By the time Paul went round to the boot to pick up the two empty canisters, Stephen was already carrying his and making his way into the Wolseley Arms' beer garden, heading for the river.
Paul looked around outside of the pub. He was aware that before it was damaged, Pickle had stayed at the place for the night with a group of others in the first week. A few weeks back, Vince and Stephanie had also stayed there. Vince had been recovering after nearly drowning in the river, when he and Pickle were out looking for Bentley, and Stephanie had saved him.
Paul strolled down to the river, with a plastic canister in each hand, and could already see Stephen, kneeling on the edge of the bank, leaning over the river, filling his first canister. Paul had no idea why Stephen didn't like him. In truth, Paul Dickson couldn't care less.
They filled their bottles in silence. Stephen had filled both of his as Paul was on his second, and trudged away with a canister in each hand, clearly struggling.
Paul put the plastic container into the water, his hands dipping into the icy water once more, and his mind began to wander, thinking about the past. In the corner of his eye, something had caught his attention. He looked up and gasped, releasing the canister into the water, but keeping his hands in.
Unperturbed about the canister floating away from him, he remained glaring at the object that had caught his attention. It was the body of a minor. He had no idea if it had died as a human or as one of the infected, but could see it was a male, no older than ten. His thoughts went to Kyle when he witnessed this, and watched hypnotically as the body floated by him.
He gazed at the head of the child, and could see that the back of his head had received some trauma, possibly from a blunt instrument. Paul guessed that it had turned. Someone, possibly the same person that had finished it, had then thrown the contaminated body into the river, which Paul thought was a stupid thing to do. It was hard enough to purify the water as it was.
He had no idea how long he had been daydreaming, but his hands were still in the water and couldn't feel them now. He pulled them out and wiped his dripping limbs on his clothes. He released a sad sigh and picked up the full canister by his feet. He walked up the bank, went through the beer garden, and eventually got onto the road. Stephen was parked yards away, waiting with the engine on.
Paul put the canister in the boot with the other two and could see Stephen watching him through the rear view mirror. Stephen exited the vehicle and held out his arms, his body language suggesting that he wanted answers. He finally opened his mouth and said to Paul, "What the fuck? Where's the other canister?"
"I dropped it." Paul's comment was cold, had no hint of regret in his tone, and this wound Stephen up even more.
Bonser took a menacing step forward so that he was inches away from Dickson and growled, "Listen here, you weedy bastard. There are no passengers in this little community of ours. We all do our bit; no slackers."
Paul never responded. He never told Bonser about the body of the child. Instead, he just gazed at Stephen as if he wasn't there.
"Understand?" Stephen was becoming frustrated with the new arrival and tried again, with more loudness in his voice. "Un-der-stand?"
Paul never answered, still gazing.
"Ignorant fucker." Stephen added, "Answer me, or you're walking back."
Paul walked away from Stephen, passing the vehicle, and began to make his way back to Colwyn Place. On foot.
Stephen shook his head in frustration and returned to his vehicle. He pulled the means of transport away, swearing under his breath. His threat of making Dickson walk home was hardly a harsh punishment. It was only a fifteen minute walk back, but the lack of care and regret from this new guy made Stephen's blood boil. He had heard that Paul had had a rough time with losing his family, but hadn't everybody?
As soon as he passed an unbothered Paul Dickson, he sighed, "Fucking weirdo."
He stopped the vehicle and wound his window down. He popped his head out and looked at Paul who was walking behind the vehicle. "Get fucking in!" Stephen snapped.
His order fell on deaf ears as Paul walked on by, went past the parked vehicle and continued his short journey on foot.
Chapter Eight
Pickle was given specific directions to get to the cafe. The whole purpose of the mock run was to give young Danny some experience and confidence for future runs, getting supplies and experiencing the dead. Pickle was told that only half of the community had experience of killing the dead, which meant only half, at best, did runs. Two men that did runs had died recently. Brian Marley and Nick Gregory.
