“What?”
“Do yer know them?”
“Well, yeah.” Graham nodded. “That’s Bill and Harry. They used to work at the foundry before all of this shit happened. They’re good guys, family men. They’re only doing what they’re told out of fear.”
“That’s good enough for me.” Pickle took another step forward and a panic-stricken Graham grabbed him by the arm.
“Where the hell are you going?” he cried.
“Don’t worry. I won’t kill them.” Pickle turned to Graham and gave him a wink.
“So what are you doing?”
“I’m going to get ma machete back from Bill.”
Chapter Six
The pickup had been on the road for a matter of minutes. Drake was driving, Vince was sitting next to him, and Mildred and Karen were sitting in the back and out in the open, happy for the fresh air.
“We should be there in fifteen minutes,” said Drake. “I’m not going to go mad. We’ll do a steady thirty or forty.”
“Okay,” Vince sighed, and then leaned his head back. “I’m gonna try and grab five. Had a rough night.”
“Oh yeah?” Drake began to titter. “Something you wanna share?”
“With you?” Vince chuckled. “Absolutely not.”
“Must be weird for you.” Drake never elaborated on his comment, so Vince spoke up.
He said, “What do you mean by that?”
“Well,” Drake wasn’t sure if he should say anything. “You’re a funny looking bugger, aren’t you? You’re getting old, you look malnourished.”
“Is this your way of trying to bond with me?”
“I’m just saying ... Joanne’s gorgeous, a hot piece of gash, and you’ve got a face like a grieving pug.”
“A what?” Vince was offended by the words that had just been released from Drake’s mouth, but decided not to start an argument with the leader of the camp where he was staying.
“You know,” Drake continued. “You’ve got a face like a crushed bucket, a slapped arse, a bulldog licking piss of a thistle, a stuntman’s knee, a—”
“If you’re trying to say I’m ugly, Drake, I already know. I’ve heard all this from Karen and Pickle. I would never be able to pull a girl like Joanne in the old world. That is a fact. Anyway, I’ve heard about some of the women you’ve been with.”
“Have you now?”
“Patricia Johnson is nice looking, I give you that, but Beverley from the nursery. Really?”
“Beggars can’t be choosers, Vince.” Drake then lost his smile and asked Kindl, “How did you know that?”
“Findlay told me, before you kicked him and the rest out of the place. He also told me that you also had a thing with Hayley Robertson.”
“And?” Drake smirked.
“She’s nearly sixty, man. And about twenty stone.”
“More cushion for the pushing, Vince,” Drake laughed. “Anyway, she has a thyroid problem. It’s not her fault.”
“A thyroid problem?” A suspicious Vince shook his head. “What is she taking for that? Pies?”
“Now, now. She’s a very nice woman. Lost her husband to the dead and came to the hospital a month ago. She does the linen. Very handy woman, in more ways than one, if you know what I mean.”
“She looks like the kind of woman that would make a cracking breakfast, but wouldn’t want to share it.”
Drake groaned, shook his head, and never responded.
“Right,” said Vince. “Are we done with the talking?”
Drake nodded.
“Good. I’m going to have that nap.”
*
“I love being out,” Karen moaned and closed her eyes. “I haven’t been out as much since being designated as nurse in that claustrophobic clinic.”
“I know,” Mildred said with a smile. “Being stuck in that ward would piss me off.”
Mildred was sitting opposite Karen, both with their backs against the sides of the pickup. They were as far away from the tailgate they could be. Both were on the truck bed floor, near the roof with the wheel tub at the side of them.
“I’m enjoying this trip,” said Mildred, playing with her bat. “If these vibrations continue, it’s gonna get me off. More than any man could.”
“Would you go with another man, do you think?” Karen asked her. “Or would you prefer a woman?”
