Overall, Jack didn't like Vince. He thought that he was out for himself, and being a part of the camp was some kind of power-trip for the man.
Jack had made a moral decision.
He wanted nothing to do with the camp.
He wanted to leave.
Chapter Forty Seven
By the time they had reached the cabin it had stopped raining; Pickle had collapsed against the outside of the fence, and Karen wasn't very far away from passing out either. They rattled and shouted over the closed gate for Wolf to open it. Once he did, he helped Karen move Pickle onto the sofa and never asked about the presence of Shaz, he just greeted her with a warm smile.
Wolf was trying to fuss around Pickle, but all he was doing was getting in the way.
"What happened to him?" asked Wolf.
"We ran into a bit of trouble in the street." Karen pointed towards the kitchen. "Fetch me a tea-towel, and get me some of those painkillers in the drawer."
Wolf did what he was told, and also brought in a glass of water for Pickle to swallow the pills. Once Pickle swallowed the painkillers, he winced once Karen ripped the tea-towel and began wrapping it around the stump where his little finger used to be on his left hand. Pickle grimaced again and put his right fist into his mouth and bit on it as she was finishing off.
"This is all I can do," Karen said apologetically. "The loss of blood isn't that great with this kind of injury. You really need microsurgery, but you'll be amazed how the body can repair itself over a period of time."
Pickle managed a joke and said, "You mean the finger will grow back?"
"No, fucktard. But it will heal, eventually." Karen then placed her hands on his body and shook her head. "Possible broken ribs. In the old days they used binding, but it's bollocks. Just don't bang into anything. Your nose is also broken. We'll just keep your blood-flow under control, and your nose should be okay over a period of time."
Feeling useless, Wolf announced to Karen that he was going to check on the new guest. Karen nodded without looking at the elderly man.
Shaz sat on the damp grass and welcomed the rest; Wolf had appeared from inside the cabin and then sat his weary body next to her.
Shaz was unaware of what to do next.
"Wolfgang Kindl." Wolf held out his hand.
Shaz shook it, "But people call you Wolf?"
"Most of the time," he cackled, and shuffled his backside on the grass of the garden to get comfortable. "You?"
"Sharon. I usually get called Shaz." She gawped at the old man and felt a little uncomfortable sitting next to him. She wondered the last time he had washed or even changed his clothes, as the smell coming from him was horrendous. Shaz added, "I hope you don't mind me being here. I won't stay long."
"You're welcome to stay for as long as it takes." He patted her knee affectionately like her granddad used to before the lung cancer took him.
Wolf released a long sigh and moved his head from side-to-side. "Harry's in a right state. What kind of people would do that to somebody, to cut his finger off."
"I think they had a run-in a few days before."
"Still, it doesn't excuse it." Wolf was almost in tears, and Shaz took a look at the old man and thought that his nickname was a little misleading.
With a name like Wolf, Shaz was expecting someone with a bit more bite to them, rather than a smelly old man who apparently had an old shotgun hiding in the cabin. Although Shaz was grateful for being allowed to stay, she did harshly think that Wolf having the three of them staying in the cabin area would be good security for the old man.
She thought: Was he taking her in as an act of kindness? Or, was he allowing people to stay as a way of him remaining safe in such a dire world?
"You like tea?" asked Wolf.
Sharon nodded.
"Good." Wolf then slowly stood up and made a moan as his knees cracked. He then bent his back and walked towards the cabin and picked up the stove and canister. "I can make you some whenever I want with this, and not wait until I've got a fire on. Takes ages anyway with a fire."
"How's your water system?"
Wolf nodded. "Not bad. I've also put some buckets out to catch rainwater. And I've got that barrel over there. Put a spot of bleach in and Bob's your uncle."
"Your sink not working?"
"Yeah, but I prefer to use rainwater first for drinking before having to use the tap. I have no idea what state the stream is in. But now we have a stove, I can use the sink to my heart's content, now I can boil the water."
"Probably best to collect as much rain water as you can. If your running water goes tits up..."
"I know."
Wolf disappeared inside and Shaz could hear him asking Karen if she wanted a tea or coffee.
Shaz lay back on the wet grass and placed her hands behind her head to look up to the murky sky. Her mind thought back to the last three weeks of her life.
She could feel her eyes getting heavy and tiredness making its way through her shattered body. Her blue eyes suddenly widened once she fell a little drizzle of saltwater on her face. It was trying to rain again.
She rubbed her face and went back to the position she was in before. The occasional drizzle could be felt on her countenance, but this time the tiredness was too powerful to be ignored.
Chapter Forty Eight
Claire sat in the caravan and put her head into her hands. She then threw her head back and rested it on the couch, her neck completely exposed. She was lost in thought and began thinking about that first weekend when she woke up in her caravan to see the news on the Sunday morning.
She spent most of her time ringing her family members and friends. She found out that some had no idea what was happening, but some mentioned that some of these things were trying to get into their house. She lost contact a few days after, and since then she had never felt so alone.
