He sobbed hard and his tears fell out of his eyes like rain from a cloud. He looked over to the dead body with blurry eyes and quickly wiped the tears away with the palms of his hands.
A minute had passed and Braithwaite stood up and went upstairs to go outside and break the bad news to Pickle.
In all his rage, he had no idea how many times he smacked the young man's head off of the wall. More than three times? Less than ten? No matter how many times he had done it, the man was dead.
Terry stepped outside and was struggling to get his breath. His heart was racing, he felt dizzy and his head was banging. He walked down his path and onto the pavement. He could see Pickle stepping out of his house with Karen and Vince in tow, Stephen Bonser and Rowley were by the wall and the man of the Danson family, Jim Danson, was on the main gate.
Terry wiped his wet eyes again and could see Pickle, Vince and Karen heading over to him. They knew something was wrong.
“Yer look terrible,” said Pickle to Terry. “What's wrong?”
Terry stood motionless and shook his head. All three could see he had been crying.
“Terry?” This time Karen tried. “What is it?”
Vince probed further. “Is it the prisoner?”
“He taunted me,” mumbled Terry, and ran his fingers through his ginger beard. “I couldn't help myself.”
“What's he on about?” Vince looked to Karen, but she shrugged her shoulders.
“He taunted me about my family.” Terry continued, “He said he wasn't going to show you where this Drake fellow stays, no matter what.”
Pickle was growing concerned about Terry's behaviour. “Terry, what have yer done?”
“I couldn't help myself.”
Pickle turned to Vince. “Go and check in the cellar.”
Vince jogged into Terry's house and returned just thirty seconds later. Pickle and Karen were looking over to him and he shook his head.
Nothing needed to be said. The prisoner was gone. They all knew that the prisoner was dead.
“Another one, Terry?” Pickle sighed, “Well that's that then.”
Pickle was angry. The young man that was chained up in Terry's cellar was the only hope for peace that they had. A part of Harry Branston wanted to punch Terry's lights out, but what would that achieve?
“What do we do now?” Karen asked Pickle.
“Wait and see what happens.”
“Is that it?” Karen said, “We could hang around the two main roads and ambush them or something, but we don't really have the numbers for that.”
Vince didn't agree with Karen's idea and said, “Even if we had the people back that we lost yesterday and ambushed the WOE characters, there would be a lot of vulnerable people left in Colwyn. Imagine if those WOE fellows turned up here by using a different route and we weren't here. It'd be a slaughter.”
Vince put his arm around Terry, telling him that he wasn't angry for what he did.
“So we just wait and see what happens?” Karen asked Pickle.
Pickle rubbed his stubbly face with the palms of his hands and looked exasperated. “There's nothing else we can do, thanks to Terry … again.”
Chapter Thirty Four
Craig Burns was in limbo.
He was standing near his main door and wanted to do something useful. He decided to stand with thirty-four-year-old Jim Danson by the gate. It was a day of danger and strong paranoia. The street was on high alert and Pickle wanted the whole street to show any outsiders that they were strong and still had numbers, so most of the surviving residents were now out and armed.
With his hockey stick in his right hand, Craig went over to Danson and asked if he was okay.
Danson looked nervous, but managed a nod of the head.
In truth, he wasn't okay.
What had happened to the street made him fear for his own and his family's lives.
Waking up to the news that John Lincoln had also died only increased the depression around the place, and Danson seemed angry that the victims of Colwyn Place were simply buried in a field together.
It didn't seem right.
Even though Lincoln had said more than once that if anything happened to him then they should throw him in a ditch, Danson thought about his own family.
Could he stand and watch if his wife passed away and was put into the ground?
Pickle had told him that it was the way of the world now, and that once a person dies, the body doesn't matter anyway. It was simply a temporary shell for their soul to dwell in.
For a non-believer like Danson, it was hard words for him to hear.
“So how long have you been here?” Craig asked the father of two.
