"I'm sorry?" Vince wasn't sure if she was hallucinating or not.
"The bracelet that Spencer made me. I lost it."
"Don't worry. We'll find it. I promise."
Outside there was bodies of the contaminated scattered about with their heads smashed to bits, people still scared and hiding in their caravans, and members of the camp that were now dead and had experienced an awful death. Vince didn't have the heart to tell a dying Sharon Bailey that her bracelet was the least of his worries, but had promised her that he would go and find it after he had left the caravan.
Karen and Pickle walked in. As they walked in, Vince left and told them what he was doing.
"You better get someone to see how John Waite's doing," Karen said to Vince. "It was seeing to that old fucker that got Shaz bit in the first place."
"It's not his fault," Shaz intervened, her words were almost a whisper. "You can't blame him."
As Vince left, Karen and Pickle approached Shaz and could see that she didn't have long to go. Karen noticed that Shaz was weakening and wasn't holding the towel to the wound anymore. Karen never re-applied pressure to it and could see that the bleeding wasn't too bad.
She sat next to Shaz and held her hand. Pickle could do nothing but stare at the poor woman. All three sat in silence, and Karen peeked at Pickle who was shell-shocked. He noticed Karen's stare, turned away and lowered his head. He began to pray softly while Karen held Shaz's clammy hand.
Sharon Bailey had now closed her eyes and passed out.
She was still alive, but not for long.
*
David Chatting was in tears as he trudged by the smouldering caravan. He took a quick peep at the place and could see that the front had burned away and could see, what used to be the living room area, the two elderly ladies huddled together, burnt to death, and their charcoal bodies were fused together from the intense heat. That wasn't the worst of it for David Chatting.
It had been over forty minutes since it had happened and for a while he wondered where his pal, Robin Barton, had got to. Once he approached the body of Robin and his chainsaw wound, he began to cry. While sobbing, David Chatting also could see through blurry eyes a score of dead bodies near Robin's body. He guessed correctly that they were the contaminated beings that had managed to sneak in, and their demise was down to Vince, Pickle, Karen, Shaz, as well as Robin, judging by some of the wounds.
Still grasping his shotgun, he checked with his other hand how many cartridges he had left. He had only used the gun three times and had taken out two of those things. It appeared that most of them had been slaughtered round at the back of the camp.
He looked behind him and wondered about the future. Was there a future?
He touched his face and winced with pain. He had taken some beating from Pickle, and had to admit to himself, once the dust had settled, that he fully deserved it. His behaviour and what he said was out of character, and he had never been in a fight before, let alone slandered somebody about their sexual preference. This whole apocalypse saga was screwing with him; he was convinced that he wasn't cut out for this changing world, but who was?
He continued to walk around the field and saw bodies. All three were unrecognisable and he had no idea who they were. Maybe if he got closer he'd be able to see who they were, but he didn't. He had seen enough.
He went to the Spode Cottage with heavy feet and could see that the place was eerily quiet. The animals in the pens had remained where they were and had been untouched and carried on sleeping as if nothing had happened, and he could see only four people meandering around the site.
David was one of the very few individuals that was allowed a key for the Spode Cottage. Now, it was a place that was used for storage, but back in the old days, it was a pub/restaurant. It was only seven months ago he had gone to the Spode Cottage for his Christmas meal with his sister, mum and dad. All three were now dead.
As soon as he let himself into the establishment, he closed the door behind him, still clutching onto his shotgun with his right hand. His sobbing had ceased, and tried the door to the cellar. Sometimes Vince would leave it unlocked. In this case it was locked, so David pulled out another key from the chain hanging from his belt, and opened the cellar door. David walked in and went to the bottom of the concrete steps.
He sighed, sat down on the cold, hard floor, then put both barrels in his mouth.
Chapter Forty Three
Her feet strolled on the same dirt path that she and Carla used to take before Jack was born. Her soles were becoming a little sore, but she tried to ignore the pain and looked out for the tree—not just any tree, but the tree.
