Snatchers (Book 9): The Dead Don't Scream Read online

  Stephanie asked the young girl, "Do you want me to come in beside you and give you a snuggle?"

  "Yes, please."

  Stephanie got off of her bed and slipped underneath Lisa's quilt. She spooned the little girl and wrapped her right arm around her. Lisa began to stroke Stephanie's arm, like it was a cat. No words were spoken, and both females remained silent.

  Within ten minutes they had both fallen back to sleep.

  *

  "I have a six inch tongue and I can breathe through my ears," Vince Kindl announced.

  "Vince, you're a male chauvinist pig," Rosemary laughed.

  "You know what's worse than a male chauvinist pig? A woman that doesn't do as she's told."

  Rosemary sighed and said, "Somewhere out there is a tree, tirelessly producing oxygen so you can breathe. I think you owe it an apology."

  "Well ... fuck you very much." Vince reached over to touch Rosemary's breast.

  "Wait a minute." Rosemary slapped away Vince's hand and said, "I'm not sure if Lisa and Stephanie are asleep or not."

  Both persons were lying on the bed, and for the first time since he came back Vince was pestering Rosemary for sex. When he returned, the news of Kyle Dickson's death, and his own near-death experience with the large brute from Spode Cottage, had shaken him. The assailant had taken an arrow in his upper back and Vince wondered if he could survive such an injury.

  The residents of Sandy Lane that were physically fit and had never done guard duty before had been persuaded to do so since Vince had returned. Although some had received training from Bentley, one or two refused to hold a gun.

  This pissed Vincent off.

  The camp had never been so vulnerable, as far as Vince was concerned, and there were still people in the place that were reluctant just to hold a gun, and one or two made it abundantly clear that they didn't have it in them for guard duty, whether they had a gun or not. Perimeter duty was now done in pairs, with three sets of people doing the rounds, and barbed wire had been attached to the top of the wiry fence that ran alongside the rail track, where the back of the Lea Hall building and the field was.

  As the weeks went by, the security of the place had improved. In the first weeks it was a few cars and a made-up gate that they used on each barrier, with no guns for weapons. It used to be enough to keep out the dead, but the threat that hung over the camp now was from a psychopath. A human.

  On his return, Vince informed them that the man that had attacked him appeared to be on his own. Everyone else was cool about the situation and had told Vince that security was tight since Kyle's death anyway. Vince wondered about the man. If the wound he sustained wasn't life-threatening and if he did return, Vince was certain that he was more than capable of causing carnage on his own.

  Still fully-clothed, Vince crept out of the room, forcing Rosemary to ask, "Where the hell are you going?"

  "I'm gonna see if Stephanie and Lisa are asleep."

  "I'll be surprised if Lisa is," Rosemary spoke up. "She's been a nervous wreck since Kyle's death."

  Vince had disappeared for a few seconds before returning with a smile on his face. "They're both asleep. In the same bed."

  Rosemary smiled. "Ah, bless them."

  "Which means that you, lucky bitch, are gonna get some Kindl loving."

  "Ooh, lucky me," Rosemary sarcastically responded, then pointed over to the door. "Put something behind the door in case one of them comes in."

  "Seriously?" he huffed.

  "Yes. If one of them walks in and we're performing the beasts with two backs, they could be scarred for life."

  Vince lowered his head and added with a serious tone, "I think Lisa's already scarred for life, especially after..."

  "I know." Rosemary patted the bed, urging Vince to sit next to her. "She's getting better. I can see progress."

  "I hope so."

  Rosemary looked at a rare sight: Vince Kindl was emotional. She smiled at the fact that he was showing a human quality and patted him on the thigh once he sat back on the bed. "I'm not really in the mood anymore," she confessed.

  "Me neither," he admitted.

  "You just fancy a cuddle instead?"

  Vince nodded. "I'll put you on my to do list for later."

  Chapter Four

  Karen Bradley was in her living room and had a moment that almost reduced her to tears. She put it down to her hormones, the recent death of young Kyle Dickson and everything else that had happened.

