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

by Whittington, Shaun

  “I heard Drake is a bit of a ladies man.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that. I’ve heard a few rumours that he’s been with a few women. The one we all know about is his casual fling with Patricia Johnson.”

  “He told me that was a one time thing.”

  “I think the pair of them get together when they’re both in the mood.” Derek laughed and hunched his shoulders. “What can I say? It’s the apocalypse, but people still get horny.”

  “Must annoy some of the guys that he’s getting some action and others aren’t.” There was no response from Derek, so Karen continued to pester further. “And having booze available must be annoying as well.”

  Derek nodded gently and said, “I know about that.”

  “Oh?”

  “The rumour is that after a run, Frank, one of the riders, goes into the staff room, Drake’s office, and hands him booze after a run.”

  “Know that for sure, do you?” Karen didn’t want to tell Derek that she had found booze hidden in the staff room. She could be accused of snooping.

  “We’re not daft. Some days we can smell the booze off him.”

  “And it doesn’t bother you?”

  Derek placed his hands on his thighs and thought for a moment. He said, “You know what? No, it doesn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Derek shrugged his shoulders. “He’s taken on a roll that requires him to be responsible for people in here. He sleeps very little, has to make sure everything is running okay, from the growing of food to sanitation, the nursery, security ... and now this clinic set up.”

  “Granted, it was his idea,” said Karen. “But it’s me running the show. I’m not having a go at him, I’m just saying that he’s not God. Nobody would volunteer for this if they didn’t get off on being the main man.”

  “You’re a cynical woman, Karen,” Derek said with a smile. “Very cynical.”

  “Overall ... I do like him, despite our rough start.”

  “Rough?” Derek laughed. “That’s one way of putting it.” The man then ran his fingers through his hair and bit his bottom lip. He had something he wanted to get off his chest and Karen knew it.

  “Come on then,” said Karen. “Out with it.”

  “I was one of the people that opposed to you lot coming here,” Derek revealed.

  “Okay.” Karen urged the man to continue. “And now?”

  “You’re just the same as us,” he said. “Just people wanting to survive. Although Drake’s brother’s still not a fan.”

  “So I’ve heard. Probably still annoyed that we restrained him and sent him back to Drake with a message that we wanted to have a truce.”

  “He should never have headed to your place on his own. Idiot.”

  “I’ve hardly seen him since we arrived.”

  “He’s keeping a low profile. Drake wasn’t happy what he did, and let him know about it. He still goes out on runs now and again, but I think he spends a lot of his time in his room.”

  “Which is where?”

  “Ward 33.”

  Karen smiled. “That’s the next floor. It was the old neurology ward. Dr Robert used to be the consultant for that ward.”

  “Who? Isn’t that a Beatles’ song?”

  Karen shrugged her shoulders and explained, “Dr Robert was a guy I shadowed, as well as many others, during my training period.”

  “Okay”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Karen shook her head and asked Derek, “Fancy another game?”

  He shook his head. “Not really, if I’m being honest with you.”

  “No, neither do I.” Karen smiled and then stood up, forcing Derek to ask where she was going.

  “Ward 33,” she answered.

  “What?” Derek was befuddled and said, “Ward 33?”

  “That’s where I’m going.”

  “Why? That’s where Alan stays.”

  “I know.” Karen quickly elevated her eyebrows, and Derek asked what she was up to.

  “I think it’s about time that Drake’s brother and us Colwyn lot buried the hatchet.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Before Pickle put Richard into the back of the van and introduced him to Mildred, Stephanie and Quint, he quickly told him about Marsden and especially Manson. He explained to him what they were capable of and the story that Shelley Tavernier had told them when they first turned up at the village with their thuggish behaviour and rapists ways.

  “I’ll do all the talking,” Pickle explained. He was behind the wheel, as Drake said he was tired, and had two miles before reaching the small village.

  “You do all the talking?” Drake scoffed.