Helen Waite had only entered the woods a few minutes ago and already could feel a chill. The trees had their uses when it came to sheltering an individual from the pouring rain, but they also shielded her from the sun and were unable to stop the sneaky wind from filtering through.
She could hear a stream up ahead and knew that she was near.
Her feet continued to drag through the dirt path, and she thought that she should give her aching feet a break and walk through the soft bracken that was on either side of her, inbetween the trees. Paranoid of adders, as well as spring-coil animal traps that could have been lying dormant for months, she decided to stick to the path that was now hurting her bare feet.
She walked for another minute and saw the apple tree by the brook.
She was near.
She hadn't been to this area in over a year, but she remembered that to the left of the apple tree was a ten yard walk before she got to, what they called, their tree.
She had made it, and it was still there.
Helen dropped to her knees and felt the engraving into the wood with the tips of her fingers. Her eyes began to fill up and she could see the carved heart into the bark with I love you, Carla engraved inside of the heart. Ever since she was a baby, Helen took her daughter up to the woods with her pushchair, and also for walks when she got older.
This seemed the perfect place to die.
She held out her wrist and placed the knife across it. She couldn't do it. She threw her head back and sobbed, stuck the knife into the ground and decided to close her eyes once she had calmed down.
It wasn't planned, but the exhausted woman had fallen asleep.
*
Her eyes opened as soon as she heard the groan of an engine. She struggled to her feet, unaware how far the vehicle was. She was unsure if it was coming her way, or had already passed by. She looked at the engraving that had been made and touched it with her fingers. She had decided that she wanted to live, or at least give it a go and see what happens.
She began walking briskly through the woods, in the direction of the noise, and finally managed to reach the edge of the area and step out onto the tarmac. It was early morning, she could tell, but she didn't know how early, or if the individual or individuals, that she was convinced were now heading her way, were friendly.
A black Mitsubishi jeep came around the bend and Helen Waite stepped out and put both her hands in the air as if she was praising Jesus. She closed her eyes, expecting the vehicle to zoom past her, but she could hear from the noise of the engine that it was beginning to slow down.
She looked inside the parked jeep to see one figure inside it. It was a man, a muscular man with dark hair. She opened the passenger door and peered inside.
"It's okay." The man smiled and seemed a genuine nice person. "Unlike those things out there, I won't bite."
Showing no emotion on her face or saying a word of thanks, she stepped inside and sat on the passenger seat, closing the door. The man drove away and didn't seem miffed that this woman seemed ungrateful. He could tell by her face that she had, like many others, been through the mill with this devastation that had rocked the country. He then noticed that the woman was wearing no shoes, which further proved that she may have lost her mind, albeit temporarily.
"So what's your story?" He felt he needed to break the ice in som
e way, despite the question leading to possible upsetting reminders of what the woman had gone through.
At first she didn't answer, and the driver was happy just to leave it at that, but she eventually spoke. "I lost my daughter and baby boy."
"Shit. Sorry." The man took a left at a junction. "Where you headed?"
"Nowhere. I don't know."
The man chuckled, "Looks like we're going to the same place." He then cleared his throat and took on a more serious tone to his voice. "I lost my partner only yesterday. I thought I was a clever bastard, but obviously not clever enough. I had a set-up in the woods. I thought it was perfect, but we woke up during the night to find our place was surrounded by those fuckers. We had barbed wire around the place and everything, but it only stopped a few."
There was no response from Helen, and the man had now passed the Wolseley Arms pub, went across two small roundabouts, and went onto the Rugeley Road, passing the Wyevale Garden Centre on the left.
The man continued, "I was going to head into Little Haywood, but I've heard of a few camps in Rugeley, so that's where I'm going. I..."
The man took a look to his left and began to smile. The woman seemed to be in a daydream and the man cleared his throat, startling the woman and forcing her out of her fantasy.
