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

by Whittington, Shaun

  Craig crouched down, ten yards into the woods, and patiently waited for the bikes to pass, clutching onto his hockey stick with his right hand. His ears pricked up when the clumsy sounds of dragging feet came from behind him. Because of the growing sounds of the engines, he didn’t hear the noise from behind until a few seconds into his crouching. He only heard the movement from behind once they were getting closer, a few yards away.

  He turned and could see six of the dead shambling towards him. He had no idea why they just happened to be heading in his direction.

  Had they seen him enter the woods or heard him? Or were they going in the direction of the engines?

  Whatever the reason, Craig was fifteen yards away from being eaten alive and had to do something ... quick!

  He peered over his shoulder, assessing how far the dead were, and then looked forwards and wondered if he had time to cross the road and over to the woodland at the other side before being spotted by the bikers. He then thought about staying in the woods and running around the six dead and going further in. But evening wasn’t far away, and the woods were quite dark already because of the suffocating greenery.

  He peered over his shoulder again and could see that the nearest one of the six was only a few yards away. He had to do something.

  He stood up and lashed out at the first ghoul with his hockey stick, a female, and the dead being’s response was to stumble backwards a little, but the strike wasn’t enough to put her down. He brought the stick crashing down on top of the skull this time, and watched as she dropped to the floor.

  The other five had found a little zest in their feet and began to encircle the man, forcing him to step out into the road. All five stumbled out, one falling over and hitting its face on the tarmac. Craig raised his hockey stick, ready to put the five down, but four mopeds came over the brow of the hill to his left, distracting the dead and making all five turn their heads towards the bikers.

  It was Drake’s men. Craig looked and could tell by the attire.

  Craig swung his stick at the nearest ghoul but missed, and took a quick look to his side. The four bikers had parked up. They switched off their engines, stood by the side of their bikes, and looked over to Craig and his five dead followers.

  A big guy with a light beard released a sharp whistle and held his hand up and said to Craig, “It’s okay, man. We’ve got this.”

  The five ghouls were now ignoring Craig and headed the ten yards or so it was going to take to get to the four smiling men. The big bearded biker pulled out a sword from the side of his bike and swiped from the side, taking off the head, from the nose up, of the nearest Snatcher. The other four stumbled towards the giggling bikers, who had not a shred of nerves, and the bearded swordsman kicked one away and took the head off of the nearest one. The rest of its body dropped and its head rolled along the tarmac, its mouth still snarling.

  This time the big bearded guy took a step back and another biker stepped away from his bike, carrying a sledgehammer. “My turn,” the man chuckled and turned to his biker pal. “You’re not getting all the fun.”

  Craig continued to watch and saw the sledgehammer carrier raising the weapon over his head and bringing it down at beast number three, its head almost obliterated. He then swung it to the side, killing the other, and waited for the final one.

  Craig thought it was a strange weapon of choice. If he used a heavy sledgehammer as his main weapon, he’d be exhausted after four or five kills. The gang member seemed to be playing with the final ghoul. Instead of removing it straightaway, he was pushing it back and ducking and diving like a boxer, to the amusement of his other buddies.

  With time not on his side, Craig decided to step in and put down the ghoul himself with his stick, from behind. He struck the thing at the side of the head twice, which was greeted by a chorus of boos from the four bikers.

  “What a fucking party pooper you are,” the bearded man said.

  “I don’t have time for this.” Craig stepped to the side and wiped his stick on the grass. “I need to get back before it gets dark.”

  “And where’re you from?”

  Craig decided to tell them the truth. “Colwyn Place.”

  The four men looked at each other briefly and began to talk to one another in whispers. The talk continued for a further minute and then the big bearded man with the sword spoke up.

  “If you had told us that a week ago, my friend,” he began, “Then you would have been dead by now. But now that Drake has called a truce... What are you doing out here anyway?”

  “Trying to recruit people,” said Craig.

