Snatchers (Book 8): The Dead Don't Pray (2 page)

Chapter Three

The front door was knocked furiously, and made both individuals jump out of their beds. Both residents of the house were in separate rooms, and both exited them and met each other on the landing. The door was knocked furiously once more, and now a yawning Karen Bradley scratched at her dark hair and said to Pickle, who was opposite her, "Better get that before they take the door off."

Pickle was fully-dressed, whereas Karen only had a long white shirt on.

"Door's open anyway," Pickle sniffed, and rubbed his smooth face that he had shaved with a blunt razor before going to bed.

Karen smiled at the dithering Harry Branston, who seemed unsure what to do. Maybe he was still half-asleep.

"So are you gonna get the door?" said Karen with a grin, "Or are you gonna just stand there like a spare dick?"

Pickle scowled at Karen's choice of words, but couldn't help a smile. "Yer really do have a great way with words, Bradley. Yer should 'ave been a poet."

"You wouldn't have me any other way."

The door was hammered again, and this time Pickle yelled down, "It's open, yer bloody idiot! Come in!"

Both Karen and Pickle peered down the stairs and saw the front door finally open. Lee James walked in from outside and stroked his thin beard. He looked up and said, "Sorry to bother you both."

"What the hell is it?" Karen was the first to query Lee. "What's wrong?"

"I just thought I'd better let the guards know straight away, before announcing to the rest of the people later on..."

"What's up?" Pickle questioned with impatience in his tone.

Lee shook his head and looked dazed, in shock. "I better go and see Sheryl, Bentley, and a few others..."

"Lee," Karen huffed, "what are you babbling on about?"

Lee James looked up and gulped. "Somebody's robbed the Lea Hall building. Outsiders."

"Shit," was the only response from Pickle, and looked at Karen for a response. There wasn't one.

"Daniel was attacked." Lee also added, "And Nicholas Burgess is dead."

"Double shit. "

*

Sheryl Smith lay on her bed, eyes open. Her sleeping pattern was all over the place. She would sleep whenever she could, and sometimes that would only be a few hours at a time. She couldn't remember the last time she had more than seven hours sleep. Seven weeks ago? Maybe more?

Still lying in her clothes, she knew she had to get some sleep as she was on perimeter duty at seven am. She had already done guard duty a few hours ago, and was certain that whoever was doing the rota must hate her. For the last three days she had hardly been given time to herself.

She released a frustrated breath out and continued to glare at the ceiling, thinking of the old life, the new life, and how her Buddy would have coped with this disaster. Not very well, she thought.

She swung her legs off the bed and stood up. She headed for the corner of the room, took down her trousers, and sat on the bucket. She hadn't used the bathroom for a while because it was beginning to smell, so she went for it in the bucket, then would empty it down the drain the next morning. It wasn't ideal, but she was still alive.

She had her head in her hands whilst she was having the uncomfortable piss, and cussed once her door was knocked. "Really? At this time?"

She stood up once she was finished, pulled her trousers up without wiping herself, then opened her bedroom window. She looked down to see Lee, Karen and Pickle looking up at her. "This better be fucking important."

Chapter Four

Lee, Sheryl, Karen and Pickle made the short walk over to the Lea Hall building, and waiting by the entrance was Rick Morgan. Daniel Badcock was sitting near Rick with his head in his hands. Lee James showed the group the body of Burgess inside of the building, but no one could understand why Daniel had got off so lightly.

"What happened?" Pickle was the first to ask a dazed Daniel.

"We got robbed. I was punched in the face, but Nicholas must have put up a bit of a fight inside." Daniel paused and rubbed his aching jaw. "Rick was on perimeter duty," Daniel pointed at Rick Morgan who was standing next to Lee, "then he was told by a couple of farmers what had happened. Then Rick went to Lee's house and woke him up." Daniel sighed as if he was bored of telling the story.

"So what are we gonna do with the body?" Sheryl said with no emotion in her tone.

"Jesus Christ!" exclaimed Karen. "His body's not even cold yet."

"Touchy," Sheryl said with derision.

"Fuck off."

"Oops, I forgot," said Sheryl. "You and him used to have a thing."

"We had nothing of the sort." Karen looked upset more than angered. "What are you talking about?"

"Ladies, this is not the time or the place." Lee stepped inbetween Sheryl and Karen in case anything kicked off. It was just a precaution. He was sure it wouldn't happen. Sheryl was a strange and dark character, but he was certain that she wouldn't strike a pregnant woman.

"You sure about that?" persisted Sheryl. "Sorry, I was getting Nicholas mixed up with that Paul Dickson bloke you've been hanging about with."

Karen took a step forward, fists clenched. "Carry on running your mouth off, and I'll be giving you a kick in the flaps!"

