She couldn’t help it.
She was aware that survivors had different levels of experience and bravery, but some of the behaviour and hesitancy from the members of Colwyn Place, past and present, annoyed her somewhat.
Maybe they were the ones that had the common sense, and she was too gung-ho.
Her mind cast back to over two months ago. She thought of Sharon Bailey, simply known as Shaz. Her eyes welled when she thought of the now deceased thirty-year-old. She had striking blue eyes, dark hair, and what Karen would never forget about Shaz was the attire she wore, the green combats especially. She became real close to Shaz, even told her that she loved her, and Shaz responded by telling Karen that she thought of her as a sister.
Then the invasion of the dead happened on Vince’s caravan park.
People were lost, including Shaz, and Karen still remembered it as if it was yesterday. It was stupid the way she went. Sharon Bailey had become such a warrior in such a short space of time, and yet she was bitten on the shoulder when she stood outside a caravan. This happened whilst Karen was trying to persuade an elderly man called John Waite to come out of his toilet.
She could still see the rotten face of the Snatcher that had tore out the flesh from her friend’s deltoid. After it had happened, all Shaz seemed to be concerned about was the bracelet that her deceased son Spencer had made her. Karen couldn’t put Shaz to rest once she slipped away, so Pickle had to do it by placing a tea towel over her face and driving a knife into her left eye.
Since then, apart from Pickle, Karen hadn’t got close to anyone else until Paul Dickson came along. And she ended up losing him as well.
She then thought about losing her child, and then Gary.
And then Karen Bradley broke down.
Chapter Twelve
Pickle slapped Vince, snapping him out of his daydreaming, once a glum-looking Roger and Peter turned up. Pickle asked the pair of them about their neighbour, and Peter told the former inmate that Harriett and the child were gone. They went into detail and both Pickle and Vince looked genuinely upset by the story, especially when they mentioned the one-year-old that had perished so cruelly, and explained what had happened.
“Shit.” Pickle shook his head. “That’s a real tragedy. And yer reckon the wee one starved to death?”
Roger and Peter nodded their heads in unison.
“And yer mum?”
Peter shrugged his shoulders. “She could be anywhere, but I think we’re gonna stay here, just in case she comes back.”
Vince and Pickle didn’t share Peter’s confidence, and Roger remained quiet with his head lowered. Maybe he was unsure about staying, Pickle thought. He wasn’t saying much. It was Peter that was doing all the talking.
Pickle decided not to voice his opinion on Peter’s remark, but Vince had other ideas. He said, “I think you have to face facts that mommy dearest has become Snatcher meat. I think, my deluded little men, that you should just come back to Colwyn with us.”
Peter’s features filled with anger and took a step forwards and went face to face with the scarred Vince Kindl, but Vince never flinched.
“Right, ladies,” Pickle snickered, trying to defuse the situation. “Let’s calm down, shall we?” But he was ignored by both Peter and Vince.
“You’re walking a thin line, Scarface,” Peter snarled.
“Charming,” Vince began to cackle. “We help these guys out and this is the way we get treated.”
“Cool it.” Pickle walked over to the two gentlemen and gently parted them and stepped in between them.
Both Vince and Peter slowly retreated whilst Roger continued to gaze at the floor, still shocked from what he had just witnessed.
“Vince and I are going to check out that pub now.” Pickle pointed over the road and added, “It looks untouched, unbelievably.”
“There’s no way that that place hasn’t been broken into,” Roger spoke at last. “After three months. No way.”
“Well, can yer see a broken window or has the door been forced open?” Pickle asked both men, who both shook their heads seconds later.
“Neither can I,” said Branston. “We should check it out. Whatever we take from there, we half it, and then go our separate ways.”
“Okay.” Roger nodded.
“But yer two can come back with us, if yer want.”
Roger and Peter took a quick gape at one another and both Vince and Pickle could see that the men, Peter at least, were determined to stay.
“Fine,” Pickle sighed. “But even when we’re gone, the offer still stands. If things get too bad here, come and see us.”
“Thanks, Pickle,” Peter said with a smile and stroked his beard.
“Right.” Pickle pulled out the machete from his belt and added, “Let’s go and check out the pub.”
“What shall I do?” a young voice called out. It was David MacDonald, and he remained sitting in the back of the pickup. Pickle had almost forgot that the teenager was present.
“Stay where yer are,” Pickle instructed. “And if yer hear any engines, lie down flat, yer hear me?”
David nodded. “Okay.”
*
Pickle was the first to approach the main doors of the establishment and took a look around. There was a large beer garden to walk through before getting to the front of the pub, and it had a small play park in the corner of the beer garden, and twelve wooden tables and benches were spaced out in the now long grass. Behind the pub was a car park for visitors. It was completely empty.
Pickle took a step back and inspected the solid doors. He rested his chin on his palm and made a mmm noise, as if he was thinking really hard.
Vince smirked and took a sneaky look at Pickle. He said, “You don’t know how to get in, do you?”
Pickle shushed Vince. “I’m thinking.”
“Well?”
Pickle sighed in defeat. “Not a fuckin’ clue.”
