The Dead Don't Yell

by Shaun Whittington

  “I know.” Craig nodded. “But what’s done is done. We’re all just trying to survive, but now we can do it together, with no hassle from each other.”

  “Why are you on foot?”

  “Petrol is something we’re short on these days.”

  The man with the bat nodded at his partner and gestured with his head for the man to leave. He did as he was told and the bat holder winked at Craig and said, “I’ll see you around, buddy. I’ll leave you to do...” The biker looked at the house and then at the back garden, “...whatever the fuck you’re doing.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Laters,” were the last words from the biker before he left.

  A minute later, Craig could hear the engines being started, revving, and then waited until the sound of the bikes faded until nothing could be heard.

  “Right,” he said to himself. “Let’s do this.”

  He brought the hockey stick back and smashed the kitchen window through.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  The three individuals trudged their way up to Quint’s place, the thought of Elza and Ophelia’s deaths depressing them. Vince and David were carrying a box each of tins, and Vince was the first to step inside the door that Quint had left open for his guests.

  David and Stephanie stepped inside, and Stephanie shut the door behind her. All three hung around in the hallway, and Stephanie was first to go into the living room whilst Quint was in the kitchen, boiling his kettle on a camping gas ring. After a short discussion with Stephanie and David, Vince informed Quint that the teenagers didn’t want tea.

  Vince and David entered the kitchen and plonked the boxes of tins on the floor.

  “For your help,” Vince said.

  “Wow.” Quint shook his head in surprise and questioned, “Is that motorhome full of that stuff?”

  “There’s only ten boxes,” Vince decided to lie. “But these two are our way of saying thanks for getting rid of those dead bastards, and, of course, when you pull out that RV.”

  Quint nodded. “Tea first.”

  Vince and David went into Quint’s living room to join Stephanie.

  “You take sugar?” the farmer yelled from the kitchen.

  “No,” Vince yelled back.

  “Good,” Quint laughed. “Because I ain’t got any.”

  Minutes later, Quint returned with two hot cups of tea. He paused and saw that Vince and Stephanie were on the couch, but young David was slumped in the armchair, his armchair.

  Quint handed one cup to Vince and gazed at David MacDonald. “That’s my chair, son.”

  “Oh.” David immediately stood up and sat and squeezed inbetween Vince and Stephanie. “Sorry.”

  “So, is this your place?” Vince asked before taking a noisy slurp of the piping hot beverage.

  “Has been for years.” Quint sat and rested the tea on top of his right thigh. “Me and the wife have been here for over thirty years. It was my father’s before then. I’ve lived here all my life, and intend to die here, apocalypse or no apocalypse.”

  “Is your wife around?” Vince took another gulp and placed the cup on the floor, by his feet.

  Quint shook his head. “Nah, dead,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Oh.” Vince was taken aback by his calm and cold manner. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Quint snickered. “She was a fucking nag. Had to kill her myself a couple of months ago.”

  “Was she bitten?” David asked, but young Stephanie remained quiet.

  Quint shook his head. “We had an argument. Things got a little heated and she said that my dick was much smaller than her ex’s. So I took out my shotgun and shot her in the head, right over there.” He pointed at the large stain in the corner of the living room, near an archaic-looking lamp.

  Vince took in a deep breath and sat back, then a shocked David and Stephanie, who were sitting inbetween Vince, leaned forwards and gazed at one another with wide eyes.

  “I’m only kidding.” Quint burst into hysterics, making Vince relax immediately. “You wanna see your face.” He pointed at David. “You look like you’ve just burst in on your mother being spit roasted by the postman.”

  Vince smiled and had to remind their host that that kind of talk was unnecessary as both David and Stephanie were only fourteen, but Quint ignored Kindl.

  “So ... you’re joking, right?” David was confused, unsure if Quint was being genuine or not.