Sheryl laughed and gave Karen the finger.

"Look," Karen huffed. "My fiancé has only been dead for just under two months, I'm pregnant, and I hardly wash these days. The last thing I want is to be with another man."

Seeing Karen was becoming upset, Pickle stepped in and said to Sheryl, "If yer got nothin' nice to say, don't say anything at all."

Sheryl laughed, "No one's talking to you."

"Just behave yerself."

"Or what? What are you gonna do ...
Pickle
?" Sheryl sneered. "You gonna hit a woman?"

"It wouldn't be ma first time." Pickle glared at Sheryl Smith with his dark eyes; he began to grind his teeth with anger because Karen, especially in
her
condition, was being treated in such a way. "Just carry on with yer mouth, girly, and yer will see a side to me that yer won't like. Just yer fuckin' try me."

Sheryl gulped and tried a brave smile, but as soon as she did it her top lip began to quiver. She looked to the side for support, but Lee had his head lowered and seemed intimidated by Harry Branston's little rant.

"Right," began Lee, desperate to lighten the mood and get back to the real reason why they were there in the first place, "we'll need a chat with those farmers that saw them leave."

"I'll get them." Rick Morgan walked away from the group, and headed for the football field where the animals were kept.

Lee sat down next to Daniel and patted his thigh. Karen bent down and inspected his jaw. She then felt the rest of his body for signs of discomfort.

"It's just a smack in the mouth I got," Daniel spoke up. "Nothing broken."

"Okay." Karen moved away and her eyes were attracted to three figures emerging from around the corner of the building. It was Rick Morgan with the farmer couple.

"I think that's Bentley," Sheryl said, pointing behind them. It was so dark, but she knew his size, his walk.

The group, hanging around the entrance, turned around and looked at the figure of Bentley Drummle, who staggered over to the group from the other side of Sandy Lane.

"What's up?" he called over, still ten yards away. "I looked out my window and saw you lot hanging about."

"We had trouble from outsiders," Lee began to explain as Bentley approached. "We did knock your door, but..."

"Fuck." Bentley rubbed his face and looked rough.

"Have yer been drinking?" Pickle took a step back from Bentley and screwed his face at the stale whisky coming from his breath.

"Too right," Bentley chuckled. "Had to take a tooth out." He showed the group the gap where the tooth used to be, and they could see that his mouth was still bloody.

"Ew," Karen screwed her face in disgust. "That's gross."

"Seriously?" Bentley laughed. "After all the diseased brains you and Pickle have bashed in over the weeks, and you think
this
is gross?"

Karen smiled, and before she could continue Lee shushed the group and stood to his feet. He then approached the farmer and his partner, who were patiently waiting, and asked them what had happened. The husband and wife were called John and Jane Baker. They were married with no kids, and had been a part of the Spode Cottage set-up until the camp was attacked.

The couple, who were still standing next to Rick Morgan, were hesitant at first, but Lee said, "In your own time."

"My wife heard a noise," the man began, "so she decided to take my gun and go and investigate. I was still sleeping at the time, but when I found she wasn't lying next to me..."

"Did yer get a look at the men?" Pickle asked, presuming the intruders
were
men.

The wife nodded. "There was two of them. One of them was massive, a real big fucker. When we saw them, they were ready to leave over the fence."

"They just seemed so sure of themselves," the husband spoke up. "They had no fear when the gun was pointing at them."

"Shit." Lee rubbed his face in exasperation and turned to Pickle and Bentley. "We're gonna have to put two ... maybe three people on perimeter duty from now on."

"Can we do that?" Sheryl queried. "With three or four men on each barrier that'll be eleven people a shift. Then there's the runs..."

"We have over a hundred people in the place. Not all of them have a job. That's gonna have to change."

Pickle turned his attention to the two individuals and asked the tired-looking couple. "Is that all yer can tell us?"

The man and wife both nodded.

"It's not much," said the woman.

"Okay," Lee sighed. "Thanks anyway. Better go back to sleep, if you can."

The woman ran her fingers through her grey hair and turned on her heels to leave the group, but her husband remained where he was. His head was slightly lowered and he seemed lost in thought. He quickly lifted his head and his eyes widened. "Bear," blurted out the man.

His confusing outburst made Daniel, Rick, Sheryl, Pickle, Bentley, Karen and Lee look at him with confusion, then each other.

"Bear?" Lee pulled a face to suggest that he wanted the man to explain what the hell he was talking about.

"Oh yes." The wife turned around and clicked her fingers as if she had remembered something important. "We heard one of the men call the other man ...
Bear
. Must be some kind of nickname. I suppose judging by the size of the man, the nickname's understandable."

