Snatchers (Book 10): The Dead Don't Care Read online

  "Where're you going?" Danny began to look jittery. "We're going the wrong way. Haywood is back that way." He pointed behind him with his thumb.

  "I'm gonna pop in to see someone, about a mile from here."

  "Who?"

  Pickle smiled. "Nobody you know."

  "Is that wise?" Danny scratched his head. "Just buggering off isn't going to please Lincoln."

  "I won't tell if yer won't," Pickle laughed. "I know someone, not far from here. Just thought I'd pop in and say hello."

  Chapter Thirteen

  A knock was heard on Paul Dickson's door and the middle-aged man seemed to take an age to get off the couch. He walked to the front door, which now had been knocked for a second time, and opened it.

  "Joanne?" He glared at the gorgeous petite blonde and seemed confused. "What are you doing here?"

  "That's charming," she giggled. "I came to see how you were doing."

  Paul looked confused. "Didn't we see each other this morning?"

  Joanne lost her smile and said, "Okay, I heard what happened with Stephen this morning."

  "And why did you feel compelled to come over?"

  "You're a nice guy. I like you."

  "Like me? Or feel sorry for me?"

  Joanne lowered her head and revealed a thin smile. That reaction told Paul that maybe she felt sorry for him. She must have heard about him losing his family.

  "You're not on your own," Joanne said, still standing outside, waiting for the invite. "you know ... losing people you love."

  "I know." Paul groaned and added, "There's millions out there that have experienced what I have."

  "I meant ... there's people who have experienced what you have that are in this street." Joanne took a step forward and placed her hand on Paul's shoulder. "If you get to know a few of them, you'd know."

  "Has John Lincoln been talking to you?"

  Joanne looked genuinely confused. "No. Why?"

  Paul felt guilty for his insinuation and apologised to Joanne before adding, "He gave me a lecture about not being sociable."

  "I think he just wants everyone to get on."

  "Only a month or so ago I came across my reanimated wife and daughter; they were trapped in their car. A friend of mine, who also died, put them out of their misery. And I witnessed my son being devoured by one of those things only a week ago, so forgive me for not singing Oh, What a Beautiful Morning at the top of my voice, every time I step out of this house."

  Joanne smiled. "You finished?"

  Paul nodded. "Wanna come in?"

  "I thought you'd never ask."

  Joanne took her five-three frame into the house and followed Paul into the living room. Both had a seat, sitting on opposite ends of the couch.

  Paul began, "So who's this person that has lost everything? You know, family-wise."

  "Terry," Joanne said with no hesitation. "Poor guy."

  "What happened?"

  "Terry has always lived here, as far as I know." Joanne paused and gulped. "It kind of started before the announcement by the media. I haven't spoken to Terry about it, too scared to, but John told me what happened."

  "Go on," Paul urged. He didn't know why he did this; it's not as if he needed to go some place.

  "Terry's kids were playing in the street when they were attacked by one of the dead."

  "Shit," was all that Paul could manage.

  Joanne continued, "The screams of them enticed his wife out of the kitchen. She went out to fight off this creature and was attacked herself."

  "So where was Terry when all of this was happening?"

  "In the back garden, cutting the grass. He had no idea what was going on. Although she had been bitten, his daughter managed to walk away from it, but his wife and son were... Anyway, to cut a long story short, everyone realised what was going on after a couple of hours of watching TV. Terry's family were then buried in his back garden by Terry himself."

  Paul sat back and placed his hands on his head, fingers clasped together. He shook his head. "I don't get it. You said he buried his family in the back garden."

  "And?"

  "His daughter was bitten. What happened to her?"

  "People had seen the news. They knew she was infected, and she then went into a coma. Terry kicked everybody out and told them he would handle it. Terry told them that he'd take care of her himself. I think he waited until she reanimated before killing her, then placed her with the remains of his wife and son in a hole, in the back garden that he'd dug in the evening."

  "Poor guy."

