“What is it?”
“If I hadn’t gone into the cellar and found that family, would this still be happening?”
Alex smiled and said, “I was going to do this tomorrow morning, but you forced my hand.”
She entered the room, turned around, placed her hands in her pocket and shrugged her shoulders.
He took an angry step forwards so that there was only half a metre between them. “I didn’t say you could turn around, did I?”
“Why did you say your name was Alex and that you lost your family?” Mildred spoke with her face screwed up. “Doesn’t make sense.”
“Seemed like a good story.”
“Shame,” she sighed.
“What is?”
“I think we could have made a good partnership,” Mildred told him and moved a little closer. “You didn’t have to do all of this.”
Alex relaxed, lowered the bat an inch, and said, “Do you think?”
“Just seems a bit unnecessary.”
Alex, or whatever his name was, became lost in thought and the bat lowered another inch.
Mildred smiled thinly at the man, then pulled her hands out of her pockets and threw her right hand forward. She took a step back and watched as the man dropped the bat and screamed after Mildred had rammed the tweezers into his left eye. She picked up the bat as Alex fell to the floor.
Although she felt he hadn’t suffered enough after what he planned to do to her, his screaming was getting on her nerves. She carefully aimed the bat and as the man lay with his hands over his face, blood running down, she pushed the bat into his chest and the spike pierced his heart. She kept the bat there until he stopped moving and then pulled it out.
Panting, she gazed at the man and realised how close she could have been from becoming a kidnapping victim.
She tried to fill her two bags with as much as she could and decided to waste no time and head to Stafford. If the hospital was too good to be true, she now had the pub to fall back on and it was only a two-mile walk.
Mildred Huxtetter had a heavy bag on each shoulder and stepped out into the murky day. She closed her eyes as the light wind stroked her features and headed west, bat in hand.
Chapter Forty-Five
Young Ronnie had already consumed half of the water given to him from his bag. The clouds were threatening, but the atmosphere was humid and almost stifling.
Ronnie knew where he was going and hoped that his journey would be trouble free. He wasn’t as experienced as the rest that constantly went out on supply runs, but he knew that the sound of an engine was going to force him into hiding until the potential danger had passed.
He had only been on the road for a mile and already he had to hide. He could see a figure in the distance and the frightened youngster went down a drive and hid in the back garden.
Ronnie sat down, with patio doors behind him, and waited. After he was satisfied that the stranger should have passed by now, he got to his feet and decided to check it out. He jumped when a noise occurred behind him and took a step back.
A dead male ghoul was pressed against the glass, inside the house, and was slapping his hands against the thick pane.
Ronnie gasped, and his stomach twisted when his eyes clocked a body behind the dead man. It was the body of an infant. He could see the legs across the carpet. They had been untouched, but the midriff had been desecrated and the head was nowhere to be seen. Ronnie gulped and then turned and threw up on the overgrown lawn. He wiped his mouth and walked away from the horrific scene. He crept down the side of his house and peered from around the corner, to the right.
The road was clear.
He looked to his left and could see the back of the individual he had spotted earlier. It looked like a woman. The woman had long dark hair, had on blue jeans and a green shirt, and looked to be carrying two bags and had a baseball bat in her right hand.
Ronnie reached the small village of Milford and already he felt his feet aching. He passed by The Barley Mow, tempted to go in, but continued to get to his destination as quickly as possible, meaning no pit stops.
The road bent to the right and the eighteen-year-old was now on an incline, with the woods either side to him. He hit the incline and pulled out his knife, hoping he didn’t need to use it. With the suffocating trees and the cloudy weather, the road he was on was dusky and rustling could be heard from both sides of the woods. His paranoia was strong and the young man decided to turn his brisk walk into a jog.
He had managed to reach the top of the hilly road and was relieved to see that it was now flat, as far as the eyes could see, but two of the dead stumbled out of the right side, from the trees, and Ronnie knew he had to get by them somehow. He wasn’t going to turn back on himself and he didn’t want to lose them by going into the woods. That was too dangerous.
