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

by Whittington, Shaun

  The man smiled. “Infected? Yes. I think so.”

  “Didn’t know it was possible.” Stephen scratched his head. “Maybe they had rabies or was just starving or...”

  “Look at their backs. They’ve both been bitten. Whether it was by other infected dogs or Snatchers ... I don’t know.”

  “I don’t believe it.” Stephen scratched his head and looked down on the two dogs that had been hacked to pieces. His stomach somersaulted, but he managed to keep what was left in his stomach.

  “I’ve seen something similar before.”

  “I had no idea it could happen,” Stephen said. “It was never mentioned on the television when it kicked off. I remember—”

  Stephen’s sentence was cut short as a sound could be heard. It was an engine in the distance and the man put his machete away and asked Stephen to grab his stick and follow him.

  The man was at the side of the road and Stephen hobbled laboriously towards him.

  “It’s the red pickup. It’s time for you to go.” The man turned around and held out his hand. “We missed it last time. Hurry up.”

  “You sure it’s them, chap?”

  “Positive. Ready?”

  Stephen nodded.

  “All the best.”

  Stephen shook his hand and asked him to come out with him.

  The bearded man shook his head immediately and blew out his lips. “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Oh, come on, chap.”

  The bearded man shook his head and said, “Just go. Hurry.”

  “Pickle would love to see you.” Rowley twisted his neck and cleared his throat. “I don’t know who else was with him. Maybe Karen’s with him.”

  “No.” He shook his head once again and urged Stephen to hurry up. “I don’t wanna see the gang. Just go, before you miss them.”

  Stephen didn’t understand why he was being so cold, but accepted it. He had no more time to lose. He thanked the man and hobbled onto the road. His companion watched with a smile as Stephen Rowley held up both his hands with the stick in his right. He looked to the side and could see the man walking backwards, waving at him, and slowly being swallowed up by the trees.

  The pickup stopped yards from Stephen and he managed a smile as Pickle got out of the truck.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  “I don’t care what anyone says,” Vince said. “Men are just naturally stronger than women. It’s the way we’re made.”

  “I agree,” said Karen. “But women are mentally stronger than men. Most suicides involve men, and when the pressure’s on, men snap and lose patience, whereas women are more controlled.”

  “Yer can’t say that,” Pickle decided to intervene. “Everybody’s different. Some women are impatient as well. Yer a fine example.”

  “Hang on,” Karen snapped. “I’m not that bad. I know I have my moments.”

  “You can be a bit grumpy,” said Vince, and received a nudge in his side for his comment. “Even more so in the early days.”

  “My emotions were all over the place,” she tried to defend herself. “The start of the apocalypse and being pregnant isn’t a great mix for any woman. You wanna see me when I was pre-menstrual, Gary never talked to me in case I would snap his head off.”

  “The difference between P.M.T. and B.S.E,” Vince said, “is that one’s mad cow disease, and the other’s an agricultural problem.”

  Karen opened her mouth to respond to Vince’s cheeky remark, but Pickle slowed down the vehicle and all three could see a man in the middle of the road with his arms in the air, with a long stick in one of his hands. They could all see it was Stephen Rowley.

  “Thank Christ!” Karen exclaimed.

  Pickle smiled, then slowed the vehicle down further and eventually pulled up. He switched the engine off and was the first to step out.

  Pickle walked over to the man and could see he was also on one foot. His ankle was strapped.

  “Bit o’ a risk steppin’ out like that,” said Pickle.

  Karen and Vince were now out and stood next to the driver.

  “I knew it was you, chap. You passed by earlier.” He then rubbed his head and asked, “Were you out looking for me?”

  Pickle nodded.

  “We didn’t know if you were alive or dead,” said Karen.

  Stephen dipped his head. “I nearly died.” He cleared his throat. “Craig’s gone.”

  “We know,” Pickle sighed. “We went to the ditch and saw it for ourselves.”

  This remark perplexed Stephen and eventually asked Pickle how he knew where to go.

