"Just try and remember," he said. "She's already gone."
Karen tearfully nodded, and closed her eyes once Pickle drove it in. Her eyes remained closed when he pulled it back out again, and Karen immediately took her hands off of his.
He stood up and went over to the kitchen, and put the knife straight into the pedal bin without looking at it. He asked Karen, "Do yer want some time to yerself before we move her?"
She never answered him verbally, she just nodded her head.
Pickle stepped out into the morning sun, shut the door behind him, and strolled by the carnage. He saw Vince and a couple of men a few yards away, to his left. They hadn't seen him, but he needed to do something before he met up with them and began clearing up.
He walked into his unlocked caravan and headed for the bedroom. He took in a deep breath, sat down at the side of the bed, and then began massaging the temples with his forefingers. He was getting a headache, and he wasn't sure if it was the macabre morning that he and the rest of the residents had just experienced, or that he was dehydrated.
Maybe it was both.
He had fixed himself and Karen a drink earlier in her caravan, but had just remembered that he never touched it. He hadn't had a drink of any kind since yesterday.
He removed his machete from his belt and gently placed it on the side-table, then he began massaging his temples once again. It was a pain that he had never experienced before, and for a second he envisaged having a brain haemorrhage. That would have been typical, he thought: Surviving six weeks of this, and then dying of something that some would call 'natural causes.'
He lay on the bed and broke down, sobbing into his pillow. His heartbreak wasn't just for Shaz, it was for everybody.
It was for the people who had lost their lives on the camp, for everyone across the country who had gone through hell. He cried for KP, Davina Pointer, Jamie Thomson, Janine Perry, Kerry Evans, Thomas and Jack Slade, Shaz—everyone that he had come into contact with.
This is hopeless. This whole situation is hopeless.
Curled up, still sobbing like a baby, Harry Branston howled, "Oh God! Why? Why?"
Seven minutes later, he pulled himself together and left the caravan, looking for Vincent Kindl.
Chapter Forty Five
Bentley's car had entered Rugeley. His vehicle turned right at the roundabout, passing a pub called the Stag's Leap, and headed for the heart of the town centre, Globe Island. He knew it was risky going this way; there was danger everywhere, but at least he was carrying Glen, his Glock 17.
"Do you think this camp, where your dad's at, will take us in?"
Helen half-shrugged. "I hope so. I don't know where else to go."
"Neither do I." Bentley thought about his old house and remembered the last day he was in it. He was flicking through the channels after hearing about what was happening. He wondered if he should try and go back to his old home. But he still needed supplies of some kind. Now that his short-lived set-up that he and Laura once lived had hit the shitter, he was now convinced that maybe being in numbers was the safest way to go. The dead were bad enough, but thugs like the Murphy family and other desperados, who were law abiding citizens in the old world, were a danger, even to a man with a handgun.
"Wait a minute." Bentley eased his foot off the gas as he approached the roundabout, and saw a man with his arms waving. The vehicle came to a stop.
"You sure about this?" Helen looked agitated. "Just drive on. The Spode Cottage is only two miles from here."
"Hang on." Bentley held his hand up. "Let's see what the man has to say."
Bentley wound the window down and stuck his head out, although his left hand was on the Glock's handle, ready for the unexpected.
"Where you headed?" the man asked.
"I didn't realise you owned the road." Bentley tried to make a joke.
The man took it well and added, "I stay just there." He pointed at a blockade and turned back to Bentley and smiled when he noticed Helen in the passenger seat. "We've managed to clean it up, but this area was mental a few weeks ago with the Wasters."
"I could imagine."
"You headed somewhere special?"
"Spode Cottage, near Armitage." Bentley pointed at Helen. "We had no idea where to go, but she lost everybody and wants to see her father. He lives a few miles from here." If he's still around.
The man began to laugh and Bentley sensed that this wasn't a good sign, so he had to ask, "Something I said?"