  "I know. He didn't want any help. He insisted on burying the bodies and killing his daughter himself."

  "Wow." Paul Dickson moved his hands up his head and placed them on his thighs. "That was a brave thing to do. He must have been heartbroken while doing it."

  Joanne never verbally responded, she just nodded.

  "You wanna drink?" Paul asked her.

  She shook her head and said, "I'm sorry you lost your family." She stood up and then sat closer to Paul, holding out her hand. Paul took it. She was holding his left and he was holding her right.

  No words were spoken for over a minute, then Joanne stood up, kissed Paul on the forehead and left him alone.

  Paul remained sitting, eyes staring at his feet, and did what he did most days. He thought about his family, only this time he thought about the good days, not their deaths.

  He thought about Bell and what a determined little thing she was at such a young age.

  When she was just one-year-old she used to pull her nappy off whenever she did a poo, simply because she wanted to use the toilet. She wanted to be independent at such an early age. Even her first time riding a bike was a piece of cake for Bell.

  He missed Julie's laugh. God, she had an infectious laugh and had a habit of laughing at her own jokes once the punchline had been delivered. What he would do to hear that laugh just one more time.

  A memory of his son, Kyle, entered his head. He had picked up Kyle and Bell from school a year ago, and Kyle ran ahead of him and began to unbutton his trousers. Paul was holding Bell's hand and could see from a distance Kyle's trousers falling round his ankles. They were in the middle of the street, only yards from his house, and Paul bellowed at Kyle, "Don't do that! Pull your trousers up!"

  Kyle did as he was told and asked, "But why?"

  All Paul could come up with was, "Because it's illegal."

  "No, it's not." Kyle responded cheekily. "But you know what should be illegal?"

  "No," Paul sighed. "What?"

  "Your face."

  Paul remained sitting on the couch, and for once his memories of his family produced a smile on his face. He lost his smile when his mind wandered back a few weeks, when he and Kyle were alone in his house. To keep Kyle safe, Paul made up a set of rules that were chalked on a blackboard in Bell's room. They were in that house for weeks. Then the Murphys came.

  He released a depressed sigh and his thoughts became darker. He thought of Kyle, on the Sandy Lane Camp, alone in that changing room, being attacked.

  "My baby boy."

  Chapter Fourteen

  The woman sat down in an armchair, in the corner of the musty-smelling room. She stunk, but neither Vince, Stephen or Karen complained about it. Vince placed the two litre bottle of water on a side table, making the woman smile, and she thanked him for it.

  She looked like a bag of nerves and said, "Please, take a seat." She took the bottle, unscrewed the lid, then gulped the clear liquid down. She had drank half a litre in one go.

  Vince and Karen sat on the bed, but Stephen remained on his feet.

  "We don't really have time to be hanging about," Stephen tried to explain. "We need to get back."

  "Relax," Vince urged Stephen to sit down. "Don't shit yourself. Another five minutes isn't going to make any difference."

  "But Freddie..."

  Vince sighed, walked over to the window and peered out. Freddie could be seen in the passenger seat, hands behind his h
ead, eyes closed.

  "Freddie's fine." Vince walked back over to the bed and sat on it. Stephen did the same.

  The woman introduced herself as Heather. She was thirty-seven. She never explained if she had a partner or children, but she did tell them that she was a carer at the place. With a couple of teary interruptions, she explained that when the announcement was made on June 9th, Saturday evening, a lot of relatives of the elderly that were in care came to pick them up and whisked them away. She guessed that almost half, maybe a third, of the senior residents had been taken away, and the ones that stayed behind, residents and carers, were in the dark about what was going to happen next.

  When a male carer decided to go to the chemist for a couple of the residents, he came back with a wound to his hand. He had been attacked by two of the dead that were outside, and was taken to a room and ironically looked after by two female senior citizens.

  As soon as Heather told her guests this, they all guessed what was coming next. And they were right. The carer had reanimated and attacked the other two residents. By the time it was common knowledge that biting spreads the infection, it was too late for most of the people in the building.

