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

by Whittington, Shaun

  “Rude.”

  Joanne picked the berries as quickly as she could and Vince continued to talk. Both could see that the road was clear, and were relaxed as Vince talked about when he first settled in at Colwyn Place, whilst Joanne picked away.

  “Of course, you didn’t always have an eye for me, did you?” Vince began to tease.

  “Whadda you mean?” Joanne was still picking frantically and never stopped whilst she or Vince was talking.

  “Well, didn’t you have a thing for Paul Dickson once?”

  She seemed unruffled by Vince’s question and said, “I felt sorry for him. That’s all.”

  “But you made a move on him.”

  “Yep.” She nodded. “I was lonely, what can I say? And then he threw me across the room.”

  “Playing hard to get, was he?”

  “Laugh away, Vince,” Joanne snapped. “I was quite frightened at the time. Bloody nutter.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You know what I was thinking?” said Joanne.

  “Could a crocodile swim faster than a seal?”

  “No.” Joanne shook her head, baffled by Vince’s response. “I was thinking about how we’d cope if one of us had tonsillitis or appendicitis.”

  “It is scary not having functioning hospitals anymore,” Vince admitted and could see the bag was nearly full. “Thankfully, I had my penis reduction two months before it all happened. Just got the one now.”

  “You cracked that line the first week you came here.”

  “Did I?”

  Joanne nodded. “And I didn’t laugh then.”

  “I think we’re nearly done.” Vince nodded at the bag.

  “Okay.” Joanne stretched and straightened her back.

  “Which is just as well.” Vince pointed up ahead. ”As we have company.”

  Joanne looked and could see one lone Snatcher stumbling along the main road. She reached for Vince’s machete, as he was still holding the bag, and slowly pulled it out.

  “You sure about this?” Vince gently placed the bag on the floor.

  Joanne shrugged. “Need to get it out of the way.”

  “Come on then,” he said. “I’ll walk with you.”

  He could see she was nervous and taking big gulps of air in. The Snatcher was a female, early twenties when she was a human, and Vince could see Joanne’s hand shaking.

  “Just take it nice and easy,” Vince began to dish out the advice. “Aim for the head, nowhere else, and...”

  Joanne released a cry and brought the large blade behind her head, bringing it down.

  The blade went through the skull three inches, and once the machete was freed as the Snatcher dropped to the floor, she began to hack at the skull that was pouring out dark liquid.

  A shocked Vince decided to step in after Joanne’s fifth strike and grabbed her arm. He said, “Joanne, I think it’s dead. Well, you know what I mean. It’s already dead.”

  Joanne was out of breath and turned to Vince with a smile. “What a rush. Is it always like that?”

  Vince shook his head. “It gets boring after a bit. It becomes a part of life, like tying your shoelace or brushing your teeth.”

  Vince looked at the creature on the floor and started to drag it to the side of the road. He then walked back over to Joanne and asked her where she had found the bravery from.

  “I don’t know,” was her vague answer. “I imagined it was my ex. He cheated on me years ago with my best friend.”

  “But that Snatcher was female.”

  “So?”

  “Right.” Vince gulped, and then pointed at Joanne. “We’re never splitting up, okay? Unless you decide to.”

  Joanne Hammett passed Vince the blade and said, “Shall we go back?”

  “Sure, but let me tell you about a habit that me, Karen and Pickle have when we put down the dead. If it’s safe to do so, we wipe both sides of the blade on the dead’s clothes and then move it out of the way, to the side of the road.”

  Joanne nodded. She could see that he had already moved the Snatcher and took the machete from Vince and went over to wipe the blade. Once she did, she walked over and handed the blade to Vince and then picked up the heavy bag of berries.

  “Ready when you are.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Darren had emerged from his issued home and could see Karen and Pickle standing by the jeep and talking. Darren had been sleeping for a few hours and was told that he needed to see Terry later as the man had a job for him.

  Karen spotted Darren and waved him over.

