Snatchers (Book 9): The Dead Don't Scream (26 page)

Chapter Fifty One

The black Range Rover went a different way back to Colwyn Place, and this time Vince and Pickle recognised where they were once the vehicle went over a small hump bridge. They were soon going to be on the Stafford Road.

Vince and Pickle were in the passenger seat with Danny at the far end. Vince leaned over to Pickle and said softly, "Going this way means we have to go through Wolseley to get back to this little place of theirs."

Pickle tried to appease Vince. He knew what was going through his mind. "Don't yer worry. Those people who killed Sheryl are well-gone."

Vince whispered back, "But that Danny said he saw four of them."

"Aye, but that was yesterday." Pickle nodded. "Danny spotted them on the same day we had a run-in with the gang. I think they all came together, but split up. Some went into No Man's Land and the others were by the pub, where we met them."

"I didn't want to tell
them
this," Vince gestured with his head at Danny, Freddie and Stephen, "but they lost somebody. They'll want revenge. They may come back."

"They killed Sheryl. They could have killed us all."

"But if that Drake character isn't satisfied, he might send a crew back."

"Stop sweating," laughed Pickle. "And how do you know that Drake is a he?"

Vince shrugged his shoulders and never responded verbally.

Pickle laughed and shook his head, angering Vince a little. It wasn't like Pickle to be patronising. "I'm sure this isn't the first time they've lost somebody in the two months this has been going on."

"Probably not."

"Calm down and stop shittin' yerself."

The vehicle had now turned left and was gathering speed on the Stafford Road. Fields were to their left and woodland was to their right.

Vince was about to speak once more, but a grunt from Rowley, the driver, followed by a profanity, made the men stare at the front.

"What's up?" Freddie, in the front passenger seat, was the first to speak up.

"I can see it," said Vince, before Rowley had a chance to speak.

"I wonder how that happened," said Stephen, then twitched and cleared his throat stridently.

They all looked to their left as they could now see the overturned lorry. It was on its side, lying half in the road and half in the field. Whatever happened, the driver must have lost control and the vehicle had overturned and crashed into the weak-looking wooden fence that separated the field and the main road.

Both Pickle and Vince slowly turned their heads and gazed at one another for a couple of seconds.

"Stop the car!" Vince exclaimed.

"What?" Stephen shifted the Range Rover, ready to speed up, but Vince clouted the man across the head. "I said: stop the car, you twitchy bastard. I recognise that lorry."

"Do it!" This time Pickle got involved. "Trust us."

Stephen did as he was told and parked the vehicle near the scene of the accident, ignoring the protests of Freddie Johnson and Danny Gosling.

"I hope you two know what you're doing." Stephen Rowley wasn't taking any chances, and kept the engine of the vehicle running.

Explained Vince, "That HGV used to be on my camp, and then it was used as a barrier by the Globe Island."

"It's LGV," Danny spoke up. "They're called LGVs now, not HGVs. My dad used to be a long distance lorry driver before he—"

"Shut up," Vince and Pickle said in unison.

Pickle pushed out his head and glared at the vehicle. It was definitely the truck that used to act as a barrier by the Globe Island. "Whoever left in that thing could still be inside."

Vince left the vehicle and Pickle soon followed him. Pickle slammed the passenger door shut, and neither men was expecting anyone else to come out to join them. And they didn't.

With both men holding their weapons, they looked around the area—the main road, the woodland behind them and the field in front—then walked towards the overturned lorry, the cab lying on its side. It appeared that the passenger side was the one that they could get to, and Vince and Pickle hesitated very little when they made the short climb to the top of the overturned vehicle.

They peered in and could see the passenger window had been wound down, so they could see in properly and also hear what was occurring inside the articulated lorry. They both took a while to comprehend what was happening.

There were two Snatchers inside the vehicle, trying to get out now that Vince and Pickle's faces had been spotted, and around the dead and the dashboard was blood, limbs and some entrails, but not much. The two that were inside the cab of the vehicle had obviously devoured some poor soul earlier, and Vince was beginning to recognise who the two dead were now.

"Oh shit." Vince crouched down on the passenger door and looked in further.

"What is it?" Pickle was also crouched down.

"At least we know who took the lorry now."

"Who? Who are they?"

"It's the Pilkingtons." Vince brought his T-shirt over his nose as the smell was beginning to torture him, and pointed inside. "That's the mother, and that poor bastard is Charles."

Pickle screwed his face in disgust and asked, "So where's the dad?"

