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

by Whittington, Shaun

  “Needed to get away, eh?” The thin man smiled and Vince could see his teeth were grey, rotten.”

  “Something like that.” Vince got onto the bike and started the engine. “Ready when you are.”

  The man looked perplexed, so Vince snapped at him, “Get on.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  The moped was taken into the wooded area and Vince followed the man, of name he still didn’t know, and dumped the bike against a tree once he spotted the cabin eleven yards away.

  “Anybody here when you arrived?” Vince asked him, walking through the bracken.

  “No. It was completely empty,” he replied. “Couldn’t believe it when I came across it.”

  “In Cannock Chase they’re hidden everywhere,” said Vince. “I’ve come across a few myself when I’ve been out.”

  “Stay there.” The man held his hand up. “Just need to make sure the place is acceptable ... tidy.”

  “It really doesn’t matter.” Vince found the man’s behaviour bizarre and wished he hadn’t bothered coming now. “What am I doing?” he muttered quietly.

  The man opened the door and disappeared inside the hut. Vince had a quick look around and ran over to the bike and began making a move, heading out of the woodland. This was a bad idea, he thought.

  “Where’re you going?” the man called out from behind.

  Vince stopped moving and turned around. “I better get back. Sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Just five minutes,” the man said, almost begging. “I can’t tell you the last time I had adult company.”

  With the Pickle crisis and the death of Stephanie, Vince’s head was all over the place, but he still had pity for the man and asked him, “Why don’t you hop on the bike and I’ll take you to Stafford? I think they’ll let you in.”

  “I’m a lone wolf. I already told you that.” He shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Five minutes,” Vince sighed, placing the bike on its side. “Then I really need to go.”

  “What’s the rush?”

  “A friend of mine is in trouble and a few people I know have been killed.”

  “Trouble?” The man wiped his nose across his sleeve, making Vince wince with disgust.

  “I have a few days to get him back.”

  “Then you have plenty of time.” The man held out his hands and his lips stretched underneath the hair on his face. “Come on then.”

  Vince walked over to the dishevelled individual and said, “I’m Vince.”

  “Zac.” The man held his hand out and screwed it into a fist. “Fist bump?”

  Vince paused and said. “I’m not sure.”

  “Why not?” Zac still had his fist out, waiting for Vince to make contact.

  “Um … because I’m not ten years old anymore.”

  “Just do it,” Zac chuckled.

  Vince fist bumped the man and stepped inside the cabin after him.

  Vince’s nose twitched as he stepped in, and his eyes widened when they clocked a female Snatcher. She was in the corner of the cabin, her left foot chained up to a beam a foot high and against the wall. Her teeth had been removed as well as her fingers, and her dark straggly hair was over her hideous dead face.

  Vince took a step closer to get a better look and his face blanched. “What the...?”

  It looked like she had stocking and suspenders on and a matching black bra. Her head lifted and it appeared that some kind of lipstick had been applied.

  “Where did you find her?” Vince asked Zac. Although he really wanted to know why the fuck she was in the cabin in the first place.

  “I found her a few weeks ago,” he said with a smile. “She was naked, wandering along the road.”

  “Naked?” Vince scratched his head.

  “Yeah.” He smiled and told Vince to sit down. He then grabbed a bottle of Smirnoff that was half full and passed it to a now sitting Vince Kindl.

  Vince thanked Zac and took the bottle. He had changed his mind about the drink, but didn’t want to offend the man.

  “But...” Vince took a swig. “The clothes she’s wearing. Where did you get them?”

  “I already had them here,” Zac spoke with a happy tone.

  Vince didn’t want to know the answer why Zac had ladies’ underwear in his possession, but Zac told him anyway.

  “I picked them up when I was doing a bit of looting,” he began. “Haven’t been with a woman for a while, so I thought these were the next best thing, until she came along.” He pointed over at the female Snatcher.

  “Okay.” Vince had made his mind up to get out of the place as soon as he could. The scenario was bizarre. With what was happening back at the hospital and now this, Vince was struggling to get his head together.

  Seeing the confusion on his guest’s face, the man began, “I know this all might seem a bit strange—”

  “Just a little.”

  “But she keeps me occupied.”

  “What are you telling me?” Vince narrowed his eyes at the man like Clint Eastwood in one of his spaghetti westerns.

  “I’m just saying…” The man paused and then hunched his shoulders. “She keeps me occupied.”

  “You mean...” Vince ran his fingers over his face, shook his head, and queried, “You’re intimate with this ... her?”

  “Now and again.” The man smiled.

  “And it was you that removed the teeth and the fingers?”

  “Had to,” he laughed and joked, “Need to practice safe sex, otherwise she’d rip my throat out.”

  Kindl looked around the creepy place and it reminded him of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre films. He looked to his right, over to the table, and could see that a small pile of meat was sitting on a plate, next to a jar that was filled with yellow liquid.

  “It’s cat meat,” Zac laughed, noticing that Vince was looking. “Try some, if you want.”

  “Cat food?”

  “No. Cat meat.”

  “I’m good, thanks.” Vince shook his head and screwed his face.