"That area is swarming. I'd turn back if I were you."
"James!" a voice called out. It was a man standing by the barrier, holding a sword of some kind. "Who're you talking to?"
The James character called over, "Some guy and chick wants to find safety at the Spode Cottage."
The man also began to laugh. "It's too dangerous."
"Can you suggest anywhere else?" Bentley called over to the watchman at the blockade.
"Yeah," the man shouted. "Here! But we don't just let anyone in. We'll need to vote on it. Stay there for a few minutes, and I'll send some guys over to check you both out."
Bentley turned to a disappointed-looking Helen. It appeared that she wasn't going to be meeting up with her father today. Bentley said, "It's either this, or back out of this town."
She nodded, but never verbally responded.
*
Pickle had teamed up with Vince and two other guards and began assessing the damage of the caravan site. The caravan that had exploded was still smouldering and one of the guards, Geoff, who had pulled the trigger, still looked racked with guilt. Vince had been kind to Geoff, despite his serious faux pas, and knew that with the panic and the adrenaline running, it was something that could have happened to any one of them. Being responsible for killing two elderly ladies was tormenting the poor guy as it was, and Vince thought that reprimanding him further was a waste of time.
"Okay," Vince began. "Gail Kelly and Shaz will be buried near where Jack is. The rest, including the Rotters, can be burned. We'll take them to the usual place by the Plum Pudding pub, outside the barrier, and burn them there."
Pickle gave Vince a look of concern.
Vince tried to explain, "It doesn't cause too much smoke. We've done this before, and besides, if a couple of those things do turn up it'll be the explosion that did it."
Satisfied with Vince's response, Pickle nodded. "Me and Geoff will start moving the bodies. Anyone seen David Chatting yet?"
"Not yet. Get some others to help with the clearing up." Vince ordered, "Tell them that it's now safe. I'm going to look for David myself."
Pickle asked, "What do yer want me to do?"
"Take Gail Kelly to the other corner of the hedge, where she's gonna get buried. I don't want Jasmine to see her. And be careful. Don't pick her up, just drag her. Those things ripped her open, so if you pick her up her insides might...spill out."
"Yer want me to dig her grave as soon as possible?"
Vince nodded the once. "That would be great, Pickle. I'm gonna go around, check on the people after I've looked for David. Let's move."
The guards dispersed and Vince walked the opposite way, leaving Pickle standing alone. He muttered to himself, "And where the fuck am I gonna find a shovel?"
Pickle took a hold of Gail's body and dragged it near Jack's grave. He then looked around and saw the net curtains twitch in a caravan where the Dicksons were staying. He went over to the caravan and gently knocked the door. Paul opened it immediately. He was shaking and Pickle could hear gentle cries in the background.
Pickle said, "Vince will be around in a moment to tell yer that it is all over."
Paul revealed a relieved smile and called over his shoulder, "It's okay, big chap. It's all over. We're safe again."
The little man appeared from the back bedroom; he had the door open and was staring out, but he never left. Pickle waved, and Kyle Dickson waved back.
"Were there any fatalities?" Paul asked in a whisper, aware that Kyle was a few me
tres behind him.
Pickle bobbed his head and answered, "A few. Did yer hear that explosion?"
"Hear it? I think people in the next town probably heard it."
Pickle thought that Paul's statement was an over-exaggeration, but remained tight-lipped about it. "Anyway, I wanted to know if yer have a spade, or somethin' similar."
"I'll have a look." Paul began looking around the small place while Pickle remained outside, patiently waiting. Paul returned and said, "All I have is this." He handed him a small-handle shovel that was used for collecting rubbish.
"Fuck it, that'll do." Pickle took it off Paul and marched over to the hedge, dropped it, then went over to the mutilated body of Gail Kelly. He took a look at the poor woman. He could imagine what her death must have been like; he had seen it before with his own eyes. "Fuckin' shame."