“There’s a back door, where the car park is,” Roger said from behind the two men.
“That’s right,” Peter had now got involved. “And it’s a glass door, so even if it’s locked...” He left his sentence trailing and Pickle finished it off for him.
“We can smash our way through,” said Pickle with a smile.
Vince led the way and went round to the side of the pub. He walked down the narrow road that led to the modest car park. He could see the glass door and walked up a set of concrete steps, with the other three following behind. He stopped and faced the doors and released a long groan once he could see what was behind the glass.
“I’ve got a feeling that there might be some stuff in here, Pickle,” Vince spoke up.
Pickle was still climbing the steps, with Roger and Peter behind him. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” Vince nodded. “And I think I know why the place hasn’t been touched.”
“And why’s that?” Branston asked, slightly out of puff, and nearly at the top of the steps.
“Because there’s been no one stupid enough to try and get in.”
Pickle stood next to Vince, wondering what the hell he was talking about, and took a look through the glass doors.
“Well fuck me with a cactus dildo,” Branston moaned.
“That’s what I was thinking,” giggled Vince. “Well … kind of.”
“What’s up?” Roger asked. Now he and Peter had climbed the steps and glared through the glass.
“Take a look for yerselves,” said Pickle.
Roger and Peter gazed with wide eyes and could see three of the dead against the glass, but seconds later there were dozens of them pressing up against the door. They were clawing at the glass, now that humans had been spotted, and all four survivors knew that the glass wasn’t going to hold for very long.
“Oh shit.” Peter took a step back and gazed at the sea of faces of the dead. “I think we better head back.”
“Agreed.” Roger spoke with a single nod.
“Nah,” Pickle snickered. “Fuck it.”<
br />
Now that the four men had been spotted, the dead that had been wandering in the open bar and lounge area were now heading towards the small crowd that were already pressed up against the door, creating even more pressure against the glass.
The four men continued to look, unsure what to do next, and watched with panic as the crowd grew rather quickly. Then a crack appeared at the centre of the door. The glass wasn’t far from giving way.
“Oh.” Peter scratched his head and shook his head. “That’s not good.”
Vince said, “No shit, Columbo.”
“Looks like we don’t need to break in after all,” said Pickle. “They’re breaking out. Down to the bottom o’ the steps, gents. Them tumbling down will make it easier for us.”
All four galloped down to the bottom of the steps, and could hear more noises from the glass that was weakening by the second.
“Are we really doing this?” Vince asked Pickle. There was uncertainty in his face whether this was a good idea or not. “There’s still time to run.”
“Fuck it.” Pickle flashed Vince a cheeky smile. “We’re doing this.”
Chapter Thirteen
Stephanie kept her head back, eyes closed, leaning against the head restraint, and began to rub her temples with her fingers in a circular motion. She didn’t know if it was a migraine or it was because she had hardly touched any water.
She lifted her head, opened her eyes, and wondered what time it was. Elza and Ophelia seemed to be taking ages. Stephanie yawned and rubbed the top of her eyelids, and the fourteen-year-old took a peek in the wing mirror and her eyes widened in horror.
The torn down shutter revealed the factory floor and she could see some of the dead dawdling inside in all directions. She could see eight, but there could be more, she thought. But where were the girls?
Stephanie took her bag and bow and jumped out of the RV, accidentally hitting the horn as she left.
“Oh crap.”
As soon as her feet landed on the concrete, one of the ghoul’s heads had turned and began shambling towards her. The young girl had a knife in her pocket, but she didn’t want to be in close proximity of these diseased bastards. She took an arrow out of her bag and placed it on the bowstring, ready to fire.
She took aim and released the arrow, and could now see the ones in the factory were heading outside, towards her.
She watched as the metal point on the end of the pine arrow went into the centre of the Snatcher’s forehead. It dropped to the floor, and the other seven all began to pick up their pace slightly and head out of the factory.
She checked her bag to see if she had enough arrows to sort out this little problem. She had. She had eleven arrows left.
Eight arrows later and seven more bodies later—she had missed her target once—she walked over to the corpses and began to pull out the arrows from the bodies, putting them back in her bag.
She pulled out the last arrow of one of the corpses, and also the one off the floor that had completely missed the second from last ghoul.
She then stepped inside the warehouse with hesitant feet, the wind from outside entering the warehouse and brushing the back of her neck. She could see two more of the dead heading her way and some bodies behind them, scattered along the floor.
She looked at the two males that were slowly making their way over. Stephanie prepared her bow and fired an arrow that went through the left eye socket, the metal tip coming out of the back of its head. Once she took care of the other one and retrieved her two arrows, she gasped at the mess in front of her with narrowed and confused eyes that looked like a stitch underneath each of her eyebrows. There were four bodies on the floor. Two of them were Snatchers, but the other two...
Stephanie gasped when she saw two bats lying on the ground. Then she saw the two bodies of her friends.
Stephanie could see a large cupboard had been opened, and guessed correctly that the two women had opened it and that’s where some of the ghouls had come from. There were three dead inside, defunct, so Elza and Ophelia had put up some kind of fight before being overpowered.
