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

by Whittington, Shaun

“What’s he done?” Terry ran his fingers through his thick ginger beard.

  “Spying on me.”

  “I wasn’t spying on anybody,” Quint protested, holding his hands up and looked at the reaction on Terry Braithwaite’s face. There was none.

  Mildred said, “You were gazing at me from your bedroom window.”

  “Why would I look at you?” Quint huffed and winked at Terry. “I’ve seen bigger tits on a fish.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Terry shook his head and moaned, “Hordes of the dead, perverts... I’m not sure bringing you lot back was a good idea.”

  “I’m not a pervert,” Quint tried to protest.

  “For the record,” Mildred began and took a step closer to Quint. “If I catch you perving on me again, you piss stain, I’ll pull your dick off and shove it up your arse.”

  “Charming.” Quint shook his head and turned to Terry. “And what happens if I just happen to be looking out of my window and she’s stark bollock naked? Am I going to be accused again?”

  “In Quint’s defence,” said Terry, and raised his hand at Mildred as the irate woman was about to interrupt him. “You need curtains in that room. Maybe you should change your clothes in another room. Otherwise next week, you might accuse me or Paul Smith for being a pervert.”

  “All men sticking together. Is that it, eh?”

  “It’s nothing to do with that.”

  “It’s not that he was looking. It was how he was looking,” Mildred tried to explain.

  “Look.” Quint held up his right hand and looked at Terry. “I’ll keep the curtains shut in my house, in every room, if that’ll keep the peace.”

  Terry looked at Mildred, wondering if she was satisfied with Quint’s idea.

  “Fine,” she huffed, and turned to go back to her house, leaving Quint and Terry alone.

  “It was a complete accident,” Quint told Terry.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Terry groaned. “I have more important things to worry about than this kind of bullshit.”

  “I mean, I have no sexual urges at all, especially at my age. I think the wife drained that out of me.” Quint could see Terry’s mind was elsewhere, but still continued, “That’s the problem when you marry an ugly woman.”

  “You’re hardly an oil painting yourself, Quint.” Terry tucked his shirt in and said, “Now, I’m busy, so do you mind?”

  “Busy? Doing what?”

  “I need to stare at that gate for the next two hours until Paul takes over.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Both men had introduced themselves and Paul Dickson welcomed the food in the tins that he quickly devoured. It stopped his stomach from rumbling and could keep him going for days. Dickson could feel his clothes, especially his jeans, getting loose, and guessed that since leaving Colwyn Place he had lost over a stone in weight. His new companion was also eating, and was tucking into a tin of spaghetti hoops.

  “I’m not gonna lie to you,” Dickson spoke to his new companion. “I’m gonna struggle to sleep tonight with you here.”

  “I’ll go if you want.” The man seemed genuine, but Dickson wanted to be honest. “I promise I’m not a threat.”

  “Nah.” Paul moved his head from side to side. “You gave me food and I’m thankful for that. I don’t think you’re a danger to me.”

  “Why would I be?” the man laughed. “You have nothing to give me. If I wanted to do you harm, I would have snuck up on you, or even waited until you went to sleep.”

  “I know, I know.” Dickson held his hand up and apologised once more to the long haired male. “So what happens now?” He took one last mouthful of food.

  “You’re always better off if someone is watching your back, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “I mean...” The man looked around him. “Where were you gonna sleep? Here? In the middle of he woods?”

  “I’ve done it before.”

  “Well, I don’t know about you, but being out here on my own isn’t something that appeals to me.”

  “Not used to being on your own then?”

  “I had a crew. All dead now, though.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Dickson said. “Sick of getting to know people and then losing them. Been telling myself to leave for weeks, but can’t seem to do it.”

  “Where did you live? You know, before everything went tits up?”

  “Little Haywood.”

  “Lose your family?”

  Paul nodded, and his companion could see the sadness on his face and chose wisely not to probe any further.

  Dickson noticed the man wincing and asked if he was okay.

  The man nodded and told Dickson that if they were going to be companions, they needed to be honest with one another. Paul agreed.

  The man took in a deep breath and said, “I’ve killed people.”

  “So have I,” Dickson said with little regret in his tone. “Don’t worry about it. You have to do what you have to do in order to survive.”

  “I’m glad you said that.” There was relief on the man’s face.

  “I’ve lost count how many people I’ve done.”

  “Wow. Really?” The man started to relax after his confession and said, “A few weeks back, me and my crew carjacked a family.”

  “Wait, wait, wait, wait.” Paul raised his hand, stopping the man, and screwed his face as he gazed at his new companion. Dickson said, “You carjacked a family?”

  The man seemed reluctant to speak and could see the unhappiness on Dickson’s face.

  “I’ve never attacked people for food or transport. When I killed people, it was because they were a threat to me or they deserved it.”

  “Right.” The man nodded and instantly regretted opening up to Dickson so early. “But I thought you said, and I quote, you have to do what you have to do to survive.”

  Paul never responded and thought that maybe this man opposite him should leave and go elsewhere.

