Pickle noticed Shaz glaring at the damage to the street. She had changed her clothes since he had last seen her, and she looked to have had a wash as well. "It's not all our doing, yer know."
Karen nodded to the floor and said, "What about the shotgun?"
"Leave it," Pickle responded. "Too fucking loud, plus, machetes don't need reloading."
Karen walked over to the pavement and leaned over behind the wall and brought out the canister and stove. "We're taking these."
Pickle smiled and looked around the street. "Well, we survive another day, Bradley." He then looked at Shaz. Her emotions were nil; she seemed cold, and almost looked prepared and dressed for this new world that had been forced upon mankind. But every person had a story to tell. Everyone was normal three weeks ago. He even looked at Karen now, and couldn't believe this tough fucker was a soon-to-be-married nurse who used to look after peoples' needs.
The three of them staggered out of the street while being attacked from above by the pouring rain, and Shaz gave an injured Pickle a shoulder to lean on while Karen struggled with the canister and stove.
The walk across the football field was going to be hard work, but the hill was going to be even more of a struggle, especially for Pickle who had bruising to his body, a severed finger and a broken nose.
Karen took a sniff of her shirt and exclaimed, "We need fresh clothes."
"All in good time, Karen," Pickle said.
But Karen didn't want to wait.
Chapter Forty Six
Jack was sat in the caravan and was cupping his hot cup of coffee in his hand, smelling the wonderful aroma of the beverage.
He looked out of the window and saw that the day looked darker than it should have been in June. The weather was atrocious and the rain lashed down hard. He had left his new watch in the bathroom, given to him by Vince, and guessed that it was about five in the evening, but it seemed a lot later.
He remained sitting alone, cup in hand, dressed in just a blue dressing gown that he had found hanging on the bedroom door. He took a slurp and felt great after a shave and a warm shower.
He wasn't sure of Vince, and he thought the whole caravan set-up seemed a bit weird, and a little quick, considering the virus had only been officially announced just under three weeks ago. It seemed that some people were happy to hide, others had no choice but to be on the move, while a small few were totally organised, as if they knew or were aware that this thing was already coming.
But he knew that Vince wasn't a one-off; there were others like him, and that was proved when Jack had passed the Globe Island to see that Sandy Lane had been closed off. It looked that people had decided to block it off themselves and take matters into their own hands, considering there was no help from the government, if there was still one left.
To a lesser degree, the ill-fated stay at the village hall was a kind of sanctuary or a camp for folk, which included small looting from Paul Parker and a trip to the supermarket that ended in disaster, especially for Gary. But back then it was looting places that were already vacant. It was proving with Vince's trip that people were now robbing from one another, and Jack wondered that if he hadn't have been present at the newsagents, Vince could quite easily have gunned down the shopkeeper, whether he had a family upstairs or not. That was going to be the future; Jack was convinced of it. The brutality of man-against-man was going to grow worse as time ticked by.
He was aware that being in such a camp with mercenaries like Vince was a recipe for a good living, but Jack was still uncomfortable about taking from other people on the outside, especially family-people who were still too scared to venture outdoors. It seemed wrong. And Jack wasn't ashamed to admit that.
There was a gentle knock on the door and Jack asked who was it.
"It's Claire," a female voice came from outside.
"Come in."
Claire walked in with a black waterproof jacket on, the hood completely covering her face.
"Raining, is it?" Jack's tiredness made his banter a little below par, but he made an attempt at humour anyway.
"Just a tad." Claire took off the waterproof jacket and hung it over a chair, and sat down, opposite Jack. She gave him a smile, and he immediately responded back.
He had never noticed before, but he thought she was quite attractive. She never turned his head at first, and maybe he thought that it was simply because he hadn't been sexually active for a while. He kind of guessed that not many people were sexually active, as they had had more pressing matters, but this was the first time in a long time that Jack had looked at a member of the opposite sex and generally fancied them.
Claire sighed, "About what happened back at the newsagents."
"Ah," Jack said sceptically. "Has Vince sent you round to try and win me over?"
Claire looked at Jack blankly and shook her head.
He believed her straight away. Said Jack, "Then what is it?"
"I know what you think we're doing is wrong, but in the long-term, if you stay with us, you'll have a good life."
"For how long?"
Claire gaped at Jack as if he had just pissed her off and didn't like his negative tone. "How do you mean?"
"Look, once this thing is another month or so old, this camp isn't gonna last long. There're others out there just like Vince, possibly a lot more brutal. And there will be many other groups getting formed as a means of protection."
"What's your point?"
"I'm just saying, that when supplies run out, camps will start attacking other camps to survive. I know you think Vince is some kind of tough hotshot, but there's tougher out there. And believe me, I've met some of them, briefly. I mean, what did he do before this happened?"
Claire shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. He doesn't really talk about his life."
"I just worry that it's going to be a bad ending for all of us eventually."
"But hasn't that always been the case, even before all this? Whatever success you become during life, the final outcome will always be death."
Jack glared at Claire and managed a smile. "You should do stand-up, you know. You're a cheery cow."