  The bearded man looked to either side of Craig and guffawed, “Not doing so well, are you?”

  “I’ve had some bad luck.”

  The man holding the sledgehammer decided to speak up. He was another bearded fellow, but not as heavy as the swordsman. “It’ll be dark by the time you’re halfway to Little Haywood on foot.”

  “I know.” Craig nodded.

  “Why don’t you come back with us? We can give you a ride back the next morning, seem as though we’re all friends now.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you could take me back to Little Haywood … now.”

  “No can do.” The bearded man shook his head. “We stopped for a piss earlier, by the picnic area, and a swarm came out of the woods and onto the road. Those persistent bastards won’t be gone until the morning, and we don’t have enough gas to go to Haywood the long way round. We just about have enough gas to get back to Stafford.”

  Craig had picked up a little anger in the bearded man’s voice, but decided to ignore it. “I’ll risk it on foot, but thanks anyway.”

  “It’s not up for debate, son.” The man with the sword patted his seat behind him. “Get on. You’re coming back to Stafford with us.” He then smiled and said with sarcasm, “If I allow you to go out there on foot, I won’t sleep tonight.”

  The four bikers chuckled to themselves and Craig shook his head, unimpressed with their humour.

  “Fine,” Craig huffed. “I’ll come.”

  The two dead that had been following Craig earlier, had appeared around the bend and was spotted by all five men. The man with the sword laughed and said, “I’ve got this.”

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  August 28th

  The evening before, young Kelly Danson, the only surviving Danson left from the street, had stayed in Karen’s bed with Karen. The young girl had been deeply affected by what had happened to her father, mother and brother, and couldn’t understand why her dad did what he did. Karen tried to explain to the seven-year-old that her father had become mentally unstable, and he thought that they were all better off away from the new and cruel world.

  It was hard for the girl to comprehend, and Karen felt like she wasn’t doing a very good job trying to explain to the infant. Pickle had told Karen, before her and Kelly went to bed, about the three visitors that they had, but told her that it was nothing to worry about and the situation had been sorted.

  The pair of them, Karen and Kelly, had gone to bed at ten and spent a lot of time talking, crying, and then more talking. Finally, the exhausted Kelly Danson had drifted off at around one in the morning, to Karen’s relief, and the former nurse fell asleep some ten minutes later.

  For the first time in weeks, Karen’s dreams were polluted with macabre scenes. There were two dreams that she could remember before waking up with a gasp. The first dream was fictional, but the second was centred on an event that really happened.

  In dream one she was naked, running along a desolate road in the middle of the day. It was a weird dream, and it appeared that she was involved in some kind of marathon; however, she had no idea why she was naked in the dream. As she progressed along the road she could hear the sound of a small crowd. She was in Rugeley and passed the Stag’s Leap pub that was situated in the same spot that the Eaton Lodge Hotel used to be. She turned right at the roundabout and ran down the Western Springs Road. She could see the sma
ll crowd and a finishing line up ahead, but there was no other runner present in this bizarre dream of hers.

  As she approached the finishing line, some thirty yards away, she passed the first lot of people that were to either side of her, cheering her on. Some faces in the crowd she recognised, others she didn’t. Some of the people were holding up placards, about ten in all, some trying to encourage the woman. Some placards were positive, but others were creepy and negative.

  The positive ones had: Go, Karen. You can do it! and Team Bradley. Some of the negative ones being held read: You’re shit! You suck! But the one that disturbed her was the one being held up by a dead KP. It read: Pickle will die in two weeks.

  She kept on running, noticing some familiar faces in the crowd like Sharon Bailey, Jack Slade and Bentley Drummle. More faces could be seen, and it appeared that a lot of the deceased from Sandy Lane and Vince’s camp were in the crowd. Karen gasped when her eyes had spotted Lee James, Rick Morgan, the obnoxious Jimmy Mac, Jasmine Kelly, Simon Benson, Luke John, Nicholas Burgess, Sheryl Smith, Kirk Sheen, and Karen’s old classmate Daniel Badcock.

