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

by Whittington, Shaun

  Terry laughed and said, “If that’s the way you want it.”

  “Thanks, Terry.”

  Braithwaite turned and walked away from the main door and the teenager called after him.

  “What is it?” Terry groaned, turning round.

  “When do you want me to do this?”

  “Right now.”

  Terry turned and continued to walk, wearing a smile underneath his thick ginger beard.

  *

  Ronnie was excited. He had been given an important assignment and he was in charge of the young boy called Thomas, who was going to be tagging along.

  His experience of being out was very limited, but Ronnie was assured by Terry that all he had to do was go by the garage and see if the coast was clear. The loud bangs had diverted the horde, but nobody knew just how far they had gone.

  Ronnie was told that he didn’t need to carry a weapon for this particular exercise, but he took a steak knife from the kitchen anyway and slipped it into his pocket.

  The teenager left his home and could see Thomas was nervously waiting for him. Thomas may have only been thirteen, but the boy was inches higher than Ronnie and was big built.

  “Ready, Tom?” he asked.

  Ronnie’s swagger made Terry smirk. He had been given something to do outside the street, and was told that he was in charge of Thomas, and it appeared that it had gone to his head.

  Terry knew that if Ronnie was out on a run with experienced people like Vince and Karen, the young man would be shitting a brick.

  Terry opened the gate and told them to be quick.

  The two teenagers strolled, side by side, down the Wolseley Road. The bend up ahead seemed to have taken forever to get to, and once the road straightened up, the two of them could see right down to the bridge. Not a soul could be seen, and Thomas asked Ronnie if they should now go back and tell Terry that it was clear.

  “We need to be sure,” Ronnie said, disagreeing with Thomas. “We need to go over the bridge, past the pub, and check down the Rugeley and Stafford road.”

  The two men approached the bridge in silence and Ronnie pulled out his knife. He could see in the corner of his eye that Thomas was staring at him. Ronnie was buzzing that the youngster was in awe of him, or at least that’s what Ronnie thought, and told the youngster that they should expect the unexpected.

  They went over the bridge and stood by the two mini roundabouts and both could see that the roads were clear.

  “Well that settles it,” Ronnie said.

  “Can we go back now?” Thomas asked.

  “Alright, alright,” Ronnie cackled. “Don’t shit yourself.”

  “I’m not,” Thomas huffed.

  “I’ll check out the back of the pub. Make sure there’s isn’t any loitering in the car park.”

  “Let’s just go.”

  “Relax.” Ronnie held up his knife and winked at Thomas. “Won’t be long. I used to be in the TA, so I can handle myself.”

  Thomas remained still as Ronnie went round the back of the pub. Thomas looked around and was bored waiting for him. A smirk developed on his face, and the youngster crept over to the front of the pub, and Thomas hid behind the corner and waited for Ronnie to return.

  When Ronnie did eventually turn up, he stepped out into the road and wondered where Thomas was. Thomas crept up behind Ronnie and slapped him on the shoulder, groaning like one of the dead.

  Ronnie turned and dropped his knife in fright, jumping back.

  Thomas bent over and couldn’t stop laughing. Ronnie was far from impressed and picked the knife up.

  “You stupid bastard!” he snapped. “What did you do that for?”

  Thomas never answered the young man and Ronnie was becoming even more annoyed that this kid had made him look like a coward.

  “Was that a part of the training you were talking about earlier when you were in the TA?” Thomas pointed down to Ronnie’s jeans and it was apparent that the teenager had pissed himself.

  “You tell anyone about this,” Ronnie pointed his knife at Thomas, “and I’ll stab you.”

  Thomas never took Ronnie’s threat seriously and continued to laugh.

  He started to walk away, towards the bridge, and Ronnie asked where he was going.

  “You can stay here if you want,” said Thomas. “I’m going back to Colwyn Place.”