  The man could sense Dickson’s negative vibes and decided to change the subject. He asked, “Want some more sticks for the fire, before it gets dark?”

  “Okay.”

  Dickson watched as the man stretched his legs, stepping over the rope, and started to pick up branches from the ground. He never ventured from Dickson’s eyeline and returned with a healthy bundle.

  “That’ll do,” said Dickson, and could see the man wincing again as he placed the wood on the ground next to Dickson’s feet. Dickson noticed that the man’s left hand was bandaged and asked about it.

  “Me and my crew were attacked,” he said. “Some little bitch shot an arrow into my hand. Can you believe that? Then this guy from the gang pulled it out and fucked my hand up even more.”

  “Isn’t it painful?”

  “Yeah, but you kinda get used to it.”

  “What happened to the people that attacked you?”

  “We took them in the end, on another day.”

  “You ... took them?”

  “We took the guy and three youngsters, including the blonde bitch that shot my hand.” The man revealed a sinister grin that didn’t sit right with Dickson.

  The alarm bells were now ringing in Dickson’s head.

  Young girl. Blonde. Shoots bow and arrow. It sounded very familiar.

  “What was the name of the guy that attacked you?”

  “Why?” The man thought it was a strange query. What did it matter?

  “I’m intrigued.”

  “Harry Branston. He was in the same prison as me.”

  “You were in prison?”

  The man laughed and said, “Yeah. Forgot to mention that, didn’t I? We escaped when it all kicked off.”

  “Tell me more about this crew,” said Dickson, and decided to act dumb. “Are they going to be a problem for us?”

  “Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,” he snickered, sending shivers down Dickson’s vertebrae. “I’m gonna make sure I keep well away from them and head north, just like yourself.”


  “You said that you took them,” Dickson persisted. “What happened to them?”

  The man revealed a smirk and never answered Dickson.

  “You killed them?”

  “Yep. Right in front of their leader, in a garage in Gnosall where we lived briefly.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I took the youngster’s heads off and they were dropped off at the gate where they were staying at Stafford Hospital.”

  Dickson gulped and could feel his blood simmering, but tried to keep it together. “And how old were these youngsters?”

  The man hunched his shoulders and said, “Not sure. I think the girl was around fourteen.”

  The man revealed a grin and Dickson knew there was more to it than killing them. This guy had done things. He was sure of it.

  Paul swallowed his anger, knowing that it was Stephanie Perkins that the man was talking about, and queried, “You killed a fourteen-year-old?”

  “Rules don’t apply anymore. You have to do what you have to do. You said yourself that you killed people that deserved it.”

  “And Pi...” Dickson nearly slipped up, paused, and tried again, “And this Branston fella?”

  “He escaped,” the man groaned. “Ended up attacking us while we were out on the road. I think he killed three of my guys, I’m sure of it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  The man tried to explain, “The car crashed and I ran before they got to the vehicle. Been out on the run ever since.”

  The man opposite Dickson yawned and told him that it had been a long day.

  “That’s okay, Freddie,” said Dickson. “You get your head down.”

  “Freddie,” the man scoffed. “Fucking hate that name.”

  “I know what you mean.“ Dickson flashed the man a false smile. “I don’t like Paul either these days.”

  “My friends call me Manson.”

  “Well, Manson, it’s time for you to get some shut eye.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Frank wiped the tears away from his eyes with his sleeve, still holding the blade in his right hand. He crouched down and gazed at his old friend. Drake’s eyes were opened and Frank placed his hand over them and closed them.

  He looked at the man and wished him peace.

  “I know you weren’t a believer, Drake,” Frank sighed and could feel his throat tightening with emotion. “I do think you’re gonna meet up with Coral and Jack again, in some shape or form. I’m convinced of it.”

  Frank placed his hand on Drake’s head and said, “Rest easy, my friend.”

  Frank grabbed a towel from the top of the sink and used it to soak up the blood that was pouring out of the side of Drake’s head. Frank then sat up against the wall and looked over at the body of a friend he loved.

  “I don’t think you’d ever get over their deaths. You certainly changed post apocalypse, but I suppose we all did to a certain extent. Killing other people never seemed to faze you. That’s when I knew I had lost a part of my friend for good.”

  Frank could hear footsteps going along the corridor and they were getting closer. He was convinced that the individual was going to enter the staff room, and Frank stood up straight and adjusted himself.

  A knock on the staff room door alerted Frank.

  He asked who was behind the door and Patricia answered. She opened it and was hesitant on stepping in.

  “Is it done?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  She stepped inside and could see Frank standing in the corner of the room.

  Drake’s body was slumped on the floor, and Patricia gasped when she saw him.

  “He had already turned when I came back,” Frank began to clarify. “One stab to the side of the head and it was done. There’s gonna be a few surprised faces when we carry him out.”

  “Probably not that many,” said Patricia. “I’ve already told a few people. It’ll spread like wild fire.”

  Frank pulled out a chair and sat down. No more words were exchanged between the pair of them and a knock on the door was heard.

