*
The journey on the Rugeley Road to the Wolseley Arms pub was a quiet affair. After the incident with the dogs, Paul was pleased to get an hour of no incidents. He had no idea what time it was now, but was pretty sure that more than half of the day had passed. Getting to Colwyn Place by the evening was doable, providing that there were no more macabre episodes.
He reached the twin roundabouts and could see the garden centre to his right, the Stafford Road straight ahead, and the pub opposite the garden centre.
Dickson reached the outside of the pub, went round the back to the beer garden and decided to sit down on one of the wooden benches. It was time for a much needed rest.
He had one mile left to go, but his legs were aching and his throat was as dry as sandpaper. Maybe there were liquids, any kind of liquids, inside the pub.
Paul finally dropped the broken bottle to the floor and dropped his head in his hands. He began to think about the man he had become. Even in the last five or six weeks he had changed dramatically.
He remembered the shaking mess he was when he held onto that hammer whilst Lance Murphy was making his way up his stairs. Paul was a nervous wreck and lashing out with the hammer was an act of fear and desperation to protect his son, as well as Daisy and Lisa who were in his house at the time.
Fast forward five weeks and Paul had sliced open a middle-aged woman's throat and killed her fifteen-year-old boy. It was something that had to be done, but this time there was no remorse from the psychologically damaged man.
His eyes felt heavy and stifled a yawn. His head suddenly dropped an inch, forcing him to sit up straight. “Jesus,” he murmured.
Paul had nearly nodded off.
With the adrenaline gone, Paul Dickson was getting sleepy.
He stood to his feet and moaned, “Come on, Dickson. Just one mile to go.”
He looked at the pub and pondered on whether to go inside for a drink. He decided not to, but the sounds of engines ahead of him had forced him to change his mind. It was a familiar sound. It was a sound that he had heard a few times the previous week.
He tried the back door of the pub, the same pub Pickle, KP, Janine, Jamie, Laz and Grass stayed at in the first week, and found that it was open. He stepped inside with wary feet.
The place was smashed up, wrecked, and Paul smiled in the dusky room when he spotted some bottles of tonic water. He could hear from outside that the engines were getting louder, and took three small bottles and began to make the slow journey upstairs. He reached a bedroom that looked out onto the Wolseley Road and sat down, glaring out of the window from behind the blinds.
Paul was aware that he hadn't checked the other rooms and a nasty surprise could be lurking, so he went over to the door and dragged a chair behind it, then went back over to the window and looked out. He was going to wait for the vehicles to pass, then try the kitchen and find something for a weapon. It was only a mile away to Colwyn Place, but it was just in case.
Four mopeds stopped outside of the pub and Paul gulped, wondering if they were going to check the place out or not. Maybe they already had in the past. All four men, wearing leather jackets, parked up their bikes and stepped on a pavement, at the side of the pub. The men were just below him; Paul reached for the window's handle and carefully opened it so he could hear the conversation between the four men. They all sat at the side of the road and were discussing about where they were going and what was going to be said. They were trying to figure out who was going to be the main speaker and had chosen one guy. The chosen one claimed he pretty much knew word-for-word the message Drake had for the 'community' that had been discovered a few days ago, and agreed to do all the talking.
Paul overheard the men talking about a place up the road and knew from the description that they were talking about Colwyn Place.
“Oh shit,” he muttered.
He relaxed a little when the designated speaker told the guys that they were there to just talk, and talk only. Drake simply wanted to pick a couple of guys up and didn't want anyone to get hurt. The man that had chosen to be speaker told the rest of the guys that they should be there for no longer than five minutes, they should be pleasant, and try and pick up 'the subjects' without being aggressive.
Paul looked up to the heavens and could see the day growing darker because of the suffocating clouds. It had been a long and tiring day. He stood and listened for a further ten minutes and finally perked up when the men hopped back onto their bikes and started the engines. Paul pulled back the blinds wider and watched as they took off along the Wolseley Road, away from the pub, heading to Colwyn Place.
He decided to wait until they went by once again. They said that they just wanted to talk, and even if things got ugly, Pickle, Karen and Vince wouldn't stand for any of their nonsense. If Paul made his way back to Haywood on foot and bumped into the four men as they were making their way back from Colwyn, he was concerned that they'd turn ugly.
Paul walked away from the window and checked every room of the pub upstairs. It was all clear and he started to relax. He went into the kitchen and went through the drawers. He pulled out a knife he liked the look of, and returned to the room that looked out onto the main road. He stood by the window and peered out of it. He was waiting for the men to pass by from Little Haywood, so then he could leave the pub and return to Colwyn Place.
Chapter Fifteen
“We have visitors.”
John Lincoln was at the wall with Pickle and Karen, when Stephen Bonser approached them and made the announcement.
Pickle nodded. “We heard the engines.”
They looked down the street and could see four men on bikes behind the gate, engines still running. John Lincoln looked over and could see James Thomson at the gate gripping onto his bat, looking tetchy.
Lincoln asked, “What do they want? Do they want in?”
Bonser shook his head and nodded at Lincoln. “They want to speak with the man in charge.”