She asked, "What's the matter?"
"You haven't been listening to a word I've been saying, have you?"
She paused for thought, then turned away from the driver and began staring out of the window again, not even asking where they were going and why they were going there. "I'm sorry."
"That's okay." He shook his head and thought about someone that brought tears to his eyes. "And my Laura always used to say that it was men that never listened."
"Who's Laura?"
"My partner." The man cracked a smile. "She was attacked when they surrounded us in the woods."
She stopped looking outside, watching the trees and bushes whizzing past, and turned to look at her driver. "I don't get it. What were you doing in the woods?"
"Wow. You really haven't been listening to a single word."
"I'm sorry." She glared out at the front, and added, "I haven't been with it recently." She looked down to her dirty bare feet and it took a while for her brain to acknowledge that she had left the house barefooted.
The man asked, "What's your name?"
She remained glaring and suddenly asked, "Where are you going? Rugeley?"
The man nodded. "Is there a specific place you want me to drop you off?"
She shook her head, her face still devoid of any emotion. "If we're going this way, I suppose it'd be good to see my dad. If he's alive."
"Where does he stay?"
"Spode Cottage. The campsite."
"So what's your name?" The man had decided to ask for a second time, hoping for an answer this time around.
This time she responded, "My name's Helen Waite."
"Pleased to meet you, Helen Waite."
Helen Waite turned to the driver and asked, "What's yours?"
"I'm Bentley Drummle."
Chapter Forty Four
"Is she gone?" Pickle said sadly.
Karen shook her head. She was still sitting next to Shaz, holding her hand. "Not yet."
Pickle stood yards away from the girls and was in the kitchen, fixing himself and Karen a glass of water. His eyes went to the main door of the caravan, as he heard a small squeak coming from the door handle as it was being pushed down. Vince stepped in, gave Karen a slim smile, and walked over to Pickle.
"What's the damage?" Pickle whispered, out of earshot from Karen.
"Well," sighed Vince, rubbing both hands across his face. "The livestock seems to be okay, and the water-well hasn't been touched, so we should be fine as far as pollution is concerned."
"I meant," snarled Pickle, "the casualty damage."
Vince shrugged. "Not sure yet. I've told people to stay indoors until we've cleared things up. Jasmine Kelly is hysterical; she's being comforted in Rosemary's caravan with young Lisa. I've seen the Dicksons and little Kyle refuses to leave the bedroom. The whole thing's a fucking mess."
"What a shit morning."
Vince looked over to where Karen and a dying Shaz were and said softly to Pickle, "I know this sounds harsh, but once we're done here, I want you by my side when we clean up. I'm short on guys. Robin's dead, David Chatting is missing, and nobody has driven out to tell the watchmen at Armitage and the Ash Tree what has happened. I thought they might have heard or seen the explosion and come back."
Pickle sighed, "Well, they're in for a shock when they find out."
"I know it's a stupid question," Vince called over to a distraught-looking Karen, "but how is she?"
"Dying," was the only word that Karen could muster without looking up.
"Who's going to...?"
"I am," said Karen. "I volunteered."
A silence enveloped what was the left of the group; Vince cleared his throat and said, "For what it's worth. I'm sorry."
"It's worth nothing." Karen looked up at Vince and revealed a small smile. "But thanks anyway."
Vince headed for the door, stopped, and took one last look at Sharon Bailey. He exited the caravan and left Pickle and Karen alone with Shaz.
There was silence for another five minutes and Karen felt for Shaz's pulse in her neck. Karen leaned her head over, tears spilling over Shaz's hair, and kissed her on the forehead. "Goodbye, Sharon. I hope you see Spencer on your travels. I hope they're waiting for you."
Pickle whispered over. "Is she..?"
Karen nodded. "There's no pulse."
Pickle asked, "Would yer mind if I say a prayer for her?"
"Why would I mind? She was your friend too." Karen wiped the tears away with her forearms and beckoned Pickle over. "Come on. We'll do it together. I only know The Lord's Prayer."
