Lee gulped and peeked over Sheryl's shoulder to see Bentley still standing behind her. "Er ... no."
"Really? So it's not because you're embarrassed of our ten-second fuck?"
Lee smiled falsely, his face then reddened. He called over to Bentley, "Can you leave us alone?"
"No chance," laughed Bentley and folded his arms. "I wanna hear this."
"You're always doing runs," Lee tried to appease the irate female. "I just thought it'd be good to try someone else out."
"Like Rick Morgan? That guy's hopeless."
"He needs to learn, and with me, Pickle and Bentley out there tomorrow, it'll be good experience for him."
"Like it was for Luke John?"
"If we keep on choosing the same people..."
"From what I've heard, this one is too dangerous for a rookie." Sheryl's face was almost begging. "Just take five of us."
"Look, I'm not gonna stand here and argue with you."
"Fine."
Sheryl walked away, leaving Bentley and Lee standing, and made the short walk to 17 Sandy Lane. She slammed the door shut once she was inside, and began to jog up her stairs. She took her shoes off and plonked herself on the bed. "Bastard." She punched the side of her bed. "Stupid bastard."
She puffed out her cheeks, and became angrier the more she thought about the times she had been out on runs, and now this. Was this going to be a sign of things to come? People out on a run, whilst she was stuck in the camp, demoted to permanent perimeter or barrier duty, or even worse ... clothes washer? Was she going to be an individual that stock-checked or did medical rounds? Just because Lee was embarrassed? Fuck that!
That wasn't her. That wasn't Sheryl.
She sighed, lay down on her bed and slowly put her right hand under her trousers. She leaned her head back, released a gentle moan, then slid her fingers underneath her panties. She began to play with herself, and after minutes had passed, after she came, she turned on her side and fell asleep for forty-two minutes.
Chapter Seven
A knock on the door made Paul Dickson climb out of his seat. Kyle and Lisa were in their pyjamas and playing upstairs, and Paul was glad to see that it was Karen Bradley that stood behind the frosted glass of the main door. The shape behind the door was blurry, but he knew it was her. He opened it, and greeted the twenty-three-year-old with a warm smile. "Karen. Come in."
"Cheers."
Karen had a blue T-shirt on, green combats and white trainers. She stepped inside and they both went into the living room area and took a seat. The room had a red and brown rug, a defunct and dusty LG television, and both adults took a seat on the couch. "Kids upstairs?" she asked, still sleep deprived.
She knew it was a daft question—of course they were, but Paul smiled thinly and nodded the once. He asked, "How's things with you? I haven't seen you since yesterday morning."
Karen looked uncomfortable, and said shyly, "I decided to keep away for a bit."
"From me? Why?"
"I just thought I was coming round too much, being a nuisance."
"Nonsense."
She smiled at his quick response, and added, "I do miss our little hugging sessions when the kids are at Rosemary's."
"I know." Paul began to giggle, "I thought now with Pickle back you wouldn't need me as much."
Karen stared into Paul's dark eyes and slowly shook her head. "I'm not a user. You're still my friend. I've been purposely making my visits less because I thought I was coming round too much, not because Pickle's back on the scene."
Changing the subject, Paul Dickson cleared his throat and asked, "No news on Vincent?"
Karen looked sad at the mention of the man's name. She shook her head and thinned her lips. "No."
"He really grew on you, didn't he?"
Karen managed a short chortle. "Yes, I kind of liked him in the end."
"So have you completely given up hope on him returning?"
"It's been four days since Pickle saw him being swept away, and he's not here. So what do you think?" Karen realised her statement sounded a bit rude and gave Paul an apologetic look, which he acknowledged right away.
A knock on the door made Karen gasp and Paul shot up back to his feet. "I'm popular today," he joked.
He opened the door to see Rosemary and Daniel Badcock standing outside, but was baffled why they were present. "Everything alright?"
"I thought you were going to drop the kids off at mine," announced Rosemary. "You asked me to look after them yesterday."
