Snatchers (Book 10): The Dead Don't Care

by Shaun Whittington

  Chapter Four

  After speaking to Stephen Rowley, John Lincoln noticed Harry Branston, dressed in black, stepping out of his place. John called Pickle over and asked if he could have a word.

  Pickle sighed and went over, wondering why John didn't come over to him.

  Pickle strolled towards the large frame of Lincoln and gave him a warm smile. "What's up?"

  John cleared his throat and looked around. Judging by his awkward body language, Pickle guessed that he wasn't going to like what John was about to say.

  "Come on, John," Pickle said with impatience. "Spit it out."

  "Well, you see..."

  John was struggling and his hesitancy was testing Pickle's patience. "Yes?"

  "Okay." John held his hands up. "First of all, thanks for offering to take young Danny out this morning. After what happened before, with his panicking and disappearing, he needs to get experience under his belt. It's not really about raiding a place, it's about desensitising him with these Creepers."

  "If we come across any, I'll make sure he has a chance to kill one or two. But is that all that's bothering yer?"

  John paused and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger. "No. At the same time, as you know, Vince, Freddie and Stephen are taking out the RV."

  "Aye, I know all that."

  John hesitated and stammered a little when he announced, "And ... Karen is going with them."

  Pickle nodded and never gave John Lincoln a verbal response at first. It wasn't what John Lincoln was expecting. He was expecting a fiery response from Pickle, but never got it.

  "You don't mind?" John Lincoln was surprised that Pickle took the news calmly. "Originally, she was going to stay behind, then sort out the stuff once the lads returned. She wanted to go. She asked me if she could go."

  Pickle sighed, "Maybe it'll do her good. Keep her mind off ... things."

  "She said she's fit enough to be out there," John remarked. "I think she's desperate to get off this street for a couple of hours."

  Pickle laughed and looked up, beginning to reminisce. "Yer know, when me and Karen first met she was a true warrior, braver than any person I've known. Then we found out she was pregnant, and we tried to protect her and made sure she never went out o' the camp, but she'd moan her arse off. She was a pain in the tonsils, to tell yer the truth."

  "So she's capable?"

  Branston snickered and raised his hand at John to apologise, just in case he deemed his giggling as patronising. "John, in the first week she had killed more o' the dead than some o' yer lot 'ave killed in o'er two months."

  "Really?"

  "Let me tell yer a wee story about our Karen," Pickle began, "In the first week, she put her life on the line and distracted a horde by gunning them down on Stile Cop, with a Browning in each hand, while me and KP ran for the prison van. She blew a man away in the second week, she buried a machete into the back of a guy's head while driving a forklift truck—"

  "I'll take that a yes then." John Lincoln smiled.

  "Yes."

  "Oh," Lincoln placed his arm on Pickle's shoulder, "I need to talk to young Danny. Speak to you later." He gestured for Danny Gosling, who was talking to Freddie, to come over and see him. "Need to make sure he's still up for it."

  Pickle nodded, then walked away off of John's premises. He stood on the pavement and looked around at the busy street. He had no idea what everybody did, whether it was purifying water, washing clothes or seeing to the vegetable patches in the back gardens, but most people that were out seemed busy and Terry Braithwaite appeared to be on the main gate again.

  Pickle saw David MacDonald stroll out of the house that he shared with Stephen Rowley, and the boy seemed lost.

  Pickle whistled for David to come over and see him, in which he did, and asked if he was okay.

  David nodded, but his face told Pickle a different picture.

  "Missing everybody?" queried Pickle. "Charles, your dad?"

  The fourteen-year-old shrugged his shoulders, not giving anything away, and said. "I've got nothing to do. A bit bored." He lowered his head and began kicking at the ground. Pickle was certain that he had something on his mind, but was too shy or scared to reveal what it was.

  The former inmate smiled and said to David MacDonald, "Is there something yer wanna tell me?"

  David looked up. "This little trip you're going on today..."

  "Yes?"

  "I want to come along."

