Chapter Forty Two
August 13th
Paul Dickson's black T-shirt was soaked with his sweat. It was overcast, but the temperature was high on this morning. Some Brits would class this weather as muggy. His thoughts was with the woman that he had briefly met and he had hardly slept, being curled up against the sycamore tree. He was lucky if he had had two hours of unbroken sleep.
Vince had hardly mentioned the mother of his only child and had presumed that she died with the other millions in the first weeks, so Paul didn't see the point telling Vince what had happened once he returned.
He tried to stick to the main road and was certain that if he stayed here long enough, Pickle or someone else from the camp would come along to pick him up. He wasn't far away now, but he would welcome the last two miles to be sitting in a vehicle, as his feet were aching and felt like they were on fire.
He came across a gate and looked to his left and saw a farm that he hadn't noticed before. He stopped walking and had a look around to see that nobody was about, and decided to open the gate and go in. What was the harm? If the place was occupied, then he would make his apologies and be on his way. If it wasn't, then he'd check the place out and see if there were any supplies for him.
Hungry and thirsty, Paul Dickson decided to pop into the farmhouse and have a snoop around.
He walked down the long dirt path which led to the farmhouse and reached the door, but he paused and decided not to knock. Not yet. There was a niggling in his head, telling him not to. A gentle thud was heard inside the barn that was next to the house, making the man gasp and twist his neck, and Paul decided to check that out first instead.
He approached the door of the barn and peered inside. He could hear frightened gasps as his presence was noticed straightaway. The gasps confused him and he wondered what two young individuals were doing sitting on the floor. He opened the door fully and could now see the males were tied up.
Their eyes squinted as the daylight crept in, and Paul knew right away that they were being kept against their will. The two men weren't gagged on this day, and they began to cry as Paul stepped near them.
He held his hands up. "It's okay. I'm not here to hurt you." He didn't have to ask them why they were tied up. He had guessed. He remembered the man in the woods, a few days ago, that wanted to kill him for his flesh as he was making his way to Little Haywood.
He untied the two frightened men and once both were free, they thanked Paul, told them that a family of three stayed at the house, and then ran off.
Paul should have told them about Colwyn Place, but they were now running away and Paul needed to make a sharp exit himself. If the people in the house could see that their 'produce' had escaped, he could be next on the menu if he hung around long enough. He wasn't sure if the occupants were inside the farmhouse or had left temporarily to go somewhere, but was certain that this was a place that wasn't safe and he should get the hell out as soon as possible.
He decided to ignore his hunger and thirst and began to gently jog away, going the same way as the two men, and heading for the gate, back to the main road. He began trotting away, but his heavy legs were making his 'escape' a little more difficult and slower than he would have liked.
"Stop!" a voice called out from behind him.
"Shit." Paul decided to ignore the command and tried to pick up his pace.
"Stop, motherfucker, or I'll shoot!"
Shoot?
The command made Paul stop in his tracks. He was unsure whether the individual had a gun or not until he turned around, but decided not to risk calling his bluff and not to continue with his jog. Paul turned to see a young boy pointing a shotgun at him. He realised where he was now. Paul could see that it was the same young man that he and Pickle had passed the day before when they were on their way to find Karen, Vince and Stephen.
"Come closer," the boy commanded.
Paul raised his hands and began to walk towards the youngster, then was told to stop once he was close enough.
Paul sighed, his hands still up, "Now what?"
Hector Grassington shook with rage as the gun pointed at Paul's head and he said, "You stupid bastard. Do you realise what you've done, letting those two go?"
"I saved two lives from sick bastards," Paul said with calm.
"We're not sick," Hector sneered. "We're surviving. Only the strong survive."
"That sounds like something your father probably brainwashed you with. Is he in?" Paul took a small step closer, making the youngster jittery, but he kept his hands up. "Relax."
Hector called out, "Mum! I've got a situation out here!"
An elderly female leaned out of a bedroom window from the first floor and said, "What is it?"
Paul could only see the woman's head. He could see that the woman was in her fifties, had a round face and he guessed correctly that she was a large lady.
"This prick let those two go from the barn."
"Oh dear, your dad's not going to like that."
"When's dad coming back?"
"Soon. He's still out hunting."
Hector gazed at Paul, his clammy hands holding the gun, and asked his mother what he should do next. Paul took another step forward and was now only a foot away from the fifteen-year-old.
"Stay back!" Hector screamed, now caressing the trigger.
"Just shoot him," she shouted from the window, making Paul gasp.
"What?" Hector wasn't sure if he had heard right. "What did you say, mum?"
"Just shoot him in the head!" His mother yelled. "Don't shoot him anywhere else. I don't want you tainting good meat. Anyway, I'm coming down now."
She disappeared from the window and jogged down the stairs, hearing the gun go off. She smiled and brushed her grey hair back. She didn't want to drag the body into the barn. She was going to let the body bleed out for a while and wait for her husband to return. If her husband returned empty-handed, they were probably going to have to gut the man straightaway, especially now that the two men had escaped.
She walked towards the main door and opened it. She strolled through, reaching outside and stopped suddenly. She couldn't breathe.