  Frank never moved, and Patricia went for the door. She was greeted by three males, all companions of Drake when the world was normal.

  She didn’t have to say anything. She and Frank both knew they were there to take him.

  A guy called Chris spoke up and said, “The guys are digging a hole as we speak. In the corner of the grounds.”

  Frank nodded and thanked the men. He then turned to Patricia and said, “You were right. The news did spread like wildfire.”

  A sombre looking Chris was carrying a bedsheet, and Frank stepped aside as the three men went inside and started to wrap the body up.

  As the three individuals carried out the body, Frank and a clearly upset Patricia slowly followed them. Once Frank and Patricia were out of the reception building, they could see that people were already gathering outside.

  A lot of the children weren’t present, but most of the residents were there, and the three men reached the hole in the corner of the grounds and started to lower the body in.

  People slowly moved towards the burial and gathered round.

  Frank could feel eyes on him, and knew they wanted him to say a few words. He was now the leader and didn’t want his leadership to get off to a weak start. He didn’t want this. He had joked to Drake in the past that he feared his death because it meant he was the next man in charge, and now it was really happening. Frank was the main man.

  Frank felt nervous all of a sudden and took in a breath before speaking.

  “I’m sorry, I have no idea what to say in these situations,” he began. There was complete silence amongst the crowd and Frank added, “I’m not a religious man, and neither was Drake, but it would be disrespectful not to say anything. He helped build what we have today. I know some of you didn’t like him, but he was my friend. The apocalypse changed him, like most people. Six months ago he was a father that doted on his son, and now this.” He looked at Patricia and widened his eyes, asking her to help him out.

  “Does anybody else have anything to say?” she stepped in.

  She looked around and could see people looking at one another, some shaking their heads.

  “Okay,” Patricia sighed. “We’ll finish off with The Lord’s Prayer. If some of you don’t want to join in, I’ll understand.”

  *

  Ten minutes had passed and people were still gathered, talking amongst each other. Some were talking about Drake and sharing some stories about him, and others were talking about a different subject altogether.

  Frank looked up and could see the day was coming to a close. The sky had darkened and the sun had been replaced by a smiling moon.

  He looked over at Patricia and gestured with his head for her to follow him. He moved away from the crowd and the pair of them walked side by side.

  “What is it?” Patricia asked him.

  “I have to go to Little Haywood tomorrow morning,” he said.

  “Why?”

  He pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and waved it. “It’s a letter he wrote for Pickle. I need to deliver it and deliver the bad news.”

  “It’s a risky trip just to tell them that. Just for a letter?” she huffed. “Can’t it wait?”

  “No.” Frank agreed and shared Patricia’s concern. “It’s what he wanted, and I think they deserve to know right away. We’re going to be allies, so we’re going to meet now and again. Imagine how annoyed Pickle would be if he came here a week later, only to be told the news.”

  Patricia wiped the tears from her eyes with her fingers and asked Frank, “I suppose when you put it like that... Who’s going with you?”

  “No one.”

  “No one?”

  “I’m just gonna get up first thing, jump on a moped and go there and come right back. The only person that’ll know I’m gone will be the guard on the gate, and even then I’m gonna tell him some lie.”

  Patricia stopped walking and l
owered her head. Frank asked if she was okay, but she could feel the tears welling once more.

  “You know,” she started, “I didn’t see one person cry at that gathering.”

  “I know. I noticed that as well.” Frank ran his fingers over his mouth and released a sigh.

  “I mean ... I didn’t love the guy, we just used each other now and again. He had other casual partners, and so did I.”

  “I think a lot of people respected and feared the man, even was thankful, but he wasn’t one to show love. I was only considered second in command after Findlay was kicked out.

  “And what about your second in command?”

  “Well, I’m not planning on dying just yet,” Frank said. “But if I don’t come back from this trip tomorrow, which I will, then you can have it.”

  Patricia looked shocked by his announcement and surprised. “I can’t be a leader. I don’t even go out on runs for a start.”

  “That’s gonna have to change,” said Frank.

  “That trip to Little Haywood was nerve wracking for me. How would they respect me? I have no experience with the dead. How could I possibly send guys out on runs, but not go on one myself?”

  “Stop panicking,” Frank started to laugh.

  “I don’t want to do it, Frank. I’m sorry.”

  “Well,” Frank smiled and exhaled heavily. “I better get back in one piece tomorrow then, won’t I?”

  “Yes, you bloody will.”

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  September 18th

  Vincent Kindl had had a restless night’s sleep and decided to leave Joanne alone and left 4 Colwyn Place. His dreams had been plagued with the images of his deceased son and he had woken up during the night three times. The third time was after 5am, and the man heading to his fifties decided to get up.

  He got dressed and went over to the bedroom window, peering out from behind the curtain, and could see Paul Smith by the gate, whistle hanging round his neck.

  Vince galloped down the stairs and exited the house. It was a strange day, another murky one, and Vince waved at Paul Smith as he approached and told him that he’d take over.

  An exhausted looking Smith thanked Vince and never hesitated going back to his house.