His hand shook as he raised the knife and was looking for a gap so he could run by the two dead, rather than having to put them down in a bloody battle.
The two dead noticed Ronnie and staggered towards the frightened man. The dead were two males and they walked almost in line with one another, but there was three feet between them.
He waited for them to get nearer and then took in an intake of breath and ran for the gap. He ran by them, but his bag was grabbed. His momentum pulled the dead to the ground, but he jerked back and also fell, dropping his knife to the floor.
Ronnie was grabbed again by the lying Snatcher and screamed out as he saw the standing one approaching. He pushed the creature away, then tried to get up, but the lying creature had a hold of the bag with both hands. Ronnie put his arms behind his back and allowed the straps of the bag to fall, freeing him, and then he stood up, only to be grabbed by the Snatcher that was on his feet.
Ronnie panicked and released a frightened yelp. The putrid look of the ghoul’s rotten facial features made Ronnie retch, and he knew he only had seconds to do something. He placed his hands on the dead man’s shoulders and a kind of twisted dance took place, but Ronnie had no time to lose as the other being was getting to his dead feet.
He grabbed the filthy fabric of the dead being and swung him round, throwing him to the floor. He ran away and never looked back until he was exhausted and had to stop. He fell to his knees and looked down to see he had pissed his pants. He burst into tears and wrapped his arms around himself. He looked up and could see a sign stating that Little Haywood was only a mile away. He couldn’t believe he had already done five miles. He guessed that he had ran for two when fleeing the two dead beings.
He stood up straight and before he could take a step forwards, a buzzing sound sent a shiver through him. He went to the side of the road and lay down behind a bush. He could see through it and was surprised to see a large black Range Rover going by at a steady speed.
It had been over three months since the outbreak and people were driving around in a gas guzzling jeep. Drake had a few vehicles, but Ronnie thought that a set up like Drake’s was rare. Maybe there were more communities like Drake’s, he thought. Places that were huge and were awash with supplies.
He got to his feet and brushed himself down. The road was clear and Ronnie walked down the Stafford road, no bag and no knife. He felt vulnerable but knew the place he was heading to wasn’t far away.
He reached the two mini roundabouts and turned left, passing the burnt-out pub on his left. His thighs were like lead and as he passed an abandoned garage, he could see a gate in the distance. He got nearer and could see the street sign for Colwyn Place. He approached the gate, with his mouth as dry as sandpaper, and could see a tall man standing at the gate, holding a bat. The tall man had a ginger beard and narrowed his eyes with suspicion as he checked Ronnie out.
“You lost, son?” Terry Braithwaite asked the teenager.
Ronnie looked at Terry, the street sign to his left, and then over Terry’s shoulder to see the concrete wall that ran across the street.
“No,” said Ronnie. “I don’t think I am.”
Ter
ry looked confused and asked, “Are you sure? You look lost.”
“I was told to come here.”
“Who by?”
“Pickle,” Ronnie said. “He gave me instructions to get here.”
“Pickle?” Terry scoffed. “That fucking turncoat?”
“He told me to come here,” Ronnie said. “He said that you’d take me in. I’m from Stafford Hospital.”
“Is that right?” Terry ran his fingers over his beard and added, “Okay, so if Pickle sent you, tell me other names that came from here.”
“Karen, Vince, Joanne, Peter, Roger, Stephen—”
“Okay, that’s enough.” Terry nodded. “We never had a Peter and Roger here, but I’m satisfied with the other names that you gave me.”
Terry could sense a presence from behind and turned around to see Paul Smith. He asked Terry what the problem was.
“Just let him in,” Paul said. “Can’t you see he’s desperate?”
“He’s from Stafford,” Terry began to explain. “Said that Pickle sent him.”
“What?”
