She knew what they were thinking: Did he do it for the good and safety of the camp, proving to the remaining two intruders that the camp had people they shouldn't fuck with? Or was this jailbird just a psycho?
She greeted both men with a smile, but their response was awkward and strangely cold.
"You guys okay?" queried Karen.
Rick nodded, but Daniel shrugged his shoulders to suggest that he was unsure how he felt at the moment.
"Where're you going?" Rick Morgan asked.
"Just going for a walk," Karen responded.
Rick nodded. "Out to blow off the cobblers."
"The cobwebs," Karen corrected. She then looked at Daniel and said, "About what Pickle did..."
"What about it?" Daniel Badcock looked uncomfortable; he gazed at the floor and began gently kicking at the ground. "He cut a man's throat and left him to bleed out onto the street. It's taking a while for it to sink in, that's all."
"He thought he was doing it to protect this place. With the size of the camp, the fence, and the number of people that are used to guard the place, we're quite vulnerable. I think this and what happened to Nicholas—"
"We know, Karen." Daniel seemed annoyed at Karen's lecture. He felt patronised and tried to swallow his anger. "You've been out there for weeks, whereas only fifteen percent of the people in here only go out when we have runs to do. I get it."
"I'm not having a go, but this place hasn't been tested properly yet. Even with the sawn-offs we have, if half a dozen maniacs with blades break into the place, people are gonna die."
"We lost Nicholas a few days ago," Daniel snapped. "We know there're dangerous people out there. We're not naive."
"Some people wanted to rob the Lea Hall building and they took a life," Karen began to explain. "But what happens if the next lot want to take everything we have. How many are gonna die then?"
Rick and Daniel looked at one another.
Daniel gulped and said, "The place is getting better. Thanks to you guys we have better barriers with the HGVS, more people who can do guard duty, and now some of us have shotguns. And Bentley's arrival, before you lot showed up, was like a breath of fresh air. His experience with water filtering, starting fires and other stuff has been good for us."
"It is getting better," Karen nodded in agreement and added, "but not only do we need more people doing the perimeter, we're gonna have to be stronger. Lee wanted to release those three men with a slap on the wrist, but what do you think would have happened if those three men came back with a chip on their shoulder, but had more numbers with them?"
Daniel said, "Those two men could still come back with more people. Maybe with revenge on their mind after what Pickle had done."
"After what they saw, they won't come back." Karen was sure of herself. "They were desperate, not dangerous."
"Sometimes desperate people become dangerous."
"Do you think that you should tell her about Jimmy Mac?" Rick said to Daniel, changing the subject.
"What's he talking about?" Karen folded her arms, and although she had no idea what Rick meant, she was already becoming annoyed, knowing that she wasn't going to like the news.
Daniel rubbed his face, obviously annoyed that Rick had opened his mouth. "Jimmy Mac came by," Daniel began to explain. "He was drunk, and was ranting about you lot, the new people. He's still paranoid that you have some ulterior motive for being here."
"He's not even from Sandy Lane himself," Karen huffed, and released a groan. "Stupid prick. Anyway, I'm off for a stroll. I'll see you boys later."
She walked down the concrete path, clocked the door to the changing rooms to her right and a shudder went down her frame. The thought of Kyle being in there, in the dark, all alone and being torn to pieces, filled her eyes. She felt the stiffness in her throat and stepped onto the grass. She took a quick glance to her left and saw the grave of the seven-year-old by the hut, but something didn't look right. The cross that Rosemary and Lisa had made had been pulled out, and the dirt on the fresh grave had been walked on and kicked.
She screwed her face in confusion at what she could see. Then the penny slowly dropped. Karen could feel her anger boiling when she remembered that Daniel had mentioned that Jimmy Mac—James McDonald—had been by, and had had a few drinks. It was no secret he was against the burial, but was he this stupid?