"I'm guessing that hand and those entrails on the dashboard is all that's left of him."

"Shit."

Vince shook his head. "I don't get it."

"Yer don't get
what?
"

"I'm trying to work out how this came about."

"Does it matter?" Pickle sighed. "It's done." Pickle then rubbed his chin in thought and said, "Wasn't Jimmy Mac's son staying with them? David McDonald?"

Vince hunched his shoulders. "Must have perished back at Sandy Lane. Or ran away."

"Damn shame."

"I can't even reach that far down," said Vince, "to put them out of their misery."

"Just leave them." Pickle jumped off the truck and landed on the grass. It was a surprisingly soft landing. He then urged Vince to do the same.

"Seems wrong to leave them like that," Kindl said, before jumping down, landing next to Pickle.

"Since when did yer have a heart," Pickle snickered.

"I'm serious."

"Look," Harry Branston ran his fingers through his dark hair, "they're dead. It doesn't matter if they're six feet under or walking around the village, they're still dead. Let the cab be their new home. Come on." Pickle beckoned Vince to follow him back to the main road, where the running of the Range Rover's engine could be heard. "Let's get back to the Range Rover before Rowley gets pissed off and drives back to Haywood without us."

The pair of them made their way to the vehicle and both took one last look around before entering. Vince went into the back first. Pickle was next to enter, but his name being called out stopped him from getting in.

He spun round, looking in the direction where the voice had come from, and refrained from speaking out at first. He continued to glare into the trees that were across the road. He clasped his mace and, with both hands, rested it on his shoulder.

"Pickle?" It was Vince's voice he could hear behind. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Someone called ma name. Did yer hear it?" Pickle said, still transfixed by the trees.

"No."

A rustling noise could now be heard from all males. Vince had the passenger door open and was standing next to it, and Rowley had his window down, wondering what the hell was going on.

With the individual calling out Pickle's name, he knew that it wasn't the dead, but a person that knew him. Friend or foe? He didn't know, but in the old world he had a lot of enemies. However, this didn't sound like the voice that belonged to an older man. The voice sounded weak, immature.

"Show yerself," Pickle spoke in the direction of the woodland. "Yer not gonna get hurt. I promise yer."

He knew that if the individual had a firearm, then he would have been shot by now, so to make himself look less aggressive, he decided to hand the mace to Vince. Pickle reassured Kindl that he knew what he was doing, and turned back round to face the trees and took a few steps forwards, his arms out. "Come out. Let's talk."

The figure slowly emerged from the area and Pickle could see already that it was a young boy, not an adult, that was emerging from the trees. Once the youngster stepped out onto the road, covering his eyes from the glaring sun, Pickle released a smile and walked over to the teenager.

The boy was crying, his clothes were dirty-looking and the stains on his jeans suggested that he had wet himself, maybe more than once.

Despite the appearance of the teenager, Pickle went over to the broken boy and gave him a hug. The boy wrapped his arms around Harry Branston and broke down, sobbing hard and staining Pickle's shoulder with his tears. Even Vince Kindl felt a lump in his throat on witnessing this.

"It's okay," Pickle tried to reassure the young man. "Yer safe now, son."

Both males broke away from their embrace and Pickle had the palms of his hands on the youngster's tearstained cheeks. "Yer can tell me what happened later," said Pickle. "But in the meantime, we need to get yer back to a place that's not that far from 'ere and get yer washed and hydrated."

The youngster nodded, and Pickle threw his arm around him and walked him to Rowley's means of transport.

"You better move up," Vince said to Danny. "Looks like we're gonna have four in the back."

Danny stroked his thick beard and shook his head. He looked incensed. "Wait a minute. We'll never get four in the back."

"Course yer will," Pickle snapped. "It's a fuckin' Range Rover. And if we can't," he then pointed at Danny, "yer goin' in the boot, sunshine."

"Move!" Vince got into the back of the vehicle and slapped Danny's thigh, urging him to move along. "Do it! Or somebody's going to take a ride into spanky town."

Danny did what he was told and the young boy was next to go in, followed by Kindl. Pickle looked in and could see Danny, Vince and the youngster squeezed up together, and knew it was going to be tight. He struggled to shut the passenger door once he was in, but once he did, he told Rowley, "Ready when yer are, Steve."

"
Stephen,
" Rowley corrected. "Please don't call me Steve, Pickle. I hate it."

"Okay, Stephen." Pickle tried to stifle his sniggering. "Ready to go?"

