Lisa’s daughter was only fourteen. She should have been preparing herself for her summer exams, worrying about boys she fancied at school, and looking forward to seeing her favourite group at a concert. She shouldn’t have been stuck in a cold caravan, held against her will, and then hearing her mother being raped, and then stabbed to death herself afterwards. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t normal.
Lisa wiped her eyes and blew a long breath out.
She licked her arid lips and pulled herself up on her feet. She had no idea where she was going. She wanted to avoid the road for fear of being exposed and attacked, but remaining in the woods was stifling and hardly a breeze could be felt. She hoped that her walk through the woodland would eventually bring her to a place or a cabin that had something that could keep her going.
She walked a few yards and could hear the sounds of birds above her, but her ears picked up something else, something that gave her a shot of adrenaline through her tired body. It sounded like... No, surely not. It sounded like ... running water.
She smiled and increased her pace in the direction of where the sound was coming from. There were so many trees that it was impossible to see if there was anything up ahead, so she had to rely on her ears. Her pace increased the more the sound of running water grew, and her walk slowly turned into a jog.
There it was.
A brook could be seen, and Lisa ran the rest and fell to her knees at the edge, cupped her hands in and began to drink the icy water. She knew that the water wasn’t perfect, probably needed purifying before drinking, but she didn’t care. If she contracted diarrhoea, then so be it. She didn’t care at this very moment. She just wanted the feeling of dehydration to go away: the dry mouth, feeling weak, and the pounding head. She was quite happy to swap that for a day of sickness and diarrhoea, if the water was polluted in some way.
She took five generous gulps, one after the other, and then she splashed her face to cool herself down. That wasn’t enough.
She held her breath and slowly dipped her face into the icy running stream and could feel the whole of her body drop in temperature. It was a glorious feeling.
She held her breath for as long as she could, then lifted her face out of the water. She kept her eyes closed, got her breath back, and did the same again. She repeated this once more, lifted her head, and took another mouthful of water from her cupped hands, then combed her wet hair back with her fingers. She decided to have one last dip, then walk further into the woods by following the brook, but a sound coming from her left had disturbed her.
She twisted her neck and could see three figures heading her way. All three looked like males. Their walking was clumsy, like three drunks on a Saturday night, and one staggered to the left so much that Lisa thought it was going to fall over.
She stood to her feet, knowing that these three figures were Canavars, and didn’t want to risk running around them, in case she fell and they caught up with her. That’s not how she wanted her life to end. She knew that millions of people had died that way, especially in the early weeks and months of this crisis, but not her. It wasn’t going to happen to her.
Lisa decided to run the way she came, and took a look over her shoulder to see that she was making good ground on the docile beasts. She tripped over an exposed tree root, but never panicked, as she knew the three dead were quite a distance away.
She got to her feet, brushed herself down, and had a look to see the three hadn’t given up, but were nearly twenty yards away. She could now hear an engine in the distance. If she went out onto the road now, the person or persons in the vehicle would see her, but if she waited for the vehicle to pass, the Canavars would get her, or at least be dangerously near.
She waited and could see the dead getting nearer and the sound of the engine getting louder. She held her breath, watching the dead getting closer and closer, but the vehicle hadn’t passed yet. They were getting too close.
“Oh, fuck it!” she snapped, and ran out onto the road, away from the Canavars, and could see a car hurtling towards her. She jumped before making impact and her body hit the windscreen.
Chapter Eleven
The vehicle did a steady thirty and it appeared that Dicko didn’t seem to be in much of a rush to get back. Simon didn’t say anything. Thirty miles per hour was more than enough for him. Who knew what was around every bend, or if there was anything or anyone waiting to jump out from the trees at the side of the road?
“Five minutes and we’ll be there,” Dicko announced.
Simon rubbed the palms of his hands across his face and released an exasperated sigh.
“What’s up with you?” Dicko snickered. “You look like somebody has taken a piss on your bran flakes.”
Simon moaned, “You’re starting to sound like Yoler.”
“I’m just trying to lighten the mood.” Dicko took a sharp bend and guessed that they were just under half a mile away now. “You’re gonna have to lighten up.”
“Mate, really?” Simon turned his head to the right, unsure whether Dicko was serious with his statement. Simon had lost his daughter only a month ago. Everybody was aware of that, so why was this guy telling him to lighten up? Had his heart gone cold as the last twelve months passed?
“Dicko,” Simon began. “Don’t tell me to lighten up, mate. I lost my daughter only four weeks ago or so. She was the last person in the world that I had left and now she’s gone.”
“Okay, so maybe I was being a little heartless with that statement—”
“A little?”
“I ... we don’t want you to fall into a pit of depression, that’s all.”
“We? So I’m the talk around the campfire then, eh?”
“We’ve had a chat,” Dicko admitted. “We’ve all had a chat about it, even Donald and Helen.”
“Oh?” Simon dipped his head and seemed unsure how to feel about Dicko’s admission. Should he feel betrayed?
