Ophelia glared at Karen and produced a sympathetic smile and slowly nodded at Karen. She was also sorry to hear the bad news.
"It happens." Karen tried to brush it off, but could feel her voice quiver. "It's done."
Once they reached the roundabout, they all stopped. Going left led into Little Haywood. The road straight on would take them into Rugeley.
"This is where we part ways." Elza placed her hand on her baseball bat that was tucked under her belt. Ophelia had the same look, whereas Stephanie now had her bow over her shoulder.
"No, it's not," Stephen said. "This is where you come back with us. We'll feed you and then we'll get someone to take you back to the church. That's if you want to go back."
Stephen Rowley cleared his throat and twisted his neck. Elza was taken aback by Stephen's strange mannerisms and asked if he was alright, making Vince and Karen smile.
"I'm fine," Rowley grunted. "Are you coming with us or not?"
All three girls nodded.
Chapter Thirty Eight
Paul Dickson finally got to his feet and could hear the sound of running water becoming louder as he progressed nearer. He licked his lips at the thought of the cold liquid wetting the back of his throat. He knew that the brook would be contaminated to a certain degree, but his head pounded because of the dehydration, and he was willing to risk taking a few mouthfuls of the cold stuff.
He kept on walking west. The further he strolled, the louder the noise from the brook grew.
He dropped to his knees once he reached it, cupped his hands and dipped them into the icy water, taking in mouthfuls of the freezing liquid. He took four large gulps altogether, but stopped when he heard a noise to his right. He slowly got off his knees and stood up straight, peering in the direction of where the noise came from. The area he was in wasn't as crowded with trees like some areas he had been in, and smiled when he saw the culprit of the noise scurrying along the ground and making its way up one of the trees: a grey squirrel.
His eyes then clocked a strange-looking lump further up, alongside the brook. It looked like a ... body. Whether it was the body of a human or an animal—maybe a deer—he wasn't sure.
He had to investigate. The intrigue was too much to ignore.
He walked with small steps towards the lump, looking all around for any danger, and finally made it to the bulge.
His eyes widened once his brain had figured out what he was seeing and he swallowed hard, now feeling the nauseous feeling building in his stomach. A creature lay on the ground. The trauma to its brain confirmed that it was once a contaminated being, and the flies that buzzed and flew in Paul's face made him step back a few yards. But it wasn't the flies that turned his stomach, and the nauseous feeling wasn't because the once-male creature was now a bloody and broken mess. It was its diseased arm that was in the water that made Paul retch.
The creature was lying on its back, but its right arm was flopped in the water from the elbow to its rotten hand.
Paul couldn't stop thinking about the four large gulps of water he had taken earlier, looked at the arm again, then threw up, whilst simultaneously swatting away the flies that hit his face.
He looked around and wiped his mouth, accidentally swallowing one of the winged pests.
It was time to leave.
*
John Lincoln was out in the street talking to Beverley from 14 Colwyn Place. She was with the toddler and the little man was sucking on a Digestive biscuit. Lincoln ruffled the boy's hair and suddenly turned when he heard a voice call out his name.
The voice came from James Thomson. He was guarding the entrance. He had placed his baseball bat down, stood it up against the wall, and went to the steel gate to slide it back. Lincoln excused himself away from Beverley and walked over to the gate, where behind he could see six people.
Lincoln recognised three of them, Stephen, Karen and Vince, making him smile, but the others he didn't know. He told James to hurry up and let them through, then welcomed them all back as they entered.
They looked weary and John called on James to fetch them all some water. James ran to the house where they stored the supplies and returned a minute later, giving Stephen Rowley a two litre bottle of water. Stephen took a swig and passed it round. All six went over to the front lawn of Terry Braithwaite's house and sat their behinds down, resting their tired feet.
John Lincoln stood over them whilst James went back to his post, picked his bat back up and closed the gate.
"It's clear I have many questions to ask," John Lincoln guffawed, looking at the three strangers, Stephanie, Elza and Ophelia. "But let's get you lot hydrated first. You guys look terrible."