  As soon as Karen reached the finish line, she found herself sitting down next to a fire. This was the start of the second dream. She looked round and it took a minute to realise where she was.

  Pickle was sitting next to her, KP was sitting opposite her, Janine Perry was to her left, and Jamie Thomson was standing near the wooded part of the beauty spot. It looked like he was doing guard duty. Karen then suddenly knew the situation she was in. It was the first week of the apocalypse and she was at Stile Cop with Pickle and the rest.

  At this point she had returned from work and had to escape a reanimated Gary. This resulted in Karen fleeing in her jeep, only to be carjacked and then having to flee the dead on foot up Stile Cop Road. Then she met a man called Oliver Bellshaw. After he assaulted her, she managed to respond by attacking the man with his own axe, and then she met Pickle.

  She had her head bowed and rubbed her eyes. Karen heard Pickle’s voice coming to the right side of her, asking her if she wanted something to drink. Karen lifted her head up and looked at Pickle. She released a shriek once she saw that half of his face was covered in his own blood and a bite mark was present at the side of his neck. He had turned, but somehow he was still managing to talk like a normal person.

  He quickly leaned over, grabbed Karen by the cheeks, and moved in on her. It looked like he was about to kiss her on the lips, but instead he bit into her face, ripping her lips away.

  *

  Karen stirred and opened her eyes.

  She sat up in bed and the first thing she did was to check her lips with her fingers. She felt to the side of her to make sure that Kelly was still there, and then began to think about the weird dreams that had taken place. She remembered the placard with Pickle Will Die in Two Weeks on it, and then she thought about the campfire dream where Pickle had turned.

  Normally, she wasn’t a believer in dreams meaning anything, but she couldn’t help thinking that it could be some kind of premonition. Were the two dreams linked? Was Pickle going to die and reanimate as a Snatcher? Was that going to be his eventual fate? In two weeks?

  Karen shook her head and released a slight chuckle, reprimanding herself for being so ridiculous. Or was she?

  She then felt wetness underneath her left thigh and knew straightaway that Kelly had wet the bed. Karen sighed and got out of bed. She was going to have to wake Kelly up and change the sheets.

  She didn’t want to wake the child, but she couldn’t allow her to lie in her own urine.

  Now that the sheets were soaking, Karen thought that Kelly was going to wake up eventually anyway. Her attention then moved away from the dreams and the bed wetting episode when she could hear voices coming from outside.

  She recognised the guard’s voices from her street, but what were they shouting at, and why?

  She could see a glowing from behind the curtains, making her face scowl, wondering what was happening outside, then could hear whistles being blown by the guards that were on duty. She opened the curtains and peered out to find every single vehicle that the street had, including the RV, was in flames.

  Seconds later, her bedroom burst open, giving her a fright and making her shriek. It was Pickle.

  “What the fuck’s going on?” she asked Pickle in an angry whisper.

  “Fucked if I know.” He walked over and looked out of Karen’s bedroom window, moaning, “Fuck me.”

  The pair of them were in shock, and gazed helplessly at the burning vehicles that had been lifesavers over the weeks.

  Pickle groaned, “I can’t believe this is happening. How did they get by Rowley and Paul, our so-called guards?”

  “Who would do such a thing?” Karen asked him.

  “I have an idea.”

  Pickle moved away from the window and headed for the stairs.

  Despite poor Kelly lying in her own urine, Karen got dressed and followed Harry out to be greeted by the intense heat from the burning vehicles, smoke billowing into the air.

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  By the time Karen had reached outside, every member of the street were out, except for Kelly. Pickle was disappointed but calm about the situation. What was done was done, and any kind of ranting would not undo what had happened.

  Pickle stood in the middle of the street, all vehicles ablaze, whilst Karen remained by her doorstep. Everybody else either stood and watched with shaking heads or had their heads in their hands.