  “I’ll leave yer two love birds to it, okay?” Pickle muttered as Darren made his way over.

  “Pickle, he’s just a friend,” Karen said softly.

  “I think he wants more than that.”

  “I know he does. He tried to kiss me in the clinic, back in Stafford.”

  “Really?”

  Karen nodded.

  “Why didn’t yer tell me?”

  Karen burst into hysterics and said, “And what would you do, dad? Give him a warning? Tell him I’m a woman still in mourning and had recently lost my child?”

  Pickle never responded and smiled as Darren turned up.

  “Pickle!” Terry called over. The man was standing by the gate and added, “Have you got a minute?”

  “Saved by the bell,” Pickle whispered to himself, and then said in a higher tone. “O’ course.”

  Darren could see Pickle walking away as he stood next to Karen and asked her jokingly, “Something I said?”

  Karen adopted a serious face and told Darren, “Well ... actually, Darren, yes.”

  “Really?” Darren looked flabbergasted and said, “What is it?”

  “Pickle heard that you were saying homophobic things to Findlay when we first arrived at Stafford.”

  “Me?” Darren’s eyes widened and he continually shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that, Karen. My best mate was gay, I mean when I...”

  He cut short his sentence when he could hear Karen laughing to herself, trying to stifle it by covering her mouth with her hand, but it was a pathetic attempt.

  “You’re joking, right?”

  Karen nodded and Darren wasn’t sure whether to walk away or not. He didn’t find it funny at all.

  His friends and family had always said that he was too sensitive sometimes, but it couldn’t be helped. Karen’s joke had annoyed him. Before he could walk away, Darren could hear the gate being slid back and saw Joanne and Vince returning.

  Karen walked over to them, where Terry and Pickle were also present, and Darren was at a loss whether to follow her or go back inside his new house. He followed her.

  “Everything okay?” Pickle asked Joanne and Vince.

  “Great,” Vince replied and pointed at his partner. “This one put down a Snatcher, no bother.”

  “Great stuff.”

  Joanne blushed a little and told them all she was going to take the heavy bag into her house and place it in the sink until she’d come up with an idea what to do with the berries.

  Vince looked admiringly as Joanne walked back to her house.

  “Yer have got it bad, Vince,” said Pickle.

  “She’s something, ain’t she?”

  “She sure is,” said Pickle. “Yer can put yer tongue back in yer mouth now, Vince.”

  “Did you hypnotise her or something?” Terry asked, still baffled why a beauty like Joanne would be involved with someone like Vince.

  “Oh, don’t you start,” Vince groaned. “She fell for my sparkling personality, eventually, alright? And it also helps that I’m hung like a moose.”

  “You make a good couple,” said Karen.

  “Thank you.” Vince then turned to Pickle and said, “You need a love interest, Pickle. All that pent up frustration is no good for you.”

  “Right, and what or who do yer suggest?”

  “Well, I know there’s no gay people in the street, but we’ve passed many fields on our travels.

 
“So...” Pickle had his head in his hands and shook it. Vince had said many silly things over the months, but he was excelling himself. “You think I’m so desperate that I would lower myself and mate with an animal?”

  “Can’t be too fussy these days.” Vince hunched his shoulders. “Every hole’s a goal.”

  Darren and Karen remained silent as they could see Pickle becoming annoyed. Vince was in one of his wind up moods, and Branston was biting. “So yer quite happy, the next time we’re out on a run, to park up the vehicle while I hop o’er a fence and rape a goat?”

  Vince’s face was emotionless and he hunched his shoulders. “It was just a thought.”

  “I’m alright on ma own,” said Pickle. “These hands still work, but I’m touched yer thinkin’ o’ me.”

  “What about you, Terry?” Vince asked.

  “Don’t even go there,” he snapped. “My family have only been dead four months.”

  “I suppose kissing you underneath all that hair would be like snogging a privet hedge.”

