A Little Place in the Country
Despite the increasingly obvious indications, regardless of the way she had left him, Lavender had hoped the old Carson would greet her on her return to the river bank. Time was he’d have had plenty to say and lots to do with his hands on seeing her approach him wearing only her underwear for a top. Instead she thought for a moment he had gone wandering again, until she realised that he was curled up under the coat and was fast asleep – next to Davy’s corpse.
She felt sick. Sick of worry, sick of heartache, sick to her stomach of the world and everyone in it.
Mayhew stumbled into her, clutching his hands to his sides. Lavender bit back a snappy response and took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. At least while Carson was asleep and in her sight he couldn’t come to much harm; not if she could help it.
She was seized by a sudden dread. Ignoring Mayhew’s obvious need for attention, she dropped to her knees at Carson’s side and pulled back the coat, expecting to find a bloody puncture wound or some other mortal injury. There was no obvious sign that anything was wrong. Pressing two fingers to his wrist, she found his pulse, faint but definite. She sank back onto her heels, weak with the relief. The nut job hadn’t paid a call while she had been busy elsewhere, then.
She turned to Mayhew. He was as white as a sheet, standing shakily. She felt a blush of shame; the man was in bad shape, he needed tending to.
She helped him first to sit, then to lie down, away from the others. Gently pushing his hand aside, she took a closer look at the wound the Thinker had inflicted.
Runnels of skin had been torn like strips of paper across his lower abdomen. The ruched flesh dangled like bloody streamers, revealing furrows filled with blood so dark it was almost black welling deep in the wound. It needed cleaning with antiseptic, at least two layers of stitching and a week’s worth of antibiotics, minimum. The best Lavender had to offer was a wash with some water from the river and a rough bandage torn out from one of the items of clothing they had stashed in the case. Mayhew had begun to sweat, whether from exhaustion or pain she could not tell. Hoping that he would not fall into a fever, she covered him with the remaining coats, bundled a jumper under his head for a pillow and let him rest.
The river beckoned. She found the bottle of Naylor’s Budget Washing Up Liquid, selected some appropriate looking items from the selection of clothes and stripped then and there. The time for worrying about privacy was long gone. Besides, Davy was dead, Carson was oblivious and Mayhew was too wracked with pain to pay her any attention. The thought that the watching psycho might have eyes on her at that very moment crossed her mind, but she decided that she didn’t care. Right now, what she wanted more than anything in the world was to feel clean again.
Bottle in hand, she turned and stepped down into the cold water, relishing the feel of it against her skin. She waded deeper in, the cooling water lapping her thighs, splashing her belly.
“You can kiss my arse!” she shouted to the wide-open space around her, just in case the psycho was still out there somewhere, watching. She slapped her backside with her free hand as she did so, “Kiss my arse, you freak show! You get between me and my bathing and I’ll drown you before I wash my hair!”
Then she laughed; a sorrowful little sound that was stolen away by her gasps as she ventured deeper into the water, taking her breath away.
*
It felt indescribably wonderful to be free of those filthy, clinging clothes. To have soap and water on her face and in her hair. She stayed in the river for as long as she dared, keeping one eye on the men on the bank, the other on what she was doing. It was only when the refreshing coolness of the water turned to chilliness, then to cold, that she finally returned to dry land.
She had to drip dry, shaking herself like a wet dog. The feeling of freedom dissipated and instead she began to feel vulnerable and exposed. When she was reasonably dry she dressed hurriedly. The clothes she had chosen, a pair of cord jeans, a T-shirt and a pull-on hoody, were not too bad a fit, the hoody comfortably loose. She slipped her feet into a fresh pair of trainers, looted from the boot of the bus, enjoying the padded feeling underfoot. Her own boots had worn thin from overuse and were caked with the foul detritus of the last few days. Without a second thought she picked them up and tossed them into the river.