Gregory had passed away after being bitten. Pickle had taken desperate measures to save Nick's life when he had his fingers chewed off. Branston cut his hand off, but Nick had lost so much blood that he died back at Colwyn Place.
The vehicle went round a bend that curved to the left and it seemed that the country lane was never ending. For the last mile, all that was to their side was fences and barren fields.
Pickle's temporary means of transport slowed down once they could see a cafe up ahead on the left. Pickle had no idea how such a place could have made money in the past. Maybe they made their money from passing HGV drivers, on the way to pick up or drop off a load. Pickle stopped the vehicle on the forecourt of the cafe and looked at young Danny.
"Let's 'ave a quick look around," Pickle said. "I've got a feelin' that this is gonna be a waste o' time."
"What if there's nothing here?" Danny asked.
"Fuck it. If the place is clear, we'll go further up."
Pickle reached in the back of the vehicle and grabbed the machete. He had used a mace on their trip to No Man's Land, when they were looking for Danny, but opted for a lighter choice of weapon for this little trip. They stepped out of the vehicle and Pickle urged Danny to follow him, now tucking his blade under his belt. Noticing there was a bulge in one of Danny's pockets, Pickle asked if he was carrying a knife. Danny nodded, and Pickle told him to get it out.
Pickle approached the door of the cafe and told Danny to stay put, whilst he took a quick look round the back of the building before going inside.
Pickle took no longer than a minute and now was back at the door. "I'm gonna open the door," Pickle announced to young Danny. Danny nodded and remained a few yards behind Harry Branston, shaking with fear.
Pickle opened the door and was greeted by a dusky room. It smelled musty, like the room hadn't experienced fresh air for a number of weeks. He knocked the door and waited to see if anything came out to greet him. He could already see that the dining area was clear, but there was a swing-door at the end of the room, to the left. He guessed that behind it was the toilets and the kitchen. He knocked once more, staring at the swing-door, but nothing came through.
Pickle looked behind him and said to Danny. "Okay, let's go."
Danny stood and shook his head. Pickle could see the young man was scared and said, "If yer wanna go out on runs, yer can't slack. Yer need to be brave."
"But I'm fucking terrified," Danny admitted.
"Maybe runs isn't for yer. Maybe John can give yer something else to do, back at Colwyn Place." Pickle produced a smirk and teased, "Like washing clothes or keepin' the street clean."
"No." Danny shook his head. "I need to do this."
"I tell yer what. Yer stay there and I'll check the place out. We can do the next one together."
"Next one?"
Pickle nodded. "I've got a feeling this place is gonna be empty. And I'm sure there's another one up the road." Pickle winked at Danny and said, "Won't be long."
He disappeared into the cafe, leaving Danny standing outside, looking all around him with his paranoid eyes. Danny clutched his knife with his clammy hand and muttered under his breath, "Come on, Pickle. Hurry up."
He had another scan around where he was and could see nothing but the main road and fields. Even though he had always been a Little Haywood resident, this was an area that he didn't know well at all.
He gasped once he heard screamin
g from inside the cafe. It was Pickle's voice. The yells of pain made Danny's bowels loosen and the words, "Help me! Oh God, help me!" came from inside the cafe, but Danny still stood, frozen with shock.
The screaming had stopped and now Danny suddenly felt movement in his legs again. But instead of running into the cafe to help, the young man decided to run away. He checked inside the vehicle, but it appeared that Pickle had taken the vehicle's keys with him. Unaware what else he could do, Danny Gosling began to run along the country road, tears in his eyes, frightened to death, heading back to Colwyn Place.
"Oh God, oh God, oh God," he wailed as his feet slapped the tarmac. The country road was curvy and Danny had no idea what was behind every bend. There was nothing in the road when they travelled to the cafe on the way there, but that could soon change.
Already he was getting stitch in his right side, forcing him to slow down, and could hear an engine coming from behind him. Hearing other vehicles was rare these days, and Danny Gosling wasn't sure if he should keep to the road or hide. If the person or persons coming from behind were good people, he could get a ride back to his community. But if they were bad people...