  “Look, Drake,” Pickle tried to pick his words carefully, “no offence, but yer have a short temper and yer can come across as a bit aggressive.”

  “A bit aggressive,” Drake chuckled. “You went over to talk to Marsden and his cunty pals and ended up putting most of them down.”

  “Aye, well.” Pickle cleared his throat. “Didn’t really have much o’ a choice, did I?”

  “So what’s the plan you have in mind?” Vince asked. Kindl had been quiet for most of the day and Pickle had made a mental note to find out what the problem was. Normally, even when staring death in the face, a quip from Kindl wouldn’t be far away.

  “There’s no major plan,” said Pickle. “I’m not going to be sneaky about it. I’m going to drive up to the village where there, more than likely, be some kind o’ barrier o’ some sorts, and tell the guys what’s happened to Marsden and that we’re here to get Tracy. I’ll tell them that we made a deal with Marsden while on the road.”

  “Did you make a deal?”

  “Not really. I just told them I was taking Tracy back with us.”

  “And if they refuse?”

  “Then we’ll see how tough this van really is.”

  He dropped the van to third gear as they approached a bend, and went back into fourth as the road straightened up. Drake was in charge when he was at the hospital, but Pickle seemed to have taken control in this situation and Drake didn’t mind. He had heard of some of the stories about Harry Branston.

  He had heard about the escape from Stile Cop, the walk back to Vince’s camp when he was half dead, beating up a couple of guys from Vince’s camp for calling him a derogatory name, slitting an intruder’s throat ... he had heard many stories. He had a few of his own, but Karen and Pickle’s journey was a story that was doing the rounds amongst the residents of his camp in Stafford.

  Seeing him in action with Marsden’s crew, albeit with a little help from Stephanie, had impressed the man and he was glad that Pickle was around and was on his side.

  A possible second in command or right hand man, maybe?

  Drake never officially had one. Maybe Findlay should be his second in command, he thought, if anything happened to him. Not having a man or woman in line for the leadership would cause chaos and infighting amongst the rest of the people. Even in death, Drake didn’t want everything he had built to crumble once he was gone.

  Vince stared out of the passenger window and a smile emerged on his face.

  Noticing this, Drake asked the man what he was thinking about.

  “Glenda Bracken,” Vince purred.

  “Why?” Drake asked. “Why now?”

  Vince shook his head and pointed outside. “Maybe it’s the bracken that made me think of her.”

  “Who was she?” Drake narrowed his eyes after his short query.

  “A girl I met years ago.”

  “Another one!” Pickle scoffed. “How many women have yer had, yer fuckin’ tart? I’m losing count with these tales yer come out with. I’m sure yer make some o’ these stories up.”

  “She was a quality girl,” Vince continued, ignoring Pickle’s ramblings. “She was from a rough part of the countryside, where even the Alsatians walked in pairs.”

  “Lovely.”

  “She even had all her own teeth.”

  Pickle mocked, “She sou
nds ... wonderful.”

  “She was old school. Taught me a thing or two, I can tell you.”

  “Well, I’d love to hear more, Vince,” Pickle said, “but we’re here.”

  “Even made her scream once.”

  “Yeah?” Drake showed an interest and asked, “And how did you do that?”

  “Went down on her, but forgot to take the cigarette out of my mouth.”

  “Now I know yer making that up.” Pickle smiled. “Yer have cracked that line before.”

  Vince laughed, as the van turned into a junction and they could see the ‘Welcome to Gnosall’ sign, but they were far from welcome.

  The van pulled up and all three of them could see two guys standing, all holding baseball bats. The men looked tetchy and the bats were raised a few inches when the vehicle came to a stop.

  “Let’s try and make this as civil as possible,” said Pickle.

  “Like last time?” Drake chuckled.

  Pickle left his machete in the van once more, and told Drake and Vince that he was going to go out alone again.

