The Dead Don't Yell

by Shaun Whittington

  His face then took on a more sombre look when he began to think about Jez.

  Poor Jez.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  “Hello, stranger,” Pickle called over to Danny Gosling. “Where have yer been hiding?”

  It had been a laborious day and Pickle was standing by the wall, talking to Paul Smith. He was a man who rarely made an appearance, including his wife Gail, and had enjoyed the shy man’s company for the last couple of minutes. Paul was a nice fellow, nervous, and had a dry sense of humour like Pickle’s.

  Pickle had noticed a peaky-looking Gosling stumbling out into the street. The young man had been suffering from a sickness and diarrhoea bug for the last forty-eight hours. He was told to stay in bed and keep away from everyone else, and Karen visited him once in a while to keep him hydrated and made sure he had plenty of toilet roll.

  Danny squinted from the sun, and put his hand over his eyes so he could get a better look at Pickle who was making his way over.

  Danny looked unsteady on his feet and sat down on the cut lawn of 5 Colwyn Place. All the lawns had been cut by Rowley and Kindl days ago, and this had been done from hand-mowers that they had taken from the nearby garden centre.

  Pickle sat on the lawn next to Danny and asked him how he was doing.

  “Not bad now. But felt like I was dying yesterday,” Danny tried to joke. “Hardly eaten anything in two days, and whatever I’ve eaten I’ve brought back up.”

  Pickle said, “Give yerself another day to get yerself together.”

  “I’m fit enough now,” Danny began, stroking his dark beard. “I would like to go out on a run. Maybe get a bit more practice killing those cocksuckers before I go out.”

  “Cocksuckers?” Pickle gently laughed. “Yer ‘ave been listening to too much o’ Karen.”

  “So what do you reckon?”

  Pickle inspected his teeth with his tongue and could feel some of the dry oats that he had for his breakfast that hadn’t managed to find their way down into his stomach. “About more practice?”

  Danny nodded.

  “Fine, maybe later,” said Branston. “The good thing ‘bout this street is that some people are eager to put in a shift. Yerself, young David, even Joanne have expressed an interest in gettin’ their hands dirty, so to speak.”

  “I think some people realise that we don’t have a choice now. We don’t have the people anymore.”

  “No, we don’t, but hopefully Craig will change that when he returns.”

  Danny looked over at Jim by the gate and Paul by the wall, then made a comment that it was about time they started doing something, and that John Lincoln used to let them get away with murder whilst Stephen Rowley, Nick Gregory and James Thomson did most of the runs, with Terry and the usual suspects taking guard.

  Pickle told young Danny to get back inside and get some rest. Danny agreed, but couldn’t help a small chuckle before going inside.

  “What are yer laughing at?” Pickle said with a confused smile. “Something I said?”

  “No.” Danny stroked his dark beard and added, “I was thinking about the first time you took me out.”

  “I remember.” Pickle nodded and said, “Yer were about as much use as an ejector seat on a helicopter.”

  “To be fair,” Danny held both hands up, “I did think you were getting attacked.”

  “And what did yer do?”

  “I ran away.” Danny hunched his shoulders and said, “I suppose if you were being attacked for real, me going in wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. I mean, once you’re bitten, you’re fucked, right?”

  “That’s a nice way o’ lookin’ at it.” Pickle began to laugh and added, “So what are yer saying? If a resident from Colwyn is bitten by a Snatcher, yer wouldn’t go and help because they’re fucked anyway? Yer would stand back and leave them to have an agonising death?”

  Danny gulped and lowered his head. “I suppose not.”

  Pickle created a thin smile and said to Danny, “Go back and get some rest. Maybe later we’ll go back out there.”

  “Great.”

  “You’ve just given me an idea,” Pickle said, rubbing his chin.

  “Oh?” Danny looked tired and took one step into the house, now dying for his bed.