"And I'm here because you never showed up for guard duty." Daniel was the next to speak up.
Paul Dickson looked on in confusion and wondered what the hell these people were going on about, and then it clicked. "Shit." Paul placed his hand over his mouth. "Daniel, I'm so sorry."
"What's wrong?" Karen now made an appearance and was standing next to Paul.
"I'm supposed to be on the barrier, by the Globe Island." Paul took a grey cardigan and threw it on quickly. He then turned to Rosemary. "Are you alright looking after the kids here?"
"That's fine." She smiled, but Karen could see sadness behind her smile. She was obviously missing Vince. They may not have been a couple that were in love, but they were two people that had been intimate with each other for months, and Karen could understand why Rosemary missed him—she even missed him.
"I was gonna come by to see how you're doing." Daniel spoke, looking at Karen.
"I'm fine," said Karen. "Still knackered. Had a kip on the couch earlier. How's the jaw?"
"Sore as hell." Daniel then took a step back as Paul left to go outside, and shouted after Paul, as he exited the garden gate in a hurry, "I hope you're alright using a gun."
"What?" Paul stopped and looked at Daniel, waiting for an explanation.
Daniel explained, "From now on, Lee wants everyone carrying."
"Er ... I don't know if—"
"You don't have a choice."
*
Paul Dickson eventually turned up at the Globe Island barrier and was relieved to see that he was on with Bentley. The other guy that was there he didn't know by name. He climbed up to the top of the cab and sat down next to Bentley, whilst the other guy sat inside the cab, smoking a cigar. Bentley had initially gone back to his home to grab some sleep, but he couldn't get off and asked Lee if he could do a few hours at the barrier. Lee agreed. Sheryl was supposed to be on, but was too exhausted to attend.
Paul peered at the shotgun that was sitting next to Bentley. Noticing Paul's concern, Bentley laughed, "Don't worry. It won't bite you."
Paul never verbally responded.
Bentley looked at Paul and nodded at the gun. "Pick it up. It's yours for a few hours."
Paul scratched at his dark hair in puzzlement. "I thought it was yours."
Bentley pulled up his green and white striped shirt to reveal Glen—his Glock—tucked into his blue jeans.
"I thought..."
"It still has four bullets left." Bentley picked up the shotgun and put it on Paul's lap. "Don't worry. You won't have to use it. It's just so we can look mean to outsiders, rather than being a bunch of men holding knives and bats like when I first turned up. It's people out there that are more of a danger than those dead fucks these days."
"I know that."
"Anyway, you better get used to holding that thing," said Bentley. "I hear you're on the perimeter tomorrow, with a couple of others, while we're out on this fuel run."
"I heard about that. Seems too good to be true that a tanker truck is sitting idle on a forecourt."
"It does," Bentley agreed, then hunched his shoulders, "but why would the new guy lie about something like that?"
"I don't know."
"They must have turned up to replenish the pumps, while the shit hit the fan, and had to abandon the tanker."
Paul questioned, "So it's been sitting there for seven weeks, untouched?"
"I think so. Must have been a shit load of the dead to keep that thing from being taken. Let's
hope they're still not there."
Paul held the gun with trembling hands and thought about the Murphy family breaking into his home, and him and Kyle hiding in the cupboard whilst Daisy and Lisa were being dragged out of the house by the men. He felt terrible that day, but protecting Kyle was his main aim—his only aim. After they were taken, by force, out of his house, Paul helplessly watched as Lisa was thrown into the back of the van, whereas Daisy had her head caved in with the butt of a shotgun by the father of the clan. Maybe holding the shotgun, that Bentley had given him, reminded him of the event.
His frame shuddered as the memory skated across his mind. He never thought he'd see Lisa again, but Vince Kindl brought her back after driving to Little Haywood to avenge his son's murder.
I hope you're okay, Vince.
Chapter Eight
The Sandy Lane camp was experiencing a fine evening because of the sun, and Pickle and Karen had eaten a light supper that consisted of water, crisps and some noodles. Since the robbery, and the death of Nicholas Burgess in the early hours of Saturday morning, the rest of the day had been mundane and non-eventful.
