Lloyd and the rest could see the forty-eight-year-old swigging from a Jack Daniels bottle that was only a quarter full, and was singing an anti-Semitic song about Auschwitz.
“If he wasn't my blood...” Lloyd didn't need to finish off his sentence.
“I'll try and cool things.” Gordon took a step forward, but Lloyd stopped him.
“It's okay,” said Lloyd. “He's my brother. I'll deal with it.” Lloyd then looked at his son and told him to ignore the skeleton key and get four keys from behind the reception, preferably for the ground floor. Junior did what he was told and handed his father the keys.
“What's that for?” Kelly asked.
“Our rooms for the night.” Lloyd handed Kelly a key. “For you and Joan. Room four. Gordon, you're in room six, and me and Junior will take number five.”
“What about Marvin?” Joan waited impatiently for an answer. Marvin was making too much noise and all were paranoid that he was going to attract danger.
“As soon as we knock him out,” Lloyd said, “we'll put him in number three.”
“Knock him out?”
“Junior,” Lloyd pointed over at the reception, “Stand over there, out the way.”
Lloyd then paced over to the bar with the girls with Gordon behind him and waved at his brother, Marvin. “Okay, bro, I think that's enough.”
Marvin stopped his singing and stood ungainly on his feet, trying to focus on the four adults that were stood staring at him. He scrunched his eyes, snarled at them, then continued to drink until the whole bottle had been finished.
Lloyd tried again. “Right. Time to call it a day.”
“Fuck off!” Marvin threw the empty bottle, catching Joan on the chest.
She released a shriek and called him a stupid drunken bastard. With her fists clenched, she marched towards him and managed to slap him across the face, but Gordon and Lloyd held her back, preventing her from raining another blow.
“What are you doing?” Joan moaned. “I thought you wanted this prick knocked out.”
“He's drunk,” warned Lloyd. “He could be capable of anything. It's my problem.”
“Marvin behaving like this is our problem,” Joan snapped. “Kelly's already put him on his arse and I had to shoot a kid. We're not delicate flowers, silly damsels—”
“I'm not being sexist,” Lloyd sighed. “He's my brother. Let me sort it, that's what I'm trying to say.”
Lloyd turned to Marvin and took one step forward.
“Think you're all better than me, don't you?” the drunken man slurred. “Cunts. And you...” he pointed at Kelly. “You watch yourself, girl, because you're gonna get it up the arse, I can tell you that for nothing.”
“Right, that's enough.” Lloyd grabbed a hold of the swaying Marvin, but was pushed away by his big brother. Marvin then took a hopeless swing at Lloyd. Lloyd easily avoided the swing and watched as Marvin fell to the floor, face-down, with a thump. A smile emerged on Joan and Kelly's face once he had hit the deck. He was unconscious, but their smiles were soon removed when Lloyd looked at them both.
“Give me a hand carrying him to his room,” said Lloyd.
The girls took his legs, whereas the boys took the arms, and carried the skinny man to room three. The door was unlocked and they managed to put him on the bed and Lloyd was the first to leave the room. Gordon and Joan left, leaving Kelly Bronson behind.
She walked over to the intoxicated Marvin Dickinson and jumped when Lloyd returned and asked what she was doing.
“I'm putting him on his side,” she explained. “If we leave him on his back he might be sick later on. He might choke.”
“Good thinking,” Lloyd nodded and his face relaxed a little. “We're all gonna grab something to eat. Wanna hand with him?”
“No, I've got it.”
Lloyd disappeared and Kelly heard him say as he strolled down the hallway, “Don't forget to shut his door.”
“No worries!” she yelled back.
The young woman looked at the despicable, unconscious man. It didn't seem right that an individual like Marvin had so far come through this disaster unscathed. It seemed unjust.
She glared at his grey hair, his thin stubbly face with protruding cheeks and his skinny frame. He wasn't great to look at, but knowing what he was and what he was capable of made the sight of this middle-aged man even more awful.