Claire's ex-boyfriend made contact to see how she was, but never heard from him after she replied back. She was frightened, and spent most of her time stuck in the caravan, hoping that those things didn't appear on the caravan park. As soon as the breaking news was announced on SKY that two members of the Royal Family had been reportedly shot by security, there was a rap at the door.
Claire stood up, petrified. She peered through her window and saw a guy called Vince with two other guys, standing outside her place.
She finally opened the door and was informed by Vince that he was going round each caravan to see how people were, and then they were going to block off the road to stop any 'Rotters' from getting on the camp. The two men behind Vince were carrying shotguns and were local farmers. Vince asked Claire if she wanted to tag along, and for some reason she said yes.
There were many macabre scenes to be witnessed while she tagged along with Vince and the boys, when checking on the remaining residents. One caravan had been found with the residents inside, dead. They had committed suicide. Inside the caravan was an elderly couple that had taken an overdose and had died in their sleep, the pair of them were found in their pyjamas, holding hands.
The very last caravan was approached and they could all see that there was blood smeared on the inside of the windows. They advanced towards the caravan with more caution, and as soon as the door was kicked open, three deceased beings stumbled after them, fell down the steps and landed on the grass.
The three were originally a mother and her two teenage boys. All had turned, and no one could fathom how it had happened.
Because of the announcement from the TV, they knew exactly how to deal with the infected, but it was easier said than done.
Both men carrying guns hesitated, but Vince brought his up straight away and put a cartridge into the head of the mother that was already face down on the floor. The head was obliterated and he took out one of the boys with another head shot. While Vince began to reload, he told one of the men to finish off the other boy, but both men hesitated. Claire took one of the shotguns off one of the men and stepped forward. She aimed, then fired.
This experience had affected Claire and the afternoon was spent burying the deceased, once the infected caravan had been dealt with. When she got back to her own place, she threw up, and had a lie down.
Vince had later knocked her door, told her that he had blocked the road, and that he had an idea to turn the caravan park into a secure camp. He then asked her if she wanted to be involved with runs and guarding the blockade. He must have been impressed with her lack of hesitation, and she said yes to his proposal.
Her reminiscing came to an end once the tears began to form in her eyes. And just like every evening, she cried.
*
In the light rain, Jack had taken a walk around the camp and had bumped into a resident that was walking back. The resident said hello and made a weak joke, commenting on the rain being good for ducks.
Beaten by the rain, he went back to his temporary accommodation and took the waterproof jacket off. It had been a while since he had heard from Vince and thought that the man was either busy out on another run, or guarding the roadblock that he had created before he had taken complete control of the site.
Jack searched through the cupboards and pulled out a large glass. He then continued with the searching and noticed a bottle of diluting orange juice. He smirked, and welcomed the break from drinking tea and coffee; his tongue was getting coated with the amount of hot beverages he had consumed. He couldn't really complain because when Johnny had found him, outside the factory, he was almost dying from dehydration. Now he had his pick of drinks, but was still adamant on leaving the place.
He stood motionless and thought of Johnny. Poor bastard. The trouble with Johnny was that he had no fight in him, and probably would have become a meal for those things eventually. But what Jack didn't like, and still felt anger towards Vince for this, was being forced in that situation where they had to 'prove their worth' by killing those things, like some kind of horror-initiation test. Unfortunately for Johnny, he had failed that test miserably. He had a crowbar and only one of those things to kill, and he still got bit!
The diluting juice was put on hold once he came across a bottle of South African Shiraz. He pulled out the red wine and, with it being a screw-top, he unscrewed the bottle and poured the delightful red stuff into the glass, almost filling it. He put on the radio and despite only picking up a French station, he left it on and went over to the couch with his glass full of wine.
It had been nearly three weeks since he had touched alcohol. He tried to remember the last time he drank the hard stuff, and his face filled with wretchedness when he realised that it was when he had too much whisky when he was with Gary in Jemma Marlow's house, when he was looking for Kerry and Thomas.
All four of those people that Jack had just thought of had all perished.
His throat had become hard with emotion but his eyes were dry. He took another gulp of wine and noticed that the bottle looked like it was nearly done. It appeared that there was only a third of the bottle left.
"Fuck it!"
Jack took another over-generous gulp as he walked over to the bottle, and poured the rest into the half-full glass, filling it once again. He then made a soused smile and thought about Karen, Pickle, Paul and Jade. He wondered how their woods adventure had panned out, and hoped that they were okay. Members of the people in the village hall also entered his mind, and he mainly thought about the demise of Oliver and Lee at the sports centre. "Poor bastards."
There was a rap at the door that almost made Jack spill his drink. Before he could ask who it was, Vince walked in and immediately made a disapproving look at his guest.
"What are you looking at?" Jack was clearly drunk and Vince walked over to take the glass away from him. There was a little struggle and the red wine went all over Vince's clothes.
Vince grabbed Jack by his shirt and snarled, "I was gonna ask you to go out on a trip as we need diesel for the generators, but you've obviously got other plans."
Jack took an awkward step forward and slurred, "I'm going on no trip with you, Vince."
