He had seen these men butcher women before. He wanted out. This gang was too ugly for Barry McIntire, but where else could he go?
If he left and was caught, they would butcher him in front of the men back at Stafford, just to make a point.
And if he made it? He'd be out on his own, fending for himself.
The options weren't great. Barry had lost his wife and three daughters, all under the age of ten, in the first week. They had been at a soft play area when children were beginning to get attacked by a parent, unaware that the parent had reanimated and had been bitten earlier before going in with his child.
Confused and scared at what was happening, Barry went into the soft play area and looked for his three girls. All five eventually left the building and drove away, back home. They had no idea what was going on and the vehicle took a sharp left at a junction and rammed into a horde. Barry opened the door and told his family to leave. All five began to run away and tried to fight their way out from the circling dead, but Brian's family were taken down and mauled in front of his eyes. There was nothing he could do and it was a miracle that he escaped without a scratch.
Days later, a grieving Barry was picked up by the WOE gang and taken back to Stafford. The gang had existed before the apocalypse and were taking in newbies to bolster their numbers.
Barry snapped out of his reminiscing daydream and realised that the gang of bikers in front were waving at him, telling him that they were going to move. He slipped the vehicle into first and moved away once the gang started to move on their mopeds.
He sighed and was dreading this. But what could he do? Protest?
Barry heard a clunking noise coming from the back, making the teary man jump with fright. He looked in the rear view mirror but couldn't see anything. He shrugged it off and put the vehicle in second and increased the speed, realising that he was lagging behind the others.
He could see that the bikers were slipping further away from him and had now disappeared around a bend. He was going to get grief for this; he knew it, even though this wasn't his fault. He had already been mocked for being useless, and one of the gang members had told him last week that Drake was becoming impatient with him, making Barry paranoid that his life could be in danger.
This little trip was something he was desperate not to fuck up, but it was something that he was dreading.
A bang was then heard from the back. Barry sighed in defeat and knew what it was straightaway. His vehicle had a flat.
“Really?” He shook his head and banged the steering wheel in frustration. “Right now? Seriously?”
The vehicle's steering was becoming heavier and Barry did the correct thing and took his foot off the gas and allowed the vehicle to roll to a stop. The bikers continued on without him and he was in two minds whether to sound the horn to get their attention.
Bad idea.
The plan was to get close to Colwyn Place, then the bikers and Barry would park up, then make the rest of the way on foot so the residents couldn't hear them coming.
He rested his head on the steering wheel and knew he was going to get a hard time for this.
He cussed aloud, then reached for the door handle, letting himself out. He clocked the left back tyre and screwed his face up in puzzlement. “What the fuck?”
A large knife was sticking out of the side of the tyre, and he took a look in the back to see if there was anyone in there. He pulled out a knife from his pocket and had a slow walk around the vehicle. If someone had been in the back, they weren't there anymore.
He took a full walk around the pickup until he was back at his driver's side and scratched his head.
“What the fuck's going on?”
He decided to go back inside and grab the shotgun that was on the passenger seat. It was the only gun the gang had with them. In fact, they only had three altogether, back at their base in Stafford.
He reached for the shotgun, but he quickly swivelled around when a noise came from behind. He was head-butted, making Barry fall onto the side of the road, screaming out, but more in surprise than pain.
Barry had dropped his knife and cowered as Paul Dickson stood over the man. Paul had a large knife in his hand that he had taken from the back of the pickup—the small blade from the pub was in his back pocket—and kicked away the blade that Brian had dropped.
“What do you want, man?” cried Brian.
“Why are you going to that small camp?” snarled Paul.
“We're not,” Brian stammered and his face quivered with fright.
“Don't lie to me. You're going to hurt people, right?”
“What's it to you anyway?”
“It's where I'm from.”
“They killed some of our guys. They’re gonna attack at nine, from all sides.” Brian held his hands up to protect his face, then lowered them slowly and scrunched his eyes in thought. “Was you in the back of my truck?”
Paul nodded.
“Don't kill me, man,” begged Barry. “I don't want to die. I don't deserve to die. I'm not like them.”
“You wanna live?” Paul asked the man.
Barry nodded.
“Then grab that jack and spare tyre,” Paul pointed in the back, “and change your back tyre. Now.”
“Wh-what are you gonna do?”
“I'm gonna take the truck.”
“And what about me?” Brian cried.
“You can fuck off and disappear.”
Brian nodded.
He had no initial plans on leaving the group, but he wanted to live.
Barry grabbed the tyre, then the jack, and quickly went to work. His hands shook, but it looked like he knew what he was doing. It looked like he had changed many a tyre before.
“Hurry up,” Paul puffed. “I'm running out of time.”
As soon as the tyre was on and the vehicle lowered, Barry nervously stood up, and began to wipe his hands on his trousers. He spat on his right palm and rubbed them together. He asked, “Now what?”
Paul took a step forward and rammed his blade into Barry's throat. The look of horror and shock on Barry's face didn't move Paul at all. Blood pissed out and Barry fell to his knees once Paul Dickson removed the blade. He fell face down and Paul leaned over and watched as the blood poured out until Barry stopped moving and making noises.
