Not one single abandoned car, not one patch of blood, and not one limb could be seen on his little journey. He tried to imagine that the world was still a normal place and he was just a guy out taking a normal stroll, but the thoughts of his family soon killed that daydream off.
He followed the road that curved to the right and realised he was now at a crossroad. He took the road ahead, still with fences to his left and fields to his right, and increased his pace. He realised that he didn't know the place very well. In the past, it was a place he only drove through, not an area that he would pass on foot, and could see a road up ahead, to the left of the main road that he was on.
He reached the area and stopped.
He had come to a tiny village, a place he had no intention of going in to check out, but what did intrigue him was the pub at the side of the road.
“The Woolpack Inn,” Paul spoke aloud. He wasn't far away from Stafford, and was near a place called Gayton. He didn't realise he had walked that far. Paul Dickson had heard of the pub. He had been to it on one occasion, a few years ago with Julie. He remembered the visit well. It was before they had kids. He had the lamb shank and she had a chicken risotto.
He made a few steps forward, and then shook his head. “Nah. Ridiculous idea, Paul.”
He paused, and then had another scan around. The place all around had no dead or the living present.
“Maybe if I just have a quick peep inside,” he muttered to himself, staring at the large public house.
He took a slow walk over to The Woolpack Inn and noticed that the small car park had no cars on it at all. It looked like even the owner or owners had abandoned the place. He remembered the condition The Wolseley Arms pub was in after nearly three months, but this place looked immaculate from the outside.
He decided to take a slow walk around the place first. He approached the main double doors, and grabbed the brass handle of each door and gave them a pull. It was locked. If he wanted to have a snoop inside, he was going to have to try something else.
He took out his six-inch blade, heading for the back doors of the establishment, and passed the windows of the place; all windows had the curtains drawn. Once he reached around the back, he could see the back entrance, and decided to give the door a try. If this one didn't open, he was going to head back. He didn't want to head out any further, and he certainly didn't want to return to Colwyn Place looking like a drowned rat, as the sky looked threatening and rain didn't look too far away.
He reached for the doors and took in a deep breath. He didn't know why he did this, as he was fully expecting them to be locked. He gave them a tug.
They were locked.
“Oh well,” sighed Dickson. “Back to Haywood it is.”
He went back to the front of the establishment and headed for the main road, but something caught his eye. He turned around and saw a single ghoul shambling down towards him. It was all very bizarre. The front of the village and everything else around him, the pub and the main road, were clear and had no sign of carnage, not so much as a bloodied handprint on any of the windows.
But now this lone Rotter, Snatcher, Roamer, Creeper, Monster, Lurker, Biter ... whatever the fuck it was, as Paul didn't really have a nickname for these things like everybody else did, was heading towards him.
He could have walked away. It was still yards from his presence and a quick stroll would have created a lot of distance between him and the thing, but he stayed still and put the knife in his pocket.
He glared as the creature stumbled over in his direction, and he could see now that it was a male. The creature look bloated. It was dressed in a black suit, wearing a cravat, and had a dead flower attached to its breast pocket. Paul was certain that it was another ghoul that was released from the abbey, and he wasn't wrong.
A lot were killed by Colwyn's wall and Paul himself had put a few down on the way back to Little Haywood, but Pickle had told him that he was certain that more were about, and here was one of them.
Paul allowed the creature to get closer and smiled as it stretched out its arms and grabbed him on his shoulders. Paul grabbed its cold neck to prevent himself from being bitten, and slowly forced it to the floor. He began to laugh manically as he slowly pushed it to the ground. The creature gnashed and snarled, but Paul's overall strength was too much for the walking corpse.
The widower was squeezing the creature's throat so hard that he could feel his thumbs and fingers slowly sinking into the cold rotten flesh of the beast.
The laughing had now stopped. Paul had lost his smile, and he had now adopted a solemn look, which slowly transformed into a look of anger. He then began to snarl and smash its head off the tarmac; three times he whacked the back of its head on the road and now the ghoul was motionless.
He stood up straight and wiped his bloody fingers on his shirt. Paul then remained standing, glaring at the dead creature, until his breath returned to normal. Once it did, he had one last scan around the desolate area, then headed to the main road.
He had had enough.
He was going back to Colwyn Place.
Chapter Five
Vince Kindl had been talking to Lincoln.
Once the conversation had come to a close, Vince excused himself from the fifty-five-year-old man once he had clocked Stephen Rowley. Both Vince and Stephen had grown close as the days went by, forcing Karen to mock them as having a bromance, but it was just another pal for Vince.
It was good to make friends with the others, although Elza Crowe was still distant with Vince, despite Stephanie Perkins' attempt to get them to speak to one another over the last few days.
Vince walked over to Rowley's place, the same place where David MacDonald stayed, and asked where the young man was.
Rowley was on his doorstep, eating an apple that had been collected from the orchard at Colwich the day before, and smiled as he saw Vince approaching from the side.
