"I suppose not. But I have killed those things before."
Rosemary smiled thinly and wagged her finger at the man. "You're better off staying in the camp, for Kyle's sake. You heard what happened to Luke John?"
"I did. And about Helen and her father. It's been quite a week."
"I can't stop thinking about what happened on Vince's camp," confessed Rosemary, with gloom all over her face. "Nothing will compare to that. I hope."
"It'll be a while before we get over that." Changing the subject, Paul asked, "How are you getting on with Lisa?"
"Slowly." Rosemary looked over her shoulder to make sure there were no little eavesdroppers around. "She's slowly coming out of her shell, but you have to remember she has lost everyone and being abused by that Kevin Murphy animal..."
"I know. Karen checked her out days ago. She said most of the damage was probably psychological." Paul stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity. He then held his hand up at Rosemary and announced, "I'll see you later."
"Yes, you will."
Paul walked away and initially was heading for his house, 19 Sandy Lane, but the sight of Karen Bradley heading towards him forced him to walk past his place of residence and greet the twenty-three-year-old.
"Hey, you." Paul smiled and gazed at the woman.
"You dropping the kids off?" Karen had seen Lisa and Kyle go into Rosemary's from a distance.
"Indeed. I'm a person of leisure for a few hours before I do a barrier watch."
"Me too," Karen scoffed. "Boring, isn't it?"
"Yep," Paul laughed. "I don't know what to do with myself. Where are you off to?"
"I don't know." Karen Bradley shrugged her shoulders, then, with her fingers, she combed her brown hair behind her ears before adding, "I might go for another walk. I'm hoping I'll get some kind of stock-checking job in the Lea Hall building. Not sure yet."
"I don't see why you can't do barrier watch. It's not physically exhausting."
Karen huffed, "I know. I'll do anything."
Paul stared at Karen and produced a thin smile. He moved his head to the side and asked, "What's wrong, Karen? You seem down."
"I suppose everything's wrong." She gave Paul a beautiful smile. "I'm just not myself."
"Sounds to me somebody needs a hug." Paul tried to make light of the situation, but Karen gave him a blank look.
She said, "I think that's exactly what I need. I know, being a man, you probably don't understand..." She paused and dropped her head.
Noticing the young woman becoming upset, Paul asked, "Has something happened? Is there something I could do?"
"Actually," she looked up, "there is."
*
Paul Dickson smiled thinly at Karen, who looked nervous, and took her by the hand. "Are you sure about this?" he asked.
She nodded. "I need it. I just hope I'm not asking too much."
"You're not. It's okay."
"But your wife..."
"It's okay." Paul gazed at the young beauty. "We're not doing anything illegal, are we? Not that it would make any difference." He began to snigger to himself, still shaking with tension.
They both slowly went upstairs, Paul leading the way, and he had to ask once they both reached the landing, "Why me?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. You've been hurt; you seem like a great, genuine guy and a loving father..."
"You trust me more than the others, right?"
"Yes."
He held out his arm towards his bedroom door and beckoned Karen to go in first. She took off her shoes, and Paul nervously walked in after her. He shut the door behind him and turned around, seeing that Karen was already lying on the bed, fully-clothed. He gulped and also kicked off his shoes; he walked round the other side of the bed and laid down next to her.
"Sorry. I'm a bit nervous," Paul held out his hand to see it was shaking. "I've never been on a bed next to a woman before, other than Julie."
"I understand."
"So what do you want me to do now?" Paul took in a deep breath, waiting for Karen's response.
"Nothing," she said. "Just keep on lying on your back."
She turned to the side to stare at Paul Dickson. He was a handsome man, a lot older than her, but still handsome. She lay her head on Paul's chest and put her right arm across him. She could hear his heartbeat going ten to the dozen. She released a contented moan and told Paul to put his arm around her back, in which he did.
"How long do you want to do this for?" he stammered.
"Until I say," she purred. "Now, no more talking."
She completely relaxed and closed her eyes. Both tortured individuals lay there, hugging innocently, and Paul could feel Karen's shoulders juddering gently. He guessed she was crying but never said anything.
No more talking!
He held her tighter and kissed her on the top of her head. She responded by squeezing his shoulder as she lay on his chest, and minutes later they both fell asleep for half an hour.
It was something that they both needed. Comfort.
Chapter Twenty Three
"Let's move!" bellowed Bear.
"Where to now, Bear?" Frederick was sitting on the hard floor and began to put his shoes on.
"To see if there's anything to take from the estate."
"It's been nearly six weeks," Willie scoffed, who was also putting on his shoes. "There'll be nothing left."
"There'll be something," snapped Bear.
"What's happening with the cabin?" Frederick nervously spoke up, looking at Willie for some kind of support. "Are we staying here for a while?"
The Bear nodded. "For a few days, until we find something better." He looked at the two scrawny men and added, "Any objections?"
"No," Frederick laughed and was relieved that they were staying, so was Willie. "I'm just glad to be out of those woods."
"Me too." Willie nodded, now sparking up a cigarette.
