“Who?”
“Someone I dropped off a couple of weeks ago.” Pickle walked up a garden path with Danny following behind, the pair of them now approaching the main door of the house.
“And what if this someone is dead?”
“Only one way to find out.” Pickle smiled and knocked on the door.
The last time he was here, he was in a pickup with Bentley Drummle and also had Rick Morgan with him. They had gone to Lichfield to pick up an abandoned tanker, but saw movement in the supermarket nearby. They eventually went in, found a woman and agreed to take her back home. Lee James took the tanker back to Sandy Lane, and Pickle, Rick and Bentley took the woman back to her house, back to her parents, also giving them a barrel full of tins to keep them going.
Pickle knocked again. This time he and Danny heard a window open above them. They took a step back from the door and looked up to see who it was.
Pickle smiled when he saw the young face. “Hello, Celia.”
“Oh my God ... Pickle!” she squealed.
“Thought I'd pop in and say hello.”
“Great.”
“How are yer parents?”
She nodded. “They're great. We were just sitting in the back bedroom. Where're your pals?”
Pickle knew that she meant Bentley and Rick, but instead of telling her that they were both dead, he decided to tell her that they were back at the camp. It wasn't news that she needed to hear.
“Right,” her face was still wearing a wide beam, “I'm coming down to let you in.”
“Much appreciated.”
Chapter Sixteen
His head was back and his eyes were closed as he dreamt of his late wife.
John Lincoln slept with a thin smile sitting under his nose, and the power nap was only ten minutes old when a chap at his door pulled him out of his dream.
He shot up off of the couch and looked for his glasses. He spotted them sitting on the fireplace. He staggered over, hearing some of his old bones cracking as he did this, and put the glasses on and walked to the front door.
Before he opened it, he could see that it was Beverley. He could tell by her shape, even behind the frosted glass. The dark-haired woman was heavy, although claimed to have lost over twenty pounds since the beginning of the apocalypse, and was originally from Milford.
She had saved her next door neighbour's toddler from starving to death when a visitor came to the house and murdered its mother. The visitor was Jason Bonser, and the victim had been strangled to death and raped on her couch. Beverley came to the Haywood camp by luck. She was picked up by one of the guys from Colwyn. Strangely enough, she had no idea that the man that was responsible for killing her neighbour and leaving the toddler to die, had a brother, and ended up living at 20 Colwyn Place with James Thomson.
John opened the door and gave the rotund woman a large smile, despite being tired. “Anything wrong, Beverley?”
“Can I come in, John?” She looked a little flustered.
“Of course.” He opened the door wider and walked back into his living room. He sat down on the couch; Beverley followed him in and did the same, leaving the door open. John asked where the 'little one' was and Beverley told him that she had left him with Joanne for an hour to give her a break.
“So ... what is it?” John pushed his spectacles up to the bridge of his nose.
“It's probably nothing.” Beverley sat with her hands on top of one another. “It's...”
“Yes?”
“I have some concerns with the new people.” She cleared her throat and added, “Well, mainly one of the men.”
“It wouldn't be Paul Dickson now, would it?”
Beverley brushed her dark hair back with her fingers and looked agitated. “You know?”
“I've heard chatter about him,” John explained with a smile. “But I don't think it's anything to be concerned about. I've been assured by Harry Branston, known as Pickle, that he would keep him in check. And I don't think Pickle is somebody to cross, to be perfectly honest with you.”
“It's just that...” Beverley had a think before continuing. “Over the last couple of days I've spotted him staring at me and the little one when we're out. I've also noticed that sometimes he sits on the doorstep and just glares. He's a bit ... weird.”
“It's been a hell of an emotional rollercoaster for all of us,” said John. “Some of us from this street have died, some of us have managed to survive but have come out severely damaged, mentally. Others were so damaged and desperate that they eventually chose suicide. I've heard stories from Pickle and Karen about finding whole families that have killed themselves. So, for Paul to be a little ... weird, is perfectly understandable, because he has lost everything.”
