Snatchers Box Set | Vol. 5 | Books 13-15

by Whittington, Shaun

  A knock on the door was heard and Drake quickly put the picture back and sat back down. He told the individual behind the door to enter.

  A man with a leather jacket entered, a man Drake had known for years.

  “Alright, Frank?” greeted Drake.

  Frank nodded and pulled out two bottles from inside his jacket. One was a bottle of Jamesons whiskey and the other was a bottle of gin.

  “Thanks.” Drake seemed embarrassed to take the bottles, but he took them all the same. “Did you take something for yourself as a reward.”

  “Always do.” Frank winked.

  Drake sighed and said, “Look...”

  “I know. I know, Drake.” Frank held his hands up. “If I blab, you’ll have me stabbed while I sleep.”

  “I was only joking, by the way, when I said that.”

  “No, you weren’t. And I’m supposed to be your friend. We go back years, remember?”

  “I’m the best candidate to be a leader here.”

  “I know that, Drake.”

  “But if people know that I drink, they may see it as a weakness.” Drake could feel the disappointment on the man’s face and protested, “I’m not an alcoholic.”

  “So you say every time I give you booze,” said Frank. “Look, I’m not here to judge you. When our guys go out there, we bring stuff back. You get your perks and so do we.”

  Drake nodded and rubbed his chin.

  “How much booze have you got left?” Frank asked Drake.

  Drake nodded at the two bottles that he had placed on the sink top. “That’s it.”

  “Jesus, have you drank all that booze we got you last week?”

  “It was only three bottles of vodka. That’s not even half a bottle a night.”

  “Just...” Frank chose his words carefully. “Take it easy now and again. There’s no point surviving the first year of the apocalypse, building all this, and then dying of liver failure.”

  “Just don’t let anybody know what’s happening. If people find out, especially that Pickle...”

  “Why concerned about Pickle?”

  “Because the guy’s a born leader. Any fool can see that.”

  “I’ve noticed you’ve put the new people out on the non-food runs.”

  “Of course,” Drake laughed. “I’m happy sending them out to the hospitals and garden centres, but you’re head of the food and drink runs. Otherwise my perks and yours stop.”

  Chapter Fifty

  Pickle was driving as usual. Karen was in the middle of the two males, and Mildred and Chris were in the back of the pickup. It was the same seating arrangement when they had left Stafford.

  Vince had told a bad and offensive joke about a paraplegic trying to masturbate, and wasn’t finished there. He was beginning to get on Pickle’s nerves.

  “Okay, what about this one.” He was giggling like a schoolboy and Pickle pressed his foot harder on the accelerator to get to their destination quicker. “A guy went to the dentist and this dentist reminded him about his wife’s sensitive gag reflex. They laughed about it for a while, and then the man remembered that he and his wife had different dentists.”

  “That’s one of your better ones.” Karen smiled.

  “Okay, last one.”

  “Yer promise?” Pickle groaned. “Drake wants me to go out tomorrow to a homestore to pick up a barbecue. Was gonna ask yer to come along, Vince, but I’m not so sure now.”

  “I’m in,” Vince said and then held his hands up. “Okay. Definitely the last one. What’s the difference between a pregnant woman and a light bulb?” He never waited for the pair of them to respond and said, “You can unscrew a light bulb.”

  “A bit insensitive, Vince,” said Pickle. “Considering Karen hasn’t long lost her baby.”

  “Shit.” Vince threw his head back and smacked his palm off his forehead. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “It’s okay.” Karen placed her hand on his shoulder and gave it a rub. “There’s been so much sadness with losing the baby, Shaz, Jack, my Gary, and many others. I’m glad you’re trying to cheer people up with your bad and inappropriate humour.”

  “It’s not that bad.” Vince feigned hurt.

  “They’re bad enough.”

  “Again, sorry about that last joke.”

  “Yer guys can suck each other’s arses later.” Pickle moaned, and then took his foot off the gas and began to slow down.

  “What is it?” Karen asked.

