Snatchers (Book 9): The Dead Don't Scream (2 page)

Chapter Three

It was bedtime for the younger generation of Sandy Lane, but Stephanie's eyes had suddenly opened, and she ran her fingers through her blonde greasy hair and twisted her face with repulsion. How long had it been since her hair had felt water? Three ... four days? She couldn't remember.

Stephanie Perkins sat up in her bed and wondered why her sleep had been so short. She went to bed around nine, and guessed that she had had an hour of sleep, if that. She then turned to her left as her ears picked up the gentle sobs coming from Lisa in the next bed.

The house had three bedrooms, so the option of sleeping alone was there, as Vince and Rosemary slept in the same room. But Rosemary asked Stephanie if she could stay in the same room as Lisa, and Stephanie agreed. There were two single beds in the room, and, although it hadn't been discussed, it appeared that Lisa's stay was now a permanent thing since Paul Dickson had lost his son.

"Are you okay?" Stephanie whispered over to the nine-year-old.

Lisa's weeping continued, and she never answered Stephanie's question.

"Lisa?" Stephanie persisted. "You okay?"

"No," the little girl managed to say inbetween her sobs.

"What's wrong?" Stephanie knew the query was a silly one, but wanted Lisa to know that she could talk to her and confide in her, if that's what she wanted to do.

"I miss my family."

Stephanie lay back down, exhaled out and put her arms behind her head. She was wide awake now. "So do I."

Stephanie pitied the little girl. She turned to the side and could see Lisa's shape in the duskiness. Lisa had her back to her. She was trying to compose herself, but she was fighting a losing battle.

From the beginning she cried most nights, especially when she was tied up in the Murphy house.

"Stephanie?" Lisa called out.

"Yes."

"I don't want to die."

The fourteen-year-old gulped as soon as Lisa blurted out the sentence and felt emotional. She struggled to respond, but eventually reassured her, "You won't die. We're safe here."

"No, we're not. We'll never be safe."

Stephanie sighed with frustration, unsure what to say to this girl that was five years younger than her. How do you tell a young girl that she was going to be fine whilst they're in the middle of the apocalypse? And after what she'd been through and what she'd lost?

Stephanie asked the young girl, "Do you want me to come in beside you and give you a snuggle?"

"Yes, please."

Stephanie got off of her bed and slipped underneath Lisa's quilt. She spooned the little girl and wrapped her right arm around her. Lisa began to stroke Stephanie's arm, like it was a cat. No words were spoken, and both females remained silent.

Within ten minutes they had both fallen back to sleep.

*

"I have a six inch tongue and I can breathe through my ears," Vince Kindl announced.

"Vince, you're a male chauvinist pig," Rosemary laughed.

"You know what's worse than a male chauvinist pig? A woman that doesn't do as she's told."

Rosemary sighed and said, "Somewhere out there is a tree, tirelessly producing oxygen so you can breathe. I think you owe it an apology."

"Well ... fuck you very much." Vince reached over to touch Rosemary's breast.

"Wait a minute." Rosemary slapped away Vince's hand and said, "I'm not sure if Lisa and Stephanie are asleep or not."

Both persons were lying on the bed, and for the first time since he came back Vince was pestering Rosemary for sex. When he returned, the news of Kyle Dickson's death, and his own near-death experience with the large brute from Spode Cottage, had shaken him. The assailant had taken an arrow in his upper back and Vince wondered if he could survive such an injury.

The residents of Sandy Lane that were physically fit and had never done guard duty before had been persuaded to do so since Vince had returned. Although some had received training from Bentley, one or two refused to hold a gun.

This pissed Vincent off.

The camp had never been so vulnerable, as far as Vince was concerned, and there were still people in the place that were reluctant just to hold a gun, and one or two made it abundantly clear that they didn't have it in them for guard duty, whether they had a gun or not. Perimeter duty was now done in pairs, with three sets of people doing the rounds, and barbed wire had been attached to the top of the wiry fence that ran alongside the rail track, where the back of the Lea Hall building and the field was.

As the weeks went by, the security of the place had improved. In the first weeks it was a few cars and a made-up gate that they used on each barrier, with no guns for weapons. It used to be enough to keep out the dead, but the threat that hung over the camp now was from a psychopath. A human.

On his return, Vince informed them that the man that had attacked him appeared to be on his own. Everyone else was cool about the situation and had told Vince that security was tight since Kyle's death anyway. Vince wondered about the man. If the wound he sustained wasn't life-threatening and if he
did
return, Vince was certain that he was more than capable of causing carnage on his own.

Still fully-clothed, Vince crept out of the room, forcing Rosemary to ask, "Where the hell are you going?"

"I'm gonna see if Stephanie and Lisa are asleep."

"I'll be surprised if Lisa is," Rosemary spoke up. "She's been a nervous wreck since Kyle's death."

Vince had disappeared for a few seconds before returning with a smile on his face. "They're both asleep. In the same bed."

Rosemary smiled. "Ah, bless them."

"Which means that you, lucky bitch, are gonna get some Kindl loving."

"Ooh, lucky me," Rosemary sarcastically responded, then pointed over to the door. "Put something behind the door in case one of them comes in."

"Seriously?" he huffed.

"Yes. If one of them walks in and we're performing
the beasts with two backs
, they could be scarred for life."

Vince lowered his head and added with a serious tone, "I think Lisa's already scarred for life, especially after..."

"I know." Rosemary patted the bed, urging Vince to sit next to her. "She's getting better. I can see progress."

"I hope so."

Rosemary looked at a rare sight: Vince Kindl was emotional. She smiled at the fact that he was showing a human quality and patted him on the thigh once he sat back on the bed. "I'm not really in the mood anymore," she confessed.

