A white transit van was parked at the side of the road and Pickle correctly assumed that this was the choice of vehicle that the four people were going to use.
Pickle chipped in, "I hope yer know what yer doin'."
"Pickle," Lee began, "if this place where we're going to has been untouched, then we're gonna have protection beyond our wildest dreams."
"Aye, maybe." Pickle joked, "But none of yer muppets know how to use these weapons."
"That's where you and Bentley come in." Lee raised his eyebrows, almost smugly, as if he had thought of everything. "You and Bentley can train us up. We've got by with the odd shotgun, but mainly machetes, swords, knives...but this'd be perfect as far as long-term safety is concerned. Especially when it's not just the dead that are our enemy."
"Right," Bentley clapped his hands together. "Let's get this show on the road."
"So long." Karen waved as the four individuals got into the van, Lee was driving. Rick Morgan climbed into the HGV cab, reversed the vehicle back a few yards and allowed the van to creep through the sufficient gap. He pulled the vehicle back to its original position and jumped out.
The HGV blocked the vision of Pickle, Karen, Vince and Rick, but could hear the van's engine getting quieter and quieter the further it moved away.
"Did you know that Bentley used to be in prison?" Rick Morgan spoke to Vince in his monotone voice.
"I know," sighed Vince. "He used to be on the same wing as Pickle." Vince nodded over to Harry Branston who was deep in conversation with Karen a few yards away.
Rick looked surprised and peered at Vince with suspicion. "Were you in prison as well?"
"God, no," Vince cackled and shook his head. "I wouldn't last five minutes inside."
"No?"
Vince then pointed to his scarred face. "With these pretty-boy looks? I'd be somebody's bitch within a week."
Rick glared at Vince, his expression was blank, covered in confusion. He then opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He tried again. "So what did you used to do in the old world, Vince?"
"Fork lift driver." Vince began inspecting the back of his teeth with his tongue. They felt furry. They hadn't been brushed in days. "And you?"
Rick stared into nothingness and said, "Guess."
"Children's entertainer?" Vince wasn't in the mood for banal games.
"No." Rick then walked off, leaving Vince perplexed.
"You're not going to tell me?" muttered Vince. "Weirdo."
Rick climbed the articulated lorry and sat on the cab, staring out along the stretch of road. Karen and Pickle had finished their conversation and she walked away and left the men to it. She mentioned bringing them refreshments in a couple of hours, and Pickle and Vince thanked her.
She walked back to the house, that she shared with Pickle, with the thoughts of Shaz in the back of her mind.
Pickle stepped over to Vince and pointed to where Rick was. "Shall we?"
Vince released a puff of air, suggesting he'd rather do something else. "If we have to."
"What's up?"
Vince said in a whisper, pointing to Rick who had his back to them, "It's gonna be a long few hours. He's boring as fuck."
"I don't think I've hardly spoken to him."
"Lucky you. He'd put an insomniac to sleep."
"Don't be cruel. Yer don't know what he's been through. Just be nice. Surely he can't be that bad."
"Trust me. It's gonna be a long day with Father Stone."
"Who?"
Vince explained, "Ever seen the comedy Father Ted?"
Pickle screwed his eyes. "Years ago."
"There was an episode when the most boring priest came round to stay with Ted and Dougal. His name was Father Stone."
"Just give the poor guy a wee chance."
Both men climbed up. It seemed that on this day that three persons were enough for the watch. Pickle and Vincent were carrying their machetes and noticed that Rick didn't have anything. Without mentioning it to Rick, both men sat either side of him and glared out at the desolate road.
Vince huffed, "Right. I spy with my little eye, something beginning with R."
"Road," muttered Rick immediately.
"Your go, Pickle." Vince stretched his arm and tapped Harry Branston on the shoulder.
"No thanks," was Pickle's response. "Let's just sit in quiet for a bit."
The silence lasted no longer than five minutes when Vince turned to Rick, "So Rick. Tell me about yourself."
"I'd rather not," said Rick. "I'm not really in the mood."
