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

by Whittington, Shaun

  “Okay. So this place we’re going to is just a shop, but apparently in the back there’s a storage room where they keep other ordered products.”

  “Are we taking clothes as well?”

  Pickle nodded. “Just want to get there, empty it quickly, and then get back within the hour. That’s why there’re six of us. Roads are getting dangerous now.”

  “Yeah, thanks to you,” Vince said with his tongue in his cheek. “Putting down Marsden and his crew hasn’t done us any favours at all.”

  “I know,” Pickle moaned and added, “I didn’t really have much o’ a choice, to be honest with yer.”

  “Ignore him, Pickle.” Stephanie placed her hand on Vince’s thigh and said, “Vince is only kidding, right?”

  “Yeah, course.”

  “Anyway,” Pickle cleared his throat and turned onto a dual carriageway, “Tell me more about yer and Joanne. When did this happen?”

  “Nothing to tell.” Vince seemed bashful and Stephanie thought it was adorable that the man she loved like a father, who treated most scenarios as a joke, was getting embarrassed.

  “Not much to tell?” Pickle laughed. “O’ course there’s somethin’ to tell. This is a real life beauty and the beast tale.”

  “Ah, Pickle. That’s not fair.” Stephanie rubbed her hand up and down Vince’s arm. “I think it’s wonderful.”

  “He knows I’m only kidding.” Pickle then looked to the side, at Vince, and persisted, “Well? Are yer going to tell us how it happened? Is it serious? Yer weren’t in the mood for talking yesterday.”

  “Early days yet,” Vince began. “She mentioned getting together last week, but I wasn’t sure if she was joking. Then I couldn’t seem to find her or track her down for a few days.”

  “Track her down?” Pickle queried.

  “Not in a stalkery way.”

  “And this all started...?”

  “A couple of days ago.”

  “How do yer...?” Pickle paused when he realised a fourteen-year-old girl was sandwiched between them. Vince knew what he meant and so did Stephanie.

  “Ew.” She put her hands over ears. “I’m not listening.”

  Vince whispered, “We see if there’s a room free in the hospital.”

  “Oh.”

  “We just like each other’s company. I suppose I have to thank my lucky stars to a certain degree.”

  “What do yer mean?”

  “Well, let’s be honest. I’d never be able to get together with someone like Joanne in the old world. Thankfully she managed to get past this.” Vince pointed at his scarred face, and then raised his bandaged, mutilated left hand. “And this. She seems to like my personality.”

  Stephanie was sure that the conversation had veered from the gutter and was more to her age category, so she removed her hands from her ears and rested them on her lap.

  “Wow. What happened to the confident and crude Vincent Kindl that we all love?” Pickle laughed.

  “That’s all an act.” Stephanie smiled and added, “Isn’t it, Vince?”

  “Sometimes.” Vince pointed, and Stephanie could see an industrial estate a few hundred yards away and knew that a bingo hall, a carpet shop, an electronics shop and Workout World were a part of the industrial estate. Vince said, “Anyway, we’re nearly here.”

  *

  Quint had just finished helping Simon Jones cleaning out the portaloos and was now at a loss what to do with himself. He was thinking about seeing Drake to see if there was anything else he could do, but tiredness smothered him all of a sudden and he decided to have a lie down. Unlike the younger people on the grounds, Quint was no spring chicken.

  He made his way over and was stopped in his tracks when a female asked him how he was settling in. Her name was Patricia Johnson, very attractive, and although Quint knew he wouldn’t stand a chance with her as she was just being nice, wild thoughts entered his head.

  “You’re...?” She held out her hand and Quint shook it.

  “Quint,” he said.

  “Just Quint?”

  “Just Quint,” he chuckled. “Like Slash or Bono.”

  “How’re you settling in?” she asked, ignoring his previous remark.

  “Alright.”

  “Where did you stay before you came here?” Patricia combed her blonde hair behind her ears and smiled. It was a smile that made Patricia even more attractive.