Bear pointed at the kitchen and said, "We have a running tap. Which is more than what some people have."
"True." Johnny Wilson ran his fingers through his long ginger hair and tightened the band at the back that was keeping it together as a ponytail.
"Me and Frederick will go down to the estate." Bear stared at Willie and commanded, "I want you to find where this place is getting the water from, probably that stream that we passed, and make sure there's nothing in there contaminating it. Then straight back to the cabin and wait for our return."
"Sure thing." Willie was pleased that he had been given the easy job. He didn't know why he had. Maybe Bear thought that Frederick was more reliable than him; he didn't care.
It was going to be nice to have a break from both men, especially Bear. Whenever he was around, which was a lot, Frederick and Willie could never really relax because of the unpredictable man's presence. This was a man that didn't have a crime history that went back years, but he was still a man that had killed a number of work colleagues with his bare hands in a matter of minutes. He was a psychopath, and this made Theodore Davidson more dangerous than any gangster or murderer that had set foot in Stafford prison.
Bear and Frederick left and made their way down with their empty bags that had been emptied in the cabin's kitchen, and headed for the large gap in the hedge with Frederick grasping his bat with his clammy hand.
Thirty-one-year-old Paul Frederick clocked the pile of bodies to the right, but never said anything to Bear about it. Once they both cleared the football field, they reached a street that looked to have had its fair share of action over the weeks. There was blood, defunct members of the dead, and burnt out cars in this one street alone.
Bear looked at Frederick. "I don't think they'll be much in this street for us."
"Further into the estate?" Frederick asked.
Bear nodded, and said to Frederick, "Get your baseball bat ready. This place is too quiet for my liking."
They walked into another street and could see a house that had been on fire, two bodies strewn across the
road, and a few body parts was also present at the right side of the pavement.
Bear stopped walking.
He pointed at a Subaru jeep, sitting on a drive. "When we decide to leave, that can be our vehicle out of here." He looked around and saw a couple of other abandoned vehicles. "We could siphon the cars and flee once we're ready." Bear then pointed at the house that the vehicle belonged to. "We may as well try this one first. The jeep's keys should be in there somewhere."
"Good idea," Frederick chuckled. "Hot-wiring isn't my speciality."
"Nothing is your speciality," Bear said coldly.
Frederick stopped chuckling and walked behind the huge man who forced the door open with one kick from his boot. "Looks like this one wasn't barricaded."
Bear reached for his kukri and pointed to the floor, telling Frederick to drop his bag for the time being, in which he did, and so did Bear.
They both checked the ground floor and could see that, apart from the dust that had settled over the weeks, the place was immaculate. There had been no sign of a struggle, and there was no sign of blood. But the jeep was sitting on the drive, and this is what confused both men. If the residents of the house had opted to go to a safer alternative, or a potentially safer alternative, why go on foot and leave a solid-looking vehicle behind?
A thud from upstairs gave them the answer.
They were still in the house. Whether they were of human kind or now a part of the dead, they didn't know yet.
"Bear," Frederick began, "if they're human, let's just take what we've come for and leave them alone."
"You know me," Bear snarled quietly. "If they do as they're told, they're fine. If they try and fight back..."
They reached the landing and could see straight away what was up on the first floor. All three bedrooms and the one bathroom had their doors wide open. Three ghouls staggered in the one bedroom to their right, still unaware of their presence. Bear walked over and shut the door. He quickly checked the other rooms and headed for downstairs. Before Frederick could ask what he was doing, Bear explained, "No point getting our clothes messy if those things don't really pose a threat. What we need is on the bottom floor."
He had a point, Frederick thought.
Bear and Frederick entered the kitchen and were pleasantly surprised to see cupboards full of tins.
"At this rate, we'll be able to live in that cabin for weeks," Frederick said excitedly.
Once his bag was full, Bear stood up and grabbed a set of keys that were sitting on the kitchen windowsill. He now had the keys to the jeep.
Frederick noticed this and laughed, "It's a shame we just can't take the jeep now."
"It might struggle up that hill," was Bear's sarcastic response.
"But if we took it and left it on the field—"
"People will then know that the cabin is being used, with a vehicle sitting at the bottom of the hill. And if it rains, and we need a quick escape for some reason..."
Frederick lowered his head, embarrassed. "We could end up stuck in the mud."
Bear laughed and threw his bag over his shoulder. "You leave the thinking to me. Just do as you're told."
Ten minutes later they left the premises and headed for the cabin. Their little journey was a lot shorter than they had envisaged. They had been lucky. Not every house was going to be rammed with supplies after five or six weeks into this disaster.
*
The door to the cabin creaked open an inch and a terrified Bentley peered out. The door moved another inch, and again, until the confident and relieved Bentley Drummle could now see that these things posed no danger to him anymore.
He stepped out into the early morning, Glen in his right hand, and covered his eyes. It was yet another murky day, but it was still bright enough to torture his retinas for a few seconds.
He shut the door behind him, welcoming the air and saying goodbye to the dark hut that stunk of his own piss and shit. Once his vision was almost back to normal, he scanned the ground and could see dozens of bodies around the grass. This baffled him and he remained standing, glaring at the destruction of these hideous creatures, trying to comprehend and piece together what had happened.
