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

by Whittington, Shaun

  He gave it a gentle push with his shoulder, and it reluctantly opened. There was almost a two-foot gap where the door had opened and Pickle popped his head through to see a table and chairs placed against it. He looked up and could see a young boy, shivering with fright.

  “I’m coming in,” Pickle said. “Don’t worry, wee man.”

  He barged the door open and managed to squeeze himself through. He shut the door behind him and smiled at the boy who was on his feet. He had dark hair, thirteen-years-old, and a stash of food was in the corner of the room which had been taken from the establishment itself.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” the boy cried.

  “It’s okay, son. It’s okay.” Pickle raised his hand and tucked the machete away. Pickle looked around the room. He nodded down at his blade and told the boy that that was for the dead. “How long have yer been here?”

  The boy shook his head and hunched his shoulders. “I don’t know. What day is it?”

  Pickle smiled. “I’m not sure.”

  The boy shivered with fear and was still unsure about the large man that was standing a few feet away from him.

  “How did yer get here?” Pickle asked him.

  “Me and my dad came here, looking for food.”

  Pickle looked baffled and the boy could see the confusion on the man’s face.

  “My mum died in the first few days,” the teenager began to explain. “I went everywhere with my dad. But we were snatched by some of the dead and they ate him. He told me to run here, as he was being attacked, and I’ve been here ever since.”

  “And how—?” Pickle was about to ask the boy how he went to the toilet, but he soon noticed that there was a toilet door across the room, which looked like a staff room.

  “I haven’t seen any Snatchers since I’ve been here,” Pickle admitted.

  “More guys came here, took some supplies, and killed all the dead. Thankfully, they never came up here. I was scared when the men came here, but I suppose they did me a favour, killing the dead.”

  “Weird, isn’t it?” Pickle chuckled.

  “What is?” The teenager looked perplexed.

  “That saying: Killin’ the dead. I’ve said it a few times maself, yer know.”

  The boy never responded and a small part of him was starting to relax in this man’s company. He didn’t seem that bad.

  “We can’t leave yer here, sunshine.”

  “I can’t go with you,” the boy cried, knowing that he had no choice if Pickle was prepared to drag him out of the building. “I don’t even know you.”

  “I know yer don’t,” Pickle sighed. “But yer can’t stay here. Yer not gonna make it.”

  “I’ve done okay so far.”

  “I’m talkin’ about in the long run.”

  “My dad told me not to trust anyone.” Tears now fell out of the boy’s eyes and Pickle felt for the kid.

  “Wise words, but I have a camp. I have two people outside in a jeep, waiting for me. They’re good people. Yer don’t have to worry.”

  The boy started to relax and stopped crying. “I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

  Pickle held out his hand. “Come with me.”

  The boy wasn’t entirely certain about the strange man, but knew he had no choice. He wiped his eyes and took a hesitant step forward.

  “Good lad.”

  Pickle put his arms round the frightened teenager and rubbed the side of his tricep, comforting the lad. They left the staff room together and made the slow walk to the exit, but before they reached the door, the boy gasped, bent over, and burst into tears.

  Limbs could be seen to the left of them and the boy told Pickle that that was the remains of his dad. He recognised the watch that was still attached to the wrist of the arm that was no longer attached to a body. Pickle told the boy to look away and asked him if he wanted the watch as a memento, but the teenager shook his head.

  “What’s your name?” the boy asked.

  “Harry, but most people call me Pickle. What about yer?”

  “Thomas.”

  “Well, Thomas, yer about to meet Karen and Vince. They’re waiting outside for me in the jeep.”

  “Are they nice?”

  “Karen is,” said Pickle. “Vince is a strange one, but his heart’s in the right place. His face is all scarred and half o’ his left hand is missing, but don’t let that unnerve yer.” Pickle then raised his own left hand to show the boy he had a finger missing. “None o’ us are perfect.”

