“Same here.”
“Well, what’s the plan today?” Vince tried again.
Pickle hunched his shoulders. “I suppose with the petrol we have left in the jeep, I could go out on another wholesaler run and grab more seed packets from the garden centre in Rugeley.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll give yer guys a break,” said Pickle. “Maybe I’ll take Ronnie and Darren with me.”
“I’ll take a trip to the river with Tracy this afternoon,” Karen spoke up. “It’ll be good for her mental health. It’s gonna take her a while to get over Richard’s death.”
“I’ll probably just bone Joanne all day, if that’s alright with you guys?” Vince said with a smirk.
Karen flashed Vince a disapproving look.
Vince decided to change the subject and said, “I’ve noticed over the months that Terry doesn’t leave the street much. Maybe you should take him out with you, Pickle?”
“Maybe another time,” Pickle said. “Terry’s no coward. I just think he prefers it in the street. I think we all know after John Lincoln’s passing and me kind o’ takin’ over briefly, Terry ran the show. Drake never went out much. He just kinda dished out the orders, but yer knew, like Terry, he could handle himself if need be. Anyway, he’s still on edge.”
“Because of the horde?”
Pickle nodded. “As well as those bangs that were released that managed to drive them away.”
“I wonder who...”
Pickle hunched his shoulder and had no answer for Karen. “Who knows?”
Karen yawned and told the guys that she was going back to bed for a couple of hours.
Pickle nodded and told her, “I think I’ll join yer.” Realising what he said and noticing Vince’s look, Pickle blushed and explained, “I meant in separate rooms, o’ course.”
“We know what you meant, Pickle,” Karen chuckled and thought that Pickle blushing was adorable. “My arse isn’t hairy enough for the likes of you.”
“Okay, okay.” Pickle shooed Karen away, feeling his face getting redder. “That’s enough o’ that. Besides, yer ‘ave too much o’ a big mouth to ever be one of ma lovers.”
“And too much vagina,” Karen laughed.
“Shit.” Vince snapped his fingers. “Beat me to it.”
“Honestly,” Pickle groaned. “Yer two can be a right couple o’ wazaks.” He then turned to Vince and asked if he would be okay for a few hours.
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I think Terry said he’s gonna be on the gate from midday.”
“Okay.” Pickle smiled thinly and added, “I’ll try and get ma head down, but I bet I stay up thinking about Drake.”
“Give it a go,” said Karen. “See what happens.”
Pickle then turned to Vince. “You should get yer head down later on.”
Vince smiled. “Maybe I will, if she’s in the mood.”
“Jesus!” Pickle scoffed. “Yer can’t help yerself, can yer?”
“Now, now.” Vince waggled his finger. “That’s blasphemy. You’ll be going to hell.”
“Hell? Yer don’t believe in it, do yer?”
Vince shook his head.
“Just because yer don’t believe, doesn’t lower the temperature one bit.”
“Enough with your rehearsed phrases,” Vince sighed and rubbed his stubbly chin.
“Hell is empty and the devils are all here.”
“That’s Shakespeare,” Vince chipped in.
“Well done.”
“I borrowed The Tempest from Terry yesterday.”
Pickle looked around and said, “Maybe hell is already here.”
Vince folded his arms and looked at Branston with a lowered head. He gave Pickle a look that a father would give his child for not going to bed when being told to.
“Isn’t it time you went?” Vince said.
“Hint taken.”
Pickle slapped Vince on the shoulder and started making his way back to the house that he shared with his twenty-three-year-old female companion. Karen was by his side.
Vince, still without a weapon, took a seat on Terry’s front lawn, brought his knees up, and wrapped his arms around his shins.
He dropped his head and dosed for a few minutes. He jumped when a hand touched his shoulder, and he looked up to see Darren smiling at him.
“Jesus, fuck!” Vince cried out. “Don’t go creeping up on people like that.”
“Sorry, mate.” Darren smiled and remained standing.
“You okay?” Vince asked him, starting to calm down.
Darren nodded and sat next to Vince.
“Just been told about Drake,” he said.
“Oh. And how do you feel about that?”
“A bit sad,” Darren admitted. “I know he took the piss out of me, but he did a lot for the people of Stafford.”
A silence greeted the two men and a tune entered Vince’s head by The Verve, but he was only humming the song History for a matter of seconds, when Darren started to talk again.
“That must have been some scary shit yesterday,” Darren said. “I didn’t realise anyone got hurt.”
“Neither did we until Frank showed up and gave us the news.”
“I know he used to give me a hard time,” Darren began and paused to scratch the back of his head. His hair was greasy and he had plans of washing his hair in the river later on. “But he wasn’t that bad.”
“He used to take the piss out of your IBS,” said. Vince. “But I suppose he didn’t deserve to die.”
“I saw Karen earlier.”
“Oh?” Vince smiled as Darren didn’t continue. “Don’t bother. You’re barking up the wrong tree with that one.”
“What do you mean?” Darren blushed, but knew exactly what Kindl meant.
“You fancy Karen. Any fool can see that.”
“She seems nice.”
