The Dead Don't Yell

by Shaun Whittington

  The pickup went up an incline and was now travelling on the narrow country lane that had trees to either side, the same place Craig was picked up by Drake’s men the day before, and Drake told the driver to slow down and not to go over thirty. The lanes were unpredictable, had no crash barriers at either side, and on top of that the dead could be around. If the driver took a sharp bend too quick and a horde was just around the corner, the result could be catastrophic.

  The road straightened up, the Wolseley Arms pub could be seen up ahead, and Drake said, “Well, this wasn’t in the script.”

  Drake and the other two passengers, Pickle and Karen, didn’t have to ask what was happening. They could see for themselves.

  They could see four of the dead staggering across the road ahead of them, but all could see more on the hilly fields to the right. Seven in all.

  “We’ve never had problems with the dead around our camp for a while,” Pickle murmured. “I don’t get it.”

  “Something must have attracted them,” Drake spoke out. He pointed up at the field and they could see that the dead were heading down the hill. “There’s more coming.”

  The driver was told to turn left at the pub and to be careful going over the Wolseley Bridge. There could be a horde over the bridge, or further up.

  The driver turned and the vehicle had passed two more of the dead as it approached the bridge. Once over, they could see three or four scattered up ahead, but nothing that would be considered as a major danger for these experienced survivors.

  Drake turned around and made sure his four bikers that were following had made it by the staggering dead. He then faced the front, as the vehicle went around the bend, and knew that he was just seconds away from Colwyn Place’s main entrance.

  The driver slammed on the brakes and released a profanity when he spotted a crowd of Snatchers around Colwyn’s gate, aching to get in. They all stared in aghast and Pickle was the first person to speak.

  “What happened? How did they get here?”

  “Who gives a cunt?” Drake sniffed. “The fact is that they are here.”

  “We can’t kill that many,” Karen sighed and continued to gaze out, staring at the thirty or so Snatchers gathered around the main gate, trying to get in.

  The sound of the mopeds and the pickup had attracted the attention of some of them. Six members of the dead broke away from the crowd and began to shamble over.

  Karen looked over her shoulder and said, “We better hurry up and make a decision before the strays from behind us catch up as well.”

  Drake peered and could see a two-foot gap where the crowd of the dead stopped on the road and a large hedge at the other side.

  “We can squeeze through that gap, between the dead and the hedge,” said Drake. “We may hit a few on the way past, and then we can sound the horn and get them away from that gate, as well as the strays that are behind us. They’ll follow us and we’ll lead them miles away from your street, then just speed up and leave the dead cunts in the middle of nowhere.

  Pickle spoke up. “I’m not sure about yer squeezin’ through the gap idea.”

  “Trust me. They’ll follow.” Drake began to laugh. “Once we get through that gap, we’ll be like the pied piper, leading the rats away.” Drake turned to the driver, about to instruct him to drive, but Pickle spoke up.

  “We’re gonna have to think o’ somethin’ else,” he said and pointed ahead. The herd were pushing against the steel gate, the gate began to creak and was looking weak, and it was ready to give way from the sheer weight from the determined crowd of the dead.

  “You’re right.” Drake stroked his chin and groaned, “Let me think.”

  Pickle moaned and could see that the dead were seconds from pouring into Colwyn Place. “Gonna hurry up and think, Drake? They’re getting in.”

  Karen shook her head. “I know it was never the strongest gate in the world, but how is that possible?”

  “When there’s enough of them, and they’re pushing in the same direction,” Drake began. “They can move a fucking car out of the way if they think food’s on the other side. I’ve seen it myself.”

  ”Fuck this. I’m getting out.” Pickle snapped. “We’ll all get out and cut our way through these fuckers.”

  “We’ll all die, Pickle.” Karen shook her head and grabbed Pickle’s arm. “There’s too many of them.”

  There was a silence for a few seconds and then for the first time, Drake’s driver spoke up.

  “What do we do, Drake?” The driver looked panicky.