Paul Dickson wiped his bloody hands on his shirt and got inside the vehicle nonchalantly. He adjusted the seat as if he had all the time in the world, then his head turned and saw a shotgun lying across the passenger seat. He checked to see if the weapon had shells in it and snapped it back shut once he saw it was loaded.
With a wry smile on his face, Paul Dickson pulled the vehicle away, now heading for Colwyn Place.
Chapter Nineteen
Karen and Vince were on high alert at the main gate, and Pickle informed them that he was going to go round and see if everybody was okay. There had been a deathly silence for almost an hour and he was growing concerned.
All the residents that opted to stay and possibly fight were content to stay guard in their own back garden, and peering over the fence to see if anything untoward was coming. Jez and Craig were told to remain indoors in their house of 15 Colwyn Place. Pickle told them only to come out and fight if the street was under attack.
Pickle was hoping that there would be a chance of negotiations, and didn't want to antagonise the situation further by having Jez and Craig on display, but with two gang deaths, yesterday alone, he wasn't holding out much hope for a calm discussion.
“I'm gonna take a walk around the gardens, check on folk.” Pickle began to walk way from the main gate, away from Karen and Vince. “Won't be long, guys.”
“Wait a minute, Pickle,” said Vince. “We can't keep this up all night. We can't have everybody out for too long. It’s nearly nine o’clock.”
“Why not?” asked Karen.
Vince added, “Everyone's going to be tired by midnight. What if they wait until it's the early hours of the morning before stormin
g the camp? We'll have no one fit to fight.”
Pickle didn't have answers for Vince. He hunched his shoulders, puffed out a breath and continued to walk away in silence, heading for the back garden of 1 Colwyn Place, where Terry was.
“Pickle?” Vince called after him, but he was being ignored.
Karen nudged Vince. “Leave it.”
Pickle walked down Terry's front garden and went by his house at the side. He entered Terry's back garden and saw the paranoid man looking over his fence. Pickle looked around and could see that within the hour Terry had buried his daughter next to the rest of his family.
“I see yer have been busy,” Pickle called over and nodded towards the grave as Terry clocked him.
“I was going to wait, but I couldn't leave her like that,” Terry said with a quiver in his tone, and then pointed at the two dead gang members lying in the corner of the garden. “Couldn't give a fuck about those two, though.”
“We'll get 'em shifted after...”
Terry nodded and said, “I'll just toss them over the fence.”
“Remember,” said Pickle as he began to walk away, “yell if yer see anything. I'm off to see Lincoln.”
“Will do.”
Pickle left Terry's grounds and headed for Lincoln's house, bypassing the house that Elza, Ophelia and Stephanie stayed at. He walked down Lincoln’s drive and went through to his back garden and could see the rotund man pacing up and down, alongside his fence.
“Yer okay, John?” Pickle's query had given Lincoln a fright, as he didn't know there was another presence in his garden.
“Not great,” Lincoln gasped. “In fact, Pickle ... I've never been so scared in all my life. This is not me. I'm not a fighter.”
“I understand. But at least yer volunteered. People here will remember that.”
“Had no choice,” Lincoln huffed. “I can't expect to be a leader, if I send people out to fight while I hide in my house. That'd be me finished. Respect would be out the window.”
“Why does it matter?”
“What do you mean?”
“About being a leader?”
“Somebody has to do it. And if anything happens to me...” Lincoln nodded in Pickle's direction.
“Not me.” Pickle shook his head. “I may have led a small following on the prison wings and had people working for me when I was outside, but I'm not really a leader.”
John smiled, stretching his chubby cheeks. “A lot of people would disagree with that comment. You've only been here a few weeks and some people already look up to you. I'm not blind.”
“I'm not here to step on yer toes.”
“I know, but I do like it that I can share the burden with you.”
“Vince would be a good choice, if ever yer decided to take a step back. I know he messes about, but he used to run a camp, although in the early days he was too brutal for my liking. He used to do initiation tests for newcomers.”
“I've heard.” John smiled.
“I think finding Lisa, when he came here to kill the Murphys, and the arrival of Kyle Dickson had softened him a little. He's not to everyone's liking, but he's a good guy. I like him.”
“So do I.”
Pickle smiled thinly and patted John on the shoulder. “Hang in there. Nothin' might happen tonight.”
“I hope you're right.”
“Anyway, I'm gonna check on a few others and then get back to the gate.”
Pickle left John alone and went back out to the front. He waved at Karen and Vince, who were at the gate, then looked to the side and could see the guys, Bonser, Rowley and Thomson, by the wall. He went along the path and went up Joanne Hammett's drive.
He could see that she was also in her back garden, peering over the fence, and looked like a bag of nerves. Pickle cleared his throat before speaking, so that he didn't give the woman a fright, like he did with John Lincoln.
Joanne turned to face Pickle and he asked her how she was holding up.
“I'm okay,” she shuddered.
Jesus, Pickle thought. We don't stand a fucking chance with these people. He told her, “If yer see any climbing the fence, use yer bat to put them down.”