He looked at the grass beneath his feet, then to the right at Jack's shallow grave, and sighed. This was going to be hard work. He began to dig.
*
Vince had looked everywhere for David and had only one more place to look: The Spode Cottage. He pulled out a key from his back pocket and opened the main door to the place where he used to go for a drink with his friend, Lee James.
He stepped into an area that used to be the lounge, and checked to his left to see if the machete was still in place. The place was now filled with boxes of tins, water, and other essential accessories. He went by the stacked boxes and was struggling to find his way to the end of the room, it was like a cardboard maze.
Once he finally reached the bar area and could see it was lifeless, the toilets and the kitchens were checked. Nothing. The cellar was the only other place he could check, then after that searching for David on the camp would have to be done again.
Maybe he had left the camp, Vince thought. Maybe he had had enough.
He opened the cellar door and reached for the light switch. Vince laughed to himself on doing this. "Idiot."
There was no electricity anymore, and the small generators were hardly used. They, as well as the diesel, were being saved for the winter for the portable heaters. They did have a generator in the Spode Cottage that powered the large freezer where meat was stored from the livestock, and they needed at least 700 watts to keep that going.
He walked down the steps of the cellar and reached for the lighter in his back pocket. With one flick, the room lit up and Vince saw the body of David Chatting. His body was slumped, brains had been scattered over the large wine rack that stood behind him, and the shotgun was by his side. "You stupid little bugger."
Vince didn't have the strength to remove David himself, so he marched back up the steps and went back outside.
He could see Geoff and a volunteer trying to move Robin Barton from where he was mutilated by the chainsaw, but his body wasn't going anywhere for the time being, as the volunteer was bent over, spewing up on the grass at the horrific sight of poor Robin.
Vince marched over to Pickle, who seemed to be struggling with the grave. He looked up to see Vince and announced, "This ain't easy."
"I'll give you a hand in a minute."
Both men were distracted as the figure of Geoff came bumbling over to them, sadness scrawled over his face.
Pickle asked both Geoff and Vince, "So how many people have died?"
"Well," Vince began. "Shaz, obviously. Gina Harrison and May Worthington were in the caravan that was on fire. It seems to have died a bit now."
Geoff lowered his head shamefully at the mention of the two women he had killed. He added, "There's young Gareth Mason, Robin Barton, Henry Bowes and Trevor Barkley as well, Vince."
Vince continued, "Gail Kelly and David Chatting."
"What? David?" Geoff was stunned, and said, "But I saw him not so long ago."
"Yeah, well, he's now dead. Blew his brains out. If you want any booze in future, I suggest avoiding the red wine, until we eventually decide to waste good water and clean the place."
"I'm going to move the last few bodies," Geoff announced. "Look, about the old girls, they're still smouldering away. They'll be too hot to touch—"
"Get some water on them. We'll move them when the time's right. You better tell people to stay in their caravans for now, forget about what I said earlier, otherwise the whole place will be needing a psychiatrist."
Geoff walked away and Vince felt a slap on his arm. He turned to Pickle and queried, "What's up?"
Pickle pointed at the bottom corner of the hedge. "I thought that had been patched up."
"It had." Vince stepped over Gail Kelly's body and neared the hedge. "Well at least we know how they got in. But I still don't get it."
Pickle pulled out his machete and got on his knees, near the hole, and could see the remains of a body through the hole, on the other side. "I think I might have an idea." He began to crawl through and told Vince, "Follow me."
Chapter Forty Six
Karen took a ready-made cup of water from the sink-top and soaked the inside of her dry throat. She picked up the second cup of water that Pickle had made for himself, and drank it in one, coughing and spluttering at the end when some of the clear liquid went down the wrong way.