Kelly had locked up many inmates in her short time as a prison officer. She had dealt with them all; Murderers, thieves, drug barons, rapists ... the lot. When she had to speak to these people, no matter how she felt about them, she would have to be courteous and treat them with respect to a certain degree.
Marvin made her skin crawl.
She had no idea if he had been in prison or not, but it wouldn't be a surprise to her if the man had some kind of sexual crime history.
She shook her head at the man and thought of all the people, especially children, that had been killed or infected. “And here you are,” she spat, looking down on the drunken body of Marvin Dickinson, “still breathing.”
She heard Gordon shouting in the background, asking Kelly what was taking her so long. She had to hurry.
She sighed, “This'll do for starters.”
She rained two right punches to Marvin's groin, forcing a groan from the soused man, and left the room, shutting the door behind her, leaving him on his back.
She hoped that, with a bit of luck, he would choke on his own vomit.
Probably not. Scum like Marvin doesn't go that easy.
She finally entered the reception and saw them in the bar area, eating food from their bags as well as the snacks from behind the bar.
Gordon was at a table on his own, eating a packet of salted peanuts and had a packet of pork scratchings sitting on top of the table. They were next on Gordon's hit list.
“Anything left for me,” Kelly joked and peered behind the bar. She had her eye on one of the cokes and reached for two packets of salt and vinegar crisps. “That'll do for now.”
“We can try the kitchens later,” said Lloyd. “See what we can rustle up.”
Lloyd and Junior were sitting on the opposite table to Gordon, and Lloyd asked Kelly, “What were you doing in there? You were taking ages.”
“Just making sure he was alright.” She clocked Joan staring at her and gave off a smile.
“We'll have to make sure that we put a booze ban on Marvin,” Lloyd said, “From now on, he doesn't get left alone near the bar.” He then turned to Kelly. “Do you think he'll be alright? There isn't a chance he could choke, is there?”
With a bit of luck. Kelly smiled. “He should be okay. If he moves, he moves. Nothing we can do about it unless we sit with him all night.”
Gordon scoffed, “Fuck that.”
“Here, here,” said Joan.
“So what are we gonna do after we've stuffed our faces?” Kelly asked Lloyd.
Lloyd laughed, “Am I the leader then?”
They all nodded, including Junior.
Lloyd sighed, “We get our fill, have a lazy few hours and get an early night. Let's see what tomorrow brings.”
Chapter Eighteen
Saturday 9th June
His sticky eyes opened and he lifted his tongue up to lick the roof of his crinkly mouth. He was severely dehydrated and sitting up was a momentous task for a hungover Marvin Dickinson, but he managed it. He looked down and could see he was still fully-dressed.
He rubbed at his throbbing temples to try and ease the pain, but knew that it was liquids that his body needed, not a massage, and swung his legs to the side of the bed. He wasn't quite ready yet, but he was going to attempt standing up and see if he could manage to stay on his feet.
A minute had passed and with shaky legs, he stood up and swayed as if he was on a boat on rough waters. The room span and he laughed to himself. He had been in some states before, but this was one of his worst. Flashes of the day before began to enter his mind and he knew that he had been a bad boy and pro
bably said some things to the group that were indefensible, but he couldn't remember much.
He then touched his crotch and winced. He was sore there. Maybe I fell over on the way to the room.
“Jesus,” he began to snicker. “How much did I have to drink?” He then remembered. A full bottle of Jack Daniels. “Oh.”
He took a slow walk to the bathroom and speeded up once he could feel the contents of his stomach making its way back up. He released a jet-like spray of vomit that mainly went into the toilet, but some of it hit the toilet seat itself. He didn't have time to lift the seat up, and was now bent over, retching, and bringing up the rest of the stuff his body was rejecting. He spat a few times into the toilet, then stood up straight, unzipped himself and pulled out his penis. Without looking, he peed into the toilet, his urine was an awful light brown colour, and he could feel a dull pain in his stomach once he was finished.
“You've gotta be kidding,” he moaned and clutched his stomach.