  “Of course I’m joking.” Quint lost his smile and said to the youngster, “Although I did kill her. She was bitten. Shotgun is no use anymore, so I’ve put it in the kitchen. Only had one shell left in it, you see. I was due to go to the gun store to get more shells, but then the apocalypse kicked off. Typical.”

  “What happened to your wife?” Vince bent over and picked his cup up off of the floor and took another slurp. This time he rested the cup on his thigh, but kept it steady with his right hand so it wouldn’t fall.

  “Some dead cunt got her.” Quint ran his fingers through his long grey beard and explained further, “In the beginning, the first thing we did was try and protect our cattle, but one night, a week after the announcement, we woke up and they were all just ... gone. Either escaped or somebody had taken them.”

  “How have you survived for so long?” Vince asked the man.

  “The poultry in the shed kept us going. The chickens themselves and the eggs were a life-saver, until a few weeks ago. Now I just eat a tin a day from the cupboard.”

  “And your wife?” Vince tried again. “What happened to her?”

  A couple of strays got into the field,” Quint began. “The pair of us took them out, both of us carrying a pitch fork each. I didn’t want to use the last shell in my gun, in case it attracted any others from afar. Anyway, my clumsy cunt of a wife ended up getting bit by the last one standing. I took her inside and she never shut up from the moment I picked her up to the moment I placed her on our couch. She wanted me to put her on our bed, but my wife was a fat bastard, and there was no way in hell that I was going to attempt to walk up a flight of stairs with that fucking walrus in my arms. Anyway, I nursed her until she took her last breath.”

  “I’m sorry.” Vince gulped.

  Stephanie looked sad about the loss of his wife and said, “Me too.”

  “Don’t be,” Quint laughed. “I was just glad she finally shut the fuck up.”

  Vince had no idea whether Quint was always this heartless or if he was putting on a brave face in such a dire situation. He asked him, “What did you do with your wife’s body?”

  “I did manage to move her eventually, after I shot her. I keep her upstairs, in the bathroom,” Quint said with a straight face. “Sometimes I go in there and give her a cuddle on a night. Sometimes more.”

  Vince narrowed his eyes at the man and then looked at a confused David and Stephanie.

  Vince had to ask, “You’re joking, right?”

  Quint couldn’t keep his straight face up for long and burst into laughter. “Of course I am. What do you think I am, sick?”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “I blew her head off in here, and then dragged her into the bathroom.” Quint smiled as if what he had said wasn’t a big deal at all. “Top up?”

  “No, thanks.” Vince shook his head. “No trouble from visitors?”

  Vince could feel the eyes of the two teenagers glaring at him, pleading with Vince that it was time to go.

  “None at all,” said Quint. The man rose to his feet and headed for his kitchen. His feet shuffled slowly out of the living room, and once he disappeared, David spoke to Vince.

  “Please, Vince, can we go,” he whispered. “He scares me.”

  “Really?” Vince puffed out is bottom lip and said, “Don’t you want to stay a little longer?”

  “No,” David and Stephanie said together, making Vince smile.

  “Fine,” Vince chuckled and nodded at Stephanie. “Do you think you’ll be able to handle that RV back to Colwyn
once he pulls it out? I’ll drive in front, in case anything happens.”

  “I can manage it,” said Stephanie.

  “Right.” Vince placed his cup of tea on the floor and rose to his feet. Stephanie and David did the same. “Better tell Quint that we’re offski.”

  Quint walked in, holding the drink in his hand, and noticed they were all standing. He said with surprise, “You’re going?”

  “We need to get back,” said Vince.

  “Fine.” Quint’s head lowered, looking a little dejected. “I’ll get some rope and get the tractor ready to pull that RV out of the mud.”

  Vince, Stephanie and David stepped out of the farmhouse and thanked Quint for everything that he had done to help. They headed back to the road, whilst Quint walked to the left, carrying the thick rope he got from his kitchen cupboard. Seven minutes later, Quint had successfully pulled the RV out with Stephanie behind the wheel.

