Snatchers (Book 7): The Dead Don't Yield (6 page)

Chapter Eleven

After many mundane hours on the barrier, Vince, Pickle and Rick Morgan had been relieved of their duties by three other folk, including a woman that Pickle and Vince had never seen before.

Rick Morgan walked on his own, behind Pickle and Vince, and his head was lowered and he was lost in thought.

"What're you gonna do now?" Vince asked Pickle. He clasped his hands together, turned and faced his palms outwards and cracked his knuckles.

"Dunno." Pickle shrugged his shoulders. "I was gonna ask that Daniel fellow if they have any gas canisters in that building of theirs. I could murder a coffee."

"You should see that guy with the solar panels on his roof. He just pops his kettle on as if we're back to normal."

"James McDonald." Pickle shook his head. "I don't like him."

"Didn't you go to his house a day or so ago to get cleaned up?"

"No, that was the other house." Pickle was referring to the other place on Sandy Lane. "That was Sheryl's house."

"What do you think of her?"

Pickle's facial expression suggested that he was unsure. "I 'ave no idea. She seems alright, I s'pose. It's hard to tell really."

"She seems a bit defensive, I thought." Vince paused and added, "I found her quite aggressive yesterday."

"What d'yer expect? Yer called her
sugar tits
." Pickle cackled to himself and shook his head. "Anyway, yer just don't know what she's been through."

"True."

"Anyway," Pickle stopped walking and pointed at his house. "No doubt I'll see yer later on."

"What are you on tomorrow?"

"Well, if Lee turns up later on with this stash o' weapons from tha' industrial estate, me and Bentley will probably be busy for the next couple o' hours doin' gun classes for chosen people."

"A couple of hours?"

"A lot o' these folk have never shot before. And it's not just shootin' them. They need to be trained on how to hold one, how to reload, dismantle them, and improve their aim. I just hope they bring plenty o' ammo as well. Of course, we won't actually be shooting the things because of the noise."

"Right, I'll see you later."

"Okay, Vince."

Vince Kindl walked along Sandy Lane and whistled a tune by U2. He began to wonder how his sister was doing back in Ireland. He hoped she was okay. As Vince strolled past the Lea Hall building he said hello to two guys that were standing in front of the place. He then continued with his walk and took a gander at the patch of grass that used to be a bowling green. On the side of the bowling green was young Kyle Dickson, sitting on his own. Vince smiled, and walked over to the seven-year-old.

"Alright, big chap?" Vince called over.

Kyle looked teary and snapped, "My dad calls me that all the time. I hate it."

"Okay," Vince said, but smirked with the cheek of the little man. "My apologies."

He got closer to Kyle and eventually sat next to him. He took a one-second glance at the little boy and asked, "What's up? Has someone been upsetting you?"

Kyle shook his head.

"Are you..?" Vince paused, unsure whether to ask the next question. He didn't want to be responsible for making the poor boy break down in tears.

"Am I what?" Kyle looked annoyed.

Vince gulped. "Are you missing your mum and your sister?"

He nodded. The grief was scrawled all over his face.

Vince didn't know what to say. "It'll get better...in time."

"Do you have a mummy?" Kyle innocently asked.

Vince shook his head. "Once. She's dead now."

Kyle looked at the man and said without hesitation, "Was she hit by a big lorry?"

Vince laughed for a second and shook his head. What goes through the mind of a seven-year-old boy? "No, she wasn't."

"I have bad dreams about your camp."

"Me and you both." Vince nodded and patted the boy's leg. "That was a bad night."

"It was."

"Are you sure that it's nothing else? You can tell me anything, Kyle. Anything."

Kyle bit his lower lip in thought and began to rub his eyes in a way to stop the tears from falling. It took a while for him to speak, but when he did, he spoke with a croak in his voice. "A couple of the older boys have been picking on me."

"Is that right?" Vince felt some anger already within him as soon as Kyle said those words. "And what are their names?"

"Why?" Kyle shifted uncomfortably. "What are you gonna do?"

"Well, we can't just let them get away with it, can we?"

"I don't know."

"Relax. All I'll do is have a word with their parents."
If they're still alive
. "And see if they can have a chat with them."

"Please, don't tell my daddy."

"Why not?"

"I just..." Kyle looked embarrassed and paused for a good ten seconds. "I don't want him to worry."

