“I’ve already told yer before that I wasn’t in charge when the street was attacked.”
There was a deathly silence in the street and it appeared that Terry had finished his rant, but he still had a hold of Pickle.
“Finished?” Pickle smiled.
“Yeah.” Terry’s eyes widened. “I’m fucking finished.”
“Now, let me go, before I lose my temper.”
“Lose your temper?” Terry mockingly laughed. “What the fuck are you gonna do, faggot?”
“Don’t call me that.”
Terry began to laugh. “Why? Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names—”
Terry doubled over and released Pickle. He had been punched in the stomach. But Pickle wasn’t finished there. He took a step back and as Terry raised his head, Pickle palmed him on the nose, breaking it immediately. Terry fell to the ground, clutching his bleeding nose, moaning.
Pickle looked at the palm of his hand and wiped it on his trousers before addressing the crowd once more. He told them, “We leave in five minutes. So yer have five minutes to change yer mind.”
There was no response from them and the former inmate sighed. He turned to the people that wanted to leave and told them to get a bag and pack.
“I’ll go and see Drake and tell him how many are going,” Pickle said, and then looked over at Karen. “Better get Vince off his arse. He can rest as much as he wants once we get to Stafford.”
“Sure,” said Karen.
Pickle began to stroll towards the battered entrance where a blood covered pickup and four bikers waited patiently.
Chapter Fifty Three
Pickle had informed a delighted Drake that eight people from Colwyn Place, including himself, of course, were going to be leaving with him, and then he returned to the street.
Karen and the rest of the leavers went inside to gather their personal belongings and were out within five minutes. The older members of the street like Joanne Hammett and Stephen Rowley hugged their friends who were staying, like the Smiths, Brenda Hatchet, but others like Terry and Old Tom decided to go indoors.
Young Kelly was by Paul and Gail Smith’s side, and Karen went over to the three of them as the others were starting to leave. Craig Burns led the way, with David MacDonald and Stephanie Perkins behind him. Stephen and Joanne helped Vince out of his house, his arm around each of their shoulders, and slowly made their way to the exit.
Vince was exhausted, in a daze, but he was aware what was going on. He told Stephen that whatever the decision, wherever Pickle and Karen went, he would follow.
Only Pickle and Karen were left to exit.
They stood in the middle of the street. Pickle looked over his shoulder and nodded over to the damaged gate.
“I’ll get that fixed before we go,” he said.
“Don’t bother,” came a voice from behind him. It was Terry. He had exited his house, holding a tea towel on his bleeding nose and was carrying a toolbox with his other hand. “I’ll do it myself.” He then looked over to the small amount of people that had decided to stay and reassured them, “We’ll be fine. We don’t need Pickle and his mob.”
Karen remained by Pickle’s side but remained silent.
Pickle held out his hand to Terry. “Let’s not leave on bad terms. We’re not gonna be strangers. We’ll pass through now and then, to check up on yer.”
“That’s big of you,” Terry scoffed, ignoring Pickle’s hand.
Pickle tried to swallow his anger and bit into his bottom lip before saying, “I’m gonna head. Best o’ luck, people.”
Pickle walked away and Karen took a couple of steps forwards to little Kelly and held out her hand, but Kelly shook her head and grabbed a hold of Gail Smith. Gail put her arm around the little girl’s shoulder and gave Karen a thin and an apologetic smile. It appeared that Kelly had made the decision to stay with the Smiths, despite the fact that her family had been killed by her deranged father in the same street.
The thought of going out there, where the Chompers were, as her brother Zac used to call them, terrified the life out of her.
“Okay,” Karen gulped. She tried to put a brave smile on her face, but her lips quivered with emotion. She did feel a little rejected, but she never questioned the little girl’s decision.
Karen walked over to her and kissed her on the top of her head. “I’ll see you now and again, okay?”
Kelly looked up and nodded; her eyes were soaked with tears that weren’t quite yet ready to fall.
Karen lost her smile and pointed at Paul Smith. “You look after her.”
Paul smiled. “With our lives.” He cleared his throat and added, “Get going, Karen. They’re waiting for you.”
With her machete tucked in her belt, Karen turned her back on the tiny group and walked towards the battered entrance, stepping over the collapsed gate. She could see them all outside of the gate, waiting for her.
Four bikers sat behind the pickup with their engines on, and it appeared that everyone had managed to fit in the back of the pickup, with Drake and his driver in the front. Pickle was also in the back and told Karen that there was plenty of room in the front, and that he was in the back because he fancied some fresh air.
