Snatchers (Book 9): The Dead Don't Scream (23 page)

Chapter Forty Six

Pickle exited Lincoln's house, headed over the road and sat on one of the lawns. He saw Vince walking over to him; he was wearing a big cheesy grin.

"How’s she holding up?" Vince asked and sat down next to Pickle on the lawn, next to a drive that had no vehicle there anymore.

Pickle looked up to the sun and sighed, "Fucked if I know."

"I wonder what caused it."

"Normally it can be due to infection, hormone problems or uterine abnormalities." Pickle shook his head. "As soon as she started getting cramps and then she started bleeding … I fuckin’ knew it."

"It's stressful enough living in the world we live in, but trying to carry a baby with all the shit we've had to go through... Must be devastating for her."

"In this world, yer get used to being … devastated."

"A bit harsh, Pickle."

"Aye, maybe." Harry Branston then asked, "How are yer taking the news about Rosemary and Lisa?"

"Not great. Stephanie and Bentley as well, according to Paul Dickson." Vince looked up to the sky and closed his eyes, feeling the sun heat his face. "Can't believe it."

"And that’s probably the tip of the iceberg. They’ll be other people that we'll probably never see again, not knowing whether they're dead or not. I mean ... what the fuck happened to Lee?"

Vince shook his head. He had no idea. "I'm glad we left and came here. What about you?"

Pickle sighed, "Sandy Lane was too big. And, yes, I am glad that we listened to yer and came here. I like it."

Vince lowered his head. "It'd be good to finally break the cycle."

"And what cycle would that be?"

"The same one that you've been moaning about. The pattern that you and Karen seem to go on about all the time."

"Oh, that one."

"Yeah, you know: You find a place, you relax for a bit, then it eventually goes tits up. Then you have to move on."

Said Pickle, "Probably the same for every other survivor. Unless yer live in Buckingham Palace."

"Shame about that Nick guy."

Pickle nodded. "John just told me."

Vince looked around the modest street, twenty houses in all were present now that it had been shut off, and could only see four vehicles available. He could see that solar cell panels were at the steel gate where the entrance was—only one person was guarding—and he looked back at the vehicles. All four were parked at the end, near the concrete fence. There was the Range Rover, a red Ford Focus, a silver Vauxhall Zafira and a motorhome—or RV.

Vince could see that Pickle was tired and told him to go for a lie down.

"I think I'll do just that." Pickle lay down on the grass and closed his eyes.

"I actually meant in a bed." Vince began to laugh.

"I don't have a bed yet. I don't have a house." Pickle yawned and smacked his lips together. "Just need a power nap, and I've pestered John Lincoln enough. Besides, I like it out in the open."

"Okay." Vince got to his feet, rubbed his backside and noticed Stephen Rowley hanging by the concrete fence. "I'll go and see how Stephen is, considering what happened to Nick."

Vince left Pickle and took a walk down Colwyn Place, glaring at the houses to either side of him. He was in the middle of the road and he remembered that the first time he walked down this road he was with Lisa, and they were ready to leave to go back to the Spode Cottage, back to the caravan park. Back then he had walked the whole length of Colwyn Place. Now, most of the street had been blocked off. Only twenty houses, ten on either side of the road, were available.

After the tenth house, on both sides, an eight foot concrete fence sat across the road, stretching from one front garden to the next. He had no idea where they got the materials from. He tried to climb and look over to see what the rest of Colwyn Place looked like, beyond the fence, but was stopped when he heard Stephen's voice.

"We don't venture that far." Stephen Rowley twitched and walked over to Vince. "The locals call the rest of our village No Man's Land."

Vince smiled and told Stephen, "I walked the whole street three weeks ago."

"You can't do that anymore, chap."

Vince looked at Stephen and noticed he didn't look too despondent, considering Nick Gregory had lost his life. Said Vince, "I'm sorry about your friend."

"He wasn't my friend, but thanks anyway."

"Why here?" Vince asked, pointing at the fence. "Why did you block it off here?"

Some of us travelled around the rest of the village after we found out that some of the locals had killed Jason Murphy, after you killed his perv brother and his dad."

"And?"

"There was a few dead around, still is, but we didn't find any humans apart from ones that had taken their own lives."

"Same old story."

"We didn't want to make the camp too big, and there didn't seem to be too much point anyway when we found out how many people were left. Twenty or so."

Asked Vince, "Who put the fence up?"

"Me and a few others." Stephen cleared his throat loudly, twitched his neck and added, "We got the stuff from the garden centre. Besides the high security and toughness of these fences, there are many other advantages, including fire resistance, termite resistance, wind blockage and virtually no maintenance. We also put up the steel slide gate at the entrance of the street, but it's a bit flimsy." Noticing that Vince was staring at the concrete fence, Stephen urged him, "Have a look behind it."

"That's what I was just about to do," said Vince. He climbed up and peeked over. The rest of the street was barren, eerie, and just behind the fence there were four vehicles up against it.

"It's for added insurance," Stephen began to explain. "We parked the cars next to the fence, then siphoned them before climbing back over."

"Well, well, well," came a voice from behind them.

Both Vince and Stephen turned around to see an overweight youngster, walking down the road, heading their way. He was a few yards away.

"I hate this guy," Stephen muttered to Vince. "He thinks he's something."

The overweight young man sneered and said to Vince Kindl, "Never thought I'd see you again."

"Yep. I'm full of surprises," Vince responded.

"Do you remember me?" the youngster spoke up. "Some of our guys picked you and that young girl up. Saved your arse. Then you got cheeky with me, calling me Chubs and—"

"I remember." Vince nodded. "How're you doing?"