"That's a fact, Jack. You, on the other hand, are the negative one. Stay with us."
Jack gave Claire a confused look.
Continued Claire, "I can see you're having second thoughts being here. I'd like you to stay. Even give it a few months."
Jack was lost in thought and asked, "Why does Vince want me to stay? Is it because of what he saw when I put those things down? You had three men with a couple of shotguns standing by a blockade; I've got a feeling that you're a bit low on numbers in the old soldier department, am I right?"
Claire never answered him; she just glared, waiting for him to get his theory off his chest.
Jack added, "I might have pissed Vince off back at the newsagents, but he can see I have no hesitation in putting those things down."
Claire finally spoke out and cleared her throat before doing so. "So what are you saying? Vince is trying to gather some kind of army together?"
"I'm just saying that Vince may have already thought about my camp-fighting-camp theory, and is preparing himself for something that may or may not happen in the near future." Jack stood up to pour more hot water into his coffee and remained standing in the kitchen. "You see, these...runs, these trips outdoors that he goes on, are they really for food and gas?"
Claire nodded.
"You seem to have more than the average person, as far as water and animals are concerned, and then there's the huge vegetable patch. I think you lot will do just fine. But maybe he's out there to recruit as well. If that shopkeeper was alone, he could have been recruited and on this camp right now, standing by the blockade, holding that stupid sword of his."
"I don't understand."
"Think about it, the camp's only weeks old. I think Vince is out there in hope to come across a house with a tormented and disgruntled man who has just lost his family, because it's obvious the rest of
the residents on this camp don't have it in them. Vince then asks the father to join the camp; the father agrees, as he's attracted to the idea of food and water, and is thrown into a situation that me and Johnny was in, proving to Vince if they would be worthy and useful to him."
Claire shook her head, mocking his theory. "Vince is quite picky who he chooses. He wouldn't just pick anybody. Most of the people on here are too old to fight anyway."
"So I'm right?"
She giggled and this was the first time Jack had seen and heard her laugh, and he grinned back at the fact that something as simple as a giggle could enhance one's attractiveness.
Claire stood to her feet, and said with sincerity, "I was checking to see if you were okay, that's all."
Feeling twangs of guilt, Jack walked over and gave her an apologetic look. "I've been through a lot in the last few weeks," Jack confessed, and placed his hand on her shoulder as a way of apologising. "So I'm a little messed up at the moment."
Claire leaned forward and kissed Jack on the lips, and he responded. He quickly broke away from the passionate embrace and gaped at Claire suspiciously. "Did he tell you to do that as well?"
There was hardly a response from Claire. She should have been insulted, but instead, she kept her emotions in check. "No," she said calmly. "I kissed you because I wanted to." She then put her waterproof jacket back on and left Jack's caravan, leaving the door wide open, signifying to Jack that she wasn't entirely happy with his paranoid outburst.
Jack shut the door to stop more rain getting in and soaking the carpet, and looked around where he was staying. It had been the most comfortable he had been since his stay in the Glasgow hotel, but to remain this comfortable and to have an abundance of food made him feel guilty, especially now that he knew that the leader of this camp was happy to be living in a comfortable way due to the stripping of others.
Overall, Jack didn't like Vince. He thought that he was out for himself, and being a part of the camp was some kind of power-trip for the man.
Jack had made a moral decision.
He wanted nothing to do with the camp.
He wanted to leave.
Chapter Forty Seven
By the time they had reached the cabin it had stopped raining; Pickle had collapsed against the outside of the fence, and Karen wasn't very far away from passing out either. They rattled and shouted over the closed gate for Wolf to open it. Once he did, he helped Karen move Pickle onto the sofa and never asked about the presence of Shaz, he just greeted her with a warm smile.
Wolf was trying to fuss around Pickle, but all he was doing was getting in the way.
"What happened to him? asked Wolf.
"We ran into a bit of trouble in the street." Karen pointed towards the kitchen. "Fetch me a tea-towel, and get me some of those painkillers in the drawer."
Wolf did what he was told, and also brought in a glass of water for Pickle to swallow the pills. Once Pickle swallowed the painkillers, he winced once Karen ripped the tea-towel and began wrapping it around the stump where his little finger used to be on his left hand. Pickle grimaced again and put his right fist into his mouth and bit on it as she was finishing off.
"This is all I can do," Karen said apologetically. "The loss of blood isn't that great with this kind of injury. You really need microsurgery, but you'll be amazed how the body can repair itself over a period of time."
Pickle managed a joke and said, "You mean the finger will grow back?"
"No, fucktard. But it will heal, eventually." Karen then placed her hands on his body and shook her head. "Possible broken ribs. In the old days they used binding, but it's bollocks. Just don't bang into anything. Your nose is also broken. We'll just keep your blood-flow under control, and your nose should be okay over a period of time."
Feeling useless, Wolf announced to Karen that he was going to check on the new guest. Karen nodded without looking at the elderly man.
Shaz sat on the damp grass and welcomed the rest; Wolf had appeared from inside the cabin and then sat his weary body next to her.