“I think he's in bed, chap,” Stephen said. “He got up, but was moaning that he was still tired and that he had had a bad night's sleep.”
Vince smiled. “I wonder why that is.”
“No idea.” Stephen grunted, then twisted his neck and asked, “Anyway, are you alright, chap?”
Vince nodded and remained standing. “Just talking to John. Thinking about taking a trip to the garden centre down the road. Gonna see if there're any of those hand mowers left.”
“Really? Why?”
Vince laughed and pointed around at the overgrown lawns.
“But there's fuck all left in that garden centre.”
“There's bits and bobs, or there used to be. Don't you think these bad boys need a trim?” Vince asked, pointing at the lawns.
“Of course, but water, food, gas and medical equipment comes first, chap.”
“Which we now have plenty of, maybe not that much gas. But if John wants this to be a proper community, almost like it was in the old world...”
“I dunno.” Stephen finished the apple and put the core into his pocket. “If outsiders spot our small street, with the lawns all trimmed...”
“We were spotted days ago anyway, and I think a six foot concrete wall on one side and a steel slide gate on the other side is a bit of a giveaway that we have a good thing going here.”
“True. I'm just glad nothing came out of what we saw on Monday,” said Rowley. “I'm starting to relax now.”
“Me too.”
“Sorry, who's going on this little trip to the garden centre?”
Vince smiled. “Take a guess.”
“Me and you,” he sighed.
“It'll take five minutes to get there and five to get back,” said Vince “Lincoln wants to bring two hand mowers back, if possible, and it'll be us two that'll be cutting the lawns over the next few days. All twenty, front and back.”
“It'll keep us busy, I suppose, Vincent.” Stephen shook his head. “Sorry. I meant to say Vince.”
“I get called both. Doesn't matter to me. I'm not picky about w
hat people call me, unlike you.”
Stephen lowered his head and uttered, “I know you think I'm weird about people addressing my name correctly, but I have my reasons, chap.”
Vince could see the sombreness on Stephen's face and cleared his throat before saying, “I don't want to pry, but—”
“My dad used to call me Steve.” Rowley looked teary. He looked away and cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. “Especially when he was belittling me.”
“Was your dad a bit of a bastard?”
“A bit.” Stephen nodded. “He was ... let's just say he was old school. He liked to use old methods as punishment. He like using the belt and his fists, calling me Steve as he was doing it.”
“And being called Steve reminds you of the abuse you experienced?”
Stephen Rowley sucked in a deep breath and then released it slowly. “I don't really want to talk about it any further.”
“Okay.” Vince respected Stephen's wishes and leaned his head back, wondering if he should leave him or try and think of something else to say. Maybe he should try and change the subject.
“My dad did this to me.” Vince pointed at his scarred face. “So you're not on your own.”
Stephen took a glance at Vince's features, but never responded verbally. He then looked away.
Vince added, “It doesn't matter how old you get, you never seem to forget, do you? You never get over it.”
Stephen nodded but remained looking away.
Seeing that Stephen Rowley wasn't in the mood for talking to anyone, Vince patted the man on the shoulder and slowly walked away. “I'll see you later.”
Chapter Six
The walk was fifteen minutes old and Pickle, Craig, Danny and Jez had seen not one of the dead on their travels. They now passed St Mary's Abbey and were getting near to the end of the village.
Pickle stopped walking and the other three did the same.
“What now?” asked Craig.
“Ain't much we can do,” sighed Pickle. “If there're no Snatchers to put down, we may as well head back. Maybe tomorrow we should take a vehicle and go further out.”
Jez looked disappointed. He had killed these things before, but not many. He needed the practice, and with being out with Pickle and Craig he knew he was in safe hands.
“Unless...” Pickle rubbed his stubbly chin in thought.
“Unless what?” Craig queried.
“I tell yer what,” Pickle began. “We'll go o'er the hump bridge, o'er the Trent, onto the Stafford Road. We'll go by the pub and head back to the village that way. Maybe we'll see some ... action.”
“So basically we go in a full circle?”
“Pretty much.” Pickle nodded.
Harry Branston led the way. Once they reached the hump bridge, all males wordlessly crossed it and were now on the Stafford Road.
“There.” Pickle pointed up ahead and all four could see three Snatchers. Pickle initially thought they were from the abbey, but these creatures were dressed in casual clothes.
“Danny has a little more experience than yer now,” Pickle looked over to Jez. “So yer can get two o' them. Straight through the eye, the temple, or through the front o’ the head, if yer think yer blade is strong enough.”
Jez looked like a bag of nerves and seemed reluctant.
“It'll be fine.” Craig tried to reassure the youngster. “We're not far away.”
Jez shook his head. “Easy for you to say.”
“I'll go first,” announced Danny, then released a whistle, making the three dead turn around in unison.
The dead were spread out and Danny strolled forwards, telling the others that he would get the one in front.
“Have you noticed a change in him since you first took him out?” Craig asked Pickle, as both men watched the confident young man, from twenty yards away, getting ready to take out the first ghoul.