Jim seemed annoyed that Craig was speaking to him, but Craig never took offence. He guessed that Danson was irritable because he was edgy, or maybe he was one of the residents that blamed him and Jez for starting this mess.
“I've lived here for years.”
“Oh, so you're an original resident?”
“Yep.”
Craig bit his bottom lip and knew that getting information out of Jim was like getting blood out of a stone.
“I was married myself,” Craig spoke up and added sadly, “I also had two kids, then they were taken away from me.”
“Sorry to hear that.” There was very little empathy in Danson's voice, but Craig wasn't offended by this and decided to continue to try and get to know the man.
He asked, “What's your wife's name? I've seen her about once or twice, but—”
“Why do you want to know my wife's name?” Jim gazed at Craig coldly, waiting for an answer.
“Just making polite conversation,” Craig half-laughed. “God, sorry.”
“My wife is called Jennifer. I have a nine-year-old boy called Zac, a seven-year-old girl called Kelly. You don't see my family much because my children suffer from night terrors since this apocalypse began, and my wife suffers from anxiety, depression and also has nightmares. Basically, we are all constantly tired. Is there anything else that you want to know?”
Craig didn't respond to Jim's rude outburst; he simply exhaled hard and turned away.
Realising that Danson wasn't in a talkative mood, Craig stood in silence with his hockey stick in his right hand and began to think about Jez. This world was crushing the youngster; he wasn't dealing with it very well and Craig worried for his mental health.
Having someone like Paul Dickson on the camp was bad enough, but to have another resident to lose their mind...
Craig sighed; he then walked away from Jim Danson.
His company clearly wasn't wanted.
Chapter Thirty Five
“What do woman and noodles have in common?”
Vince was over at the wall with Stephen Rowley. Bonser was a few yards away, sitting on the floor, clearly bored.
Stephen Rowley sighed and said, “Vince, I'm not really in the mood for jokes.”
Vince gave him the punchline anyway. “They both wiggle when you eat them.”
“Not funny, chap.”
“Aw, come on. You've got a face like a camel chewing toast.”
“And why's that, chap?” Stephen twisted his neck and cleared his throat. “Doesn't it bother you that we've lost people yesterday? I was close to some of those guys, chap. Maybe if it was Karen or Pickle you wouldn't be such a pain in the arse.”
“It's just my way of dealing with shit,” Vince said in a serious tone. “I've lost a lot of people too. I lost my son before the apocalypse.”
“I just don't think people would appreciate you walking around and telling your daft jokes, that's all I'm saying.”
“We need to lift the spirits up somehow. We could be attacked any minute.”
“Well, if we are...” Stephen lowered his head and paused. He tried again. “If we are attacked, then I don't think we're gonna last very long. They killed the Fergusons and James. They were fighters. The rest of them ... Freddie, his mum, Gareth, Beverley and the kid ... they never stood
a chance.”
“If we flee, we'd be leaving behind an embarrassment of riches, plus they'd find us anyway, if they really wanted to.”
“I know that, chap,” Stephen grunted. “If they don't get us out there, then the dehydration and starvation will. Sure, we could load the vehicles with all the produce we have and flee to somewhere miles from here, but stuff will run out eventually. I don’t think leaving is an option.”
“Agreed.” Vince nodded. “We couldn’t abandon this place now. Look what we have. We have solar power—okay, so it's not the best. We have vegetables, medical supplies... If we left, we'd go back to scavenging and going on runs, and we can't be doing that again. The more you go out there on runs, the less there is to take. There's nothing left now anyway.”
“I guess so.” Rowley nodded and was about to say something else, but Vince had beaten him to it.
“I never thought about the long-term, not at first.” Vince sighed and rubbed his scarred face. “When it first kicked off, when I was staying at the Spode Cottage, we had some provisions, but me and a couple of others spent our time emptying shops, pubs and empty houses. We did have a water well. That was a bloody lifesaver. Sometimes I think about going back there.”
