“Solar power,” the man scoffed. “Waste of time, if you ask me.”
“Why?” asked Pickle
“Wait till the winter when you'll only get four or five hours of daylight, then you’ll know why.”
Pickle decided to say no more about the facilities and the whereabouts of Colwyn Place. He was unsure about the man. There was a silence, and all five males looked at one another and all seemed uncomfortable.
“Well,” Pickle clapped his hands together and decided to end the awkwardness, “We'll be seeing yer.”
“What?” the man scratched his head.
“Don't wanna be keeping yer family waiting, do yer?”
“Oh.” The man lowered his head and said, “I suppose I better go then, get back and see my boys and the missus.”
“Well, you take care now,” said Craig. “And good luck with ... surviving and all that shit.”
Finally taking the hint, the man huffed, “Fine. So long, gentlemen.” He placed his right foot on the pedal and began to move away.
All four watched as the strange man travelled along the road, weaving in and out of the three dead bodies, slowly getting further away from them.
“Well, at least that wasn't weird,” Craig sarcastically remarked.
“He was a bit unusual, that's for sure.” Pickle nodded.
“I wonder why he started to become aggressive?” Jez asked.
“No idea.” Pickle turned and looked at Danny, Jez and Craig. “Shall we go home?”
All three nodded.
Chapter Seven
The light drizzle from the dark heavens had ceased for the time being, and Paul Dickson made his way back to Colwyn Place, humming a New Order tune in his head.
He stopped halfway through it and his thoughts went back to a couple of days ago. He was getting to know Craig Burns and they both talked about their past. Like Paul, Craig had lost his whole family and seemed to be coping with it better than what Paul was. They talked about people they had met and where they had stayed since the outbreak.
When it was revealed that Craig had stayed in Slitting Mill, in one of the big houses, Paul perked up and told Craig that he had met a nice guy with a beard called Dave as he was passing through the place on foot. He had a son and a wife called Teresa. Craig knew who Paul was talking about, and reluctantly told Paul that the Dave and his family that he had mentioned had been killed by the WOE gang, days ago. This piece of news seemed to have put Paul in a sombre mood.
Snapping out of his daydreaming, Paul Dickson could see a lone figure stumbling out onto the road, from a field. He had seen nothing on the way to the Woolpack Inn, and pulled out his knife, just in case it was needed.
His feet began to slow down and could see that the figure was male, human, and was now sitting on the side of the road, holding his arm. Paul held his hand up to greet the man; the man waved back. As Paul got closer, he could see that the individual looked exhausted, mid-fifties and was teary, as if he had recently been involved in a traumatic experience.
“You okay, pal?” Paul asked, as he got nearer.
The man smiled thinly, still holding his arm, and shook his head. “Not really, mate.”
Paul could see that the man's right hand was grasping a tea-towel and the material was pressed onto the man's left forearm. Paul sat next to the man, on the side of the road, and could see he was pale, sweating profusely.
“How recent?” Paul pointed at the man's wound, the blood slowly soaking through the material.
“Just.”
“Just?”
“Ten minutes ago,” the man groaned. He wiped his brow and Paul could see the side of his grey hair was covered in sweat. “I can't believe it.”
Paul said, “I'm sorry.”
“You wouldn't believe the shit I've gone through and the things I've had to do to get this far, and then this happens.”
“How?”
The man never answered Paul's query straightaway. The stranger said, “You know, three weeks ago me and my four buddies hacked our way through nearly thirty of the fuckers to escape from the woods, then I get fucking munched on while I'm having a shit. Really?”
“You on your own?” asked Paul.
The man nodded.
“Family?”
“Not anymore.”
“So, now what happens?”
The man sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “Just wait, I suppose, until I turn into one of those DCs.”
“DCs?”
The man released a short laugh. “Just something me and my pals call them. I was out with some of them, but we were attacked.”
“Your pals dead?”
“Yep. Every single one of them.” The man released the towel and threw it to the side. “Don't know why I'm doing this. I'm gonna be dead, sooner or later.”
“How did they die?”
“You ask a lot of questions, mister, don't you? I suppose it doesn't matter what I tell you now. I was with a gang, a biker gang from Stafford, and we ran into the dead a few days ago. I managed to escape, but I lost my bike, my jacket ... and my pals.”
Paul wasn't sure if this man was a part of the moped WOE gang, but chose not to ask. He was a condemned man. It didn't matter what he was before.
“So, how are you gonna play this out?”
“What do you mean?” The man seemed puzzled by Paul's question.
“You have options.”
“Options?” The man began to laugh. “I'm fucked.”
“True.” Paul nodded at the blade he was holding. “But it can be slow or quick. It's your call.”
The man gulped. “I don't know. I don't want to get ill, but at the same time I want to savour every second I have left on this earth.”
Paul flashed the guy a sympathetic look, smiling thinly. “Are you sure about that, pal?”
“I think so.” The man looked unsure. I wonder what it feels like ... you know, when you turn.”
“I think there's a lot of discomfort, then you slip into a coma before ... you become one of them.”
“Doesn't sound so bad, does it?”
Paul smiled. “There're worse ways to go, I suppose.”