  “You and Craig met a woman called Mildred, didn’t yer?”

  “Yes.” Stephen’s confusion had multiplied and it showed on his features.

  “She’s in the back o’ the truck, along with Small Chris.”

  “What?”

  “She came to Stafford.”

  Rowley looked over Pickle's shoulder and could see Mildred and Chris waving at him. “What’s Chris doing here?”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Vince spoke up.

  “Stephen,” Karen took half a step forwards and asked him, “What happened? We heard a side of the story from this stranger that saw the whole thing, but tell us what went on.”

  Stephen, using his thick stick, hobbled to the side of the road and sat down on the grass bank. He was exhausted and his body needed to rest. He began, “We were with this Mildred and I stood on some animal trap in the grass. The dead came. I think my screams didn’t help, and we went to this abandoned farmhouse. We had to leave once the dead broke in and Craig and I fell into this stupid bloody ditch.”

  There was a silence and it looked like Stephen wasn’t going to carry on, so Vince tried to hurry him up.

  “We haven’t got all day, Steve. Gonna hurry up.”

  Stephen continued and it looked like Vince had gotten away with his ‘Steve’ remark.

  “Some of the dead fell into the ditch we were in.” Stephen sighed and rubbed his eyes. The thought of Craig Burns perishing like that had upset the man. “We fought for our lives. Craig was fantastic, as expected, but was bitten trying to save me.”

  “That sounds like Craig,” Karen said with a sad smile.

  “I tried to climb out, with this bloody ankle, and somehow managed it, with a little help. Don’t ask me how, but the adrenaline going through you when you think you’re finished is incredible, chap. Anyway,” Stephen grunted and twisted his neck. “Once I was back on ground level I could see that most of the dead were ... well ... dead.”

  “And this is where the mystery man comes in,” said Vince. “According to that mad fucker.”

  “He had put them all down, apart from two, and helped me up. We checked the ditch together and could see there was no saving Craig.”

  Pickle groaned with sadness, “There was hardly anything left of Craig.”

  “Where’s this man now?” Karen asked.

  “He just left the moment you pulled up.”

  “What? We need to thank him. He could come and join us.” Karen went into the woods, and Stephen called after her.

  “He doesn’t want to see you.”

  “What are yer talking about?” Pickle asked Rowley. “Yer not making any sense.”

  Karen had her machete drawn and had now disappeared into the greenery.

  She could see the back of the man and speeded up her run. She must have been making a noise, because the man stopped walking and turned around.

  “My God.” Karen gasped, and her eyes widened once the man turned around. “Paul?”

  She narrowed her eyes to improve her focus, to prove she wasn’t hallucinating, and progressed through the greenery a few more metres and stopped a few feet from Stephen Rowley’s saviour.

  “Hi, Karen.” Paul Dickson smiled underneath all the hair over his face. “How are you?”

  Karen’s vision blurred with the tears that suddenly filled her eyes; she approached Paul and wrapped her arms around the man. He responded and
wrapped his own arms around the woman. The embrace lasted nearly ten seconds. She kissed him on the cheek, released him and stroked his beard. “It’s getting thicker.”

  He smiled and nodded.

  “Didn’t you want to say hello?” she asked him.

  “I didn’t want you to see me,” he said.

  “Why?” The confusion was all over her face.

  “I don’t really know how to explain it.”

  “Everything’s cool with Drake, and we don’t stay at Colwyn anymore,” Karen blurted out.

  This was news that Paul Dickson already knew. Rowley had told him a lot of things that had happened since he left.

  “Most of us are at the hospital with Drake. We called a truce. Vince and Pickle are at the truck. Come and see them.”

  “I wanna be on my own, Karen.” Paul smiled apologetically. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “I’m glad you’re okay, but I need to go.”

  “Where are you going? I thought you’d be well gone by now.”

  “I don’t know where I’m going, not yet. But I need to start afresh.”