She went to the shopping trolley and pulled out the first ring-pull tin she laid her hands on; macaroni cheese. She was almost dribbling by the time she got the tin open. She scooped fingerfuls out, and spooned them into her mouth. The first mouthful was a shock to the taste buds, it being the richest meal she had eaten in a long time. She thought about waking Carson and sharing it with him, then decided it was probably better to let him sleep. Then she thought how it would have been even nicer to eat it hot.
“I don’t believe it!” she murmured aloud, lowering the near-empty can to her lap, “all this trouble and you didn’t even bring the lousy frying pan back!”
She turned to Mayhew, expecting to find she was talking to a sleeping man. He gave her a wan smile and said, in a weak voice, “Sorry, I was a little distracted,”
*
Filthy whore! Dirty, low-life slut! Removing her clothes like that, in full view of the men. Parading in front of them as naked as the day she was born. Laughing like a child, except I know how to shut children up. I know how to silence cheap little harlots and scummy little tramps good and proper.
*
Mayhew was coping with the pain better than Lavender had expected. Although he was keeping his sentences short to save breath, they had managed to agree between them that staying where they were was a bad idea.
“We’re a pair of hands down now Magda’s gone,” Lavender said, grimacing at the memory. She continued hurriedly, “You can’t carry anything heavy with that injury.”
“I can push the trolley no problem, it’s not that heavy. Besides, it’ll give me something to lean on, keep me upright,”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure, you can’t do this all on your own Lavender,”
She chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully, looking over at Carson still sleeping peacefully next to a dead man, “I don’t know how useful he will be. Maybe if I give him something easy to carry, the bottles and the bag of food. He should be okay with that,” she looked up and met Mayhew’s eyes with her own. It was the first time she had ever come close to admitting that something was very wrong with Carson.
Mayhew gave her a sad smile of understanding, “It’s been coming for a long time Lavender, you know that don’t you? That’s why Magda was beginning to have doubts about his leadership quality. It was nothing personal, though I do think she went about it the wrong way. Hell, what am I saying? The poor woman was pulled apart in front of my eyes, I can hardly use her as a scapegoat now, can I? The fact is, we all saw how confused he was becoming, any one of us could have spoken to you about it sooner. We should have. I should have. I’m sorry,”
Lavender shrugged, “It’s not your fault, it’s this fucked up world we’re living in now. His mind’s just had too much to take in. It’s overloaded, made him weak,”
“Maybe,” Carson said doubtfully, “It’s a miracle we haven’t all gone bat-shit crazy by now, given what we’ve been through. But I am not so sure that’s all it is with Carson, Lavender. Look, all I’m saying is I saw something very similar in both my grandfather and my father before they died,”
“Carson’s not going to die,”
“Lavender, I know you two are…”
“I said he’s not going to die. Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?”
Mayhew sagged, defeated, “Of course, let’s leave it there. So, what do you have in mind?”
Lavender stood, hands on hips, looking thoughtfully out over the river.
“We head out of town, find somewhere safe and just stay there until you two are recovered,” she refused to look at him, not wanting to see the look on his face, “You push the trolley, like you said. Cars
on can carry the bottles and bag, we’ll wear the coats and I’ll carry everything else,”
“It’s too much, it will wear you out and slow us down,”
“Really? You think in your current condition you can out-walk me?”
Mayhew sighed, “Okay, point taken,”
“Besides, remember how excited you were when we found all this stuff? It’s too valuable to just dump, and I am sure as hell not coming back here to look for it later. Look what happened when you tried that with a frying pan! No, we’ll manage. Here, I’ll bring the trolley over to you. Get yourself up while I wake Carson.
*
They headed out over the bridge a third time, giving the strewn remains of Magda a wide berth. Lavender had argued that there were probably not any more zombies on the bridge – if there had been, they would have come running when the first one attacked. It was the easiest way over the river too, unless Mayhew felt like walking miles up or downstream in the search for another crossing; one they had not yet had the chance to recce.
Lavender was out in front, struggling with the heavy suitcase and the cooking things, wearing a coat that was far too long for her. Carson was close behind her, a sullen look on his face, the bottles and food in his possession. Mayhew brought up the rear, now pushing, now leaning on the shopping trolley.