"Great," Vince sighed, but persisted. "You married?"
Rick never responded; he remained glaring into the abyss, blanking out Vince altogether.
"Okay, I'll go first," Vince began. "We're all gonna be living together. Might as well get to know one another." Vince looked at Rick for a response, but there wasn't one. And Pickle had his eyes closed, praying probably.
Vince was sure that Rick was listening and decided to have a little fun with the man. "Do you know how my parents died?"
Rick shook his head once, which proved he was listening, he just wasn't in the mood for small talk.
Vince said, "When I was ten years old all I wanted for Christmas was a skateboard. When Christmas came round all I got was some board game, a few CDs, and a jumper. So do you know what I did?"
Rick, still staring to the front, shook his head.
"I went into the garage, got a hammer, some wood, and a few nails, and I then beat my parents to death. My foster parents bought me three skateboards."
Rick slowly twisted his head and narrowed his eyes in confusion, while Pickle could be heard giggling, to the side of him, eyes still closed.
Said Rick, "That's not true, is it?"
"Nope." Vince blew out some air from his O-shaped lips. "It was a complete lie."
"Yer a sick man, Kindl," Pickle shook his head, especially as it had only been weeks since Vince's parents really did die. Maybe joking about it was his way of coping.
"Just my way of getting through the day, Branston." Vince then looked at his watch. "Well, that's wasted five minutes. Just another four hundred to go and we're laughing."
"You never got married?" Rick blurted out.
Vince smiled. "Nope."
"Kids?"
Vince lowered his head. That short, harmless question was like a dagger in his gut. It wasn't Rick's fault; it was Vince's idea to talk about themselves, which had now backfired spectacularly. He thought of Brian, gulped, and said softly, "Let's sit in quiet for a bit. What do you all reckon?"
Both Rick and Pickle nodded.
Chapter Six
She looked at her watch. She had an hour to kill before heading to the barrier with refreshments for Rick, Pickle and Vince. She walked onto Hill Street and then onto Burnthill Lane, near where her old school was. She looked at the green railings and could see the sports fields. There was no sign of bodies anywhere. If people, or even Snatchers, had died then they must have been carted away. The field was bare.
Karen Bradley walked past her old secondary school and had a look into the living room window of the houses. In the first week she guessed that curtains were probably drawn and doors were barricaded, but it was different now. Some of the houses had people living in them, and the empty ones had been emptied over the weeks. The dead that were inside in the first days were killed, or re-killed, then took away to the huge pile near the Lea Hall building and burned.
It was going to take a while getting used to the place, but she kind of liked it already. The houses were more liveable than the caravans on Vince's camp, and the only thing that could make it better would be to have Shaz back. There were many people living in the Sandy Lane camp and, although it would take weeks, maybe months, to get to know them all, she was looking forward to living here.
She kicked at a stone on the pavement and looked at the swimming pool-building which used to be open to the public. It was next to Hagley Park High School. Lee had told them t
hat the school had been checked by Daniel, but there was nothing of value in it. It was once a place that held over a thousand pupils, but now it was going to be empty...maybe for good.
She could see in the distance a guard heading towards her. He was walking around the area, baseball bat in his right hand. He was a portly fellow, bald, and was covered in tribal tattoos that Karen couldn't stand. But he was pleasant enough.
As he approached her, he nodded and said, "Hey, Karen."
"Hello, Nigel."
He stopped, squinted up to the cloud-filled sky and added, "Miserable, isn't it?"
"At least it's not raining." Karen smiled.
"Well, this is true." Nigel looked nervous and it appeared that he had already ran out of things to say. Small talk wasn't really his thing.
Karen liked the big man, and decided to help him out. "I hear you've been here all your life."
"You hear right." He chuckled nervously, then his mood suddenly changed. "I still can't get my head round what's happened. Some days I feel like I'm in the middle of a dream."
"You mean, nightmare?"
Nigel nodded and Karen could see his eyes beginning to fill. "I don't think I'll ever get over it, you know."
"What?"