  She then thought about the recent past and the shit her and Pickle had to go through. Sometimes she would forget about some of the things she'd done.

  Jesus! I blew a man away in just the second week.

  She thought back to when they fled Heath Hayes, with Jack Slade and his group, in the prison van. They stopped and a ruffian and a young man had popped out of the woods. The young man, Oliver Newton, was a part of Jack's group before the split from the village hall. But the rough-looking individual had been responsible for the death of a guy called Gary Jenson who had been raped and murdered in a supermarket canteen.

  Karen put a Browning to the cocky man's head and, without conversing with others, she shot him. Pickle worried for her when she did this, but it appeared that finding out being pregnant in the third week had calmed her down, compared to how she behaved in the first couple of weeks.

  Pickle walked in the living room, from the kitchen, with a bowl of cold noodles. He sat down on the couch and said to Karen, "Yer sure yer don't want nothin' to eat?"

  She smiled sadly and shook her head. She then jumped when she heard a rap at the door.

  "Expecting anyone?" Pickle asked Karen.

  "No." She looked over to Harry Branston and could see that he was tucking into his noodles and had no intention of getting off his arse.

  She laughed, "I'll get it then, shall I?"

  "Okay."

  Karen, still laughing, got up and strolled to the front door. She opened it to find Daniel Badcock, standing with a glum look on his features.

  "What's up with you?" Karen quizzed with humour in her tone. "You look like somebody has just stabbed your cat."

  "It's worse than that," said Daniel. "Can I come in?"

  Karen pushed the door wider and walked into the living room where Daniel followed her, then he greeted Pickle with a nod of the head. Pickle had finished his noodles and put the bowl to the floor. With his mouth full, he asked Daniel what was wrong.

  "I'm ...we're worried about Paul." Daniel then paused.

  Pickle sat back and puffed out a breath, waiting to hear what Daniel was about to say, but a concerned Karen couldn't help herself and tried to speed things up.

  She asked, "Why, what's happened?"

  "We were by the railway bridge. We saw one of the dead and Paul took care of it," Daniel began to explain, "but when I mean he took care of it..."

  Pickle urged, clasping his hands together, "Go on."

  "He lost it. Big time."

  "How bad did he lose it?" Karen wasn't sure if Daniel was just exaggerating. "In what way?"

  "He struck the dead thing, and once it fell, he kept on smacking it with the butt of the shotgun until its head was unrecognisable and all mush."

  Pickle looked at Karen, but she seemed unruffled by this story. She said, "We've all been there. And he's been through a lot, so tarring him with the crazy brush is a bit strong."

  "I'm not tarring him with any brush," protested Daniel. "But afterwards he pissed on the corpse. It was freaky shit."

  "Don't yer worry about it," Pickle stood and began to walk Daniel out of the house. "We'll keep an eye on him."

  "Thanks." Daniel stepped out into the August evening. "That's all I want you to do. But..."

  Karen remained where she was and now it was just the two men in the front garden of 23 Sandy Lane. "But what?" asked Pickle.

  "I do think he's losing it."

  Pickle smiled. "I'll take care o' it."

  *

  His grunting and groaning had now
come to a close, and once Robert Newman fell onto his back, he put his hands behind his head and was trying to catch his breath. He took his condom off and placed it on his bedside table. The twenty-six-year-old turned to Sheryl Smith and asked, "Well? What do you think?"

  A naked Sheryl sat up and began putting her clothes back on. She never gave him an answer, so he asked her again.

  "What do I think?" she sniped. "Was I supposed to have brought a score-sheet with me?"

  He never answered and fired another query at the woman, who now only had her boots to put on before she could leave his house. "And where're you going?"

  "Home. Where else?"

  Robert sat up and shook his head.

  "What the fuck are you shaking your head at?" Sheryl turned her back to him and began tying up her laces.

  "Do you know what your problem is?" Sheryl never answered, so Robert continued. "You get horny, you sleep with someone, then afterwards you become angry. Why?" Robert pointed over to her 'Buddy' tattoo. "Because of guilt. He's been dead years. You need to let go."