"Who's on the night shift tonight?" asked Karen, still removing the leftover crisps from her teeth with her tongue.
"There's a few on." Pickle sat back in the chair, in the living room, and took a sip of water. He screwed his face. It tasted funny. "There're some guys I don't know. Lee's pretty desperate for people at the moment."
"It'll probably be better if they put the less experienced on during the day, and the likes of you, Bentley and others on a night. Because if we're attacked again, it's on a night it'll happen."
"That's what I said." Pickle nodded. "I think after we return from the run tomorrow he's probably gonna do just that."
"Still four of you going?"
"Yep. Just in case things go tits-up." Pickle took another sip. "We'll be a bit short on the barriers, and he's even got Paul Dickson doing the perimeter."
"Maybe I'll take the kids if Paul's doing that," Karen said. "It'll give Rosemary a break."
The pair of them sat in silence for a few seconds and their minds wandered; their thoughts went to the recent past.
Pickle eventually broke the quiet. "You seem to like Paul."
"I do," said Karen, unabashed. "When you and Vince were missing, we got to know each other a little better."
Pickle nodded, understanding that Karen needed someone whilst he was away. She didn't have Shaz anymore, and had latched onto Paul in his absence.
She said, "We had a hug every now and again, on the bed."
Pickle raised his eyebrows, trying to tease her.
"There's nothing sexual there." Karen brushed her dark hair behind her ears, and added, "We had one while you was away, and a couple of others when you were on the barrier and Rosemary had Kyle and Lisa."
"I was missing. Shaz is dead. Yer fiancé has been gone just under two months. Yer family are probably dead, so it's understandable to need a hug once in a while."
"Shit, you really know how to cheer a girl up." Karen began to laugh.
Realising what he had just said, he cackled, "I've always been the charmer, Bradley."
"Is that what KP fell for? The charm?" Karen surprised herself that such a question came out of her mouth. "I'm sorry—"
"It's fine. I don't mind talkin' about him." Pickle sighed, "I suppose I don't talk about him enough. Can't pretend that he never existed."
"That's what men do," said Karen with a smile. "They keep everything in."
Pickle took another drink, wetting the inside of his dry throat. His face changed and a morose look had slowly emerged on his features. He took another swig and placed the cup on the floor before adding, "I sometimes wonder how long we've got."
Karen sat up straight, confused by his rambling words. "What?"
Pickle took in a deep breath, temporarily enlarging his chest, and puffed out. "How long we've got left to live."
"Jesus," Karen falsely snickered. "You're in a dark mood." He never responded back, and Karen could see the melancholy on his face. "Is this you going through one of your what's the point moods?"
"I'm serious."
"So am I." Karen stood up and walked over to her friend. She sat next to him and put her hand on his thigh. "You're depressed. We're all fucking depressed, but we're still alive."
"For now."
Karen nodded, "Yeah, for now. Who knows what could happen in the next couple of months. We could all be living in luxury with a decent community. The country could be slowly restored back to civilisation with the help of our own and outside forces."
"Or we could all be dead."
"Maybe. But I'm willing to stick it out, baby or no baby. Don't get me wrong, I have bad days, you know that. That's why we need each other. When you're down, I'm here for you, and vice versa."
"I've thought about killing myself." Pickle's tone was emotionless. "Many times."
"Haven't we all?" Karen wasn't shocked by his outburst. She was sure he had said something similar weeks back.
He shook his head and looked at Karen with his dark glassy eyes. "Being alive in this world is just prolonging the inevitable."
"Wasn't being alive in the old world prolonging the inevitable? I don't think your God will be pleased if you gave up and took your own life."
"What do yer know about God?"
"Not a lot, I suppose. But this feeling you have right now comes and goes for everybody, you know that. Look at Paul Dickson and what he's lost, Shaz..."