  *

  The journey was made with Karen making small talk with young Thomas. Pickle told Vince and Karen that he was feeling better, prompting Vince to ask him if he wanted to take the wheel because Kindl claimed he was feeling exhausted. Pickle accepted Kindl’s offer.

  Because there was a female in the vehicle, Thomas felt relaxed during the journey. Pickle was feeling better and was behind the wheel again. The teenager was feeling excited, yet nervous, about the new place that Pickle had been talking about.

  “Gonna make a detour,” Pickle announced. “The sooner we merge alliances with Gnosall, Stafford, and us lot the better.”

  “Okay,” Vince sighed.

  Pickle drove the vehicle for a matter of minutes and soon pulled up at the entrance of the village. He waved at the same two guards from before. He turned to Thomas and told him not to worry, and that they would be at Colwyn Place soon.

  Pickle decided not to leave the vehicle and wound down the windows and popped his head out.

  Pickle called out. “Is yer leader still busy?”

  Pickle was told by one of the guards that he would go and get her. The guard on the left disappeared and within minutes, a woman in her late forties with grey bobbed hair emerged. She stood in front of the guards and had her hands clasped and hanging past her waist. She looked nervous.

  She looked over at the driver who had his head sticking out of the window, and called over to him. “One of my guys mentioned that you visited earlier.”

  Pickle said, “That’s right.”

  “And you killed Marsden and his crew?”

  “There’s one left.”

  The woman cleared her throat and dipped her head a little. “I’m sorry for what they did. I remember when they first brought you lot in. We were powerless to do anything. And the people they killed... They were just kids.”

  “It’s done.” Pickle revealed a smile. “I know that sounds harsh, but we have to move on.”

  “And what is the visit about?” the woman asked, raising her head with her nose almost in the air.

  “We need to be on the same side,” Pickle told her.

  She nodded. She agreed.

  “Gnosall, our place in Little Haywood, and there’s people at Stafford Hospital. We all need to get on. Being allies will make us stronger. We all have things that the other camps could do with. We could trade, we could… I don’t know.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I was gonna wait till tomorrow, but I thought I might as well get the ball rolling now.”

  “And what might that entail ... um ...?”

  “Pickle.” Branston flashed the woman a smile. “My name is Pickle, well ... Harry Branston really.”

  “Gail.” She smiled. “Gail Spot.”

  “Send Findlay to the hospital and pass a message on that we should have a meet. Better to be at Colwyn Place. It’s more central. Maybe we can thrash out some kind o’ deal.”

  “There’re a lot of desperate survivors out there,” she said. “It would be reassuring if we had two camps that had our back. I never realised people could be so vicious.”

  “Aye, well, that might have something to do with two prison officers releasing over four hundred prisoners into the wide open. Marsden and his pals were inmates, and so was I.”

  “Oh.” Gail looked surprised at the man’s comment.

  “It’s okay,” Pickle laughed. “I’m a good guy. Honest.”

  “I believe you.”

&n
bsp; “Findlay isn’t the most popular guy in Stafford,” Pickle began. “But Findlay will be fine, and he kinda needs to do this to make up for some o’ the things he’s done.”

  “Why? What’s he done?” Gail looked suspicious, worried about the kind of individual that she had accepted into the village.

  “Nothing bad.” Pickle decided to lie. He genuinely thought that Findlay had been led along by Alan and would grasp at a second chance, despite murdering Stephen Rowley a week ago.

  “I’ll send him out on one of the scooters,” Gail said.

  “Just tell him that Pickle wants Drake and yerself to meet tomorrow, midday. Will yer be there?”

  Gail nodded and said, “Be glad to.”

  “Great. Catch yer later.”

  Pickle pulled his head in and moved the vehicle away. He had a smile to himself and told the people in the car that he had a good feeling about the whole thing.

  “I wonder how she got nominated as leader so soon after Marsden,” Vince spoke up.

  “Maybe she’s always been a respected member of the community,” said Karen.

  “Unfortunate name, though,” Vince chuckled.