He pulled his trousers round his ankles, turned around and sat on the seat. He felt rough and his arse cheeks were resting on some of the puke that had hit the seat, but it was not bothering him in the slightest.
He threw his head back as his bowels released runny shit. Marvin released a groan once he was finished, and used the white toilet roll that was at the side to wipe himself.
He undressed completely and threw the clothes to the corner of the bathroom. He then ran the cold tap of the bath and rinsed himself off, from the groin to his feet, then put a towel around himself and went back to the bedroom.
He went over to the cupboard, head still spinning, and opened it. All the rooms looked unlived in and was surprised that there were clothes in this cupboard. Maybe this room had guests. Maybe they were in so much of a panic, when word spread of the infection, that they just jumped in their vehicle and fled.
Marvin pulled out a black pair of boxers, a black pair of socks, with two stripes at the top of them, and put the underwear on. He pulled out a pair of blue jeans, no belt, and also put on a black Slazenger T-shirt. The last thing he took from the cupboard, and the last thing he had put on, was a pair of black Caterpillar boots. Size tens. He was a size nine, but they'd have to do.
He went back into the bathroom and ran the sink's cold tap and began drinking the water from it. After two minutes of slurping, he splashed his face to wake himself up, then decided it was time to meet the rest of the group and see what he had got up to the day before. He had no idea what time it was, but the light coming from outside suggested that he had slept right through to the morning.
“Shit. I hope I didn't embarrass myself too much.”
In truth, Marvin didn't give a shit what the rest thought of him. His own brother was someone he hardly knew, and the only memories he had of Lloyd was when they were children.
Marvin used to bully Lloyd terribly and even as far as back as when Lloyd was four, Marvin always took pleasure on seeing his brother getting punished by their abusive parents. Every time Lloyd used to wet the bed, his parents would punish him by smacking him. This seemed a harsh thing to do to a child who had no control over their bladder, but it was the way their parents used to operate.
But one day Lloyd had stopped wetting the bed, to Marvin's disappointment. A dry couple of weeks later, Marvin sneaked into his brother's bedroom one morning, once Lloyd was up and downstairs, and pissed on his bedroom sheets. Marvin then went into his parents room to inform them that Lloyd had had another 'bad night' and his little brother was smacked once more for his lack of control over his bladder. Marvin had stopped doing this after a couple of weeks and went onto something else to torment his little brother.
He rubbed his tummy and wondered how long it had been since he had put food into his stomach. He was hungry, especially now that he had threw up.
“Right,” Marvin went for the door, opened it and strolled down the corridor. “Time to see if I was a good boy or not.”
Chapter Nineteen
Marvin had turned up in the reception area, worse for wear, where everybody was having breakfast. Gordon was expecting Lloyd and his brother to be at loggerheads, but it seemed that both brothers were happy to ignore one another.
As soon as Joan saw the frame of the eldest Dickinson making his way over from the corridor, she had to leave. He had thrown a bottle at her the day before and could have easily have damaged her face, rather than giving her a small bruise on her chest. He was drunk, but he still did what he did.
Joan had decided to go for a walk around the village, with the place being Runner-free, and Gordon asked if he could go with her. Joan was pleased with the company, although deep-down she would have preferred Kelly by her side. Her and Gordon seemed happy to be out in the fresh air.
“This is nice.” Joan sighed and linked her arm with Gordon's. Neither had a coat on, and although it was reasonably warm, a sharp wind that passed through the tiny village now and again made them shudder a little.
The thirty-four-year-old from Crewe still had on her black leggings, trainers and black T-shirt, and took in a deep breath and looked around the archaic and picturesque village.
“It's lovely, isn't it?” remarked Gordon, knowing that she was taking in the scenery.
“Never realised this place existed. Blanchland. Never heard of it. You?”
Gordon pulled a face to tell Joan that he also had no idea that the village existed.
Joan continued, “What do you think of Kelly?”
“I like her.” Gordon began to laugh, realising what he had just said. “What I mean...”