Paul Dickson had been waiting for her at the side of the door. He hacked his machete at her throat as she stepped out of the house. The blood from her neck pissed out, and the last thing she saw was her son lying on the grass, face-down.
Paul removed the blade and watched as she collapsed in a bloody heap. He then took the shotgun that was leaning against the side of the house, the same gun he had grabbed off of Hector. Paul had made a grab for the gun earlier and the pair of them had a quick tussle, making the gun go off, then Paul had smacked the youngster with it.
He walked over to the unconscious young man.
Paul hesitated for a few seconds, then rammed his blade into the boy's back. He removed the machete, then wiped the blood on the grass and tucked it back into his belt. He knew that the father was due back and decided to drag the bodies at the side of the house, behind a tractor. He should have left, but he decided to take a look around in the kitchen and see if there was anything that could hydrate him. He wasn't to be disappointed.
He walked in, now holding the shotgun. There was a bottle of water on the side, next to a large pan of soup. He drank the bottle in one and then used a wooden spoon to stir the soup. He could see large chunks of meat in it, and was pretty sure that it was human meat, so decided to give the soup a miss.
He decided to go upstairs and see if there was anything he could use and take back with him to Colwyn Place. The bedrooms were basic and his nose twitched as he approached the bathroom door. He opened it and peered inside. The bath was covered in blood and had unwanted body parts in it. A severed head sat near the plughole as well as a foot. Paul shut the door and went back downstairs. It was like something out of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. He had seen enough.
He went through the cupboards and pulled out a bag of raw carrots. He placed the shotgun on the wooden dinner table
, sat down and began to eat the carrots.
Once he had finished, he sat back and decided it was time to leave. He decided to leave the gun where it was. He was hydrated, he had eaten and he had rested. It was time to go.
He stepped out and could see a figure walking through the gate and walking down the path. The man wore a grey beard, had a hat on and a gun over his shoulder.
Paul stepped back in, making sure he wasn't spotted. He went over to the table and picked up the gun. He didn't want to use it. He knew that the noise could attract threats from afar, dead or living, but on this occasion he felt he had no choice.
With the gun pointing at the door and his finger on the trigger, Paul Dickson waited for the man to enter. Once he did, Paul gave the man a blast in the stomach. The man dropped his own gun and collapsed on the grass, face-down. He was still moving, but Paul knew that it wasn't going to be for long.
Dickson then left the empty shotgun on the table, exited the house, picked the man's gun up and decided to blast him in the back and put him out of his misery. A metallic click was all that could be heard and Paul guessed that the gun was out of ammo or it had jammed. He threw the shotgun on the grass and headed back to the main road.
*
Arthur Grassington had had another unsuccessful stint hunting in the woods. He wanted to keep the two men in the barn for a rainy day, but it looked like that the rainy day had come early. He had his shotgun in his left hand and turned and spat on the floor.
The fifty-eight-year old man walked, constantly sighing, and was now on the main road. His boots were becoming worn and his denim dungarees were in dire need of a wash. But the biggest worry for him was that his stomach was rumbling. His wife had made a large pot of soup, but even rationing the food would only keep them going for a couple of days.
His son, Hector, had had to do a lot of growing up in the last three months. In the first month, he did nothing but cry and moan because of the situation of the world, but eventually he grew stronger. Arthur taught his son how to shoot, to skin game, and he also tried his first human meat only two weeks ago. Nobody wanted this, but with the cattle gone, the three of them felt that they were left without a choice.
Arthur remembered the first person they had eaten. He had been out and came across an individual in the woods. His name was Garth Bateman, nineteen years old, and had told Arthur that he had escaped from an invasion of the dead. He told Arthur that he used to live in Rugeley, in a street called Sandy Lane, and that it had been turned into a camp. Arthur told the young man that he would feed and hydrate the beleaguered teenager, but instead he knocked him out when they reached the farmhouse and tied him up in the barn. After many days of persuading his son and wife that this was the way to go now, in order to survive, Garth was killed by Arthur and cut up for future meals.
As Arthur clocked the body that was face-down on the grass, he put his Mossberg in both hands and could feel his heart galloping. He had no idea who the man was, but his main concern, his only concern was for his wife and son. He checked the house cautiously and called out his wife's name, but he got no answer. He then went to the barn and opened the wooden door. It was empty. The two men weren't there anymore.
He scratched his head and was perplexed, wondering what could have happened. Did the two men manage to untie themselves and had turned nasty, forcing his wife and son to hide? He then turned to the body on the grass. But who was that?
He bent down, leaned over the body and turned him over. Blood was all over his midriff. He had been shot. Maybe Hector did this, he thought. But where is he? And where's the missus?
He took a proper look at the man's face. He recognised him and said, "What the...?" He suddenly jumped when the man gasped. He was alive, for now.
This just wasn't making sense.
The man was Ollie Goldwin. He was a fellow farmer that lived a mile up the road. He was a nice man, had three daughters under the age of sixteen and this had been the first time Arthur had seen him in a week. Arthur had only seen him a few times since the outbreak. In the old days they used to drink together and sometimes help each other out, business-wise.