He gambled, decided to stick to the road and stopped running. He waited with panting breath as the sound of the engine grew louder, an indication that the vehicle was getting closer, and Danny gave off a look of confusion as the black jeep that he and Pickle had travelled in had turned up.
The jeep pulled up next to Danny and Pickle got out of the driver's side and walked round to the young man.
"Okay," Pickle held his hands up, trying to suppress his giggling. "So maybe that wasn't the best idea I ever had."
"What's going on?" Danny looked bewildered. "I thought you were..."
"I was testing yer."
"What? You were pretending?"
"I was hopin' you'd come to ma aid," Pickle snickered, "but yer ran off. Yer really aren't cut out for this, are yer?"
"You ... bastard!" cried Danny. "I was shitting myself."
"Obviously." Pickle continued to laugh.
"I really thought you were a goner."
"And what did yer do?" Pickle answered his own question. "Yer ran away."
Danny's tone changed and his anger began to dilute. "I'm sorry. I just froze."
"That's no good to me. What if I was getting attacked for real? We watch each other's backs when we're out there."
"Give me another chance."
Pickle sighed and nodded at the vehicle. "Get in."
"Where're we going?"
Danny got into the passenger side and Pickle sat back behind the wheel, starting up the engine. "I'm gonna give yer another chance. In a few weeks yer will be an expert in survival, and dealing with these Creepers, as yer Colwyn lot call them, will be a walk in the park."
"Where are we going now? Another cafe?"
"Aye. Another cafe."
Chapter Nine
The motor-home was half-full with bags of medical supplies, and as soon as Rowley threw the last bag in, he turned around and had another look at the area. It was completely clear.
"Well, that was pretty straightforward," he muttered to himself.
He kept the door open and urged Karen and Freddie back into the RV.
"Can I sit at the front on the way back?" Freddie moaned.
"Er..." Stephen looked at Vince. Vince nodded and shrugged his shoulders. He didn't mind. Stephen said it was okay, but before Freddie could go in, Karen's voice stopped him.
"There's somebody in there," she announced, nodding to the building that was next to the chemist.
"What?" Stephen scratched his head.
Karen pointed up at a window of the retirement home. The window appeared to be on the top floor, the third floor, and said, pointing at the Victorian building, "Look."
They all looked up and could see a woman, short blonde hair. She waved and opened the window, asking for help. She seemed calm, but told them that she was desperate for water. She said there were a few of the dead in the building and she was too scared to go out. She then disappeared from the window.
"How the fuck did she survive this long?" Stephen shook his head.
"I dunno." Karen hunched her shoulders. "But we can't leave her up there, can we?"
"I know I wanted to go in earlier, but we're not here on a scouting mission," Rowley snapped. "We're going. Now."
"You can't just leave the poor woman to die."
Vince could see the determination in Karen's face and added, "I suppose it wouldn't harm to have a quick look. Check her out."
"No chance, chap." Stephen grunted and added further, "We've done what we've come for. Now it's time to go. I'm not risking my life for people I don't know."
"Okay." Karen scratched at the side of her nose and huffed, "But I'm going. I'll meet you back at the RV. I'm sure when Pickle hears that you allowed me to go on my own, he'll understand."
Vince put his hand over his mouth to hide his smirk.
"For fuck's sake," Rowley sighed. "Make it quick. The three of us will go in."
"Three of you? What about me?" Freddie stood with his arms open. "You want me to wait here?"
"No." Vince pointed a yard to Freddie's left and said, "Wait there."
Stephen told Freddie to ignore Vince, get into the camper van and wait for their return. If there was any sign of the Creepers, then he should give the horn a quick blast.
"Wouldn't that attract them to the van?" Freddie queried.
Stephen moaned, "Just do it, chap."
Vince went into the RV and took a two litre bottle of water and rammed it into his deep pocket.