  He stepped out of the van and the ex-inmate raised his hand as a sign that he came in peace. He approached the two men, who were standing in front of a parked car that stretched across the road, and the one on the right told Pickle that was far enough.

  The two men looked similar in shape and size.

  They looked like two stereotypical nightclub bouncers. Both were muscular and had shaven heads with a permanent growl on their features.

  “What the fuck do you want?” the guy on the left snarled.

  Ignoring their rudeness, Pickle smiled and said, “I want yer to listen to me. I used to be an inmate in Stafford Prison, the same prison where Richard Marsden and his pals are from.”

  “Who are you?” the man snapped.

  Pickle snarled and narrowed his eyes, and yelled, “I told yer to fuckin’ listen, didn’t I?”

  Both men were taken aback by the aggressiveness of this unarmed man and took a look at one another in aghast.

  “Right,” Pickle sighed. “Now I’ve got yer attention, listen up. Me and ma crew bumped into Marsden on the road and had no choice but to fight. I think it’s fair to say that they came off second best.”

  “And your point?” was the response from the man on the right.

  “We made a deal,” Pickle lied. “A young couple called Richard and Tracy came here a few days ago. Richard is in the back o’ the van and wants to come back with us. We’re here to pick up Tracy.”

  The two men were unsure whether Pickle was telling the truth or not and were quiet for a while and seemed hesitant. They had a quick look at one another and began to whisper.

  “Back in a mo.” Understanding their hesitancy, Pickle went to the back of the van and opened up the doors to let Richard out. Pickle explained to Richard what was happening, told Mildred and Quint to stay where they were, and both males went to the front of the vehicle.

  “You sure about this?” The guard on the left asked Richard.

  The young man nodded.

  There was more hesitancy from the two men and Pickle decided to speed things up.

  “Either one o’ yer get Tracy,” he then pointed to the van, “or we come in, using this.”

  The guards started whispering again and it looked like an agreement had been made. The male on the right disappeared and returned three minutes later with Tracy in tow.

  She looked at Richard and then a man she recognised. “Pickle?”

  Pickle asked Tracy, “Why didn’t yer two wait for me and Karen last week?”

  “A couple of guys picked us up and brought us back here.”

  “Come back with us,” said Pickle. “Yer will be safer.”

  After Richard explaining to his girlfriend about what Marsden and his crew were capable of, Tracy was eager to leave Gnosall for Stafford.

  “Any chance you can get a fucking move on!” Vince yelled, his head out of the opened passenger window. “Some of us need a shite.”

  “Right, lads.” Pickle looked over to the two guards and saluted them. “Better be off. Tell Manson that I’m sorry about his hand.”

  “What are you talking about?” the man on the right asked.

  “Yer’ll see.”

  Richard and Tracy went into the back of the vehicle and were introduced to Mildred, Stephanie and Quint, and the van was moving within the minute.

  Pickle looked over at the two guards and released a depressed sigh.

  “What’s the matter?” Drake queried.

  “Just got a feeling I’m looking at a couple o’ dead men.”

  “Explain.”

  Marsden and the rest will be pissed off when they return, and when they find out that they handed Tracy o’er with little fuss and fell for my wee story, I think they’re gonna get beaten, or worse.”

  “So?” Drake hunched his shoulders and said, “Fuck ‘em.”

  “Aye, I thought yer would say that.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Karen Bradley made the eerie walk to the first floor of the building and up the steps that she hardly used when she was a staff nurse. Like most patients and staff, Karen used to use the lifts whenever she needed to go upstairs to Ward 33, which was rarely, as she was an A and E nurse and had nothing to do with urology, oncology or neurology.

  She reached the first floor and shuddered as she looked down. She knew it was safe. The building had been checked out and people stayed up here, but the scene of the darkened corridor sent shivers down her spine, which confused her, considering what she had experienced over the last three months.

  All the windows of every ward was opened so light could get in, and people used candles only on a night if they really had to. God knows what it was going to be like when the winter kicked in, when it’d be dark from four in the evening to nine in the morning, she thought.