  “I stayed with my wife at a farm. She’s dead now,” he said coldly. “Had to kill her myself.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Patricia placed her hand on her chest and asked, “Did she turn?”

  “Nah.” Quint waggled his head. “She made me a cup of tea a few months back and put sugar in it. I hate sugar.”

  “So...” Patricia was baffled by the story. “So, what happened?”

  “Well, I was annoyed and threw it at her and then I beat her to death with my fists.”

  Patricia stared at Quint with a glazed look and could see a hint of a smirk before he burst out laughing.

  Her eyes widened and she snapped, “Do you think that’s funny? Do you find domestic abuse amusing?”

  “Oh, lighten up,” Quint guffawed. “It was just a joke.”

  “Lighten up?”

  “Yeah. I was just kidding with you.”

  Patricia placed her hand on her hips and leaned in. “My ex used to be handy with his fists, so don’t go round making jokes like that, please.”

  “I do miss my home.” Quint nodded, then looked at Patricia’s red shirt and then down at her legs. “The view is certainly better here than back home.”

  “I better be going.” She suddenly became uncomfortable and shook her head.

  “So soon?”

  Patricia nodded “I’m in a rush. I need to be somewhere.”

  “Maybe we can chat again sometime, when you’re not busy?” Quint called out as Patricia briskly walked away towards the greenhouses.

  “Don’t bother.”

  Quint smiled and watched as Patricia Johnson walked away. He gazed at her magnificent rear that swung underneath the black trousers she was wearing and shook his head.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Karen was in the clinic. She had checked the dressing on Stephen Rowley and has asked him to lay off the painkillers for the day and see how he managed.

  He didn’t seem happy with the suggestion, but Karen didn’t want the drugs all going by the end of the month.

  “Just see how you get on,” she said, noticing the unhappy face on the rotund man. “There’re dozens of other people that stay here, you know.”

  “It’s just the pain, chap.” Stephen grunted, twisted his neck and cleared his throat. “The night times are the worst. I haven’t slept properly since the accident. With the pain, and Craig dying.”

  Karen lowered her head at the mention of Craig Burns. She liked Craig. She never thought he would be taken so soon because he was such a warrior.

  “Well, take two before you go to bed,” she said. “At least you’ll get a decent sleep.”

  “I’m hardly eating as well, chap.”

  “You don’t need to worry about that, Stephen. We have multivitamins for the nutrients your body may have been starved of, and it should get better than that if Vince and the rest come back from Workout World with a van full of supplies.”

  “But I’m losing weight.”

  “That’s not a bad thing,” Karen said. “You’re not exactly in great shape, are you, Stephen?”

  “What?”

  “Look.” Karen folded her arms and exhaled harshly with impatience. “Don’t worry about the weight loss. Maybe it’s a good thing you’re losing weight.”

  “Unless it’s cancer.”

  “I’m sure that’s not the case.”

  Stephen shifted in his seat uncomfortably and Karen could see he was annoyed. “That’s not the first time you’ve mentioned my weight in the last month or so, is it, chap?”

  “And?”

  “I’m not the only over
weight person here, Karen,” he snapped. “You can’t single me out, chap.”

  “I’m not singling you out. All I’m saying is that we’re in the fourth month of the apocalypse and you’re an overweight man. That’s almost unheard of.”

  Stephen struggled to get to his feet and grabbed his crutches and huffed, “Are we done here?”

  Karen nodded. “Don’t take it to heart, Stephen.”

  “Oh, no,” he snapped with sarcasm. “Of course not.” He quickly moved away and Karen felt guilty for what she had said, but convinced herself it was the truth.

  She dropped her head and rubbed her eyes. It was still the morning, she had had a decent night’s sleep the night before, but she felt exhausted. She put it down to boredom. She could understand the logic behind Drake’s clinic idea. It was a great idea, but Karen wished she was out with Pickle and the rest to Workout World. She missed the fresh air, the different surroundings, and the excitement of the unexpected.