"Losing Jane."
Karen lowered her head sadly. She had heard the story from Lee that Nigel's girlfriend had been attacked at the end of the first week by a couple of strays. He took her into the house and wanted to kill her himself. It wasn't an easy decision, in fact he was in the house with her for a while before he put her to rest. Karen had never asked how he did it. It didn't seem important.
"I heard about your fiancé. I'm sorry about that."
Karen was genuinely touched by Nigel's sensitive side and gave him a hug, which surprised the large man. She kissed him on the cheek and told him that she'd see him later.
"Bye, Karen." He walked away, clearing his throat, and began whistling the theme tune to Match of the Day, a programme he would never see again.
"See, Karen," she uttered to herself. "Not all men are dicks."
As she went through Hill Street, heading back to the long stretch of road, Sandy Lane, she could see a couple of boys kicking a football up against a wall. She didn't know them. They looked no older than ten.
She bypassed the boys, smiled, and tried to fool herself that she was back in the old world and that she was simply walking back to her house in Draycott Park. Her daydream was disturbed when she heard a voice squeal, "Leave me alone!"
Karen's strides quickened and headed to where she heard the voice. She recognised the voice. It belonged to Kyle Dickson. She turned the corner and saw little Kyle, almost in tears, with two boys laughing and pointing at him. These boys looked about fourteen and Karen could tell by the body language that they were bullying the little man.
"I thought you two were supposed to be showing Kyle around the place?" Karen called out.
"What's it to you, sweetheart?" The thin boy that cheeked Karen was David McDonald, son of James McDonald who had been rude to Karen when she was being shown around in the Lea Hall building by Daniel Badcock.
"Leave him alone," she sighed. She beckoned Kyle to come over and stand next to her, which he did.
"We were just having some fun," said Charles Pilkington, an obese teenager that Karen had never spoken to before. "It gets boring round here."
"Pick on somebody your own size," she said.
Both boys giggled and told Bradley to 'fuck off'.
Ignoring their comments, Karen ushered Kyle away. "Come on. There's some boys down the road playing football. Wanna see if they'll let you join in?"
Kyle shook his head. "I'll just go and see daddy instead. Those boys are horrible; they've been picking on me ever since I got here."
Both Karen and Kyle headed towards 19 Sandy Lane, where Lisa, Kyle and Paul Dickson were placed, and made the short walk to the house. Almost as if Paul had a sixth sense, he opened the front door before Karen and Kyle reached it.
"Hey, you two." Paul beamed. "What have you been up to?"
Kyle stared at Karen.
As if she could read the boy's mind, she decided to not say anything about the bullying and said, "Not a lot. Just taking a walk."
Kyle walked past his dad and said that he was going to play with the cars that were already in the bedroom when they were given the house. Paul never asked what had happened to the family that used to stay there. Paul didn't know if they had turned, had killed themselves in the house, or had fled. He didn't want to know.
"Where's Lisa?" asked Karen.
"Upstairs. Having a lie down." Paul smiled sadly. "She had a bit of a breakdown half an hour ago. I think it wore her out."
"Poor thing."
"Have you spoken to any of them from Vince's camp?"
Karen shrugged. "I've hardly seen any of them, to be honest. There's over a hundred people here, about a hundred and thirty, but because there're so many houses and the area is reasonably big, I haven't really seen many from the old camp. Apart from Vince and Pickle, of course."
"Well, I know that Rosemary's staying with Vince. I have no idea where Geoff or Kirk Sheen are, or that Washington fellow." Paul screwed his face in thought, then added, "I know that Jasmine Kelly is staying at the bottom of the road with a nice elderly couple."
"Simon Benson?"
"No idea. But John and Helen Waite are at 26 Burnthill Lane. That's good that they've found one another. And Bill stays a few doors down at number thirty."
Karen was lost in thought and had suddenly remembered something. "There's a woman and two daughters that we brought back with us a few days ago when I went to Draycott Park. You know what happened to them?"
"Lee and James McDonald put them somewhere on Hill Street."