  Pickle lowered his head, rubbing his eyes, and said, “I think we’ll take another trip to the cafe where that man and his family were. Maybe they’ll come back with us this time. What do yer reckon?” Pickle lifted his head and turned to look at the main door of Danny’s place. The door wasn’t shut, but Danny had disappeared. Back to bed, Pickle thought.

  Harry Branston released a small chuckle; he closed the door shut before walking away and over to have a word with Jim Danson at the main gate, but then changed his mind and decided not to. His chuckling had stopped when he thought about that dream again. Then he thought of Celia.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  An hour had passed and Karen Bradley was feeling the day catching up with her after a below average night’s sleep. She yawned and could hear Pickle clearing out the cupboard under the stairs.

  A lot of things that were now deemed as useless were stored there, including decorating equipment like paint pots, brushes and rollers. Most of the pots were almost empty anyway, and the last thing on his mind was to give the walls a lick of paint.

  Karen sat in the armchair, thinking about the Dansons, and called out to Pickle. He turned up at the living room and asked what was the matter.

  “I was going to say something before, but I’m not sure if I’m exaggerating or not.”

  “O-kay.” Pickle looked bemused, unsure where she was going with this. “I’m listening.”

  “Well...”

  “If this is about Rowley helping himself to medical gear,” Pickle said, “then I’ve already had a word with him. Everybody goes through you if they need something.”

  “It’s not that,” she huffed out with impatience. Pickle didn’t interrupt Karen as such, but he had unsettled her momentum.

  “Well, what is it?”

  “I’m worried about some of the people here.”

  “Yer mean the recluses like Paul and Gail Smith, Brenda Hatchet?”

  “It’s the Dansons I’m actually worried about.” Karen looked up and both sets of eyes looked at one another. This time Pickle chose to keep his mouth shut and allowed Karen to continue in her own time. She cleared her throat and added, “I think Jim is losing it. I know he goes out and does guard duty every now and again, but he seems restless … and … and the rest of them...”

  “Go on,” Pickle urged.

  “I think I’ve only seen his wife half a dozen times, and the kids ... being stuck indoors all day ... it’s not right.”

  “What’re yer saying?” Pickle folded his arms and was unsure what Karen’s main concern was. “Do yer think he’s controlling? Or do yer think he’s goin’ overboard, protecting his family, not allowin’ them to go out? Or are they simply just scared?”

  Karen licked her top lip and struggled to give her male friend an answer.

  “What is it, Karen?”

  “I’ve just got a bad feeling.”

  Pickle scratched the back of his head and sighed, “Yer have got a bad feeling. So yer want me to segregate Jim from the rest o’ his family, for no particular reason apart from that yer have a bad feelin’?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Karen huffed, looking exasperated. “Just have a word with him, please.”

  Pickle looked out of the living room window and over at Jim who was standing at the gate, and said, “I’ll go o’er and have a chat. Happy now?”

  “I’m worried about his kids,” said Karen. “I’ve just ... got...”

  “Yer have got a bad feeling,” Pickle sighed. “I get it. I’ll go now.”

  “Thank you.”

  Pickle walked away from Karen, exited the house, and out into the fresh air and glorious sunshine. He looked over at a clearly bored Jim Danson and walked over to him. He waved
at the man once the guard flashed Pickle a look. Jim never responded back and rudely turned his back on Pickle as Branston approached him.

  “Everything okay, Jim?” Pickle called over and continued to head for the gate where Jim stood. “Yer seem a little withdrawn, subdued.”

  Jim grunted and gazed out through the wiry fence that was attached on either side of the gate.

  “Yer not speaking to me?” Pickle chuckled, trying not to let Jim’s rudeness bother him.

  “I’m okay,” Jim said in almost a whisper. “I just want to get this shift over with and get back to my family.”

  “Don’t yer worry about yer family,” said Pickle. “They’re not going anywhere.”

  “I need to be with them,” Jim huffed and seemed agitated, angry. “I should be with them instead of being made to do this pointless guarding.”

  “Probably good to spend some time away from yer family, out in the fresh air.” Pickle turned his head and spat on the floor. “Must be quite stifling, the four o’ yer in that house, hardly ever goin’ out.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “And how is guard duty pointless?”