“Just asking him a few questions first.” Terry cleared his throat and asked further, “So...?”
His pause had annoyed a desperate Ronnie, but he chose to bite his lip.
“Why leave Stafford?” Terry finally asked.
“I...” Ronnie paused. Pickle had told him not to tell them the whole truth. “I had a falling out with Drake, so Pickle sent me here.”
“A bit drastic. What did you do?”
“I just...” Ronnie paused and remembered what Pickle had whispered to him before leaving. ‘Go to Little Haywood, Colwyn Place, past the pub and turn left. Tell them I sent you here for your own safety, but don’t tell them why.’
Considering that David MacDonald was briefly a resident at Colwyn Place, a minor, Ronnie knew it made sense not to tell Terry the real reason why he had to leave. Ronnie didn’t want to walk all the way to Little Haywood, six miles, only to be turned away because he could be seen as a troublemaker.
“I just don’t like Drake,” Ronnie said. “I don’t trust him. He’s a prick.”
“Well, that’s something we agree on.” Terry smiled.
“He never liked me and I wanted to leave because I feared for my safety.”
Ronnie knew the people that were left behind at Colwyn didn’t go because they didn’t trust Drake. After all, he did send men into Colwyn to attack them before a truce was made.
“Okay,” Terry sighed and opened the gate. “Welcome to Colwyn Place.”
Chapter Forty-Six
“Oi, Perkins!” Vince called.
Stephanie turned and smiled at the man she loved and respected. She raised her chin at Vince and asked him what was up.
He called over, “What are you up to?”
“I was gonna do a bit of shooting practice,” she called back.
“Want company?”
She shrugged her shoulders and pulled a face.
“Charming,” Vince laughed. “You’re getting it anyway.”
He walked over to where Stephanie was getting set up and could see young David MacDonald talking to Joanne Hammett.
“He’s far too young for you, Joanne!” Vince called over to her and produced a cheeky smile.
She never even looked at the man and gave him the finger whilst she was talking to the teenager.
Ignoring her response, Vince stood next to Stephanie and asked, “So what is your target?”
She pointed over at the sandbags near the wall.
“That’s about twenty yards away. That’s too easy for you.”
“I know,” she groaned. “Now I’m not out there, I don’t seem to shoot as often. I’m getting a little rusty.”
“They should put you on guard duty, outside,” said Vince. “The occasional Rotter comes near the place, so you might be able to shoot the odd moving target now and again.”
“I suppose.”
Vince looked to his left and could see Drake talking to an individual near the greenhouse. It appeared that the guard was in trouble for something, but Vince couldn’t work out what. Once Drake was finished reprimanding the man, Vince called him over.
“What is it, Kindl?” Drake was clearly annoyed from seconds before, but he was a hard man to track down sometimes if he wasn’t in the staff room.
“Young Stephanie here wants to do guard duty?”
Drake nodded. “Okay.” Drake’s positive response surprised Vince.
Vince said, “But not on the inside of the hospital, the outside.”
Drake pulled a face and blew out his cheeks. “She’s too young. The two guys are outside the building because we don’t have lookout towers. If a herd arrives or a gang of men, they’re ordered to—”
“Yeah, I know all that, Drake, but she’s the only person in this place that can kill a Snatcher or a man from thirty yards.”
Drake looked at the teenager who was adjusting her blonde ponytail. “We’ll squeeze you in soon enough. It’s as boring as hell, though.”
“I just want to do my bit,” she spoke.
“Drake! Drake!” The yells came from Findlay, the guard at the main gate.
All three ran towards the main gate and by the time they reached it, a small crowd had gathered, including Small Chris, Patricia Johnson, Joanne Hammett, David MacDonald, Darren, Karen and Pickle, plus nine others.
Drake walked towards the gate and could see a young attractive woman standing behind it. She was in her twenties, had dark hair and was carrying a baseball bat, with a bag on each shoulder.
“Can we help you?” Drake was the first to speak.