"Wow," Karen began to laugh. "You've certainly done your homework."
"I think it's called...having too much time on your hands."
"That's something I'm gonna have to get used to."
Paul cleared his throat, and Karen knew that his action was preparing himself to fire a question at her. "So how are you coping with everything?"
Paul kept the front door open and sat on the concrete step. Karen took a few steps forwards, turned on her heels and sat next to him.
"I'm doing okay?" Karen nodded. "I'm doing just fine."
"You sure?"
Karen stared at Paul. She stared so long that he became a little twitchy. He opened his mouth, about to ask Karen if there was anything wrong, but she turned away and said, "Yeah. I'm sure."
Chapter Seven
The black boots traipsed through the heavy bracken and another two pairs were following behind. The large figure then suddenly stopped, took a look around, and pointed west. "This way," he growled.
The two men that were behind him stared at one another briefly, shrugged their shoulders, then continued to walk in the same direction as him. The walk had been a quiet affair, and the trip through the woods had been ongoing for an hour, and they were almost out of water.
The big man scrunched his eyes and could see that the woods were now thinning and that they were coming to the end of this wooded section. Once all three stepped out and onto a dirt path, the huge chap stopped walking and turned to his two companions. "Get something to eat. We rest for ten minutes before we tackle that." He pointed up the big hill.
"What's up there?" Johnny 'Willie' Wilson was the first to speak.
"Food and water, hopefully," said the man that they called The Bear, or simply just Bear.
"I'm not familiar with this place." Frederick scratched at his short blonde hair.
The Bear growled, "I came here once when I was a kid. Up there's Cardboard Hill, and over that hill is an estate."
"Good." Willie stroked his ginger ponytail. "I don't care about food, I just want a drink."
The Bear went through his bag and pulled out a tin of tuna and a packet of digestive biscuits. He opened the tin with his blade, ate the tuna, then began to devour the
biscuits.
Frederick and Willie were also munching away, and Frederick, with a mouth full of pretzels, turned to Bear and asked, "What do you wanna achieve, you know, in the long-term?"
Bear never showed an expression on his face, pulled out his kukri from the leather holster it was in, and began to sharpen it on the rock by his feet. "What do you think?"
Frederick looked at Willie and began to tremble. After the weeks they had spent together, they still didn't know this man well at all. He was from their prison, but was from a different wing. It was only by chance that they came together when they bumped into one another in Stafford.
Leaving Stafford and going to small villages and towns was an idea that Bear had come up with. If they wanted food they needed to go into a town or village, but Bear wanted them to stay away from the cities. The Bear had come to the conclusion that the city probably had thousands upon thousands of Roamers—a name that Willie gave the dead.
The Bear stood up straight and threw his bag over his shoulders, kukri in his right hand and glared at Frederick. "I'm waiting for an answer."
Thirty-one-year-old Paul Frederick shrugged his shoulders and said with a shiver, "To survive, I suppose." He looked at Willie for back-up, but he had his head down. On a couple of occasions Bear had given them a slap. And despite both Willie and Frederick being jailbirds and were in for heinous crimes, The Bear was at a different level to these two.
Paul Frederick was inside for rape. He had been sentenced to eleven years for three transgressions, and was found guilty two years ago for the attacks on three women over a six month period. He was a protected prisoner in jail, but outside it didn't seem to bother The Bear or Willie what this man used to do.
Johnny Wilson, or Willie, had been sentenced to six years for manslaughter eight months ago. In the old world, before he was sentenced, the twenty-seven-year-old was a normal guy that had a son and a girlfriend, but that had all changed on one Friday night.
He was out with his mates and an argument broke out between himself and a bouncer. Willie struck out at the bouncer and was just as surprised as anyone that the man fell to the floor. Willie wasn't considered a hard man, so it seemed satisfying that he had managed to put the bullying bouncer on his arse. Unfortunately, the bouncer had struck his head on the floor once he had hit the deck and never got back up.
Snatchers (Book 7): The Dead Don't Yield Page 3