“But for the staring...”
“At you and the little guy?”
Beverley nodded.
“I'm sure it's perfectly innocent. He recently lost his son. Maybe the little chap reminds him of his own son, or reminds him of being a father. I don't know.” John stood to his feet. Beverley took this as a sign to leave and stood up herself. “Maybe you should get to know the guy before making a judgement.”
“I know. You're right.” Beverley opened the front door. “He just creeps me out, that's all.”
“Well, you can rest assure that he's okay, just a little damaged.”
Beverley stepped outside and turned to face the heavy Lincoln. “I'm just worried. We're not used to new people, are we?”
“Nope.”
“And then suddenly we get four new people.”
John peered over Beverley's shoulder and could see Dickson coming out of his house. He then went towards the concrete wall and climbed over it, disappearing into No Man's Land.
What the hell is he up to?
“You okay, John?” asked Beverley. “You seem a little distracted.”
“I'm fine.” He forced a smile, deciding not to let on what Paul Dickson had just done. “I'll see you later, Beverley.”
“Okay.” Beverley turned and walked away, heading for Joanne's place, leaving Lincoln to gaze at the wall, grinding his teeth in anger.
The last thing he needed was for the people to feel unsafe with such an unpredictable figure in the street. Pickle said that he'd keep Dickson in line, so maybe, from now on, he should allow Paul to go on runs and make sure that he's paired up with Pickle. He had a lot of thinking to do.
He remained staring at the wall and couldn't believe the stupidity of Paul. It seemed a strange coincidence that he was sticking up for the man, then the very same man jumps the wall seconds later.
Why was he doing it? Was he bored? Insane?
John sighed, “You silly man, Paul.”
*
Paul Dickson rubbed his fingers through his dark hair and wondered what the hell to do. John Lincoln had asked him to go for another water jaunt with Stephen Bonser, but Paul thought it was John's attempt for the two of them to kiss and make up.
He can fuck off, Paul thought.
He had already come to the conclusion that he didn't like Stephen, and the feeling was mutual. Paul left his house and stepped onto the road. There was very little activity taking place outside, but this suited Paul.
He could see that the guard at the slide gate had his back to him, Lincoln was talking to Beverley on his doorstep, and no other person could be seen.
Paul walked to the concrete wall that stretched across the road and climbed it. He landed on the other side of Colwyn Place, No Man's Land, and checked his pocket to see if he still had his knife.
It was there.
He looked around at the area of Little Haywood that was shut off from the new and smaller Colwyn Place, and could see grass and weeds overgrown on the front lawns. Not many vehicles were left, and old blood was present on the road and pavements. And the area, as far as the eye could see, was dead, barren.
His walk along the old Colwyn Place was pleasant, despite some of the things that were around him. But seeing corpses and othe
r types of carnage was the norm nowadays. Paul decided to stick to the main road and avoid the side streets. He wasn't interested in seeing his old house. He just wanted away from the new street for a little while.
He pulled out the knife from his pocket and held it tight. He wasn't expecting any bother, but did it anyway. He kept on walking and had now been away from Colwyn Place for nearly ten minutes. It was good to be out and he was now reaching the end of the main road. He stopped walking and looked to his right where he could see St Mary's Abbey. A smile emerged on his face when he thought back all those years ago about the disagreements he and Julie had about where they were going to get married. St Mary's in Little Haywood? Or St Augustine's in Rugeley?
Their wedding eventually was held in Rugeley and had been Paul's happiest day of his life until Kyle came along. His miracle boy. His IVF baby. It had been a long time coming.
He continued to glare at the abbey and then turned on his heels and decided to walk back. Once he reached the concrete wall, he put his knife into his pocket and climbed over. Nobody had seen him return and the guard by the gate, holding the baseball bat, was looking forward and had his back to him. Paul couldn't work out who it was. It looked like Derek Ferguson.