Lincoln was dying to ask where these other three girls had come from, if they wanted to stay, and how bad was the trip after Freddie had left them in the lurch, but he decided to wait until they got their energy back.
He cracked a smile as he looked at Karen. "You okay?"
She nodded and said, "I've had better days, but..."
She never finished her sentence and widened her eyes, telling Lincoln that she had spotted something or someone.
Karen got to her feet quickly, surprising John, and paced forwards with angry strides. They all looked and could see that Freddie Johnson had stepped out of his house and was about to eat a biscuit. He hadn't noticed that they had arrived, but when he did look up and saw Karen Bradley storming towards him, he dropped the biscuit and opened his mouth to try and explain why he had left them in the shit.
A right hook from Karen Bradley forced the nineteen-year-old to fall back into his house, making him collapse to the floor, giving him a bloody nose. Nobody spoke, not even John Lincoln, and the young woman went back over to the other sitting five and sat next to Vince who was trying not to smirk.
Initially, Karen was calm when the three of them were abandoned, but seeing Freddie had produced a firing rage she couldn't control.
Lincoln wasn't happy at what he had just seen and said angrily to Karen, "Better?"
Without looking up at John Lincoln, Karen remarked, "Much."
*
The journey to the chemist had been unproblematic, but it had been a waste of fuel. Apart from the odd Snatcher, there was no sign of any of the three that were missing. Pickle turned the vehicle round and went back onto the clear main road.
He was heading back to Little Haywood, but this time decided to go at a slower speed.
The pros of this was that if Vince, Stephen and Karen were hiding, then they would have a little more time to make themselves seen and flag the vehicle down. The cons were obvious. Driving at such a slow speed could make Pickle an easier target for bandits. There hadn't been any on the way to Stafford, but that could change on the way back.
He smiled when he thought of Karen. What a woman, Pickle thought. Twenty three years old and had bigger balls than some of the men that used to be on his wing in Stafford prison.
For some reason, as he did a steady thirty along the road, his mind went back to the third week of this disaster and thought about the conversation the pair of them had when they had made it out of the woods. It was just before they had come across the cabin that belonged to Wolfgang Kindl, Vince's father.
Karen had been moaning that she didn't know Pickle very well and wanted to know more about him. She asked if he had any nicknames, apart from Pickle.
"Apart from Pickle? Just the one." Pickle blushed.
Karen nudged him in the side, playfully. "Come on, Branston," she teased. "Out with it."
"Promise yer won't laugh?"
"Oh, I can't do that." Karen began to chuckle. She then saw that serious look off of him and she settled down. She coughed and asked him, "What was it?"
"In prison, they used to call me..." Pickle lowered his head and cleared his throat. "...The Horse."
Karen bit her lower lip, trying to stifle the laugh that was aching to be released. It eventually was released and even Pickle smiled at Karen's hilarity that he hadn't seen before.
It was good to see her laugh, even if it was at his expense.
"The Horse?" Her cackling continued and now there was tears streaming down her face. "You're making me cry."
Pickle looked at Karen wiping the running tears from her cheeks with the back of her hands. "Better for the water to run from yer eyes than down yer thighs, Bradley."
She had almost managed to compose herself; confident that she could muster a sentence without it being interrupted with a giggle, she questioned, "Why did they call you that? Is it because you used to shit like one?"
"No, you cheeky bitch," he tittered. "Because I'm hung like one, of course."
"A sea horse?"
"Very funny." He feigned hurt on his features and added, "Back in my area I had quite the reputation."
"Oh, I could imagine," Karen continued to mock. "Here comes Harry Branston, everybody. Quick, lock up your goats."
By the time Pickle had snapped out of his daydream, he realised that he had been on the road for half an hour and was now near. He could see the pub up ahead. Once he reached Wolseley Arms, he turned left, passing the garden centre, and was at Colwyn Place, hoping Paul and the rest were there.