Stephen Rowley looked in the rear-view mirror and took a look at the newcomer. "Are we not gonna get an explanation, Pickle?"

"Not yet, but yer can get an introduction." Pickle looked at the youngster, who was still shaking with nerves, and said to him, "Yer obviously know Vince." Pickle then introduced the youngster to Danny and Freddie, then pointed to Rowley. "And this is Stephen."

Stephen smiled in the rear-view mirror, "Good to meet you, chap. And you are?"

"Everybody," Pickle said, and put his arm around the nervous teenager. "This is a young man from our old camp, Sandy Lane. This is David McDonald."

Chapter Fifty Two

After Danny's return, Stephen Rowley had parked the vehicle at the side of the road where the rest of the vehicles were. He told Pickle and Vince that he'd see them later and needed to give Old Tom a hand with something. He never specified what.

David McDonald had been housed with Stephen Rowley at number seven. Pickle told Lincoln that he was happy if David could share a house with himself and Karen once she was back on her feet, but Lincoln had already made his mind up.

Ten minutes had passed, and Vince and Pickle had sat on the lawn of Pickle's future house, 10 Colwyn Place, and could see John Lincoln approaching the men with a grin on his features.

"What does this prick want now?" Vince muttered to Pickle as John came towards them. He placed the palm over his mouth and added softly, "And why is he always so fuckin' jolly?"

Pickle never responded. He stood to his feet as Lincoln got nearer and brushed himself down. Vince remained sitting.

"I'm sorry for being a pain," said John Lincoln. "I told you before about the bodies that we've burned over the last few weeks or so."

"Yes, you have." Vince said with sarcasm. "And it was a beautiful story."

"While you were away," John began, ignoring Vince's comment, "we had come to a decision. On my orders, a couple of guys have started to dig a large hole over at the field. May take a while. I think burning them is good to stop the spreading of possible diseases, but just to make sure, we were going to bury them afterwards."

"I suppose it's a bit more respectful burying them as well. Even if they're all together," Pickle spoke up. "Is Sheryl on this ... pile?"

John Lincoln lowered his head and nodded sadly. "And Nick Gregory. I'm really sorry about the rush, especially with your friend recently deceased. The flies, you see..."

"Yer don't have to explain."

"I'm not asking you to put them in the hole yourself; there're dozens of them. We've got a couple of guys already over there, Stephen and a man called James Thomson."

"I thought Stephen was helping out Old Tom."

"This is another Stephen. Not Stephen Rowley." John Lincoln rubbed his large belly and added further, "It's out of the street and just over the road, opposite the entrance. If you want to go and have a look, or even say a few words."

Pickle looked at John strangely.

John explained, "I heard you're a religious man."

"I can say a few words, if yer think it'll help." Pickle nodded and gave Vince a playful kick in the thigh. "We may as well give them a hand."

"There's enough shovels over there," John laughed. "That's the beauty, or
was
the beauty, of living near the garden centre."

"We'll go over there now." Pickle walked away and told Vince to walk beside him.

Vince Kindl got up and caught up with Pickle. Both men were heading towards the steel gate as John Lincoln walked away, back into his own home.

"Why doesn't he get
his
hands dirty?" There was fury in Kindl's tone, but Pickle chose to ignore it. "This is exactly what he wanted. He was hinting for us to go over there and help those men out."

"He never
said
that we should help."

"No, but he was hinting at it," Vince moaned.

"I'm happy to be kept busy, are yer not?"

"That's not the point. He barks his orders and then slopes off back to his house. Lazy bastard."

"He took us in, Vince."

"Yeah, because of me."

"I know what yer problem is." Pickle began to laugh and scratched the top of his left palm. He looked at the itchy hand. It still looked funny that his little finger was missing. Would he ever get used to it? "Yer pissed off because yer supposed to be a hero round these parts, and now yer burying the dead."

The guard at the gate, Terry Braithwaite, was carrying a crowbar and gave the two men a nod. They nodded back and the gate was pulled and opened.

They began to head for the field. It was a short walk.

They crossed the road, climbed the small wooden fence into the field and began walking towards two men. They were already picking up the charcoaled bodies and throwing them into the large hole that had been dug. Once they got nearer, Vince and Pickle could see that the hole was six feet by six feet, roughly, and the depth was around four. It looked like half of the job had already been done.

"Hello, gentlemen." Pickle remarked and offered his hand to both individuals. "Harry Branston, but most people call me Pickle."

The man on the right nodded and introduced himself as James Thomson. He was a huge man, muscular, and had stubble on his face with little hair on his head.