"Your dad will be fine. He seems like a good bloke."

"No." Kyle shook his head. "I don't want him to be sad about anything else."

Vince allowed the last sentence to sink in. "Is he sad now?" Vince asked, knowing immediately that it was a stupid question. Everybody had some kind of sadness within them, because everyone had lost somebody. Paul Dickson had lost his wife and daughter.

Kyle choked back the tears and began, "The first night we were here, when I was in bed, I heard a noise downstairs. My daddy usually sleeps with me, but he wasn't there when I woke up. I crept downstairs and could hear him crying in the living room. I just don't want him to be sad anymore." Kyle then broke down, and Vince immediately put his arm around the broken little fellow. He looked at Kyle and couldn't help thinking about Brian.

"Okay." Vince cleared his tight throat and added, "I won't tell your dad, but I'm gonna have a word with whoever is looking after these kids. What's their names?"

"One of them is called David McDonald."

Vince nodded. "James McDonald's boy. I've seen him about with some fat kid—er...I mean, some heavy person." Vince got to his feet and said, "Right. You clean yourself up and get back home. I'm gonna take a walk to 12 Burnthill Lane and sort this little problem out."

"Thanks." Kyle fidgeted in his pocket and pulled out a plastic action figure. It was Wonder Woman. He blushed when he handed it to Vince. "This is for you. For helping me."

Vince took the gift, smiled, and put it into his pocket.

Kyle walked away and Vince stared at the boy until he went to the house that he, his father and Lisa had been given. "Wow. Kids really know how to pull those hearts strings." Vince then thought about young Lisa. He hadn't seen her since yesterday.

He shook his head as he could feel himself getting emotional, and snapped jokingly to himself, "Snap out of it, Vince. You don't want people to think you've gone all soft."

He then took a stroll. His destination was James McDonald's house. It was the house with the solar panels on the roof; only two existed, so it was easy enough to find 12 Burnthill Lane.

*

There was a knock at James McDonald's door. It seemed to have taken an age for the door to open, but once it did Vince received a volley of abuse from the irate man before Kindl had a chance to open his mouth.

McDonald scolded, "What the fuck do
you
want?" McDonald exclaimed. "I'm up on a shift tonight and you,
cunt
, have just fuckin' woken me up!"

"Sorry about that." Vince tried to be as nice as possible, and swallowed his anger. "I had no idea."

"What is it?"

"There's a little boy that arrived with the rest of us a few days ago," Vince began to explain, "and it appears that your son has been teasing him."

"And?"

Vince was taken aback by his
not-giving-a-fuck
attitude and took a deep breath in and added, "I was wondering if you could have a word with him."

"Have you seen with your own eyes my boy bullying this kid?"

"Well...no."

James McDonald, dressed in some dirty pyjamas, began scratching at his balls while glaring at Vince. "He's been through a lot."

Vince thought that this idiotic man was behaving appallingly on purpose to get a reaction, but Vince was keeping it together, just. "So has Kyle. Just have a word, okay?"

"No, it's not okay. Don't come round here acting the hard man and slating my son when you're only taking the word of a little kid. You can fuck off!" James tried to shut the front door, but Vince stuck his boot inside, stopping it from shutting.

"I'm trying to be nice here." Vince glared at James as he opened the door fully again, now looking worried.

"You know where you can shove your niceness, pricko."

Vince sighed and laughed falsely at the man's negative attitude towards him. "You don't like the new folk, do you?"

"We have enough mouths to feed as it is."

"And I also heard that you gave Karen a hard time."

"So fucking what?" James sniffed, now wiping his nose on the sleeve of the dirty pyjamas. "If she keeps on running her mouth off at me, she'll get the back of my hand."

Vince stepped inside of James' house and shoved him up against the hallway wall on the left, his right arm across James' throat.

James cried out in panic, "Get off me!"

"Look, if you go about abusing my friends, I will cut your throat while you fucking sleep, son or no son. Karen is pregnant. If you continue to upset her and
I
don't do anything about it, I've got a friend called Pickle who will, and he'll cut your ears off and shove them up your arse. You don't know me or Pickle from Adam. Watch yourself."

James shivered and his lips wobbled when he yelled, "I'll tell Lee!"

"I'll just deny it. I'll tell him you're making the whole thing up. It's no secret you don't like us, and that you voted for us not to join this camp. They'll think you're shit-stirring."