Elza lay motionless in a pool of blood and Ophelia was gently moving her head from side to side, moaning with her eyes closed. Why hadn’t Elza and Ophelia been completely devoured? Did the horn attract these creatures away from their feed? Were these diseased bastards that dumb?
Stephanie put the string of the bow over her shoulder, with the bag on the other, and placed her hand over her mouth and began to cry when she moved closer and could see that Elza Crowe was dead. Her throat had been torn open and her insides had been pulled out, and probably more damage would have been done if the horn and Stephanie’s presence hadn’t distracted most of them.
Stephanie bent down, tears coming out of her eyes like a dripping tap, and placed her fingers over Elza’s wide, dead eyes, and softly closed them. She then turned her attention to Ophelia and could see that she was beyond help. She had been bitten on the hand and had significant wounds on her shoulders and also her neck, but obviously not as severe as Elza’s, as Ophelia was still alive.
Stephanie knew that if Ophelia didn’t die from blood loss, she was going to turn anyway. Ophelia gritted her teeth, eyes now open, and nodded at Stephanie, telling her to put her out of her misery.
Stephanie wiped her eyes and told Ophelia to close hers, and then prepared her Jaguar bow once more. Ophelia did what she was told and winced, waiting for the metal point to penetrate her body, but she didn’t know exactly where Stephanie was going to shoot her.
Stephanie was struggling, the bow shaking in her hand. For some reason she struggled to release the arrow.
She looked down on Ophelia and could see tears leaving from her closed eyes, but still Stephanie couldn’t do it.
“It’s okay,” Ophelia whispered.
Stephanie gasped and finally released the arrow, killing Ophelia instantly.
The arrow had gone into the centre of her forehead, killing the woman straightaway and also preventing her from turning. She gazed at Ophelia’s body and wiped underneath her eyes as Ophelia’s words it’s okay kept on repeating inside her head. That was the first time that Stephanie had heard Ophelia speak.
Stephanie gazed at the two women and then realised something. How the hell was she going to get back to Colwyn Place? She needed the keys to the RV, and even then, she didn’t know how to drive.
Stephanie went over to Elza’s body, bent down, and put her hands in her pockets. She retrieved the keys and headed for the RV. She turned around, before exiting the warehouse altogether, and took one last look at the sad sight of her two friends, their bats, Maria and Frieda, lying by their sides.
Stephanie puffed out a breath and went inside the vehicle. She threw her bag and bow onto the passenger seat, and sat in the driver’s seat, shutting the door.
She held her hands out over the steering wheel and could see them shaking. She burst into tears once more and sobbed for under a minute before composing herself.
Wiping her eyes, she started to talk to herself. “Come on, Stephanie,” she said. “You can do this.”
She knew the system of driving, but doing it was another thing. She had watched her dad many times.
She put the key in the ignition, gave it a twist and fired the engine. She cleared her throat, and widened her eyes to improve her vision. She could just about reach the pedals with her feet, gently touched the gas pedal, and revved the vehicle three times before using her left foot to press down on the clutch.
She took in a deep breath and slipped the gear stick into first, and using the gas and clutch she tried to get the bite. The vehicle dipped slightly and she took off the handbrake. It immediately stalled once her foot came off the clutch too quickly. She knew the reason for this. Her left foot shook with nerves, so the clutch was juddering, and this was the reason why she couldn’t get the bite of the vehicle.
“Fuck’s sake,” she cussed, and then decided to try again.
She put the gear sti
ck into neutral, pulled the parking brake up, and rested her forehead on the steering wheel.
“You can do this. You can do this.”
She prepared to try and move off once more.
The vehicle moved and Stephanie smiled as she slowly brought the clutch up and pressed the accelerator pedal down harder. The RV had only been moving a few seconds and already it sounded in distress. She slipped the vehicle into a higher gear, crunching the gears, and turned onto the main country road.
Once she was on the main road and was doing a steady thirty, she breathed a sigh of relief and shook a little less than before. Her hands shook, her legs shook, but fuck it, she was moving.
Her thoughts then went back to Elza and Ophelia, and the more she thought about them, the blurrier the road in front of her became.
Chapter Fourteen
Karen Bradley stepped out of the house where the medical supplies were kept, and could see a guard at either end. Terry Braithwaite was by the front gate, which baffled her. She was convinced that Terry had done the nightshift and should be in his bed by now. She looked to her right and could see Stephen Bonser by the concrete wall, cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
“Where’d you get that?” Karen called over. “I thought you’d quit.”
“I did.” Bonser laughed and nodded over to Joanne Hammett who was sitting on her doorstep, also puffing on a bad boy. “Got one off Jo. I’m having one for old time’s sake. Lung cancer is the least of our worries now, isn’t it?”
“I suppose.” Karen smiled and decided to take a stroll over to Joanne.
Joanne was dressed in clothes that had seen better days and her greasy blonde hair was tied back. She looked unkempt, but still looked gorgeous, Karen thought.
Joanne looked up and could see Bradley approaching. She flashed Karen a smile and said, “Not the same, is it?”
Snatchers Box Set, Vol. 4 [Books 10-12] Page 57