“Dunno.” Mildred hunched her shoulders. “It’s been over three months, so I’m not gonna lie and say it hasn’t crossed my mind. I suppose it’s too messy with men.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, I couldn’t let a man climax inside of me, so he’d have to pull out. And then what? Finish over my tits or face, making it look like a plasterer’s radio? Bollocks to that.”
“And I thought I had a way with words,” Karen laughed. She brushed some stray hairs away from her face and tightened the band that was keeping her hair in a ponytail.
“I’d rather keep myself to myself. That way I don’t have to mourn people I lose. I never thought I’d end up in a group.”
“I know what you mean,” Karen sighed. “I’m close to Pickle and Vince, and even with Vince it took a month before I liked him and understood his sense of humour.”
“Bad enough losing your family at the beginning. Losing someone you’ve just met can be frustrating. I felt bad for Stephen, being stabbed like that.”
“I lost someone that I met during the apocalypse,” Karen began. “We only knew each other for about three weeks, but when she died it was hard.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.”
“Lost so many,” Karen said, thinking about KP, Jack Slade, Wolfgang Kindl, Kyle Dickson and Stephen Rowley. “But it becomes something of the norm after a while. But young Kyle was a bad one. I was with Paul when we found him.”
Mildred lowered her head with sadness. She had told Karen days ago that she knew Paul and his family before the world went to shit, back at the hospital, after finding out from Vince during a chat.
“Who was the person that you lost?” Mildred asked Karen.
“Her name was Shaz.”
“Nice, was she?”
“Yeah.” Karen beamed and added, “She was such a tough bastard. Surprised she died so soon. I remembered that she had a young son called Spencer who died. I think he was killed by her partner.”
“Turned?”
Karen nodded. “Shaz was a gorgeous thing, and I think Vince had a bit of a thing for her. But we lost her when Vince’s caravan park was infested with those cocksuckers.”
“I suppose it’ll continue to happen,” said Mildred.
“Nothing like being positive.” Karen smiled.
“I know, but with the dead out there, other mental survivors, and illnesses we haven’t even experienced yet, what chance have people got?”
“I see your point. We’re trying to survive and protect ourselves from the dead, but it doesn’t stop us from getting cancer, aneurysms, or even dying from a burst appendix. It’s scary when you think about it.”
The two women had briefly stopped talking and could see the pickup taking a bend and descending down a hill. A field was on the right hand side and they passed The Barley Mow pub on the left, with Shugborough Hall, also known as The National Trust’s Shugborough Estate, up ahead.
They were now in Milford.
They were twelve miles from Gnosall.
Chapter Seven
Pickle and Graham had been jogging for over ten minutes, but an unfit Graham Fellows begged Pickle to stop. Pickle did as he was asked and the men stopped moving altogether.
Pickle scanned the area they were in and could see the woods up ahead that stretched along the main road.
“We’ll go into the woods,” he panted. “Not too deep. Try and stay hidden but near the road. If any o’ Drake’s riders are out, we can flag them down and get a lift back.”
“Whatever.” Graham was bent down and had his hands on his knees, trying to get his breath back.
“Let’s keep moving.” Pickle began walking briskly and an exasperated Graham tried to follow.
“Pickle!” he called out.
“What is it?”
“Was it really necessary to kick Bill in the balls back at the barrier?” Graham panted, trying to keep up with a quick striding Harry Branston.
“He was reluctant to give me the machete back.” Pickle rested his left hand on the handle of his machete that was now tucked in his belt. “The other guy behaved himself.”
“They’re only doing that job out of fear. You know that?” Graham patted his pocket to make sure that he was still carrying his knife. “When Marsden returns and finds out what’s happened, the two of them are dead.”
“If they have any sense, they’ll run.”
“And leave their families?”
Pickle didn’t have an answer for the man.
They crossed the main road and Pickle was the first to enter the woods on the right. Graham was behind and he had a look around before following Pickle. A mixture of emotions was felt by the man. He felt good for releasing Pickle and relieved that he was finally out of the place for good, but getting caught or bumping into Marsden and co worried him.