  “Look for yerself.”

  They could all see a black jeep parked in the middle of the road and Pickle brought the pickup to a stop, four car lengths away from it.

  “Now what?” asked Vince.

  Pickle opened the driver’s door and turned to Karen and Vince, giving them a cheeky wink. “Let’s see what they want.”

  Vince and Karen stepped out, and Vince went to the back of the pickup and told a confused Mildred and a frightened Chris to stay where they were. Vince returned to the front of the vehicle and he stood next to Pickle and Karen. All three stood by the bonnet and waited for the people in the black jeep to step out.

  They didn’t have to wait too long.

  Three stepped out and Pickle recognised the men straight away. The two men from the back passenger seats were called Jamie, also known as Jamo, and a guy called Martin Hutton, or Hutty.

  Jamo was a thin individual with glasses and posed no physical threat. Hutty was the same. He was a man in his forties, dark hair with a large bald spot, and was of average height and size.

  The individual that had stepped out of the front passenger seat was a man called Freddie Newton. He was a violent man, very lean, and had long hair and a beard. To Pickle he always looked like Jesus, but he was nicknamed Manson. He was a strong physical presence and his six-foot-six frame made him a difficult opponent to put down, despite his lack of muscle mass.

  After seeing the three that had exited the jeep, the driver opened his door, but Pickle already knew who it was. These four individuals were from Stafford prison, E Wing, and was part of the many that had been opened up and released by the nightshift officers Janine and Jamie.

  Richard Marsden stepped out and flashed Pickle a smile as soon as his eyes clocked him. Marsden was a horrid individual and was the cousin of a notorious violent individual, well known in the West Midlands, simply called Hando.

  Richard Marsden was a psychopath and had raped many inmates over the months that Pickle had known him, as a way of punishment. He was somebody to avoid.

  “You’re the first inmate I’ve seen since the release,” Marsden spoke up.

  “Never seen anyone else?”

  Marsden shook his head. “You? What about Victor Wiley, Ziggy Friday or Mental Mick?”

  “No.”

  “Anyway…” Marsden smiled and said, “How have you been, Harry?”

  Pickle shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve had ma ups and downs.”

  “And KP?”

  “Dead.” Pickle groaned, “Never made it past the first week.”

  “That’s a shame. I liked him,” Marsden lied, which Pickle could see right through. Marsden had always hated Pickle and KP.

  “O’ course yer did.” Pickle smiled and decided to make the talk as friendly as possible. He was certain he’d never see these guys again, so there was no point causing shit if it could be avoided.

  “We had a similar problem. There were eleven of us.”

  “So where are yer stayin’?” Pickle nodded at the jeep. The truth was, he couldn’t give two shits where Marsden and his crew were staying “Yer seem to be doing okay.”

  “You also seem to be doing alright yourself.” Marsden smiled. “You look healthy enough, clean.”

  Pickle looked at his two companions and asked Marsden, “So what do yer want? Why block the road off?”

  “We thought you were travellers. We were going to ask if you wanted to join us at a little place we have.”

  “Thanks, but I have a place.”

  “Okay, H
arry.” Marsden smiled. “Okay.”

  Harry Branston always reminded people that his friends called him Pickle, but Marsden was no friend and had always addressed him as Harry when they were in jail. They never saw eye-to-eye and stayed away from each other whenever they were in the gym or in the education department, the rare time that the inmates from the wings mixed with one another.

  “So, we’ll let you pass then.” Marsden released a chuckle.

  A thin smile developed over Pickle’s features. “Yer going to ... let us pass? That’s very good o’ yer.”

  Marsden instructed the two guys from the back passenger seat to get back into the jeep. He then looked at Manson and said, “That goes for you as well, Freddie.”

  The Jesus look-alike glared at Pickle and almost snarled, refusing to move away. His behaviour humoured Pickle, and was convinced that the Freddie character, nickname Manson, wouldn’t be so brave if it was just the two of them. Pickle’s face was a picture of no emotion and his lack of response annoyed Freddie Newton.