  “Why?” There was a croak in Karen’s voice and a tear from each eye fell and rolled down her cheeks, almost racing one another. It was a tie.

  “I love you guys, but you’re better off without me, and I’m better off on my own. It’s just the way I want it to be.”

  She nodded, not sure if she understood, but it was what he wanted.

  He took a step towards her and kissed her on her clammy head. “I wish you all the luck in the world, Karen.” Paul Dickson placed his right hand on her tummy and added, “Best of luck to the both of you.”

  He turned and walked away and jokingly said, “Don’t follow me this time.”

  Karen Bradley wiped her eyes with her fingers, but she was fighting a losing battle. She was inconsolable and refrained from telling Paul that she had lost the baby. She didn’t know why.

  She watched as Paul walked away. He never turned round once, but she continued to gaze until he finally disappeared in the greenery.

  “I love you, Paul,” she whispered, and began to wipe her eyes. She cleared her throat and decided to wait a minute before going back. If she returned with tears in her eyes, they were going to ask what was wrong. Paul wanted to be left alone, not to be pestered, but if Pickle knew Paul was around, he’d go and look for him. She would do the same.

  She then jumped when she heard a rustle behind her and turned around to see Pickle walking towards her.

  “What’s happening? Yer was takin’ ages.” he pestered her. “What’s going on? Did yer see the guy that saved Stephen?”

  Karen nodded.

  “Why are yer cryin’?”

  She hunched her shoulders just the once.

  “I could hear voices. Why didn’t yer invite him back?”

  “He wanted to be on his own,” Karen eventually spoke with a shiver in her voice.

  “Do yer want me to catch up with him?” Pickle asked her. “I’ll have a word. I can be persuasive when I want to be.”

  “No, Pickle. Don’t bother.”

  “Be back in a bit.” Pickle wasn’t listening to her and was about to move, but Karen had a hold of his sleeve, trying to pull Pickle back.

  “What are yer doin’?" He tried to shrug Karen off, but she kept a hold of his sleeve. “What’s up with yer?”

  “Are you not listening to me, Branston?” Karen huffed and added, “He said he’d rather be alone. What’s wrong with you? The man wants to be on his own.”

  “He’s saying that now, but once he gets to Stafford and gets to know me, yer and Vince, he’ll be right as rain.”

  Karen released Pickle’s sleeve and groaned, “He’d be a dead man if he went to Stafford.”

  “What?”

  “Even you couldn’t stop that from happening to him. And as for him getting to know us... He already knows you, me, Vince and Stephen.”

  “What are yer talkin’ about, Bradley.”

  “It was Paul.”

  *

  Paul Dickson was heading north. He had hung around long enough and decided to create a new chapter in his life. He liked Karen and the rest, but his time with them was an unhappy time. His wife and daughter were recently deceased when he met up with them, and then he lost his son and almost lost his mind.

  Paul had been walking for over an hour and had reached an area he had heard of, but wasn’t familiar with.

  He had heard of the places from conversations of the past, but it was a place he wasn’t over familiar with.

  He walked along a huge stretch of road and could see a sign stating that Slitting Mill was a quarter of a mile away. His feet ached, but he continued with his walk and only rested when he reached a large uphill road to the right. Stile Cop Road.

  He sat down by the road sign and looked to his right and could see the ‘Welcome to Rugeley’ sign. He was literally yards from entering the town. He looked around and could see bodies at the side of the road, near the sign, and a burnt out car.

  He leaned over and took his boots off. He moaned as both were taken off and could feel the slight breeze on his sweaty feet. His socks were stinking, but he had other clothing in his bag, just some snacks and a jar. He circled his ankles and groaned in delight. He looked up to the murky sky and knew he had to get back on his feet soon. The evening was drawing in and he needed an abandoned house to get his head down and rest.

  He slipped his boots back on, tied the laces, and moaned as he stood up. He slipped the bag over his shoulder and pulled out his large blade as he made the nervous walk into Rugeley Town. He went by Draycott Park, the residential area where Karen used to stay, and tried to ignore the crashed cars and the bodies and body parts on his travels.

