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

by Shaun Whittington

  Pickle and Paul were silent as they approached the Wolseley Bridge; they went over the River Trent and were now passing the smashed up pub to their right.

  Once they were on the Stafford Road, Paul cleared his throat. "Something happened yesterday. With Joanne."

  Pickle remained looking forward as he drove. His face had no emotion and said calmly, "I'm listening."

  "I ... kind of ... attacked her."

  "Kind of?" Pickle looked astonished and pulled the vehicle over. He pulled up the parking brake and switched the engine off. "Yer either did or yer didn't. How did this happen?"

  "She came round yesterday." Paul released a breath out. "She must fancy me. I had no idea."

  "Well, me and Karen noticed that she had taken a wee shine to yer o'er the last few days."

  "Anyway ... she came on to me, fully on, and I panicked. While she was doing this, fondling me, all I could think about was Julie and the kids."

  Pickle nodded. He could understand where Paul was coming from. The guilt must have suffocated him when Joanne was all over him.

  "But how did yer attack her? Did yer slap her, push her away?"

  Paul leaned his head back and sighed. "I grabbed her by the hair and threw her across the room.

  "For fuck's sake, Paul."

  "I know. I'm sorry."

  "What were yer thinking? Joanne's a nice girl."

  "I thought we were friends, but obviously she wants more than that."

  "Anything else before we get back on the road?" Pickle tried to make light of what Paul had told him as he could see the man was tortured by his violent action. "Apart from going o'er the wall and making every resident feel uncomfortable?"

  "I think that's about it."

  Pickle cussed under his breath, then started the engine. "I don't think she'll say anything."

  "I hope not."

  Pickle pulled the vehicle away and went through the gears.

  Pickle added, "The way things are going, we're going to be kicked out o' this place anyway, whether Vince is a hero or not. I've pissed John off this morning. Don't know what he's going to say when he finds out that I took yer with me and yer threatened Jim at the gate. People think yer a strange guy as it is. And if Joanne does decide to blow the whistle..."

  Paul sniggered, "I suppose when you put it like that, it does sound bad."

  Pickle took another look at Paul and shook his head. He was a different man to the one he knew four weeks ago.

  Chapter Thirty One

  After a restless night, Vince Kindl opened his eyes and scanned around the trees. They should have had someone on guard, doing shifts, but all were so exhausted. Vince was certain that anything untoward, any kind of noise, would have pulled them out of their sleep anyway. Being surrounded by trees, bracken and with broken branches on the ground, it was hard for a human to creep up on them and not make a noise. The dead were clumsier.

  Vince looked to his left and could see that Karen and Stephen were still out of the game. He got to his knees and winced when his body was telling him that he needed to empty his bladder.

  He stood up and staggered a few yards into the woods. He yawned, bringing tears to his eyes, then took out his penis and began peeing, He closed his eyes as he relieved himself up a tree and quickly opened them when a snap of a twig was heard in front of him. He could see a young woman staring at him. She was human. She wasn't one of the dead, and was dressed in a camouflaged poncho and holding a bottle of water.

  "Erm..." Vince blushed when the woman continued to stare at him whilst he peed. "Do you mind?" He nodded down to his groin. "Once I start, I can't stop."

  "I'll wait until you're done." The woman spoke and turned around.

  Once Vince zipped himself back up, she turned around and smiled at the man. Her short dark hair was in need of a wash and she had some dirt on her face, but she looked reasonably healthy.

  "What are you doing here?" he asked her.

  "I was going to ask you the same question."

  "Me and my friends got stuck," Vince explained. "We had to stay here the night. We have a camp, but we're a couple of miles away from it. We'll be leaving soon."

  "You must be hungry." She smiled, warming Vince's heart.

  "To be honest with you. I could eat the scabs off a monkey's arse."

  "And thirsty?"

  "Dry as a nun's crutch."

  We have some Catholics in our group." The woman continued to gaze at Vince and added," I don't think they'd appreciate that kind of talk."