  Freddie’s lack of movement forced Marsden to snap. “Freddie! In the fucking jeep!”

  Eventually he did as he was told and left Marsden alone, standing outside the jeep.

  “I’ll be seeing you, Harry.” Marsden smiled and added, “Need to get back home.”

  “Which is where?”

  “Gnosall. Ever heard of it?”

  Pickle shook his head.

  “It’s one of those hidden villages that this glorious place possesses. We’re lucky, aren’t we, being out in the countryside?”

  “We’re lucky to have been released in the first place,” Pickle reminded Richard Marsden. “Don’t forget what those two officers did for our house block. The inmates in the other house block were left to starve to death.”

  “You’re right.” Marsden turned and said, before getting back into the driver’s seat, “See you around, Harry.”

  The doors to the jeep was shut and the engine was fired. The vehicle moved forwards and slowly passed the three who were still out and standing at the front of the pickup.

  “Wow, you can be quite intense and scary when you want to be,” said Vince.

  “It’s all an act,” said Pickle, and flashed Vince a smile.

  “We know that’s not true.” Vince rubbed his face and asked Pickle, “So, is that someone best to avoid?”

  Pickle nodded. “Absolutely.”

  “Bad, eh?”

  “There were rumours that he had raped Laz in the showers,” Pickle sighed. “They were just rumours, but I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  “Laz?” Vince queried.

  “Before your time,” Karen said. “He was there when I first met Pickle. I never got to know him.”

  “What happened? To this Laz guy?” asked Vince.

  “Haven’t we already discussed this?” Pickle groaned. “I had to put him down.”

  “Put him down?”

  “I put a pillow o’er his face and shot him.”

  “Wow,” said Vince. “The next time we have a game of chess I’m gonna let you win.”

  “He was bitten, Vince,” Pickle sighed. “I didn’t just shoot the guy for the hell o’ it.”

  “Oh.”

  Pickle went back to the driver’s seat and told Mildred and Chris in the back that they were finally going back.

  “Who were they?” Small Chris asked. Pickle was still standing by the driver’s side. Karen was inside, but Vince was standing outside.

  “Just people I used to know,” Pickle explained briefly.

  “They looked like a right bunch of twats,” Mildred scoffed. “Especially that bearded cock giving you the eye.”

  “They’re not nice people,” said Pickle. “It’s best if we never see them again. Marsden said he’s staying at Gnosall. Saying that they’re inviting people there.” He turned to Mildred and asked her, “Heard o’ it?”

  “We went there before we were attacked.” She nodded. “Inviting people there, eh? Funny, they seemed reluctant on taking me, Stephen and Craig in. But then again, we did ask to stay for the one night.”

  “I nearly shat myself when they stepped out of that jeep,” Chris stammered. “I thought we were done for.”

  “Shat yourself?” Vince laughed. “Imagine if you shat yourself and pissed yourself on the same trip?”

  “I don’t literally mean shat myself,” Chris huffed. “It was just an expression.”

  “No, because that wouldn’t happen, would it?”

  “Vince,” Pickle said. “Leave him alone.”

  Vincent Kindl finally got into the passenger side and shut the door. Pickle was in last and pulled away.

  They had been on the road for a matter of minutes when Branston had to slow down once more.

  “Well, the journey here was plain sailing, but it looks like the opposite trying to get back.”

  Seven Snatchers were up ahead, in the middle of the road, and they didn’t look like they were moving anywhere.

  “I could distract them, if you want,” Vince said. “All I need to do is run along the field and get onto the road once I’m ahead of them.”

  “Nah.” Pickle shook his head. “We’re veterans o’ this kind o’ thing now. We can take seven o’ them. Mildred can help as well.”

  He pulled over and the three stepped out. Pickle called Mildred and asked her to tag along. She took out her bat and joined up with the other three. The dead were fifteen yards away, slowly making their way towards them.

  “What about me?” Small Chris called out. “I can be of help.”

  “Just stay with the vehicle,” said Pickle.