  Karen made slow steps along the corridor, trying to make as little noise as possible, and had to have a snigger to herself at her behaviour. Even before the apocalypse, if she was going to bed on her own, she would make her way upstairs to her bedroom and look over her shoulder now and again. It was something she had been doing since she was a kid and had never grown out of it.

  She finally reached Ward 33 and could see that the door was closed. There was a metal keypad on the door, which obviously didn’t work anymore, and Karen decided to knock before entering.

  “Who is it?” a male voice called out from behind the door.

  “It’s Karen.”

  There was a silence for a few seconds and the response was, “Who?”

  “Karen Bradley from Colwyn Place,” she said. “I think we need to talk.”

  More seconds of silence occurred and she could hear movement. He was making his way towards the door, but slowly.

  She thought it was strange that he just didn’t tell her to come in, but remained behind the door and waited for him to open it.

  The door opened, and the man recognised her. He rolled his eyes and the average man in height and weight left it open and headed back over to the chair in the corner of the room where he was sitting. He had made it plainly obvious that he wasn’t happy to see her.

  “Is that an invite to come in?” Karen asked.

  “What do you want?” he groaned, not answering her query.

  Karen stepped inside and shut the door behind her. “A word. If you don’t mind.”

  “I’ve got nothing to say to you people.”

  “You people?”

  He nodded. “That’s right.”

  “Okay.” She held up her hands. “At least hear me out.”

  He leaned back in his chair. The room was almost in darkness, as the light from outside was minimal because of the clouds that hung above in the sky, suffocating the great ball of fire.

  She could smell the booze in the room and saw an almost empty bottle of liquor sitting by his seat. This annoyed her slightly. He was only getting these kinds of benefits because he was Drake’s brother
.

  “Haven’t seen you about since we arrived,” Karen remarked. He wasn’t making the effort to talk first, so she decided to.

  “Been keeping a low profile,” he mumbled.

  She assumed he was soused and decided to stay and talk to him further. “We’ve been here for over a week now and this is the first time I’ve seen you.”

  “Since your pal almost knocked me out.”

  Karen smiled. “Well, you did turn up with a van claiming that it was full of supplies and that it was a peace offering for attacking Colwyn. When really it was a van full of the dead and you wanted to drive into Colwyn Place and release them in the street.”

  “It was revenge for the people we lost.”

  “Anyway, we gave you Paul Dickson to keep the peace.”

  “He escaped.”

  “That wasn’t our fault.”

  What the man didn’t know was that Karen gave Paul, whilst saying their tearful farewells, laxatives and a razor blade to help with a possible escape and whispered in Paul’s ear what she thought he should do before Drake took him away. He messed himself when he was in the back of Drake’s car, forcing them to a stop as he claimed he needed the bathroom, and then cut himself free with the razor blade.

  “Anyway,” the man groaned. “What’s the point of your visit? I hear your lot and Drake are like family now.”

  “Hardly.” Karen released a gentle chuckle and ran her fingers through her dark hair. “He’s being civil to us, and we’re doing our bit as far as runs are concerned.”

  “So I hear.”

  “Drake has hardly mentioned you since we got here. Everything alright with you two?”

  “Why are you so bothered?” he snapped.

  “I’m just curious, that’s all.”

  Drake’s brother unashamedly bent down and picked up the bottle of bourbon. There was an inch of liquor left and he finished the remains of the bottle in front of Karen.

  “After my trip to your place, or near your place,” he began, “I went back and told him the message that your friend Picnic told me to tell him.”

  “Picnic?” Karen placed her hand over her mouth to prevent a laugh. “It’s Pickle. His name’s Pickle.”

  “Whatever.” The man brought his shoulders up and dropped them quickly. “He was annoyed what I did and we’ve hardly spoken since then. I think it was about two weeks ago. I don’t know. I would have to look at the calendar in the staff room.”