  They said their goodbyes to the large character and Quint waved, yelling, “So long, fuckers!” The farmer then jumped back in his tractor and went back to the farm.

  It was time for Vince, David and Stephanie to go home.

  Chapter Thirty

  Craig had cautiously checked every room downstairs. There was nothing of use for him in the place; it appeared that whoever stayed in the more-than-adequate home had departed, for whatever reason. There were no signs of a struggle in the place, not a single chair or a table had been knocked over, and not a sign of a single speck of blood was picked up by Craig’s eyes.

  Grabbing his hockey stick tightly, Craig took the stairs and headed for the dusky landing, despite it being daylight outside. He guessed that the reason why the place was almost in darkness was because the bedroom doors were closed and the window to every room had its curtains drawn.

  He guessed right.

  He reached the landing and decided to open the door that he was facing. With his heart racing, he pushed the door open and could see it was the bathroom, an empty bathroom. It was a large and luxurious room, which consisted of a toilet, bath, shower and a bidet.

  He had three more rooms to try.

  The nearest one to him looked like a guest room. It had no personal touches, just a plain single bed, cupboard and flowery wallpaper. The second bedroom was another empty room, and made Craig’s heart drop with sadness. The room belonged to a teenage boy, he guessed. Kasabian posters were littered across the wall; a Marshall amplifier was in the left corner with a Gibson SG leaning against it. Other accessories were scattered on the carpet of the room.

  Craig checked the cupboard and could see it was clear. He also remembered that there was no car in the drive. These people must have left on their own accord.

  But where? Where was safer than a big house in the country?

  He left the room, dragged his feet across the cream carpet, and opened the final room with zero hesitation this time. He looked down on the bed and gasped. He took his heavy bag off of his shoulder and carefully placed it in the corner of the bedroom, then looked back over to the bed.

  *

  Karen had been talking to Stephen Rowley and Stephen Bonser about Terry Braithwaite. They had brought it to her attention that he had looked withdrawn and the two men worried for his mental health.

  She said she’d have a word with Pickle, but not straightaway because Pickle and Danny had just returned and both went into their homes.

  Karen smiled at Joanne who was out wiping down the solar panels, and decided to go over and head back to her place at 10 Colwyn Place, the same place where Pickle stayed.

  She stepped inside and popped her head in the living room to see her male friend lying on the couch, groaning, with his boots off.

  “You okay?” she asked him.

  His eyes were closed and his hands were behind his head. Without looking at her, he put both thumbs up, telling Karen that he was fine.

  “I wonder when Vince and the rest will be back.” Karen spoke, hoping to get a response from a man that look destined for a nap.

  “He’ll be back,” Pickle groaned. “Don’t yer worry, Bradley.”

  “It’ll be great if they come back with stuff from that warehouse,” she continued to talk, even though she was certain that Harry Branston would have liked to have been left alone. “I know we’re doing okay with the veg patches and we have stuff stored away from other runs, but maybe we won’t have to ration as much when the winter hits us.”

  “Food and water is not the problem anymore,” Pickle mumbled. “Especially now that we have very few mouths to feed. Having no fuel is our biggest problem. Once the winter is o’er, the food is down, and we have to plant more vegetables, we’ll need wheels to go out and get more...” Pickle was tired and couldn’t find the word he needed to end his sentence. “...shit.”

  The sound of engines could be heard by both, making Pickle quickly get to his feet. Both people of the house went over to the living room window and looked out. They could see two vehicles that they recognised enter the street and both peeped at one another with a smile.

  “Let’s see if they have good news,” Pickle said, heading for the door and outside, despite having nothing on his feet apart from a pair of black socks.

  Both Karen and Pickle approached the RV and the jeep that stopped in the middle of the road, and almost simultaneously the engines were switched off.

  Vince and David stepped out of the jeep and Stephanie was a few seconds behind them, leaving the RV.