“You don't have to explain,” said Joan. “She's a gorgeous young lady. Imagine what's it's like for her working on the prison wings. A looker like that, surrounded by fifty or sixty cons. Must be frightening.”
“Frightening? You're joking,” Gordon cackled. “All those murderers and bank robbers are probably like teenage boys when she's on her shift, fighting for her attention, like lovesick puppies. Plenty for their wank bank as well.”
“Wank bank?” Joan wasn't sure whether she should laugh or not. “What are you going on about, Burns?”
“Think about it. You're stuck in prison all day, you see Kelly and keep that picture of her in your mind with that uniform on. What do you think the cons are gonna be doing?”
Joan shrugged, but knew what he was about to say.
“They're gonna be disappearing back in their cells to smash one out. Maybe two.”
“Men.” Joan shook her head. “Weak and pathetic.”
“True.” Gordon smiled. “It's not our fault. It's the way we're made.”
Gordon didn't get a further response from Joan and looked to the side to see she was staring at the end house of the village. It was almost opposite the hotel, near the bridge. Gordon asked her what was up. Shit. Please don't tell me you've spotted a Runner.
“I think I saw something.” Her lips moved, but her five-four frame was stationary. Her brown shoulder-length hair gently moved because of the light wind, and Gordon had to probe further. It was as if Joan was under hypnosis.
“What did you see?” Gordon asked. “A Runner?”
Joan shook her head. “A person. I saw a curtain twitch in that bedroom.” She pointed at the top window of one of the stone houses.
“But we knocked the houses and peered inside of them. All of them.”
“Yeah, well, if you were on your own and six folk turned up, out of the blue, what would you do if they knocked your door? Run out and greet them, or hide?”
Gordon never answered Joan's query and said, “Shall we get the others?”
Joan never gave Gordon Burns a verbal response. She walked towards the house and tried the door. It was open. She called out, hoping to get a response from the individual she had spotted inside the house.
Gordon eventually reached her side and waited as Joan called out once more. He scratched at his dark hair nervously and began to play with one of his thick eyebrows with his thumb and forefinger. The w
ait was annoying him and suggested to Joan that they should leave the individual until they were ready to come out. Maybe they were nervous. Maybe they just wanted to be left alone.
Joan announced, “I'm going in.”
There was no point arguing with Joan. Someone once told Gordon that there were two theories to arguing with a women, but neither one of them worked. “Okay,” he sighed. “I hope you know what you're doing.”
Joan stepped in and turned to Gordon. “You coming?”
He nodded.
The pair of them went straight upstairs, their steps were slow, and once they finally made it to the landing, Joan pointed at the door to their right. That was the room she had seen the movement.
Gordon placed his hand on her shoulder and whispered into her ear that they should tell the person who they are and why they had turned up at Blanchland. He also told Joan that it would sound better coming from her, coming from a woman, so it would sound less threatening to whoever was inside that room.
Joan cleared her throat and began, “Hello in there. We mean you no harm. We're just survivors ... like yourself. There are six of us, including a young boy. We stayed at the White Horse, over the pond, and had managed to escape those ... creatures. Then we had to come here.”
Feeling silly for talking to a door, Joan paused but Gordon gave her a nudge and nodded his head at her, giving her encouragement to continue.
She added, “We're going to leave now. We're staying at the hotel across the road. If you're hungry, thirsty ... we have stuff. Just come over when you're ready. We're going. Maybe we'll see you later.”
Before Joan and Gordon had chance to move, a voice came from the room. “Wait.”
Gordon and Joan took a quick look at one another. Joan put her hand in her pocket where the knife was, just in case. The door opened slowly and a wispy man, with a head full of grey hair, could be seen. He looked nervous, malnourished, and his face was almost grey. Joan had no idea how old the man was, but he looked to be heading for seventy.
The man didn't seem to be moving; it looked like it took a lot of effort and bravado just to open his bedroom door. Maybe hearing about the food and water over the road had forced him to open it.
The Monsterland Trilogy [Books 1-3] Page 23
