The heat was now dying and the drizzle that fell from the sky fell on Stephen’s face. His favourite time of the year was spring, when the winter had passed and the occasional sun would be out but not too hot, just tolerable.
He hated the winter at the best of times, but this had been the first time in his life that he was actually dreading it.
Everybody was.
Stephen could feel a presence by him and opened his eyes.
“Hello, chap,” came Stephen’s greeting.
The man smiled and threw his left arm forward, palm out, striking Rowley under the chin.
Stephen fell backwards, came off his crutches, and fell against the portaloo before slumping to the floor.
“Chap,” Stephen moaned. He looked up and could see the figure was wearing a hoodie and had a thin black Dick Turpin-like scarf around his face, revealing only his eyes. “What’s going on? What…?”
The individual put his right hand in his pocket and pulled out a large knife. “Colwyn cunt,” he spat. “You should never have come here.”
Stephen’s eyes widened in shock and screamed out, “No!”
The blade was driven into his stomach and Stephen looked down and watched in horror as the blade buried itself in him. It was pulled out a second later and he screamed out again when the blade entered him for a second time. He was stabbed a third time and this time his assailant ran away, leaving a letter by his side, with the dripping knife still in his hand.
Stephen looked down at his ravaged and bloodied stomach and couldn’t believe what had just happened. He put his hand on his wounds and then lifted it up in front of his face, watching in disbelief his own blood dripping from his palm and fingers.
He could hear the sound of running and the face of a male he didn’t know by name.
“Help me, chap,” Stephen whimpered.
“Um...” The guard was panicking and looked around.
“Go to Ward 22,” said Stephen, almost losing consciousness. “Let people know. Hurry.”
*
Paul Dickson had reached the bottom of the grassy bank after exiting the woods, and sat down at the edge of the road. It was good to be away from the suffocating woods, and being stuck in the cabin wasn’t great for his mental health.
He looked to his left, then right, and could see nothing apart from a couple of bodies at the side of the road. He remained looking left and wondered what waited for him in the future. It had only been four months, but he had experienced so much horror and violence, and he was certain that it wasn’t going to get any better.
Dickson lowered his head and drifted away, thinking about the short time he and Kyle stayed at Sandy Lane.
The scraping of boots made Paul lift his head and could see two men, to his left, heading down the road, towards him. They clocked Dickson and slowed their walk and became hesitant. They continued to progress, but became vigilant and put their hands in their pockets. Dickson, also unsure what he was dealing with, glared at the two men and wouldn’t settle until the pair of them had passed. Both males were heavily bearded, like most these days, and one of them spoke as they were nearly opposite Paul Dickson.
“We don’t want no trouble,” the man on the left said. “We’re just passing by.”
Dickson was pleased with what he heard, and asked the two men, “What makes you think I want trouble?”
“You have blood all over your shirt and face.”
Dickson smiled. “I didn’t know.”
“We’re heading north,” the man on the right spoke up.
“Me too ... eventually,” Dickson said.
“You’re welcome to join us.”
It was a half-hearted invitation and Dickson said, “Thanks for the offer. I’d rather be alone.”
“Okay,” the man on the right said. “See you around ... um?”
“Paul,” said Dickson, who thought it was pointless to introduce himself to two guys he was never going to see again, but decided to be polite anyway.
“I’m Peter,” the man on the left spoke up. “And this is my brother, Roger.”
Paul nodded and the two men walked away, occasionally looking over their shoulders, paranoid that the scary looking blood-drenched man could attack them.
Eventually the men disappeared from view as Dickson watched them. There was a fork in the road to his right. He could see it in the distance, and the men took a right. It looked like they were heading for Cannock, a place that was away from the countryside and more populated. The left road of the fork was the way to Gnosall and further villages.
Minutes later, a whirring sound could be heard in the distance, to Dickson’s left, and he turned and gazed in the direction of where the noise was coming from. He got to his feet and Dickson headed back to the woods, to the cabin, and never stayed around to see what vehicle was passing by. Any stranger these days was a potential danger.
After killing the four men from the farmhouse, Dickson had had enough excitement for one day. He wanted to go back and rest, but first he needed to drag the bodies away from the area where he stayed because of the stench, and then wash his bloody face in the cold stream. After that, he was going to go for a sleep that his body craved.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
They entered the building and marched down the corridor with Quint behind him. Thankfully there was no guard on the door. If Vince wanted to conduct a secret meeting with most of the people consisting of Colwyn people, it wouldn’t be so secret for long once Drake was informed about it.
Vince and Mildred stepped into the ward and could see Karen, Joanne and now Quint present.
“Everything okay?” Karen asked.
Vince shook his head and said, “No Tracy?”
“Having a lie down,” said Joanne. “She’s too upset.”
“Okay,” Vince huffed. “Stephen ain’t here yet, but I can’t wait any longer. I’ve had time to think and...”
Karen said impatiently, “Go on.”
“We’re not welcome here, and never will be,” said Vince. “The vote clearly states that.”
“Come on, Vince,” Quint spoke up. “You can’t expect these people to give up all their four wheeled vehicles for one man.”
“But it’s Pickle!” Karen exclaimed.
“That means something to you,” said Quint. “But right now that means shit to me, and also to the people here. You’ve only been here a week or so.”
“Anyway.” Vince waved his hands to calm people down. “Once this situation is sorted out, whether it’s positive or not—”
“We’re gonna get him back,” Karen intervened.
“Whatever happens ... I think we should go back to Little Haywood, back to Colwyn Place,” said Vince.
“Thank God for that.” Joanne was the first to speak.
“Anyone here disagree?”
“I don’t know what this place is like,” Mildred said. “And neither does Quint.”
“It’s good,” said Joanne. “The facilities aren’t as good, but there’re houses to live in and only a handful of people.”
“Will they take us in?”
“They’ll take us in,” Vince said with confidence. He looked at Karen who didn’t share his confidence. “A guy there called Terry might moan a bit, but I think deep down he misses us and the extra people will provide better security for the place. The rest of the people that are left there will welcome us with open arms and there’re plenty of empty houses to move into.”
“And Pickle would go back there?” Mildred asked.
“Pickle will go wherever Karen goes.”
“We’re just not welcome here,” Karen began. “And I saw Drake’s brother, as well as a few others, having a meeting. I’m certain it was about us. I don’t really feel safe here.”
“A secret meeting?” Quint chuckled at the hypocrisy from Karen Bradley. “Isn’t that what we’re doing now?”
Karen never verbally responded to Quint and flashed him a hard stare.
“I would like
to go as well,” a voice spoke up.
They all turned around and could see Darren and Shelley Tavernier standing side by side.
“Me too,” she said.
The pair of them stepped inside and a smile stretched over Karen’s features. She was glad Darren was coming.
“Why do we have to wait until Saturday to get him?” Darren asked. “Why so long?”
“So we can plan it,” Vince responded.
“And how are we going to do that?”
“With your help.” He pointed at Shelley. “You’re from the village. We’ll need a detailed plan, name of the streets, places that are being occupied. Even people you can trust.”
“What do you mean by that?” Joanne asked.
“I know what he means.” Shelley nodded. “There are some people there who are against Marsden and his crew. I can give you a list of people and where they stay.”
“We need a plan of the place. And it has to be precise.”
Shelley groaned and told Vince, “That may take days.”
“We have days,” a voice called out from behind them.
Vince looked up and gasped, making the rest turn around. Drake had his arms folded and a smile stretched over his face.
“May I join the party?” he spoke with a hint of sarcasm.
“Did you hear all of that?” Karen asked him.
Drake tucked in his bottom lip and nodded. “Most of it.”
“It’s not that we don’t appreciate you inviting us here.” Vince stepped forward, but Drake held his hand up and said that it was okay.
Drake said, “I think you’re doing the right thing.”
“Really?”
Drake reluctantly nodded his head. “It’s not working with some people, and I’m sorry about that. I don’t think going to Colwyn Place will be a bad thing for you guys or our community. We can trade. We can help each other out.”
“If ever your guys are on a run,” Vince said, “and you need respite, or whatever, you can stop at Little Haywood.”
“And the same for you,” Drake said with a smile. “Shit, I’m liking this idea already. But first let’s get Pickle back and then we can sort out the move.”
“Agreed.” Karen and Vince both spoke in unison.
The sound of running feet could be heard coming down the corridor and all turned and gazed at the open door, waiting for the individual responsible for the running to show their face.
It was a guard called Alan Foster.
“Guys. Stephen has been stabbed,” he announced.
“What? Where?” Drake queried.
“Outside. Round the back of the hospital. Near where the vehicles are parked.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Vince, Drake and Karen ran out of the building, with a small crowd behind them following, and all individuals, including the guard that had found him, stopped when they reached a wounded Stephen.
“What the fuck happened?” Karen cried.
“Some guy stabbed me,” Stephen replied.
His eyes rolled and his face was as pale as snow.
Vince bent down and tried to comfort the man, but he was behaving like he was intoxicated and was now slurring his words. He noticed the letter and passed it to Karen. She took the letter, quickly read it, and then bent down and tried to put pressure on Stephen’s wound. Deep down, she thought he was fucked.
“I’m sorry, guys,” Stephen moaned.
“Sorry?” Vince had no idea what he was talking about, and queried further, “What for?”
Stephen then beckoned Vince to get closer to him. At first, Vince thought that Stephen wanted some comfort, but Stephen whispered in his ear.
Vince moved his head back to look at Stephen and said, “Don’t worry about that now. It’s not important.” Vince then turned and asked Karen what it said on the letter. Drake was now reading it.
Karen continued to put pressure on the wound with just her hands, but knew her efforts were fruitless. “Some kind of vigilante group that don’t want us here. If Stephen wasn’t in the wrong place at the wrong time, another one of us could have been attacked.”
“Who could do such a thing?” Mildred asked.
“I know.” Karen nodded her head and said, “first, we’ll get Stephen moved to the ward. I’ll need to stop the bleeding and then get—”
“It’s too late for that,” Vince sighed. This had been the saddest and most surreal day of his life so far. “He’s gone.”
Stephen’s eyes were closed and his face as pale as it could be.
Karen could feel her throat stiffening and could hear Joanne weeping behind her.
Karen turned around and saw Alan and Findlay by the greenhouses; they were looking over and conversing with one another.
“What do you do with your dead?” Karen asked Drake.
“Burn them, mainly.” Drake hunched his shoulders.
“Okay.” Karen nodded. “So let’s burn him.”
“Karen?” Vince was stunned by her coldness and could see the rage on her face.
“Come Saturday I’m gonna be more than ready for those pricks at Gnosall, but first we have another battle to contend with. One right here.”
Drake said, “I promise, I’ll find the man or men responsible—”
“Don’t need to,” Karen snapped. “I already know who’s behind Stephen’s death.”
Karen wiped her bloody hands down her trousers, then stormed over to Alan and Findlay, prompting Drake to ask Vince where the fuck she was going. Drake, Vince and the rest remained where they were and watched as Karen Bradley went over to where Alan and Findlay stood.
Findlay clocked Karen approaching, once she was yards away, and he nudged Alan.
Alan turned with a big smile on his face and asked her, “What’s happening over there?”
Karen right hooked Alan, catching him off guard, making him stagger back. Findlay stepped in and received a punch for his troubles. Karen caught him on the nose, and the man screamed out as his eyes began pissing out water and his nose started to bleed.
Drake and the rest ran over and Karen threw her right leg forward, pushing Alan over onto his back and kicked him twice in the head. She straddled the man and began to rain blows to his face, giving him punch after punch, and was eventually pulled off him by Vince.
“For fuck’s sake!” Drake yelled. “What the fuck is wrong with you, woman!”
“Karen, calm down,” said Vince.
Mildred, Quint, Darren and Joanne stood back and were in shock. Karen had always been short tempered, but hadn’t beaten two men up before. Findlay was crouched over, his hand over his dripping nose, and Alan was moaning and half conscious.
Karen was out of breath and bent over with her hands on her knees. Drake was demanding answers off Karen as he was crouched down and seeing to his younger brother.
“I fucking told you they were up to something!” Karen yelled at Drake. “Now we know.”
Quint scratched at his long beard and said, “Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on?”
Karen turned to Quint and also addressed everybody else present.
“I saw Findlay acting suspicious earlier. I followed him and he was attending some secret meeting. I had my suspicions, but now I definitely know now what it was about.”
“And what’s that?”
“They don’t like us being here, the Colwyn lot. It’s not just these two. There’re others.”
Quint scratched his head and said, “But I’m not from that area and neither is Mildred.”
“But you’re associated with us, so that could make you a target.”
“She’s talking shite, Drake,” Findlay spat. “Don’t listen to her.”
Karen stepped forward and slapped Findlay across the face, almost knocking him over, and told him to shut his fucking mouth.
“That’s enough!” Drake yelled. “Fuck’s sake! Vince, take that crazy bitch away from here!”
Vince grabbed Karen by the arm and the pair of them r
etreated back, yards from the two injured men, and the others did the same.
“Is this true?” Drake stood up, stopped seeing to his younger brother, and looked Findlay in the eye.
Findlay paused and his hesitation alone confirmed to Drake that he and Alan were behind this vigilante group.
“Who did it?” Drake asked Findlay. “I know it was one of you two.”
“It was me.” Findlay didn’t think there was any point lying.
Drake sighed and rubbed his head in exasperation, “You stabbed a cripple outside a fucking toilet. What a big man you are.”
“I know.” Findlay gulped.
“You fucking coward!”
“He was the first available one to get.” Findlay hunched his shoulders. “We needed to send a message to the rest of the Colwyn lot.”
“And what message is that?”
“We don’t want you here. It’s time to leave.”
“So...” Drake ran his fingers over his shaved head. “You’ve just said that Stephen was the first available one to get.”
Findlay nodded. “That’s right.”
“Let me get this straight. You would have killed Joanne or even Vince to send your ... message?”
“Why not?” Findlay shrugged his shoulders again.
“No more violence,” Joanne pleaded with Findlay. “Once Pickle is back, we’re leaving anyway.”
“Is this true?” Findlay looked shocked.
Drake nodded. “You just killed an unarmed man for nothing. Who’re the other cunts that were involved with this? And don’t lie to me, ‘cause I’ll fucking find out eventually.”
Findlay told Drake the truth and who else was involved. It was him, Alan, young John Collins, Bill, young Helen, and a sixteen-year-old called Christopher.
“Okay,” Drake moaned. “Tomorrow morning, you, Alan, and the other four cunts can fuck off somewhere else. You’re not welcome here anymore.”
“But Drake…”
“Don’t Drake me, cunt. You’re lucky I haven’t kicked you to death, pricko.”
Snatchers (Book 14): The Dead Don't Hate Page 22