Pickle tried to swallow his anger and asked the depraved man, “And what happened to the bodies, or dare I ask?”
Manson smiled and seemed hesitant to respond, as if it were a secret. He rubbed his hairy face in thought and snapped, “Fuck it. I suppose I may as well tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“We gave the bodies to the pigs.”
Pickle grinded his teeth together and couldn’t hide his anger, making Manson smile wider.
“We sent the heads to your place.” Seeing the confusion on his face, Manson decided to expand. “We put the heads in a sack and sent one of our guys, Graham Fellows, into Stafford to drop them off at the entrance of the hospital. We even sent the head of the guy I killed first, just for a laugh. That was my idea.”
Pickle shook his head and looked baffled.
“Imagine when they saw four severed heads, with four of their guys missing,” Manson explained. “They’d be seconds of panic.”
“Yer a sick man, Manson.” Pickle wasn’t sure if what he was being told was true, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it were.
“One does try.”
Pickle lowered his head. With his limbs tied, the frustration of not being able to rip this man to pieces was immense. He had spent days of imagining different ways of killing the sick fuck that was sitting opposite him.
“They were just kids,” Pickle said in a hush. “Two fourteen-year-olds and a seventeen-year old. Yer would have been better off keeping us alive. It’s in Drake’s best interest to trade for four people than for just one middle aged man.”
“We needed to let them know how serious we were. Plus, to tell you the truth, I was secretly hoping they were going to refuse their vehicles for you, so then we would have to keep you here or kill you. I couldn’t tell you how disappointed I was when one of their messengers, Frank, I think his name was, told us at the barrier that they were going to comply. You’ll be a free man tomorrow. You should be glad. I know I’m not.”
“Glad? After what yer did?”
“Don’t be so melodramatic, Pickle.”
“Melodramatic?” Harry Branston lifted his head and Manson could see the fury on the prisoner’s face. He knew that if Pickle was free he would be a dead man.
“Yer killed Richard, then David...” Pickle paused and continued. “I mean, butchered them while Stephanie watched. Why couldn’t yer leave it at that?”
“I didn’t want to.”
“Why not?” Pickle spat.
“Because that wasn’t the plan. Okay?” Manson was becoming annoyed by all the questions.
“Why did yer have to rape her first?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Manson, real name Freddie Newton, seemed baffled that Pickle hadn’t worked this out for himself. “Because I knew you liked her best, out of the three of them.”
“In front o’ me?”
Manson laughed and said, “Oh, yeah. I knew you weren’t watching, but you could hear it, couldn’t you? You could hear her calling your name. I think she called out for her dad before I began to cut her throat.”
“Yer a sick man, Freddie.”
“You’ve already mentioned that. You’re right.” He smiled. “I am.”
Manson stood up, brushed himself down, and then slowly walked away. He told Pickle that he might see him at lunchtime and then exited through the garage door.
Once the door was shut, Pickle bent down and began to chew on the rope around his wrists. It was a desperate act, but he was in a desperate situation. There was no way he wanted Marsden to have those vehicles from the hospital. That would make Stafford Hospital weaker, despite the population advantage they had, and Marsden’s crew, and whatever followers they had in the village of Gnosall, a lot stronger.
A part of Pickle thought it would be for the best if he died, but just imagining Karen going through that heartbreak spurred him on to live.
She had suffered enough in the last four months.
Chapter Four
“You be careful, yeah?”
Joanne Hammett had her arms wrapped around Vincent Kindl and both were standing outside, looking at one another, near the outpatients building.
“I’m always careful,” Vince sniggered. “Just like I was last night.”
“I’m serious, Vince. I don’t want to start something with a man, only for him to die a week later.”
“Look,” he tried to appease her. “The Rotters are slow, clumsy, and are only a threat when you’re trapped and there’s a horde of them. Killing those things is second nature these days.”
“It was second nature for Craig Burns, but he died.”
“That was because of Stephen. I told you about his confession before he died.”
Joanne rubbed her mouth and Vince could see she was concerned. “You know it’s not the dead I’m worried about.”
Vince nodded and ran his left bandaged hand over Joanne’s head. “We’ll get Pickle back. And there’ll be no casualties, as far as we’re concerned. I promise.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I just did.”
Joanne lowered her head and Vince took a step back to inspect her features. He could see the anxiety on her face and her eyes getting wetter.
“Is there anything else you’re worried about?” he asked her.
She cleared her throat and said, “There is something.”
“Look, if this is to do with me breaking wind last night while we were getting jiggy with it, I’ve already apologised a dozen times for that.”
Joanne looked up and Vince could see that she had something serious to say. “You were crying in your sleep last night.”
“Oh.”
“You mumbled Stephanie’s name a couple of times. If you get Pickle, are you going to stop there? I know you want revenge—”
“Just don’t think about it.”
“I don’t want you doing anything stupid.”
“Killing those bastards won’t be a stupid thing to do, I can tell you.”
“You know what I mean,” Joanne huffed. “Don’t take any stupid risks. Get Pickle, and just go.”
“Come on, you lovebirds!” a female voice called out.
