Snatchers (Book 8): The Dead Don't Pray (3 page)

Chapter Six

Pickle, Lee and Sheryl took a walk around the ground floor of the Lea Hall building. It appeared that there wasn't enough taken that could affect the people of the Sandy Lane camp massively, but the fact that just two men had come in and helped themselves had made all of them shudder with dread.

It was still early, and the news of the burglary and Nicholas' death began to spread. Pickle rubbed his eyes and yawned, forcing Lee to tell the man to join Karen back at the house of 23 Sandy Lane and try and get more sleep. Bentley had already left.

"I'm okay," protested Pickle, albeit weakly.

"We'll check upstairs and see what medical stuff is missing," said Lee. He nodded to Sheryl, who was standing next to him. "We'll see what's gone, then get our heads down for a few hours when Geoff and Jon Talbot come here for
their
shift. You get going, Pickle. You look done-in."

"As long as yer sure." Pickle gave in and was too tired to argue back. Bentley made no apologies when he went straight back to his bed, hoping to get back to sleep—despite the pain in his mouth—with the help of the remaining cheap whisky in his bedroom.

"I
am
sure." Lee added, "I think from now on we're gonna make use of the sawn-offs we took at Hednesford, the run that cost Luke John his life. From now on, every guard has a gun, whether they're on barrier or perimeter duty."

"No training?"

"I'll make sure every gun is loaded. All they need to do, if they
have
to, is pull the trigger. Any fool can do that."

"I suppose if we're being spied on," Sheryl nodded her head in agreement with Lee's statement, "then seeing every guard carrying a weapon might make them think twice about breaking in. We're in the UK. Guns aren't that easy to get a hold of. Most survivors are probably out there with just blades and bats."

"Right then," Pickle spoke up. "I'll be off."

Harry Branston moved his tired legs from the Lea Hall building and headed for his house. He crossed Sandy Lane, then let out a sigh when he saw James McDonald—commonly known as Jimmy Mac—coming towards him, fists clenched. Pickle gave the man a polite, thin smile, and hoped he'd be left in peace as he was desperate for his bed. Jimmy Mac had other ideas.

"I heard what happened." Jimmy Mac's tone was full of anger, but Pickle chose to ignore him and carried on walking, and now had passed him.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" Jimmy Mac bellowed, making Pickle stop.

"Yeah?" Pickle muttered. "Well,
I'm
not listening."

"This would never have happened a couple of weeks ago."

Pickle turned around and took a few steps towards the now quivering Jimmy Mac. "What are yer tryin' to say? This is the new people's fault? An inside job? What?"

Jimmy Mac struggled for words and could now see his son, David McDonald, and his friend, Charles Pilkington, walking down Sandy Lane towards them. Both boys were bored and looking for something to do, even though it was early morning.

Seeing his son and his friend coming, Jimmy Mac gulped and said with false bravado, "You
know
what I'm trying to say. This whole thing stinks."

Pickle laughed, shook his head, then walked away from Jimmy Mac, nearing the two teenagers.

"Pussy," James McDonald sniggered as Pickle went past the boys, but Harry Branston carried on walking and never said a word. He was too tired for an argument, and certainly too tired to be involved with something physical. Putting James McDonald in his place could wait another time, if need be.

He walked down the pathway to the front garden, and opened the front door to the house that had been given to him and Karen. He walked through the living room, where he could see Karen napping on the couch. He smiled at her, then lifted his heavy boots up the stairs. As soon as he reached his room, he turned around and sat on the bed, groaning in delight that he was actually sitting down, and began to take his black boots off.

He lay on his bed, fully-clothed in his black gear that he had had on for days, and closed his eyes once he put his hands behind his head. He had no idea what shift he was on today—he had forgot and wasn't bothered, but he knew a fuel run the following morning was talked about. Pickle shook his head and a smile emerged on his face, thinking about the run. It seemed too good to be true. It probably was.

There was talk of going to Lichfield and taking a petroleum tank that had been abandoned. This information was given to them by a newcomer that arrived three days ago, and told Lee that the only reason, that
he
could think of, that the tank hadn't already been taken was because of the large horde on the supermarket car park and forecourt that was still present even after seven weeks.

Lichfield was still plagued with the dead. It was safer in Rugeley than it was in other towns, but the lack of food and fuel was still a worry for its surviving residents.