Vince smiled and looked at Jack. He looked like a broken man. "What's your problem, Jack? We give you a roof over your head and you're still feeling sorry for yourself. We've all lost people we love. I have a sister in Ireland, and my parents are somewhere. My father has a little place; they're probably hiding up there. Or dead."
Jack scowled at Vince and told him, "You winced when you mentioned your father's name."
Vince snickered, "That's because the piece of shit used to beat the crap out of me. I don't give a toss about him."
"Yeah, well. I still don't like you," Jack blurted out, taking Vince by surprise. He remained standing on his unsteady feet; he staggered towards Vince, and poked his forefinger into Vince's chest. "This whole...camp thing is a power trip for you, ain't it? People are looking up to you, asking: What do we do now, Vince? Oh great one. Ain't that right?"
Vince released an impatient sigh. He was convinced that having Jack on board was something the camp would benefit from, but he was proving, in the short time he'd been there, to be a little unpredictable. Vince eventually answered Jack's query and announced, "Someone has to take control."
"I know why you're in charge; it's because you were a nobody in the old world, ain't that right, Vince? It's like bullies. When you're out on the town, having a drink, it's very rare you see a lawyer or a doctor eyeballing people and starting fights, you know why?"
Vince tried to remain patient and humoured his drunken guest, "No, Jack, I don't. But I have a feeling you're going to tell me."
"Because they already have respect in the workplace. People who don't have respect in the workplace, are the ones that end up in fights. They can't get respect in the workplace, so they try and get it outside by using another method."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Vince began to laugh. "How many bottles of that wine did you drink?"
"What did you used to do for a living?"
"None of your business," snapped Vince.
"Tell me."
Vince threw his arms in the air, and decided to play Jack's game, although he didn't know where he was going with it. "Okay; I used to drive a forklift truck."
"And now this has all happened, you have a second chance to make something of yourself, rather than just a minimum-wage fork lift driver who used to take orders off of some fat foreman you probably detested."
"You're a cock, Jack."
"Yeah, well, I'm leaving this messed up place."
There was a silence that covered the two men, and although he was trying to hide his disappointment, an exasperated Vince said, "Good. Pack your things and leave."
"Hit a nerve, did I?"
Vince never answered. He just glared.
Laughed Jack, "I'm going anyway."
"But you can leave the jeep." Vince's announcement was delivered with a devilish smirk. "I'm taking the jeep from you for wasting my time."
"Are you now?"
"Yes."
"So you're throwing my arse out of here, with no wheels?"
Vince's smirk remained on his face. Despite no verbal response to Jack's question, or any kind of head gesture, Vince's continuous glaring and smirk suggested that his intention was to leave Jack in limbo.
Jack added, "Then I'll make sure I bring those things back here. All I have to do is get their attention and watch them follow me all the way back to the blockade, possibly in their hundreds. And they'll never go away; you know that. How's a couple of old shotguns gonna cope with that? Eh?"
"You'd be ripped to pieces eventually."
Jack nodded. "And your camp will be constantly surrounded by the dead. And they would never go away; they'd just grow in numbers, like pins to a magnet. I've seen it for myself."
"You hated stealing off of that shopkeeper, yet you're quite happy to put peoples' lives in danger because you were denied your vehicle? You don't realise that I could have you killed in here right now, and nobody would give a fuck."
"So why don't you?"
Vince couldn't give Jack an answer.
"It's because you're bluffing. You like me, don't you? And the whole I'm taking the jeep is to keep me here. Why?"
Again, Vince couldn't give him an answer.
"I'm leaving with the jeep. Don't make me do anything stupid."
Vince looked at Jack's eyes. He was drunk, but he meant every word he said.
Said Vince, "I'm not the arrogant, ego-maniac you think I am, Jack. I'm sorry you're paranoid and you don't like me. And I'm sorry you think I'm only here to feather my own nest and would leave these people in the shit if the going gets tough. I'm here for the long haul. For better or worse."
Vince put his hand in his back pocket, and Jack gulped and sobered a little when he thought that Vince was going to produce a handgun or a knife. Vince pulled out a set of car keys and handed Jack the keys to the jeep. "You can leave in an hour. Get yourself sobered up. Me and Claire are going out." Vince then headed for the door, and then turned back round as if there was something else he needed to say. "Try not to drive over any mines, fuckwit."
Chapter Forty Nine
"Just the two of us?" asked Claire.
Vince nodded and jumped in the pick-up truck. Claire noticed that he was in a foul mood and wondered if it had anything to do with Jack, as she knew he had gone to visit him in one of the spare caravans.
She refrained from asking him what was wrong, and sat in the passenger seat in silence. She didn't even ask him where they were going. She assumed it was the same as ever. There was a pub called The Lodge a mile up the road, and she guessed that that was where they were going. She guessed right.
As soon as Vince pulled up outside the pub, they both stepped out of the vehicle and gazed around the vacant street. One solitary body lay twenty yards away from them on the pavement, and neither one was sure whether it was a person that had been killed, or it was a reanimated being that had been destroyed.
Snatchers: Volume One (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 1-3) Page 80