Both Vince and Joanne turned around to see Mildred Huxtetter standing about twenty yards away. She was dressed in her usual blue jeans and green t-shirt, and was holding her bat with the spike at the end of it.
“I’m just coming,” Vince groaned.
“I bet that’s what you said last night,” Mildred laughed. “You, Vince. Not Joanne.”
“At least someone is,” Vince retorted.
“Don’t you worry about me, Vincey Boy,” Mildred continued with her mocking. “I got myself off pretty good last night.”
Vince gave up, turned away from Mildred, and shook his head.
“I think you met your match there,” Joanne groaned.
“She’s alright, I suppose,” said Vince, and produced a thin smile. “I suppose you get used to her.”
“She’s a female version of you, you know that, don’t you?”
Vince nodded and told Joanne he was heading for the entrance/exit.
Drake told everybody to meet there and that he’d be waiting.
Joanne walked with Vince and Mildred as they went by the reception building and could see the entrance. A lone guard stood, but there was no Drake or pickup. Only Karen Bradley was there, talking to the male guard.
“No Drake?” Mildred called over.
Karen shook her head.
“That boils my piss when someone arranges a meet and the person that arranges it doesn’t even show themselves.” She then asked, “So are we taking the pickup or what?”
Karen nodded. “I managed to change his mind.”
“Good. It was a stupid idea taking the bikes.” Mildred then turned to the guard and asked him, “What time you got?”
The guard piped up and told the four of them that it was nearly eight o’clock.
“Drake said he’d be here soo
n.” Karen told them. “He had business to take care of.”
“What kind of business?” Joanne asked.
“In one of the portaloos.”
“Oh.”
Joanne kissed Vince on the cheek, making him blush with there being an audience, and walked away as the three waited for Drake.
Only a few seconds later, Drake could be seen heading towards them and had a set of keys in his hand.
“No mopeds on this trip,” Drake said, and held up the keys and gave them a shake. “Gonna take the pickup instead. I think it’ll be safer.”
“I’ve already told them.” Karen laughed. “And, by the way, don’t take credit for my idea.”
“Anyway,” Drake revealed a cheeky grin. “Stay there. I’m just going to get it.”
“Are you okay?” Karen asked Vince. “Sleep okay?”
“Got off in the end,” Kindl said. “Every time I closed my eyes I could see Stephanie’s face.”
“At least you’re a lot calmer than you were a few days ago. You were like a bull with a sore head.”
“No wonder.”
Karen asked Vince, “Have you got the map that Shelley helped us draw?”
“Drake has it.” Vince groaned and admitted, “A part of me thinks this is going to be a bloodbath. And another part of me doesn’t care.”
“So long as it’s not our blood, eh?” Karen winked.
“Well, if the map is correct, if we can get into that garage, if he is still in there, then we could be in and out in minutes because it’s right next to the barrier.”
Karen said, “Why shouldn’t he still be in there? No one’s expecting a raid. A day before we’re supposed to trade for him? We’d be getting him back tomorrow anyway.”
“Ah, but would we?” Vince wagged his finger at Karen. “You can’t trust those pricks. We all have our different reasons for going. You want to make sure he comes back alive, Drake likes Pickle and also doesn’t want to lose the vehicles, and I want to get Pickle back, but also kill some of those pricks before we leave.”
“Don’t do anything rash. The idea is to get Pickle and then go.”
“I know.” Vince nodded. “But I meant what I said the other day. I’ll go back there, on my own, and take my chances.”
“We’re moving back to Colwyn after this, possibly tomorrow if everything goes alright. Don’t want you starting more trouble.”
“If Marsden and Manson get done, they’ll be no one of importance left. And, trust me, if Marsden came across Colwyn on his travels, which he obviously hasn’t yet, how do you think he’d treat those people, whether we were there or not?”
“Like shit.” Mildred stepped in and decided to join in on the conversation
“Exactly. Like shit.”
The sound of a vehicle could be heard behind and Mildred spoke up, referring to Drake, “He took his pissing time.”
Chapter Five
The light spilled in as the garage door opened, and Pickle squinted, narrowing his eyes to see who was entering.
All he could see was the outline of a man, carrying a tray.
Must be lunchtime.
Pickle sat up and hoped he was given a clean fork this time. Marsden didn’t trust him with cutlery, so on the odd occasion he would be given a plastic utensil, a spoon or fork, to eat with. Most of the time he had to eat with his fingers.
Pickle never recognised the man, and watched him as he walked in with hesitant steps and placed the tray by Pickle’s feet. A plate of cold beans welcomed him.
“Haven’t seen yer before,” Pickle remarked. “It’s usually one o’ Marsden’s men that come in. Although, I did have a nice young girl here a couple o’ days ago.”
“They’re out on a run,” the man said.
Pickle elevated his eyebrows in surprise. “All four o’ them?”
The man nodded. He remained standing and seemed lost for words.
Pickle didn’t say anything. He just waited for the man to speak once he was ready.
“They know,” the man said in a hush.
Confused, Pickle said, “They know?”
“Your people.” The man cleared his throat and looked ashamed about what he was going to say. “Look, if I say anything and Marsden finds out...”