“I heard about your camp,” Stephen said and added, “You lost a lot of people there in one swoop, didn't you?”
“Ten in all,” said Vince sadly. “And I think about them everyday, and the ones we lost from Sandy Lane as well.”
Rowley cleared his throat and looked at Vince sheepishly. “I'm sorry about before. Maybe I was a bit harsh.”
“Like I said ... it's just my way of coping with things.” Vince lifted his chin and began to reminisce. “Me and Lee James went to a buddy's funeral years ago and privately cracked jokes to ourselves at the wake.”
Stephen scratched his head and widened his eyes in surprise. “I don't know if I could do that.”
“It's just the way we were. If it was me that had died, Lee and my other pal would have done the same.”
“What kind of jokes did you say?” Stephen hunched his shoulders. “Just out of interest.”
“Well...” Vince began to ponder. “My mate used to take viagra. He didn't need it; he told us that it made him last longer under the sheets. So we cracked jokes about there being more than one stiff in the box and wondered if the funeral directors had trouble getting the lid on. You know, that kind of shit.”
“Me and you are really like chalk and cheese, aren't we, chap?”
Vince never answered Stephen and added, “His missus was there, crying and stuff, then a month later she ran off with his work pal. To be honest, I had no idea what he saw in her. Ugly thing, she was. No wonder he needed the viagra.”
“He must have liked her.”
“Don't know why. I wouldn't have banged her with yours. She had a face like a bag of smashed twats.”
“A bit harsh, chap.”
“Seriously, Stephen,” continued Vince. “She also had tits like a roofer's nail-bag.”
Stephen decided not to respond to Vince's comments and turned to Bonser and began to chat to him about how nervous he was because of another potential attack. Bonser was honest and told both Rowley and Kindl that he had a bad feeling about today.
In truth, all three of them did.
*
Harry Branston smiled at Danson and asked him to open the gate and let him out. Danson did as he was told and asked Pickle where he was going.
“O'er there.” Pickle pointed over to the field that was opposite the street. “I need to do something that I should have done yesterday.”
After helping to bury the bodies yesterday, all the people involved were so exhausted that they washed when they returned to the street and went straight to bed. Some didn't sleep; some went for a lie down, but were haunted by what they had witnessed and grieving for the people that had been lost.
Pickle nodded at Danson and thanked him. He crossed the road and went into the field, heading for the graves. All the people that had been killed were buried together, in one hole.
Pickle's boots stopped once he reached the graves and shook his head. The scene overwhelmed the man and he fought back the tears. He massaged the lump in his throat, with his right hand, and shook his head.
“How many more do there have to be?” he said. “How many?”
He ran his fingers through his dark, clammy hair and slowly dropped to his knees, putting his hands together.
He closed his eyes, dipped his head and began to pray.
“God, our Father, Your power brings us to birth, Your providence guides our lives, and by Your command we return to dust. Lord, those who die still live in Your presence, their lives change but do not end. I pray in hope for my friends, and for all the dead known to You alone. In company with Christ, Who died and now lives, may they rejoice in Your kingdom, where all our tears are wiped away. Unite us together again in one family, to sing Your praise forever and ever. Amen.”
Pickle rose to his feet and stared at the area where the dead lay. He took in a deep breath, wiped his eyes and walked away, back to the camp.
Chapter Thirty Six
Once Pickle had returned from the field, he told Karen and Vince that he was going to 'disappear' and get some air. They asked if they could join him, and he said yes. Pickle told Bonser and Rowley not to worry and that they wouldn't be going far. He just needed to get out of the street for the sake of his own sanity.
No vehicle was taken. They simply walked out of the gate, all three of them, and turned right. They walked along the Wolseley Road and made little chat until they reached the bridge that went over the Trent. Small talk about the past was then made, and Pickle, Karen and Vince, who were all armed with machetes, climbed over the wall of the bridge and sat on the grass bank of the Trent.