  An annoyed Ronnie Price put his knife away and caught up with Thomas. The two of them never spoke to each other on the journey back.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  After Terry was informed, thanks to Ronnie and Thomas, that the area was clear, Drake and Gail announced that they were leaving. Drake was going to drop Gail off at Gnosall, and then he, Frank and Patricia would head back to Stafford. Gail’s road was clear anyway after the horde went by, but she decided to hang about.

  Gail said farewell to the people that were out. She then turned to Pickle and said that they would finalise some things at a later date due to Drake’s eagerness to leave.

  “Just you two do what’s right,” Drake told them. “We need to go.”

  Terry turned and looked at Drake from ten yards away, a man he still despised, and watched him shaking Pickle and Vince’s hand, and then giving the three females a quick hug. He waved at Quint and Tracy who were on their doorsteps, and quickly got into the pickup before Frank and Patricia, keeping his other hand in his pocket. He seemed to be in a rush to get back, Terry noticed.

  *

  “Well, that was a bit rushed.” Pickle folded his arms and watched as the pickup exited the street, with Terry standing by it, refusing to look and acknowledge the visitors. He quickly shut the gate as they left, stared over at Pickle for a couple of seconds, and then sat on his front lawn.

  Pickle, Karen, Vince and Joanne stood together, near 10 Colwyn Place, and watched as the vehicle disappeared.

  “Terry ain’t happy with Drake being here,” Karen said, stating the obvious.

  “I know,” Pickle groaned, turned and spat on the floor. “He’s not happy with me either for bringing him here.”

  “Better to be allies with him than enemies,” Vince remarked.

  “Exactly.”

  Vince gave Joanne a gentle nudge. “Fancy that walk now?”

  “Now?” Joanne looked unsure and Vince put it down to nerves.

  Vince nodded.

  “Um…”

  “That horde is gone.” Vince put his arm around Joanne and said to Pickle, “I don’t know how, and I don’t know what those bangs were, but we should be dead.”

  “It was a miracle,” Pickle remarked.

  “It was luck, Pickle.”

  Pickle decided not to get into a debate with Vincent Kindl, sighed, and then walked away.

  *

  Drake leaned his head back and rested. He closed his eyes and released a heavy moan. Gail had been dropped off at Gnosall and they had passed the entrance of Colwyn Place.

  “You okay?” Patricia asked him.

  “Fine,” he snapped back.

  “You sure, pal?” Frank queried further. “You’ve been a bit quiet.”

  Frank turned right at the Wolseley Arms pub and was now on the Stafford Road.

  “Just put your foot down,” Drake said to Frank. “Need to get back. I’ve got a bottle of whisky back in the staff room with my name on it.”

  “Do you think that’s wise?”

  “Nope. But at the moment I don’t give a fuck.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Paul Dickson knew that the evening wasn’t far away. He decided to settle down for the night. He had found a patch of land in the woods where he could see clearly for many yards, whatever way he looked, and plonked his bag down at the area that was spacey and had fewer trees.

  He could see that someone had used the area before. There were empty tins on the floor and a patch of black where a fire had been made many days or weeks ago. It had been a while since somebody had been here, and Paul felt quite relaxed about where he was going to sleep for
the night.

  In the side pocket of his rucksack, he had some thin rope. He looked around and wasn’t sure if it would reach around the circumference of where he was staying. Normally, he would tie the rope around trees, around where he slept, if he hadn’t come across an abandoned cabin, and would keep the rope low so that if predators did advance during the night, they would trip, which would disturb Dickson, and then they’d be put down permanently with his blade.

  He had enough to wrap around three spacious trees that were to his left, but not for the trees that were to his right. He wrapped the rope around the lower part of the trunks and then had a wander to look for stray branches for a small fire. Fires themselves were adding danger to his predicament, but the evenings were getting cooler as the weeks progressed. He needed a place for the autumn and winter, and he wasn’t confident he would find anything in the woods. He needed to advance and travel further.