  Pickle sighed and began, "I don't think John will allow that."

  "Why not?"

  "Do yer really have to ask?" Pickle rubbed his right hand over his stubbly face. "Yer only fourteen. Maybe they'll have use for yer for other stuff. I hear Paul is going to the Trent to get more water to purify with ... what's his name?"

  "That's a job for old ladies," David huffed petulantly.

  "Look, just be thankful that yer alive. Things could have turned out a lot worse for yer."

  David knew Pickle was right. He remembered what state he was in when he was found. "I just need to do ... something. It wasn't like this at Sandy Lane."

  "Lincoln won't send two inexperience guys out, no chance. On paper it's supposed to be a straightforward trip to a place, but it doesn't always work out the way yer want it to."

  "Okay." David looked dejected. "If I went out with you lot I thought that it would desensitise me being out there in the future, especially if I could kill one of them."

  "It's just yer age that goes against yer, that's all."

  "What about that girl who joined our camp before it went all wrong?" David MacDonald paused for thought, trying to remember the young girl's name. "Stephanie. She was the same age as me, and she—"

  "Let's not discuss it any further." Pickle placed a comforting hand on David's shoulder and stared at the young man. "I know what yer mean about being desensitised. It's exactly the reason why I'm taking out Danny. But Danny's twenty six."

  "Couldn't you even put it to that Lincoln guy?"

  Pickle thought for a while. He could understand why young David wanted to do it. If ever he was out there on his own again, he'd be better prepared if he knew that he could handle the dead. But Pickle knew what John's answer would be. He wouldn't even let Paul Dickson out on a run because he was deemed as weak and a little unstable.

  Pickle sighed and gave David a sympathetic look. "No. I'm sorry. If it was up to me ... maybe."

  David nodded, accepting defeat. He turned and began to walk away, back to the house, back to 7 Colwyn Place.

  Pickle called out, "Are we still pals?"

  "Of course." David turned around and smiled. "You saved my life. I'll never forget that, Pickle."

  Chapter Five

  Minutes had passed and now Vince Kindl, Stephen Rowley, Freddie Johnson and Karen Bradley were in a small circle, talking to John. They were taking the motor-home with them because of the storage space it provided. If the chemist was still untouched, then there was all sorts that they could come back with. From bandages to strong painkillers.

  Paul Dickson had returned from Joanne's place and now watched from his doorstep as the four of them got into the RV, ready to go. It looked like Stephen Rowley was the designated driver, as he usually was, and once the vehicle slowly approached the entrance, Terry Braithwaite pulled back the steel gate.

  Paul continued to watch as the vehicle pulled out. Karen stuck her head out of the passenger window and gave Paul a wave. He waved back with a thin smile, but he was still upset that he hadn't been picked for the run, yet the young and inept Freddie Johnson was going.

  "She'll be fine."

  The remark from behind made Paul jump. He turned around and saw Pickle approaching him.

  Paul managed to greet Harry Branston with a small smile. "You think?"

  "Absolutely. Especially with Vince by her side."

  Paul never responded further and glared at the entrance/exit until the RV turned left and eventually disappeared from sight.
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br />   "Anyway," Pickle sighed. "I'll be up next."

  "That's right." Paul gave off a rare chuckle. "You're on babysitting duty."

  "Danny's been out there." Pickle put his hands in his pockets. "He just lacks experience. I'm not sure he's ever killed one o' those things before."

  Paul tilted his chin and looked up, thinking back. "I still remember my first time, in the sports centre. It was nerve-wracking stuff. Two of the fuckers."

  Pickle tried to remember his first time.

  Jamie, a prison officer and driver of the prison van, had pulled up at a garage. Pickle and KP had seen a few in the distance and thought it would be a good idea to kick them until they were finished. They managed to finish some, but it was harder than they thought, and ended up giving up and running back to the van, where Jamie, Janine, Laz and Grass were waiting for them.

  They both saw Danny exit his house and Pickle said, "I suppose that's ma cue to get the jeep ready." Pickle said cheerio to Paul and walked away. He then turned, whilst still walking and called out to Paul, "What about yer? What yer gonna be doin' today?"

  Paul threw his arms in the air like a petulant child. "I'm on Trent duty with Stephen Bonser."

  Pickle nodded and said, "Has to be done, Paul. We all need to drink."

  *

  A couple of minutes had passed. Paul Dickson sat on the grass and waited patiently for Stephen Bonser to appear from his home that he shared with a man called James. He had to wait no longer than three minutes when Stephen appeared from his house and whistled Paul over.

  Cheeky bastard, Paul thought.

  He decided to wait a few seconds longer, just to make a childish point that he wasn't some fucking sheepdog Stephen could control. He eventually walked over slowly, on purpose, towards the car where Stephen was already sitting in the driver's seat, engine running.

  As soon as Paul got into the passenger seat, he was greeted with a volley of abuse from Bonser.

  "You took your fucking time!"

  "I did," Paul said calmly.

  "Didn't you hear me whistle?" Bonser pulled the car forward and waited for Terry to pull the gate back.

  "Yes, I did."

  "And?"

  Paul slowly turned his head and glared at Stephen Bonser. "You do that again, and you'll see a side to me you won't fucking like."

  Paul Dickson and Stephen Bonser left Colwyn Place in the silver Vauxhall Zafira. There were four empty water canisters, that used to belong to a water cooler many moons ago, in the back of the car. It was going to be a short trip to the Trent, ten to fifteen minutes filling the canisters, then straight back for filtering.

  The short journey was made in silence.

  Chapter Six

  Freddie was lying down in the back of the RV, hands on his head and complaining of a migraine, whilst Stephen and Vince sat in the front. Stephen was driving.

  There was still a few miles to go before reaching their destination and Karen, who was also in the back, was becoming bored and irritable.

  She stood up and made her way to the front; she stood inbetween the passenger and driver and asked how long it would be before they got there.

  Stephen twitched his neck and cleared his throat, making Vince screw his face in disgust. He said, "Shouldn't be long now, Karen. I've been here before, so I know where I'm going."

  "That's a relief."

  "So is there certain medicines we have to take from this chemist, or do we just empty the shop?"

  "Empty the shop," Karen suggested. "If your guy is right about this place, which I find unbelievable, then we may as well empty it before someone else comes along."

  Stephen cleared his throat and said, "It was the Fergusons. They were coming back from a run and noticed the place. They had a look inside and tried the door, but it was locked. They already had a full car with food and didn't want to take the risk."

  "Seems a bit hard to believe that a place like that has been left untouched," Vince remarked. "After two months?"

  "The area had been swarming for a while. It only cleared up in the last week or so, plus, it's in the middle of the country. When this thing kicked off I think chemists was the last thing on people's minds."

  Vince nodded in agreement with Stephen's statement. "That's right. In the beginning it was all about supermarkets, other shops and petrol stations. Food, water and gas was all I concentrated on at first."

  "It's still unbelievable." Karen brushed her hair behind her ears and added, "I remember in the second week, when Pickle was ill, I drove the prison van to a chemist and that place had been raided."

  Vince chuckled and joked, "And then you picked up Jason Bonser and you nearly had you and Pickle killed."

  "I heard about that," said Rowley. "It was Stephen Bonser's brother, wasn't it?"

  "Yip." Karen nodded.

  "What happened?" Stephen Rowley took a quick gape at Karen, then faced the front. "You killed him?"

  "Nah," Karen answered. "Pickle shot him in the leg. Then I drove him out a few miles and dumped him somewhere. The fucker came back."

  "Shit, chap." Stephen slowed down and turned left at a junction. They passed an old car crash to their left, dried in blood everywhere. "He came back? Despite being shot?"

  "And brought back about a hundred Snatchers with him."

  "How did you escape?"

  Karen was getting tired of talking and gave Stephen a short answer. "In the van. We then got a flat and had to flee to a sports centre."

  "Didn't he give you a name when you picked him up?"