"Oh, it's
how you're doing
now, is it? Not so cocky now that you want to stay here."

"Relax." Vince spoke with sarcasm. "No need to be like that. Anyway, you need to watch your blood pressure, especially in your condition."

"I know you're taking the piss." The overweight young man was becoming upset, and Stephen Rowley was hopelessly trying to stop himself from smirking.

"I'm not taking the piss," laughed Vince.

"Yes you are." The young man was shaking with anger now. "I'm not as stupid as I look, you know."

"No, you couldn't be."

"Look, Scarface." The overweight man pointed his finger at Vince, but his appearance came across as laughable, rather than threatening. "Just because you killed some of the Murphys—"

"I don't have time for this, Chubs," Vince interjected, then turned away from the irate man and said to Stephen, "Thanks for the talk. I'll soon get to know the place. I think Lincoln is going to give us a bit of a tour later on."

Vince shook Stephen's hand and walked away, brushing past the rotund young man who was still shaking with rage.

"Wait a minute," the young man yelled after Vince. "I haven't finished with you yet."

"I need a drink, Chubs."

"You need to stop calling me that. That's disrespectful." His face reddened and Stephen Rowley thought for a minute that the young man, who was called Freddie, was going to have a heart attack. Freddie pointed at Stephen. "He's overweight as well."

Vince stopped walking and turned around to face the annoying man. "You're not gonna cry, are you?"

Freddie said, "When I was in school, people used to call me names. And do you know what I used to do?"

"Erm ... you ate your body weight full of burgers?"

Freddie's face reddened even more and had to bite his bottom lip as his anger began to snowball. "No, I cut myself."

"A slice of cake?"

"What's the point?" he yelled with his fists clenched.

"Look," Vince sighed, lost his smile and adopted a serious tone. "I've no problem about your weight. But if you're gonna call me names like Scarface, then I'm going to react. What do you expect?"

"But you was rude to me."

"True." Vince nodded. "But your overall personality is annoying. You do realise that, don't you?"

Freddie never responded. He lowered his head and walked away, calling Vince a 'cunt' under his breath that Vince and Stephen heard.

Stephen Rowley laughed, "I guess he's not in awe of you like the rest of us."

"I killed Kevin Murphy and his dad because of my son," said Vince. "I did it for me. Not for anybody else. It just happened to work out for the best for you lot."

"We're still grateful." Stephen leaned to the side and looked at the back of Freddie as he walked away, and giggled, "Well, most of us are anyway."

"I'll be seeing you." Vince nodded at Stephen and walked away, clocking Paul Dickson sitting on one of the front lawns, three down from where Pickle was lying.

Vince called out his name, and Paul looked up and acknowledged him.

"What are you doing hanging about here?" Vince asked.

"I was with Karen." Paul Dickson yawned and rubbed his face. "Had a bit of a nap."

"Really?" cackled Vince. "Are you two playing
hide the sausage
?"

"Vince!" Paul placed his palm on his head, and couldn't believe that Vince had come out with such a statement. "She's just lost her baby."

Vince cleared his throat and said, "Shit. Of course. Sorry."

"Anyway, they're going to be issuing us a place to stay soon."

Vince looked around the modest street and sighed, "I think there's only three or four empty houses left. I wonder which one they'll give us."

"Don't know. I suppose that's up to him." Paul pointed over at the large figure of John Lincoln, who was stepping out of his house. The large fellow looked up to stare at the sky, taking in the warm weather. He walked straight over to Vince and Paul.

"Lovely day!" John bellowed. Neither one responded, making John uncomfortable. He placed his hands in his pockets and lowered his head, as if he was about to say something awkward. "Look ... Vince," John began. "Stephen and another guy are going to the other side of the village in an hour—"

Vince screwed his face in thought. "No Man's Land?"

"Learning the lingo already. I like it." John cackled, then lost his smile and added, "We were doing a basic search yesterday for survivors, it was supposed to be our last, and some of our guys ran into some Creepers."

"Creepers?"

"The dead." John nodded. "Anyway, one of our young guys went out for his first time and he panicked and ran away. We ain't seen him since. We reckon he could be hiding in one of the houses somewhere. He's probably too frightened to come out."

"I know where this is going," Vince said with a smile. "You want me to go as well?"

"Yes. Is that okay?"

"Good. I'll take Pickle with me." Vince pointed over to the man that was asleep on one of the lawns.

"If that's what you want."

"It is," Vince said. "Now, if it's alright with you, gentleman, I'm gonna see how Karen is."

Vince strolled across the road, leaving Paul and John to their own devices, and stepped in John Lincoln's house and trotted upstairs to the first floor. When he reached the landing, he went straight to the bedroom door and opened it enough to put his head through the gap.

"Knock, knock," said Vince, peering his head around the door. He could see that Karen was already awake and stepped into the bedroom that belonged to John Lincoln. His look was full of sympathy and had a thin smile on his features.

"Come in," she said with little enthusiasm. She was sitting up and looked like she had just woken.

Vince entered the room. "I won't stay long. Just wondering how you're feeling."

"Empty," said Karen, her eyes gazing at the wall that was opposite her. "I feel empty. And sore."

"Well, if there's anything I can..." Vince felt awkward and didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say.

Typical man in these delicate situations: Hopeless.

Deep down, he wanted to be out of the room, and was unsure what was the correct thing to do in such a situation. Should he go over and hold her hand and listen to what she had to say, if she had
anything
to say? Should he go over, give her a kiss and make an excuse that he had to leave?