John Lincoln puffed out a breath and looked to the side at Karen and Pickle. His confidence seemed to be draining from his face and his hands shook with nerves. They could all see that John was scared.
John gazed at Karen and Pickle. “Wanna take a walk with me?” he asked them both.
Both nodded and all three walked down the street, towards the steel gate, with Rowley, Vince and Freddie Johnson all outside, on their doorsteps, wondering what the hell was going on.
Vince called out, “What's happening?”
Pickle flashed Vince a smile and told him, “I'll fill yer in later.”
“Want company?” Vince asked.
“Maybe too many people would look threatening.”
James stepped to the side as Lincoln, Karen and Pickle approached the gate, all unarmed. All three stopped once they were a couple of yards away, and Lincoln was the first to address the four men. All four men had beards. The bike engines were now off, but the four men were straddling them with their feet flat on the ground.
“Is there anything we can help you with, gentlemen?” Lincoln said to the four men through the gate. At first Lincoln smiled, but once he did this he could feel his face quiver with fright. He lost his smile and waited for an answer off one of the men.
The biker on the far left spoke up. “We mean you no harm.”
John laughed falsely, “I'm glad to hear it.”
“Over the last couple of days we have been watching your little ... community, shall we say. I think some of your guys spotted us a few days ago.”
As soon as this statement was made, Pickle knew it was the same men that he, Vince and Rowley had seen by the wall.
“You make a habit of spying on people?” Lincoln tried to make a light remark and released a small chuckle, then pushed his slipping glasses up to the top of his nose.
“Not really. We're scouts.”
“Scouts?”
“We go out and find people to join us. We also try and find places that still have supplies that would benefit u
s, like factories and shops. Then we go back to Stafford, where we're from, and inform our people about that place. Then a truck is sent over and the place is raided.”
John asked, “And how's that working out for you?”
“Very well.”
“And you've come here to take from us, I gather?” Lincoln was hoping that the answer was going to be a resounding no.
The biker at the far left began to laugh and the mood seemed to be changing. It started off friendly, but Lincoln, Pickle and Karen were sensing a little anger coming from the speaker.
He said, “Paranoid, aren't we?”
Sick of the small talk, Karen huffed, “What the fuck do you want? Out with it! You're beginning to bore the tits off me.”
“Jesus.” The speaker snickered and his other three colleagues began to join him. “She's got a mouth on her, hasn't she?”
Lincoln turned to the side and groaned, “Karen, that's not helping.”
Pickle couldn't help but smile and said, “Tell us what yer guys want. I take it that it's not a cup o' sugar yer after.”
The speaker smiled and said with calm, “We come from a place where we have food and drink aplenty. We're not here to steal.”
“That's good.” Pickle nodded. “Because yer will need more than four guys just to take me on, let alone the rest in the street.”
“We're not here to fight.” The man flashed Pickle a smile. “If we came here to cause trouble, we'd be here with many other guys.”
“Many?” Lincoln gulped.
“We could bring forty Wrath of Evil guys here, if we really needed to.”
Pickle smiled. “Wrath of Evil. So that's what the WOE stands for. It's your club's name?”
The man nodded. “Yes.”
“He's lying.” Karen shook her head and scoffed, “Forty guys, my arse.”
“I'm not lying,” the man laughed. “Trust me, darling.”
“I'm not your fucking darling.”
The speaker turned to his other three bearded buddies and laughed, “Feisty one here, lads. Drake would like her.”
Lincoln cleared his throat, noticing things were getting tense, and said, “So what do you gentlemen want?”
“We want you to bring out Jez and his buddy. We need to take them back with us.”
John looked at Pickle with wide eyes, then looked back at the men and said, “We don't have a—”
“Don't fuck with me, fat man! I know they're here! We've been watching this place for days; remember? And I just saw the way you looked at him.”
“Why do you want them?” John asked.
“Jez is a traitor and his pal killed one of our guys, and also attacked another and stole his bike.”
“They've left,” John spoke up.
“You're lying. Why would they leave a place like this?” The gang member pointed at Colwyn Place through the gate.
Pickle knew these guys weren't fools and decided to step in. “It's true that we let them stay a little while, then they headed out this morning. As far as I'm aware, they're not coming back.”
All four bikers turned to one another and began talking with muffled voices. The voices eventually stopped and the designated speaker turned to face Lincoln, Pickle and Karen through the gate. “If they're not here, then you don't mind if we search the place, just for peace of mind. We'll search every house, and you can even shadow us if you don't trust us.”
There was no response from Karen, Pickle or Lincoln, just confused looks.
“If you don't let us in, then we're gonna have to assume that they're still here and that you've been lying to us.”
Lincoln could feel Pickle glaring at him and turned to face the former inmate. “What?” Lincoln snapped at Pickle.
“Just let them in,” said Pickle. “It's either four o' them now, or forty o' them later, but pissed off.” Pickle was aware that Jez and Craig could be found, but was hoping that they were watching this scene unfold from their issued house, then maybe they would hide or escape over the back garden fence. The latter would be a better option than hiding in the house. Pickle had briefly toyed with the idea of giving the pair of them up in order to protect the camp from more potential visits and pestering from these people, but that would be giving the two males a death sentence.