He slowly stepped over body-after-body, aware that some may not be dead. He looked to the side of the hut and bodies were there as well. Some were further out as if they had seen something, walked towards it, and met their demise many yards away from the cabin. When Bentley was in the cabin, at first, they were all around the place, or at least it sounded like they were. Now they were all dead, but their bodies were spaced out.
Somebody had been here. Somebody had helped him out.
But who? And why?
He glared at the heads of the dead and noticed most were taken out with a blunt instrument, judging by the mess of their skulls. Some had been killed cleaner by a different weapon. Then he saw it.
He approached one of the dead and screwed his head in confusion.
"What the..?"
What he was seeing just didn't make sense!
He crouched down and could see that, although the face was rotten, this thing used to be a young girl, possibly a teenager. A long stick, or whatever the hell it was, had pierced the side of its head. He grabbed the thing that had penetrated the ghoul's head that appeared to be made of wood, possibly pine. He pulled on it with both hands and ignored the squelching noise as he prised it out of the head. He held it up vertically and could see the sharp metal tip at the end. An arrow.
Bewildered, he dropped the arrow and slowly trudged away from the massacre—a massacre that appeared to have saved his life, and continued to stroll until he reached the hill that he had gone down the evening before. He looked up and knew that it was something he was never going to be able to climb. He was too exhausted.
"Better stay where you are," he muttered to himself. "They'll probably be looking for you today...maybe."
He turned away and decided to walk into the wooded part and have a break from the dead bodies and the stench of death. He had only completed ten yards into the woods and could already hear the sound of running water.
A stream.
Even if the water wasn't drinkable, he needed something to wet the inside of his mouth. He followed the noise and noticed that the further he walked in, the more condensed the trees became. Scratching the back of his neck, he continued heading towards the stream. His face lit up once he finally reached it, and immediately went over to it and began splashing his face with the icy water. That, in itself, felt like heaven.
He then risked a few gulps of water, before going back to the scene of carnage, and was about to take his boots off to cool down his bare feet, but something could be seen in the corner of his eye.
He stood up and could see a figure nearly twenty yards away, about five-five in height, on the other side of the stream. The figure had a black waterproof poncho on, hood up, and was wearing dark shades. The individual was aiming a bow and arrow at Drummle and he knew reaching for his Glock, or any other sudden movements, could result in his death. This person, whoever it was, looked like they knew what they were doing.
"I mean you no harm," Bentley said with desperation in his voice.
The sound of the running water was quite raucous, so Bentley tried to repeat his comment, only a little more louder. "I mean you no harm, my friend."
The archer released the arrow and Bentley gasped and closed his eyes as it hurtled in his direction.
He was still alive. He was convinced he was still alive, and opened his eyes to see that the archer was not there anymore. He looked over his shoulder and could see, a few metres behind him, another member of the dead, deceased and on the floor, with an arrow sticking out of its forehead. It then clicked that the very same individual who had fired the arrow was probably the same person that had helped him out while he was stuck in the cabin.
The archer wasn't aiming at him; the individual had saved his life...again, but why? And why put yourself at risk and kill all of those creatur
es during the night while he was stuck in the cabin? It didn't make sense.
He had no answer to his questions, but was relieved, and a little confused, that he was still breathing. Bentley sat down by the stream, this time checking all around him, and began to splash his face and cool himself down.
A rustle could be heard to the side of him and out of the condensed trees came two Wasters, stumbling in his direction. He raised his handgun, but soon lowered it as another six appeared behind the initial two. He didn't have enough bullets to take out all eight, so he stood to his feet and tucked his gun into the front of his trousers.
It was time to move.
He stepped over the stream, using the rocks that were provided, and could see that the eight Wasters were following him with more speed than he thought was possible. He began to jog away from the beasts and gasped when another two appeared to the right side of him. He managed to find a dirt path, where the area was more open and less condensed, and picked up speed to outrun these fiends.
He knew he should have stayed in the same place just in case his friends came looking for him. It wasn't what he wanted, but he was heading further into the woods.
Chapter Twenty Four
The red pick-up truck that Lee James was driving had bypassed the steep road that led up to the industrial estate where they had been before. The vehicle followed the bend that the main road provided and could see a large play park to the right of them. They all remained silent, and once the truck pulled onto a dirt path the vehicle slowed down and crawled along the trail for a few minutes, with the woods either side of them. The dirt path eventually came to a stop one car length before the red and white striped barrier that was in place.
Lee pulled up the parking brake and announced to Sheryl next to him, "This is as far as we go."
Pickle and Vince jumped out of the back and approached the front of the truck. "I have no idea where we are," said Pickle with a chuckle.
"A mile from here is where Bentley fell." Lee went to the back of the truck and told them to get their sawn-offs. "Take your bags and only hydrate with your water bottle if you really have to. This might only take an hour, but it could take a day."
Snatchers (Book 7): The Dead Don't Yield Page 11