They were about two-thirds of the way across when Lavender heard a trundling noise over the rush of the river. It was coming from behind them. She set down the case and turned around, drawing Carson in close to her. Mayhew stopped too, already glad of the chance to rest.
There was movement, accompanied by a grating squeaking noise, coming from the other end of the bridge. Lavender’s heart sank. An attack now would surely mean the death of the three of them. Resolving to jump into the river and take Carson with her rather than be bitten, she shrugged off the oversized coat and stepped forward, squinting.
The figure approached, the squeak becoming louder. Not a zombie after all; just a man pushing some kind of cart. He didn’t appear to have noticed them and was trundling along unawares, his head down as he manoeuvred between vehicles.
The rattling and squeaking of the cart grew ever louder, making Lavender uneasy. It was bound to draw attention to anyone, or anything passing.
“Hey!” she shouted, when the man was close enough to hear her. It wasn’t the most original of greetings, but it was all she could think of to say.
The man stopped dead, looking up in surprise. Lavender watched as he ran his eye over the unlikely looking trio.
“Hey yourself,” he said, his voice an odd monotone.
“Where’ve you come from?” Lavender asked.
“Everywhere and nowhere. I’ve been looking for someone to join up with, you know? It’s not easy getting by on your own these days,”
“How long have you been alone?”
“Long enough. I was with friends but the Newcomers got them, like they do,” he shrugged as if it was nothing more than an exasperating inconvenience. Something stirred in Lavender’s subconscious; something she couldn’t put a finger on.
“Newcomers?” Mayhew asked quizzically.
“Yeah, you know, zombies, undead, whatever you call them. Walking corpses. Newcomers,”
He said the word in a flat tone of finality. Lavender looked away from him into the cart.
“Why are you pushing an empty cart around?” She heard the hardness in her own voice.
The man shrugged, “Never know when it will come in handy,” he said, offering no more explanation than that.
“Where are you going?” Carson spoke up.
The man with the cart eyed him with interest, taking a fraction too long in answering.
“I know a place,” was all he said.
Lavender felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristle. The way the man spoke didn’t feel right. She saw his forearms were covered in deep lacerations, some of them fresh looking.
“Don’t suppose you’d be willing to sell your cart in exchange for some food, would you?” Mayhew asked.
“Sell it? No, it’s too useful. I’d maybe hire it out though. What food have you got?”
“Wait a minute,” Lavender raised a hand, “Just hang on Mayhew,”
“Lavender, look at us. We’ve barely made it across the bridge. I’m in so much pain I can hardly stand, Carson’s wandering like a lost sheep and you’re struggling, don’t tell me you’re not. That cart is big enough to hold all of this stuff. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t jump at the chance to travel light because I won’t believe you,”
He turned back to the man with the hand cart, “So how about it then? Would you be willing to hire it out in exchange for a hot meal and some company tonight, provided we can join you at your place until tomorrow?
The man eyed Mayhew closely. His gaze wandered across to Carson.
“A hot meal and some company in exchange for one day’s loan of my cart and a place for the night? All right, it’s a deal. I’m not pushing it though, it’s your load not mine,”
“Done!” Mayhew said, pulling the trolley over to the cart, sweating profusely, “Let’s get this stuff on board then,”
*
They rolled on, the squeaking slightly lessened by the weight in the cart. Trying not to let it irritate her, Lavender had to admit that the going was a lot easier now, though she wasn’t entirely sure of the stranger. She slipped her hand into Carson’s, who rewarded her with a warm smile of loving recognition. She felt a surge of affection for him and squeezed his hand gently.
“What’s your name?” She spoke to the man’s back. Despite his claim that he wouldn’t be pushing the cart he was doing just that, standing alongside Mayhew and adding his weight and strength to the injured man’s efforts.
“Noble,” the man called back over his shoulder.
“Noble?” Lavender repeated. The name didn’t seem to fit him, “What’s your first name?”