  He went by the Pear Tree pub and the exit to the estate to his right, and was now on Sandy Lane, yards from the railway bridge where there used to be a barrier in the form of a heavy goods vehicle.

  Paul’s face was emotionless and he strolled down the road, houses to his left and a burnt out tanker on his right, and stopped once he was halfway down the road. He spotted a Snatcher heading out of a side street and onto Sandy Lane. He raised the blade and put it down with one strike. After wiping the diseased blood on the deceased’s clothes, Dickson turned and looked at the large Lea Hall building. If it was safe enough, he was going to stay there for the night. It had a large hall upstairs, where Lee James used to keep the supplies, but even if it was unsafe there were other rooms and offices to stay.

  He had something to do first.

  He walked to the side of the building on the left and ignored the door to the changing rooms where his son had died, and went over to the hut and could see the shallow grave where the remains of Kyle Dickson were laid to rest. This had been the second time that he had been here, but this was going to be his last visit. First thing in the morning, Paul Dickson was going to head for pastures new. He didn’t know where, but it was going to be miles from where he was standing.

  Paul crouched down and produced a sad smile when he could see that the Wonder Woman action figure that was placed there by Lisa, during Kyle’s service, was still there after over a month.

  Dickson broke down and patted the earth and cried, “Oh, my poor boy.”

  He quickly composed himself, cleared his throat, and made his way over to the building. The place was too dark to search, so he decided to enter the office near the bar. He shut the door behind him, placed a chair against the door and made himself comfortable in the tiny place.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Pickle and the rest had returned. It was announced that Craig had died, Stephen went with Karen to get strapped up properly, and Pickle told Drake and two other guards what had happened, and then the subject of Richard Marsden popped up.

  “So is this guy and his cunty pals gonna be trouble or what?” Drake asked.

  “No.” Pickle shook his head. “I didn’t tell them where we were staying and we met around five or six miles from here. I
knew them from the prison. Horrible bastards, now staying in a place called Gnosall.”

  “Gnosall.” Drake stroked his chin in thought. “Where the cunt have I heard that name before?”

  “I’ve never heard o’ it,” Pickle admitted.

  Drake said, “You know what? There’re gangs of cunts everywhere? We’ve had to turn a few people away in the past. I’ve done it because I simply didn’t like the looks of them.”

  Pickle could see Karen leaving the main building and heading over to the pair of them.

  Drake asked Karen, “How’s the patient?”

  “Okay.” Karen brushed her dark hair behind her ears and added, “Strapped up and out of his face on painkillers.”

  Drake was lost in thought and Karen asked him what was wrong.

  “Something Pickle told me earlier,” he said. Drake then clocked Findlay and called him over.

  “Yes, boss,” was Findlay’s response once he was near Drake, Pickle and Karen. “Gnosall. Where have I heard that name before?”

  “Gnosall?” Findlay’s eyes went from round to narrow as he began to think. “Isn’t that where Shelley Tavernier was from?”

  “So it fucking was.” Drake snapped his fingers. “Do me a favour, Finny. Go get her and bring her over here.”

  Findlay was about to ask why, but stopped himself from doing so. He didn’t want to upset Drake. “Okay.”

  “What’s going on?” Pickle asked Drake.

  “If I’m not mistaken, Shelley was from that place and said it was being run by psychos. Just want to be sure.”

  The three of them only had to wait for over a minute and Findlay had returned with a woman in her twenties. Shelley had dark hair, was a little plump and looked to be suffering from a rash on her face. Karen guessed that she might be getting a visit from Shelley in the near future.

  “Just a quick question, Kelly,” Drake began.

  “It’s Shelley,” she corrected him.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he snapped. “Tell us about your experiences at Gnosall.”

  “What do you mean?” She looked uncomfortable hearing that word and dread could be seen on her face.