Karen stood to her feet and began to unbutton her green combat trousers. Pickle never asked what she was doing; he just glared at the young woman, completely baffled. She lowered the combats down and pointed at the cuts on the inside of her left thigh. "Don't ask me why, but I started doing it days ago. We're all depressed, Pickle." She then pulled her trousers back up. "We're all suffering."
"Shit." Pickle put his hands together as if he was about to pray. "I had no idea."
"Only you and Paul know about this. I haven't done it for days. I think I've got it under control."
Pickle patted the seat next to him and urged Karen to sit down. Once she did, he put his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. "I'm sorry for wallowing in self-pity."
"You're entitled to do that. And next time you do it, I hope I'm here for you again."
"I suppose I'm just having a bad couple o' hours. Yer don't need to see me like this."
"Pickle, I don't mind seeing you like this. I'd rather you didn't hide it. We've known each other for nearly two months now, feels like years. And we've been through some shit that is beyond surreal. Two months ago I was a Grade D Staff Nurse, engaged, and had a house at Draycott Park. Since I've known you, we've killed so many Snatchers I have lost count, I've shot a gun, I've been close to being killed more times than I'd like to experience, and I've even killed people."
"What's yer point?"
"My point? In such a short space of time, I've never felt like this about anybody, not even Shaz. The stuff we've been through... We have an unbreakable bond. You're the big brother that I never had, and I love you." Karen kissed him on his forehead before getting to her feet, the tears in her eyes refusing to fall. She began to walk over to the door that led to the stairs.
"Where're yer going?" he asked in a croaky voice, his throat swelling with emotion. He loved her so much. He just wasn't good at telling her.
"I'm turning in for the night. I'm exhausted."
"Good night, Bradley."
"I'll need a hug tonight." Karen smiled and beckoned him to follow her. "We can lie on the bed—"
"But—"
"I'm not gonna take no for an answer. I think this will be good for the both of us. You can go into the other room afterwards. I don't think I can put up with your snoring anyway."
Chapter Nine
Paul and Kyle Dickson were having a quick evening stroll along Sandy Lane, to blow off the cobwebs, whilst Lisa was at Rosemary's. They strolled in silence and
both seemed comfortable walking without verbal interaction. Paul placed his arm around his little man, and the boy looked up at his dad and gave him a big cheesy smile.
Kyle pointed up ahead and said, "It's Mrs Halliday."
Paul looked, and could see the elderly lady in her dressing gown, walking along the path with her two hands holding a kitchen towel as if she was carrying something. Kyle had said a few days ago, to her face, that Mrs Halliday looked like a witch, but it was something that she managed to laugh off, claiming that she had been called a lot worse.
"Hello," Kyle called over.
"Hello there, young fella." Mrs Halliday had a toothless smile, and Paul thought that the eighty-year-old must have left her teeth in the house.
"What are you doing?" Kyle asked, and scratched at his strawberry blonde hair.
Paul and his son were now next to Mrs Halliday, and could see that she had a dead goldfish on a piece of kitchen towel. The drain by Mrs Halliday's feet suggested that the senior citizen was about to release the dead fish down into it.
She explained to Kyle, "This is my fish, Flipper. I've had him for nearly three years, which is quite old for a fish, so he's had a good innings."
"Is it dead?" the young boy questioned.
She nodded with a thin smile. "It died a few minutes ago."
"Are you sad that he's dead?" Kyle looked up at the frail old woman for an answer, his father standing silently beside him.
"A little," she smiled at the sweet boy, "but he's had a good life, and now I'm going to put him down the drain while his soul goes to fishy heaven."
Kyle bit his bottom lip in thought. "Before you put him down the drain..."
"Yes?"
"Can I stab it?"
"Kyle!" Paul Dickson looked mortified, and gently pulled his son back from Mrs Halliday. "That's an awful thing to say!"
"It's okay." Mrs Halliday began to laugh. She bent down and gently lowered the kitchen towel to allow Flipper to drop down the drain, then screwed up the material and put it into her dressing gown pocket.
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