Snatchers (Book 9): The Dead Don't Scream (15 page)

Chapter Twenty Nine

Finally, the man at the back of the room stood to his feet. Elza could see that he was exhausted, had stubble on his face, had dark features and was of average height. Possibly in his forties. Maybe even late thirties.

Without being asked, he walked unsteadily towards the girls, heading for the exit of the room and into the main church area, but Elza lifted her bat. As soon as he saw this, he stopped. He glared at the two girls as if he was stoned, and began to lick his dry lips as if he was about to speak.

"I'm not a threat," he spoke with a shiver in his voice. "I'm just desperate."

"You look it."

"I nearly gave up today," the man began to explain, "but I changed my mind at the last second. I nearly died."

Ignoring his little story, Elza began, "We have managed to get a healthy little pile of food and water that we keep in the other room. Anyone that comes here and we think they're a threat, pays with their life. Didn't you see those two bodies on the way in?"

The man nodded, unbothered. "I did."

"They wanted in, and wouldn't take no for an answer."

"So you killed them?"

"That's right." Elza took a step back and told the weary-looking man to sit on the stage. He did what he was told, and Elza and Ophelia moved away and took a seat on the front bench, opposite the man.

"So how come you haven't killed me?" the man asked.

"There's plenty of time for that." Elza Crowe smirked, making the man shudder with dread. It seemed that he was showing a more human side than he was when they first arrived. "We don't trust anyone, but we only kill threats, whether it's the dead or the living. You're no threat."

"And how do you know that I'm not a threat?"

"I know."

"
How
do you know?" There was a smidgeon of angst in the man's voice, but Elza was unmoved by this.

"You've turned up on your own, no weapon, and don't have so much as a bottle of water on you. I'm guessing that you've just escaped from somewhere. Maybe the dead took you by surprise and you fled. Or maybe someone is after you."

"You're clever." The man nodded, and added sarcastically, "What did you used to do before all this happened? A detective?"

"I worked in a shop."

He pointed at Ophelia. "And your quiet friend?"

"The same."

He wiped his watery eyes with his thumbs and grunted, trying to clear his throat. He looked at the two women, both still clasping their bats. He knew that if he did anything threatening, he'd die. But he had no intention of doing this. He just wanted a place to stay for a few hours so he could get his head together. He had had a terrible morning, and he picked the church purposely. It seemed right to come to a house of God after all that had happened. He wasn't a believer, but just because he didn't believe, didn't mean the big man didn't exist.

Elza looked him up and down and guessed, "You're from that camp, aren't you?"

He paused, then nodded. "Yeah, I am. I tried to escape, but it went wrong, so I came back. I went straight here, I didn't go back to the camp. I wasn't sure if it was safe or not."

"I don't think there's any point going back."

"No?"

"We bumped into a few of your friends, filling up a pickup. There were two women that we had met before, Karen and Sheryl, I think they were called. A man with scars all over his face was there and some other guy. Pickle."

The man raised a smile when he heard this. "They made it. Good."

"They're going to Little Haywood. There's a camp there that there'd be welcome at ... apparently."

"That's four miles away."

"It is."

"That's my old village."

Elza took a bottle of water out of her bag. She then threw it at the man, which he caught and placed under his arm. She then took a tin of beans from her bag, and threw the tin at the stranger. He caught it with two hands, but seemed confused at this.

He asked Elza, "What's this all about?"

"You've had your rest," Elza announced. "Now it's time for you to fuck off. Go to Little Haywood and be with your friends. Or you can stay on this estate, starve, and be in constant danger. These houses just don't have anything left in them after two months. Trust me."

He took the water and put it into one of his pockets. He put the tin of beans in the other one, then said, "It'll take me a couple of hours to walk that distance."

"Then you better get started." Elza walked down the church aisle and opened the main door, hinting to the man that it was time to leave.

He didn't seem happy at her rudeness. He snapped, "Just like that?"

Elza nodded. "This is our church. And you barged in ... uninvited."

"I was desperate. I needed to be away from out there for a couple of hours."

"This place is not for sharing."

"That's a selfish attitude to have."

"Maybe." She remained standing at the main door that she had opened. "But it's the one that's kept us alive for two months."

He got off the stage and began to walk down the aisle, passing the other female. He glared at the woman standing by the door, Elza, and wasn't sure whether to thank her or not.

She had given him water and beans, but now she was kicking him out. Elza said, "Good luck erm..."

The man took a step outside and turned to face Elza. "Paul. My name's Paul Dickson."

She smiled. "Good luck, Paul."

"Thanks ... I think."

Chapter Thirty

The red pickup slowly drove around more remains of an unfortunate resident, and picked up a little speed on Sandy Lane when the rest of the road was clear, then they passed the Vauxhall Corsa that had been obviously attacked.

Crammed into the front, Pickle, the driver, Vince, Karen and Sheryl sat in silence as the vehicle turned onto the Western Springs Road. They passed Hagley Road and Green Lane to the left, and continued further until they reached a roundabout that had many dead scattered around the area. It was impossible to avoid running over some of them, so Pickle slowed down and dropped to second gear as the truck went over body-after-body.

Passing the Stag's Leap pub/restaurant on their right, they finally managed to get by all the bodies and were on the beginning of Rugeley Road. The long stretch of road would take them to the Wolseley Arms pub and further onto Stafford if they continued on, but that wasn't what they wanted. Once they reached the roundabout at Wolseley, they needed to turn right and drive on the Wolseley Road in order to reach Little Haywood.