"James Thomson?" enquired Pickle. "No relation to Jamie Thomson, a prison guard at Stafford. Not brothers, are yer?"

"No relation at all." Thomson looked at Pickle blankly and shook his head. "It'd be a bit daft if my parents had two sons and named one Jamie and the other James, wouldn't it?"

Pickle never answered and thought for a few seconds. He then nodded. "I suppose so."

Then the other guy shook Pickle's hand. "Stephen Bonser." The character who had introduced himself as Stephen Bonser then looked at Vince for a few seconds with a straight face. Vince had no idea what the guy's problem was.

Then Vince recognised him. In fact, they recognised one another at the same time.

"Vince, right?" Stephen clicked his fingers and pointed at Kindl.

"Never thought I'd see you again," Vince laughed. "What happened at the pub?"

"Ran out of stuff."

"Ahem," Pickle cleared his throat and looked at Vince, then Stephen. "Will one o' yer two gentleman care to explain what's going on?"

"Remember when I left the caravan site," Vince began to explain, "and I was on my way here to track down Kevin Murphy?"

"O' course."

"Well, this is the guy that knocked me out and tied me up before I shot Kevin."

"To be fair," Stephen Bonser laughed, making his wiry frame shudder up and down, "you did break into my place."

"I needed information."

Stephen then wagged his finger at Vince playfully. "You're lucky it was me and not my psycho brother, Jason."

Vince smiled and began to cast his mind back when he had broken into the Lamb and Flag three weeks back. There had been so much going on after his return from Little Haywood, with his camp being attacked, the move and now the Sandy Lane disaster, sometimes he'd forget about some of the other things he had done over the last two months or so.

"Wait a minute." Pickle broke the men's camaraderie for a while and rubbed his stubbly face in thought. He pointed at the middle-aged man that had introduced himself as Stephen. "Yer surname's Bonser? And yer say yer have a brother called Jason?"

"Er ... yes." There was a look of puzzlement on Stephen's face.

"Jailbird, was he?"

Stephen nodded. "Stafford prison."

"Jason Bonser was on my house block," Pickle said. "I used to be an inmate in Stafford Jail. A couple of officers released the house block and we all escaped, including your brother."

"So he could be about?" Stephen Bonser didn't look too impressed. "Jason's a prick, and his pal, Kyle Horan, isn't too clever either."

"Yer won't be seeing Jason again."

Stephen never responded verbally. His facial expression alone urged Pickle to continue with his talk.

"I'm not gonna lie to yer," Pickle decided to tell Stephen the truth, "but he was a cunt."

"Was?"

"My friend, Karen, picked him up," Pickle began. "She didn't know who he was. I was ill, so I didn't recognise him at first. Then he tried to smother me with a pillow. We shot him in the leg, and Karen took him out in the van and dumped him at some village. It wasn't far enough."

Stephen nodded. "What happened?"

"Next thing ... he turns up at the house we were staying in at Heath Hayes, limping, and brought back a shit load o' the dead with him."

"And then?" Stephen already knew the answer, but tried to speed Pickle's story up.

Pickle decided to spare Stephen the gory details and gave him an answer that wasn't too distressing. "He was attacked. He never made it."

Pickle thought that it sounded so much better than:
He was ripped apart by dozens of the rotting bastards and screamed in pain until he was unable to.

Vince gave Stephen and James Thomson a hand with the bodies and the only two that hadn't been burned was Sheryl's and Nick Gregory's. "We were going to burn her after we'd dumped the rest in the hole." Stephen Bonser lowered his head. "Sorry. Bad choice of words."

"That's okay," Vince said. He looked at Sheryl's pale face and then at her left wrist, seeing the
Buddy
tattoo that was in old English. "We only knew her a few weeks. At least she's now at peace with Buddy."

The guys had put Sheryl in the hole last and took a few steps back. Stephen tried to explain, "We wanted to keep the hole open after we've put her in, just in case..."

"Just in case there's more in the future?" Pickle smiled thinly.

Stephen gulped and nodded. "But John Lincoln wants them buried."

"I understand."

Pickle announced to the two men and Vince that he would like to say a little prayer before they cremated the body and buried Sheryl with a bunch of people she never knew. Both men agreed and lowered their heads. Pickle thought it was a nice touch. He was expecting the guys to leave them in peace for a few minutes, but they chose to stay and be involved with the prayer.

Pickle cleared his throat. "Our Father, which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy Name. Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us.  And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen."