Pickle reached the door of 2 Colwyn Place, cleared his throat and gave it a huge knock.
It opened and he was greeted by a smiling Stephanie Perkins. Her hair was washed, combed and hanging down. This had been the first time he had seen the young girl with her hair down.
“Yer look different,” Pickle remarked.
“Coming to check on us?”
“Something like that,” he snickered. “Just wanted to see how yer all doing. How yer settling in?”
“We're doing okay.”
“Mind if I come in?”
She smiled and widened the door. “Be my guest.”
Chapter Forty Seven
Craig and Jez were out on the street. They looked around the next street that they entered, and Jez gazed nervously with petrified eyes, clasping onto his knife. Craig was to the left of him, a little more calmer than his younger companion, and held the hockey stick.
Like some streets in the UK, this one had a few bodies scattered on the road and pavements. There was also two houses burnt out at the bottom of the street and an overturned car was to their left, a few yards away.
“So, what's the plan?” Jez looked to the side, looking at Craig and waiting for an answer.
“Not sure. Another house?” Craig hunched his shoulders and tried to joke, “Not getting killed would be good.”
“Doesn't sound much of a plan to me.”
“Maybe not.” Craig sighed and added, “But if you wanna try being alone instead, with the dead and your biker friends out there, be my guest.”
“You've said that before.” Jez revealed a little smile, knowing he was behaving like a whiny brat. “Maybe I'll stick with you for now.”
Craig sniggered, “I thought you would say that.” His head turned from left to right and couldn't believe there were no dead about. What happened to them? Where were they?
Many places had drives but no cars, and the very few cars that were around were either burnt out, overturned or damaged.
Craig stopped walking and examined the street. He pointed up ahead and told Jez that they were going to stay in one of the houses, if they were suitable.
They both continued to walk.
“What about that one?” Jez nodded to his right.
Craig shook his head. “I said further up. I think it'll be better for us if we're away from the outskirts and go further in.”
Jez sighed petulantly, “If you say so.”
“What's the matter?” Craig asked his younger companion, picking up on his negative vibe.
“My feet are killing me.”
“Stop your fucking whingeing,” Craig laughed.
“And I'm bored. You're hardly great company.”
“Cheeky bastard.” Craig lost his smile and looked frustrated with Jez's ungrateful comment. “Just remember what it'd be like if you were with that biker mob.”
“I know, I know. I'm just a bit bored, that's all.”
“You're hardly a laugh a minute yourself, you know.”
“Okay, for a litre of water, would you shoot a gorilla in the face?” Jez began to giggle.
“Is this supposed to be a joke?” Craig scratched at his head.
“It's a theoretical dilemma.”
Craig scratched his head. “What if the gorilla survived? It'd beat me to death.”
“That's the risk with the scenario.”
“Erm ... I dunno.” Craig rubbed his fingers across his eyes. He never slept well the night before and was too tired to be playing games. “Probably not, no.”
“Look.” Craig stopped walking and pointed up at the spectacular building of St Mary's Abbey.
“What is it?” Jez queried with a scowl.
“It's a fucking gym,” Craig replied sarcastically. “What do you think it is?”
“Alright, alright. I was only asking.” Jez placed his hands on his hips. “What're you thinking?”
“If it's clear, we could use the abbey as a base,” Craig began, “and we can search the houses. Whatever we find, we bring back to the abbey.”
“And what happens when we've checked all the houses and there's no food left?”
Craig struggled to give the young man an immediate answer and huffed, “Let's just live day to day. Don't worry about the future.”
“But what happens when we run out of stuff?” Jez persisted.
“Then we move on.”
Both men took a stroll across the road and went to the main doors of the abbey. Craig put his hockey stick on the floor and tried the doors, but they weren't budging.
“I'll try round the back.” Jez pulled out his knife and went down the left side of the building.
“Hang on a minute. Wait for me.” Craig tried the door again. It must be locked from the inside, he thought. Or something was pushed up again the doors.
He turned to his left to see that Jez had disappeared and shook his head. “Little prick.”
Craig bent down to tie his shoelace, then picked his weapon up and walked around the corner of the building to meet up with the annoying Jez.
Craig had made little progression when he saw Jez returning, running around the corner of the building and heading back to the front, towards Craig.
“What's going on?” Craig put his arms out, demanding a quick answer. He knew something was wrong.
Jez had fear on his face, ran past Craig and went round to the front, by the main doors, and was now bent over and panting.
Craig casually walked back to the front and was now standing next to a panting Jez.
“Are you going tell me what's happening?” Craig asked. “Did you see one of them?”
Gathering his breath, Jez slowly stood up straight. “I'm sorry.”
“Sorry? What for?”
“We'll need to find a place as soon as possible. But it can't be this place.”
Craig was becoming irate and growled, “What're you talking about, bell-end? You're not making sense.”
“I saw a door. There was a water feature propped up against it. I wondered what was behind the door, so I moved it and...”
“And?”
Jez sighed, “Take a look for yourself.”