  “Hiya,” a voice called out.

  The voice made her jump and she looked up to see Darren standing in the doorway.

  “Jesus Christ on a cross!” she exclaimed. “You frightened the shit out of me.”

  “Sorry,” Darren laughed.

  “Anyway, are you alright?” she asked in a calmer manner, and then released a strident yawn.

  “Yep.” Darren then asked, “Where’s the guard?”

  “He’s not there?”

  Darren shook his head.

  Karen puffed out her bottom lip and said, “Must have gone to the toilet.”

  “Right, I’ll see you around midday.”

  “Just a flying visit then?” Karen playfully made a sad face and added, “Can’t you stay and keep me company?”

  “No can do. Need to put a few shelves up for Beverley in the nursery. Got a load of books sitting on the floor. I’ve been putting it off for too long.”

  “That’s what I need,” said Karen. “Do me a favour. Bring a book back for me when you’re passing next.”

  “What kind?”

  “The paper kind,” she laughed.

  “No, I meant what genre?”

  “Get me a classic. Anything by Dickens or H.G Wells.”

  “I’ll try.” Darren was about to leave, but Karen called him back. “Now what?”

  “Tell Drake if anyone needs me, I’ll be in my ward. I’m going back to my bed. I’m knackered.”

  Darren walked away and Karen waited for the guard to return before leaving. Once she did, she left the clinic and was aching for her bed.

  Joanne Hammett could be seen heading her way; the pair of them smiled and acknowledged their presence, but Karen had no intention of stopping.

  She needed an hour.

  *

  Darren was in the reception building and went by the desk and headed for the staff room where Drake stayed a lot of the time. He hated bothering Drake. He never knew what kind of mood he’d be in, but he was only there to pass a message on. He looked down the corridor and couldn’t see a soul. Sometimes Drake would have a guard nearby, but other times, like on this particular day, there’d be no one around.

  Darren knocked the door gently. He wasn’t sure if Drake had company or was having a nap. He received no response and tried again. He waited a few seconds and tried the door.

  Drake would sometimes have something up against it, but not this time.

  Darren opened the door and peered in. Drake was slumped in his seat with his head bowed.

  Darren wasn’t sure if he should wake the man or not, so he decided to try and find a pencil and a piece of paper and inform him that Karen needed to go for a rest.

  Darren stepped by the table where Drake was sleeping and went over the drawers to look for a pencil and paper. His eyes clocked an empty bottle of whisky in the sink.

  Darren winced when the drawer squeaked opened and Drake was alerted straightaway.

  “What the fuck?”

  Darren turned around and apologised to Drake for disturbing him. “I was looking for...”

  Drake stood up and threw a punch at Darren, catching him on the jaw. Darren fell to the ground and held his face.

  “What the fuck are you doing, sneaking around in here?”

  Darren held up his hand as he tried to get back to his feet. “Leave off, man.”

  “What are you doing in here?”

  “I just came to tell you that Karen has left the clinic for a while and has gone for a lie down.”

  Drake had his hands on his throbbing, hungover head, and snarled, “Is that it?”

  Darren nodded. Tears had formed in his eyes.

  “You shouldn’t have snuck in like that,” Drake barked, now feeling guilty for striking Darren.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Now, get the fuck out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Pickle pulled up the van and was the first to get out. Vince and Stephanie followed, as Pickle opened the back and let out Mildred, Richard and young David.

  “Right, guys,” Pickle began. “Gather round.”

  The five circled in front of Harry Branston and the ex-inmate said, “There’s no actual plan in place. Nobody knows what the layout o’ this place is like, so just stick together and see what there is.”

  “Will anyone stand guard by the van?” Richard asked.

  “I’ve got the keys to the van.” Pickle rattled the keys and added, “There’s no point.”