“He won’t.”
The man tucked in his bottom lip, contemplating whether he should open his mouth. “Your people. They…”
“Yes?”
“They know about the deaths.”
“How?” So Manson was telling the truth. Pickle knew the story, but he wanted to hear it from someone else. He picked up the plastic fork and began to scoff the beans down his throat, whilst waiting on an answer from the nervous guy standing in front of him.
“I didn’t know what I was delivering at first,” the man began to mutter. “And then that guy called Hutty told me when I came back.”
Pickle scoffed the last of the beans and picked up the plate with his tied limbs and licked the plate clean. He put the plate down and said, “What are yer talking’ about? Yer have me confused now.”
“I was told to drop a sack at the entrance of the hospital, then drive off.”
Pickle lowered his head with sadness and knew exactly what was in that sack.
“I had no idea,” the man said.
“So yer the Graham Fellows Manson was talkin’ about earlier?” Pickle asked the man.
“Yeah,” he said with surprise. “I’m a resident here. Did Manson already tell you?”
“He did.” Pickle nodded. “But I wasn’t sure at the time if he was just tryin’ to wind me up.”
“I’m sorry. About all of it.”
“Graham, these people used to be in the same prison as me. They’re evil bastards, especially the Manson guy. They butchered those kids in front o’ me. He even raped the girl before cuttin’ her head off.”
Graham Fellows placed his hand over his mouth and tears filled his eyes. Pickle was unsure whether he was going to throw up or not.
“My parents are dead, I don’t have a family...” Graham paused.
Pickle cocked his head to one side, wondering why Graham was coming out with the jibberish. “What are yer saying?”
“I’m sorry that you’re in this mess.”
“Don’t worry about it. Another day, and I’ll be out o’ here.”
Graham gulped, shaking his head. “No, you won’t.”
“What do yer mean?”
“I overheard Manson and Marsden mentioning killing you after getting the vehicles.”
“If that happens, Drake and some o’ ma guys would attack this place.”
“On foot?” Graham shook his head and added, “Giving the vehicles to these lot is only going to make Marsden stronger.”
Pickle released a groan and said, “Good point.” He then looked up at Graham and said, “Why are yer telling me this?”
“There are bushes at the right side of this garage,” Graham said. “Get out, hide in them, and I’ll meet you there.”
“What?”
“I’m going to leave the garage door open, distract the two guards at the barrier, and then I’ll meet you.”
“I’m sorry, but I have no idea what yer talking about.”
Graham pulled out a steak knife from his pocket. This reminded Pickle of a scene on his wing where a disturbed guy called Mark Bishop stabbed to death Robert McCallum with a similar weapon.
Graham went over to Pickle, nervous as hell, and bent down and began to cut the ropes. Pickle could see that the man was shaking, and was extremely grateful for what he was doing.
Graham said to Pickle, his voice shaking, “You’re taking me back with you. That’s the deal, okay?”
Pickle nodded.
Satisfied with the response, Graham then finished cutting the ropes around Branston’s ankles and helped him up.
Graham said, “Stretch off for a few minutes. The village is clear of people, apart from the guys on the barrier.”
“How will I know—?”
“I’m going up to the barrier,” Graham interrupted Branston, knowing what he was going to ask him. “They won’t like that. They’ll try and drag me off the vehicles. As soon as you hear me tell them to go fuck themselves, leave the garage and run. I’ll end up retreating and close the garage door and meet you at the bushes. There’s a dirt path that’ll take us to a fence and—”
“Too much information,” Pickle laughed and held his hand up, stopping Graham from waffling. “I’ll just meet yer at the bushes. Yer do realise that I could probably take those two guys maself.”
“Better to sneak out,” Graham said. “The longer they think you’re in here, the better. If Marsden turns up and there’s two dead bodies at the barrier, or if the men are gone in some way, it’s not going to take him long to work out what’s happened and he'll be out looking for you straightaway. If he returns and everything seems normal, it might not be until your next meal time, hours later, that they realise you’re gone.”
“True.” Pickle smiled and gave Graham a nod of approval. “Very well thought out.”
“By the time he finds you gone and I’ve gone AWOL, the alarm will be raised at dinnertime. We have six hours or so to play with.”
Pickle stood and stretched his back as Graham opened the garage. He took a peek out and said, “There’s three people walking down the street. I won’t holler if it’s busy.”
“What does it matter? The residents aren’t going to give chase, are they?”
Graham seemed hesitant to leave and Pickle thought he was losing his nerve. Pickle walked up behind Graham, giving the guy a fright, and both were now peering out, looking to their left.
There were two men standing with their backs to them.
Graham said, “The bushes are just at the side. We should go now.”
“Wait a minute.” Pickle could see that both men were standing on the top of a transit van, and the man on the left was carrying a large blade.
Pickle narrowed his eyes and took a step out and tried to get a better look. He then looked at the man on the right who was carrying a pickaxe, which Pickle thought was a bizarre and heavy weapon to have on hand.
“What are they like?” Pickle asked Graham.
Snatchers Box Set | Vol. 5 | Books 13-15 Page 48