Her nerves had settled over the last few minutes and it was just sadness she was now being suffocated with. With the tea towel removed from her face, Shaz lay with the punctured eye on show. Karen smiled at her pretty friend as she made her way back over to her body, and placed the palm of her hand over the wounded eye. With it covered, Shaz looked like her old self again. Karen puffed out a breath of sadness and knew that if she had waited longer her friend could have changed and Shaz would not want that. Neither would Karen.
This had happened to her Gary, and although Karen had good memories of her fiancé, her last image of him was being infected, and on top of her in that living room, before she had managed to flee the house and leave the street in her Cherokee jeep.
"Wow," Karen muttered to herself. On that Sunday, where she found Gary, after her nightshift at Stafford hospital, was the tenth day of June. It was now the sixteenth of July.
It had been just over five weeks since the outbreak was officially announced. Thirty-seven days ago!
Karen daydreamed about the country getting back on its feet. If it did and she had access to a vehicle of some kind, she still wouldn't visit her mother's or her father in Glasgow. She knew they were both dead. She wouldn't want to see Gary again, but it seemed disrespectful to leave him like that. She was sure he was still in the house, unless he somehow worked out how to open a door.
She said to herself that one day she'd put him out of his misery, if ever she passed Draycott Park. It would be good to see the old house, and feel through her old clothes, and grab her engagement ring that was in her bedroom drawer.
Killing Gary would be hard, but leaving him like that, to dwell around, seemed unfair. She promised herself that she would go back. But in the meantime, she had a friend to bury.
*
Vince stood up and brushed himself down after crawling through the gap in the hedge. The first thing he could see was the horrific remains of David Watkins, his stomach had been opened up and had been completely emptied, but his head was still attached to the rest of the body. This was unusual, and both men thought that maybe the distraction of the gap in the hedge had managed to save some parts of David Watkins' body.
Both men put their T-shirts over their faces as the disgusting pong abused their noses. After five weeks, the smell of death was something that neither men had become used to.
"Shit." said Vince. "How many casualties now?"
Pickle said, "Including the two Davids." Pickle was referring to Chatting who had shot himself and Wilkes that was in front of them, "I think we have lost ten people."
"But how..?"
Pickle and Vince scanned the area like a couple of detectives, and the penny was beginning to drop with both men at what had happened. At first, there was sympathy that a fifteen-year-old boy had met a gruesome fate. But that sym
pathy had turned into anger when they both clocked the revolver lying in the grass by his side.
Both men didn't need an explanation.
After the search of Kyle Dickson, while Vince was away, the hedge had been patched up. Pickle had mentioned to Vince that Kyle had done a runner and he, David and Paul had to go looking for him. Pickle told Vince that he had to reprimand David for insisting on taking the gun he was fascinated with in the farmhouse.
It was simple what had happened. David had returned to the house via the patched up hedge, creating a bigger hole. He then went to the farm, got the gun, a horde arrived, and David Watkins was killed.
"He must have ran back for the camp," Pickle commented, standing with his head shaking in disbelief at the stupidity of the young boy.
Vince finished off the story. "And a shit load of Rotters followed him, took him down, then went through the hedge once they were finished with David."
"I don't understand." Pickle had his hands on his hips, lost in deliberation. "There was nothing here when me and Paul Dickson came looking for Kyle. There were no Snatchers at all."
The men trudged through the long grass and Vince pointed at an opened hut.
"That was closed when we were here," said Pickle.
"Maybe that's where the Rotters had come from. He must have disturbed them somehow."
Pickle lowered his head and Vince could see that Pickle had something on his mind. Vince asked him what was up, and Pickle answered, "I know he made the initial hole, but we can't blame young Kyle for this." Pickle looked around and wiped his brow with his forearm. "He had befriended a rat and wanted to see it, so he made a hole to get to the other side. He's just a kid. He didn't know what he was doing."
"I agree." Vince said philosophically. "We can't put this on the youngster. David, on the other hand, knew what he was doing. Just as well he's dead, because I would have killed him myself anyway. Shit."
Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6) Page 71