  "How have you managed?" Karen asked the woman. "It's been nearly three months."

  "I just scrounged." Heather ran her fingers through her short blonde hair. "The first weeks were easy. We have vending machines all over, kitchens, cupboards. We also have water coolers and keep gallons of the stuff in a store room, so hydration was never a problem until this week. In the last few weeks I've had to risk going into the rooms to see what there is."

  "And now?" Stephen queried the woman.

  "And now," Heather sighed. "There isn't much left."

  A silence covered the four of them and all sets of eyes glared at the floor temporarily. Stephen sighed impatiently. He just wanted to leave. All this hanging around was making him tetchy.

  "So what are you going to do now?" Karen asked Heather. "You can't stay here for another three months."

  Heather smiled. "I know."

  "You can come back with us."

  "Thanks." Heather's brown eyes were glassy. "But I'm going to be okay. I'm going to try and get home soon, once I've built up the courage to leave, but thank you for coming up and giving me the water."

  "We can give you a ride," said Vince. "It's not a problem."

  "Where are you based?" Heather cleared her throat and reached for another drink of water. She took a drink whilst Karen answered her query.

  "We live in Little Haywood," said Karen.

  "I live the other way." Heather smiled. "Ranton."

  They all looked at one another, but Heather could see Stephen shaking his head. She wasn't hurt by the negative vibe. She didn't want to leave with these people anyway. Even if she did, she wouldn't want to put them out.

  Karen decided to speak up. "I suppose we..."

  "Look." Heather put the bottle down and added, "I appreciate you coming to see how I am and for the water, but I will be leaving on my own soon. I want to go home and will not go back with you guys, although I appreciate the invite."

  "Good." Stephen stood and went over to the door. "That's sorted then, chaps."

  Karen sighed and said, "Are you sure? As soon as we're out of that door, you'll never see us again."

  Heather nodded. "I'm sure."

  All were now on their feet and Heather and Karen embraced, wishing each other good luck.

  Vince glared at the two women embracing and side-stepped next to Stephen and gave him a little nudge, then whispered, "I'm getting a semi watching this. You?"

  Stephen turned his head slowly and looked at Vince, wondering if he was joking or not. He looked serious. "I think you need help, chap."

  Once the girls broke away, Stephen opened the door and stepped back out into the corridor. Vince followed and gave Heather a wave before disappearing.

  Karen headed for the door and turned to look at Heather. "We raided the chemist. Is there anything that you need, because we totally cleared it out?"

  Heather thought for a while, but then shook her head. "I'm fine."

  Karen said, "I'll be seeing you," as she left.

  Heather smiled as the door shut. She whispered, "No, you won't." She then took the bottle once more and managed to drink another half litre.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Harry Branston and Danny Gosling sat in silence as the vehicle went through the country windy lanes at a steady twenty.

  Finally, Danny broke the silence and asked Pickle where they were going again. Pickle had told him that he was going to pop in and check on someone, but never specified who and where they lived.

  Pickle cleared his throat and said, "Dunno 'bout yer, but I'm in no rush getting back to tha' place. Know what I mean?"

  "It can be a bit claustrophobic," Danny admitted.

  "When we lived on Sandy Lane, it wasn't so bad. It was ten ... twenty times the size o' Colwyn Place, but yer still looked forward to the runs."

  Danny Gosling screwed his face in confusion and scratched at his head. "So where are we going?"

  "A couple o' minutes and we'll be there." Pickle smiled.

  Their means of transport passed through a tiny and barren looking village that took just seconds to go by. One more bend was taken and Pickle now began to slow the vehicle down. He shifted the jeep in second and turned left into a small quiet street.

  Both driver and passenger could see a few corpses on the pavement, and there was a single dead creature shambling along.

  Pickle brought the vehicle to a stop and pulled up the parking brake. He nodded over to the beast and said to Danny, "Yer wanna get it, or shall I?"