"Me neither," he admitted.

"You just fancy a cuddle instead?"

Vince nodded. "I'll put you on my
to do
list for later."

Chapter Four

Karen Bradley was in her living room and had a moment that almost reduced her to tears. She put it down to her hormones, the recent death of young Kyle Dickson and everything else that had happened.

She then thought about the recent past and the shit her and Pickle had to go through. Sometimes she would forget about some of the things she'd done.

Jesus! I blew a man away in just the second week
.

She thought back to when they fled Heath Hayes, with Jack Slade and his group, in the prison van. They stopped and a ruffian and a young man had popped out of the woods. The young man, Oliver Newton, was a part of Jack's group before the split from the village hall. But the rough-looking individual had been responsible for the death of a guy called Gary Jenson who had been raped and murdered in a supermarket canteen.

Karen put a Browning to the cocky man's head and, without conversing with others, she shot him. Pickle worried for her when she did this, but it appeared that finding out being pregnant in the third week had calmed her down, compared to how she behaved in the first couple of weeks.

Pickle walked in the living room, from the kitchen, with a bowl of cold noodles. He sat down on the couch and said to Karen, "Yer sure yer don't want nothin' to eat?"

She smiled sadly and shook her head. She then jumped when she heard a rap at the door.

"Expecting anyone?" Pickle asked Karen.

"No." She looked over to Harry Branston and could see that he was tucking into his noodles and had no intention of getting off his arse.

She laughed, "I'll get it then, shall I?"

"Okay."

Karen, still laughing, got up and strolled to the front door. She opened it to find Daniel Badcock, standing with a glum look on his features.

"What's up with you?" Karen quizzed with humour in her tone. "You look like somebody has just stabbed your cat."

"It's worse than that," said Daniel. "Can I come in?"

Karen pushed the door wider and walked into the living room where Daniel followed her, then he greeted Pickle with a nod of the head. Pickle had finished his noodles and put the bowl to the floor. With his mouth full, he asked Daniel what was wrong.

"I'm ...
we're
worried about Paul." Daniel then paused.

Pickle sat back and puffed out a breath, waiting to hear what Daniel was about to say, but a concerned Karen couldn't help herself and tried to speed things up.

She asked, "Why, what's happened?"

"We were by the railway bridge. We saw one of the dead and Paul took care of it," Daniel began to explain, "but when I mean he took care of it..."

Pickle urged, clasping his hands together, "Go on."

"He lost it. Big time."

"How bad did he lose it?" Karen wasn't sure if Daniel was just exaggerating. "In what way?"

"He struck the dead thing, and once it fell, he kept on smacking it with the butt of the shotgun until its head was unrecognisable and all mush."

Pickle looked at Karen, but she seemed unruffled by this story. She said, "We've all been there. And he's been through a lot, so tarring him with the crazy brush is a bit strong."

"I'm not tarring him with any brush," protested Daniel. "But afterwards he pissed on the corpse. It was freaky shit."

"Don't yer worry about it," Pickle stood and began to walk Daniel out of the house. "We'll keep an eye on him."

"Thanks." Daniel stepped out into the August evening. "That's all I want you to do. But..."

Karen remained where she was and now it was just the two men in the front garden of 23 Sandy Lane. "But what?" asked Pickle.

"I do think he's losing it."

Pickle smiled. "I'll take care o' it."

*

His grunting and groaning had now come to a close, and once Robert Newman fell onto his back, he put his hands behind his head and was trying to catch his breath. He took his condom off and placed it on his bedside table. The twenty-six-year-old turned to Sheryl Smith and asked, "Well? What do you think?"

A naked Sheryl sat up and began putting her clothes back on. She never gave him an answer, so he asked her again.

"What do I think?" she sniped. "Was I supposed to have brought a score-sheet with me?"

He never answered and fired another query at the woman, who now only had her boots to put on before she could leave his house. "And where're you going?"

"Home. Where else?"

Robert sat up and shook his head.

"What the fuck are you shaking your head at?" Sheryl turned her back to him and began tying up her laces.

"Do you know what your problem is?" Sheryl never answered, so Robert continued. "You get horny, you sleep with someone, then afterwards you become angry. Why?" Robert pointed over to her 'Buddy' tattoo. "Because of guilt. He's been dead years. You need to let go."

She stood up and snarled, "You don't know what you're fucking talking about. The reason I'm in a bad mood is because you're shit in the sack."

"So why do you come round then?" Robert Newman's face was smug. He was a handsome man, a little overweight, and was once described by Vince Kindl as a fat Johnny Depp.

"Because my dildo takes four double A batteries, and it's very hard to get them these days."

"Using a vibrator isn't the same as being with a man."

"You're right." Sheryl nodded, rubbing her short black hair. "It
isn't
the same. When you use a vibrator you don't get the bad breath over your face, the smelly armpits and the smarmy comments afterwards."

"It's just sex." Robert was now off the bed and put on a dressing gown that had seen better days. "A few of us still do it, despite what's been happening. Look at Vince and Rosemary."

"What about them?" Sheryl headed for the bedroom door, but she paused and turned around to allow Robert to finish off whatever he was about to say. Robert added, "I know Vince was hardly a saint back at his old camp, and Rosemary had strayed once when he was missing."

"So what? Anyway," Sheryl huffed and opened the bedroom door. "It's getting late, and I've got an early shift tomorrow."

"You want me to walk you out?"

Sheryl laughed sarcastically and shook her head. "I'm sure I'll manage."

"Okay." Robert blew her a kiss and said, playfully, "Same time next week?"

"I don't think so."