  “Wait.” Drake held his index finger in the air and could see the six dead that had broken away from the crowd were around the bonnet. “I’m still thinking.”

  Pickle cleared his throat and said softly, “Could yer hurry up, because that gate is about to fall over?”

  Chapter Fifty

  Drake slapped his driver on the arm and said, “Get out.” He then turned to Karen and Pickle. “All of you, get out. I’m gonna try something insane.”

  Pickle knew immediately what Drake was planning.

  “Don’t do it, Drake,” he said. “If yer drive through them, yer will get yerself killed.”

  “No, I won’t.” Drake snickered. “If I drive through them, I’ll remove a lot of them, then it’s up to you three and my four guys behind to remove the rest.” He nodded to some of the dead that were getting closer to the pickup. “Now, hurry up and get out, otherwise I’ll be taking you three cunts with me.”

  Pickle, Karen and the driver left the vehicle and went behind the pickup. After the driver had a short discussion with the four moped riders, they got off their bikes and pulled out their blades, ready to put down the dead that would be still standing after Drake had driven through the crowd.

  Drake moved over to the driver’s seat and took his wooden bat from behind it, putting it onto the passenger seat next to him.

  He looked at the dead crowd and moaned, “Oh, Drakey boy. I hope you know what you’re fucking doing.” He thrashed the engine and pulled the vehicle forwards, slamming the gas pedal.

  The vehicle knocked down four of the six advancing beasts that had broken away from the crowd and heading towards the vehicle, leaving Pickle and the rest to deal with the two remaining ones. Drake shifted through the gears quickly as he now headed for the crowd of the dead that were congregating by Colwyn’s entrance.

  He took in a deep breath, pressed the back of his head on the head restraint, and braced himself for impact. The vehicle slammed into the herd, and blood and guts decorated the windscreen and parts of the windows of the driver’s and passenger door.

  He kept his foot on the gas pedal as the pickup temporarily slowed, and was surprised that the vehicle eventually went by the entrance.

  Drake drove another twenty yards and pulled the vehicle over. There were many on the floor, but not all were dead. Some were trying to get back to their feet.

  Pickle, Karen, and five of Drake’s men progressed forwards and began to hack and stab their way through to get to the main gate. Seven Snatchers perished, but they were too late. The gate gave way and fell to the floor with over twenty of the dead piling through into the street; some were on the floor that had fallen with the gate.

  Pickle took a sideswipe with his machete and watched as the large blade entered the side of the nearest ghoul’s head. He front kicked the beast to the floor, freeing the blade, and took out another one, taking the head clean off. There were three left as the rest had entered the street, and Karen slammed her own blade into the front of a Snatcher’s head, just above the eyes, and the remaining two were taken out by Drake’s men.

  Drake exited the pickup, holding a bat, and was the first to enter the street with Pickle, Karen and the other five guys, including the pickup driver, following behind. Pickle smiled when he saw that most of the people of the street, Rowley, Bonser, Gosling, Burns, Braithwaite, Hammett, were out and were all carrying a weapon of some kind and putting down the dead.

  Most o
f the dead had their backs to Drake and the rest, apart from one. A female ghoul, dressed in a dirty green summer dress, headed towards Drake, arms outstretched and ready to tear him to pieces.

  Drake casually raised his bat and smacked the ghoul on the head, putting it down. “Fuck off!” he snapped. He then headed towards the crowd. Bodies fell and the street seemed to be handling the dead well, but a scream was heard.

  Pickle put down one of the dead with his blade and saw three of the dead on top of Danny Gosling and Stephen Bonser.

  Both were screaming, both were being eaten, and both were close to death. Pickle couldn’t help them, but he still went over and put down the one that was on top of Danny, and then turned to the other two, who were on top of Stephen, but now getting to their feet after spotting the former inmate.

  Pickle looked over and could see that his people and Drake and his men were winning the battle, and only five of the dead were left, except the two that were now heading for Pickle. He looked down and could see that Danny Gosling was dead, but Bonser was still conscious. Nevertheless, they were both infected.