  She stood up and snarled, "You don't know what you're fucking talking about. The reason I'm in a bad mood is because you're shit in the sack."

  "So why do you come round then?" Robert Newman's face was smug. He was a handsome man, a little overweight, and was once described by Vince Kindl as a fat Johnny Depp.

  "Because my dildo takes four double A batteries, and it's very hard to get them these days."

  "Using a vibrator isn't the same as being with a man."

  "You're right." Sheryl nodded, rubbing her short black hair. "It isn't the same. When you use a vibrator you don't get the bad breath over your face, the smelly armpits and the smarmy comments afterwards."

  "It's just sex." Robert was now off the bed and put on a dressing gown that had seen better days. "A few of us still do it, despite what's been happening. Look at Vince and Rosemary."

  "What about them?" Sheryl headed for the bedroom door, but she paused and turned around to allow Robert to finish off whatever he was about to say. Robert added, "I know Vince was hardly a saint back at his old camp, and Rosemary had strayed once when he was missing."

  "So what? Anyway," Sheryl huffed and opened the bedroom door. "It's getting late, and I've got an early shift tomorrow."

  "You want me to walk you out?"

  Sheryl laughed sarcastically and shook her head. "I'm sure I'll manage."

  "Okay." Robert blew her a kiss and said, playfully, "Same time next week?"

  "I don't think so."

  Chapter Five

  Bentley Drummle and Rick Morgan had passed the barrier near the Globe Island and was now on the field, walking beside the wiry fence; barbed wire was wrapped around the top of it. Their walk had been done with no chatter between the pair of them for the last half an hour. Rick had spent the quiet time humming tunes in his head, and was tired from his previous stint at the barrier with Vince and Robert. Bentley was investigating his mouth with his tongue, still getting used to the missing tooth he had to pull out himself just under a week ago.

  Their walk had taken them by Churchfields School and both males were now walking up the field, with the rail track besides them on the other side of the fence, and were heading in the direction of the back of the Lea Hall building.

  Despite Bentley Drummle feeling comfortable with it being quiet, Rick Morgan finally broke the silence. "It's getting dark."

  "Yip." Bentley responded unenthusiastically. "Well spotted."

  Rick looked around the lifeless place. "Looks like everybody's gone to sleep. What time is it? Nine? Ten?"

  Bentley looked at his wrists to see a watch not sitting on either of them. "I have no idea."

  "Well, as they used to say in Scooby Doo: It's quiet."

  Bentley gaped to the side of him and had puzzlement on his face. "I don't think I've ever heard that on Scooby Doo before."

  Rick looked lost in thought. "I think I might be getting a little mixed up."

  "I think you are."

  "Anyway, things seemed to have calmed down a bit since..." Rick paused and never finished off his sentence. He suddenly remembered that Bentley was a friend of the man he was going to talk about.

  Bentley knew what Rick was about to say. "You mean: since Pickle cut that man's throat a few days back?"

  Rick nodded. "I never saw anything so brutal before. Well, I mean man-on-man. I've seen enough gore involving the dead. I witnessed my neighbours being attacked in the first week. When I saw it I was sick to my waist...er ... stomach."

  "It's bad out there. I don't think people in here realise how bad it actually is. I've been in this camp for nearly a month, but I remember what it was like, when me and Laura were hiding out in the woods."

  "Somebody told me you were some kind of prepper."

  Bentley laughed falsely, "I'm obviously not a good one."

  "I disagree." Rick turned to his companion and placed his hand comfortingly on his arm. "You've brought a lot of wealth of experience to this place. You're one of the most respected people on here."

  Bentley flushed a little from the unexpected praise given to him by a man he normally didn't have time for. Rick's statement was a complimentary one, but soon after it there was quiet once more.

  Still on the field, both men passed the large pen that had the pigs inside, and Bentley decided to break the silence and lighten the mood.

  Bentley smiled to himself and said, "What would you rather have, Rick? A large penis and be a two-minute wonder, or have an average sized cock and last for as long as you wish?"