He could have left anytime.
Even when he was told to drive to Stafford, he could have continued to drive and never looked back, but on his own he knew he didn’t stand a chance of surviving. His experience being out there wasn’t great. Now, he was with an experienced survivor who had a camp, so things were looking up.
Graham Fellows knew Marsden ran the village with an iron fist, and there were even rumours that his sidekick, Manson, had raped a few of the female villagers, but finding out that he had delivered a sack of severed heads that belonged to teenagers frightened Graham. He didn’t want to be a part of that.
Pickle turned around to look at Graham and said, “That’s deep enough. I want to be able to see the main road.”
Graham nodded and the crestfallen man only replied with a faint, “Okay.”
“What’s the matter?” Pickle asked him, sensing there was something wrong.
“Was thinking about the kids,” Graham dropped his head in shame, “and me delivering that sack to your place.”
Pickled smiled thinly at the guy and told him, “Yer weren’t to know what was inside.”
“But I couldn’t even smell anything coming from the sack. I literally had no idea what was in there.”
“Weren’t yer even tempted to look inside?”
Graham shrugged his shoulders.
“Try not to think about it,” Pickle sighed. He looked ahead and placed his hand on the top of the handle of the machete that he had tucked under his belt. It looked like he was going to need it.
“Let me ask yer a question,” Pickle said in a quieter voice. “Do yer still have that knife on yer?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“And have yer put down the dead before?”
“I’m not what you call experienced. Why?”
“Snatchers up ahead.”
Graham gasped and peered over Pickle’s shoulder and could see three stragglers heading towards them, all males. Two were together, but a heavy ghoul was ten yards away from the other two.
“Shit.” Graham reached for his knife and pulled it out with his right shaky hand.
“Yer take the fat one at the far left,” Pickle told him.
Graham watched and saw Branston jog over to the dead. Pickle rammed his blade into the side of the head of the first male and Graham soon joined him and tried to put one down also.
The Snatcher dropped to the floor once Pickle removed his blade, and he went behind a tree to distance himself from the other ghoul. The brain dead creature couldn’t work out how to get to Pickle who had rammed the tip of his blade into the creature’s forehead, enough to put it down. The ex inmate wiped the machete and looked to his left to see how Graham was getting on with his lone assailant.
Graham struggled to get to his feet, and it took a while for Pickle to realise that he and the dead being had fallen to the ground together.
Graham looked down at the heavy creature and could see his knife sticking out of the top of its head.
“I got it straight away,” he tried to explain to Pickle. He then bent down and grabbed his knife, struggling to remove it from the skull of the creature he had just put down. “It fell and the next thing I knew it was on top of me.”
“It’s okay,” Pickle snickered. “I’m not judging yer.”
“He grabbed me by the arms.” Graham began to sniff his clothes and snapped, “Fucking thing stunk as well. Smells of dead fucking fish.”
“Well, what do yer expect?”
“What do you mean?”
“He has been dead a while. Yer get used to it, kinda.” Pickle twisted his face and said to Graham, “The worst ones are the ones covered in flies. Jesus, that’s fuckin’ disgusting.”
Graham put his blade back into his pocket, forgetting to wipe it, and looked down on the deceased body and shook his head.
Noticing this, Pickle asked him what was wrong.
“Look at the size of his belly.” Graham pointed. “You think he’d lose his fat with being dead an’ all.”
“That ain’t fat,” said Pickle.
“What is it then?”
“What do yer think?”
“I don’t know,” Graham huffed. “That’s why I’m asking.”
“That bloating belly is a mix o’ gases and people it’s eaten o’er the weeks or months.” Pickle could see the confusion on Graham’s face and raised his machete. “Want me to show yer? I’ll cut him open, if yer want.”
“No, it’s okay.” Graham placed the palm of his hand over his mouth. “I believe you. Let’s keep moving.”
