All four galloped down to the bottom of the steps, and could hear more noises from the glass that was weakening by the second.
“Are we really doing this?” Vince asked Pickle. There was uncertainty in his face whether this was a good idea or not. “There’s still time to run.”
“Fuck it.” Pickle flashed Vince a cheeky smile. “We’re doing this.”
Chapter Thirteen
Stephanie kept her head back, eyes closed, leaning against the head restraint, and began to rub her temples with her fingers in a circular motion. She didn’t know if it was a migraine or it was because she had hardly touched any water.
She lifted her head, opened her eyes, and wondered what time it was. Elza and Ophelia seemed to be taking ages. Stephanie yawned and rubbed the top of her eyelids, and the fourteen-year-old took a peek in the wing mirror and her eyes widened in horror.
The torn down shutter revealed the factory floor and she could see some of the dead dawdling inside in all directions. She could see eight, but there could be more, she thought. But where were the girls?
Stephanie took her bag and bow and jumped out of the RV, accidentally hitting the horn as she left.
“Oh crap.”
As soon as her feet landed on the concrete, one of the ghoul’s heads had turned and began shambling towards her. The young girl had a knife in her pocket, but she didn’t want to be in close proximity of these diseased bastards. She took an arrow out of her bag and placed it on the bowstring, ready to fire.
She took aim and released the arrow, and could now see the ones in the factory were heading outside, towards her.
She watched as the metal point on the end of the pine arrow went into the centre of the Snatcher’s forehead. It dropped to the floor, and the other seven all began to pick up their pace slightly and head out of the factory.
She checked her bag to see if she had enough arrows to sort out this little problem. She had. She had eleven arrows left.
Eight arrows later and seven more bodies later—she had missed her target once—she walked over to the corpses and began to pull out the arrows from the bodies, putting them back in her bag.
She pulled out the last arrow of one of the corpses, and also the one off the floor that had completely missed the second from last ghoul.
She then stepped inside the warehouse with hesitant feet, the wind from outside entering the warehouse and brushing the back of her neck. She could see two more of the dead heading her way and some bodies behind them, scattered along the floor.
She looked at the two males that were slowly making their way over. Stephanie prepared her bow and fired an arrow that went through the left eye socket, the metal tip coming out of the back of its head. Once she took care of the other one and retrieved her two arrows, she gasped at the mess in front of her with narrowed and confused eyes that looked like a stitch underneath each of her eyebrows. There were four bodies on the floor. Two of them were Snatchers, but the other two...
Stephanie gasped when she saw two bats lying on the ground. Then she saw the two bodies of her friends.
Stephanie could see a large cupboard had been opened, and guessed correctly that the two women had opened it and that’s where some of the ghouls had come from. There were three dead inside, defunct, so Elza and Ophelia had put up some kind of fight before being overpowered.
Elza lay motionless in a pool of blood and Ophelia was gently moving her head from side to side, moaning with her eyes closed. Why hadn’t Elza and Ophelia been completely devoured? Did the horn attract these creatures away from their feed? Were these diseased bastards that dumb?
Stephanie put the string of the bow over her shoulder, with the bag on the other, and placed her hand over her mouth and began to cry when she moved closer and could see that Elza Crowe was dead. Her throat had been torn open and her insides had been pulled out, and probably more damage would have been done if the horn and Stephanie’s presence hadn’t distracted most of them.
Stephanie bent down, tears coming out of her eyes like a dripping tap, and placed her fingers over Elza’s wide, dead eyes, and softly closed them. She then turned her attention to Ophelia and could see that she was beyond help. She had been bitten on the hand and had significant wounds on her shoulders and also her neck, but obviously not as severe as Elza’s, as Ophelia was still alive.
Stephanie knew that if Ophelia didn’t die from blood loss, she was going to turn anyway. Ophelia gritted her teeth, eyes now open, and nodded at Stephanie, telling her to put her out of her misery.