“Okay,” she gulped.
“Don't hesitate. They won't.”
Joanne shook her head and looked ready to burst into tears. Pickle walked over and gave her a hug. He broke away and kissed the young woman on the head. “Yer will be fine. If there're too many, get back into yer house and hide.”
“I'm scared, Pickle.”
Pickle smiled and touched Joanne's cheek. “So am I.”
“Bullshit,” she snickered nervously.
“It's true. This is something I'm not looking forward to, I can tell yer that for nothing.”
“But you've been out there, you've—”
“I'm still nervous. This is a situation that's new to me. Potentially, a gang o' people could storm this street from all directions. That's not something I've experienced before.” Pickle smiled and gave Joanne a cheeky wink. “Yer will be fine. Just sit tight. I'm gonna check on Danny.”
*
After listening patiently to the Londoner babble on about his life for hours, Elza, Ophelia and Stephanie were relieved that it was coming to an end. Stephanie stood to her feet and asked the man if she could use his bathroom before leaving.
He puffed out a breath. “Yes, of course you can, darling. Just watch yourself. It stinks like hell in there.”
Stephanie looked at an annoyed-looking Elza and said, “Sorry, but I really need to go.”
“Just don't take too long,” Elza said. “We've left that vehicle in the road. Don't want to be hanging about too long.”
Stephanie went by the scruffy man, smiled thinly at him, and stepped out onto the landing. He began to pace up and down whilst they waited for her to return.
“So … you're leaving now?” he asked Elza.
She nodded.
“And you have room for one more?”
She shook her head, “I don't think that's a good idea.”
“I'm not a bad person.”
Elza smiled. “It's not going to happen.”
Three minutes later, Stephanie stepped back into the living room and announced, “Okay, I'm ready to leave.”
The man ran at Stephanie and quickly put his arm around her throat. He produced a blade from his pocket and placed it against her cheek. “I don't think so, darling. Not yet.”
Elza jumped to her feet. “Don't you fucking touch her!” she screamed.
Ophelia was also up on her feet, bat raised.
“Look, I'm not a bad guy. I'm just desperate.” The man still had his arm around Stephanie's throat and the blade against her cheek. “I know you have a camp. Take me there and I'll show you I'm a good guy. I can contribute. I can fight.”
“Don't touch her.”
“I'm okay,” cried Stephanie, although she didn't look sure.
“Just fucking sit down and hear me out,” he hissed.
Ophelia and Elza gaped at one another, lowered their bats and slowly sat down.
“Right,” he began. “Now you've calmed the fuck down, I'm gonna sit back down in this armchair with... What's your name, darling? We never introduced ourselves.”
“I'm ... I'm Stephanie.” The fourteen-year-old gulped and was relieved that he had loosened his arm against her throat. She then pointed over at the sofa. “And that's Ophelia and Elza.”
“And I'm Chris,” the man said. “Anyway, I'm gonna sit down with Stephanie on my lap.” He could see Elza shifting uncomfortably in her seat and added, “Relax. I'm not a pervert. If you two so much as move, I'll get mad.”
“What do you want?” Elza tried to remain calm, but all she wanted to do was beat the man's brains in.
“I want to convince you guys that I'm okay, that I could be a welcome addition to your camp.”
“Okay, okay.” Elza held her hands up and added, “You can convince us on the way there. I don't wanna hear your fucking life s
tory again. Now let's fucking go before it gets dark. We've been here for most of the day.”
“No.” He shook his head.
“No?”
“You don't believe me. Not yet. I can see it in your eyes.”
“I do.”
“No, you don't.” The man smiled and pulled Stephanie onto his lap. “But you will. You see, I'm desperate. If I turn up at any camp looking like this, who's gonna take me in?”
“You'd be surprised.”
“I don't have much left here. Another month and I'll starve to death.”
Stephanie said nervously, “Taking a hostage isn't the way to convince us. Why don't we sit down and talk about this?”
“I'm sorry I had to do this.”
“So, let her go,” said Elza. “She's fourteen. She's done nothing to you.”
He lowered his head and genuinely looked sorry for what he was doing. “You're right. I'm just doing this because you're my last hope. You're my only hope.”
“This isn't helping anyone, is it?”
He released an exasperated sigh and seemed to have lost his confidence. “I don't know what to do anymore.”
“If you make us drive you to our place by force, our people won't let you in. In fact, Pickle would probably kill you.”
“I know that. If I take you by force, it'll be a wasted journey.”
“So the plan is…?”
“The plan is to get to know me, then at least on the way back to your camp you won't try anything silly when you realise I'm actually a decent guy.”
“We don't have time to be listening to more of your stories. We need to get back before it gets dark.”
“You won't be going anywhere tonight.”
“What?”
“You don't trust me yet. I can see it in your faces. Make yourselves comfortable, kids. Convincing you guys may take all night. We'll be leaving in the morning.”
Chapter Twenty
It was getting near to 9pm and the evening and darkness was creeping up.
Snatchers Box Set, Vol. 4 [Books 10-12] Page 34
