Snatchers (Book 7): The Dead Don't Yield Page 4

  The Bear, or Theodore Davidson, was forty three years old. His nickname came from his size as well as his name. In his schooldays Theodore was shortened to Teddy, and then was nicknamed Teddy Bear. His nickname progressed simply to The Bear or Bear once he began bodybuilding in his twenties and the name had stuck ever since.

  Years ago he was just a regular guy, but always had a vicious temper. He worked at a car factory in Biddulph, but was sacked for throwing the foreman across the canteen after a row over overtime. After a week's discussion with bosses, it was decided that Theodore Davidson was to be sacked for his gross misconduct. Another week later, Theodore walked into his old job, went into the personnel department and entered a boardroom where his seven bosses were in a meeting and were discussing with their American partners on speaker phone. Theodore began attacking his bosses and killed three of them with his bare hands, the other four had managed to escape.

  The whole ordeal was heard from the other side of the Atlantic.

  When he was sentenced, he had spent four weeks in solitary in three months for his violent outbursts, and even the hardcore drug dealers and murderers stayed away from him. The only gang that had the balls to try and put The Bear in his 'place' was Jason Bonser's gang. Jason Bonser, Kyle Horan and two others went into his cell, before lock-up, armed with smuggled-in screwdrivers. The result was that Bonser received a broken nose, Horan was hospitalised with broken ribs and a fractured cheekbone, and the other two inmates were knocked unconscious, both receiving serious head injuries.

  As usual, Bear led the way up the back-breaking hill, and as soon as they reached the top, he stood still and stared at a cluster of trees.

  "Anything wrong, Bear?" asked Willie, who had now pulled out a cigarette and lit the thing up.

  He shook his head. "What time do you think it is?"

  "Hard to tell," Frederick chipped in. He looked up to the cloudy sky and added, "It's so dull it could be any time. I'm guessing it's late afternoon."

  Willie noticed that their huge companion was glaring at the cluster of trees and couldn't keep his mouth shut. "What're you looking at?"

  Bear pointed at the trees and announced, "They never used to be there. But behind those trees should be a cabin. We can stay there the night, then start again the next morning."

  "And if there're people already staying there?" queried Willie.

  Bear smiled, it was a rare smile, and slowly twisted his neck so that he was gazing at Johnny Wilson. "Do you really need to ask?" he said in a deep voice.

  "Guess not."

  Bear walked along Cardboard Hill and, with his companions to the side of him, he went through the small woodland. He came to a six foot fence and a gate that was wide open. Frederick and Willie pulled out their baseball bats, but Bear was more relaxed and left his kukri in its holster.

  He was convinced that the place had been abandoned, and the door to the cabin that was left ajar had confirmed that he was correct with his assumption.

  They took a look around the garden area. There was a tree stump that had axe marks as if that was the place where wood-chopping took place, and to their left was a dilapidated shed that looked ready to collapse any day.

  "What a shit hole," Willie cackled.

  Bear nodded in agreement. "It is. But it's gonna be our digs for the night, maybe longer."

  "It's only the afternoon," said Frederick.

  "True." Bear nodded. "But it won't harm us to rest until tomorrow."

  Chapter Eight

  "He hasn't said a word for ages."

  Pickle was talking about Rick Morgan, who was standing on the other side of the HGV, leaning against the back tyres. Karen had just arrived and brought the men a bottle of water each.

  "Maybe he wants some me time." Karen added, "Anyway, you hardly know one another. You need to make the effort as well, Branston."

  Pickle never responded, instead he cleared his throat and spat to the side of him.

  "Charming," Karen giggled.

  "What?" Pickle feigned anger and teased Karen. "How many times have you emptied your nose over the last five weeks or so?"

  Not responding to his banter Karen suddenly lowered her eyebrows, almost knitting them together. She looked around and appeared perplexed.

  "What's up?" Pickle noticed her puzzlement.

  "Where's Vince?"

  "He's gone to the bathroom." Pickle began to laugh.

  "What?"

  "Well, his actual words were: I'm off to curl one out."

  "Charming." Karen looked up to the heavens. "What a weird day."

  "Depressing, I know." Pickle peered to the skies. It was July, but the day looked like an autumn evening.