He didn’t know how he felt, but it was certainly a negative feeling that smothered him. After all, people he lived with had been talking behind his back.
“Don’t take offence,” said Dicko. He glanced to the side and could see the look on Simon’s face. “We’re just worried about you, okay?”
Simon never responded.
Dicko had another glance to the side and was about to ask Simon if he was okay, but an outburst from Simon Washington prevented that.
“Look out!” Simon cried.
Dicko faced forwards quickly, hearing his neck crack, and slammed on the brakes as soon as his eyes clocked a female human being out in the road and yards from the bonnet. She released a shriek, jumped up, and hit the windscreen, then rolled off the car and landed on the tarmac once the car came to a stop.
Both men panted hard, as if they had just stepped off a treadmill, and gazed at one another, then faced the front to see the person that they hit was trying to scramble to their feet. Dicko slipped the vehicle into neutral and took his feet off the clutch and brake pedals.
“Who the fuck is that?” Simon yelled.
Dicko twisted his face at Simon’s ridiculous question. He gazed at his passenger and said, “It’s Rita. The woman from the coffee shop at Silverburn.”
“Really?”
“No, of course not.” Dicko shook his head. “How the fuck should I know who it is?”
Simon opened his door, prompting Dicko to ask where he was going.
Simon never responded.
Dicko also left the vehicle, and had his hand placed on the holster where his trench knife was, just in case the individual that they had hit turned hostile.
The female eventually picked herself up off of the floor, rubbed her throbbing neck, and then looked up and clocked the two men. She stood, hunched over, and looked like a scared cat, a trapped cat.
“It’s alright, love,” Dicko said, and held out his hand. “We won’t harm you. Are you okay?”
The woman looked agitated and remembered the last time she was alone with men. She ran to
the side, entering the right side of the woods. Simon took a step forwards, but Dicko told him to let her go.
“She might need help,” said Simon.
“Well, let her get it somewhere else. We have enough mouths to feed.”
Simon gazed into the woods and watched as the woman slowly disappeared, the greenery eventually swallowing her up. “I hope she’s okay,” he mumbled.
Both men returned to the vehicle, this time not putting their belts on, and Dicko pulled the vehicle away as soon as it was ready to go.
“Look!” Simon nodded. “Canavars.”
Dicko slowed down and looked in the direction Simon was looking. Three of the dead stumbled out of the woods, behind their vehicle, and Dicko increased the speed of the vehicle by pressing on the gas pedal.
He said, “Maybe that explains why she was in such a rush.”
“Or maybe she was scared of us,” Simon said.
Dicko never responded, and this time increased the speed of the vehicle, despite what had just happened.
Six minutes later they were back at the farm.
Chapter Twelve
Helen Willis had been boiling the water outside. She didn’t mind drinking the water that had been purified, but when it came to David, she preferred to boil the water and it had taken her an hour just to build and light the damn fire.
Once the water began to boil, she took the pan off and took it into the kitchen. She kicked sand over the fire, killing it off in seconds, and could hear the purr of an engine. She didn’t panic. She knew it was Simon and Dicko. She didn’t know how, she just knew.
She stood still and waited for the car to park up at the side of the house. As soon as she saw the recognisable vehicle pull up, she smiled as the two men got out.
Dicko and Simon walked away from the vehicle. Helen received a nod of the head from Dicko as he walked by and went into the house. Simon’s welcome was warmer and he asked if she was okay.
“I’m fine.” She nodded. “The house is kind of quiet without you guys around.”
“Ah,” Simon laughed. “Were you missing us?”
Helen blushed. “Well ... I was missing you.”
“Oh.” Simon stood awkwardly and began to scratch the back of his head. This time he was the one to blush, and didn’t know what to do with himself, whether to continue the conversation or not.
He didn’t want to just walk back into the house. Wouldn’t that hurt Helen’s feelings? But what else could he do? Kiss her? He really liked Helen, but his wife had only been dead for months and Imelda had passed away four weeks ago. A relationship was the last thing he needed, and even thinking about being with Helen sparked off an avalanche of guilt.
It seemed like an eternity before he responded to Helen’s remark, but when he did, he said, “And I’ve missed you, too.”
“Didn’t you manage to get anything?” Helen asked him, changing the topic to Simon’s relief.
“Not much. It was a waste of time really.”
“Oh?”
“There wasn’t much at the industrial estate. We managed to siphon a car on the way back.” Simon gazed at Helen’s dark eyes. God, he thought. She was so lovely.
“Why don’t you come inside?”
Simon nodded, and then he clicked his fingers as if he had remembered something. “Oh, I forgot.”
“What?”
Simon never answered and went back over to the vehicle. Simon tried the boot of the car and was pleased that Dicko hadn’t locked it before he went inside, and pulled out a large bag of tea bags and the coffee. He closed the boot and went back over to Helen, holding the stuff, and she smiled.
“Well, that’s good timing,” she said. “I’ve just boiled some water.”