  “You don’t like the taste of pussy?” Zac cackled and winked at Vince.

  “Not of the dead pet variety I don’t, no.” Vince pointed at the jar and asked what was in it.

  “That’s my own urine,” Zac said with a straight face and Vince knew he wasn’t joking.

  “No shit?”

  “That’s right. No shit, just piss.”

  “Cat meat washed down with a jar of piss,” Vince mocked and didn’t know whether to laugh or not. “You should open a restaurant when this apocalypse is over.”

  “Mock away, Vince. But some of us don’t have a choice. The vodka has come as a nice change.”

  Vince took another swig from the bottle and handed it back to Zac, then suddenly began to feel nauseous when he realised that he was sharing a bottle with a man who drank his own piss.

  “I better be going.” Vince retched and put his hand over his mouth.

  “But you’ve only just got here.”

  Vince stood up, nodded over at the Snatcher and said, “I’ll leave you two love birds to it.”

  “If you have to.” There was disappointment on Zac’s face as Vince headed for the door, still retching, and said further, “If ever you’re passing...”

  “You can count on it,” Vince lied, and left the place with hurried steps.

  Vince headed for the door, but stopped and turned around. “A question,” he said. “Since you removed the teeth…” Vince sighed and said, “I can’t believe I’m asking you this.”

  “I know what you’re going to say,” the man laughed. “No. I don’t get blowjobs from her. Tried it once, but she still tries to bite down.”

  “You’ve already tried,” Vince moaned and shook his head in aghast. “Of course you have.”

  He turned around, making sure the psychopath wasn’t following him, and grabbed the bike and pushed it out onto the road. The image of the female Snatcher dressed in underwear turned his stomach,
and Vince pulled a face when a brief image of Zac and his dead lover having sex scurried across his mind.

  He shuddered with disgust and started the bike.

  “Possibly the weirdest day of my life so far,” Vince moaned. “And that’s saying something.”

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Vince returned from his bizarre short trip and parked up the bike at the back of the hospital. He strolled towards the outpatients building and saw Quint and Rowley by the large shed. He whistled them over and told them to follow him.

  “I need to go to the toilet, chap,” said Stephen, hobbling on his crutches. “I’ll catch you up.”

  Mildred could be seen talking to Shelley Tavernier.

  “Mildred!” Vince called over.

  She excused herself and went over to Vince, asking what was wrong.

  “Need you to get Joanne and meet me at Ward 22.”

  “She’s already there with Karen,” Mildred said. “What the piss is going on?”

  “I’ll tell you when we get there.”

  *

  Stephen Rowley took a while to get to one of the portaloos and decided to sit down for a pee. The seat looked clean enough and then he shut the door and was covered in darkness. He sighed and it was good to take the weight off his feet. He dropped his head in his hands and thought about Craig Burns. His death was going to plague him for the rest of his life. He knew that.

  Stephen lifted his head up as he finished, and could hear gentle steps heading his way.

  He could see a shadow from the crack at the bottom of the door and didn’t understand why someone was hanging about. There were plenty of vacant ones either side of him.

  The door wasn’t being tried, so Rowley decided not to speak up, but the individual hanging around was getting on his nerves.

  He stood and pulled his pants and trousers up. He winced as he accidentally put a bit of weight on his strapped ankle; he then grabbed his crutches and opened the portaloo door.

  Whoever was there had now disappeared, and Rowley looked about and could see that the place was barren, with the exception of one female guard at the main gate that he didn’t recognise.

  He shut the door behind him, looked up and closed his eyes. The days recently had been murkier to what people were used to. Since June, most of the days had been extremely warm. If this had been a normal summer, this heatwave across the UK would have been in the news. There would have been reports of scores of people basking in the sun on grass banks during their lunch breaks, on British beaches, and also news about a hosepipe ban and some possible fatalities from the heat.

  The heat was now dying and the drizzle that fell from the sky fell on Stephen’s face. His favourite time of the year was spring, when the winter had passed and the occasional sun would be out but not too hot, just tolerable.

  He hated the winter at the best of times, but this had been the first time in his life that he was actually dreading it.

  Everybody was.

  Stephen could feel a presence by him and opened his eyes.

  “Hello, chap,” came Stephen’s greeting.

  The man smiled and threw his left arm forward, palm out, striking Rowley under the chin.

  Stephen fell backwards, came off his crutches, and fell against the portaloo before slumping to the floor.

  “Chap,” Stephen moaned. He looked up and could see the figure was wearing a hoodie and had a thin black Dick Turpin-like scarf around his face, revealing only his eyes. “What’s going on? What…?”

  The individual put his right hand in his pocket and pulled out a large knife. “Colwyn cunt,” he spat. “You should never have come here.”

  Stephen’s eyes widened in shock and screamed out, “No!”

  The blade was driven into his stomach and Stephen looked down and watched in horror as the blade buried itself in him. It was pulled out a second later and he screamed out again when the blade entered him for a second time. He was stabbed a third time and this time his assailant ran away, leaving a letter by his side, with the dripping knife still in his hand.