  Rick gasped and looked at Bentley with a look of horror. It was a question he wasn't expecting. Rick gulped, "I have no idea how to answer that."

  Bentley released a huge belly laugh and said, "Forget it." He then looked to the side of him and stopped walking, his tittering coming to a quick finish.

  Noticing this, Rick Morgan asked, "What is it?"

  Bentley didn't answer Rick's question immediately. He stared through the fence, and into the bushes that were behind it. He remained silent, and this made Rick feel twitchy.

  Rick Morgan tried once more. "Bentley? What is it?"

  "I thought I saw something."

  That sentence alone made Rick shiver with nerves, and took a step back from the fence as Bentley took a step nearer, his shotgun now pointing at whatever he thought he saw.

  Rick held his own weapon with both hands, but the thought of squeezing the trigger frightened him. He continued to shake as Bentley stared, but even being with the tough and experienced Drummle, who also taught him how to use the weapon he was holding, couldn't settle his nerves.

  Bentley looked up at the barbed wire at the top of the fence and huffed out.

  "What is it?" Rick dared to ask.

  "If that wasn't there," Bentley pointed up at the top of the fence, "I could climb over and investigate further."

  Rick Morgan looked wide-eyed at Bentley and announced, "You're insane."

  "Possibly." Bentley stared for a while longer, then playfully slapped Rick in the stomach and said, "Let's go."

  *

  Paul Dickson gasped when he heard his bedroom door open. He was lying on his bed, in his clothes, and sat up with a start.

  "Sorry." Karen held up her hands. "I knocked on your front door, but there was no reply. So I just came up."

  "And you thought I'd killed myself?"

  "Well..."

  "Jesus." Paul got off the bed and appeared to be in a bad mood, making Karen paranoid. Was he in a bad mood with her? Or was it events from the past that had made him grouchy? "That's the problem with this place. There's no keys for most of the houses around here."

  "That's the trouble with this place?" Karen mocked gently, but was a little miffed about his ungrateful attitude. Yes, he had just lost his son, but he was still breathing. "Don't forget where you were when I first found you."

  "I was with my boy." Paul's words were covered in sadness.

  "You were in a c
ar crash."

  "Look," Paul Dickson said, "If you've come to remind me about you and Shaz saving my skin again ... then don't."

  "I'm not here to argue."

  "Then what're you here for?" Paul stood up straight with his hands on his hips. His face was filled with anger.

  "To see if you're okay." Karen cocked her head to make eye contact with her male friend, and the concerned Bradley queried, "Are you okay?"

  Paul sat down on the bed, hunched his shoulders and lowered his head. Of course he wasn't!

  Karen sat next to him, placed her arm around his waist and slowly dropped her head to the side; it eventually rested on his shoulder. "You wanna talk about it?" she asked.

  "No," Paul said in a hoarse voice. "If it's all the same to you, I'd like to stay like this, no talking."

  "Okay."

  Paul Dickson closed his eyes and hugged Karen Bradley tighter. "I just want you to hold me."

  So she did. And fifteen minutes later, she went back to her own house.

  Chapter Six

  Vince Kindl couldn't sleep and decided to go for a walk. He strolled down Cross Road, passing a couple of parked vehicles that were occasionally used for runs, and could see Harry Branston, sitting on the kerb, staring into nothingness.

  Vince stopped, took a look over his shoulder, then gaped back over in Pickle's direction. He was unsure whether to approach him or not. Maybe he needed some time to himself.

  Vince hesitated, but finally made a decision to go back to the house, back to Rosemary. His steps were few when Pickle called out to him. Vince turned around and announced, "I didn't wanna bother you. You looked like you were daydreaming."

  "I was." Pickle smiled, then urged Vince to sit next to him. "Reality always wins in the end."

  "Maybe this isn't reality." Vince went over and parked his rear next to Pickle's. "Maybe this has been one big dream."

  "I'd take tha' right now," Pickle began to snicker. "If I woke up from this to find I was still in Stafford Jail, I'd be the happiest man alive."