  "I need to get back up." Pickle pointed up to the cab. "Thanks for the water. I'll put them inside the truck.

  Karen smiled, but Pickle could see pain behind it.

  He knew what was wrong with her, but asked anyway. "Shaz?"

  She nodded. "It's still raw."

  *

  "Hurry up, Vince." Rosemary panted. "My knees are killing me."

  "Nearly there," he announced, and speeded up his rhythm as he was getting near climax. Rosemary was bent over the bed, kneeling on the carpet, and was urging her casual partner to get a move on. She could tell by his moaning and frenetic thrusting that he was seconds away from finishing.

  "Rock and roll!" yelled Vince as he began to slow down, suggesting that the best part of sex for him had been completed.

  Rosemary quickly got dressed and gazed at him with a look that suggested she was in a bad mood. "Seriously? Rock and roll?"

  "I just say what comes to my head. You'd be amazed what we say when we're in the heat of the moment." Vince also began to get dressed and added, "And besides, you wanna hear yourself sometimes. Oh, Vince. Squeeze my boobs, pull my hair, tweak my nips, smack my arse. I'm not a fucking octopus, you know."

  "I'm not that bad." Rosemary looked hurt that Vince was teasing her.

  Typical man! He was the charmer before he had emptied his balls! Now he is back to his old self.

  "You can be a cruel sod sometimes." Rosemary began sniffing, her index finger scratching the inside of her nostril.

  "I better go." He began to put his socks and shoes on. "I told them that I was going for a number two."

  Rosemary said, "You've been away for nearly twenty minutes."

  "I know. Better tell them that I was constipated. I did generally need the toilet, but as soon as I came here and saw you in those manky leggings, that haven't been washed in days, and that toothpaste-stained T-shirt, I knew I had to have you."

  Ignoring his sarcastic comment Rosemary clapped her hands together and huffed, "Right. I've got young Kyle and Lisa coming round in half an hour. I need to nip to the toilet and drain myself. You better get back to your watch."

  "Cant wait." Vince sighed, "Just me, Pickle and Father Stone." He leaned over and kissed Rosemary on the cheek. "Ciao, sugar muffin."

  Rosemary smiled as he left. A kiss on the cheek? She wasn't expecting that. Maybe the apocalypse was softening Vincent Kindl. A bit of a sod one minute, a bit of affection a minute later. What was happening to him?

  Vince had now left 24 Sandy Lane, and was now heading back to the barrier for a couple of more hours. He could see Karen talking to Pickle and held out his arms and produced a big smile. "Calm down, Karen. The talent has arrived."

  He leaned over to kiss her on her neck, but she squealed, "Get off me, you weirdo." She pushed him away, making Pickle giggle. Karen inspected Vince and was curious why he was in such a good mood. "Either that was some great shit you had, or Rosemary has been sorting you out."

  Vince shook his head. "I'd never do that while I should be on barrier duty. It's unprofessional."

  "Really?"

  "Of course." Vince smiled. "Anyway, I'm saving myself for you." He looked over to Pickle and produced a wink and added, "Why don't me and you pop into that cab and I'll let you jump onto the old pogo stick?"

  "No thank
s." She began to giggle, almost annoyed that he had managed to make her laugh.

  "Go on. My treat."

  "I'd rather shag Rick Morgan, thank you."

  Pickle winced when she said this, and whispered, "Keep it down."

  "Oh well," Vince bent down to tie his bootlace. "Your loss."

  "I'll see you all later." Karen was about to walk away and heard Vince say to Pickle that Karen was the hottest thing on the Sandy Lane camp.

  "Thanks." Karen was less-than-impressed.

  "Just trying to be charming," laughed Vince, who was in an obvious good mood. "You know what they say, Karen: If at first you don't succeed..."

  "Don't take up skydiving," Karen cackled and strolled away from the two men.

  She then heard Vince say, from behind her, "I'll nail you one day, Bradley."

  Karen sighed with exasperation, looked at her hands, and muttered softly to herself, "Sometimes, for certain people, you just don't have enough middle fingers."

  Chapter Nine

  It had taken a while to get there, thanks to the road being blocked by a car smash, but Lee James, Sheryl Smith, Bentley Drummle and Luke John had finally arrived at the Hednesford Industrial Estate that was situated at the top of the hill in the middle of a wooded area.

  The transit van parked up by a cafe and all four stepped out hesitantly, all holding a blade of some kind, except Bentley. Wordlessly they strolled around the perimeter of the area. The area was surrounded by the woods, and on the far side was a small fence and a steep decline, a hundred feet at least. It wasn't a drop that could kill a man, but it certainly looked steep enough for an individual to struggle if they decided to walk down it.

  Lee James peered over to check it out. He had been to Stile Cop before and knew that there was also a similar drop, but this one was more severe and higher up.

  Sheryl Smith scanned the area and ran her fingers through her short black hair. "No sign of those cunts today." She was referring to the dead.

  Lee remarked, "They must have got distracted and fucked off somewhere else."

  Sheryl Smith was five-six, had dark features, and was a tough cookie that swore a lot. Her use of the C word made some people twitch with disgust, but Lee and others had come to the conclusion that that was just the way she was. They were never going to change her, and why should they? She had been with them for many weeks and went on every run she could go on. She never talked about her past, and nobody bothered to ask about it.

  "Shouldn't we try the other buildings before we go inside here." Luke John pointed at the establishment that had: Guns and Tackle emblazoned on its windows. Luke John was a large man, overweight, forty five years old, and had been at the Sandy Lane Camp since the first days. He lacked cardio fitness, but he was as strong as an ox.

  "I don't really wanna waste much time," Lee spoke, but knew that Luke had a good point.

  "Just go inside." Bentley pulled out his Glock, pulled the slide back and chambered a round. "I'll check the main doors to the businesses to see if they're locked, and I'll take a look around the back."

  Lee gave Bentley the thumbs up, and beckoned Sheryl and Luke to walk next to him as he headed for the main door of the gun shop.

  Once they had reached it Sheryl held onto her trench knife and nodded to Lee, telling him that she was about to barge the door open.

  "Wait." Luke John whispered sharply. He then reached for the door and gave the knob a twist. It opened.

  Both Lee and Luke began to titter, and an uncomfortable-looking Sheryl cleared her throat. "Okay, okay. Bastards." A smile almost stretched over Sheryl's features, almost. "So I didn't think."

  Luke continued to laugh and received a punch to his arm by Sheryl. "Shut it, you fat cunt."

  "Come on." Lee was the first to step inside. "Let's see what's in here."

  Luke pulled out a torch and shone it on the dusky area. "It seems to be still well-stocked."

  Lee's face lit up as he could see a wide range of shoes, boots, and trainers. There was also equipment for various sports such as football, weightlifting and climbing. But as they progressed to the back-end of the building his eyes lit up even more.

  "This is what we're here for." Lee beamed and was so excited he grabbed Sheryl and gave her a sloppy number on the side of the cheek.

  "Do that again, and I'll have your balls for breakfast," she snapped.

  "Give me the torch." Lee clicked his fingers, and Luke handed him the flashlight. Luke reached for his lighter and used his silver-plated zippo to add more light.

  There was a wide range of equipment in the shooting section of the establishment. "I have no idea how these things work," Lee said with a broad smile, "but Bentley and Pickle said that they can give us a few training sessions."

  "What do we start with?" asked Luke John.

  Lee shrugged. "Better wait for Bentley to come back. He knows more than us."

  "We should have brought that jailbird with us," Sheryl scoffed.

  "Bentley is a jailbird."

  "I meant the new fellow from the Spode Cottage."

  "One's enough." Lee never made eye-contact with Sheryl, and continued to gaze with fascination at the abundance of stuff that was available. "Trust me. Anyway, I have plans for Harry Branston for something big in the future."

  Lee saw four shotguns on the wall, tied by brackets. The first he clocked was a 12 bore Winchester. The one next to it was a 20 bore Miroku.

  There was disappointment on Sheryl's face and said, "Some of these cunts look older than me. They're fucking antiques."

  "Now, that's more like it." Luke John jumped in and pointed at a Browning Phoenix Hunter 12G.

  "Not so fast," a voice called out. Light suddenly filled the room as a curtain was pulled down from a window and two men stood, both holding a sawn-off shotgun.

  Both men were dressed in dark attire, had dark greasy hair, and could easily have been brothers. The man on the right was a little taller and had most of his teeth missing.

  The man with the missing teeth began to chuckle, "Well, well, well. Look wha' the cat dragged in."

  The man on the left snickered, "A couple o' birds for us to play wiv, Cal."

  "Aye, Ben." Cal then glared at Sheryl, Lee and Luke. "Just the three of ye?"

  They nodded slowly.

  Lee looked at Cal on the right and Ben on the left, and knew that with just blades in their hands, they had no chance. Lee dropped his blade and held up his hands in defeat. Luke did the same, but Sheryl wasn't moving.

  Cal spat on the floor and snarled, "Ye fink ye can just come in 'ere and take wha' ye want, is tha' it?"

  "Somethin' like that." Sheryl snapped back.

  Cal and Ben both burst into hysterics and Ben said, "Ooh, we've go' a fiery one 'ere, Cal."

  Said Cal, "I fink, we're gonn 'ave some fun wiv this 'un."

  Sheryl laughed mockingly, "You're only acting hard because you're holding those guns."

  "Er, Sheryl." Lee kept his hands up in the air. "Gonna shut the fuck up?"

  Cal took a step forward and smiled at the woman with the short black hair. She wasn't his type, but she was a woman. He hadn't been with a woman for months.

  "Drop ye blade, bitch." Cal took another step forward. "Or I'll drop you."

  Sheryl never flinched, and the whispers of Lee to the side of her didn't change the mind of the stubborn twenty-nine-year old.

  "What're you doing? Drop your knife," Lee hissed.

  Sheryl glared at Cal, and stared at the two barrels pointing at her stomach. "I'm not taking orders from these two inbred cunts."

  Cal and Ben glared at one another briefly and started to snicker. "Oh, I like this 'un, Cal," said Ben. "This 'un's gettin' me well-hard."

  Sheryl looked at Lee and Luke. Both men had pleading in their faces, and she sighed and eventually threw the knife down. "Now what?"

  Cal pointed his shotgun at Luke, and said to him, "Ge' the rope from behind tha' counter and tie ye friend up to tha' chair o'er there."

&
nbsp; Luke looked at Lee, but Lee gave him a thin smile as if he was saying: Just do what they tell you. Lee tried to explain, "If we knew this was already being lived in, we wouldn't have come."

  "It's too late for tha'." Ben spoke up. "We're gonna 'ave to fink 'bout wha' we're gonna do wiv ye all."

  "I don't understand," said Lee, as Luke had finished tying him up to the wooden chair.

  Cal walked over and began picking up the blades the three intruders had dropped on the floor, while Ben added, "Ye three are a threat now. Ye know tha' there's a place 'ere wiv guns an' ammo. If we release ye, what's stoppin' ye from comin' back wiv an army of folk?"

  Lee sighed in defeat, attached to the chair. "Nothing, I suppose."

  Cal nodded over to Sheryl and said to Ben, "Take this 'un down to the basement. If she fights, just take her out."

  "Sure thing." Ben walked over and put his arm under Sheryl's armpit. He moved her downstairs and for once she behaved herself. If she did anything stupid, it wasn't just her own life she was putting at risk, but the lives of Luke, Lee and possibly Bentley.

  Luke remained standing, his legs twitching with nerves. "What now? What are you gonna do with me?"

  "This." Cal walked over to Luke and fired a shot into his portly middle. Luke fell to the floor, clutching his ravaged torso while Lee screamed out the word, no.

  Luke writhed on the floor, gasping for air, and Lee helplessly watched as the fear on Luke's face was abundantly clear. He was scared. He knew he was going to die.

  Cal watched coldly as Luke struggled to breathe and continued to watch as he took his last breath. Then Luke John stopped moving altogether.

  "Why?" Lee cried. "He was a good bloke."

  "Don't want ye and tha' girl doin' anything stupid now." He pointed at Luke's bleeding corpse. "That's to le' ye know tha' we're not fuckin' abou' 'ere.