Simon smiled. “Great. I could murder a coffee.”
“Me too.”
The pair of them stepped into the kitchen and began making drinks. Helen asked Yoler and Dicko, who were sitting down in the living room, if they wanted a hot drink. Yoler and Dicko wanted tea. Yoler told Helen that Donald was upstairs, having a lie down, and that it would probably be for the best if they didn’t disturb him.
A few minutes had passed, and Helen and Simon exited the kitchen, both holding a cup in each hand. Young David was at the table, drawing a picture.
Simon could feel his throat tighten. Seeing David at the table reminded him of the short time that Imelda stayed here. He was sitting in the same place where Imelda used to sit. Simon still kept the pictures that she had drawn, in the top drawer at his side of the bed, as well as the message she had written before Yoler ended her life.
For two minutes, chatter amongst the adults took place, and Helen was the first to look up to the ceiling when the sounds of feet could be heard.
“Looks like Donald’s up,” she remarked.
They heard the sounds moving across the living room floor and now heading downstairs. The door opened and Donald stepped in, anger etched on his face.
“You’re awake then?” Helen said.
“Didn’t have much of a choice,” he snarled. “Fucking racket you lot were making.”
“Simon and Dicko were telling me that they bumped into a woman, quite literally.” Helen began to laugh.
“What’re you going on about?” Donald rubbed his face, still tired.
“We were coming back from the run,” Dicko began. “And this woman came out of the woods and we hit her.”
“What?”
“She’s okay. But she ran away, and we found out why.”
Donald huffed impatiently and asked, “Why? Or do I have to guess?”
“Three Canavars were chasing her. They came out of the woods as we drove away, only a few minutes from here.”
“You... You...” Donald placed his hand on his head and couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You didn’t kill them?”
“They’re already dead, Donnie,” snickered Yoler.
“Okay, smart arse,” Donald snapped and added, “And it’s Donald, not fucking Donnie, sugar tits.”
“Donald,” Helen spoke up. “Watch your language in front of David.”
Donald looked over at the youngster at the table, but he wasn’t aware of the conversation that was going on. He was too busy drawing.
“I can’t believe you left them. You said yourself ... only a few minutes from here.”
“So?” Yoler shrugged her shoulders. “What’s your point, Don-meister?”
Donald bit his bottom lip in anger, and then said, “What happens if they come here and catch us off our guard, you dig what I’m sayin’?” He glared at Simon. “Don’t you remember what happened to your little girl?”
“Of course I fucking do, mate.” Simon’s blood began to boil and he went to stand up to confront Donald, but Dicko quickly stood up and pushed him back into the seat.
“Let’s not do this, guys,” said Dicko.
A stare-off began between Donald Brownstone and Simon Washington, and neither one of them looked to be backing down. Eventually Donald did; he shook his head at Simon and mockingly snickered.
Donald patted his pocket to make sure his knife was there and announced that he was going out at the front for some air. He left via the front door and slammed it shut, leaving everybody else to gaze at one another in quiet.
“He certainly knows how to a kill an atmosphere,” Yoler guffawed.
“Maybe he has a point,” Helen said. “You know, about the three dead. I don’t want David playing out the back if those three things are around.”
“We wouldn’t leave him alone, unsupervised,” said Simon. “Especially with what happened to Imelda.”
“I’ll go and talk to him,” said Dicko.
“Maybe you should leave him for a few minutes,” Yoler suggested. “Let him calm down.”
“I’ll go anyway.” Dicko opened the front door and stepped outside, shutting it gently behind him.
Chapter Thirteen
Still raging, Donald Brownstone stood outside with his arms folded. He
could see to his left and right that the road was clear, and decided to keep the knife in his pocket. He was aware that something could come out of the woodland from the other side of the road, but knew he would have time to react if he needed to.
Donald took in deep breaths to calm himself down. He knew he had a temper, and he didn’t want it to ruin things for him. If they kicked him out of the house, which was a possibility, where would he go? He could go back to his old camp in the woods and live alone, but it depended on what kind of bloody mess it was in.
Donald still stood at the end of the drive, on the pavement of the main road, and could hear footsteps coming from behind him.
He felt a presence standing next to him and turned to the side to see it was Dicko.
“Is this you coming out to see if I’ve calmed down?” Donald asked.
“Kind of.” Dicko smiled.
“I think it was stupid not to put down those three Canavars, especially if they weren’t so far away from here.”
“It was just the three,” Dicko sniffed. “If we somehow took away all the trees from the woods in this area, you’d probably find that there’re dozens, possibly hundreds of those things around here. It’s like flies. You don’t see them around, but as soon as a noise appears or a dead body, they turn up in numbers.”
“Beautifully put,” Donald mocked. “Very poetic.”
“I can understand why you kicked off, especially after what happened to Imelda.”
Donald lowered his head and muttered, “I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt, especially if it’s avoidable.”
“By anyone else, you mean Helen and David?”
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