Lincoln released a groan and said to Pickle, “Do what you think is best.”
Lincoln took a step back and Pickle walked over to the gate and slowly slid it across. The four men got off their bikes and walked through the gate nonchalantly. Neither men pulled out a weapon, but Pickle was certain that they were carrying. Gallivanting around the countryside in this new world, unarmed, would be madness.
“We'll make it quick,” the spokesman of the four men said. “If you're telling the truth and they're not here, then you'll never see us again.”
Pickle smiled. “Is that a promise?”
The man grinned at Pickle's cheeky remark, then spoke up, “Tell everyone to vacate their houses. I don't want to walk in on anything embarrassing, if you know what I mean. We'll be quick and we'll start from that house,” he pointed at 20 Colwyn Place, “and make our way to the other side. Then we'll go.”
Lincoln nodded and instructed James Thomson and Stephen Bonser to start telling people to vacate their homes for a short while.
Whilst this was happening, whilst people were vacating their homes and spilling out onto the street, Vince could be seen approaching Pickle and the rest, and held his hands out. “What's going on?”
“They're looking for Jez and Craig,” Pickle said in a voice loud enough for the men to hear, “but we told them that they've left. Craig killed one of their guys.” Pickle then nodded over to the crowd and whispered to Vince, “Go back o'er there and tell the guys that Jez and Craig have left, if they're asked.”
Most of the people were now out in the street and remained in a loose circle, in the middle of the road. Most of them were there, apart from Jez and Craig, Paul Dickson, the three girls and Terry Braithwaite.
“Where's Paul?” Karen scratched her head.
“Bloody idiot's probably out for one of his stupid walks,” Lincoln said with gritted teeth. “And where's Terry?”
They watched as Bonser and Thomson went into 1 Colwyn Place, Terry's place, then exited the house with both shaking their heads.
The four WOE members stood with their arms folded and began to remark how bad the security of Colwyn Place was. They then turned and could see the look on Thomson and Bonser's faces.
“Problem?” the speaker asked.
Thomson blanked the WOE member and said to Lincoln, “Terry's refusing to come out.”
“What do you mean?” Lincoln looked baffled. “Has he got a death wish or something? He needs to vacate his house like every one else is doing.”
“That's okay,” the leader spoke up. “We'll just search the place with him in it.” He looked at two of his crew and told them to go in and even search the attic and cellar, if he had one. The two men nodded and strode towards Terry's already-opened main door.
Minutes had passed and suddenly a male scream could be heard from inside the house.
Chapter Sixteen
“Are you armed?” Elza knew that most farmers had shotguns and wasn't taking any risks. “Show yourself.”
“Why should I do what you tell me?” came the voice from the dark room. “This is my gaff now.”
Gaff?
The girls recognised the lingo, as well as the man's accent. He was a Londoner, but they had no idea yet if he had fled London during the apocalypse, or he had moved up when the world was still a normal place.
“We're not going to harm you,” Elza said.
“Oh yeah?” The man began to laugh and added, “Then why has your little friend got a bow and arrow aimed at me?”
Stephanie had no idea what she had been pointing at, initially, if anything, and it was clear now that the man was directly in front of her.
“Whereabouts in London are you from?” Elza aske
d, trying to calm the male, especially if he did have a gun on him.
“Doesn't matter now, does it?” the man snapped. “There is no London. Not no more.”
“What are you talking about?” Elza remained by the doorframe, still out of view.
“They bombed the shit out of it.”
“Who's they?”
“The RAF? NATO? I don't know, but I watched from my flat as they went to town on my city at the end of the first week.”
“Are you sure about that?” Elza queried. “We're from Birmingham, and we didn't see anything like that.”
“And how long has it been since you left Birmingham?”
“Months ago.”
“Well, I've got news for you, sister,” the man snickered. “It ain't there anymore. You can kiss your Bull Ring, Cadbury's factory and Villa Park goodbye.”
“Villa Park,” Elza chuckled. “My family were Blues fans.” Elza then cleared her throat and put on a more serious tone. “You know what? There ain't nothing here anyway, so we'll just leave you in peace.”
“Come in and have a drink,” the voice from the darkness beckoned.
“We're good.” Elza took a peek at Ophelia and Stephanie and asked, “Shall we go? This trip has been a waste of time.”
Both girls nodded.
“Stay and have a drink,” said the man. “I haven't had company in a while. Maybe I'll let you in on a little secret about this place.”
“He's full of shit,” Elza said to her two pals. “Let's just leave.”
“Actually ... I could do with a drink.” Stephanie licked her dry lips, still pointing the arrow into the room.
Elza then looked at Ophelia. “And you?”
Ophelia nodded.
“There’s a drink in the car. We can…”
“I could do with one right now,” Stephanie said. “And what about this surprise?”
Elza peered into the room for a few seconds and said to the stranger, “I tell you what. Open your blind. Let in some light and let us see you. Then we'll come in.”
Snatchers 11: The Dead Don't Knock Page 7