Craig approached the left corner of the building, the same one they went by only minutes ago, and peered down the side of it. Six dead were staggering their way down the side of the structure, heading towards the front, towards Craig and Jez. But more were appearing from around the far corner.
The males were all dressed in suits and the females in dresses. It looked like they were at a wedding party when attacked. Craig stared long enough to see the bride appear from around the far corner, the front of her dress saturated in blood, and then moved away to meet back up with Jez. There were now twenty of them.
Craig grabbed Jez by the shoulder and pushed him away. “You really are a dopey shagwit, aren't you?”
“I didn't know there was anything behind the door.”
“I told you to wait for me, didn't I? Didn't you at least place your ear against the door and listen for any movement?”
Jez dropped his head. “Not exactly.”
“Not exactly?”
“Okay,” Jez admitted, “not at all.”
“I've met some cockwombles in my time...”
“What now?”
Craig shrugged his shoulders and sighed, “Follow me. We're gonna have to find a house pretty soon.”
Chapter Forty Eight
Terry Braithwaite stepped out of the cellar with a glazed look in his eyes. The thirty-four-year-old took his six foot frame into the kitchen and took a few gulps of water from the bottle that was sitting next to the sink. He ran his fingers through his short ginger hair and tried to fight back the tears. His thoughts went to his wife, Barbara. Of course, his children, both Kayleigh and Leighton, also tormented his mind and wondered if he would ever get over this.
Once he had composed himself, he stepped out of 1 Colwyn Place, into the fresh air, and waved at Stephen Bonser who was at the gate, bat in hand
. Terry called over and asked where James Thomson was. Stephen told him that he was inside the house where the newly stolen medical supplies were kept.
Terry always hated the quiet periods. Weeks ago, when the camp was formed, he would spend his spare time in his back garden, where his family were buried. After weeks of this, it seemed pointless. What was the point of talking to dead bodies buried in the ground? Was he really doing it because he thought they could hear him? Or was it for his own solace?
Terry walked down the street, away from Stephen Bonser and was distracted by a knock. He turned and saw that John Lincoln had knocked on his front window and was now waving at him from his living room. Terry waved back, but continued moving.
Stephen Rowley was outside, sitting on his doorstep and Joanne Hammett was on her doorstep, puffing on a cigarette.
“You bored, chap?” Rowley called over to Terry.
Terry laughed, “That obvious, huh?”
He approached the concrete wall and sat down with his back against it. He leaned his head back and thought back to the days when things were normal, when his family were alive. The good days.
He thought about when they used to take jaunts out to the cinema at Stafford. Little Haywood didn't have a cinema, and Rugeley used to have one before it closed down and was refurbished and became a Wetherspoons pub.
Because of the age of his kids, Terry and his wife had to take them to the cinema whenever the latest Disney or Pixar release was out. Every time they visited the movies, Terry would fall asleep during the film. His wife kept on telling him that it was a waste of time—and money—taking him, but he went nevertheless and always claimed that he got a better sleep in the cinema than he did at home.
Tears formed in Terry's eyes yet again, and before they were ready to fall, a sound coming from behind him made the man snap out of his dreaming of yesteryear.
Still sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, he turned his head and placed his ear against the wall to get a better listen.
It sounded like buzzing or ... groaning. He wasn't sure. To clarify what it really was, he needed to get up and peer over the wall. But he couldn't be bothered. Not yet.
The noise was slowly growing from behind him.
“What the fuck is that?” he moaned to nobody in particular.
Terry shook his head, staggered to his feet, then peered over the wall.
At first there was no emotion on his face. It took a few seconds for his eyes to widen in horror, his heart to gallop furiously and for his bottom lip to quiver in fright.
He took a step back and exclaimed, “Jesus Christ Almighty!”
*
Stephen Rowley and Vince Kindl were sitting on a doorstep of the house that belonged to Stephen. Vince had seen Rowley and decided to chew the fat with the individual for a few minutes and kill some time.
They made idle chat for a minute or so, and Stephen admitted to himself that he now liked Vince. The chat had ceased for a while and both stared out and remained silent, until Vince decided to open his mouth once more.
“He's a bit of a strange one.” Vince nodded over to Terry Braithwaite. He was sitting on the floor with his back against the concrete wall.
“He's a good chap.” Stephen grunted and twisted his neck. “He's had a rough ride.”
“So has Paul, but he doesn't seem to be getting any sympathy from your lot.”
“Maybe he'll grow on us, chap.” Stephen cleared his throat and looked at Vince. “You know, I never liked you at first, but you're okay ... different.”
“Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment.”
“Don't get me wrong, I never hated you, I just didn't get you.”
“Well, thanks for that,” said Vince. “The only people I hate are people who use big words just to make themselves look perspicacious.”
Stephen looked at Vince strangely. “I don't understand you sometimes.”
“The trouble with you, Stephen, is that you don't really have a sense of humour.”
“Yes, I do.” Rowley looked outraged. Despite being on his own doorstep, he was in two minds whether to walk away from Vince or not because he was that incensed. “Me and Nick used to have a great laugh doing runs together.”