Stephanie wiped her eyes and told Ophelia to close hers, and then prepared her Jaguar bow once more. Ophelia did what she was told and winced, waiting for the metal point to penetrate her body, but she didn’t know exactly where Stephanie was going to shoot her.
Stephanie was struggling, the bow shaking in her hand. For some reason she struggled to release the arrow.
She looked down on Ophelia and could see tears leaving from her closed eyes, but still Stephanie couldn’t do it.
“It’s okay,” Ophelia whispered.
Stephanie gasped and finally released the arrow, killing Ophelia instantly.
The arrow had gone into the centre of her forehead, killing the woman straightaway and also preventing her from turning. She gazed at Ophelia’s body and wiped underneath her eyes as Ophelia’s words it’s okay kept on repeating inside her head. That was the first time that Stephanie had heard Ophelia speak.
Stephanie gazed at the two women and then realised something. How the hell was she going to get back to Colwyn Place? She needed the keys to the RV, and even then, she didn’t know how to drive.
Stephanie went over to Elza’s body, bent down, and put her hands in her pockets. She retrieved the keys and headed for the RV. She turned around, before exiting the warehouse altogether, and took one last look at the sad sight of her two friends, their bats, Maria and Frieda, lying by their sides.
Stephanie puffed out a breath and went inside the vehicle. She threw her bag and bow onto the passenger seat, and sat in the driver’s seat, shutting the door.
She held her hands out over the steering wheel and could see them shaking. She burst into tears once more and sobbed for under a minute before composing herself.
Wiping her eyes, she started to talk to herself. “Come on, Stephanie,” she said. “You can do this.”
She knew the system of driving, but doing it was another thing. She had watched her dad many times.
She put the key in the ignition, gave it a twist and fired the engine. She cleared her throat, and widened her eyes to improve her vision. She could just about reach the pedals with her feet, gently touched the gas pedal, and revved the vehicle three times before using her left foot to press down on the clutch.
She took in a deep breath and slipped the gear stick into first, and using the gas and clutch she tried to get the bite. The vehicle dipped slightly and she took off the handbrake. It immediately stalled once her foot came off the clutch too quickly. She knew the reason for this. Her left foot shook with nerves, so the clutch was juddering, and this was the reason why she couldn’t get the bite of the vehicle.
“Fuck’s sake,” she cussed, and then decided to try again.
She put the gear stick into neutral, pulled the parking brake up, and rested her forehead on the steering wheel.
“You can do this. You can do this.”
She prepared to try and move off once more.
The vehicle moved and Stephanie smiled as she slowly brought the clutch up and pressed the accelerator pedal down harder. The RV had only been moving a few seconds and already it sounded in distress. She slipped the vehicle into a higher gear, crunching the gears, and turned onto the main country road.
Once she was on the main road and was doing a steady thirty, she breathed a sigh of relief and shook a little less than before. Her hands shook, her legs shook, but fuck it, she was moving.
Her thoughts then went back to Elza and Ophelia, and the more she thought
about them, the blurrier the road in front of her became.
Chapter Fourteen
Karen Bradley stepped out of the house where the medical supplies were kept, and could see a guard at either end. Terry Braithwaite was by the front gate, which baffled her. She was convinced that Terry had done the nightshift and should be in his bed by now. She looked to her right and could see Stephen Bonser by the concrete wall, cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
“Where’d you get that?” Karen called over. “I thought you’d quit.”
“I did.” Bonser laughed and nodded over to Joanne Hammett who was sitting on her doorstep, also puffing on a bad boy. “Got one off Jo. I’m having one for old time’s sake. Lung cancer is the least of our worries now, isn’t it?”
“I suppose.” Karen smiled and decided to take a stroll over to Joanne.
Joanne was dressed in clothes that had seen better days and her greasy blonde hair was tied back. She looked unkempt, but still looked gorgeous, Karen thought.