“Nice? That’s absolute bollocks,” Vince laughed. “You just want to attack the pink fortress.”
“The what?”
“You know. Assault her with a friendly weapon.”
“Vince, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.” Kindl shook his head and gave Darren a disappointed look. “I know exactly what you want. You want to clean the cobwebs with the womb broom, launching the pork missile, putting your wand in her chamber of secrets.”
“Vince!” Darren had finally twigged on what Kindl was talking about and told him, “It’s more than that.”
“Really?”
Darren nodded, and he was convincing.
“So you don’t just want to play peek-a-boo with your vein cane in her flesh pipe?”
Darren groaned at Vince’s choice of words and said, “I just would like to meet someone and have a magical night.”
“What like saw her in half?”
“You know what I mean.”
“It wouldn’t be magical. Get that idea out of your head. At best, it’d be okay, but she would have to then go running to the bathroom after you filling her up, while you start leaking all over the sheets. That’s if you don’t have condoms.”
“I don’t think Karen would let that happen. She’s already been pregnant once.”
“I suppose if you do the withdrawal method and quickly pull out, she could end up with jigglypuffs like a couple of iced buns. Either way you look at it, it doesn’t sound nice. Especially for the woman. Best to leave her well alone.”
“You’re right.” Darren nodded. “I was talking to Brenda earlier. She seems nice.”
“So you are just after a quick fumble?”
“I’m just staying.”
“Brenda’s a big bit of kit, but a nice woman, I suppose.”
“She’s offered to make me dinner tonight.”
“Oh? Just you and her?”
Darren nodded.
“Maybe you are in there. I suppose she’s not that big really. I’ve had bigger.”
“Yeah?” Darren was now intrigued. “I’ve never b
een with a larger lady. What was it like?”
“Okay.” Vince nodded and revealed a reminiscent smile. “I once went out with a girl called Harriett.”
“Was she big?”
“Well, let’s put it this way. Whenever she sat in the bath, the water in the toilet rose.”
“No, it didn’t.” Darren didn’t believe Vince, but found his short story amusing.
“I’m telling you. That’s a true story.”
“I wouldn’t mind someone who was big,” said Darren. “As long as there’s a connection there, then who cares? I’d rather have a girlfriend with two chins than two faces.”
Vince clicked his fingers and pointed at Darren. “I like that. That’s a good way of thinking, young man.”
“My mate’s girlfriend was a big girl.” Darren smiled as he reminisced. “She was gorgeous, but she ended up dumping him. I think with her exams coming up at Uni, she didn’t want the distraction and felt really stressed.”
“You do realise stressed is backwards for desserts.”
Before Darren could respond, Vince told him to stay at the gate whilst he went over and had a chat with Paul Smith.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Paul Dickson had been on the road for seventeen minutes. He was going into Rugeley.
He reached the welcome sign and could see four Snatchers up ahead. They were congregating around a badly damaged car, and Dickson guessed that the crash had been recent and the individual inside was the main attraction for these diseased bastards.
He decided to go around them by going down a lane that led to The Bloody Steps. He went down the historic concrete steps and was at the canal. He walked alongside the water and came out on Colton Road where St Augustine’s Church sat, and started heading north, as if he was going into Rugeley Town. The idea was to walk around the circumference of the town, reaching the railway arches at the end of the Horsefair road.
A vehicle could be heard and a tired Dickson decided not to hide this time. He was pretty sure, if push came to shove, that he’d be okay in a violent confrontation. He was more concerned whether the vehicle would stop for him.
Around the bend of the road, appeared a white transit van. Dickson decided to risk it and held out his thumb and started walking on the pavement. He was giving the driver plenty of room to go by him, if that’s what he or she wanted to do, and Dickson thought that that would come across as a selfless act and could contribute to the decision the driver made.
The van went by him and Dickson quickly accepted that this ride wasn’t to be.
Then the van, twenty or so yards away, started to slow down.
Dickson jogged over to the now stationary van, with one hand on the strap of his rucksack so that it didn’t come off.
He opened the passenger door and was greeted by a smiling man. The man was heavy, unusually clean shaven, and obese, but he seemed friendly enough.
“Where you going?” the driver asked.
“Don’t know.” Dickson shrugged his shoulders.
“Looks like we’re going to the same place,” the man chuckled. “I tell you what. Get in.”
Dickson thanked the man, climbed in, and sat on the passenger seat and shut the door. The driver introduced himself as Carl. Paul responded and told the driver his real name.
The driver pulled the van away and said to Dickson, “You look tired, my friend.”
Paul smiled. “I am.”
“So where are you really going?” the man asked.
“I want to go north.”
“North, eh? Anywhere specific?”
“Not bothered,” Dickson released a large moan and added. “I want to be so far away that it’d be too difficult for me to come back.”
“Finding it hard to let go?”
Paul nodded. “Something like that.”
“I can drop you off outside Sheffield or Manchester, if we get that far. I’m not going in the city.”
Dickson nodded. “That’ll be a start.”
“What’s your preference? City or the countryside?”
“I’m not fussed.”
Dickson leaned his head back and gazed out of the windscreen.
