Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) (57 page)

Lee turned around so that his back was to the three of them, then dropped to his knees while his eyes were still tightly shut. "Pickle?" he spoke softly. In such a short amount of time it appeared that Lee had accepted his fate.

Said Pickle, "Yes."

"I heard you're a religious guy. Can you say a few words?"

"What do yer want me to say?"

"I don't know. The main one."

"The main one?" Pickle looked baffled, until the penny dropped. "The Lord's Prayer?"

Lee nodded. "And don't take my body back. Just leave me here."

"No chance!" said Vince. "I'm not leaving you out here for the crows."

"Please!" Lee begged. "It is my wish."

Pickle paused for a few seconds, and released his breath before beginning. He began the prayer. After saying a few lines Pickle was finding it difficult, and his voice became a little croaky and went up an octave on one occasion because of the emotion of it all.

Vince and Karen stood with tears in their eyes as Pickle progressed towards the end of the prayer. Vince turned away, and Karen took another step forward and pointed the barrel a yard from the back of Lee's head.

The words that were leaving Pickle's mouth were not being heard by either Karen or Vince. They were too upset to listen to them, and focused on the poor sight of the brave Lee Johnson, on his knees, knowing he had seconds before leaving the new world for good. Karen caressed the trigger, and her bottom lip quivered.

It was a fucked up world.

Only minutes ago she was having a conversation with this young man, and now he had been infected and she was pointing a gun at the back of his head. She had no idea why he never asked to get his neck broken, or stabbed through the heart.

Why such a violent and messy choice? Maybe because it was quick, there was no going back, and he had no family so there was no need to see his face for one last time once he passed. It was a request from Lee Johnson that was never questioned by any of them. If that's what a dying man wanted, to have his head blown off and be left to rot, shouldn't he get it with no questioning?

"The power and the glory. Forever and ever." Pickle gulped and looked at Karen. "Amen."

Both standing men jumped when Karen squeezed the trigger, and skull, blood and brain matter exploded upwards and forwards as the rest of Lee's body fell onto the grass. It was a mess. But it was quick and it was what he wanted.

They all sadly went into their vehicles. Pickle drove Karen back, and Vince took the pick-up truck, vowing to retrieve Colin, and the vehicle he died in, at a later date.

They left Lee slumped in a bloody mess at the side.

Chapter Fifty Four

After a guard of Vince's came back with Colin's car and his body, there was an air of melancholy around the camp. The camp had lost two popular residents, and the story of their deaths had spread quickly and shocked the people. This wasn't good for Vince's leadership role.

Lee Johnson was a popular resident, and Robin Barton—the white-haired man—was racked with guilt for allowing both Lee and Karen to leave with little fight. Vince assured Robin that it wasn't his fault, and it was Lee's decision to leave. He also highlighted that the people in the camp were residents, not prisoners, and urged strongly for them to keep within the camp and keep safe, but he had no control over them overall.

Vince, Karen and Pickle decided to sit on the grass, by the barrier. They sat for ten minutes, allowing the shock to dilute. Minutes later they heard footsteps behind them. It was Paul Dickson.

Paul looked uncomfortable, his sweaty hands clasped together, and said to Vince. "I never really had the chance to thank you for what you did—for what you
all
did."

"That's okay." Vince wasn't in the mood for praise. He just wanted a bit of piece and quiet.

"I just heard about your friend. I'm sorry." Paul added, "Makes you wonder how long it'd be before these things are wiped out."

"Some humans are just as bad as the dead," Karen chipped in.

Paul nodded his head in agreement. "I have seen many horrific things, but the worst was from humans, I have to admit."

"You've had some bad experiences yourself?" asked Karen.

"Yes," Paul spoke. "We had an incident when the Murphy family killed my neighbour and took her daughter away. It was awful."

"Who?" Vince was confused, and wasn't really listening to Paul at first.
Murphy?
He knew that name. That one name had brought him out of his trance-like state.

"They're a family in Little Haywood. I have a feeling Rugeley will be their next destination because it's the nearest town, if they're not already here."