  “There’s hardly any of us left, and even if some thugs came to the gate and started climbing over, what the fuck could I do? I’ve never been a fighter.”

  “Yer could raise the alarm. That’d be a start.” Pickle said, whilst Jim still had his back to the former inmate. “Yer don’t have to be a tough guy to do this. Plus, guard duty gets yer outdoors and is good for yer mental health.”

  The two men were silent after Pickle had finished his mini lecture, but Branston wasn’t finished there. Karen had asked him to do her a favour, and he hadn’t done it yet.

  Pickle cleared his throat and began, “Some people have made remarks about yer behaviour.”

  “Oh?” was Jim’s response, but he never looked Pickle in the eye.

  “Nobody’s talking behind yer back as such.” Pickle held up his hands, but he had no idea why. Jim still had his back to Pickle and was still staring out onto the road.

  “Sounds like it to me,” Jim scoffed.

  “People are worried about yer mental well-being, worried about yer kids.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” Jim snapped, and began to furiously scratch the back of his head with his left hand whilst still tightly clasping the wooden bat with his right. “People should keep their nose out, mind their own fucking business.”

  “We hardly see yer kids.”

  “So?”

  “It’s not healthy for them, that’s what I’m saying.” Pickle took in a deep breath before suggesting, “Why don’t I or Karen take them out into the street every other day, yeah? It’d be good for them to get fresh air.”

  “I shouldn’t be doing this pointless guard duty. I should be with my family.”

  “Yer have to contribute,” Pickle spoke with obvious anger in his words now and couldn’t hold back. “Yer have done fuck all for months, but now things are changing. And as for yer family … at least yer still have one. Yer need to stop feeling sorry for yerself.”

  Jim turned around, raising the bat a little, and snarled at Pickle, “Just fucking leave me alone, will you?”

  “Fine.” Pickle nodded. “But let me say something before I leave yer in peace.”

  “What?” Jim hissed.

  “Yer ever raise that bat to me again,” Pickle stepped forwards and his head was almost touching Jim’s, “or anybody else for that matter. I’ll shove it so far up yer arse yer will have splinters in yer throat. Understand, sunshine?”

  Jim gulped, lowered the bat, and turned around, hoping that Branston would walk away.

  Pickle headed for the other side of the street, towards the concrete wall. His eyes briefly clocked Karen, who was now standing by the front door.

  He heard Karen ask from the side, “How did it go?”

  Pickle said, without looking at Karen, “Terrible.”

  *

  A rare appearance from Brenda Hatchet could be seen with Karen’s eyes and she took the opportunity to go over and see how she was. Brenda used to own a cake shop in Colwich and was hardly seen since Pickle and the rest had arrived at Colwyn Place.

  Brenda was forty-two years old, had dark features. She was a plump woman, and she kind of reminded Karen of the singer Adele.

  Karen waved at the woman and walked over to her. Brenda had been taking co-codamol for her bad back and wanted to up the dosage as she claimed that the tablets weren’t working as well as they once were.

  With the amount that was left in 17 Colwyn Place, Karen didn’t want to make a massive dent in the supplies on one person, so she had to politely tell Brenda that upping the dosage wasn’t going to happen. Brenda had already moaned that she was also constipated and wanted Senna or Laxido to help out with her problem, but Karen explained to Brenda that it was the tablets that were making her constipated. Karen did offer paracetamol, but Brenda scoffed at this idea and told Bradley that the paracetamol wouldn’t even touch the pain and that she may as well take tic-tacs.

  “How are you?” Brenda asked Karen as she made her way over.

  Brenda was a little spiteful that she had been declined more co-codomal, but knew for her own sake that she needed to be nice to the individual that was in charge of the medical supplies. She also knew that Karen could turn nasty, so decided to hide her annoyance with the twenty-three-year-old and play it cool.

  Karen smiled. “I’m good. Don’t see much of you about these days.”