James Thomson slid the gate back, wearing a smile on his face. Pickle had the windows wound down and pulled the vehicle in at a slow speed, keeping it in first. He popped his head out and said to James, "What so amusing, ma friend?"
"They're here." James still had his smile.
"Who? Karen, Vince and Stephen?"
James nodded. "Plus others."
Pickle lowered his eyebrows. "Others?"
"Take a look for yourself." James pointed over at Terry's lawn and Pickle could see them all, sitting down: Karen, Vince and Stephen.
There were three others.
He recognised the two from Sandy Lane, after the massacre. He tried to remember their names. Was it Maria and Frieda. No! That was the names of their bats. It was Elza and Ophelia.
He stopped the vehicle and jumped out when he saw a young blonde waving at him.
Astonished, Pickle walked over to them, then stopped as he reached them. Karen gave him a long hug, and he acknowledged Stephen and Vince with a nod of the head once he had broken away from the embrace with his female friend.
He looked at Elza Crowe, remembering her from Sandy Lane. The woman was attractive, any fool could see that, and had a brown ponytail that went down her back. She smiled at Pickle and he smiled back. He then gave Ophelia White a nod of the head. Ophelia wasn't as blessed as Elza in the looks department, and he remembered that she didn't speak. Whether this was something that she was born with, he didn't know yet. She had short blonde hair, and had a two-inch scar down her left cheek. It looked like it was recent.
He then turned his attention to Stephanie Perkins. He stared at the teenager and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Stephanie?"
She smiled. "Hello, Pickle."
"But Paul said..."
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Paul was wrong."
"Isn't Paul with you?" Karen asked. "I was just told by Lincoln that he was."
Pickle shook his head. He had some explaining to do.
Chapter Thirty Nine
For the last half an hour, food had been consumed and liquids had refreshed the tired and dehydrated bodies of the returned.
John Lincoln had done his best to persuade the girls to stay and help this community to 'grow', and Elza thanked the man for his kindness, but insisted that the church on the Pear Tree, at least for the time being, was where they stayed.
Stephanie looked indecisive for a while, which was understandable. She knew these people and loved Vince, but Elza had taken her in when she was sleeping rough in the woods. Stephanie didn't want to turn her back on the two women, especially Elza.
Pickle and Karen had volunteered to take the girls back to the Pear Tree and told Lincoln that the trip there and back should take no longer than half an hour, providing there were no incidents.
Lincoln asked the three girls when they wanted to go, and was surprised when Elza said straightaway. Lincoln was thinking that they were going to stay the night, but it appeared that the girls, mainly Elza, had other plans.
Pickle was going to be doing the driving and Karen was in the passenger seat. Elza, Ophelia and Stephanie were out on the pavement, saying their farewells. Elza thanked John Lincoln for his hospitality and he asked once more if she would consider staying.
"Thanks, but no thanks." Elza smiled. "But if ever you're passing the church, feel free to pop in."
"That's very kind." John scratched at his large belly and cackled. "But I haven't left this area since ... for a while. Seriously, if you run into trouble and feel you have nowhere to go, you'll be welcome here."
Elza thanked John again and went into the back of the jeep, with Ophelia following, leaving Stephanie standing on her own.
Vince walked up to the teenager and they both held each other for a few seconds. Once they broke away, Stephanie apologised to Vince for not staying.
"Don't worry about it," said Vince, and tried to joke, "It's boring round here anyway. And some of the people..."
"I like these girls, especially Elza." Stephanie looked guilty for going. "Wherever Elza decides to go, I'm going to follow her."
"I can understand your reluctance to stay in a camp like this. How long did Sandy Lane last for you? A couple of days?"
Stephanie smiled. "Something like that."
"Just knowing that you're alive is something." Vince placed the palm of his right hand on the back of Stephanie's head and gently kissed her on the forehead. "Sorry I'm not coming with you. Leaving you on that estate and saying goodbye would be a tad difficult for me."