  “Just because you’re in a relationship,” Darren decided to speak up, “doesn’t give you the right to lecture other people.”

  “I’m not lecturing,” Vince chuckled. “Calm down. What’s up with you? Did Karen knock you back again?”

  Darren huffed, “You’re a git, Vince. There’s more to life than sex, especially with the way things are now.”

  “Is that so?” Vince placed his hands on his hips. “So are you telling me that if Patricia Johnson bent over and pulled her knickers to one side, you’d turn her down?”

  Darren was speechless and could feel the eyes on him from Pickle, Terry, Vince, and Karen, all waiting for an answer.

  “Honestly, Vince.” Karen decided to speak up to get rid of the awkward silence. “You’re a disgrace.”

  “I bet yer don’t talk like that when Joanne’s around,” said Pickle.

  “You never answered my question, Darren.” Vince folded his arms and was waiting on an answer from the awkward looking young man.

  “No, I wouldn’t,” Darren eventually spoke.

  “Well, I suppose if that scenario ever did happen, you’d probably shit yourself, quite literally.”

  “Vince!” Karen reprimanded.

  “Bit of a turn off when the guy pulls his pants down and they’re full of butt mud?”

  Darren scratched his head and asked Vince, “Full of what?”

  “You know. Ass atoms, gorilla fingers, rusty nuggets, smelly pebbles, body boulders, rectum warriors, sewer serpents, fudge babies, anal snakes—”

  “I think that’s enough, Vince.” Pickle stepped in, trying not to smirk.

  Vince nodded and told them he was going into 4 Colwyn Place. He patted an angry Darren on the shoulder and gave him a wink before he walked away.

  “How are you friends with that guy, I’ll never know,” said Darren, but no one responded. Karen and Terry seemed amused that Pickle had his hand over his mouth and was giggling to himself like a teenager.

  “What’s up with you?” Karen asked him.

  Pickle shook his head and continued to chuckle, “Gorilla fingers.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Drake was sweating, hands in his pockets, and Patricia and Frank could see that he was as white as ivory. Patricia told Drake that she’d get a cold flannel and get some painkillers from the clinic.

  “Don’t bother,” Drake mumbled and slumped in his usual chair at the table in the staff room. He pointed to the cupboard under the sink and told Frank to get him the photo of his wife and son and the bottle of whisky.

  Frank did as he was told and placed both on the table with no questions asked.

  “What do you want me to do?” Patricia asked.

  “Get me a pen and paper.”

  Patricia nodded and left the room.

  “Drake.” There was concern on Frank’s face and he asked, “What’s going on?”

  “Wait until Patricia comes back.”

  A few minutes later she returned, and she placed a blue biro and an A4 piece of blank paper on the table.

  “First things first,” said Drake.

  He lowered his head and started scribbling on the paper, whilst Frank and Patricia looked at one another, wondering what the hell was going on.

  Patricia could see the hurt on Drake’s face and knew the man was still hurting from the loss of his family.

  “Drake, you need to stay strong,” she said. “My cousin lost her child years ago, and she always used to tell me that the birds of sorrow can fly over her, but therapy and talking to people can stop them from nesting in her hair. Grief is the price we pay for love.”

  “Yeah, very poetic,” Drake derided and continued to scribble. “But it’s too late for that.”

  “Why?”

  Drake never responded to Patricia. Minutes later, Drake had finished writing and reached for the bottle and that was when they both saw it. He could see the shock on their faces and released a smirk.

  “I know, I know,” Drake moaned, and then unscrewed the bottle and drank from it. “It’s not that bad, but bad enough.”

  Frank asked him. “Did this happen in the car, when you were trapped with Karen, Pickle and Vince?”

  Drake nodded. “It’s a bit inconvenient, but it is what it is.”

  “Let’s see.”

  Drake held up his right hand, revealing that his ring finger and pinky had been mutilated by the teeth off one of the dead.

  “Why didn’t you say something right there?” Frank snapped. “They could have took the fingers off.”

