She gulped and continued, “Once we're done, we'll say a few words and…” She paused. She didn't know what else to say.
Junior at last spoke. “He's only been gone for about half an hour.”
“I know, I know.” Joan sighed and lowered her head. She felt for the teenager, she really did, but they didn't know how long the site was going to be clear for. Lloyd needed to be buried and they also had food to move from the damaged caravan.
“Why are you burying him now?” Junior snapped. There was anger in his words. “His body's still warm and you want to bury him? Already?”
Joan cleared her throat. “I know this is difficult.”
“Difficult? Oh really? Your boyfriend out there didn't hesitate putting a hammer through his skull.”
“Junior, what Gordon did prevented your dad from becoming one of them. Is that what you would have wanted? Your dad still alive but roaming around … infected? Of course it's not.”
Junior wiped his eyes and began to rub his face with the back of his hands.
“Shouldn't Marvin be burying him, his own brother?”
“Marvin said he wouldn’t be coming back.”
“Yeah, but he didn’t mean it.”
“There're two reasons why Gordon and I want to bury him now: We don't know how long the caravan site is going to be clear for, plus leaving him out there seems so ... disrespectful.”
Joan glared at the youngster and could see from his facial changes that he was slowly beginning to agree with what she had said.
She smiled thinly at the youngster and told him that she would let him know once they had finished burying his father, Lloyd Dickinson.
*
The jeep ploughed through many of the infected, and Marvin's head was thrown forwards then backwards when it came to a predictable halt.
However, it wasn't the mass of bodies that stopped the vehicle; it was the jeep swerving and crashing into a tree at the left side of the road that had stopped Marvin from progressing any further.
He rubbed his sore neck and thought for a second that he had broken it. He looked around the vehicle and couldn't see any Runners. He looked in the rear view mirror to see that many were behind and now heading his way. He stepped out and took out his knife; he winced once his feet touched the floor and could feel that the impact had damaged his left leg somehow. He didn't know if it was massive bruising or something was broken, but it certainly didn't feel right. He could see that the jeep had caused some carnage. It looked like a few were dead and there were some alive but unable to get up. There were still some of them able bodied and the confused things standing up began to run at Marvin once he was spotted.
Marvin could see that there were around fifteen heading towards him, and knew that the other nine from behind, from Waskerley, weren't far away.
“Fuck it,” he sighed. “It was a good effort, Marvin.”
He brought the knife up and turned it around. He thought about driving the blade into his heart, but despite knowing that a worse death was only seconds away, he just couldn't do it. He couldn't kill himself.
His heart galloped and his breathing was becoming quicker and shallow as the first Runner approached him. Marvin swiped at it with his blade and took a step back as it fell to the floor with its slashed throat bleeding out. He prepared himself for the next one, but knew he was fooling himself. There was no chance he could get out of this by fighting or running away.
The rest of the infected swarmed around Marvin and took him down. He dropped his knife and screamed out as he experienced the short but unbearable pain as they ripped him apart.
Chapter Twenty Nine
The grave had taken Gordon almost forty minutes to create and Joan spent the time looking out, making sure there was no sign of any Runners.
Gordon wiped his sweaty brow with his forearm and tossed the spade to the side. Joan saw this from the window. She left the caravan and stood on the steps.
“You okay?” Joan called over to him.
He nodded. “Think I'm gonna need a change of clothes.”
The door was left open and she looked inside at Junior, then turned to Gordon and asked him, “You wanna do this now?”
“Might as well.”
“Junior?” Joan smiled as Junior lifted his head. “You wanna say goodbye to your dad?”
“I don't know what to say,” he blubbed.
“Neither do we.” Joan continued to smile and added, “We’ll make it up as we go along. If we mess it up, we mess it up together. Okay?”
He nodded the once.
“Let's go then.” Joan held out her hand and urged Junior to join her and Gordon outside.
Junior rose to his feet and shuffled over to Joan, taking her hand, and the pair of them walked down the steps of the caravan and strolled over to Gordon. Still covered in sweat, Gordon Burns stood by the shallow grave and gave off a thin and sympathetic smile for the teenager.
“It was the best I could do,” Gordon said almost apologetically, nodding to the grave. “I thought ... because I was the one that put him down, I should be the one to put him to rest.”
Junior released Joan's hand and fell to his knees as he reached the grave. He sobbed, and Joan and Gordon just stood there and stared at the poor young boy, feeling helpless as he broke down in front of them. Joan began to fill with tears and Gordon was close as well, but it wasn't just for Junior; they had grown fond of Lloyd over the past couple of weeks and didn't think that he'd be the first to go.
Joan crouched down next to Junior and gave him a comforting arm. His dad had only been dead an hour. It was a lot for the youngster to take in.
“Like I said before.” Gordon cleared his throat before continuing. “I'm sorry this is all rushed, but we don't know if the same Runners or different Runners will turn up. Just leaving him out there, on the grass, didn't seem right.”
“That's okay,” Junior sniffed, composing himself. “Do you think Uncle Marvin will come back?”