“There is.”
“I can make it quick, if you want.” Paul looked at the broken man, but he never responded to Paul's suggestion.
Even if he was a part of the biker gang, he was still probably a father three months ago, a husband, and maybe a brother. He still lost people he loved. Maybe he was a part of the gang before the apocalypse, but he didn’t seem to be wearing the usual attire. Or were they formed after?
Was the gang a mixture of people, mainly men, who had all lost partners and children and now wanted to survive at all costs, no matter who got in their way? Maybe they weren't such bad people. Maybe this was just the way the world was now, and thinking otherwise would be naive.
“I need to get back.” Paul held out his hand. The pair of them shook hands and Paul stood to his feet, still holding onto his knife. “I'd take you back with me, but bringing an infected stranger into the street wouldn't go down well. I'm not Mr Popular as it is.”
“That's okay.” The man dropped his head and gazed at the ground, tears falling from his eyes. “I don't think I'd make it anyway. I can hardly stand and my head's pounding.”
“My name's Paul, by the way.”
The man kept his head lowered. “I'm Billy.”
“Rest in peace, Billy.”
Paul brought the knife down, into the back of the man's head. He released the blade and watched as Billy slumped to the ground and fell onto the road. Dickson bent down, pulled out the blade, wiping it on the grass, and placed it back into his pocket. He put his hands under the arms of the recently deceased and dragged him to the side, on the grassy bank.
“Sorry, Billy.” Paul looked at the body with sympathy, before adding, “There're enough of those fuckers about as it is, without you adding to the equation.”
Paul put his hands in his pockets and casually walked away, back to Colwyn P
lace, humming another New Order tune.
Chapter Eight
“I wonder how long they'll be.”
Karen Bradley turned her head and stared at Vince Kindl, waiting for some kind of a response. Both individuals were sitting on the kerb, bored. The street wasn't busy as such, but it had some activity. There was a guard by the steel slide gate as usual, all four members of the Danson family were making a rare appearance and talking to Lincoln on his doorstep, and Stephen Rowley stood by the concrete wall, peering over.
“Vince!” Karen tried again.
“What?” Finally she got a response.
“I was just wondering how long they're gonna be.”
“Good for you,” he snapped. He looked to the side, at Karen, and felt guilty immediately for snapping. She was clearly worried about Pickle.
“They'll be fine,” he sighed. “I can understand why you're worried. Every time we go out, something happens. But they're just out looking for a couple of Rotters for Danny and Jez to practice on.”
“But with that gang around...”
“At one point, last week, they did seem to be everywhere, but we haven't seen any since Monday. Five days ago.”
Karen sighed and combed her dark hair behind her ears with her fingers. “I know Pickle can handle himself, but he's not indestructible.”
“Is it Pickle you're really worried for?” Vince queried with a cheeky grin. “Or is it that fine-looking man Craig Burns that you're concerned about?”
“What're you talking about?” she huffed. It looked like Vince had touched a nerve.
Vince snickered, “I've seen the way you two have been flirting with each other over the past couple of days.”
“My fiancé is dead, I've recently had a miscarriage—”
“And you've never once imagined noshing him off?”
“Fuck off,” she laughed and snorted whilst doing this.
“Not once? You've never imagined what it'd be like if he was balls-deep in you?”
“Vince, you are disgusting.” Karen gave Vince a hard look, and for a second he thought she was going to assault him.
A clunk sound made both individuals turn to the side and they could see the group had returned.
Karen smiled. “They're back.”
“Yep. Looks like your boyfriend's back.” Vince pointed up at the gate. Both he and Karen stood to their feet and could see Pickle, Craig, Danny and Jez being let in.
“Everything okay?” Karen asked as she approached the group.
“Everything's fine.” Pickle gave off a wide smile.
Karen and Vince watched as Danny and Jez walked away. Jez looked crestfallen and noticing Karen and Vince's stares, Craig tried to explain what had happened.
He said, “Jez is beating himself up because he struggled a little.”
“Oh.” Karen cleared her throat.
“He'll be fine,” said Pickle. “At least the young lad's giving it a go, unlike some folk.”
Craig nodded and asked Pickle, “Do you wanna give it another go tomorrow?”
“Why not?” Pickle nodded. “At least it breaks up the day.” Pickle then looked at Karen, Vince and Craig and told them that he was going to go for a lie down.
*
Paul Dickson had walked a further mile, with no hassle, and reached the fence that belonged to his new home that he had climbed over earlier when he was in his back garden.
He stopped walking, looked to his left and right, then faced forwards and assessed the fence. It seemed higher from the main road than what it did in the back garden. He released a sigh, took three large steps backwards and got into a position, the way sprinters do, and ran at it.
For seconds he struggled, and once he managed to get one leg over, the rest was plain sailing. Paul threw himself over and let go of the fence, dropping onto the other side, landing in the back garden.
“That was pretty straightforward,” he mumbled, then looked up.
He could see movement in the bedroom window from the next house on the left. It was coming from number fourteen. Paul lived at 13 Colwyn Place.