Vince released James and walked outside.

"You're a cunt!" James yelled, almost cowering behind the door, ready to slam it shut in case Vince decided to go for him.

"I know. Always have been." Vince laughed, "Just have a word with your son."

Chapter Twelve

Sheryl Smith was thrown onto the bed by Ben and was told to strip. Cal soon entered the room, wearing a huge, almost-toothless, grin on his face. He went over to the bedside table in the dusky room and lit a stumpy red candle.

Ben said, "I heard a gunshot."

"I shot one o' them," Cal announced, matter-of-factly, eyeing-up Sheryl. "Ye not the best lookin' slag I've seen, but when ye 'aven't had it for a while, beggars can't be choosers."

Sheryl never responded verbally. She glared at both men, hate filled her eyes. She took a look around the room, and guessed that this was where the men had probably slept on a night.

Ben put his sawn-off in the corner of the room, began casually taking his trousers off and threw them to the floor; he then took off his underpants, making Sheryl wince. This was going to happen, she thought. This was
really
going to happen.

If they want me, they're gonna have to work for it.

Cal still had his sawn-off in his right hand and went round the side of the bed. He grabbed Sheryl by her short black hair, pulled her head back, making her scream out.

"Play nice," Cal whispered in her ear.

She turned to face him and spat at him, making Ben at the other side of the bed burst into hysterics. The spittle ran off Cal's nose; there was a blank expression on his face, and he just glared at the woman.

"I said: play nice." Cal smiled. "You make this easier for us, and you get to leave this place alive."

She didn't believe them for a second. "No fuckin' chance!" snarled Sheryl. "If you two ugly cunts want to have me, you better kill me now."

Ben went to stroke her hair, but she took a swipe at him which he caught. "Hey, what's this?" Ben had his fingers clasped around her left wrist, and was glaring at the small tattoo that was written in old-style English. On her wrist she had the word
Buddy
tattooed, and Ben added, letting go of her wrist, "So who the fuck's Buddy? Ye dog or somethin'?"

Sheryl never answered, and was too concerned with Cal to the right of her who was now undoing his trousers with one hand, but pointing his sawn-off with his other.

"You wanna go first, or you want
me
to go?" Cal asked, as if it was just a normal question for these guys.

Ben laughed, "I'll go first. I'm not doing sloppy seconds."

"I'll probably flip her over and do her up the arse anyway," Cal explained calmly, "so there won't
be
sloppy seconds."

"Just let
me
go first." Ben began playing with himself, he was getting hard, and said to Cal, "Hold her arms."

Cal put his gun down, leaned over and put his hands around Sheryl's wrists and put his weight on her. Strangely, she wasn't putting up her fight. This baffled Cal, considering what she had said before.

Ben went to the bottom of the bed and reached over to pull down her combats. He was expecting her to frantically kick out, but she just lay there, almost as if she knew that whatever she did the outcome was going to be the same. If she made it difficult for them, they'd still have their wicked way with her, but she would be covered in more bruises. But weren't they going to kill her afterwards anyway?

Ben threw her trousers to the floor and went to reach for her knickers. He pulled them down slowly and she still remained motionless, legs straight.

"Shit," Ben looked down to his flaccid penis. "I'm losing it."

"What?" Cal began to laugh.

"She's just lying there like a sack of shit. It's not working for me."

"Hold on." Cal kept his hands on her wrists and began kissing her neck. Sheryl glared at the ceiling as his repulsive sloppy kisses continued on both sides of her neck. "Is that doin' anythin' for ye?"

Ben was now kneeling on the bed, had Sheryl's legs apart and was tugging on his semi-erect penis. He threw his head back and closed his eyes and speeded up his rhythm, while his friend continued to slaver all over her neck.

"Try and get her tits out, Cal." Ben gasped, still stroking away, head back. "I wanna see her tits when I start fuckin' her."

There was no answer.

"Cal?"

A muffled scream could be heard, and while Ben opened his eyes he could see the soles of Sheryl's feet being brought back and they quickly pushed him off of the bed. Sheryl still had her teeth in the side of Cal's neck, blood was now gushing out at an alarming rate. Once the man had let go of her wrists, she pushed him off the side of the bed and allowed him to writhe and scream on the floor while she rolled off the bed on the other side and grabbed Cal's gun.