  “Never did anyway,” Brenda laughed. “My back has been playing up, so I spend most of my time in my bed.”

  “Still bad, eh?”

  Brenda nodded and her face winced. Karen thought she was exaggerating the pain and decided not to fall for the woman’s possible play-acting.

  “Maybe if you got up more often and moved about a bit...” Karen could see Brenda giving her the evil eye and decided not to complete her sentence. Karen was no shrinking violet, but she didn’t want a blazing row if she could avoid it.

  Brenda lowered her head, took in a deep breath, and said, “I’m not lazy, Karen. If that’s what you’re trying to get at.”

  “Of course not,” Karen snickered falsely. “I’m just saying... It’d be better for your back if you moved once in a while. It’s not good for you, lying in bed all day.”

  Brenda folded her arms, her saggy breasts drooping over them through her loose T-shirt. She looked cross, and said with her teeth clenched together, “I thought you were supposed to be a nurse.”

  Karen gulped and could feel her blood simmering. “I am ... I was.”

  “And is that the way you would have spoken to one of your patients?”

  “I’m trying to be helpful, Brenda.”

  “Well, you’re not.” She allowed her arms to fall to her side and walked into the house. In a matter of minutes their pleasant conversation had turned into something nasty.

  “Fine. I’ll go.” Karen turned around and was pleased with herself that she hadn’t turned on the woman. “If you need anything…”

  Karen began walking away, heading back to her own place. Karen had thought that Brenda had gone inside, but then she heard a voice from behind her. She couldn’t be sure, but she could have sworn that Brenda had called her a bitch.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  “You ready, shagger?” Vince called over to David and pointed over at the jeep, telling David to get in whilst he finished his chat with Pickle.

  The young boy had been asked to accompany Vince on the short run to the warehouse where the three girls had gone, and he jumped at the chance. Not only was David MacDonald going out of the street again, but he knew he was in good hands with Vince Kindl. Plus, turning up to the girls’ rescue, who may have broken down as most had suspected, would be beneficial for the young boy if he wanted to impress Stephanie Perkins.

  A paranoid David asked Vince if he thought that the jeep had enough gas for the journey, but Vince was adamant tha
t even if the fuel gauge was in the red, they’d still be able to make the short journey there and back.

  David entered the vehicle and waited patiently for Vince to appear. He looked over his shoulder and could see that the chat between Vince and Pickle had finished, and Vince was now heading to 2 Colwyn Place. It was the same place where the girls stayed, but the basement was also used to store weapons, which was John Lincoln’s idea.

  Two minutes later, Vince Kindl exited the house with a machete in his hand. He already had one tucked in his belt, and David had guessed correctly that Vince had been down to the basement, where blades and bats were stashed, and had taken a weapon for the youngster.

  Vince opened the driver’s door, sat down, and placed the large blade on David’s lap. He closed the door and said to David, nodding down at his lap, “Just in case.”

  David nodded and leaned his head back as Vince pulled away, keeping the vehicle in first, and creeping to the gate where Jim Danson stood. Without exchanging words, Jim opened the gate. Vince went through, sarcastically saluting Jim as he went by him, and turned right onto the Wolseley Road.

  “Shouldn’t take long to get there,” he said to the teenager. Vince looked to his passenger and asked if he was okay.

  David never responded verbally; he just nodded. The boy was becoming nervous, now that he was out on the open road. The only security he had was the sheet of metal around him and a man sitting next to him that was getting on for fifty.

  “Do you think they’ll be some of the dead there?” David asked nervously.

  Vince shrugged his shoulders. “No idea. But if we do come across some, use that machete, because I won’t be holding your dick for this short journey. If you’re so desperate to be out here, you’re gonna have to show me what you can do if you want to go out on regular runs.”

  David never responded and Vince took the right bend a little too hastily, the wheels squealed until he straightened the car up.

  “Perfect,” said Vince.

  “What?” David looked ahead and could see a lone Snatcher shambling in the middle of the road with its back to them. This soon wasn’t the case once it could hear the sound of the jeep’s engine.