  Pickle was exhausted and panted as he raised his blade, and gasped when the two lunged for him at the same time. Pickle fell to the floor, dropping the blade, with the two on top of him. Both sets of teeth from the male Snatchers were getting close to Branston’s neck and Pickle had a hand wrapped around the throat of one of them, whilst the other one by his side, to his right, tried to claw at him.

  Aware that these diseased beasts could scratch at him, he tried to push off the one on the right, to give himself time to handle the other that he had around the throat. He pushed the one to the right away, but not very far, and reached for his machete on the ground, whilst still having the remaining one by the throat with his left hand.

  He could feel his fingers sinking into the dead flesh of the beast as it tried to push forwards and take a bite out of Pickle, but Pickle was the stronger of the two.

  He plunged the blade into the side of the ghoul’s head and pushed it away, trying to free the blade, but it wasn’t budging. The remaining one threw itself on top of an exhausted Pickle and again, like the first ghoul that had attacked him, Harry Branston grabbed its throat. This time he had it with two hands, and pushed its head up, turning away as three maggots fell out of its rotten mouth. Pickle was weakening, and could see the ghoul getting closer to him, no matter how hard he pushed.

  “Please, God,” he cried. “Help me! Give me strength.”

  The Snatcher snarled and moved another inch closer to Pickle’s throat. With every thing he had, Pickle released a cry and managed to find the strength to push the beast’s head up once more. His arms shook with fatigue and knew he had seconds before his arms would give way. Pickle released a gasp as the creature jolted and suddenly stopped. He could see the metal point of an arrow sticking out of its forehead and he allowed the creature to fall on top of him.

  Pickle closed his eyes, exhausted, and could feel the body being moved off of him. He looked up and could see a blood soaked Drake standing above him.

  “Well, that was fun,” Drake laughed, almost out of breath, and threw his bat to the ground. “Haven’t killed a shitload of DCs for weeks.”

  Drake offered Pickle his hand and Pickle took it. He stood to his feet and looked around the street. All the dead had been put down, and Stephanie Perkins stood on her doorstep with her bow now lowered. Pickle looked at the dead thing with the arrow sticking out of its head, then looked back over at Stephanie and raised his hand at the teenager, thanking her for saving his life.

  “That was some shot,” Drake said, referring to Stephanie’s heroics from a minute earlier.

  Karen approached Pickle and put her hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  Pickle nodded. He was numb and was ungainly on his feet. “They’re all gone?”

  Drake said, “Well, not quite. I’ve sent my guys outside to deal with those strays that were making their way down here, the ones we passed earlier that were by the pub.” Drake pulled out his knife and nodded down to the bodies of Bonser and Gosling. “There’s another two there, in the making. It’s okay. I’ve got it.”

  Drake bent down and Pickle and Karen turned away as Drake shoved his blade into the back of Bonser’s head, and then did the same with young Danny.

  Everybody was now out in the street, apart from Old Tom, even the ones that didn’t get their hands dirty. Terry, Joanne, Stephen, Craig, Stephanie, David, Paul and Gail Smith, little Kelly, Brenda Hatchet all went over to Pickle, but Pickle noticed that there was somebody missing.

  He looked at the faces of the residents and said, “Where the fuck is Vince?”

  A bloody Rowley and Hammett took a quick look at one another and lowered their heads. There was no answer.

  “Well, Where is he?” Pickle was beginning to panic.

  Rowley cleared his throat, grunted and twisted his neck. “Look, chap,” he began. “There’s something we need to tell you.”

  Chapter Fifty One

  Pickle, Karen and Joanne took the stairs of Vince’s place, with Pickle leading the way, and was anxious about entering the room. Still decorated in dark Snatcher blood, the former nurse and inmate approached the closed bedroom door of Vince’s usual room. Without asking Joanne, they assumed correctly that that was where they had put him.

  “It’s okay,” said Joanne in a soft voice. “Just go in.”

  Pickle tried the door and opened it with his fingers. The door swung open at a snail’s pace and both could see that Vince was lying on his back, eyes closed, and resting peacefully; his arms were out of the duvet and by his side.