Paul took a slow walk over to the door of 13 Colwyn Place, his home, and stopped when he heard John Lincoln call out, “Paul! Any chance of a word?”
Paul turned around and remained where he was. John Lincoln was standing on his doorstep and wasn't budging. Paul sighed and headed over to him. Once he reached John, he asked him what was up.
“Your little trip...” John Lincoln began.
“Trip?”
“Don't play funny buggers with me, Paul. I saw you going over the wall, into No Man's Land.”
“Oh, that.” Paul nodded and seemed relaxed. “I've only been away about twenty or so minutes. I was a little bored, so I decided to go for a walk.”
“A walk?” There was rare anger etched on John's face and he seemed exasperated with Paul's attitude.
“You can't just go off like that.”
“Why not?” Paul asked with a straight face.
“It's too dangerous,” John huffed.
“I don't care. I'm not a prisoner here.”
John Lincoln bit his bottom lip and felt hurt by Paul's behaviour. “And to think only minutes ago I was fighting your corner.”
“Fighting my corner?” Paul snickered falsely. “Another complaint about me?”
Lincoln never gave Paul an answer. His stern face and silence was enough to tell Paul that another resident had been moaning about him. Paul then remembered that John was talking to Beverley before he jumped over the wall.
“And what was it this time?” Paul enquired. “Is my walk too funny? Is my cough annoying? Do these people realise that back in the old world Little Haywood was my home?”
“Just...”
“What?”
“Try and be nice, will you?” There was pleading in John's voice. “And don't do any more crazy stuff.” He wanted to keep his original residents happy, but he also knew that Paul being kicked out would mean Karen, Pickle and Vince possibly leaving. John liked these three people and they provided plenty of muscle if things went belly up.
“Maybe if you put me out on runs then I wouldn't get cabin fever. I wouldn't feel the need to escape.”
“You go out to collect water now and again,” Lincoln protested. “It's not that bad, is it?”
“I'm out for no longer than twenty minutes. And it's usually with a man that hates my guts.”
“Just stay away from No Man's Land, please.”
“The place is barren anyway.” Paul scratched at his dark hair. He hadn't washed in days and it was becoming itchy.
“Where did you go?”
“I walked along the main road, up to the abbey.”
“Stay away from the abbey,” Lincoln spat, and there was a now a surge of nervousness in the man that Paul could clearly see in Lincoln's face.
Paul hadn't known John Lincoln long, but thought his little outburst was out of character for the fifty-five-year old man. Paul asked, “What is it?”
Lincoln was silent for a few seconds and looked around the street. He had no idea why he did this. People would have to have supersonic hearing to eavesdrop on their conversation.
John began, “There's something I need to tell you.”
“I'm all ears.”
“Pickle, Vince, Freddie and Stephen Rowley told me that when they were looking for Danny, a few days ago, they went to the abbey. There was a shit load of the dead inside it. Pickle blocked a door off with a water feature. If somehow they get out...”
“Shit.”
“The ... let's say, more sensitive souls who live in our street don't know anything about this. I want people to feel safe.”
“Maybe we should take a load of guys with us, crack the abbey open and just go to town on them.”
“Too dangerous. I don't want to lose anyone.” John lowered his head and added, “I was toying with the idea of just burning the abbey to the ground. But with the building's history...”
“If you burn the place to the ground, it won't kill the dead. They'll still be walking, but they'll be on fire. If anything, there'll be more dangerous, and if they head for our wall they'll be harder to kill. Imagine trying to kill a burning creature with a knife. You'd end up with severe burns trying to kill just one of them.”
“So what do you think we should do?”
“What did Pickle say?” Paul asked Lincoln.
“He told me to leave it.”
Paul nodded. “I agree. If they eventually come, they come, but they won't get over that wall. Climbing isn't their strong point.”