Vince rubbed his chin in thought. “Nick?”
“You know, Pickle hacked his hand off after he was bitten,” Stephen said sadly. “You were there. He got back to Colwyn Place and died of blood loss.”
“Yes, I remember now.” Vince took another gander over at Terry, then looked at Stephen Bonser at the other end of the street, guarding the gate. Vince decided to start a new conversation. “So, what do you do for laughs around here?”
Rowley hunched his shoulders. “People aren't really in the mood.” Stephen twisted his neck and said, “You know, since what's happened, people don't seem to laugh as much these days.”
“That's a shame.” There was genuine sadness in Vince's words. “It's good to have a chuckle every now and then.”
Vince sat and thought about Rick Morgan, and some of the atrocious banter the pair of them used to have when on guard duty at Sandy Lane.
“What do you miss the most?” blurted out Rowley.
“What? You mean since..?”
Rowley nodded.
“A lot of things,” sighed Vince. “I miss music. Although, I don't miss Coldplay. You?”
“I miss my guitar.” Stephen smiled.
“Didn't realise you could play.” Vince looked impressed.
“Oh yeah.” Stephen rested his chin on the palm of his hand, now reminiscing. “I used to have a semi—”
“Steady on.” Vince widened his eyes.
“A semi-acoustic.”
“Oh.”
“But I had to sell it a few years ago. I promised myself that I was going to buy myself one for this Christmas, but...”
“I used to be in a band.” Vince bit his bottom lip, trying not to snigger.
Rowley looked surprised. “Yeah?”
“Yep. We were called Lost Dog. You probably saw our posters.”
“Nice one.” Stephen Rowley grunted, twisted his neck and cleared his throat a little louder than he normally did.
Vince winced when Stephen did this. His clearing of his throat sometimes turned Kindl's stomach. Vince didn't know if Stephen generally had a dodgy throat or it was some annoying habit he had had for years. “Is that really necessary?”
“What's that, chap?”
Vince sighed, “Never mind.”
Stephen Rowley began to whistle a tune, trying to fill the silence.
“Okay, I've got a joke,” Vince spoke up.
Stephen stopped whistling. “Okay, chap. I'm all ears.”
“Why did little Billy fall off the swing?”
Rowley thought for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders, gently shaking his head. “I have no idea.”
“Because he had no arms.” Vince placed his hand over his mouth and began to giggle like a school child, but Stephen didn't look amused.
He scowled and said, “That's just plain stupid.”
“Okay,” Vince sighed. “Knock, knock.”
“Who's there?”
“Not Billy.”
To the side of them, Terry cried, “Jesus Christ Almighty!”
Vince Kindl immediately stopped laughing and he and Stephen turned their heads to their right, where the wall was, once they heard Terry Braithwaite yell out.
They both stood to their feet and raced over to the wall, over to Terry.
Chapter Forty Nine
After Vince had peered over the wall, he ran back into his house to retrieve his machete, and by the time he returned outside there were many people by the wall, including, Pickle, Karen, Stephanie, Elza and Ophelia.
Others that were there, Terry, Stephen Bonser, Stephen Rowley, James Thomson, Freddie and Danny looked nervous, but at least they had showed. There was so much chaos and quarrelling with one another on what to do, no one did anything, they just stood helple
ssly and exchanged angry words.
Vince approached the confused group, looked over the wall and witnessed for the second time the group of the dead. When Vince and Pickle first looked over the wall they knew it was the dead from the abbey. None were against the wall, but were scattered along the road in their dozens, shambling in no particular direction. Pickle told the group to stay calm whilst he tried to think.
“We need to keep the noise down. But the wall will hold them, if they approach it.” Stephen Bonser tried to appease the worried faces of the other residents. “Don't worry. It'll hold.”
Vince looked behind him, at the new Colwyn Place, and gazed at the street. He could see some of the residents out on their doorsteps. Old Tom, Joanne Hammett, Brenda Hatchet and partners, Gail and Paul Smith from number twelve, were outside their houses, and looked worried to death.
John was clearly upset when he first peered out of his bedroom window and saw the dead over at the old street, after Terry's yell. John Lincoln now stood on his doorstep with his arms folded and had no plan on moving anywhere. Lincoln stood and shook his head in disbelief at what was happening.
Vince didn't understand why he was looked up to and why he was in charge. He never did anything. He stood and watched as Pickle took control of the group, trying to keep them calm and gesturing to the others on their doorsteps to go inside and watch from their windows, if they really had to.
“We can't just leave them roaming around,” Danny Gosling cried.
“We just need to sit tight and wait it out,” said Freddie. It was all he could think of. He was twenty-one and had spent most of his time hiding in Colwyn Place, from the outside world. What did he know?
“Pickle,” said Karen, peering over the concrete wall, “I think we can take them.”
“Are you mad?” James Thomson growled at Karen, unsure whether she was joking or not.
Snatchers Box Set, Vol. 4 [Books 10-12] Page 21