Joanne looked up and could see Bradley approaching. She flashed Karen a smile and said, “Not the same, is it?”
Karen knew what Joanne meant straightaway. With people perishing the week before, John Lincoln dying and Paul Dickson leaving, the place was deathly silent.
Karen nodded her head in agreement. “It’s too quiet. I’m just waiting for a tumbleweed to blow by.”
Joanne shuffled over on her step and patted the space that was next to her, asking Karen to sit down.
Karen sat next to Joanne on the cold concrete step and asked, “You don’t mind if I smoke?”
“No, that’s fine,” said Karen and laughed, “You can set yourself on fire for all I care. How many have you got left? You must be running out by now.”
“A couple of packets,” Joanne laughed. “I’m gonna be murder to be around once they’re done. I knew this day would come, though.”
“Well, if we ever come across any more on a run, I’ll grab some.”
“Thanks. You want one?” Joanne opened the packet and held it under Karen’s nose.
“I shouldn’t.” Karen smiled.
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“It’s a yes,” Karen laughed. “Why the fuck not? It’s not as if I’m pregnant anymore.”
Joanne passed Karen a Marlboro Light and sparked her up. Karen took in a deep intake of the toxic fumes and did her best not to cough her guts up. She released the blue smoke from her mouth and suppressed a cough that was itching to escape.
“Been a while?” Joanne cackled, noticing that Karen was struggling.
“I only used to smoke now and again when I was out for a drink with the girls.”
“Out for a drink with the girls,” Joanne Hammett snickered and shook her head. “Wow. Those days are well and truly gone.”
“Tell me about it.” Karen took in another mouthful of smoke before blowing it out in a controlled manner this time.
The girls were drenched in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Joanne and Karen sat and smoked their cigarettes and Karen glared over at Stephen Bonser, wondering if he was missing his lover, James Thomson.
Karen was beginning to realise that the cigarette was a bad idea and was struggling to finish it, now feeling nauseous and becoming giddy. She didn’t want to offend Joanne, after all, she didn’t have many left. So she took a few more drags until there was just millimetres left of the poisonous stick, and then dropped it to the floor and stubbed it out with the sole of her boot, telling her self mentally, never again.
“Fancy a walk?” Joanne asked and stood to her feet, also putting out the cigarette.
“A walk?” guffawed Karen. “Where?”
“Just around the street a couple of times. I like to stretch my legs now and again. It helps me think.”
“Um ... okay.” Karen thought it was an unusual thing to ask, especially as her and Joanne were hardly bosom buddies.
Both females were now on their feet and began to head to the concrete wall and went by 10 Colwyn Place. They continued for a few more yards and Karen looked to her right, clocking Craig in the window, and gave him a wave. He waved back, and then carried on doing his body squats in his living room of 15 Colwyn Place.
“You like him, don’t you?” Joanne began to tease.
“Who, Craig?” Karen nodded and added, “He seems like a nice guy. Shame about that young boy Jez.”
“He’s going somewhere tomorrow, isn’t he?”
“That’s right.” Karen tucked her dark hair behind her ears and continued, “He’s going out to do some recruiting, to see if he can bring any people back. We need them. He’ll probably be away for a couple of days, but he’s used to being out there on his own.”
“You gonna miss him?” Joanne said with a smirk.
“Shut up,” Karen laughed.
Karen nodded over to the Danson’s house, over at 18 Colwyn Place, and said, quickly changing the subject, “We don’t see much of them lot, do we?”
“I know,” Joanne sighed. “They’re really struggling. I pop in to see them now and again, but they live like recluses. It’s their kids I feel sorry for.”
“Maybe I should go over sometime,” said Karen. “I’ve been here three weeks or so and I’ve hardly spoken to them.”
“You could always try,” Joanne said, “but since that attack by Drake’s men they’ve got worse. They open the door when we do the supply rounds, but that’s it.”