  Vince approached Pickle and said, “Rowley and Paul never saw anything until the vehicles were set alight. They reckoned they saw three figures running away, back over the garden fences, but it was too late to chase them.”

  “Probably our three visitors from before.” Pickle nodded. “Must have came o’er the back garden’s fences and waited for both o’ our guys to be looking elsewhere.”

  Vince leaned over and whispered to Pickle, “I’ve noticed before that Rowley, especially when he’s by the wall, stares out for ages. He loses himself, loses concentration.”

  “I’m not blaming anyone,” Pickle sighed. “It’s a boring job, especially guarding on a night.” He then tried to joke, “And the pay isn’t great either.”

  “Now what?” Now Bonser had come over and stood near the two men.

  “All we can do is watch the vehicles burn.” Pickle looked at the two men for a response, but there wasn’t one. “At least we have what we need. We only used to go out on runs to top ourselves up for the winter. Besides, we were running out of petrol anyway.”

  “That stuff that Stephanie brought back will keep us going for a while on its own,” said Vince.

  “Yeah,” Pickle nodded, staring at the burning RV. “Thank God we moved the stuff into her house, rather than keeping it in the RV, which Karen suggested.”

  “Getting water’s gonna be a pain,” Stephen Bonser huffed. “We’re gonna have to go to the Trent on foot, bring back less with us.”

  “You don’t seem bothered,” Vince said to Pickle, looking at his calm manner. “You okay?”

  “I’d be more worried if they smashed up the solar panels.”

  “And you think the people that did this were the three guys from yesterday?”

  “Without a doubt.” Pickle nodded. “Yer said that Rowley saw three men running away. I also seem to remember that the ginger guy was holding a can o’ petrol when they were at the gate. That’s probably what they used to set the vehicles alight. Looks like they were greatly offended by the refusal.”

  “Well, at least they didn’t attack the houses,” said Vince.

  “No. These guys weren’t animals. They were just desperate and pissed off when they were refused help.”

  “Burning our vehicles was a bit fucking out of order, though,” huffed Vince. “Don’t you think?”

  “O’ course. But they never attacked anyone directly. If ever I bump into them in the next couple o’ days, while we’re out on a run, or whatever,
I wouldn’t harm them.”

  Vince was surprised by Pickle’s comment and said, “But that Bear character did something similar.”

  “Theodore Davidson wanted people to die at Sandy Lane,” Pickle corrected Vince Kindl, and began to pick at his left ear before adding, “Don’t forget, from what I’ve been told, the dead were already in the camp, thanks to Bear, before the tanker blew up and enticed more from afar.”

  “What do we do now, Pickle?” Bonser asked. “Just stand here like a couple of fannies while the vehicles burn?”

  “Aye,” Pickle nodded. “That’s exactly what we’re gonna do? Me and Vince will stay with Rowley and Paul. Everyone else can get back to bed.” Pickle looked at the residents that were out, including Karen, and turned to Bonser and winked at the man. “Go, tell everyone else to go inside and tell them that there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Will do,” Bonser said obediently.

  They all retreated back into their homes, one by one, Terry, Joanne, Danny, Gail Smith, amongst others, apart from Karen. She came over to Pickle and asked if people were going to be safe tonight.

  “Don’t worry yer pretty little head,” Pickle said with a chuckle. “Yer Uncle Pickle is here?”

  “I was thinking about Sandy Lane,” Karen remarked.

  “This is nothing like it. Get back to bed, back to that little girl.”

  “Okay.” She nodded. “I’ve got clothes and sheets to change anyway.” She turned away and took four steps forwards before turning around to face Pickle once more. “The fire might attract some Snatchers.”

  “We’ll take care o’ any strays, if there are any. On yer go.”

  Karen smiled, walked back over to him and leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I love you.”

  Pickle could feel his throat swell and his eyes getting damp. He cleared his throat and snapped falsely, “Just get back inside before I give yer a kick up the arse.”