*

After a couple of hours sleep, Lee woke and went downstairs to wet the inside of his throat. As soon as he poured the plastic bottle into a mug, he groaned when the door was hammered. Lee sighed, certain who it might be, and took a quick swig of the water before heading for the main door of the house. He opened the door and could see Sheryl a yard away, Bentley was behind her.

"I'm sorry, Lee," said Bentley. "I didn't realise she didn't know."

"You wanna come in?" Lee asked Sheryl, opening the door wider.

"No, I don't want to come in," Sheryl growled. "I want to know why I'm not on this run tomorrow?"

Lee paused. "We need you here."

"Bollocks!" Sheryl scraped the side of her black hair with her fingers before continuing, "I've hardly ever missed a run. What have I done?"

"Nothing. We just thought that we'd take out a less experienced person with us. So that's why we're leaving you behind on this one and taking Rick Morgan."

Sheryl glared at Lee, and the fact that he couldn't look her in the eye proved that what was coming out of his mouth was bullshit. "Is this because of what happened days ago, in the woods, when we were out looking for Bentley?"

Lee gulped and peeked over Sheryl's shoulder to see Bentley still standing behind her. "Er ... no."

"Really? So it's not because you're embarrassed of our ten-second fuck?"

Lee smiled falsely, his face then reddened. He called over to Bentley, "Can you leave us alone?"

"No chance," laughed Bentley and folded his arms. "I wanna hear this."

"You're always doing runs," Lee tried to appease the irate female. "I just thought it'd be good to try someone else out."

"Like Rick Morgan? That guy's hopeless."

"He needs to learn, and with me, Pickle and Bentley out there tomorrow, it'll be good experience for him."

"Like it was for Luke John?"

"If we keep on choosing the same people..."

"From what I've heard, this one is too dangerous for a rookie." Sheryl's face was almost begging. "Just take five of us."

"Look, I'm not gonna stand here and argue with you."

"Fine."

Sheryl walked away, leaving Bentley and Lee standing, and made the short walk to 17 Sandy Lane. She slammed the door shut once she was inside, and began to jog up her stairs. She took her shoes off and plonked herself on the bed. "Bastard." She punched the side of her bed. "Stupid bastard."

She puffed out her cheeks, and became angrier the more she thought about the times she had been out on runs, and now this. Was this going to be a sign of things to come? People out on a run, whilst she was stuck in the camp, demoted to permanent perimeter or barrier duty, or even worse ... clothes washer? Was she going to be an individual that stock-checked or did medical rounds? Just because Lee was embarrassed? Fuck that!

That wasn't her. That wasn't Sheryl.

She sighed, lay down on her bed and slowly put her right hand under her trousers. She leaned her head back, released a gentle moan, then slid her fingers underneath her panties. She began to play with herself, and after minutes had passed, after she came, she turned on her side and fell asleep for forty-two minutes.

Chapter Seven

A knock on the door made Paul Dickson climb out of his seat. Kyle and Lisa were in their pyjamas and playing upstairs, and Paul was glad to see that it was Karen Bradley that stood behind the frosted glass of the main door. The shape behind the door was blurry, but he knew it was her. He opened it, and greeted the twenty-three-year-old with a warm smile. "Karen. Come in."

"Cheers."

Karen had a blue T-shirt on, green combats and white trainers. She stepped inside and they both went into the living room area and took a seat. The room had a red and brown rug, a defunct and dusty LG television, and both adults took a seat on the couch. "Kids upstairs?" she asked, still sleep deprived.

She knew it was a daft question—of course they were, but Paul smiled thinly and nodded the once. He asked, "How's things with you? I haven't seen you since yesterday morning."

Karen looked uncomfortable, and said shyly, "I decided to keep away for a bit."

"From me? Why?"

"I just thought I was coming round too much, being a nuisance."

"Nonsense."

She smiled at his quick response, and added, "I do miss our little hugging sessions when the kids are at Rosemary's."

"I know." Paul began to giggle, "I thought now with Pickle back you wouldn't need me as much."

Karen stared into Paul's dark eyes and slowly shook her head. "I'm not a user. You're still my friend. I've been purposely making my visits less because I thought I was coming round too much, not because Pickle's back on the scene."

Changing the subject, Paul Dickson cleared his throat and asked, "No news on Vincent?"

Karen looked sad at the mention of the man's name. She shook her head and thinned her lips. "No."

"He really grew on you, didn't he?"

Karen managed a short chortle. "Yes, I kind of liked him in the end."