  "Okay." Vince nodded and held his hand up. "Well, I'll be seeing you."

  "Where're you going?"

  "I told you. I've got a camp to go to. Anyway, it was good meeting you..."

  "Sapphire." The woman lost her smile. "My name's Sapphire."

  Vince screwed his face and huffed, "Of course it is."

  "Why don't you come with me and we'll feed and hydrate you and your friends. We have a camp in the woods."

  "Why would you do that?" Vince seemed unsure and wary about her offer. There were a lot of bad people about now the apocalypse was in its third month. Trusting people was difficult, but this woman seemed to trust him.

  Considering that Vince was a man, a badly scarred man, he was impressed that she was alone and so calm. Maybe she was nuts. Maybe her camp had unstable people. Vince wasn't sure about her.

  Her eyes dropped and stared at his groin.

  Taken aback, Vince clicked his finger, forcing the woman to bring her eyes back up. "Any reason why you're staring at the helipad?"

  "Helipad?"

  "Yeah, I call it that because that's where I keep my chopper."

  She never cracked her face and said, "You've had a slight spillage."

  Vince looked down. She was right. "Shit." He blushed and said, "I've got to go. Good luck with surviving and that."

  "Why don't you want to come back with me? We're good people. There's not many of us left."

  "Look, no offence, darling, but you don't seem all there. The engine's on but there doesn't seem to be anyone behind the wheel, know what I mean? Why would you offer a complete stranger your food and water? That's nuts."

  "Because it's the Christian thing to do."

  "And you and your ... pals are worshippers of God and Jesus Christ?"

  A smile stretched over her face and she nodded. "We certainly are. God has got us through this test so far, and we're prepared to keep on surviving, avoiding the clutches of Satan's soldiers."

  "Satan's soldiers?" Vince cackled and dragged his nails over his head. "Are you referring to the dead? Do you think this is God's doing?"

  "It is." She nodded.

  "And you think this is some kind of test?"

  She nodded, still smiling. "You think I'm mad?"

  "A little, yes."

  "Come with me."

  "I think I'll be going now. Bye." Vince turned around and jumped when he saw Karen coming through the trees.

  "I thought I heard voices. What's happening?" Karen then turned to the poncho-wearing woman. "And who are you?"

  "She has a place and kindly invited us for breakfast," Vince tried to explain. "I politely refused. We need to get back."

  "Is your place far?" asked Karen.

  The woman shook her head. "A two-minute walk."

  "Then we'd be delighted to join you." Karen said to Vince's dismay. He didn't have the energy to respond and gave in. Behind them they could hear the grunting and coughing of Stephen Rowley.

  Karen queried the woman, "Could you entertain three of us?"

  Chapter Thirty Two

  The black Range Rover continued along the Stafford Road, and Pickle and Paul made small-talk as the vehicle went at a steady forty along the open stretch. They talked about the past, Karen, and Paul even told some funny stories about Julie.

  "It sounds like yer two had something special." Pickle took a quick peep at his passenger and felt for the man.

  "We did." Paul revealed a thin, sad smile. "Even before the k
ids came along, we were like carrots and peas, as Julie used to say.

  Pickle reached over with his left hand, keeping his right on the steering wheel, and gave Paul a comforting squeeze on his shoulder. "I know yer goin' through a bad time, but if ever yer wanna talk, with me, Karen, or even Vince..."

  Paul nodded and looked like he was getting emotional. "Thanks."

  "I know we don't mention him much," said Pickle. "But we'll never forget Kyle. He was a great wee boy and cute as a button."

  "Thanks, Pickle." Paul nodded with a thin smile. "That means a lot."

  "There's not a day ... an hour that goes by that I don't think about the poor wee guy."

  "He was our miracle baby." Paul smiled and tried to picture his little boy in his head.

  Paul paused and Pickle decided to keep his mouth shut and wait for Paul to speak in his own time, if he wanted to.

  Pickle took a quick look at Paul to see if he was okay.

  Paul looked relaxed and kept his smile as he reminisced. "Kyle was an IVF baby. Have I told you that before?"

  Pickle shook his head. He wasn't sure if Paul had told him or not.

  "So yer couldn't have kids naturally?"

  "Bell came after Kyle. She was natural. Kyle was IVF."

  "That doesn't make much sense to me."

  "Apparently, it's not that uncommon." Paul shifted in his seat and rubbed under his itchy nose with the side of his thumb. "Me and Julie tried for years to conceive, but it just wasn't happening. We went to the doctors. Then Julie had AI."

  "What's that?"

  "Artificial insemination. We had four shots at that on the NHS, but it didn't work. It was a nightmare. I had to inject Julie with ... I've actually forgot what it was. It was something to do with making her produce more eggs. Then it was time for the IVF. We were allowed two goes at that, then after that we'd have to pay."

  "Sounds stressful."

  "It was a fucking nightmare." Paul shook his head, thinking back. "When we did the first attempt of IVF, we were given a date and a telephone number and were told to ring the number after 1pm."

  "So, what happened?"

  "Well, they told Julie that it was bad news and that the IVF had failed. She wasn't pregnant. We were both in tears."

  "I could imagine."

  "I, for some reason, decided to go to the gym and she stayed in the living room. When I came back she had been drinking..."

  Paul couldn't go on. He had a large lump in his throat and tried to clear it.

  "You don't need to go on." Pickle turned and gave Paul a sympathetic look. "At least the second attempt worked."

  "What about you?" Paul said, now changing the subject. "I hardly know anything about you. I mean, I've heard stories. I don't really know Karen that well, although she's told me stories about you and her. She doesn't talk about her life from the old world much."

  "Well, maybe–"

  "There's somebody up ahead." Paul interrupted and pointed.

  "I see it." Pickle eased off the accelerator and the vehicle began to slow down. "Looks like a young man."

  On the side of the road was a male figure, average height, and he looked to be fixing something. He wasn't hitchhiking and he didn't seem too distressed. He heard the engine of the Range Rover, turned, and gave them both a wave.

  "Fuck it." Pickle's intrigue had got the better of him and he continued to slow down. "Another five minutes isn't going to hurt Karen, Vince and Stephen. I want to know his story."

  "Just keep moving," Paul insisted. "If I was lost, and then found out that the people out looking for me stopped to have a chat with someone ... well, I'd be a little pissed off."

  "Yeah, yer right." Pickle speeded up, sounded the horn and gave the young man a friendly wave as they continued on. Both Paul and Pickle looked to the side and could see that the youngster was by a gate. There was a road behind the gate that went on for almost fifty yards that led to a farm, and Pickle and Paul continued looking.

  The young man waved back and watched as the Range Rover disappeared around a bend.

  *

  Hector Grassington was fifteen years old. The apocalypse had been a nightmare for the young man, but he was lucky enough to have strong parents. He was aware that a lot of people had died in the first week, yet he never had to leave his home. The farm where he stayed was his dad's, and his father had been the owner of it for almost twenty years. It had been Hector's only home.

  Hector strolled down the road, heading back to the farm, back home, and waved as his rotund mother stepped outside from the farmhouse. She waved back and as he approached her she asked him how he had got on.

  "Dad's right," Hector said. "The gate's gonna need a new lock. Better get one soon. It won't stop trespassers, but it'll stop the dead from walking in."

  "I hope you're right." She cuddled up to her son and rubbed his arm. "You want some soup?"

  Hector nodded and had a question of his own. "Is dad still out hunting?"

  "Yeah. He should be back soon." She began to laugh and said, "Let's hope he comes back with something substantial."

  "We still have supplies in the barn."

  "And how long is that gonna last?" She smiled at her son and rubbed his head. He was still her baby boy, no matter what age he was.

  "Do you think we'll have to leave one day? Go somewhere where there's more supplies? Maybe a camp or something?"