"I understand."
Stephanie turned on her heels and was the last to enter the vehicle. She turned and peered through the back window, waving at Vince. He held his hands up and gave Stephanie the thumbs up.
Elza and Ophelia both placed their bats by their feet, and Karen and Pickle had done the same with their machetes in the front. Pickle opted to leave the mace back in the living room of his house, and managed to acquire another large blade from 2 Colwyn Place because Paul had took his when he left Pickle's vehicle.
The journey wasn't eventful at all.
Pickle drove along the Rugeley Road after passing Wolseley, and turned right at the roundabout, passing the Stag's Leap pub/restaurant and did thirty along the Western Springs Road. As soon as they went this way, Karen gave Pickle a suspicious look.
"Why are you going to the Pear Tree this way?" It was a dumb question. She knew why. And Pickle told her the truth.
He said, "We're goin' the Sandy Lane way. At least if we go that way we can 'ave a wee look, see if anyone has returned. We can also have a look into the Lea Hall building and see if there's anything left."
"There's nothing left," Stephanie blurted out from the back.
"Yer girls surely haven't used up the lot, 'ave yer?" Pickle gazed at the rear view mirror, looking at the back, waiting for an answer.
"Not us," Elza spoke up. "We went to the building a couple of times to fill our bags, but the third time we got there..."
"Go on."
"Some guys were there. There was about twenty of them. They were on mopeds and a red pickup was with them. After that, we thought it'd be safer to try further into the woods."
Karen and Pickle both peeked to the side, at one another with wide eyes.
Elza spotted this and asked, "What's with the look?"
"Did they have WOE stitched on the back of their jackets?" sighed Pickle.
"Dunno." Elza hunched her shoulders. "We never got that close."
"And it was definitely a red pickup that they had with them?"
"Definitely."
Karen looked at Pickle once more. It must have been the same pickup they had stolen from them after the WOE gang had shot Sheryl.
Pickle and Karen's hearts began to beat faster as the vehicle turned left onto Sandy Lane and look
ed around at the carnage from weeks ago: blood, entrails, defunct Snatchers and a wrecked car could be seen. They passed the burnt out tanker to their left, then the crashed LGV that Bear tried to escape in a couple of weeks ago, and then turned left onto Queensway. They were now on the Pear Tree.
"Listen," Pickle began, and looked at Elza through the rear view mirror. "I'm gonna reiterate what John told yer back at Haywood. If anything happens that makes yer stay on this estate a dangerous one, then come back and join us. To be honest with yer, some o' the people at Colwyn Place are a little strange and it'd be good to have a few more normal folk around."
"Normal?" Elza snickered. "I'm hanging out with a woman that doesn't speak and a teenage girl that shoots arrows." Elza turned to her fellow passengers. "No offence, ladies." There was no reaction from either passenger.
"I'm gonna be honest." Pickle slowed down as they reached a house, 50 Queensway, and parked up at the bottom of Hislop Road. "If these WOE characters keep travelling through the West Midlands like they are, it's only a matter of time before they come across our little place. A lot o' the people in Colwyn Place are not ... let's say ... fighters. Some ... I hardly know. They keep themselves to themselves."
"Well, that's not good," Elza said, "not in this world."
"I agree. If it was me in charge, I'd make sure every single resident, minors and the elderly excepted, would learn how to kill a Snatcher, filter water, as well as other things."
Karen huffed, "Some of the residents get away with murder, not pulling their weight."
"Well, not sure about that, Karen," Pickle disagreed, "but some certainly have had their heads buried in the sand. But some are trying. A guy called Danny, for example, came out with me because he wanted to desensitise himself from the dead in case he had to be out there on his own. However, he needs some more practice."
"Practice?" Karen scoffed. "Most people, like ourselves, were just thrown into the deep end and had to get on with it."
"Well, if the dead or the living come to your little place," Elza began, "it sounds like some of you could be in trouble."
Snatchers (Book 10): The Dead Don't Care Page 16