Pickle smiled and led the way. “Don’t forget to wipe yer knife.”
Chapter Eight
“This stretch of road reminds me of being a kid,” Drake revealed.
The pickup was doing forty, and Vince and Drake had been silent for four minutes. Vince had been gawping outside, daydreaming and thinking about Stephanie. His eyes filled as he thought of the sweet girl who had lost everything and died in the cruellest way, and then his thoughts went on to his deceased son, Brian, but Drake’s comments had suddenly brought him out of his daydreaming.
“I’m sorry, what?” Vince rubbed his eyes and turned to Drake, clearing his throat.
“I was saying,” continued Drake. “This stretch of road reminds me of being a kid.”
“Oh.” Vince had no interest in Drake’s past life, but the driver of the pickup began to tell Vince a mundane story.
“Before my teens,” he began. “Me and my friend Ian used to cycle along this very road every Saturday afternoon for about a year. Without fail, rain or shine.”
“Right.” Vince tried his best to stifle his yawn. He knew he was in for a monotonous tale.
“We used to ride along this road, then take a right and head into the woods, on one of the dirt paths. We’d end up on the Hednesford Road and then we’d turn onto Stile Cop Road.”
There was a second pause from Drake and Vince urged the man, reluctantly, to go on.
“Jesus, that was some hill.” Drake began to chuckle to himself and Vince was surprised. He never had the man down as a nostalgic person. “But it was a lot of fun going down it, though, on the way back.”
Catching only half the story, Vince shook his head and said, “I’m sorry, but what was the purpose of this bike ride?”
“My gran lived in Hazelslade, near the pub. We’d stop off there, have a chat, and she’d give us ice cream.”
“You went all the way to Hazelslade for ice cream?”
“Not exactly,” Drake tittered. “We used to bike there to see my gran, a sweet old lady—”
“Rotters up ahead,” Vince interrupted.
Drake squinted and gazed ahead. He slowed the vehicle and his vision improved as he crawled nearer. “Four of the cunts.”<
br />
“Stop or ram through them?”
Drake deliberated and released a frustrated groan, slowing down the vehicle some more. He brought it to a stop, and before he and Vince could open their doors, Karen and Mildred jumped out of the truck and headed for the four dead.
The two guys watched as the two females put them down with no fuss, and Vince turned to the side and could see Drake wearing a big grin on his face. He looked impressed with their performance, almost proud.
“Like that, did you?” Vince asked, as they watched the young women drag the bodies to the side of the road once they were finished.
“That Mildred gets me going now and again,” Drake admitted. “I know she doesn’t like me much, but I’m sure I could wear her down.”
“I think her preference is women, and I think you killing that old couple at Amerton Farm has killed any chance of you two getting it on.”
“At least she’s talking to me now,” Drake said.
“Doesn't mean she likes you.”
“Well, I heard she was bi, and the old couple were done for the sake of the camp,” Drake spoke, trying to justify his harsh actions from the other week. “You’ve got to admit, the chickens have been a life saver.”
“It is nice to taste the occasional egg now and again,” Vince admitted. “But if that was me, I would have turned around and headed back empty handed.”
“Well, I heard that the Vince of old was a brutal fucker in the beginning.”
Kindl seemed embarrassed from this reminder and responded in short. “Not anymore.”
“Yeah, well.” Drake cleared his throat. “The Amerton Farm tale is not exactly a story that everybody knows about, so be best to keep schtum.”
*
Karen waved at the two men as she and Mildred walked by them. They climbed back in the truck and waited for the vehicle to move. They both sat opposite one another, like before, and could feel the light drizzle falling from the heavens.
Drake pulled away and Mildred and Karen started chatting about Findlay, who used to spend most of his time on guard at the main gate.
“Shame about him,” Mildred woke up. “He was reasonable looking. For a man.”
Snatchers Box Set | Vol. 5 | Books 13-15 Page 49