"Is that where yer originally from?" Pickle perked up. "Little Haywood? I had no idea. I lived there for a bit."

Paul nodded.

Vince was perplexed, and had to ask, "So what were you doing at the crossroads?"

"Coming back from my mother's." Paul answered. "I lost my wife and daughter..." Paul couldn't go on.

Pickle thought about the small town of Little Haywood. He hadn't been back to his place in weeks, ever since he was released. The last time he was there was when they arrived with the prison van. There was himself, KP, Laz, Conor Snodgrass, and the two prison officers, Jamie Thomson and Janine Perry. He had retrieved his Browning handguns and shotgun from under the floorboards of his room, then had to jump onto the roof of the van as the influx of the dead emerged in his street. A few minutes later, they had left Little Haywood and parked up at the Wolseley Arms pub and decided to stay there the night.

"I'm still a little mixed up how you were at those crossroads." Vince began scratching his head.

"It's a long story," Paul cackled. "Basically, if it wasn't for the Murphy mob I'd still be at home. And if it wasn't for some guy I met in the woods—"

"What's this Murphy mob you're going on about?" Vince was becoming impatient at Paul's gibberish.

"You've heard of the Murphy family in Little Haywood, right?"

Pickle nodded. Pickle said, "I never did time with any of them. I think one of the brothers was in Stafford jail for armed robbery, but in a different houseblock to me. The inmates in that houseblock were left to starve to death."

Vince stood to his feet and grabbed a hold of Paul by the shoulders. This confused and frightened the man. "Are you telling me that these lot made it?"

"Do you know these people?" Karen asked Vince. She was confused. She had never heard of them.

Vince ignored Karen, and asked Paul, "What happened?"

"They were breaking into peoples' houses. I had an accident with their youngest, Lance." Vince released him, and Paul lowered his head and puffed out a breath. "He broke into my house. He came upstairs and I hit him. He fell and broke his neck. Then the brothers and the dad attacked my neighbours, set fire to my house—"

"Forget about that," Vince interjected, and waved his hands at Paul, telling him to stop with his waffling. "All I want to know is the following: Is
Kevin Murphy
still alive?"

"Yes." Paul was unsure why Vince was obsessed with just the one member of the Murphy family. "At least, he was a few days ago. I saw him with my own eyes."

Vince straightened his back, his chest puffed out and it slowly deflated once he released the air from his cheeks. He walked off and Pickle called after him, but his words fell on deaf ears.

Paul looked at Pickle confusingly and shrugged his shoulders. "Something I said?"

"I have no idea."

Paul then turned around and smiled as he saw Kyle with Shaz, heading his way. They were talking about something. Shaz had lost a son. Kyle had lost his mother, and sister, so he suspected they were talking about...grief? Heaven? He had no real idea. He excused himself from Pickle and called over, "You okay, big chap?"

Kyle nodded, and almost had a smile on his face as his dad approached. "I was looking up at the sky and talking to mummy and Bell."

Paul confusingly looked at Shaz, but she held her hands up as if to say that 'talking to the sky' wasn't her idea.

"Okay, son," Paul said sadly, thanked Shaz who had now walked off to join Pickle and Karen, and both headed back to their caravan.

"What do you want for dinner?" asked Paul, his arm around his son's shoulder.

"I'm not hungry," the little man responded.

"No. Me neither."

"Dad?"

"Yes, big chap."

"Do you think we'll see Bentley and Laura again?"

"I hope so, son. I hope so."

Paul kept his arm around his little man, and began thinking about Vince and why he began acting weird once Kevin Murphy's name had been mentioned.

Chapter Fifty Five

The girls had decided to go back to their caravan, leaving Pickle alone, sitting on the grass. He eventually got to his feet, turned around while he was brushing himself down, and could see Vince. He was walking briskly, making long, angry strides, and had a bag over his shoulder and a shotgun in his left hand. As soon as Vince got closer, Pickle approached him.

"And where do yer think yer going?" Pickle placed his hand on Vince's chest, stopping him from progressing any further.