  Pickle couldn’t help himself. He was like a child on Christmas day and immediately went to the side of the RV and opened the door to have a look inside. “Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed.

  Karen already knew it was good news. It was very rare that Pickle would blaspheme like that.

  Pickle stepped inside the RV whilst Karen began to talk to Vince, David, and an upset Stephanie to see how they had got on and why it had taken so long. Three minutes later, Pickle stepped out with a big grin and approached Karen, Stephanie, David and Vince to have a word.

  “This is fantastic.” Pickle beamed and added, “Have a look, Karen. There’s tons o’ food.” He then scratched his head and said, “Um …Where’s Elza and Ophelia?”

  Stephanie placed her hand over her mouth and began to cry.

  “They were killed in the warehouse,” Vince decided to speak up. “Stephanie nearly didn’t make it either.”

  “I don’t believe it.” Pickle looked shocked. The last thing he was expecting was the news of the deaths of Elza and Ophelia. They were tough bastards, he thought. “I don’t know what to say.” He then turned to Stephanie, his face white as a sheet. “What happened to yer afterwards, after the two o’ them…?”

  “I had to drive the RV back myself.” She cleared her throat and tried to control herself. “I got stuck in the mud and the dead arrived. Luckily, Vince turned up, and with the help from some mad farmer I’m now okay. There was still stuff left at the warehouse, but I’m not sure a second run would be worth it.”

  “Well, I’m glad yer still alive.” Pickle leaned forwards and kissed Stephanie on her clammy head.

  “Something else happened,” she announced. “Something that I haven’t told you all. Another incident happened.”

  “What kind o’ incident?”

  Stephanie lowered her head and began, “When I was stuck in the mud, when Vince came and the dead were around the motorhome ... that had been the second time I had lost control of the vehicle.”

  Pickle queried, “The second time?”

  “I lost control earlier,” she began to explain. “I came off the road and stalled it. Then some guys turned up, threatening to take the motorhome and what was in it ... and other things.”

  Vince knew straightaway what Stephanie meant by ‘other things’, and his blood began to boil from hearing this story for the first time.

  “Did they hurt you ... touch you?” Vince asked with a frog in his throat.

  She shook her head. “I think they were going to.”

&nb
sp; “What stopped them?” This time Karen decided to join in on the conversation, with David MacDonald keeping his head down, but still listening.

  “A guy had turned up and killed them both.”

  “What guy?” Pickle asked her.

  “He had only just met up with the two that were going to harm me, and turned up later on because he was doing the toilet.”

  “What guy?” Pickle was becoming restless.

  Pickle and Vince didn’t understand what Stephanie was waffling on about, but Karen had an idea, and a smile stretched over her face.

  She said, “It was Paul, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, it was.” Stephanie smiled and nodded. “He’s still alive.”

  Chapter Thirty One

  Craig cleared his throat, but the individual lying on the bed never flinched. He then whistled and could see the person, a young female, move her head from one side to the next as if she was having a restless dream.

  She flinched again, as Craig released another sharp whistle, and she finally opened her eyes. She looked confused, then once she saw Craig and realised there was another person in the room, she sat up quickly and glared at Craig in shock.

  Craig could see the young woman looking over to her bag, he presumed, and was unsure whether to reach for it. It was sitting at the side of the bed, but Craig could see that the female was anxious and tried to calm her down.

  “It’s okay,” he raised his hand, trying to calm the woman. “I’m not a bad person. I’m just ... I don’t know ... looking for people.”

  It was clear on her face that she was unsure what he meant, and she said with confusion in her words, “Looking for people?”

  “I’m sorry,” Craig giggled. “I’m not really explaining myself well, am I?”

  She shook her head once. “No, not really.”

  “Let’s start from the beginning.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hi.” He raised his right hand and produced a wide friendly smile. “My name’s Craig.”

  “Yoler,” she murmured.

  “Hi, Yoler,” he said. “I’m from a place a couple of miles from here.”