“Absolutely.” Pickle nodded. “The first time I took him out, he could barely kill one, even though I had it in an arm lock.”
“It's all about practice, which then builds the confidence.”
Pickle nodded his head in agreement. “That's all it is.”
They watched as Danny put the nearest one to him down with no difficulty. The young man then briskly walked back. He had a smile on his face, almost smug-like, and said to Jez, “Over to you.”
“I don't know about this.” Jez didn't look sure. “Two of them?”
“They're quite spread out.” Craig pointed over to the two dead who were apart and heading their way. The one in front was five yards ahead of the one behind.
“By the time yer take out the first one,” Pickle said, “yer should be ready for the second.”
“But what happens if I mess it up?” Jez almost looked teary. He really wanted to do this, but thought that taking out two was too risky.
“Then yer will probably die,” Pickle joked.
“This is not funny, Pickle. I'm shitting myself here.”
“Relax.” Pickle lost his smile and began to feel sorry for the youngster. “If yer get into trouble, we'll sort yer out.”
“You promise?”
“Aye.”
“Okay.”
Jez strolled forwards, away from the others, and stopped once he was near the dead. He blew a breath out, now clasping onto his knife with his clammy right hand. He stared at the first ghoul; it was only yards away, and he could already smell the disgusting odour coming from its rotting body.
The teenager held his breath and brought his arm back, over his head, finally driving the knife into its skull, just above the forehead. It fell to the ground and Jez quickly tried to retrieve the knife, aware that 'number two' wasn't far away, but he couldn't move it.
“I need some help here,” he called out.
Craig laughed and made his way over, seeing that Jez was almost in tears with panic. Jez tried to pull out the knife one more time, but nothing was happening. He still couldn't get the knife out and now decided to retreat back to the group. He passed Craig and stood next to Pickle and Danny as Craig took care of the other Snatcher with little fuss. Craig then made his way back, and only stopped to bend over and pull out Jez's knife out of the skull of the being that Jez had put down earlier.
Feeling stupid, Jez lowered his head in embarrassment as Craig approached him and handed him back his knife.
“It was a good effort,” Pickle said to the youngster, knowing that the young man was feeling deflated.
“Was it?” Jez wasn't sure.
“Some people can't even kill one.”
“But if I was on my own and came across two or three, I would have been in trouble.”
“Yer could run.”
“But if I was trapped...”
“Yer would be fine. Fear would make yer fight yer way out. I'm sure o' it.”
“What the hell is that?” Craig was pointing in the opposite direction of the fallen dead, and all four males could see an individual—it looked like a man—cycling towards the group. He didn't seem to be in any rush, and once he clocked Pickle and the rest he didn't look too bothered about their presence. He was now getting near, and they could see that the man was slowing down and had a huge grin on his features.
The bike stopped and the man held his hand up. “Morning, gentlemen.” He then looked over at the dead and added, “I see you've been busy.”
All four mumbled 'good morning' to the man with dark features. He looked to be in his fifties, had a full beard and had a large belly. His overall appearance suggested that he had kept well since the apocalypse.
“Where yer headed?” Pickle was the first to query the man.
“I mean no harm, gentlemen,” the man spoke, still standing up and straddling the bike.
“And neither do we.”
“I'm on my way back to my family.” He turned and patted the basket that was attached to the back of the bike. “Did a bit of strawberry and raspberry picking, near Milford.”
“Yer seem in good
shape.” Pickle smiled, making the man relax. “What's yer secret?”
“I have a little place, not far from here.” The man wasn't giving too much away, which was understandable. “Water seems the hardest to come by, don't yer think? I have a cabin. We've used everything.”
“What like?”
“We collected rainwater, used a borehole.”
“We go to the Trent now and again. If a river's practically on yer doorstep, then yer may as well use it.”
“I hope you boil your water.”
Pickle said, “We don't really have the gas or the—”
“Boil your water! All of it!” The man was now becoming irate, making the other four tetchy. “You got it from a stream? Boil it. We now live in a world where most of humanity has fallen victim to a mass-transmitted virus. Don't trust water!”
“Erm...” Pickle was confused and didn't know how to react to this unpredictable and aggressive individual. “We'll bear that in mind.”
The stranger added, “Showers are a pain in the arse.”
“Why's that?”
“There're two reasons. Heating the water is a pain and getting the water in the first place can be tricky. We had one shower that took two batteries. It was heated by a small gas cylinder and needed electric to power a small pump. We needed a bucket of water from a tap or stream, which is just about enough for a quick hot shower. What about your place?”
“What about our place?” Pickle was becoming uncomfortable in the man's presence. He seemed pleasant at first, then suddenly became aggressive without warning.
“What about solar power? You have it?”
“Erm.”
“Do you have solar power or not?”
“Yeah, but it's not perfect. It works better on some days, depending on the weather. Running water can be a pain, unpredictable, so that's why we take trips to the river every day.”
Snatchers Box Set, Vol. 4 [Books 10-12] Page 27