Both remained silent and lowered their heads. Neither Joan nor Gordon thought that Marvin would be coming back, whatever happened, but didn't want to upset the boy any further, if that was at all possible.
“Is there a few words you want to say?” Gordon looked over at Junior, but Junior shook his head.
He said, “I don't have anything prepared.”
“Of course. I'm sorry. In normal circumstances you'd have a week or so to provide a eulogy, but...”
“Gordon, you're rambling,” Joan said with a smile.
Gordon stood with his back straight, took in a deep breath and spoke up, “I remember The Lord's Prayer from school, if you think that that will help.”
Junior shrugged his shoulders and didn't look impressed with Gordon's suggestion. “I don't really believe in God.”
“Oh, okay. Then we'll just stand here and think about your dad, about his life and how brave he was.”
“You didn't even know him,” Junior puffed.
“I know we didn't.” Gordon nodded and took in a deep breath before saying, “We only knew him for a couple of weeks, but I ... we knew he was a good man, a good father, and we're both going to miss him.”
“Sorry, Junior.” Joan placed her hand on the youngster's shoulder. “This is not the best send off, is it?”
“No, it’s okay.” The teenager looked up and gave Gordon a thin smile. “I’m sorry. You did well, it's just...”
Joan persisted, “What is it?”
“He's been dead an hour. I'm still in shock and now I'm standing by his grave. It's a lot to take in.” Junior released a sad sigh, slowly turned on his heels, and then headed back to the caravan.
Joan took an intake of breath, was about to speak, but Gordon signalled to Joan to leave the lad in peace.
Junior shut the door behind him as he entered Gordon and Joan's place, leaving the pair of them gazing at each other, unsure what to do next.
“Fancy a walk?” suggested Gordon.
Joan narrowed her eyes a
nd took a quick three-sixty scan around. “I think it's a bit dangerous to be walking around the site, don't you?”
“It's dangerous standing out here.” Gordon shrugged.
“I don't know. It's a bit silly.”
“It's clear.”
“For now.”
“You've got your knife; I've got my hammer.”
Joan released a noisy breath and said, “Fine. I'll let Junior know what we're doing.”
She walked over to the caravan and opened the door and popped her head in. Junior was lying on the couch with his back to her. She didn't know if he was asleep, trying to get to sleep, or having a tearful moment to himself.
“What is it?” he spoke softly. “I heard you coming in.”
“It's Joan.”
“What do you want?”
“Me and Gordon are going for a little walk around the site.”
“Okay.”
“We won't be long.” Joan paused and waited for a reaction off the teenager, but it never occurred. “Are you going to be okay, here on your own?”
“Fine. Just go ... please.”
Chapter Thirty
The day was growing old and the evening was now upon the three survivors. Joan, Gordon and Junior had moved the supplies into their caravan, and had eaten out of tins and washed their meal down with sodas, and were now sitting on the sofa in the living room area of the caravan.
Junior stood to his feet and told the two adults that he was going for a lie down. It was too early for sleep, and Joan and Gordon guessed that Junior wanted to grieve and cry on his own, away from the two people he hardly knew.
The curtains were open, and both wanted to keep it that way so they could see out. Any sign of any Runners would result in the curtains being drawn and the three of them hiding in one of the bedrooms.
Joan kicked off her shoes and rested her head back on the sofa. Gordon shuffled over next to her and put his hand on her thigh, and was now resting his head back as well. Both of them were slouched and looking up at the ceiling.
“It's been a shit day,” Gordon said.
Joan nodded. “It has.”
“I mean ... it's a shit day everyday, these days, but losing Lloyd...”
“I know,” Joan sighed. “I never saw that one coming.”
“Neither did I.”
“What you did…”
“Yes?”
“Was very brave.”
Gordon moaned, “Well, if I didn’t put that hammer through his head, he would have turned on us. I ducked out of shooting Sue’s son, but no more.”
“Jesus,” Joan sighed. “Sue. I’d forgot about her, and her son Tyler. That was mental shit.”
Gordon straightened up and was now sitting up straight, staring at the TV that hadn't worked in a week or so. His thoughts went to his work colleagues in Gretna and his little place where he slept every night.
He would have given his left hand to have one more night in his own place.
He turned to the side and glanced at Joan. Her head was still back, but she wasn't staring at the ceiling anymore. Her eyes were now closed.
Gordon exhaled hard, making Joan smile. She opened her eyes and asked what was wrong.
“I miss ... stuff,” was his vague answer.
“Stuff?” she laughed. “More detail, Mr Burns. What do you miss the most?”
“Everything. I miss my work colleagues, my TV, my phone ... everything.”
“I miss music.” Joan nodded. “I miss Alex Turner, and those cracking cheekbones of his.”
“Who?”
Joan giggled, “He's the singer out of the Arctic Monkeys. Gorgeous.”
“Oh.” Gordon didn't have a clue what she was talking about. “I was thinking about...”
Joan looked at Gordon after failing to finish his sentence. She said, “You were thinking about what?”
Gordon never answered and slowly stood to his feet, staring out of the living room window.
“Gordon?”
He went over to the window and slowly shut the curtains, and on seeing this Joan knew what was the matter.