She stood up holding the gun, ignoring the moans from the other side of the room, and aimed the sawn-off at a half-naked Ben, his hand on the doorknob and ready to leave. Sheryl was naked from the waist down, holding a gun, and her mouth and chin were covered in Cal's blood where she had managed to damage the carotid artery.

Ben took a panicky glance at his friend on the floor. Blood pooled at a quick rate and he knew that he'd be dead in another minute or so.

"Step away from the door," she commanded.

Ben placed his hands in the air, and took a step forward towards his almost-deceased friend.

"Not that way," snarled Sheryl. "That's where your gun is. Step away from the door and head towards me."

"Please," Ben cried, his hands were still raised. He then fell to his knees, "I'm beggin' ye. This ain't really me. I used to 'ave a family, a wife..." Tears flowed out of his eyes, and while on his knees he slowly made his way over to the half-dressed Sheryl Smith.

"That's close enough," she snapped.

"Don't kill me!"

*

With his Glock in his right hand, Bentley tried the door and crept in, thankful that the old hinges never cried out when he entered. His eyes clocked the corpse of Luke John. He gasped, and then turned to his left to see Lee tied to a chair.

At first Lee jumped when he saw Bentley enter, but a second later Lee ordered, "Untie me."

"I saw through the window...two men." Bentley scanned the dusky area, but couldn't see anyone. "Where's Sheryl?"

"They've got Sheryl. They're all downstairs." Lee stood immediately once he felt the rope loosen and both he and Bentley crept downstairs. Lee cautioned in a whisper, "I warn you now, they were both carrying sawn-offs." Lee looked confused. "Or do we call it sawed-offs?"

"Sawn-offs in the UK." Bentley sighed at Lee's pointless and unnecessary query, prepared
Glen
and continued, "Why did they take Sheryl downstairs?"

"Don't be naive, Bentley. Why do
you
think?"

They reached the bottom of the stairs and stood by the door, Lee placed his ear against it but couldn't hear a thing. He took a look at Bentley and shook his head.

"Fuck it," Bentley snapped under his breath. He crashed through the door, expecting to be emptying a few rounds, but both Bentley and Lee stood aghast at the surreal sight that they were witnessing as they stood by the door, looking into the room.

Sheryl was fastening the buttons on her green combats, and Lee noticed the bloody body of Cal first before seeing Ben, curled up in a ball, crying, and begging for forgiveness. Once Sheryl had got dressed, she took one of the sawn-off shotguns off of the bed and held it in her right hand, then went over to the other one and handed it to Lee.

"That'll go nicely with the rest of the stuff we're gonna take," she said.

Both Lee and Bentley ignored her comment, still trying to take in what had happened, and remained standing wide-eyed with their mouths open.

Sheryl smiled; she saw that both men were confused and decided to shed some light on the situation. "They tried to rape me," she explained. "I fought back. End of."

"Okay." Lee nodded. "So what do we do now? With him?"

"Please," Ben begged. "Leave me be. I've learnt my lesson, I really 'ave."

"We can't have people like that roaming the area." Bentley gripped his gun tightly, angered that they had attacked Sheryl. "It's dangerous enough out there."

"They've killed Luke," Lee announced to Sheryl.

"I heard the gunshot. I knew somebody had got it." Sheryl lowered her head sadly. "As soon as you two came through that door, I knew it was Luke that had been shot."

Lee asked Sheryl for a second time, this time hoping for an answer, "What do
you
think we should do with him?"

At this point a sobbing Ben slowly came out of the foetal position and sat up, tears still streaming down his face, waiting for his fate, his face pleading.

"Give him a bag," Sheryl began, "give him something to eat and drink, then send him on his way."

Lee was stunned by her answer, and glanced at Bentley who raised his eyebrows and was also surprised by her calm response. Ben was thanking Sheryl as soon as he heard her words, and tears of relief fell from his eyes.

Lee questioned, "Really?"

Sheryl smiled and said, "Nah, not really." She aimed the sawn-off at Ben, making him yelp in fright, and gave him two blasts in the chest. The body slumped in a bloody heap, and Sheryl spat at the corpse. "Dirty cunt."

Lee had never known Sheryl to have killed another human before, and now she had killed two men in a short space of time.

"Let's get that van filled." Sheryl walked out of the room, leaving both Bentley and Lee in a stunned silence. She seemed so calm, so in control.