Arthur couldn't understand what had happened. Why would such a nice man like Ollie be gunned down by his son or wife? It didn't make sense. And where were they?
"Ollie?" Arthur could see the poor man was seconds away from death and asked, "What happened?"
"Some man."
"Some man?" This short statement did nothing to dilute Arthur's confusion. He wondered where Ollie's jeep was. Did he walk? He guessed, like his own, it had been stolen by desperados. "What are you doing here, Ollie?"
"Walked here ... to see ... how you were ..." He struggled for breath. "... and wanted you and ... your family ... to join us. We still have ... livestock ... and ..."
That was all Arthur could get out of Ollie before he took his last breath. Arthur sighed and was saddened by the man's death, but the confusion was still there.
He stood up, took his gun and decided to walk around the back of the house.
He only reached as far as the tractor when he dropped to his knees and broke down.
He sobbed for minutes as the bodies of his son and wife lay behind the defunct tractor. He sat and crossed his legs, and realised that all he lived for was now gone. But he still didn't understand what had happened. Ollie said some man. He didn't say men, which would make Arthur think that the two men from the barn had escaped and caused this carnage. Ollie said man.
Arthur Grassington had managed to compose himself. He wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands and stared at his poor family. His loving wife; his baby boy.
He never vowed revenge for the person or persons responsible for this. He simply lay back on the grass with tears in his eyes, placed both barrels under his chin and squeezed the trigger.
Chapter Forty Three
Elza and the girls were predictably given 2 Colwyn Place by John Lincoln when they had returned yesterday evening, and enjoyed a good night's sleep. When he was told that their church was overrun by vagrants, he sympathised with the girls but was deep-down delighted to have more people, especially people that knew how to handle themselves, even the fourteen-year-old that was with them.
John was aware that one of the main problems with Colwyn Place was that they had many people that couldn't look after themselves. He needed more people for runs. If people kept on getting killed whilst out there, like Brian Marley and, more recently, Nick Gregory, the place was going to suffer.
Elza, Ophelia and Stephanie went straight into house two. Lincoln apologised to the women, when they arrived yesterday evening, and told them that he'd get Beverley to organise a 'welcome pack' by the morning, or the afternoon at the very latest. He told them further that the basement was locked, because that was where they stored weapons, and had decided to relax the 'weapon law' he had imposed weeks earlier, not that people were obeying it anyway.
Neither female seemed bothered and were more excited about using the solar-powered shower that was available.
Vince was surprised, and pleased, that Stephanie was back.
Once he woke up and stepped outside, he spotted her from her room and called out. She opened the window and asked what he wanted. He asked her to come outside once she was showered so they could hang out. She did as he asked half an hour later.
She stepped outside, leaving an exhausted Elza and Ophelia still curled up in their new beds, and saw Vincent Kindl sitting on the kerb, on his own, outside his house.
She took a stroll over, enjoying the morning breeze as she did this, and sat next to the middle-aged man. She was now dressed in an old red housecoat and was barefoot.
"Nice gown," Vince mocked.
"It was already in the house." Stephanie grinned. "It smells a bit."
"I just thought that was your overall odour."
"Cheeky pig." Stephanie leaned back and punched Vince on the arm and both of them began to laugh.
Once their laughing diminished, Vince b
ecame serious and announced, "I'm glad you're back. Not too bothered about the other two, but you ... I'm still here because of you."
"They're both okay." Stephanie decided to stick up for Elza and Ophelia.
"If you say so." Vince looked over at the house she was staying at. "The ugly one doesn't say much, does she?"
"Ugly?" Stephanie knew he was referring to Ophelia and didn't like his choice of words. "She's had a rough time. Anyway, she's not ugly."
"You're too nice, Steph," Vince cackled. "She has a face like a smacked arse. She'd make an onion cry. Even a tide wouldn't take her out."
"You haven't changed, have you?" Stephanie tried to hide her smirk, but Vince saw it. "You're hardly Channing Tatum yourself, are you?"
"Who? Tanning Chatum?"
"Channing Tatum," Stephanie corrected with a giggle. "He's a film star."
"He used to be," scoffed Vince. "He's probably dead now."
Vince could feel Stephanie looking at him. He turned and asked her what was up.
"I have missed you, you obnoxious pig." She leaned her head to the side and rested it on his shoulder.
"You wouldn't have me any other way."
"True." She cuddled up to Vince and he put his arm around her shoulder. They remained there for a few minutes and their quiet was disturbed by Stephen Rowley. He had left his house and was on his way over to Vince and Stephanie. Vince guessed that Rowley wanted a word with him.
"Alright, Steve?"
Stephen flashed Vince a stern look.
Vince had genuinely forgot that Rowley didn't like being called Steve. He held his hands up as a way of apologising. "Stephen, I meant to say."
Getting the feeling that Rowley wanted a word with Vince alone, Stephanie made an excuse that she was feeling cold and went back indoors.
"I'll see you later," Vince called out as Stephanie approached the door of her new house. "Get some rest."
Snatchers (Book 10): The Dead Don't Care Page 18