Harry Branston looked to the side of him and smiled at his quiet companions, especially Vince. It took a lot to keep Vince Kindl quiet, and Pickle guessed correctly that he was worried for Rosemary's safety, as well as Lisa and Stephanie's.

Pickle decided to break the silence between them and asked his quiet friends, "Are yer all okay?"

They all nodded, and only Vince spoke up. "I think it's delayed shock."

"I suppose the not-knowing where everybody is doesn't help," said Pickle. "I'm sure most will be fine. The pickup was the only vehicle left. The HGV and the other cars were gone, so
some
have escaped."

"Whoever was in the Corsa didn't make it," Vince spoke softly. "I wonder whose remains are in that."

"We'll probably never know." Pickle dropped a gear as the vehicle approached a spot of danger. Four of the dead were at the side of the road, all on their knees, and were stuffing bloody raw meat into their mouths. Pickle slowed the vehicle down, and they all looked to see if they could see who the poor bastard was. It was a female, but were unsure if it was somebody from their camp who had tried to flee on foot.

The head and shoulders were still intact for now, which suggested that the victim had only been recently killed. If they arrived a minute or two earlier, maybe they could have saved her.

They could all see a lot more clearer, now that two of the dead shifted to the side. The female had dirty blonde hair and her eyes were wide open. She looked young. Possibly sixteen. Maybe she was younger than that, but she was definitely a teenager.

Vince glared and his heart skipped when he saw the blonde hair and the young face.

Stephanie?

He got a better look and was relieved that it wasn't Stephanie Perkins that had suffered such a death.

Pickle speeded up and was a mile from the Wolseley Arms—the same place he, KP, Laz, Grass, Jamie and Janine had stayed for the night, all those weeks ago. Back then they ate well, got drunk and had a few laughs. It was a good night. It was also the last time that Pickle and KP had slept together.

"I hope they have solar power at this camp o' theirs, Vince." Pickle began to chuckle. "I could murder a shower."

"I don't really know how good their set-up is, to be honest," Vince admitted. "The first time I met John Lincoln was three weeks ago, after I shot Kevin Murphy and his dad. They were only thinking about developing a camp then. Then ... when me and Stephanie showed up last week, I didn't really get to have a look round. But the people seemed in good condition, and looked healthy enough."

"Imagine they don't let us in," Sheryl said. "I'd be well pissed off. What would we do?"

Vince rubbed his hand over his face, feeling at the stubble. "They'll let us in. Trust me. The Wolseley Arms pub is definitely out of bounds though."

"That's right, yer told me." Pickle nodded and began to touch the brake as he approached a bend. "Some Snatchers got in, didn't they? Forcing yer and Stephanie to leave."

"We could have died that morning. Weird."

"What is?"

Vince began to explain to Pickle, "There was dozens of those bastards on that road, however, the following morning, when Lincoln's men drove through the place and dropped me and Stephanie off at Rugeley, not one could be seen. I'll never be able to work them out. You'll sometimes get herds of the things, and on the few occasions you only get a few strays."

"They're certainly unpredictable to a certain degree." Pickle then looked over to Karen and, changing the subject, he asked her, "Yer okay?"

She never responded.

"Look, if yer worried about Paul—"

"Of course I'm worried," she huffed, wiping her eyes before the tears managed to fall. "Just like Vince is worried about Rosemary and the two girls. You and Sheryl are okay. You two were never really close with anyone."

"That's right." Pickle nodded sadly, hurt by Karen's remark. "The only person I was really close to is already dead."

"I'm sorry." Karen shook her head, ashamed at what she had just said. "That was such a shitty thing to say. I'm such a bitch."

"That's okay. At least I still have yer, Bradley."

"Yes you do." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "You big ole softie."

Pickle looked down at his arms and huffed out, now putting the truck into fourth and applying more gas.

"What is it?" asked Vince.

"Yer know," Pickle began, "when I was in prison, I used to have biceps like tennis balls. Now I'm wasting away."

"Not this again," Vince began to chuckle. Karen joined in with the laughter.

"It's alright for you." Pickle gaped to the side, at Vince. "Yer have always been a skinny runt. I worked out for years to get ma shape."

"You're not that bad." Karen smiled, Sheryl had decided to keep out of the pointless conversation. "Although I haven't seen you do any pull-ups for a while."

"Can't be arsed." Pickle began to smile and took a peep in the rear view mirror, then looked at Vince. "That's probably why I'm wasting away: a mixture of can't be arsed and malnutrition."

"Anyway," Vince began to tap on the dashboard. "Eyes on the road. I haven't come this far to end my life in a pickup, being wrapped around a tree because you weren't paying attention."

Pickle released a thin smile. "Fair enough."

Pickle pushed his head forwards and narrowed his eyes. He gasped, then suddenly spun the wheel to the right, making his three passengers yell out in panic and surprise. He pulled the truck in a lay-by. It was now parked in front of a huge silver birch.

"What the hell are you doing?" yelled Karen. "I nearly shat myself."

"The roundabout's up ahead," Pickle announced.

"Er ... yeah, I know."

"So yer lot didn't see the bikers hanging around the pub?"

Karen said with a gulp, "No, I didn't."

"Well, I say bikers, but it looked more like mopeds that they had."

"So what do we do?"

"Well, let's hang here until they've gone. We don't know who they are." Pickle opened the driver's door and stepped out. Karen, Vince and Sheryl all followed suit. "Let's open some o' these tins in the back o' this truck. Kill some time."

"Good idea. I'm starving." Vince picked out a tin of tuna and peeled the tin back with the ring-pull. "I could eat the arse out of a low-flying duck."