Shaz was unaware of what to do next.
"Wolfgang Kindl." Wolf held out his hand.
Shaz shook it, "But people call you Wolf?"
"Most of the time," he cackled, and shuffled his backside on the grass of the garden to get comfortable. "You?"
"Sharon. I usually get called Shaz." She gawped at the old man and felt a little uncomfortable sitting next to him. She wondered the last time he had washed or even changed his clothes, as the smell coming from him was horrendous. Shaz added, "I hope you don't mind me being here. I won't stay long."
"You're welcome to stay for as long as it takes." He patted her knee affectionately like her Granddad used to before the lung cancer took him.
Wolf released a long sigh and moved his head from side-to-side. "Harry's in a right state. What kind of barbarians would do that to somebody, to cut his finger off."
"I think they had a run-in a few days before."
"Still, it doesn't excuse it." Wolf was almost in tears, and Shaz took a look at the old man and thought that his nickname was a little misleading.
With a name like Wolf, Shaz was expecting someone with a bit more bite to them, rather than a smelly old man who apparently had an old shotgun hiding in the cabin. Although Shaz was grateful for being allowed to stay, she did harshly think that Wolf having the three of them staying in the cabin area would be good security for the old man.
She thought: Was he taking her in as an act of kindness? Or, was he allowing people to stay as a way of him remaining safe in such a dire world?
"You like tea?" asked Wolf.
Sharon nodded.
"Good." Wolf then slowly stood up and made a moan as his knees cracked. He then bent his back and walked towards the cabin and picked up the stove and canister. "I can make you some whenever I want with this, and not wait until I've got a fire on. Takes ages anyway with a fire."
"How's your water system?"
Wolf nodded. "Not bad. I've also put some buckets out to catch rainwater. And I've got that barrel over there. Put a spot of bleach in and Bob's your uncle."
"Your sink not working?"
"Yeah, but I prefer to use rainwater first for drinking before having to use the tap. I have no idea what state the stream is in. But now we have a stove, I can use the sink to my heart's content, now I can boil the water."
"Probably best to collect as much rain water as you can. If your running water goes tits up..."
"I know."
Wolf disappeared inside and Shaz could hear him asking Karen if she wanted a tea or coffee.
Shaz lay back on the wet grass and placed her hands behind her head to look up to the murky sky. Her mind thought back to the last three weeks of her life.
She could feel her eyes getting heavy and tiredness making its way through her shattered body. Her blue eyes suddenly widened once she fell a little drizzle of saltwater on her face. It was trying to rain again.
She rubbed her face and went back to the position she was in before. The occasional drizzle could be felt on her countenance, but this time the tiredness was too powerful to be ignored.
Chapter Forty Eight
Claire sat in the caravan and put her head into her hands. She then threw her head back and rested it on the couch, her neck completely exposed. She was lost in thought and began thinking about that first weekend when she woke up in her caravan to see the news on the Sunday morning.
She spent most of her time ringing her family members and friends. She found out that some had no idea what was happening, but some mentioned that some of these things were trying to get into their house. She lost contact a few days after, and since then she had never felt so alone.
Claire's ex-boyfriend made contact to see how she was, but never heard from him after she replied back. She was frightened, and spent most of her time stuck in the caravan, hoping that those things didn't appear on the caravan park. As soon as the breaking news was announced on SKY th
at two members of the Royal Family had been reportedly shot by security, there was a rap at the door.
Claire stood up, petrified. She peered through her window and saw a guy called Vince with two other guys, standing outside her place.
She finally opened the door and was informed by Vince that he was going round each caravan to see how people were, and then they were going to block off the road to stop any 'Rotters' from getting on the camp. The two men behind Vince were carrying shotguns and were local farmers. Vince asked Claire if she wanted to tag along, and for some reason she said yes.
There were many macabre scenes to be witnessed while she tagged along with Vince and the boys, when checking on the remaining residents. One caravan had been found with the residents inside, dead. They had committed suicide. Inside the caravan was an elderly couple that had taken an overdose and had died in their sleep, the pair of them were found in their pyjamas, holding hands.
The very last caravan was approached and they could all see that there was blood smeared on the inside of the windows. They advanced towards the caravan with more caution, and as soon as the door was kicked open, three deceased beings stumbled after them, fell down the steps and landed on the grass.
The three were originally a mother and her two teenage boys. All had turned, and no one could fathom how it had happened.
Because of the announcement from the TV, they knew exactly how to deal with the infected, but it was easier said than done.
Both men carrying guns hesitated, but Vince brought his up straight away and put a cartridge into the head of the mother that was already face down on the floor. The head was obliterated and he took out one of the boys with another head shot. While Vince began to reload, he told one of the men to finish off the other boy, but both men hesitated. Claire took one of the shotguns off one of the men and stepped forward. She aimed, then fired.
This experience had affected Claire and the afternoon was spent burying the deceased, once the infected caravan had been dealt with. When she got back to her own place, she threw up, and had a lie down.
Snatchers (Book 3): The Dead Don't Cry Page 21