Across the river, the back of The Wolseley Arms could be seen and Vince was the first to speak since they had sat down.
“I can see why Paul liked to go for his walks,” he said. “It's good to get away from that place.”
Karen nodded in agreement, but never responded verbally.
“I never understood why John wanted to keep everyone in the street anyway, unless they were out on runs,” Pickle remarked. “Maybe it was a control thing.”
Karen finally added to the conversation and said, “Or maybe he wanted to keep people safe.”
“To be fair, Lee also didn't like it if you went off site at Sandy Lane.” Vince stared at the water and reminisced.
“No, he didn't,” Pickle agreed. “But Sandy Lane was a large place. This place is just a small street and it's sometimes good for the mind to leave it for a while, despite the potential dangers out here.”
“How long are you planning to stay out here?” Vince asked Pickle.
Pickle hunched his shoulders. “Half an hour. No longer. Those men are gonna turn up later. I know it.”
“Well, that's the main way they can get to our place.” Vince pointed over at Stafford Road that ran alongside the pub. “But the next time they might go the back way.”
“Shame we didn't have our Brownings like the first week.” Karen playfully nudged Pickle, trying to lighten the mood. “Man, we'd create some serious damage.”
“Aye.” Pickle smiled and added, “Especially with that shotgun o' mine. Jesus, I'd love to 'ave those babies back. They'd be no messin' with us, Bradley. Yer know what I mean?”
“Too right.” Karen nodded. “If we had at least the handguns, then—”
“But you don't,” interrupted Vince, bringing the pair of them cruelly back to reality.
The three sat in quiet for a while before Vince spoke up and said, “Creating a roadblock on the Stafford Road would be a good idea. Then when they arrive, we could jump out on them.”
“And what if there're fifty of them?” said Karen. “What if some are carrying shotguns?”
“We've already talked about this. It's a bad idea. Even if we had no fatalities yesterday,” Pickle began, �
��we still wouldn't have the manpower to create something like that.”
Karen said, “I know I mentioned an ambush before, but I think Pickle is right. I mean, what happens if we attack them but they've only come here to talk?”
“Let's hope that's the case.” Pickle lay back and put his hands behind his head. “Talking is our only option to sort out this mess.”
“What're you doing?” Karen laughed.
“Relaxing and staring at the clouds,” said Pickle. “This is nice. Yer should do it, Bradley. It might take yer mind off things.”
“Really?” she scoffed. “Do you think it'll take my mind off the fact that we're in the middle of an apocalypse, my fiancé being dead, losing my baby, and most of the people I get close to end up dying?”
Pickle smiled. “I suppose when yer put it like that...”
“I might just head back and crack one off.” Vince stood to his feet and said further, “I'm a little bored to be honest, I need a pee, and all I can think about is Joanne's arse.”
Pickle chuckled, “Charming.”
“I like a good arse,” Vince smiled, “but not in a Brokeback Mountain kind of way.”
“Just stay a while and then we'll all go back together,” Karen suggested.
“Fine, but I need to disappear behind that bush for a piss.”
Karen looked away as Vince went over to a nearby bush.
Pickle was still lying on the grass with his eyes closed and a small smile on his face. “This is what we all need,” he said. “Even the rest o' the guys like Bonser and Rowley. Sometimes yer just need a little time out from the real world, especially now.”
“It can't be good for your mental health,” said Vince, returning to the two of them, “being cooped up in that street. Some have never left the place, like the Dansons and Joanne.”
“If I do take charge, after we get through this other crisis,” said Pickle. “There're gonna be a lot o' unhappy people. A lot o' inexperienced people are going to be taken out on runs, will have to learn to fight... We can't expect the experienced guys to do double shifts whilst the others hide away and wash clothes.”
Snatchers (Book 11): The Dead Don't Knock Page 17