  “I’m not useless, Pickle.”

  “Yes, you are,” Vince spoke up. “You’re about as much use as tits on a fish. Stay there.”

  The four marched towards the seven Snatchers and had put them down in seconds. Vince and Karen bent over with their hands on their knees, and Pickle and Mildred started to move the dead to the side of the road.

  Pickle wiped his hands down his trousers and said with little breath, “Shall we go then?”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  “A couple of miles to go.”

  The two men were making very slow progress trying to get back to Stafford, but at least the injured man had now found a stick to help him become more able and rely less on the bearded able bodied stranger he had just met.

  “I’m getting tired.” The injured man stopped, but the man with the beard encouraged him to keep moving.

  “Keep going,” he said. “Trust me, you don’t wanna spend the night in the open. We’ll be there in no time.”

  “Easy for you to say,” the injured man grunted.

  “Don’t think about being tired. Just concentrate on getting back.”

  The injured man nodded and turned to the man with the beard. “You never asked how everyone is.”

  “I’m sure they’re fine.”

  The sound of mopeds could be heard in the distance, but neither man knew if they were friendly or not and wasn’t stupid enough to hang around. They both went to the side of the road and hid into the woods to their left. They went in six-feet deep and the man with the beard helped his new companion to sit on the floor, behind a tree stump, and with his legs out.

  They looked out onto the road as the noise of the bikes grew louder, and then they passed by, the noise of the engines quickly fading into a light hum.

  “I could have gotten a ride with them,” the injured man sighed.

  “Were the bikers from the hospital?”

  “I think so.”

  “You think so.” His bearded companion released a light chuckle. “That’s not good enough. You have to be sure, Steve … I mean Stephen. There’re are people out there that won’t think twice about sticking a blade in you for the hell of it.”

  “I know, chap.” Rowley nodded. “It’s just—”

  Stephen Rowley was shushed and the sound of disturbed plantation could be heard behind them. Stephen turned around and wa
s only metres from a bloody disfigured and hideous face of a Husky.

  It moved forwards and snapped at the frightened man, and his companion pulled out his machete to deal with the unusual creature, but he suddenly realised that he had his own problem. Another canine, an Alsatian, trotted towards him, blood red teeth showing as it snarled at him.

  The Husky went for Stephen and the man cried out and grabbed the dog’s ears to prevent him from being bitten. The pair of them were unsure if they were dogs that had lost their owners and had fallen on hard times, or if they had been infected. Stephen’s companion had seen a dog turn before, so he knew it was possible.

  The bearded man raised his machete, once the Alsatian advanced towards him, whilst Stephen tried to hold off his canine attacker, and pulled it back, ready to strike. He brought the blade down and could see the dog’s eyes were bloodshot, thick saliva dripping from both sides of its mouth. The blade buried itself at the side of the dog’s neck and the animal never made a sound during its demise. It was still gnashing and growling as it lay injured on the ground, and this told him that the animal had turned. He struck it again, this time at the side of its head, and spotted old wounds on its back. Bite marks.

  Stephen’s guts twisted as his attacker’s saliva dropped onto his face and tried to turn away as it continued. The pain in his ankle was excruciating and he could see his new companion going round the back of the dog and grabbing its hind legs, dragging it off Stephen. Rowley rolled along the floor and tried to get up. He wiped his face with his sleeve and watched the machete-wielding man behead the other canine whilst it was on the ground. He took three hacks at it, but eventually it came apart from the rest of its body.

  The bearded man stood up and wiped the large blade on the fur of the canine he had just beheaded. He nodded at Stephen, asking wordlessly if he was okay. Stephen nodded back. Apart from the agony coming from his ankle, he was fine and wasn’t infected.

  Stephen Rowley’s breathing was slowly getting back to normal and he was asked if he wanted to rest.

  “Maybe just for a few minutes, chap.” Stephen cleared his throat loudly and twisted his neck. “Just until I get over the shock.” He looked down at the two dead dogs and shook his head. “Were they...?”