"So have you completely given up hope on him returning?"

"It's been four days since Pickle saw him being swept away, and he's not here. So what do
you
think?" Karen realised her statement sounded a bit rude and gave Paul an apologetic look, which he acknowledged right away.

A knock on the door made Karen gasp and Paul shot up back to his feet. "I'm popular today," he joked.

He opened the door to see Rosemary and Daniel Badcock standing outside, but was baffled why they were present. "Everything alright?"

"I thought you were going to drop the kids off at mine," announced Rosemary. "You asked me to look after them yesterday."

"And
I'm
here because you never showed up for guard duty." Daniel was the next to speak up.

Paul Dickson looked on in confusion and wondered what the hell these people were going on about, and then it clicked. "Shit." Paul placed his hand over his mouth. "Daniel, I'm so sorry."

"What's wrong?" Karen now made an appearance and was standing next to Paul.

"I'm supposed to be on the barrier, by the Globe Island." Paul took a grey cardigan and threw it on quickly. He then turned to Rosemary. "Are you alright looking after the kids here?"

"That's fine." She smiled, but Karen could see sadness behind her smile. She was obviously missing Vince. They may not have been a couple that were in love, but they were two people that had been intimate with each other for months, and Karen could understand why Rosemary missed him—
she
even missed him.

"I was gonna come by to see how you're doing." Daniel spoke, looking at Karen.

"I'm fine," said Karen. "Still knackered. Had a kip on the couch earlier. How's the jaw?"

"Sore as hell." Daniel then took a step back as Paul left to go outside, and shouted after Paul, as he exited the garden gate in a hurry, "I hope you're alright using a gun."

"What?" Paul stopped and looked at Daniel, waiting for an explanation.

Daniel explained, "From now on, Lee wants everyone carrying."

"Er ... I don't know if—"

"You don't have a choice."

*

Paul Dickson eventually turned up at the Globe Island barrier and was relieved to see that he was on with Bentley. The other guy that was there he didn't know by name. He climbed up to the top of the cab and sat down next to Bentley, whilst the other guy sat inside the cab, smoking a cigar. Bentley had initially gone back to his home to grab some sleep, but he couldn't get off and asked Lee if he could do a few hours at the barrier. Lee agreed. Sheryl was supposed to be on, but was too exhausted to attend.

Paul peered at the shotgun that was sitting next to Bentley. Noticing Paul's concern, Bentley laughed, "Don't worry. It won't bite you."

Paul never verbally responded.

Bentley looked at Paul and nodded at the gun. "Pick it up. It's yours for a few hours."

Paul scratched at his dark hair in puzzlement. "I thought it was yours."

Bentley pulled up his green and white striped shirt to reveal
Glen
—his Glock—tucked into his blue jeans.

"I thought..."

"It still has four bullets left." Bentley picked up the shotgun and put it on Paul's lap. "Don't worry. You won't have to use it. It's just so we can look mean to outsiders, rather than being a bunch of men holding knives and bats like when
I
first turned up. It's people out there that are more of a danger than those dead fucks these days."

"I know that."

"Anyway, you better get used to holding that thing," said Bentley. "I hear you're on the perimeter tomorrow, with a couple of others, while we're out on this fuel run."

"I heard about that. Seems too good to be true that a tanker truck is sitting idle on a forecourt."

"It does," Bentley agreed, then hunched his shoulders, "but why would the new guy lie about something like that?"

"I don't know."

"They must have turned up to replenish the pumps, while the shit hit the fan, and had to abandon the tanker."

Paul questioned, "So it's been sitting there for seven weeks, untouched?"

"I think so. Must have been a shit load of the dead to keep that thing from being taken. Let's hope they're still not there."

Paul held the gun with trembling hands and thought about the Murphy family breaking into his home, and him and Kyle hiding in the cupboard whilst Daisy and Lisa were being dragged out of the house by the men. He felt terrible that day, but protecting Kyle was his main aim—his only aim. After they were taken, by force, out of his house, Paul helplessly watched as Lisa was thrown into the back of the van, whereas Daisy had her head caved in with the butt of a shotgun by the father of the clan. Maybe holding the shotgun, that Bentley had given him, reminded him of the event.

His frame shuddered as the memory skated across his mind. He never thought he'd see Lisa again, but Vince Kindl brought her back after driving to Little Haywood to avenge his son's murder.

I hope you're okay, Vince
.