  "You can." Danny gulped.

  "I thought yer would say that," Pickle chuckled.

  He exited the vehicle and whistled over to the ghoul, getting its attention. It had its back to the pair of them and turned around slowly, a second after Pickle had whistled.

  As it stumbled over towards him, Pickle casually reached into the jeep and pulled out his machete. He held the blade up and inspected it, as if he had all the time in the world, and looked satisfied at the weapon's condition.

  He walked over to meet the ghoul, totally relaxed, and swung his blade at the right side of its head, the blade burying deep. The female creature stopped moving, Pickle released the handle of the weapon, and watched as it dropped to the floor. Harry Branston then bent over and retrieved the blade. He wiped the dark liquid on the torn and stained clothes of the deceased, put the blade under his belt and went back over to the jeep. He opened the driver's door and popped his head inside.

  "Yer coming or not?"

  Danny shrugged his shoulders and said, "Coming? I don't even know where the fuck we are. What are we doing here?"

  "I'm gonna say hello to someone. Maybe we'll get a drink. Then we can go back to Little Haywood. It's nice to get some time away from the place, don't yer think?"

  Danny never answered Pickle. He huffed, then left the vehicle and walked alongside him as they both headed down the street.

  "What are we doing?" asked Danny. "This is madness, Pickle."

  Pickle pointed at a house and said, "I told yer. I'm gonna say hello to someone."

  "Who?"

  "Someone I dropped off a couple of weeks ago." Pickle walked up a garden path with Danny following behind, the pair of them now approaching the main door of the house.

  "And what if this someone is dead?"

  "Only one way to find out." Pickle smiled and knocked on the door.

  The last time he was here, he was in a pickup with Bentley Drummle and also had Rick Morgan with him. They had gone to Lichfield to pick up an abandoned tanker, but saw movement in the supermarket nearby. They eventually went in, found a woman and agreed to take her back home. Lee James took the tanker back to Sandy Lane, and Pickle, Rick and Bentley took the woman back to her house, back to her parents, also giving them a barrel full of tins to keep them going.

  Pickle knocked
again. This time he and Danny heard a window open above them. They took a step back from the door and looked up to see who it was.

  Pickle smiled when he saw the young face. "Hello, Celia."

  "Oh my God ... Pickle!" she squealed.

  "Thought I'd pop in and say hello."

  "Great."

  "How are yer parents?"

  She nodded. "They're great. We were just sitting in the back bedroom. Where're your pals?"

  Pickle knew that she meant Bentley and Rick, but instead of telling her that they were both dead, he decided to tell her that they were back at the camp. It wasn't news that she needed to hear.

  "Right," her face was still wearing a wide beam, "I'm coming down to let you in."

  "Much appreciated."

  Chapter Sixteen

  His head was back and his eyes were closed as he dreamt of his late wife.

  John Lincoln slept with a thin smile sitting under his nose, and the power nap was only ten minutes old when a chap at his door pulled him out of his dream.

  He shot up off of the couch and looked for his glasses. He spotted them sitting on the fireplace. He staggered over, hearing some of his old bones cracking as he did this, and put the glasses on and walked to the front door.

  Before he opened it, he could see that it was Beverley. He could tell by her shape, even behind the frosted glass. The dark-haired woman was heavy, although claimed to have lost over twenty pounds since the beginning of the apocalypse, and was originally from Milford.

  She had saved her next door neighbour's toddler from starving to death when a visitor came to the house and murdered its mother. The visitor was Jason Bonser, and the victim had been strangled to death and raped on her couch. Beverley came to the Haywood camp by luck. She was picked up by one of the guys from Colwyn. Strangely enough, she had no idea that the man that was responsible for killing her neighbour and leaving the toddler to die, had a brother, and ended up living at 20 Colwyn Place with James Thomson.

  John opened the door and gave the rotund woman a large smile, despite being tired. "Anything wrong, Beverley?"