Read Online Snatchers (Book 3): The Dead Don't Cry by Shaun Whittington - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Shaun Whittington
Tags: Zombies
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the laugh that was aching to be released. It eventually was released and even Pickle smiled at Karen's hilarity that he hadn't seen before. It was good to see her laugh, even if it was at his expense.
"The Horse?" Her cackling continued and now there was tears streaming down her face. "You're making me cry."
Pickle looked at Karen wiping the running tears from her cheeks with the back of her hands. "Better for the water to run from yer eyes than down yer thighs, Bradley."
She had almost managed to compose herself; confident that she could muster a sentence without it being interrupted with a giggle, she questioned, "Why did they call you that? Is it because you used to shit like one?"
"No, you cheeky bitch," he tittered. "Because I'm hung like one, of course."
"A sea horse?"
"Very funny." He feigned hurt on his features and added, "Back in my area I had quite the reputation."
"Oh, I could imagine," Karen continued to mock. " Here comes Harry Branston, everybody. Quick, lock up your goats. "
After the laughter had eventually subsided, they both began to sit in silence. Pickle drew in a breath. He cleared his throat and added, "On a more serious note, ma childhood wasn't the best. Ma father was an alcoholic, and could be quite abusive at times. He used to beat the shit out o' ma mother."
"No brothers or sisters?"
Pickle shook his head and added, "When I was sixteen, ma mother had killed herself. Painkiller overdose. I left home soon after that, selling hash to support myself. I was then arrested for selling illegal substances and was sent to prison for a few months. I got a few handy contacts from inside and built my business up once I was out."
"So you've been in the drugs game since you were a teenager?"
"Yip." Pickle smacked his lips together and began to chew the inside of his mouth.
A few seconds of silence came after Pickle's short answer, and Karen assumed that the forty-three-year-old wasn't entirely comfortable talking about his past when he was being questioned, although he had told Karen some stories when she never had asked.
She broke the silence with a less serious query. "So, how much are you worth?"
"Well, not that it makes any difference now, but I had properties all over England, two villas in Spain and—"
"How much?" she asked with a snicker.
"About ten million."
"Wow." Karen's facial expression suggested that she was impressed, but decided not to press any further. She had plenty of time to get to know Pickle more, or at least she hoped she would have, and decided to give him a break from her probing. Maybe he would tell her more about his past when he was ready.
Pickle got to his feet and began brushing the grass off of the back of his grey jogging bottoms. Karen saw this as a sign that he was ready to move, and had interpreted the body language correctly.
Pickle's stomach growled loudly for food, which humoured the pair of them. He looked at his female companion with a grin and playfully patted his stomach. "I could eat a horse."
Karen snickered once again and threw her arms around a man that she adored. "Harry Branston, I love you."
As soon as she said those three words, her laughter quickly diminished and she produced a thin smile while her cheeks flushed red.
Pickle put his arm around Karen, brought her nearer to him and kissed her on the top of her head. "I know, Karen. I know."
Chapter Thirteen
"Come here," Jack beckoned Johnny over.
They were both in the canteen and had been emptying what was left in the vending machines, and had taken the tins from behind the kitchen area. Other food such as meats and fruit were rotten, and just the smell of the stuff was making Johnny's stomach turn, although Jack had pointed out that a huge percentage of the smell could be coming from the two deceased that were lying in the corner of the room with their heads bashed in.
"What is it?" asked Johnny.
Johnny had just filled a bag; the main contents of the bag was juice, chocolate bars
"The Horse?" Her cackling continued and now there was tears streaming down her face. "You're making me cry."
Pickle looked at Karen wiping the running tears from her cheeks with the back of her hands. "Better for the water to run from yer eyes than down yer thighs, Bradley."
She had almost managed to compose herself; confident that she could muster a sentence without it being interrupted with a giggle, she questioned, "Why did they call you that? Is it because you used to shit like one?"
"No, you cheeky bitch," he tittered. "Because I'm hung like one, of course."
"A sea horse?"
"Very funny." He feigned hurt on his features and added, "Back in my area I had quite the reputation."
"Oh, I could imagine," Karen continued to mock. " Here comes Harry Branston, everybody. Quick, lock up your goats. "
After the laughter had eventually subsided, they both began to sit in silence. Pickle drew in a breath. He cleared his throat and added, "On a more serious note, ma childhood wasn't the best. Ma father was an alcoholic, and could be quite abusive at times. He used to beat the shit out o' ma mother."
"No brothers or sisters?"
Pickle shook his head and added, "When I was sixteen, ma mother had killed herself. Painkiller overdose. I left home soon after that, selling hash to support myself. I was then arrested for selling illegal substances and was sent to prison for a few months. I got a few handy contacts from inside and built my business up once I was out."
"So you've been in the drugs game since you were a teenager?"
"Yip." Pickle smacked his lips together and began to chew the inside of his mouth.
A few seconds of silence came after Pickle's short answer, and Karen assumed that the forty-three-year-old wasn't entirely comfortable talking about his past when he was being questioned, although he had told Karen some stories when she never had asked.
She broke the silence with a less serious query. "So, how much are you worth?"
"Well, not that it makes any difference now, but I had properties all over England, two villas in Spain and—"
"How much?" she asked with a snicker.
"About ten million."
"Wow." Karen's facial expression suggested that she was impressed, but decided not to press any further. She had plenty of time to get to know Pickle more, or at least she hoped she would have, and decided to give him a break from her probing. Maybe he would tell her more about his past when he was ready.
Pickle got to his feet and began brushing the grass off of the back of his grey jogging bottoms. Karen saw this as a sign that he was ready to move, and had interpreted the body language correctly.
Pickle's stomach growled loudly for food, which humoured the pair of them. He looked at his female companion with a grin and playfully patted his stomach. "I could eat a horse."
Karen snickered once again and threw her arms around a man that she adored. "Harry Branston, I love you."
As soon as she said those three words, her laughter quickly diminished and she produced a thin smile while her cheeks flushed red.
Pickle put his arm around Karen, brought her nearer to him and kissed her on the top of her head. "I know, Karen. I know."
Chapter Thirteen
"Come here," Jack beckoned Johnny over.
They were both in the canteen and had been emptying what was left in the vending machines, and had taken the tins from behind the kitchen area. Other food such as meats and fruit were rotten, and just the smell of the stuff was making Johnny's stomach turn, although Jack had pointed out that a huge percentage of the smell could be coming from the two deceased that were lying in the corner of the room with their heads bashed in.
"What is it?" asked Johnny.
Johnny had just filled a bag; the main contents of the bag was juice, chocolate bars
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