Stephen, Vince and Karen approached the old doors of the building and Vince gave them a try. They were open. They stepped into the establishment, all carrying machetes, and entered the dusky reception area.
"Not a soul," Karen whispered, remembering that the woman claimed that there were some dead inside.
Vince asked, "Where now?"
"There must be a staircase somewhere," said Karen. "That woman was on the third floor."
Leading the way, Vince crept down the dark hallway and could see the beginning of a staircase. "Hey, Karen," he whispered.
"What is it?" she asked from behind him.
"What am I? People go up and down on my shaft. I like to empty my load and both men and women go down on me."
"This is not really the time or the place, Vince."
Vince pointed to his left, at a set of metal doors, and said, "An elevator."
They went by the doors of the defunct elevator and Kindl was the first to step foot on the staircase, leading to the next floor.
Stephen twitched his neck and cleared his throat. The noise echoed down the hall, making Vince and Karen wince.
"For fuck's sake, Steve," Vince moaned. "A bit of stealth, if you please."
"Sorry, chap." Stephen Rowley apologised. "I can't help it."
"Well, put your hand over your mouth. I don't want you grunting all the way to the third floor."
"Fine." Rowley accepted his reprimand, especially with the environment they were all in. "Oh, and Vince."
"What is it?"
"Don't call me Steve."
"Fuck. Not this again," Vince huffed. "Does it matter?"
"To me it does, yes."
All three managed to get to the third floor without an incident, and Vince looked both ways down the corridor before leaving the staircase altogether and stopped after he made five yards. Karen and Stephen were behind him and Karen asked him what was wrong.
Said Vince, "I can't work out in which room she was in."
"Do you think we should call out?" Stephen cleared his throat as quietly as he could.
"No, I don't." Vince shook his head. "That's possibly the worst idea since George Clooney decided to put on a Batman suit."
"Well, if there're dead in the rooms, they can't get out."
Ignoring Stephen's comment, Vince asked Karen which room she thought she saw the woman.
Karen stood in thought for a moment, looked both ways, then pointed. "Four doors down to the right."
"You reckon?" Vince asked.
Karen shrugged and said, "I think."
"Okay." Vince approached the door of room 7C, and placed his right ear against it. He could hear nothing.
He placed his hand on the door handle, machete in his other, and gave it a try. The door opened. He looked at Stephen and Karen with puzzlement. He looked down to see that the doors used to be controlled electronically, possibly by cardkey. Using his fingertips, he gave the door a gentle push and peered inside. He looked back at Karen and Stephen and shook his head, telling them that there was nothing inside.
"Maybe it was the next room." Karen sounded unsure.
Vince closed the door as quietly as he could and went on to the next room, room 8C. Again, he placed his ear against the door, heard nothing, then opened it. He peered in and screwed his face at what he could see.
An elderly member of the dead was hobbling around the room. It was a female, had no clothes on, and the scene itself, as well as the smell and the flies, turned his stomach.
He shut the door. "I don't think it's that one."
The door to the next room opened and the woman with the short blonde hair popped her head out. "Hi."
Vince gasped and dropped his machete in fright, the handle striking his foot. "Jesus, you daft cow. I nearly shat a brick."
"Wanna come in?"
Nobody answered. Karen and Stephen were too busy laughing at the comical scene that had just taken place and Vince was picking his machete up off the floor, tucking it into his belt, clearly embarrassed.
Eventually, Karen managed to answer the bemused looking woman. "That would be good. Thank you."
Chapter Ten
Stephen Bonser had been in Colwyn Place for nearly ten minutes by the time Paul Dickson made an appearance. Stephen had informed John Lincoln what had happened, telling him his version of events, and informed Lincoln that he didn't want to go out with him again. Lincoln told him to give Paul another chance.
Paul had finally made it back to the gate and Terry Braithwaite pulled it back as soon as he clocked Dickson.
Snatchers (Book 10): The Dead Don't Care Page 3