  Pickle told them all to expect the unexpected and pull out their weapons. Pickle and Vince had out their machetes, Mildred was holding her bat, and Richard and David had pulled out knives. Stephanie had her bow over her shoulder and a bag of arrows over her other shoulder. She was the only one out of the six that didn’t have her weapon prepared.

  The building was the size of a three bedroomed house and Pickle told the rest that he was going to check out the back of the place before going inside. The place looked untouched and although the main door looked like that it would need a sledgehammer to get it open, there was a large window at the right side of the door that probably needed smashed in order for them to get inside.

  Pickle seemed to be away for ages and eventually returned, announcing that the back was clear and that there was a door round the back that would probably be easier and safer to try than the main door.

  They followed him round the back and Pickle told them to stand back. He was going to charge the door.

  “Do you think you can manage that?” Stephanie asked.

  “Aye,” Pickle replied. “The door doesn’t seem that thick.”

  “A bit dangerous, don’t you think?” Vince spoke up. “What happens if there’s a bunch of Rotters behind that door and you crash your way right into them?”

  Pickle paused for thought. Maybe Vince had a point, he thought. He stroked his chin in deliberation and approached the door. He put his ear against it, but couldn’t hear a sound.

  “It certainly sounds empty in there,” he said.

  He knocked on the door for a few seconds and then placed his ear back against it once more. Nothing.

  “I think it’ll be okay.” Pickle took a few steps back, ready to charge at the back door.

  “Have you actually tried the door?” Richard asked the man.

  “What?”

  Richard repeated his question. “Sorry, Pickle. I’m not saying you’re daft or anything, but—”

  “Okay,” the ex-inmate huffed. “I’ll try the door and then I’ll smash it down.” He went over and pulled the handle. The door moved, Pickle gulped and his face flushed.

  “I hope you were a better drug baron than you are at breaking into buildings,” Vince laughed.

  “Shut it.”

  Pickle was the first to enter and the group went in single file. Pickle was followed by Vince, Richard, Mildred, and a petrified David MacDonald was inbetween Mildred and a confident Stephanie Perkins behind him.

  There wasn’t much light inside, but there was enough for the team to make their
way around the establishment.

  Pickle pulled out a dynamo torch that he had taken before they left, and began squeezing the trigger repeatedly to produce light from the torch that was shaped like a gun. It made a racket, but Pickle was confident there were no dead around, especially on the first floor.

  It was an archaic establishment and the occasional floorboard creaked as they carefully walked through the building.

  The ground floor seemed clear and the shelves were full of products. Pickle told Richard to go back to the van, to the front, and get the empty bags that were brought along. Richard quickly returned with twelve bags, two each. Pickle told them to bag whatever they could.

  “Clear the shelves and then we’ll check the next floor,” he said.

  Tubs of protein powder, vitamins and MRPs were grabbed and taken outside. The bags were put in the back of the van that had been left unlocked, and once all the bags had been filled and dumped, they returned and took what was left, including clothing, and carried them to the van.

  They were both standing outside the van, some exhausted from carrying the stock, “We probably don’t need to go to the other floor,” said Pickle. “I think we have enough here.”

  “You can never have enough, Pickle,” said Vince. “Especially when there are hundreds of people to feed.”

  Pickle took a look in the back of the van and scratched his head. “I suppose there’s a little room in there for something else. We could always put David, Mildred and Richard in the front with us.”

  “Let’s just go back to the hospital, Pickle,” Stephanie moaned and started to yawn. “I’m tired.”

  “Me too,” David groaned.

  “Give me the dynamo torch,” Vince said to Pickle.

  Pickle handed him the torch without firing any questions.

  “I’ll take a quick look on the first floor,” said Vince. “I’ll be out in two minutes. I’ll let you know what’s in there, if anything.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Mildred spoke up.

  “For goodness sake,” Pickle sighed. “Don’t be long. We’ll wait out here for yer, okay?”