“I’ll sit with you guys,” she said.
Karen was helped in by Craig and sat inbetween Vince and Pickle. Vince looked unsteady, like a drunk, and Karen put her arm around his waist to give him support.
Drake stepped out of the passenger side and checked to see who was in the back. “Is that it?” Drake asked nobody in particular, but Pickle answered his query.
“That’s it,” he said.
“Right, you sorry looking cunts,” Drake sniggered and seemed excited with the new people. “Stafford, here we come.”
“Drake,” Pickle called, stopping Drake in his tracks.
“What is it?”
“Just out o’ interest. That guy yer kicked out o’ the truck the other day, yer know, for being disrespectful...”
Drake laughed, “Wow, Pickle. You really have a soft heart, don’t you?”
“I was wondering if he got back okay, that’s all.”
Drake’s face lost its smile. “He died. Found his torn up body a mile away from the hospital. Damn shame.”
“Oh.” Pickle lowered his head.
Drake smiled and began to snicker. “I’m just kidding. He’s alive. He came back a little dehydrated, that’s all.” Drake went back to the front of the vehicle, still laughing, and into the passenger seat.
Karen leaned over to Pickle and said, “I think Vince and Drake are gonna get on like a house on fire. Same sick sense of humour.”
The vehicles began to move and they were now going over the Wolseley Bridge.
Pickle smiled and looked over his shoulder to see the garden centre, then looked in front of him and could see the Wolseley Arms pub. He began to reminisce.
The pub was ruined, windows smashed, and bodies thrown to the side of the pavement. It was in a different condition compared to when Pickle arrived there in the first week of the apocalypse.
When he arrived in the prison van with KP, Laz, Conor Snodgrass, Janine and Jamie, the place was abandoned, but was immaculate. Back then, the establishment still had food in the kitchens and booze was still available.
Pickle had checked the cellar when he first went in. He checked the place before everyone went inside and found a reanimated corpse in the cellar, a female, and cracked her head open with the butt of his Browning shotgun.
“You okay?” Karen asked him, dragging him out of his daydreaming. “You’re staring into space and smiling to yourself like some pervert.”
“Thinking back a few months.” Pickle cleared his throat, trying to dilute the numbness that was in there.
“I do that all the time,” she said.
“Do yer think we’re doing the right thing?” Pickle asked.
“Yes, I do.” Karen coughed and tucked her dark hanging hair behind her ears. “What Drake ha
s done...”
“Is better than what any of us could have done?” Pickle smiled, attempting to finish Karen’s sentence. “Meaning ... me.”
“You need people to build something,” Karen tried to appease her friend, knowing that he was feeling guilty for leaving the other folk behind and giving up. “Drake had a gang of guys before the craziness began. He had the advantage of having a gang of men, plus their families, when this started.”
Pickle rubbed his chin and groaned, “Maybe I should have stayed.”
“Why? What’s the point when there’s a better offer available?”
“But the people that we’ve left behind...”
“Fuck ‘em!”
“Karen!” Pickle scolded.
“I’m serious. Fuck ‘em. We never left them behind; they left themselves behind. It was their choice. I’m gutted about Kelly, but...”
“But what?”
“I guarantee you now that if we visit them in a few days, some might want to come back with us.”
“I hope yer right. I hope they all change their minds.”
“Even Terry?”
“He’s a loose cannon, but ... yeah, even Terry.”
The pickup increased in speed as they hit the Stafford Road, and Pickle looked to the side to see the four bikers close behind. Pickle’s eyes narrowed when he saw two figures in the distance, behind the bikers, approaching the roundabout, left of the garden centre.
Pickle got up and unsteadily moved to the back and began to bang on the roof of the vehicle, giving Drake the signal to stop. This was interpreted correctly, and the vehicle began to slow, the bikes obediently doing the same, and all vehicles eventually came to a stop.
“What is it?” was the question that Pickle was asked by Karen, Craig and Stephen Rowley.
Drake stepped out of the vehicle and also asked the same question. Pickle jumped out of the back of the pickup and told Drake to give him a minute, explaining very little to him or anybody else what was happening.
Pickle stepped slowly towards the two men, passing the four bikers. The two males were about twelve car lengths from Pickle, and then he stopped and waited for the two of them to approach him. They seemed unsure at first, but as they progressed further they recognised the man and waved.
The two men were Peter and Roger. The three of them engaged in a short conversation, and then all three walked back to the pickup. Pickle introduced the two men to the people in the back that hadn’t met them before.
