly knew. Her sobbing ceased when she realised that the wife and daughter still hadn’t been accounted for.
She wiped her eyes, and then went over and kissed the boy on the head. She left the room and went into the next one, but it appeared to be empty.
She went into the main bedroom and could see Mrs Danson. She was naked, face down on the floor, and had been stabbed in the back. She was dead, but Karen guessed that she hadn’t died straightaway. Where was the little girl? Her grief turned into anger and stormed across the landing, galloping down the stairs with angry steps.
She went into the kitchen and screamed at Jim, “What the fuck did you do that for?”
“What’s he done?” Vince stood up, polluted with confusion, and stood next to Karen.
“He’s killed his son and wife, but I can’t find the little girl.”
“Oh fuck.” Vince placed his hands on his head in disbelief. With his anger snowballing, he took a step forwards, but Karen pulled him back.
“Don’t,” she snapped.
“I’m gonna kill the bastard,” he snarled, shrugging Karen off.
“He’s still got a knife.”
Still slumped in the corner of the kitchen, a now calmer Jim Danson gazed into nothingness whilst Karen and Vince had their short tussle. They both stopped and glared at the man in disbelief. He looked up at the two standing individuals and a small smile emerged on his features, both angering and confusing Vince and Karen.
Jim Danson’s smile slowly evaporated; he raised the knife with his two hands and turned the blade around so that it was facing him, the point of the blade two inches from the middle of his throat.
“Don’t be stupid,” said Karen, raising her hand at Jim, urging him not to go through with what looked like a self-sacrifice.
“You have to believe me,” Jim cried, “that this is the best thing for my family. We’ve been cooped up for over three months, engulfed in fear every minute of every day. What kind of life is that for a child, for anyone?”
“Just tell me where your little girl is?” Karen asked the man. “Where’s Kelly? Did you kill her?”
He shook his head. “I couldn’t find her. She must be hiding somewhere.”
“Just ... don’t do anything silly.”
“It’s for the best.”
Karen screamed out no as Jim rammed the blade into the middle of his throat. Both Vince and Karen took a step back as blood pissed out of the wound, and neither one of them went to his aid.
What was the point?
As soon as the knife had gone into that particular part of the body, they both knew he was beyond help. All they could do was watch in horror as Jim bled to death in his own kitchen. The gurgling sounds and the shallow breathing eventually stopped once the floor was covered, and Jim Danson’s head dropped, his eyes still open once he had passed away.
Vince and Karen stood in shock and simultaneously gazed at one another, both shaking their heads at what they had just witnessed.
“I’ve seen some fucked up shit in the last three months....” Vince never finished his sentence, but he didn’t need to. Karen knew where he was coming from and agreed.
She had seen a lot of horrific scenes over the last eleven to twelve weeks, but this had to have been the worst. She remembered the first time she came across a dead family. She and Pickle had gone to Heath Hayes after escaping from Stile Cop, and found a dead family in the attic. But this was different. Jim had butchered his family in the most gruesome and cruel way.
Maybe if he had access to pills, such as anti-depressants, it would have been a different story. She couldn’t understand it. Wouldn’t it have been less painful and barbaric to have smothered them?
Karen had assumed that Jim had simply snapped, had lost his mind, and his family had paid the price. Maybe he did genuinely think that being away from this world was the best thing for his family, she thought, but why kill them in such a cruel manner? It didn’t make sense.
“Now what?” Vince asked a shocked Karen Bradley.
“Clean up and get them buried.” She turned and looked at Vince, his face was ashen. “Nothing more we can do. I better tell Pickle.”
“Isn’t there still a girl missing?”
“Shit.” Karen’s eyes widened. “There is. You’re right.”
“I’ll check upstairs,” said Vince, and left the ground floor, running to the landing.
Karen stepped away from the kitchen, making sure the blood never touched her boots, and sat on the sofa in the living room. She dropped her head in her hands, trying to come to terms with what she had just witnessed.
She looked up and could see something behind the armchair that was in the corner of the living room, near the window. She stood up and crept over to the chair and gently pulled it back. Little Kelly was curled in a ball, her body shivering with fear, and her nightie was drenched at the front where she had wet herself.
“It’s okay,” Karen said. “You’re safe now.”
Karen held out her hand and the girl sat up and took it.
Ignoring the urine stain, Karen picked up the frightened girl and headed for the main door. She yelled upstairs and said, “Vince, come down!”
“Come down?” His voice was coming from one of the bedrooms. “Why?”
“I’ve got her.”
Chapter Thirty Five
Only minutes had passed, and news of what had happened in the Danson house was quickly known by everyone present in Colwyn Place. Karen was consoling the daughter, and all agreed that it would be for the best if she stayed with her and Pickle for a while.
Pickle had taken a shovel from the Danson’s shed and told people he was going to bury them in their own back garden. Vince offered to help and Pickle accepted.
As the remaining people of Colwyn Place were coming to terms with the large loss of five people, including the demise of Elza and Ophelia, Pickle was in the Danson’s back garden, digging a large grave in the corner of the place. Vince was inside, wrapping the bodies up in sheets, whilst Karen was doing her best to comfort a very frightened and confused little girl.
She told Pickle that her and Joanne would clean up the ‘mess’ in the house once Pickle and Vince had finished with the burying of the three individuals. At first, Harry Branston wasn’t sure about placing Jim with his wife and son; after all, it was him that had murdered them.
Pickle could feel a presence coming from behind and turned around to see Vince approaching.
“All done,” Vince said. “Bodies wrapped up and ready to go.”
“Ready to go?” Pickle looked at Vince with annoyance. “How can yer be so cold, Vince?”
Vince struggled for an answer. It was rare that he and Pickle had crossed words.
“Are yer sure yer used to be a fork lift driver?” Pickle continued with his rant. “Because sometimes yer can come across as a bit o’ a psycho. And then there were those ridiculous and cruel initiation tests yer used to do back at the Spode Cottage...”
“That was months ago, Pickle.” Vince had finally managed to find his voice. “Why are we going over old ground? And as for the way I’m behaving now … that’s my way of coping with shit. You should know me well enough by now.”
“When me and Karen were at yer camp, we spoke to Jack. He told me about turning up to yer place with another guy, I think Jack told me his name was Johnny Jefferson, and yer did an initiation test with them, making them kill some Snatchers before they were allowed in. What was that all about?”
“I was trying to make the place stronger,” Vince said. “Rather than just letting in any waif or stray in. It was my camp, my rules.”
“I’ve known yer for a while now and everything’s a joke to yer, isn’t it?”
Vince was bemused by Pickle’s rant, even more so when he brought up something that happened many moons ago, and was a little hurt by Pickle’s out of character sharpness toward him.
“I do care, Pickle,” Vince began.
“Do yer? Do yer really?”
“What do you want me to do every time somebody dies? Break down? Every night, before I go to sleep, I think about people I’ve known and lost. I think about Jack, Shaz, Rosemary, Lisa, my Mum, dad ... I think about them all. I’m not a heartless bastard, Pickle. I just don’t cry about it in public, you know what I mean? I deal with it in my own way. That’s the way I’ve always done it.”
Snatchers Box Set, Vol. 4 [Books 10-12] Page 68