“I’ll leave you in peace, my friend,” the man said. “Enough of the questions. Get some rest.”
Paul thanked the man and released a small yawn.
The van had gone by the supermarket and came to a junction.
Turning left would take them into the town and by Sandy Lane, but Paul knew the man was turning right.
They went under the huge red brick railway bridge, nicknamed The Arches, and kept to the left. The usual carnage was on the road and pavement, but it was becoming the norm and neither man was ruffled by what they saw. Even the headless body of an infant on the pavement never moved the men. They had seen it all before.
They went over the roundabout and passed The Ash Tree pub to their left and were heading for Armitage. Dickson could feel his eyes getting heavier and jumped and widened them when the driver went over a bump.
Dickson sat up, a little startled.
The driver laughed and apologised. “Couldn’t be helped,” he said. “Went over a body.”
Paul could see the van climbing the moderate hill and knew he wasn’t far from Vince’s old caravan park. He remained sitting up and as the van descended, he could see The Plum Pudding pub on the left, and at the bottom of the hill was the Spode Cottage.
The man looked to the right, to the caravan park, and revealed a large groan, shaking his head, seeing the burnt out caravans and the mess. It was clear that the place was abandoned and no life dwelled there.
“Something the matter?” Dickson asked.
“Just sometimes hits you, doesn’t it?” he said. “I knew someone that lived there. Probably dead now. Me and his buddy used to work together on the fork lifts.”
“Give me names.”
“Lee James. Vincent Kindl.”
Paul smiled, which was noticed by the man, and said, “Vince is fine.”
“You know him?”
Paul nodded. “I stayed at that park a few months back before things went bad. Saw him today and he’s fine.”
“Fuck me. Small world, ain’t it?”
“It certainly is.” Paul gave the man the bad news and told him, “Lee James is dead, though.”
The man never responded and kept his eyes on the road and went by The Swan pub on the right and Armitage Shanks on their left.
“I remember when Vince’s son was found dead,” the man spoke up. “Terrible business.”
This time it was Paul that never responded, and once the van went round a sharp bend and by the church on the left, the road straightened up and the driver had to slow down.
“Three of them,” the driver sighed.
Paul looked to the side and could see the man stopping and reaching for his knife.
“It’s okay, I’ll get it,” Dickson said, reaching for the door handle.
“I’ll give you a hand,” he said. “There’s three of them.”
“I’ve done more.” Dickson released a chuckle
“Are you sure?”
“Need to earn my ride.”
Dickson looked through the windscreen and could see that there were two males and a boy, about six-years-old, but he couldn’t see the boy’s face.
He walked towards the three dead and could see the two males heading towards him clumsily. The boy was facing away, almost as if it was looking at something, hypnotised.
Dickson pulled out his machete, brimming with confidence, and struck the first male. The machete went straight through, reaching the bridge of the man’s rotten nose, and the slayer removed the blade and only had seconds to prepare for the next one. Dickson swiped at the bloated male and the blade hit the side of his chin, going through his face. He had no idea why he did this, and pulled out the blade as part of the rotten jaw fell off and hit the floor. Dickson looked down and could see maggots over the flesh and he winced, forgetting that a lot of these crea
tures were infested.
He threw up a little in his mouth and eventually put it down with another strike that he should have performed in the first place. He wiped the dark blood on the tattered clothing of the deceased male, and looked over at the boy.
The boy still had his back to Dickson, about three car lengths away, and didn’t seem to be distracted by the scuffle. The machete wielding man released a sharp whistle.
The boy slowly turned round and Dickson could feel his throat harden and his heart drumming at an erratic rate.
The dead boy was wearing sports clothing, black tracksuit bottoms and an England top that was covered in old bloodstains, and shuffled his feet towards the bearded man.
Dickson lowered his machete and gazed at the youngster’s face in shock, trying to focus as the little Snatcher slowly got nearer.
The boy grabbed Dickson’s sleeve and snarled, trying to take a bite out of his hand. Dickson gazed into the white eyes of the dead boy and pushed him away, sending him to the floor. The creature tried to get up, but Dickson finally put it down by striking the youngster through the head at the side, taking the top half of its head off.
He gazed at the boy, then down at his blade, and stood motionless for a few seconds. Only the small blast of the van’s horn from behind brought him out of his daydreaming.
He turned around and looked at the white transit van, then held his hand up, apologising to the driver for taking so long.
Dickson finally reached the van and went inside, sitting on the passenger seat.
“Jesus. You took ages,” the man said.
He then could see Dickson gazing out, not responding to the man at all. The passenger had been spooked, and Carl guessed correctly that it was the boy that had affected the man.
“You okay?”
Dickson nodded.
“You don’t look okay,” the driver said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“What?”
“Your face is as pale as a sheet.”
Dickson took in a deep breath and said, “That boy looked so much like Kyle.”
The driver never said a word. He assumed that Kyle was the man’s son, but never said anything.
“I’m sorry,” was all he could say.
Dickson then bent over, his face almost touching his knees, and at first Carl didn’t know what was happening.
Snatchers Box Set | Vol. 5 | Books 13-15 Page 68