Snatchers (Book 8): The Dead Don't Pray (12 page)

Chapter Twenty Five

Daniel Badcock stormed towards the barrier, both fists clenched. Once he reached the HGV by the railway bridge, he yelled up at the young-looking guard. "Is it true?"

"Is
what
true?" The young guy knew what Daniel was whingeing about, but decided to act dumb. He looked behind him to see if he had back-up from his other two colleagues, but they were facing the other way, pretending that they couldn't hear Daniel.

"That you just allowed Karen and Sheryl to leave?" Daniel was fuming, and was in two minds whether to stay where he was, or go up to the top of the lorry and give the young man a slap. "And even before that, you let Paul Dickson leave here. What's the fucking point having three men on watch?"

"We're here to stop those things getting
in
, not people going
out
."

"Don't get fucking smart."

One of the other guards decided to turn around and finally back the young man up, and said, with a vicious tongue, "Shut the fuck up! The Paul character was too quick. By the time we knew what was going on, he was near Queensway."

"And what about the girls?" Daniel said with derision in his tone. "Were they too
quick
for the three of you as well?"

The older guard laughed, "Have you ever tried reasoning with Sheryl Smith? She's a fucking loon, and if she wants to leave then she can."

"You're here to do a job!"

"You're just a fucking boy," the older guard snapped. "Don't make me come down there and kick fuck out of you."

"As if." Daniel laughed off the threat, but could feel his face quiver with nervousness.

"You wanna go into the Pear Tree Estate on your own and go look for them? Then off you go, sunshine."

Daniel gulped and glared in thought for a few seconds. He turned around and went back to his house, his angry feet hitting the road as he went back to 11 Sandy Lane.

As Daniel walked away, still fuming, the older guard yelled from behind, "Yeah, that's what I thought! Fucking pussy!"

*

James McDonald had been told to do perimeter duty during the night. He accepted that he had no choice in the matter and needed to do his bit. He was due to start at ten, and had five hours to kill. He was running short of booze, that he hid in the cupboard under the stairs, and was down to his last three bottles.

In the old world he drank Stella or Guinness with a dash of blackcurrant, but in this world he took what he could get. He had a bottle of gin, that hadn't been opened yet, and two bottles of white wine. He hated white wine, he preferred red, but it was booze, and on this day he had drank both bottles before passing out on the sofa. It looked like he was going to be half-soused by the time he would wake up to do his night stint.

Whilst his father was getting drunk on cheap wine, David McDonald had broken into an empty house with his friend, Charles Pilkingon, and they both sat and tried to make cigarettes with papers and the packet of tobacco that he had taken from his dad's bedroom. His father had been helping himself when he used to check stock, and had a decent supply of tobacco.

Eventually, Charles Pilkington returned to his place of residence and David McDonald hesitantly went back to
his
. They were both still alive, but it had been another mundane and soul-destroying day for the pair of them.

David touched his sore face and grinned whenever he thought about his dad getting a kicking from Sheryl Smith. A girl.

"Hard man?" David mocked. "Hard man, my arse."

Despite getting a beating from Sheryl, David still feared his dad. Now that Jimmy Mac had been humiliated by Sheryl Smith, he was going to be in an even angrier mood now that he had lost face. The whole camp was going to hear about this. No doubt.

He was going to be a nightmare to live with, so David wanted to spend as little time at home as he could. He knew his dad was going to be doing the night shift pretty soon, so he headed for the house. He looked up to the evening sky; the stars were hanging like nails in the cloudless night and a grinning moon accompanied them. It was a sight to behold.

David entered his house and shut the front door quietly. He was about to head upstairs to his room, but the loud snoring from the living room stopped him in his tracks.

David peered into the area and saw his unconscious dad, lying on his back, and two empty bottles plonked on the carpet.

"Drunken bastard."

David crept into the room, glaring at his father with contempt, and went into the kitchen. He opened the top drawer slowly and could see a steak knife in the teaspoon section. He picked it up and went back into the living room, leaving the kitchen drawer open.

He held the knife, and a small smile emerged on his face. Jesus! What the hell was he thinking? This was his dad, his old man. He couldn't harm his father, could he?

He stood over his dad, and thought back to the days of when his mother used to be with them. Jimmy Mac talked to her and treated her like she was shit before the illness took her away, and now it was David's turn to feel his father's hatred.

But what was he angry about?

The world had gone to hell, but everybody was in the same boat. At least James McDonald was still alive. At least he didn't have to go through what Lee James had gone through, or Paul Dickson. Jasmine Kelly had to watch her mother being eaten by those rotting fucks, so why was his father so bitter? Compared to most folk, he had had it easy.

David McDonald looked at his sleeping father, then looked at the knife in his right hand. He could kill his father right now, if he really wanted to. All it took was one quick stab with the steak knife that he held in his quivering right hand. A stab to the throat or the heart would end him. But did a young teenager like David McDonald have the balls to take a life, his own father's life?

With tears in his eyes, David placed the cold tip of the blade against Jimmy Mac's throat. Did he have the guts to kill his own father? David, now crying, wobbled with fear and sighed.

Go on. Just one thrust, and you'll never have to put up with that twat ever again. A quick push and he'd be dead. He's drunk and asleep. He wouldn't have a clue what's going on. It would be practically painless for the man.

David began to shake as the end of the knife was poking the skin of Jimmy Mac's neck.

One push. That's all you need to do.

"I can't do it," he cried softly.

Yes, you can. Just one push.

He lowered the knife.

Pussy!

Did he have the balls to kill his father? Not today.

He didn't have the balls to kill him today, but maybe
one
day.

Maybe.