  Stephen looked down at his ravaged and bloodied stomach and couldn’t believe what had just happened. He put his hand on his wounds and then lifted it up in front of his face, watching in disbelief his own blood dripping from his palm and fingers.

  He could hear the sound of running and the face of a male he didn’t know by name.

  “Help me, chap,” Stephen whimpered.

  “Um...” The guard was panicking and looked around.

  “Go to Ward 22,” said Stephen, almost losing consciousness. “Let people know. Hurry.”

  *

  Paul Dickson had reached the bottom of the grassy bank after exiting the woods, and sat down at the edge of the road. It was good to be away from the suffocating woods, and being stuck in the cabin wasn’t great for his mental health.

  He looked to his left, then right, and could see nothing apart from a couple of bodies at the side of the road. He remained looking left and wondered what waited for him in the future. It had only been four months, but he had experienced so much horror and violence, and he was certain that it wasn’t going to get any better.

  Dickson lowered his head and drifted away, thinking about the short time he and Kyle stayed at Sandy Lane.

  The scraping of boots made Paul lift his head and could see two men, to his left, heading down the road, towards him. They clocked Dickson and slowed their walk and became hesitant. They continued to progress, but became vigilant and put their hands in their pockets. Dickson, also unsure what he was dealing with, glared at the two men and wouldn’t settle until the pair of them had passed. Both males were heavily bearded, like most these days, and one of them spoke as they were nearly opposite Paul Dickson.

  “We don’t want no trouble,” the man on the left said. “We’re just passing by.”

  Dickson was pleased with what he heard, and asked the two men, “What makes you think I want trouble?”

  “You have blood all over your shirt and face.”

  Dickson smiled. “I didn’t know.”

  “We’re heading north,” the man on the right spoke up.

  “Me too ... eventually,” Dickson said.

  “You’re welcome to join us.”

  It was a half-hearted invitation and Dickson said, “Thanks for the offer. I’d rather be alone.”

  “Okay,” the man on the right said. “See you around ... um?”

  “Paul,” said Dickson, who thought it was pointless to introduce himself to two guys he was never going to see again, but decided to be polite anyway.

  “I’m Peter,” the man on the left spoke up. “And this is my brother, Roger.”

  Paul nodded and the two men walked away, occasionally looking over their shoulders, paranoid that the scary looking blood-drenched man could attack them.

  Eventually the men disappeared from view as Dickson watched them. There was a fork in the road to his right. He could see it in the distance, and the men took a right. It looked like they were heading for Cannock, a place that was away from the countryside and more populated. The left road of the fork was the way to Gnosall and further villages.

  Minutes later, a whirring sound could be heard in the distance, to Dickson’s left, and he turned and gazed in the direction of where the noise was coming from. He got to his feet and Dickson headed back to the woods, to the cabin, and never stayed around to see what vehicle was passing by. Any stranger these days was a potential danger.

  After killing the four men from the farmhouse, Dickson had had enough excitement for one day. He wanted to go back and rest, but first he needed to drag the bodies away from the area where he stayed because of the stench, and then wash his bloody face in the cold stream. After that, he was going to go for a sleep that his body craved.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  They entered the building and marched down the corridor with Quint behind him. Thankfully there was no guard on the door. If Vince wanted to conduct a secret meeting with mos
t of the people consisting of Colwyn people, it wouldn’t be so secret for long once Drake was informed about it.

  Vince and Mildred stepped into the ward and could see Karen, Joanne and now Quint present.

  “Everything okay?” Karen asked.

  Vince shook his head and said, “No Tracy?”

  “Having a lie down,” said Joanne. “She’s too upset.”

  “Okay,” Vince huffed. “Stephen ain’t here yet, but I can’t wait any longer. I’ve had time to think and...”

  Karen said impatiently, “Go on.”

  “We’re not welcome here, and never will be,” said Vince. “The vote clearly states that.”

  “Come on, Vince,” Quint spoke up. “You can’t expect these people to give up all their four wheeled vehicles for one man.”

  “But it’s Pickle!” Karen exclaimed.

  “That means something to you,” said Quint. “But right now that means shit to me, and also to the people here. You’ve only been here a week or so.”

  “Anyway.” Vince waved his hands to calm people down. “Once this situation is sorted out, whether it’s positive or not—”

  “We’re gonna get him back,” Karen intervened.

  “Whatever happens ... I think we should go back to Little Haywood, back to Colwyn Place,” said Vince.

  “Thank God for that.” Joanne was the first to speak.

  “Anyone here disagree?”

  “I don’t know what this place is like,” Mildred said. “And neither does Quint.”

  “It’s good,” said Joanne. “The facilities aren’t as good, but there’re houses to live in and only a handful of people.”

  “Will they take us in?”

  “They’ll take us in,” Vince said with confidence. He looked at Karen who didn’t share his confidence. “A guy there called Terry might moan a bit, but I think deep down he misses us and the extra people will provide better security for the place. The rest of the people that are left there will welcome us with open arms and there’re plenty of empty houses to move into.”

  “And Pickle would go back there?” Mildred asked.