"I need to do something. I need to leave the camp for a bit." Vince then slapped Pickle's hand away. "Let me get past."

Pickle never said a word and glared at Vince for an answer.

"It's personal." Vince lowered his head, and Pickle removed himself out of Vince's way as he could see that the man was upset.

"Yer can tell me," said Pickle. "Whatever it is."

Vince wiped his nose with his thumb and forefinger, and looked to see if anyone was around. He looked behind him and ushered Pickle into one of the vacant caravans. Vince took out his keys and they both went into the nearest one.

Pickle's nose winced at the musty-smelling place. It needed fresh air. "How many empty ones have yer got left?"

"When people left and...died," Vince began, "there were quite a few. Since you lot arrived and a few others..." He never finished his sentence, and knew it was just pointless small-talk.

"Sit down." ordered Pickle.

Vince did what he was told, dropped his gear in the kitchen, and gazed down at his shoes.

"So...what's this all about?" Pickle waited patiently for an answer. "As soon as Paul mentioned the Murphy family, yer lost it. Somethin' snapped up here." Pickle tapped his forefinger against his temple.

Vince's head was lowered so much that Pickle could only see the top of it. Vince was taking an age to answer Pickle. If this was any other male from the camp, Vince would have told them to go fuck themselves and would have left by now, but Pickle was different.

He respected Pickle. He liked Pickle.

At last, Vince began to talk. "A couple of years ago my son was taken."

"Son? Taken?"

"He was out on his scooter, and he was abducted by a guy." Vince then raised his head slowly, and Pickle gasped when he saw the man was distraught. Tears streamed down his face, and his lower lip trembled a little. "I was with a woman briefly. I got her pregnant, and we broke up. I saw the boy now and again, but never told my parents about him in case it was something else I'd fuck up."

"How can yer keep that a secret?"

"Easy." Vince sniffed hard. "I never saw him for the first four years. I bumped into him and his mother in town, and asked if I could see him now and again." Vince cleared his throat and wiped his tears with the back of his hands. "Anyway, my boy, Brian, was at his mum's and was out on his bike. The next time my ex looked out of her window...he was gone."

"So what does this...Kevin Murphy have to do with it?"

"It was him that took him. There were witnesses. The car that Brian was dragged into had been noted, and Kevin was brought to trial. The case collapsed, and jurors began to pull out."

"I didn't think jurors were allowed to do that."

"The family had got to them. If you're scared enough and have been intimidated enough, you'd keep away, you wouldn't come back. It was a farce. Insufficient evidence is what they eventually said."

"I heard o' the family, but most o' them were into petty crime, so our paths never really crossed."

"Two days after he was taken, Brian was found in a field, tied up, naked. Dead." Vince sobbed and cried hard. He placed both the palms of his hands over his face while his shoulders shuddered with his weeping, "My poor, poor boy."

"Oh, Jesus." Pickle dropped his head in his hands. "So yer have something in common with Shaz."

"I suppose it's why I've always had a soft spot for Jack. And now Paul has arrived with his son. Little Kyle kind of reminds me of Brian, although Kyle is a year older." Vince stood to his feet and wiped his face with a tea towel. He headed for the door, but Pickle stopped him for leaving.

"Yer can't go in that state," Pickle said, standing in Vince's way. "Yer need a break."

Vince reluctantly agreed.

Said Pickle, "If yer really need to do this, yer should go tomorrow morning...after yer have had a rest. But I would strongly advise yer to stay here. I don't really want to go with yer, to tell yer the truth."

"I don't want anyone to come with me anyway. That's not an option." Although his eyes were red and bloodshot, Pickle could see the anger and determination in Vince's eyes. "I need to do this by myself. I thought the fucker would have perished with the rest of the thousands. Typical! Where's the justice? And
you
believe in God? How do you explain that?"

Pickle couldn't give him an answer, and changed the subject by saying, "I always thought yer were uncomfortable out there." Pickle was referring to outside. "And now yer goin' alone?"