“Noble will do just fine. Just Noble,” he said, not deigning to turn, “What are your names?”
Lavender let Mayhew do the introductions as they walked. She was tired of explaining the origin of her name, plus she wanted to try and order her thoughts.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful for the cart and another pair of hands, it just didn’t sit well with her that the man turned up when he did. It was almost too great a coincidence and as her mother used to say, if it looked too good to be true then, generally speaking, it was.
Trouble was, no one else seemed to have any objection. Mayhew and Noble weren’t exactly chatting, Mayhew was too distracted by his pain and pushing the cart was hard work, but she could see there was no tension between them. She glanced at Carson, who looked for all the world as if he was out for an early evening stroll.
Early evening. Just a couple more hours of light. They had to get to Noble’s place, wherever it might be, before dusk.
*
The roads gradually gave way to country lanes, the town falling behind them. Lavender wasn’t sure if the narrowness of the pathways was comforting or alarming. Untended for so long, hedgerows and bushes had been left to grow wild, reducing once neat roads to little more than overgrown tracks. Grass and moss were pleasantly soft and cool underfoot, and it lessened the noise of the cart’s wheels, but in places brambles and branches stretched so far out into the road that they reached the hedge the other side, forming a sort of untidy arch. It wasn’t likely that there was a zombie or two hiding in amongst the hedgerow, but then Lavender had witnessed a lot of things that she would once have thought very unlikely indeed.
Carson was still shuffling along beside her, holding her hand like an obedient child. Mayhew had slowed down considerably. Lavender herself was bone-weary, the exertions of another demanding day beginning to take their toll.
“Why don’t you get in the cart too?” Noble suddenly spoke out of nowhere.
Lavender blinked; was he talking to her? She saw not when, to her surprise, Mayhew nodded his head in gratitude and without a
word of argument, settled himself into the cart amongst their new-found belongings.
It was testament to just how bad his wound really was, she judged, deciding not to make an issue of it. She went to help Noble push the cart. The man pushed her hand away none too gently. He rounded on her, his eyes flashing, betraying his otherwise reasonable words,
“No need for you to trouble yourself, I’m used to pushing this thing,”
Lavender was taken aback. She didn’t like the way the man looked at her. Neither Carson nor Mayhew had seen it. The old Carson would have given him a piece of his mind. Come to think of it, so would the old Lavender, she thought ruefully.
She watched with a growing sense of helplessness as Carson took up the place where Mayhew had just been. The men pushed on together, Lavender falling behind into the encroaching darkness.
The road they had been walking was on a slowly increasing gradient. By the time they reached the top both Carson and Noble were panting slightly. Mayhew appeared to have fallen asleep, as uncomfortable as it looked, wedged in between the trolley and the suitcase.
Lavender eased her way past the cart, being sure to go Carson’s side, to crest the brow. She looked down into the dip below.
A large, white farmhouse nestled into the hillside opposite. It loomed white in the falling evening, all too easy to imagine how picturesque it must once have been.
“Is this your place?” Lavender asked Noble. The man nodded and grunted.
“It’s safe?”
Another nod and grunt.
“When were you last here?”
“A few days ago,” the man said begrudgingly.
“A few days? So you don’t really know if it’s safe or not then, do you? Anyone could have moved in by now,”
The man straightened, becoming noticeably taller than Lavender, his slouching attitude gone, “Best we go and find out then,” he said.
Newcomers
Carson’s head ached. What had started as a dull throb somewhere over his left eye had become an insistent pounding in his temple, blurring his vision and making it hard to concentrate. It was beginning to get dark. He looked down at Mayhew asleep in the cart and saw he was injured, blood soaking through rudimentary bandages. He tried to remember how the man had come by his injury, and more to the point, when he had come to be pushing the cart, to find he couldn’t. He simply couldn’t remember. He felt a rush of panic, casting about him for Lavender. She was up ahead, peering down into the valley, her back turned to him. His heart rate slowed a little; she was still there.
Sleep, Think, Die (Book 2): The Undertaking Page 12