  Pickle stepped slowly to the left side of the bed to get a better look, and all three could hear footsteps heading to the first floor. All three turned around to see that it was Stephen Rowley.

  “Is that you lot moved all those bodies already?” Karen asked.

  “Drake said he and his men would do it,” Rowley said. “Just wanted to see how he is. Did Joanne tell you what happened?” Rowley asked Pickle and Karen.

  “Aye,” Pickle responded and sat down on the bed. “The short version, on the way upstairs.”

  “A shame about Bonser and Danny,” Stephen remarked. Nobody responded verbally; they just lowered their heads in agreement with his statement.

  Karen gazed at Vince and said, “I’m glad he’s still alive. I don’t think I’m ready to lose anybody else.”

  “He’s fine,” said Joanne. “He just needs to rest, and the good thing is he didn’t lose too much blood. I went over to 17 Colwyn Place and got him some solpadol.”

  Karen inspected the wrapped up injured hand and was satisfied with the work. She asked Joanne, “Did you do this?”

  Joanne nodded.

  “Good work. I’ll wait until he wakes and then I’ll change the dressing.”

  “Okay.”

  “How much solpadol did you give him?” Karen asked.

  Joanne shrugged her shoulders. “I gave him three or four?”

  “That’s a lot.” Karen gazed at the scarred man’s face and added, “But it’s probably for the best.”

  “Didn’t you strap him to the bed, just in case?” Pickle inspected the side of the bed and could see that Vince’s arms were by his side as he rested.

  Joanne shook her head. “I never thought of that.”

  Karen placed her hand on Vince’s forehead. He was still warm. “If he was going to turn, he would have done by now. But he could have some mild kind of infection of some sort. He might be unwell for a while.”

  Pickle looked at Vince’s mutilated hand that had been struck just below the knuckle area. “And who did that?” He nodded down at the hand.

  “I did, chap,” Rowley confessed. “I thought it’d be best to strike there once the dead thing took his thumb off.”

  “Good. Quick thinking.” Pickle turned to Rowley and said, “However, I would have taken the whole hand off, just to make sure.”

  “Well, you w
eren’t there,” Rowley huffed and seemed irked by Pickle’s comment. “And didn’t you do that to Nick Gregory and he died anyway from blood loss?”

  Pickle cleared his throat and said, “Fair point.”

  “What now?” Rowley asked.

  “Now...” Pickle paused and looked at Karen. “Now, he continues to sleep it off.”

  “No, chap.” Stephen grunted. “I mean, what now with the street?”

  “I don’t know,” Pickle sighed and looked defeated. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

  Karen flashed Pickle a look that was seen by Joanne.

  “What is it?” Joanne asked the pair of them.

  Karen shook her head and asked Joanne, “What are you talking about?”

  “What was that look for? Are we keeping secrets from one another now?”

  A silence suffocated the room. Karen took in a deep breath and could see Pickle’s head lowered.

  “Okay,” Karen began. “I don’t know how you guys feel about Drake, especially after what happened to some of our people last week, but he’s made us an offer.”

  “After what he did to help with the street … just, I don’t mind him,” Joanne said. “I’m not happy that he took Paul away, but I can understand it.”

  “He didn’t have to help us out,” Stephen chipped in. “I suppose I’m grateful for that, but people like Terry…”

  “No, he didn’t have to help us.” Pickle nodded his head and added, “And there would ‘ave been more o’ the dead on the street if he hadn’t driven his pickup into a horde o’ those dead bastards, but he did.”

  “So, what was this offer, chap?”

  Pickle sighed and began to explain, “Drake has offered to take us all in at his place.”

  Stephen and Joanne took a quick peep at one another. Stephen was the first to react. “When were you actually going to tell us about this, chap?”

  “I wasn’t at first.” Pickle decided to be honest. “I was hoping to start again and try and get new people on board and build something better. But after what’s just happened, I can’t help thinking that, with what we have left and our location, we’re vulnerable whatever we do.”