  This was his last week here, he promised himself. He had been telling himself for a couple of weeks that he was leaving for good, but he meant it this time. Staying in the woods, eventually, was going to kill him, and it was the weather that would kill him, not the dead.

  He rubbed his hands together, feeling the temperature slowly dropping, and pulled out his lighter. He gave it a flick, to make sure it was working, and then had a walk around to pick up some sticks. He quickly built a little wigwam style fire and then grabbed some bracken and stuffed it under the sticks.

  Even better, he found some bits of cardboard lying around. He picked up the cardboard, making sure it wasn’t damp, and also pushed the bits under the sticks.

  He flicked the lighter a couple of times, but nothing was happening. He tried again, this time cupping the lighter from a gentle breeze that was filtering through the trees, and managed to produce a flame.

  The cardboard was lit and the fire, to Dickson’s delight, started to gather momentum.

  He bent down and gave it a little blow, and was pleased that he was going to be warm for a while. He knew that once the flames died, he may wake up with the cold, but anything would do.

  It was still early and he wanted the fire to be around for a while until he slept, so he went to gather more sticks before it became too dark. He stepped over the rope that he had tied to the trees and managed to gather a large bundle. He returned back to the small fire and gently placed the bundle next to it.

  His stomach rumbled and his main priority was to get more food tomorrow. He was also going to need to make another snare.

  He sat back down and his mind wandered, thinking about days of yesteryear. A sad smile was present as he thought about his time with his family. He then thought about the first few weeks of the apocalypse and his neighbour Daisy. Her partner Robert had turned and so had her daughter, but her eldest daughter was still alive and they both had stayed with him and Kyle very briefly, before the Murphys came along.

  The notorious family had turned up in his street and the youngest, Lance Murphy, entered Paul’s house and ventured upstairs.

  Dickson was petrified and struck out at the man with a hammer. The man was found by the other family members and Dickson, Daisy, and her daughter and Kyle hid. Daisy and her daughter were found, and because the Murphys assumed she was the owner of the house and no one else was there, they took her outside. To this day, Dickson was thankful that Daisy never said anything about there being other people, but the guilt was immense to carry. Especially when they threw young Lisa in the back and Daisy had her head bashed in by the father of the clan with the butt of his shotgun. Once the thugs had set fire to the house, Paul Dickson and Kyle had to leave.

  His mind then shook off the terrible images and he thought about the rules he had set out for Kyle to keep him safe that was written on his daughter’s blackboard in chalk. He tried to remember them and started murmuring to himself.

  “Rule number one was never to look out of the window. Number two was don’t shout or make a noise. Number three was don’t go outside. Don’t play near doors or the downstairs’ windows. Always do as dad says, and...” Dickson rubbed his head and said, “Shit. What was rule six?”

  A snap of a twig alerted Dickson and brought him out of his daydreaming. He looked around, still remained sitting, and had his hand resting on the handle of his machete. He was going to call out, but stopped himself from doing so. He stared in the direction of where the noise was coming from and prepared for the worst.

  A hooded figure could be seen coming towards Dickson, and the strange man had both his hands up. Once he was yards away from the fire, Dickson decided to get to his feet and could see the man had a beard and long hair. He had a smile on his face and told Dickson that he came in peace.

  “Can I sit by the fire?” the man asked. “I was quite a few yards away when I saw the flames. Risky, approaching people these days, but you can’t freeze to death, can you?”

  Dickson narrowed his eyes. “I don’t even know you.”

  The man looked to have a carrier bag in his right hand and a few items bulging from inside it.

  “When was the last time you ate?” the man asked Dickson.

  Paul released a small sigh and admitted, “A while.”

  “I tell you what. Let me warm by your fire and you can have two tins of ravioli.”

  “That’s sounds like a good deal.”

  “It’s more than generous.” The man produced a large smile, putting Dickson at ease and said, “These tins could keep you going for a few days, if you hit hard times.”