"Vengeance is a powerful emotion. In the old world I was a different man, and the law prevented me from doing anything about it anyway, but now...fuck it!"

"And if yer go to Little Haywood and they're not there?"

"Then they could be here, in our town. I'll search Rugeley next, if I have to." Vince added, "But I need to go to Little Haywood first. Do you know what it's like to have a child murdered and have no one to pay for it?"

"Yer know I don't."

"I'll be gone a day. If it takes longer, don't panic."

"Who's gonna run the camp?"

"It pretty much runs itself. But you keep the men in line."

"And there's no talking yer out o' this?" Pickle already knew the answer to his pointless question.

Vince shook his head. "This isn't someone that broke into my house, or stole my car. He abused and killed my son. And even the apocalypse hasn't killed this fucker."

"Yer do realise there's a good chance he'll be with his family, his brothers and dad, if yer do spot him."

"Then I'll waste the lot of them."

"They are a bad bunch. They wouldn't be missed." Pickle nodded. He puffed out his cheeks, knowing that persuading Vince to remain on the camp was pointless. "Every week I seem to have run-ins with people. There was Jason Bonser, that gang that 'acked ma finger off and gave me this," he pointed at his wonky nose. "Then there's Gavin, now this. Why can't people just come together and get along?"

Vince looked to have gained composure, now that the subject was changing. "This event has created a whole schoolyard full of bullies, and people do crazy things when they're hungry and scared."

"I suppose that's true."

"Like you said before. It's also paranoia." Vince continued, "Every time you go by the Sandy Lane Camp or a group of cars, or...whatever, you immediately think they're the bad guys that'll do anything to survive. They're probably normal people with families, trying to survive. Maybe they think that
we're
the bad guys."

"Let's not go all deep now," chuckled Pickle. "Just make sure when yer leave in the morning that yer have a full tank o' petrol, food, and a loaded gun."

Vince nodded. "I suppose it wouldn't harm me if I wait until the morning."

"Good." Pickle stood to his feet. "'That's sorted then."

"Cheers, Pickle."

Pickle laughed," Yer a good guy, Vince. Yer a cruel bastard, and yer initiation tests are bollocks, but there's a heart in there somewhere. I'm surprised yer never forced Paul Dickson into some kind o' test."

Vince shook his head. "I'm not sure Paul has it in him. But I couldn't see that kid lose his father."

"Good decision." Pickle nodded. "Paul had lost his wife and girl, and had only recently told Kyle about it. He's gonna need a lot of love. Poor bastard."

Vince rose to his feet. "I'm going for a lie down."

"Good choice."

Vince stared at Pickle for a while and seemed lost.

"Don't go crying on me again," Pickle joked, trying to dilute the tension. "That was a one-off. Right?"

Vince sniggered, and walked over to Pickle. He gave him a hug, and as soon as he broke away his face flushed. Vince then left the caravan, forgetting that it was him that had the keys, and left Pickle standing in the living room, all alone.

"Fuck me." Pickle was bewildered, and it took a while for the episode he had just experienced to sink in. "I've seen it all now."

Pickle finally stepped out of the caravan, into the rain, and saw Karen walking by the water well. "Bradley!" Pickle yelled.

She stopped walking, and lifted her chin to ask wordlessly what was up. Pickle strolled over and placed his arm around her. "Where are yer goin'?"

"Back to the caravan to see Shaz."

"That's exactly where I'm going."

"Good. You can give me a foot rub. My feet are aching like a couple of bastards."

Pickle laughed, "Did yer really used to be a nurse? Working with the public with that potty mouth?"

"I'm only a crabby cow because I don't have my hair straighteners, my shampoo, hot water, chocolate, my iPad and my kindle. And this pregnancy is making me want to crunch stuff. Ice, mints—anything!"

"I'll see if I can get yer ice later on. I'll be running things for a day or so, starting tomorrow."

"How come?"

"Let's get to the caravan, and I'll tell yer all about our friend, Vince. That guy has more layers than an onion."

"Oh shit," she sighed. "You're not liking him as well, are you?"

"I think I am."