Whether it was him or not, fingers were going to be pointing at him after this act of vandalism. She was still confused why he was so against the people of Vince's camp. Yes, there were more people to use up the resources, she could understand that, but they had brought extra security and livestock, as well as the supplies that used to be stored in the Spode Cottage.
Like Lee James, James McDonald was never an original resident of the Sandy Lane area of Rugeley. So what was his problem?
Convinced that it was Jimmy Mac that had desecrated the grave, she stormed back to her house, 23 Sandy Lane. When she reached the place, she went upstairs and took a hold of her machete that had been lying dormant in the bedroom. She ran back down the stairs, and heard Pickle ask from the living room, "Is that you, Karen?" She ignored him, left the premises and headed for Burnthill Lane, plagued by murderous thoughts.
After a two-minute walk, she approached the door of 12 Burnthill Lane, gripping the machete handle tight, and hammered it with the side of her fist. The door immediately swung open and there stood young David McDonald. He shivered when he saw Karen Bradley, not because he was scared of her, but because he fancied the woman and the thoughts of Karen often entered his mind whenever he masturbated.
"Is your dad in?"
"Er..." David looked down to see her holding the large blade in her right hand. "I don't know."
"Liar!" she snapped. "Has he been out?"
"Came back about ten minutes ago," he said reluctantly. "Don't cause any trouble, please."
"Tell him I want a word."
"He went upstairs for a lie down," David spoke with a shudder in his voice. "He was a bit drunk earlier. What's wrong?"
"He messed with Kyle's grave."
Karen barged past, and went upstairs with no protest from young David. She reached the landing and guessed the right bedroom first time. She pushed open the door to see McDonald Senior fully-clothed and snoring on top of the double bed. The duvet was filthy and the room smelt fusty.
She stepped into the room, and slapped his thighs with the side of her blade. "Wake up!" she screamed.
James McDonald immediately sat up and looked at Karen with confusion. "What the..?" He clocked the machete that she was holding and asked, "What the fuck do you want?"
She pointed the tip of the blade at his throat and snarled, "You fucking know why I'm here. Kyle's grave." She then lied to get a confession. "You were seen tampering with it."
"And?" He spoke with no hesitation or remorse for his actions. "I'm making a fucking point." He seemed unbothered that the blade was near his throat, and this affected Karen's confidence. Maybe his bravado was due to the alcohol intake from earlier. Or maybe he just knew that this woman wasn't going to kill him on his bed, over a bit of vandalism.
Ignoring the blade against his throat, Jimmy Mac got off of the bed and saw his son standing by the doorframe. He had followed Karen up. His father gave his son a wink, then walked over to Karen, who now had the blade lowered. He squared up to her and spat, "Who do you think you are, coming into my house and telling me off like a child?"
"You're a nasty cunt," said Karen. "No fucker likes you. If you died tomorrow, nobody would give a shit."
"Do you honestly think I care?"
"Probably not." Karen then mockingly looked him up and down and smiled. "You're a pathetic excuse of a man. You're about as much use as a fart in a sieve."
"You have a big mouth for a little girlie." Jimmy Mac belched softly and purposely blew the stale alcohol fumes into Karen's face, but she never reacted. "Anyway, I thought me and you were okay?"
"That was before you started wrecking th
e grave of a seven-year-old boy."
James McDonald moved his head forward so that it was almost touching Karen's, whilst his son stood helplessly outside the room.
"What're you gonna do?" Karen laughed. "You gonna hit a pregnant woman?"
Suddenly, Karen felt a whack at the side of her head. She dropped the blade and fell to the floor, rubbing the side and wincing with the ringing in her ears. It took her seconds to comprehend that Jimmy Mac had slapped her at the side of her head, and he was now standing over her, ranting and raving, but she could hardly hear a word he was saying. He then made hand gestures for her to leave, then left his bedroom and went downstairs.
She sat up and put her knees into her chest, waiting for the ringing to stop. She cursed herself for being so stupid. To goad a man like Jimmy Mac who had a drink inside of him was pure insanity, especially because she was carrying a child. She looked up to see David had disappeared, and decided to wait a few more minutes before leaving the house on Burnthill Lane.