  "He called himself George Jones," Karen began to explain to Stephen. "And I didn't know he was bad news, another inmate from Stafford."

  "I've heard a few stories about you and Pickle from Vince," Stephen slowed the vehicle down as they approached a bend, "but that's messed up."

  He then dropped the vehicle into third as he approached a roundabout and turned left. Another minute had passed and Stephen began to gently touch the brake, slowing the motor-home down and eventually bringing it to a stop.

  All three peered out of the windscreen and could see the chemist was next to a building. The building looked like an old Victorian place and had been turned into a home for senior citizens.

  Noticing Stephen looking at the old building, Vince reminded him, "Don't forget, we're here for medical stuff."

  Stephen nodded. "I suppose there'd be nothing in there for us. I reckon the canteen would be well-empty by now."

  "And don't forget the elderly turned-Snatchers that could be in there," Karen reminded them. "I bet it fucking stinks."

  "Probably smells the same as it did before the apocalypse," Vince chuckled. "A mixture of death, piss and Murray mints."

  "Show a bit of respect, chap," Stephen huffed.

  "Sorry, Steve."

  "Stephen," Rowley corrected. "Don't call me Steve."

  "Anyway," Karen, slapped the shoulders of driver and passenger and announced before disappearing in the back, "I'll let Freddie know we're here."

  As soon as Karen was gone, Stephen turned to Vince after he had turned off the engine and said, "Are you and Freddie still cool?"

  Vince nodded. "Don't worry. He doesn't seem to be as cheeky now."

  "That's good, chap."

  "Maybe it was because I told him that he smelled different when he was awake."

  A rare laugh came from Stephen, and this made Vince smile.

  Vince opened the passenger door and stepped out. Every member had opted for a machete for the trip, just in case, and Stephen was the next to step outside. He went to the side of the motor-home and opened the main door to let Karen and Freddie out. She stepped down with her machete tucked into her belt and Freddie followed her, yawning and moaning that he was hungry. Each person had an empty rucksack.

  They approached the main door of the chemist. It was all very bizarre. It was a tiny place, the door or the windows didn't look to be damaged, and when Vince tried the door, he looked over and shook his head. It was locked.


  Stephen began, "Do you think—?"

  Before Stephen Rowley could finish his sentence, Vince had already smashed in the glass of the door with the handle of his machete. Stephen rolled his eyes at Kindl as Vince put his arm through and opened the door. They all went in and could see the counter was to their right.

  It was a small, narrow place. There were supplies like paracetamol, ibuprofen and piriton in a glass cabinet as well as cough bottles, but over the counter, through the back, was where the hard stuff was.

  There were also drugs such as antibiotics, pills for blood pressure and blood thinners.

  "What do we take?" Vince asked.

  "Take it all." Karen stepped in after him. "We have the room. It'll all come in handy, especially the senna, laxido and anything else related to bowel movements."

  "Why?"

  "People don't drink as much as they used to, so it can cause constipation," Karen tried to explain. "May as well grab the stuff for diarrhoea as well. Just grab everything. We have the room."

  Rowley cocked his head to the side. "Everything?"

  Karen nodded. "Everything. Even the viagra. I can sort it out when we get back. Make sure you don't leave this place until your bags are full."

  Vince jumped over the counter, dropped to his knees and began to fill his bag whilst softly singing, "Mary had a little lamb, they tied it to a pylon. Ten thousand volts shot up its bum, and turned its wool to nylon."

  Chapter Seven

  The vehicle made the short journey to the Wolseley Bridge and parked up outside the damaged and ransacked pub. During the short journey, the driver, Stephen Bonser, remained silent throughout and made no effort to speak to his passenger.

  Paul Dickson had spent the journey gazing out of his window. Bodies at the side of the road could be seen. He also noticed the house where he had stayed the night a few days ago, the same place that had a herd of naked Snatchers in it.

  The vehicle parked up and the first words that left Stephen Bonser's mouth, since they had both left Colwyn Place, were, "Grab yourself two canisters from the boot."