“I did a chocolate round the other day, but they never answered their door, so I just popped the goodies through the letterbox.” Karen continued to gaze at the house as the pair of them walked briskly. “Everything’s cool with Drake now, isn’t it? So I wonder why they never leave that house. It can’t be good for them, mentally.”
“They’re struggling. They’ve always struggled.”
Joanne and Karen looked over to the empty house where Lynne Smithers and Sandra Roberts used to stay. Then the girls peeked at the next house where Ian and Derek Ferguson stayed before they were killed. All four had been victims of Drake’s men.
Karen was still seething that so many people had lost their lives, despite killing a lot of Drake’s own men when they entered the street, but knew that giving him Paul Dickson to create some kind of truce was the only reason that the people in the street were still alive today. When Drake showed up at the gate, he proved that he had more than enough people to burn Colwyn Place to the ground. And thank God Paul escaped.
“We have a couple of empty houses, thanks to Drake’s boys,” Karen was the first to remark after a couple of minutes of silence, but there was no response from Joanne. The two girls went by Terry and the gate and went past his house at 1 Colwyn Place.
“I miss Paul,” Joanne suddenly blurted out.
“God, so do I.” Karen smiled and thought about Dickson once more. “He was a crazy fucker, but he’s definitely someone you’d want on your team.”
“He was okay once you got to know him. Although...” Joanne didn’t finish her sentence and lowered her head.
“I know,” Karen said with a smile.
“You know?” Joanne wasn’t sure what Karen knew.
“Pickle told me that you came onto him not so long ago, and he threw you across the room, or something like that.”
Joanne smiled. “He told you?”
“Paul told Pickle, and Pickle told me.” Karen smiled and added, “I knew Paul for almost two months. When we first met he was just a frightened man with a kid, and had also lost his wife and daughter.” Karen paused and thought back almost six weeks ago. “When Vince’s place was attacked, Paul and his son hid in a caravan while Pickle, Vince, me, and some others battled with those dead cocksuckers. Fast forward five or six weeks later, and he’s driving through a street in a pickup he had stolen from one of Drake’s men that he had killed, and entered the street like fucking John Rambo. I think it’s fair to say that this new world has changed him.”
“Who’s John Rambo?” Joanne narrowed her eyes, confu
sed.
“Seriously?” Karen laughed. “And you’re older than me?”
Joanne was confused and said, “Who is he? A footballer or something?”
“Forget it.” Karen chuckled gently.
“Let’s do two more rounds and call it a day.”
“Why?” asked Karen. “Getting tired already?”
“Nope. It’s that time of the month.” Joanne took a quick peek at Karen and said further, “Need to change the pad that I’m wearing. I’m bleeding like a stuck pig.”
“Lovely,” Karen sighed and screwed her face in revulsion.
Chapter Fifteen
For Pickle, Vince, Roger and Peter, getting rid of the dead was a simple matter of watching them fall down the pub’s concrete steps and putting them out of their miserable existence once they had tumbled near their feet. Twenty-seven had been killed, and the only problem the guys had now was removing the bodies that were blocking the entrance to the steps.
The four men took seven minutes to drag the bodies under a tree that was situated at the side of the car park. Once they were done, or once they thought they were done, they headed to the steps, ready to enter the establishment.
Pickle warned the three males that there could be a few strays lurking about so they shouldn’t relax just yet. Pickle stepped through the shattered glass of the back door and was weary of any shards to either side of him and above him.
He was the first to enter and twisted his face because of the smell. Vince wasn’t far behind him, and Roger and Peter were next. All four cautious men had their weapons out, machetes for Pickle and Vince, knives for Roger and Peter, and all four crept through the bar area.
Not a soul could be seen.
“We need to check the toilets,” said Pickle. “We also need to check the upstairs living arrangements, the cellar, and the kitchen before we can relax.”
“Can’t we just check the cellar and kitchen, and then just fuck off?” moaned Vince.
The Dead Don't Yell Page 6