  “I’ve already hit hard times,” said Dickson. “That’s why I’m moving on.”

  “Where to?”

  “No idea yet, but being in the countryside isn’t working for me.”

  “It’s the safest place to be. All you need to do is find an empty house. This fire in the woods thing is a bit dangerous, don’t you think?”

  “So why are you out here?”

  “There’s a reason."

  “Oh?”

  “Let me warm myself by the fire and I’ll tell you all about it.” The man seemed genuine and Paul was liking him already.

  Paul thought for a while and then looked at the man’s carrier bag, and said, “Well, you seem okay. And it’s been a while since I’ve had decent company, as well as ravioli.”

  “Is that a yes then?”

  Paul smiled. “Sit your arse down.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  “You sure you’ve had enough to drink?” Vince asked Joanne.

  She nodded, a little annoyed he asked her in front of Terry.

  All three were standing by the gate and Terry was about to open it.

  “Let’s just go,” she snapped. “No more questions.”

  Terry opened the gate and said, “Are you sure you wanna go out?” he asked Vince. “You lot had quite a scare earlier.”

  “I’m fine.” Vince seemed ruffled with Terry’s query and Terry wasn’t finished there. “Ronnie and Thomas said the road was clear, so that’s good enough for me, Tezza.”

  “Oh,” he began, “so it’s okay for you to mother Joanne, but it’s not okay when I’m asking about you?”

  Vince could see Terry grinning underneath his thick ginger beard and felt like hitting him, but would more than likely come off second best.

  Vince released a puff of breath to show his anger and walked through the gate with Joanne following.

  Vince had a screwed up plastic bag in his pocket and Joanne was convinced it would be full with berries in the next few hours.

  She held out her hand and Vince looked down. He held out his hand and reluctantly clasped hers.

  “What’s the matter?” Joanne asked him, noticing his reluctance. “Don’t you want to hold my hand?”

  Vince puffed out his bottom lip and gently shrugged his shoulders. “I’m just not one for holding hands in public, that’s all.”

  “In public?” Joanne giggled. “Who’s gonna see? We’re in the countryside, in the middle of an apocalypse.”

  “
I know,” he sighed. “It's just... I think holding hands is a bit gay, that’s all.”

  “Don’t let Pickle hear you talk like that,” Joanne said with her tongue in her cheek.

  Vince never responded and they continued to walk, and just under a minute later, Joanne turned to her partner and announced, “I think I love you, Vince.”

  “Well, you’re only human,” was the man’s quick fire response.

  This wasn’t the reaction that Joanne wanted and said, “Did you hear what I said?”

  They both stopped walking, and Vince looked up and had a seriousness over his features. “I never wanted this.”

  “Wanted what?” Joanne’s confusion was all over her face.

  “Being in love with someone, especially with everything that’s going on, is not the best thing.”

  “Do you feel the same?” Joanne flashed a smile and her cheeks flushed a little. “I won’t mind if you say no.”

  Vince nodded. “Of course I do. What sane man couldn’t be? You’re adorable.”

  “And what do you mean that you never wanted this?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Joanne shook her head.

  “If anything happened to you…” Vince choked just thinking about it. “Well … I’d be in bits.”

  “Oh, Vince.” Tears welled in Joanne’s eyes and she leaned in and kissed him on the lips.

  “And I’d be sad if anything happened to you.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, being dead isn’t a bad thing, it’s the people that you leave behind that have to carry the hurt. I’m not afraid of being dead?”

  “You’re not?”

  Vince waggled his head. “It’s the actual reason why I die that frightens me, but actually being dead doesn’t bother me. It’s like being stupid. It’s only painful for others.”

  Vince started to make a move and Joanne walked beside him. They were near the brambles and Vince took out the carrier bag from his pocket.

  “You hold it,” Joanne said, “and I’ll do all the work.”

  “You said something similar the other night.” Vince released a smirk.