  “Gail?” Pickle narrowed his eyes as the sun beamed onto the windscreen from behind a grey cloud. “That’s not a bad name.”

  “Her name’s Gail Spot.”

  “So?”

  “G Spot,” laughed Vince.

  “Vince, we have a minor in the back o’ the car.”

  Vince’s chuckling ceased immediately, and he turned around to look at young Thomas, and said, “Whoops. Sorry, son.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The instructions were clear, but Findlay was reluctant to go back to Stafford and be face to face with Drake. He dreaded the thought of it, but was aware that if ever he wanted to be a part of this alliance that Pickle was trying to form, then sooner or later he and Drake were going to meet again.

  He was given the key to a clapped out scooter, no helmet, and was asked to give the message verbally. He had only been in the Gnosall village for a matter of hours and was already given a dangerous task.

  He couldn’t refuse.

  With everything he had done, including killing Stephen Rowley, which the villagers didn’t know about, he felt it was wise not to turn Gail Spot down. Stafford didn’t want him and neither did Colwyn, so his options were limited.

  If the three camps were going to get along, sometimes work together, Findlay was going to be in contact with familiar faces every now and again, and that included people from Stafford Hospital. The first meeting would be awkward, but it was going to happen sooner or later.

  It was six miles to Stafford, and looking at the fuel gauge, he knew he had enough to get back as well. The actual moped, however, did concern him a little. It belonged to a teenager, initially, and the small engine at 50cc could only get the bike up to thirty miles per hour. It obviously hadn’t been looked after. The back light was hanging off and there were dents in the body of the two-wheeled vehicle.

  Findlay was wearing all black, including the Caterpillar boots on his feet, and rode out of the village. He wasn’t entirely sure which way to go, but he saw signs for Little Haywood, followed them, and was soon on the Wolseley Road.

  He went by the entrance to Colwyn Place and was soon going over the Wolseley Bridge that stretched over the River Trent. The sign for Rugeley was pointing left, and the sign for Stafford pointed right. He passed the garden centre on the left and the Wolseley Arms pub to his right, and took a right turn on Stafford Road.

  The road was empty, except for the occasional body that was to the side, and it was frustrating that the bike could barely make thirty on the flat road. All he had with him was a knife, but he was certain that it wouldn’t be needed.

  Many bodies were at the side of the road, which seemed the norm these days, but what did make him look twice was the half eaten horse, lying down, near the side of the road and behind the fence.

  “How the fuck did these things kill a horse?” he muttered.

  Its middle wasn’t there anymore; it was a just a bloody hole, but its body was intact, together, and limbs remained attached to the animal.

  Ten minutes had passed by quickly and Findlay shook his head and cussed at himself. His concentration levels had been minimal over the last ten minutes and he told himself to concentrate. The journey was monotonous, and he wasn’t going as fast as he would have liked, but there was always a danger something could happen, especially if he switched off.

  The road descended and the woodland to either side of him was quite condensed. He took the bendy lanes quicker than he should have done, as the bike hit its top speed, but this was Findlay’s way of relieving the boredom. This was the only exciting part of the trip so far.

  Six miles was a long way to travel in a car during the apocalypse. It was even longer, and more dangerous, riding a shitty moped with a top speed of thirty mph, and no protection. At least with a car there’d be a sheet of metal around the driver if any surprises popped up.

  Once the road straightened up and flattened, the woods to either side had disappeared also, and he was now in the small village of Milford. If he turned right, past Shugborough Hall, he could have got to Stafford that way, through the countryside, but he decided to stick to the main road. He was aware that being on the main road presented its own problems with being exposed, but the windy country lanes unnerved him and he liked to see what was up ahead. He passed the green, on his left, and went by The Barlow Mow pub, clocking a smashed car that had been driven into someone’s front garden wall. He had a quick look as he went by and could see the driver’s door open, but no one in the vehicle.