There were only two people present in number fourteen, and Paul Dickson could see the pair of them. Beverley was staring out with the toddler in her arms. Paul smiled and waved, but she never waved back. The toddler did. Paul then lost his smile and put his fingers to his lips, telling Beverley to keep quiet about his latest venture.
She walked away from the window, out of sight. He had no idea if she was going to tell or not.
Paul had seen the toddler and Beverley on many occasions. It was good to see that some youngsters had made it, and couldn't help but stare when he saw the little fellow out in the street. If Kyle was still around, Paul thought that they would have made good friends, despite the age difference.
He sighed and walked through the long grass to get to the back door of the house where he was staying. He needed a drink.
Chapter Nine
After lunch, Vince and Stephen took the pickup and headed towards the garden centre, travelling on the Wolseley Road. It was a short journey, and they entered the car park, stopping the vehicle outside the entrance of the building.
“Been a few weeks since I've been here,” Vince announced.
The last time Vince was at the garden centre, he was with Pickle and Shaz, on a supply run, when Lee James had turned up with a couple of other guys. It had been the first time he had seen him in six weeks.
“We stripped the place bare,” said Stephen. “Well ... others came as well. Didn't you visit here once, in the early days?”
“Sure did. I wonder if there's going to be anything here?”
“No idea, chap.” Stephen grunted, cleared his throat and twisted his neck. “When we did come here, some people had already taken the gas and garden utensils. I suppose the utensils like forks and pick axes were taken to be used as weapons.”
“No shit.”
“There were hundreds of packets of seeds. This is where we came when we wanted to set up patches in some of the back gardens. Because it's so late in the summer, some of the produce—”
“Look,” Vince interrupted, “spare me the lecture, Alan Titchmarsh. Let's just go, shall we?”
“Just trying to educate you, Vince.”
“I'm good at runs and killing the dead. I'll leave the garden duties to the rest back at Colwyn Place.”
“It'll be handy if you knew these things. No point shirking some responsibilities.”
“Shirking?” Vince threw Stephen a filthy look and added, “How many of your lot came to the wall to help get rid of those Rotters a few days ago?”
“Erm...”
“How many?”
“I'm not sure,” Stephen admitted.
“There was about twelve of us. I was there, Karen was there, Pickle, the three girls... Most of your lot shat themselves and stayed indoors.”
“Twelve was enough.”
“That's not the point. They never even volunteered. It's the same with Lincoln. He just stood there, on his doorstep, arms folded, standing by like some general whilst his team went to battle.”
Stephen felt a little insulted that Vince was having a go at the Colwyn residents. It seemed that this was something he had been bottling up for a while.
Stephen responded, “We managed before your lot came along.”
“I've no idea how.”
“Not every one has it in them to fight, Vince.”
“Well, they're gonna have to learn, because if that flimsy gate is breached by a horde, it's gonna be the usual mob that'll have to sort it out, whilst the rest hide behind their sofas.”
“A horde will never come here, chap,” Stephen said, shaking his head. “Why would they? We're in the country, the middle of nowhere.”
“You see, that right there,” Vince pointed at Stephen. “That attitude you have; that arrogance is gonna get people killed. Just because nothing has happened yet, doesn't mean it never will.”
“You finished?” Stephen
looked annoyed from his lecture.
“Yeah.” Vince opened the passenger door and stepped out. “Let's go in and see if we can grab a couple of mowers. But first, I'm gonna take a piss outside the building.”
Once Vince was finished, both men entered with machetes drawn. Vince told Stephen to stay near him, no matter what, and knew which aisle the mowers should be in.
They crept in front of the checkouts and noticed that most aisles were bare. Most of the apparatus had been taken: gas, barbecues, tools and garden furniture.
“Why didn't you lot do this before?” Vince asked Stephen in a whisper.
“Are you serious?” Stephen cleared his throat before adding, “When people are fearing for their lives, dying of thirst and hiding from the Murphys, until you came along, cutting the grass wasn't high on the agenda. You came to us at a good time.”
“We came to you at a good time? Explain?” Vince urged whilst scratching his groin area.
“Er ... you mind not doing that when I'm around?” Stephen turned away in disgust.
“Why? What's up?”
“It's disgusting.”
“It's just an itch.”
“There's a time and a place for that, chap.”
“If my Jurassic Park area is itchy, then I need to scratch it.”
“Jurassic Park area?”
“I call it that because it hides a monster.”
“Anyway,” ignoring Vince's comment, Stephen tried to answer Vince's query from before, “the reason why you came at such a good time was because everything was set up by the time you lot arrived. The vegetable patches, solar panels ... everything.”
“It's not as if we timed it,” Vince laughed. “We came to Colwyn because we were attacked. And before then, after I killed a couple of the Murphys, John Lincoln had told me that me and my friends would be welcomed anytime. If I had a choice, I'd still be at Sandy Lane. In fact, I still preferred it at the caravan park at the Spode Cottage, but you have to go where it's safe, don't you?”
Stephen nodded.
“There.” Vince pointed down Aisle 6 and both could see three hand mowers.
“Three,” Stephen said with delight.
Snatchers Box Set, Vol. 4 [Books 10-12] Page 28