Pickle smiled and walked over to the woman he loved like she was his own daughter. "The old classics are the best."
They both went onto their knees and lowered their heads, and Pickle began reciting. He looked to the side of him, at Karen, and had only managed the first line before she burst into tears once more. Pickle put his arms round her and kissed her on the cheek and brought her closer to him.
He finished off the prayer, then slowly stood to his feet.
He knew what was to be done next. They both knew what needed to be done next, but Karen was having second thoughts.
"I'll leave you two to be alone." Pickle stood to his feet. "I'm just outside, if yer need me."
"I want you here," Karen announced. She looked at him with her dark, rainy eyes. "I want you by my side."
"Are yer sure?"
She nodded once.
"How..?" Harry Branston allowed his sentence to trail. He wasn't sure if he should finish the sentence. In fact, he wasn't sure if he should have started the sentence in the first place.
Karen knew what he was going to ask: How are we going to do this?
She said, "I'll try and make it as dignified as possible. I'll use a steak knife. Through the eye." She placed her hand over her mouth; she couldn't believe what she was saying.
Pickle agreed with Karen's idea and said, "So we're going to put her at peace the way we put away Grace Kindl?"
"Who?"
Pickle smiled. "Wolf's wife. Vince's mum."
"Oh." Karen had forgot about that incident, despite it only being three weeks ago. "I thought I used a sharpened handle of a wooden spoon to do that."
"Okay," smiled Pickle, "Miss Contrary."
"I'll put a sheet over her face, and put it through her eye. She can be buried next to Jack."
"I think Vince will be burning the bodies that don't have living relatives. I think Jasmine's mother will be buried, but—"
"She will be buried alongside Jack," Karen growled with her teeth clenched together. Her eyes were wide and a drip of saliva ran for her mouth like a rabid dog. "That's what she wanted. She told me that she wanted to be buried, along
with that bracelet that she'd lost."
Pickle lowered his head as if he had been told off by his mother. "No sign o' the bracelet?"
Karen shook her head and said, "I don't think we'll find it. We'll just have to bury her without it."
"Bracelet or no bracelet, she'll still be with her son."
Pickle went over to the kitchen and pulled out a steak knife from the drawer. He grabbed a tea towel and placed them by the side of Karen. She looked at the knife and towel with disgust, then her face saddened and glared at Pickle.
Karen confessed, "I can't do it."
"She's gone." Pickle tried to reassure her. He picked up the towel and placed it over Shaz's face. "All we'll be doing is stabbing the shell that she used to dwell in. Her soul is elsewhere now."
"I know. I'm being stupid."
"Yer not." Pickle patted her hand. "But if we don't do this soon, then her shell will eventually be taken over by somethin' evil."
"I can't." Karen peeked at the tea towel that was now over Sharon Bailey's face. "She had such beautiful blue eyes. It'd be a shame to pierce one of them."
"She won't be needing them where she's going." Pickle smiled at Karen comfortingly, as she began to sob again. "And besides, if we don't hurry, she's going to change. And those eyes aren't gonna stay blue anyway. Yer know that."
Karen was heartbroken but tried to make a small joke out of the dire situation. "Why do you have to make so much sense?"
"I've always been the boring one o' any group I've been involved in."
Karen picked up the knife and Pickle could see she was shaking. Her soaked, brown eyes stared at the forty-three-year-old former inmate, and she tried to speak, but her throat was so choked with emotion, she couldn't get the words out.
"I'll tell yer what." Pickle gently took the knife off of her. "We'll do it together."
He grabbed the handle of the knife, his large hands covering the whole of the black handle, and Karen placed her own on top of his.
They both glared at one another, both holding the jagged blade, but it was Pickle that was in control of it. He moved the knife over to Shaz's face and placed the tip of the blade on the material of the tea towel, on the left eye, the nearest one to them.
Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) Page 70