Chapter Seventeen
The motor-home cruised along the main road. All four individuals sat in silence, with the exception of Vince who was whistling the theme tune to The Dambusters. Stephen Rowley was driving, Freddie was in the passenger seat next to him and Karen and Vince were in the back.
Another minute passed and Karen began to huff. “Any chance you can cut that whistling out, Kindl? It's getting on my nerves.”
“Sorry.” Vince sat up and began to drum on his knees instead. He was clearly bored.
Karen looked over to the middle-aged man and asked him, “Fancy giving my feet a rub? My Gary used to rub them when I used to come off nightshift from A and E.”
Vince screwed his face up in disgust, making Karen laugh. “I'll give that a miss, if you don't mind.”
“Problem up ahead,” Stephen's voice was heard from the front.
Karen looked at Vince. “Now what?”
They both got to their feet and made their way to the front of the vehicle and peered out of the windscreen. The dead were up ahead.
Stephen slowed the vehicle down and shook his head. “There's gotta be twenty of them, at least.”
Thirty yards away, many of the dead were in the middle of the road, on their knees, and it was clear that they were devouring something.
“What do we do?” Freddie Johnson looked petrified and his inexperience with being outdoors was clearly showing. It wasn't quite as frightening as the episode at St Mary's Abbey, but this was scary enough.
“Do you think we should go through them?” Rowley asked no one in particular.
“No, I don't,” Karen spoke up. “Not twenty. Are you serious?” she asked Rowley.
“I was just asking.”
Vince remarked, “We go through twenty of those things at top speed, and go over what they're eating, I'm guessing it's a cow or a horse, then we'd fuck this vehicle up.”
“We'd have to abandon the RV, go on foot.” Karen agreed with Vince. “We're not risking losing this medical stuff. Not a chance.”
The vehicle came to a stop and Stephen pulled up the parking brake, switching off the engine. “So what now?”
Karen and Vince never responded verbally, and pulled out their machetes.
“You've got to be kidding, chaps.�
�� Stephen shook his head. “Twenty of them? That's suicide.”
“Maybe he's right.” Vince glared out of the windscreen. He could now see the tail and the hind legs of the creature they were eating. It was a horse. How the fuck did these dead shambling fuckers manage to get to a quick and powerful horse?
“What are we supposed to do?” Karen moaned. “Wait until they've finished?”
Vince groaned, “We'd be here for fucking ages.”
“Distract them,” said Stephen. He opened the driver's side door and jumped out. “I've got an idea.”
Karen and Vince gazed at one another, and watched as Stephen Rowley selflessly went to the side of the road and whistled at the small horde. Some turned around, but others continued to eat. Eight got to their feet and now Stephen could see Karen and Vince leaving the vehicle.
“You didn't think we'd leave you to do this by yourself, did you?” Karen smiled and walked over to Stephen.
“So what's the plan?” Vince made his way over and watched as the eight stumbled towards them. “Are we gonna lead them away from the horse, into the field, and then once the road is kind of clear, we make a run back to the RV?”
“Pretty much,” Stephen snickered. “You've done this before then?”
“Something similar.”
“Where's Freddie?” Stephen asked.
“Where do you think? He's in the front, shitting himself.”
“He wasn't keen on joining us,” Karen said with a smirk.
Vince picked up a small rock that was by his feet and threw it at the horde that was around the animal and then released a whistle of his own. Only two more turned and shambled their way over.
There was now ten heading their way and the other ten were still on their knees.
Stephen said, “As soon as they get near, we make a run back to the RV and go through that other ten.”
“I still think that's too dangerous.” Vince thought it was a reckless idea. “And don't forget going over that animal. We need to get more away from that horse.”
As the dead got near, the three of them walked backwards. Vince opened the farmer's gate that allowed them to enter the field, and all three stepped onto it, the dead following.
Snatchers Box Set, Vol. 4 [Books 10-12] Page 6