Bentley and Pickle looked at one another; both men looked aghast. It was a look that Lee James noticed and didn't like, and knew something was up. He thanked the couple, and once they disappeared Lee said, "So who the fuck's this Bear character? I saw you both looking at one another."

Bentley could see that all sets of eyes were on him and decided to speak first. "The Bear we're thinking of is someone who used to be in our jail. It might be nothing, a coincidence. It might not be the man that we knew. It could be someone else."

"Even if it isn't the man you're thinking of, this
Bear
is still a dangerous man after what he did to Nicholas," Daniel spoke up, still rubbing his jaw.

"If it's the Bear that
we
used to know," Pickle began, "then we could be in trouble. But then again, this might be a one-off and he might have buggered off elsewhere to raid another place."

"Let's hope so," said Lee. "We're not looking for retribution. That'll just get more people killed. But what this Bear has done is exposed the camp as a weak and easy place to get into, which I know is hardly a surprise."

"It's just a little big," said Rick Morgan. "The fence on this side of Sandy Lane is too flimsy and short, but that can be sorted in time. You know what they say: Rome wasn't built in a week."

"I think you mean
day
," corrected Bentley, then looked at Lee. "I think you should put the place on high alert. If this character is desperate enough, he could be back."

"The Bear that
you
know. Is he
that
bad?" Lee asked Pickle.

Pickle could see the group staring at him for some kind of answer. "Let's put it this way," Pickle spoke up at last. "If it's the same Bear from Stafford prison, then even
I
would struggle against him."

Chapter Five

It was nearly eight in the morning, and after a couple of hours of sleep, Bentley and Pickle opted to take Nicholas Burgess' body to the top of the Market Hall car park, near Rugeley's bus station. It was only a couple of hundred yards away from the camp and wasn't considered a risk. The bodies that had been piled up by the Lea Hall building had been finally moved by pickup truck a few days ago, after a unanimous vote, and dumped on the top of the car park. It had taken all morning to remove them, and was done so with no danger from outside.

Bentley was driving; the vehicle left once the HGV was pulled back by Kirk Sheen, and Pickle glared out of the passenger window, his mind doing overtime as the pickup truck reached Elmore Park that was opposite the bus station.

"What're you thinking about?" Bentley decided to break the silence.

"Thinking about Vince." Pickle managed a small smile.

"Do you think..?" Bentley decided not to finish his sentence, but Pickle knew what he was going to ask.

"Dunno. I suppose it's been too long. He should have been back by now."

"So is that all that's bothering you?"

Pickle sighed, "I was just wondering..."

"What?"

The vehicle now turned right, and was heading to the incline that would take them to the top of the Market Hall car park.

"How come nobody has any pets on the camp?"

Bentley shrugged. "Maybe some did, back in the day, but the ones that did may have perished. Or maybe the pets ran off in the first week when the carnage was at its peak."

Bentley pulled up the truck, and gazed out at the pile of bodies in the corner of the car park—the same place where Nicholas Burgess was going to be put. "When I first arrived with Helen—"

"Helen?" Pickle looked confused.

"Helen Waite."

"Oh."

Bentley added, "I always wondered why there were no infants or babies on the camp. Probably best we don't ask such sensitive questions."

Pickle nodded. "Agreed."

Both men stepped out of the vehicle and was hit by the awful smell of death. It was a smell that once experienced, a person never forgets. Bentley had left the engine running and went to the back to get Nicholas out. Pickle had the arms and Bentley had the legs, and both men began to gag as the smell of dozens of rotting bodies began to torture their noses the closer they got to them. Nicholas was placed at the side of the pile, and Pickle stood with his head lowered. He was about to pray.

"Are the prayers really necessary?" Bentley asked, now with his T-shirt covering his face.

"Probably not." Pickle began to retch as the pong and the large amount of flies and maggots began to turn his stomach. He gagged a little and could taste a bit of vomit in the back of his throat, but he winced, closed his eyes and swallowed it back down. The smell of death was something he had been used to over the last seven weeks or so, but this was so much worse.

"Good," Bentley spoke. "I haven't eaten much in days, and what I have eaten I want to stay inside of me."

"Seems a bit disrespectful to just dump him like that." Pickle rubbed his chin in thought. "Maybe just a quick prayer."

"Well, hurry up then." Forty-nine-year-old Bentley kept his T-shirt over his face, and even then he tried to breathe in only through his mouth.

"
Oh God
," Pickle began, looking up to the clear sky with his arms outstretched. "
On this day we lose a colleague who sadly passed away to the other side due to
—ah, fuck it!"

"What?"

Pickle shook his head and screwed his face in disgust. "Let's go before I throw up. The smell's killin' me."

"You sure?"

"Aye, I'm sure."

Bentley laughed as they both headed for the truck, and once they returned to Sandy Lane, the smell of death still lingered in their noses.