  "Not this again." His mother shook her head. "This is my home. I'm not going anywhere."

  "But mum..."

  "No buts. I've said to you time and time again. I'm going to die here." She then began to chuckle and gave him a playful nudge with her elbow. "Let's just hope it's not too soon."

  "Me and dad went out everyday for supplies in the first weeks and then we had to kill all our livestock—"

  "And your point being?"

  "We'll have to move, if we start running out of food. Those boys aren't gonna last us long, are they?"

  "Speaking of which." His mum disappeared into the farmhouse and came out a few minutes later with a large bowl of soup and a spoon.

  "You're not wasting your good soup on those two, are you?" Hector began to laugh.

  "Need to keep their strength up. They're no good to us malnourished, are they?"

  Hector followed his mum to the barn and he pulled out a set of keys, unlocking the padlock. They stepped inside the barn and were greeted by moans and groans. Sitting on the floor of the place were two young men, backs to one another and tied up. The rope was around their stomachs and tied in a knot. A sock was in each of their mouths and Hector pulled them out.

  Both men never protested once their tongues were free. There was no point.

  They were in the middle of nowhere and the first time they protested, when they were first captured, they were beaten.

  Four days ago there were four of them. They had left Nantwich to go somewhere safer and had reached Stafford. After a run-in with a biker gang, they ran away. They then decided to flee Stafford and go to the country.

  They went to the farm for temporary sanctuary, but it had turned out to be a grave mistake. Two of their friends had been taken away a couple of days ago and hadn't been seen since. They wondered where they were, but were scared to ask. They had a feeling that their friends weren't around anymore.

  "Eat." Hector's mother crouched down, bowl in one hand, spoon in the other, and fed the two men herself. Once this had been done, she asked if any of them needed the toilet. One of them nodded.

  Hector knew what this meant. He sighed and left the barn. He returned a few moments later, holding a shotgun. He nodded over to the man that needed the bathroom and said, "Come on then."

  Hector's mother had untied the men, then pulled out a knife and pressed the blade against the throat of the man that didn't need to relieve himself. He and his friend were used to this now. Hector escorted the other young man outside and watched as he took a piss up a tree.

  "That was nice soup," the man said as he continued to pee.
Once he finished, he turned around and smiled at Hector. He had to ask. "When do you think you're gonna let us go?"

  "You're not leaving." Hector decided to tell the man the truth. "Now move your arse."

  The young man lowered his head sadly. Deep down he was scared, but he was also angry. He was angry that he was being ordered about by a fifteen-year-old. Hector smiled as he walked behind his captive, the shotgun pointing at his back, and they both made the slow walk back to the barn.

  Hector continued to smile as they made their way back. He was dying to tell his captive what was in the soup, just to get a reaction. Mother insisted that these men needed to be fed and watered like any other normal person until it was time for the men to be butchered, and the hostages vomiting would be detrimental to the Grassington's survival.

  Supplies were thin, the father was forced to hunt, and their other two friends had almost been finished.

  Some of their meat had been put into the huge bowl of soup that Hector's mother had made. The same soup that the two captives had devoured themselves.

  Hector guessed that it would be a few more days before they would have to butcher another captive, but the future still worried him. His mother and his father were adamant that they were not going to leave, and he was unsure if they would let him leave on his own. If they weren't going to leave, then what? Starve?

  Maybe they would go into a room and take their own lives. This is what Hector was worried about. He was a minor, so they would make the decision for him. He would be gunned down first, without having a say in the matter, before they turned the gun on themselves.

  He tried to put it at the back of his mind. He had weeks, possibly months before that scenario arose. If it did.

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Both men had had a decent sleep and Craig and Jez were on their way to the house where the family had been murdered. Jez was nervous. but felt he had a responsibility to give the family a burial. It was the least he could do.

  The two of them walked up the drive of the place and Jez felt a shudder down his vertebrae.

  Craig stopped by the opened main door and turned around to face Jez. "You okay? Getting flashbacks?"