Chapter Twenty Six

Karen Bradley and Sheryl Smith had walked ten yards onto the Queensway road, and could see the four abandoned shops to the right of them. To their left was Hardie Avenue, and the Queensway road, one of the longest roads on the estate, continued ahead of them. The huge Pear Tree Estate was built on a hill, and was originally built for the influx of Irish, Scots, and people from the north of England that travelled down in the fifties and sixties when Lea Hall Colliery opened, offering jobs for men wanting to work in the coal mining industry.

Hardie Avenue went down slightly on a decline, curved round and led to the other side of Queensway. The other side of Queensway was where Pickle and Karen had met Shaz when they were in trouble.

"Are we just gonna walk around the estate and go back?" Sheryl queried, unsure what the plan was. "We can't check every single house on the estate. There're thousands."

"We just walk and hope that we see him, or he sees
me
and comes to his senses." Karen huffed, unsure what to do for the best. "It's the only thing I can think of."

"Okay."

"Where to first?" Karen asked Sheryl.

Sheryl shrugged her shoulders and said, "I don't know. But I don't think we should split up."

Laughed Karen, "That was the last thing on my mind." She brushed her dark hair behind her ears and had a quick peep at Sheryl. "Thanks again."

Sheryl said, "This Paul fellow. A boyfriend?"

Karen smiled and shook her head. "Just a friend."

The girls turned left and went down Hardie Avenue. They didn't have to walk around too many remains, but the blood on the road and pavements was aplenty.

"Was he someone who lived in your street?" Sheryl questioned Karen. "You know, back in the old world?"

Karen was pleased that Sheryl was engaging in conversation; only a few days ago she hated her guts. She told Pickle a while back that she wouldn't piss on Sheryl if she was on fire. Now her mind had been changed.

"No. He's not from Rugeley." Karen eventually answered Sheryl's query. "We were coming back from a run when we met them. Paul and his son had been in a crash, and we took them back to Vince's camp."

Sheryl combed her fingers through her black hair, put her blade in her pocket, and said, "It's funny how certain people have met up with one another."

"I know." Karen turned to the side and emptied her nostrils on the floor. She continued, "I met Pickle in the woods, near Stile Cop. He was with some other inmates and a family. The two prison officers that released them was also there, and they'd all been travelling in a prison van. I think the Pointer family had a Clio."

"Jimmy Mac came from the Springfields. He just left and came to Sandy Lane." Sheryl paused, then added, "Bentley and Helen Waite only came to Sandy Lane because they were told that Vince's camp was too dangerous to travel to."

"When I think about all the people that have died, people I've known..."

"I know."

The two women were still on Hardie Avenue, and were now heading upwards, getting near to the other end of Queensway, the same part of Queensway where Karen had met Shaz. It was also the same area where Pickle was tortured by four men, and the same spot where Karen maimed one and was shot at, causing the car next to her to blow up.

They reached the end of the road and was now at the other side of Queensway. Karen looked to her left to see the carnage that she was involved with just over a month ago.

"Where are all the dead?" Sheryl shook her head.

Karen had no answer for her, and gasped when she stood and looked up at Cardboard Hill. She remembered the cabin, Wolfgang Kindl, and the good days she had up there. Being with Shaz up there was one of the highlights. Another highlight was when Jack Slade had turned up with Vince, after an ill-fated trip to Stafford Hospital on a medical supply run.

The two women turned right and looked up at Coppice Road. It was a steep fucker of a hill, and both huffed when they gazed at it.

"I remember trying to cycle that bugger when I was a kid," remarked Sheryl. "Much more fun on the way back down."

"It leads up to Flaxley." Karen took out her machete. "If we walk most of Coppice, cut down Hislop Road where the church and youth centre are, then that should be enough. There isn't a great deal else we can do, unless they have a vote when Lee and the rest come back and send out a search party."

Scoffed Sheryl, "I doubt that."

"Me too. Especially after what happened with Bentley last week."

The girls reached the top of the steep road after a lengthy walk. Karen bent over to catch her breath, but Sheryl continued on, relieved now that they were going downhill.

"Wait up," Karen called from behind. "I'm knackered."

"You're a whiny cunt, Bradley."

"Excuse me." Karen stood up straight, hands on her hips, and looked offended by Sheryl's comments. "I'm pregnant. Don't forget that."

Sheryl stopped walking, once she reached some garages, and pointed up at a road to her left. It was Flaxley Road. Karen caught up with Sheryl and looked to where she had been pointing. Karen could see eleven Snatchers stumbling around the road, but they were far away and hadn't noticed the girls' presence.

Sheryl said, "Hislop Road is just up ahead, on the left."

"Once we pass the church, we'll turn left, back onto Queensway and head back."

Sheryl nodded in agreement. "By the time we get back to the camp, we would have been away for nearly two hours. That's long enough. Paul knows where we stay. If he wants to come back, he knows where to come."

"I know all that," Karen sighed. "But he's not in the right frame of mind. I came here to try and talk sense into him."

"Sense? He's just lost his son." Sheryl stopped walking and took a scan around the desolate street. "It's a bit early to be talking sense into a grieving father. Maybe we should have just let him be."

"So this is a waste of time?" Karen was a little miffed that Sheryl was putting a downer on their trip. "So how come you came with me?"

"I told you before." Sheryl began to scratch at the inside of her nose with her little finger. "I was bored, and boredom creates tension."

"Come on." Karen Bradley was surprised, and relieved that the estate was so deserted, but still clasped onto her machete. "We'll try the church, then get out of this dump."

"Still," Sheryl smiled, "it's been a nice walk, hasn't it? With the quiet, the dead bodies, the smell of death in the air and the blood."

Karen shook her head, not picking up on Sheryl's dark sarcasm. "You're fucking tapped."

"Yes, you may be right about that."