She nodded gently. “I would like to come in and join you.”
A noise could be heard in the distance and no more words were exchanged, as the sound of two mopeds grew louder.
Two guys on mopeds had arrived and stopped a few yards behind the nervous woman. Drake held up his hand to tell them to back off and shut their engines off whilst he spoke to the young woman. The two men in the leather WOE jackets switched their engines off and, using their feet, wheeled the mopeds back a few yards.
“Don’t mind them,” Drake told her. “There with us. They’ve been out on a scout. And by the looks of things, not a successful one.”
“So you are looking for people to join?” she asked him.
He hunched his shoulders and smiled. “Maybe.”
“I met two men out there,” she began. “They mentioned this place.”
“Oh? And what men were they?”
“Craig and Stephen,” she said. “They were killed early on today.”
Karen and Pickle looked at one another, Joanne started to cry, and Vince dropped his head on hearing this news. “They looked after me,” she said. “They helped me out when we ran into trouble.”
Pickle cleared his throat and asked, “How did they...?”
Mildred Huxtetter paused and dipped her head. “We ran away from the dead in this field, but there was a deep ditch that the two of them fell in and...”
“Okay,” Pickle groaned. “We get the message.”
“Did you see them die?” Karen asked bluntly.
“What?” Mildred shook her head, stating to Karen further that she didn’t understand.
“It’s a simple question.” Karen’s tone was harsh with the stranger, but that was down to the bad news she had received just seconds ago. “Did you see them die?”
“I heard them.” Mildred wiped her eyes and added, “I ran to the road as the dead piled in. There was too many of them for me to kill.”
“So you heard both men screaming?”
“I think so “
“You ... think so?” Karen looked at Pickle.
“Okay,” Pickle sighed and turned to Drake, “Look, if we—”
“No, no, no,” Drake huffed and held his hands up.
“What?”
“I know what you’re going to say,” said Drake.
“And what’s that?”
&nbs
p; “You want to go out there and waste good petrol finding those two?” Drake sneered, knowing what Pickle was going to say. “Fuel is for finding supplies.”
“I’ll go out on foot if I have to,” said Pickle. He leaned in, so that he was inches away from Drake, and added, “When I took that pickup out for a run a couple o’ days ago, I siphoned three cars on the way back ‘ere, filling up the tank.”
“And your point is?”
“I’m entitled to waste a little petrol, Drake. Especially when it’s looking for people.”
“Oh, really?”
“It’s only a few miles away. I wanna see for maself if they’re both dead. I’ll take...” Pickle pointed at the stranger behind the gate.
“Mildred,” she spoke up.
“Really?” Vince burst out laughing, which came to an immediate halt when Pickle and Drake flashed him a wide glare.
“Okay,” said Drake. “Get the pickup and take her to where they were. Straight back now, you hear me?”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Pickle saluted Drake.
“You might need a bit of muscle in case you run into trouble,” Vince spoke up.
“I’m coming as well,” Karen said. “I’m bored out of my tits and need some country air.”
“Can I come?”
They all turned around and could see Small Chris with his hand up.
“Oh, give me strength.” Drake moaned and rubbed the palms of his hands over his face. “Really? They’re not going out for a picnic, you know.”
“It’ll be good experience,” the little man replied.
“It’s not a run.”
“Still...”
Drake looked at Pickle, and Harry Branston hunched his shoulders. “I don’t mind.”
“Fuck’s sake. Okay then, but don’t be long.” Drake pointed at Vince. “Don't forget, you’re on the gate tonight.”
“I’ll get the truck,” Pickle said, then turned to Karen. “Get some water and pack a bag.”
She nodded.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Pickle was driving the pickup, with Karen and Vince in the front. Vince was next to the passenger door and Karen was sitting in the middle. Mildred was in the back with Small Chris.
Snatchers Box Set | Vol. 5 | Books 13-15 Page 18