It was almost ten minutes before she could get her bearings, and when she left the house she was sure that it had neither James or David McDonald in it. She left the place with her machete—some use that was—and staggered slowly up Sandy Lane. She turned to her left and gazed at the Lea Hall building. She could see movement from behind the hedge that was near the bowling green. It looked like there were two persons by the hut, where Kyle had been buried.
She strolled past the building, went by the changing rooms and turned left to see a sight that moved her to tears. She glared with glassy eyes as she watched David McDonald and Charles Pilkington restoring the grave back to how it was. The cross had already been fixed, and the boys were now patting the earth and smoothing it out with the palm of their hands. She stood for twenty seconds before they noticed her presence, and David explained that after hearing what his dad had done he left the house, bumped into Charles, told him what had happened, and that they wanted to do this for Kyle.
"We weren't very nice to him when he was alive," the rotund Pilkington said. "It's the least we can do."
David took a step back and pointed at the restored grave, whilst Charles was rubbing his dirty hands on his jeans. "Is that okay?"
Karen nodded. "Perfect. Thanks."
David said with a quiver in his voice, "I'm sorry he hit you."
"Do me a favour," Karen beckoned David to come closer so Charles couldn't hear. "Don't tell anyone. If Pickle hears of this, he'll kill him. He's already public enemy number one with some as it is. Okay?"
He nodded, and the two boys walked past Karen and said cheerio to the emotional woman. She glared at the grave, smiled sadly, then turned to leave the place and have a lie down. She saw Rick Morgan walking towards her, but she had no intention of talking to the man. She was too tired and just wanted forty winks. Rick said hello and she smiled back.
"Well, that's another one gone AWOL," Rick stopped and spoke.
Karen also stopped, then heaved a sigh, "What?" she snapped with irritation. She didn't have the patience to listen to this man's tedious chat.
"Another guy gone AWOL."
"What are you talking about?"
"Jimmy Mac. Left the camp and headed for the estate. He said that he had done something, and Pickle was going to kill him."
Karen scratched at her greasy hair and said, "What're you on about? I've just come from Jimmy Mac's house."
"He left about a minute ago." Rick gave Karen a look and was hoping for some answers off the woman. "I don't know what Jimmy Mac's done, but after Pickle's antics yesterday, I certainly wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of him. But I wouldn't run off like that. It's too dangerous out there. He should really stay and face the muesli."
Music! Stupid prick. Karen smiled at his comment. "What did he actually say?"
"I'm a dead man walking. Pickle's going to kill me. And then he left." Rick cocked his head to the side and the thirty-five-year-old individual enquired, "Any idea what he's talking about?"
Karen rubbed the side of her head. "I think I have an idea. "
Chapter Fifty One
Vincent Kindl and Stephanie Perkins had now reached another hump bridge that stretched over the canal. The third bridge told Vince that they were now at the Ash Tree roundabout. "Another half a mile and we'll be at the caravan park."
"It seems an awful long way to come," Stephanie started to groan, "just because we can't get to this camp of yours at Sandy Lane."
"I know." Vince nodded in agreement. "But those hordes weren't shifting at all. If we stay at the Spode Cottage we can rest until the morning, then at least we'll have the energy to take the long way round to the camp, if need be."
"And what's the long way?"
"Through Brereton, across a football field that passes Cardboard Hill, then onto the Pear Tree Estate and onto Sandy Lane."
"Sounds like a long journey."
"It's not that bad, but we won't make it if we start it now." Vince looked up to the heavens. "It'll be too dark."
Vince urged Stephanie to go under the bridge, rather than going up the hill and onto the road. They did just that, and now were on the left side of the canal, and to their left there were no trees or bushes anymore. They could see the power station to their left and, across the canal, the Ash Tree pub sat, abandoned.