“Room for two more?” Pickle looked over at a confused Drake, still standing by the side of the truck.
“Of course.” Drake went back to the passenger seat and shut the door.
Once Pickle, Roger and Peter had made themselves comfortable in the back of the pickup, the vehicle slowly moved away and the four bikers obediently followed.
“So, yer changed yer mind, eh?” Pickle asked both bearded brothers.
Both nodded and Roger answered, “We just didn’t see the point in the end. Our mother’s gone. She must be.”
“Peter and Roger were heading for Colwyn Place,” Pickle turned to Karen and began to explain.
“Lucky you spotted them when you did,” Karen said to Pickle. “Not sure Terry would have let them in, especially the mood he was in when we left him.”
“What happened to Vince?” asked Peter, nodding at Kindl’s wrapped up hand.
Vince looked like he had nodded off, and his head was lowered and shaking as the vehicle took bend after bend along the country lane.
“He was bitten,” Karen explained, still with her arm around his waist and pointed at Stephen. “And he had to think quickly and took some of his hand away.”
Karen’s response was followed by thirty seconds of quiet, until Roger broke the silence.
“So what’s this place like?” he asked.
“Ever been to Stafford Hospital?” she asked.
Roger nodded and said, “Yeah. I went there to get my tonsils out, about five years ago.”
“Well, that’s the place.”
The pickup was passing through Milford, and Vince’s eyes opened when the vehicle hit a small bump in the road.
“Hello, lazy bones,” Karen laughed. “You were leaning on my shoulder and dribbling. You got me all wet.”
“I usually do, Karen,” he said with a smirk and stretched his arms, giving off an exaggerated yawn.
“Christ, at least wait till you’ve woke up before you start with your crap.”
Vince looked at Roger and Peter, and then flashed Pickle a confused look. “How long have I been out?”
“Not long,” said Pickle. “I spotted Roger and Peter as we left, so we decided to pick them up.”
Vince began to rub his throat and moaned, “As soon as we get to Drake’s place I’m gonna get myself a drink.”
“Thirsty, chap?” Stephen asked.
“Mouth’s drier than a nun’s snatch.” Vince coughed and pointed over at Stephen. “Thanks for what you did, you know, with your Conan the Barbarian shit. It saved me.”
“No worries, chap.” Stephen then twisted his neck and grunted, making Vince wince with disgust.
Vince looked over at David and Stephanie who seemed to be in a deep conversation, and flashed Joanne a wink. “How’re you holding up?”
“I’m okay,” she said. “Bit gutted about Stephen and Danny.”
“Karen told me about it when we were waiting for Pickle.” Vince looked around at the morose faces of everyone in the back of the pickup. “You wouldn’t think we were off to a place where the facilities were top notch,” he said. “You all look like somebody has just stabbed your cat. What’s wrong? We should be excited.”
Nobody answered. Another two people had lost their lives, and Vince was cracking jokes as if he didn’t give a shit.
“Anyway,” Vince sighed. “I’m gonna try and get some shuteye to take the edge off. Maybe you’ll all be in a better mood when I wake up.” Vince lowered his head, folded his arms, and closed his eyes.
Pickle leaned forwards and reached over to Karen and squeezed her leg. “Yer okay?”
“I think so.” She took in a deep breath, leaned over to meet Pickle’s eyes, and flashed him a smile.
“I have a good feeling about this,” he said. “But I have a bad feeling about the folk back at Colwyn. Something’s bugging me about it.”
“Well, I hope you’re wrong about that.”
“Me too.”
Karen sat up and straightened her back. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to Kelly. In fact, I wouldn’t want anything to happen to any of them.”
“Me neither,” he said. “We’ll check on them whenever we’re passing. If Drake ever wants to go on a run to or past Rugeley, I’ll volunteer and nip in, just to see how they’re doing.”
Karen nodded and said, “If a supply run turns up, and it means going into Rugeley, then I’d like to go with you.”
“Deal.” Pickle thinned his lips and produced a comforting smile for his young female friend.
“I just hope we don’t turn up and find something that we won’t like, especially if it involves Kelly.”
“I know what yer mean.”
Pickle leaned back and Karen did the same.
They were near; they were ten minutes away, and Pickle closed his eyes and moaned in delight as the wind ruffled his hair and stroked his face.
It was good to be alive.
THE END
Snatchers Box Set, Vol. 4 [Books 10-12] Page 77