  Someone was fleeing and a horde, or some other kind of distraction, forced him off the road and lost control of his vehicle, Findlay thought.

  The bike frustratingly reduced to twenty as it climbed a hill, and then soon picked up as the road descended and he entered the town of Stafford.

  Two figures were seen up ahead, forcing Findlay to slow down. They were perfectly spread across the road, making it impossible to swerve around either one of them. Both were straggling slowly towards him and appeared to be females, with their heads lowered and hair over their face, like something out of a Japanese horror movie.

  “Fuck’s sake.”

  He stopped the bike ten yards from the creatures and parked it up. He blew out a breath and headed towards the Snatcher on the left. He casually went over to the female on the left, pulled his knife back, and then suddenly Findlay felt a force strike him in the belly and he fell to the floor.

  He looked up, wondering why the wind had been taken out of him, and watched in horror as the creature skipped and then kicked him in the stomach. Findlay groaned and quickly threw up once he turned on his side. He lay on his back and it finally registered what had happened. These weren’t the dead at all. The two young women ran over to the bike, both giggling, and sped away within seconds before Findlay could get to his feet. The passenger, holding onto the rider, turned around and gave Findlay a cheeky wave.

  He rubbed his stomach. The punch he received was quite hard and surprising, taking the wind from his lungs within a second. He watched helplessly as the scooter became smaller in his vision until it went round a bend and disappeared altogether. He rubbed his head and winced as the nausea was still present.

  He struggled to his feet, a little embarrassed, and made the short walk to the entrance of the hospital. By the time he reached the place, he was standing upright and the pain from before had subsided.

  Findlay saw Davey Shelby at the gate, a guard he had respect for, and Shelby seemed surprised to see him.

  Before Shelby spoke up, Findlay said, “It’s okay, Davey. I’m here to see Drake.”

  Shelby nodded and engaged in zero small talk, although he did wonder where Findlay had been, what he wanted, and also wondered where the others were.

  Drake soon appeared and was unmoved by Findlay’s presence.

  “You’re
alive,” Drake sighed. “Now that’s a disappointment.”

  “Hi, Drake.”

  “You’re not getting back in, cunt,” Drake snapped.

  “I don’t want to,” Findlay said quietly.

  “Then what do you want?”

  “Um…”

  Findlay never answered the man and seemed tongue-tied. Drake gazed at Findlay and never opened his mouth, so Findlay eventually decided to do the talking.

  He needed to be quick, especially if he had to return to Gnosall on foot.

  “Pickle sent me,” Findlay began. “I stayed at Colwyn briefly and then was moved to Gnosall.” There was still no response from Drake so Findlay continued. “They want a meeting at Colwyn Place, tomorrow, midday. Gnosall’s leader, yourself and Pickle. Something to do with working together, and—”

  “And how do I know this is not some trick?” Drake at last spoke.

  “It isn’t, I swear.”

  “How do I know?”

  “Look,” Findlay took in a deep breath and said, “I was jumped on the way here by two people. They took the scooter away from me, so I need to know right now if you’re gonna be there, cause I have six miles to walk before it gets dark.”

  Drake chewed his bottom lip in thought. He was dying to know where the others were, especially his younger brother, but didn’t want Findlay to think that he was concerned.

  Eventually, Drake did ask, “Where’s the rest?”

  Findlay knew what he meant straightaway and said, “Dead.”

  Surprised by the quick answer, Drake’s eyes widened and he said, “What, all of them?”

  “Yes.” Findlay nodded. “Including your brother, Alan. We were—”

  “I’m not interested how they died.” Drake cut Findlay off and paused for thirty long seconds. He gulped, tried to compose himself, and then finally said, “Okay, I’ll be there. Midday.”

  “Fine.”

  “Bye then.” Drake was about to turn away.

  “Look, Drake.” Findlay rubbed his eyes. “I’m really sorry the way things have worked out.”

  “Well, apart from the loss of life, it’s actually worked out okay. For us, at least.”