“How many did you see?” she asked him.
Gordon gulped. “I think it's just the one. I can only see one.”
Joan stood next to the man and peered out through the little gap that Gordon provided. It was a male, and it was walking, looking disorientated.
Joan wasn't fooled by this. She knew that if the infected male spotted another human or even a curtain twitch, it would run towards the target quicker than she could run herself.
They were both certain they hadn't been spotted, but it was slowly heading their way.
Gordon placed his hand on Joan's shoulder and said, “Bedroom?”
“Not yet. Wait a minute.” She held up her hand and continued to look out. “Is the main door locked?”
“Of course. I left the key in the lock so we don't lose it.”
“I think it's moving away.”
Both were almost hypnotised by this single Runner and could now see that it was turning left and heading away from their caravan. It was still a fair distance away, but they could see that it was a male and had a grey beard attached to his face.
Gordon said, “If it leaves the site then that would be great. But if it stays...”
“We can handle one,” Joan said. “I reckon we should go out and deal with it anyway.”
“Let's see where it goes first.”
They watched as the infected man turned around and started to head towards the exit, away from Gordon and Joan. A noise came from behind the pair of them and both turned and gasped to see Junior stomping towards them.
He asked them, “What're you looking at?”
He poked his head through the curtains, prompting Gordon to tell Junior to be careful that he's not seen.
“Have you only spotted the one?” he asked the pair of them.
Both nodded and both continued to stare out.
“I think it's going away now,” said Gordon. “I reckon by the time—”
They both heard a door slam behind them and then looked at each other in confusion.
Junior was nowhere to be seen.
Gordon then checked out of the window and could see Junior jogging towards the Runner.
He cried, “What the fuck is that little shit doing?”
Joan pulled the curtain back and exclaimed, “Idiot!”
Both adults ran to the main door and reached outside. They ran after Junior, pulling out knives, and called after him. They were thirty yards from the youngster and were struggling to catch up with him. The Runner turned and spotted Junior. It snarled and then began to run at him. Junior stopped moving and pulled out a blade he had taken from the kitchen before exiting the caravan, and then started running towards the infected male.
“He doesn't have it in him to do it,” Joan cried out, now fearing the worst.
“Then why is he running towards it?” yelled Gordon.
“Shit!” Joan screamed out.
Both were thinking the same: was Junior so overcome with grief that he had decided to end it all by becoming infected? Wouldn't it have been better to have killed himself instead?
The Runner grabbed Junior and both males went to the ground. Joan and Gordon stopped running and stood in aghast, eleven yards away from Junior and the Runner, and could see the Runner on top of the fourteen-year-old, snarling and gnashing. It had its back to them and they couldn't see the face of either one of them.
It was only a matter of time before Junior was bitten, surely, they thought.
A snarl, followed by a male scream pierced the ears of a panting Joan Burnley and Gordon Burns, and the two of them walked slowly towards the two males with their knives, still being clasped with their sweaty hands.
The Runner then fell to the side and a blood-soaked Junior sat up and glared at Joan and Gordon.
Gordon gulped. “Is he...?”
Joan shook her head and pointed at the Runner with the grey beard. “
Look!”
Junior's knife was sticking out of the Runner’s throat and both knew that he hadn't turned when he stood up and told them that he was okay.
They were both relieved. Joan went over to inspect how Junior was, whereas Gordon approached the dead Runner with caution.
Joan touched Junior's face and asked, “Why?”
Junior shrugged his shoulders. “I don't know. I'm just ... angry at what's happened.” He pointed over at the dead Runner and added, “I hate these fucking things.”
“It's not really their fault.”
“They killed my dad.”
“Well, Gordon actually killed your dad.” Joan stopped talking and didn't want to get into a fight with the teenager.
“What the...?”
Joan and Junior heard Gordon from behind and could see that he was crouched down by the dead man.
Gordon, ignoring the man's mutilated throat, gazed at the face of the deceased. The eyes were open and bloodshot. The corpse was a man, an elderly man, and had a long grey beard and grey hair down to his shoulders.
“Joan, come and take a look at this,” Gordon called over.
Joan walked away from a shaken Junior and asked, “What is it?”
“Look,” Gordon said.
She walked over to the body, stopped a metre away from it and gazed at it for a couple of seconds. She placed her hand over her mouth and shook her head. “It's Walter. It's Walter Grey.”
“How...?”
Joan had no answer for Gordon. She had no idea how Walter had turned into one of them. Did they breach his house and get at him? Did he go out and was attacked?
She had no answers, but right in front of their eyes was Walter Grey. Joan had liked the old man and thought he was humorous. Gordon never liked him and Walter clearly didn't like him, but Gordon never wanted this for the man.
She shook her head, turned around and went back over to Junior. Joan put her arm around the blood-soaked teenager and said, “Come on. Let's get you back and washed up.”
“I'm not a child,” Junior huffed, and shrugged Joan off.
Gordon could see Joan becoming irate and said, “Joan, give him some space.”
“What?” she snapped.
“He's just lost his dad.”
The Monsterland Trilogy [Books 1-3] Page 41