"At the next hump bridge," Vince pointed up ahead, "we'll get onto the road if it's clear, otherwise this canal path will start taking us away from the caravan site and up to the golf course, near Park Farm."
"Whatever." Stephanie shrugged and had no idea what he was talking about. She didn't know the places that he was mentioning, and all she wanted was to reach this caravan site, he used to live at, and put up her aching feet.
Walking side-by-side, the two of them had finally passed the pub that was to their right, across the canal, and reached another bridge. Vince led the way, went up the concrete steps and onto the main road that would take them to Vince's old camp. If they ventured further they'd be in Armitage, which they had no intention of doing.
Their feet were on the tarmac and were now walking along the main road, heading towards the site. They could see two hundred yards in front of them. The road went upwards and bent to the right, which meant that the caravan site could not he seen until they reached the top of the hill. Once they were at the top they'd be able to see that it dipped and to their left would be the Plum Pudding pub, and across the road to their right would be the Spode Cottage establishment with the caravan site behind it, and the whole area surrounded by an eight foot hedge.
Vince pointed up to the sky to see that it was clear of any clouds. "Could be another nice day tomorrow."
"Does it make any difference?" Stephanie said petulantly. "Especially living in this world."
Vince began to tease, "You know, when we first met—when I woke up, I thought you was a mystery: The black poncho, the shades on your head and the bow. But you're just a moaning, snotty teenager."
"A snotty teenager that saved your arse."
"True," snickered Vince and swapped the crowbar to his left hand as his right was becoming clammy, "But if you're whining now, just wait until winter; then you'll really have something to moan about."
"Point taken."
Vince looked at the beautiful sky and said, "Quite stunning. I bet the evening will be plastered in shades of red. You mark my words. We'll have another good day tomorrow, weather-wise."
"What's the saying?" Stephanie looked up to the heavens. "Red sky, Shepherd's pie?"
"What?" Vince burst into hysterics as they were near the brow of the hill. "Red sky, Shepherd's pie? Where did you get that from?"
"I don't know," Stephanie huffed and flashed Vince a playful glare. "What is it then?"
"It's red sky at night, shepherd's delight. Blue sky at night..." Vince paused and thought for a second, "Er ... day."
"I'm sure that's not it."
"It doesn't matter anyway." Vince pointed; they were at the top of the road. Stephanie could
see the site to her right. "A five-minute walk and I'll be at my old digs."
"I can see one of the dead." Stephanie nodded over, and Vince could see that a male ghoul had stumbled from the Plum Pudding's small car park that was situated at the side of the place. "How on earth did you manage to stay here without getting attacked?"
"It wasn't always like this." Vince began to give details as the pair of them made the slow walk downwards to the camp. "We had guards, and HGVS, that are now back at the other camp, that went across the road to create a barrier. And the hedge that surrounds the place also provided some kind of protection."
As they reached the bottom of the road, the male ghoul had noticed their presence, but it wasn't anything to be concerned about.
"I'll take care of it." Vince passed the crowbar from one hand to the other.
Stephanie had already prepared her bow, so Vince moved to the side of her as she pulled back the string with the arrow ready to fire.
"How many of those arrows you got left?" he asked.
"I'm trying to concentrate," she lightly reprimanded him.
"Concentrate?" Vince guffawed, and ran his fingers across his face. "We're out in the open, there's hardly a wind and it's only twenty yards away."
"I'm not used to people standing beside me, spewing out shit."
Vince laughed, impressed by her response. "Sorry. Am I putting you off?"
She never answered, but Vince smiled and began to tease as Stephanie was about to release the arrow. "That's it, Stephanie. Nice and easy; nice and easy, girl. Just remember the eye of the tiger—"
"Please shut the..." she released the arrow and both watched as it cruised past the ghoul's head, missing it by centimetres.
"Allow me." Vince patted Stephanie on the back and marched towards the creature, away from her, and turned around and said, "Now, don't put an arrow in my back while I'm sorting this little problem out."
Snatchers (Book 8): The Dead Don't Pray Page 22