  “Oh, fuck that.”

  “Pickle has a finger missing, and Vince has half a hand left, but they’re both still alive.”

  “Maybe I’m just not that bothered.” Drake picked up the photo and gazed at it longingly. “What’s the point in being alive when you’ve lost everything.”

  Patricia placed her hand over her mouth and started to cry, angering Drake and making him slam his fist down on the table.

  “Don’t want any of that shit in here!” he snapped. “Just get out. The pair of you, get out.”

  The two hesitantly turned and headed for the door. Drake called after Frank, and he and Patricia both turned around.

  “The bad news is that you’re now in charge.”

  “Okay,” Frank sighed.

  “Give me half an hour,” he said solemnly. “You know what to do. I won’t be myself when you return. It won’t be me, so make sure you put a blade in my head. Don’t hesitate, because I won’t.”

  Frank could feel his throat stiffen and placed his hand on Patricia’s and both left the room, with Frank slowly shutting the door behind him.

  Drake looked at his wounded fingers and released a heavy sigh. He picked up the bottle and took two large gulps, slammed it down on the table, and then looked at the photo.

  “I’ll be with you soon, guys.”

  His throat felt stiff and he could feel his eyes becoming wet.

  “Loss is only temporary if you believe in God. Unfortunately, I don’t. But I know I’ll be with you in some way. I know it.” He ran his finger down his son’s face and tears fell from his eyes. “My little boy. My poor little boy.”

  He took in a deep breath and picked up the bottle with his right wounded hand, whilst holding the photo with his left.

  “I’ll never heal, but at least the pain will be gone soon. Losing you both is like being tired that sleep cannot fix. Losing you two ended my life, yet the world keeps turning and the seconds continue to tick away.”

  Drake picked up the letter he had written to Pickle and the rest, and could feel the tiredness creep upon him.

  He was uncertain if it was the booze, the infection, or a mixture of both, but he felt weary all of a sudden.

  The letter was simple. It told Pickle that Drake would be dead by the time he read it, Frank would be in charge, and that he had enjoyed the short time he had with Pickle, Karen and Vince when they stayed at the hospital.


  Drake closed his damp eyes and sobbed for his wife and son. He had never felt pain like it.

  Thirteen minutes later, his eyes closed again and reopened a different colour.

  He had turned, and Frank entered the staff room and put his friend down.

  Chapter Fifty

  Vince smiled as he returned to the bedroom where Joanne was. They had just made love, and he returned to the bed wearing just his boxers and Joanne had put back on her bra and pants. Both lay down on their backs next to one another, looking up to the ceiling, and were still breathing heavily after their session.

  “We’re running out of condoms,” Joanne said.

  Vince nodded and said, “There’s options.”

  “Options? What do you mean?” Joanne sat up and said, “You’re not doing me up the bum.”

  “Jesus.” Vince laughed and also sat up himself. “That never crossed my mind, you filth bag.”

  “Then what you’re talking about? The withdrawal method?”

  Vince nodded. “Unless you do want me to do you up the wrong ‘un.”

  “Absolutely not. You’ll just have to masturbate.”

  “Masturbation is all well and good until you realise you’re screwing yourself.”

  “Vince, I’m being serious.” Joanne folded her arms and added, “We’re not getting physical after we have ran out of protection. We can play with each other, but nothing is going inside me.”

  Vince opened his mouth to respond, but both individuals were distracted by noises coming from outside.

  “Sounds like an argument,” said Joanne. “I wonder who it is.”

  Vince got off the bed and ventured towards the window and looked out. “It’s Quint and Mildred.”

  *

  “What’s the problem?” Terry walked over to Mildred and Quint, and he could see that the young woman was irate.

  He had seen the woman stomping over to the house where Quint was staying and banging the door with the palm of her hand. He watched as the man in his sixties stepped out and then the arguing started.

  “This prick here.” Mildred pointed at the man in his sixties, almost jabbing her finger in his chest.