"And if he's not there, and we can't find him by the evening?" asked Vince.
"We go home," Sheryl said with a dark tone. "Putting us at risk and spreading out is just insane."
"Not only that," Lee began. "There's a chance that he could be back at the camp while we're out looking for him. He did say yesterday that he'd meet us back at the camp, but obviously we thought he meant within a few hours. Something's happened."
All four threw their small bags over their shoulder, machetes were tucked in their belts and the sawn-offs, for now, were also in the bags.
Lee could see Vince bent over, stretching his legs and back.
"You alright, mate?" Lee called over.
Vince straightened up and nodded. "Just a bit stiff." He looked over at Sheryl and gave her a cheeky wink. "And not in a good way."
Sheryl shook her head. "Oh please."
"Er...Vince." Lee looked embarrassed about what he was going to say next. "Let's not cause any trouble today. We're out here looking for a colleague."
Pickle playfully grabbed Vince's shoulder. "Don't yer worry, Lee. I'll keep this one under control."
Lee and Sheryl trudged through some bracken with Pickle and Vince behind them, and as they went further into the woodland, the more condensed it became. Lee finally managed to find a dirt path and all four were now on it, with their itchy fingers not too far away from their machete handles. The sawn-offs remained in the bags as each experienced member knew that one blast could attract the dead from afar. They were only to be used in times of desperation.
"How long will this take?" Vince called out to the two in front.
"Should only be a twenty-minute walk." Lee looked over his shoulder, whilst still walking, and continued, "and I'd prefer it if you kept your voice to a whisper."
"Sorry," whispered Vince, making Pickle smile.
"I'm sick o' the sights o' these places." Pickle scanned to his left and right, trees everywhere.
"I kind of like it, so long as I don't have to stay the night in here." Vince began to reminisce and made a three-sixty turn to look around. "I used to take my girlfriends to the woods."
"To bury them?" cackled Pickle.
"Yeah, very funny."
"To get your wicked way then?"
"Well, I didn't take them up to the woods to pick bluebells and skip through the bracken. I used to like going for walks with them, especially during the early days of the relationship, the honeymoon period. It's my favourite part of a relationship; it's the only part I like, to be honest."
"Yer have a heart of stone, Vince."
"Trouble is, Pickle, relationships suck. One minute you're holding hands, skipping through fields of daffodils and ripping each others' clothes off. Five years later, you're in Ikea, shopping for plates and having to do the housework to even get a hand-job."
Laughed Pickle, "Maybe you just need to meet the right one."
"Maybe. Rosemary's okay, but..." Vince sighed and kicked at some bracken to the left of him, making a nervy Sheryl and Lee twist their heads round quickly. "Doesn't matter now though, does it?"
"I suppose it doesn't, right now."
Vince screwed his eyes at Pickle and assessed him for a few seconds.
"Something the matter?" asked Harry Branston.
"You seem to be still pretty muscular, despite what has gone on."
"I try and keep fit. The runs I did with yer was good for ma cardiovascular system, and I try an' do pull-ups and press-ups whenever I can. Why?" Pickle had a snigger to himself and jokingly asked, "Do yer think yer would be able to take me?"
"I think you already know the answer to that."
"True. Yer not a hard man, Vince, but yer a psycho, now and again."
"Never really fought much, not even during my younger days."
"Yer never used to fight much in school?"
Vince ran his fingers over his scarred face in thought, and began, "Once, I beat up the school bully with a baseball bat. Both his arms were completely broken. Which is what gave me the courage to do it in the first place."
"Yer a dick," Pickle snickered at Vince's humorous tale.
"Wait up," Lee whispered at the two of them. Both he and Sheryl had stopped moving. "There's something up ahead."
All four slipped out their blades and crept towards a figure that was against a tree, further up ahead. The figure's head had dropped and there was no movement at all.
"What the fuck is it?" Lee led the way, hesitantly.
"Looks like a person." Sheryl was only half a yard behind Lee, near his side. She was about to ask how the individual against the tree remained upright, but as they got nearer her question was already answered.
The body was dead, and rope was wrapped around it and the tree, keeping it almost standing. What baffled the group though, as they began to circle the scene, confusion aplenty on their faces, was that the top of the head of the creature had a few large holes in its cranium, as if it had been penetrated with sharp sticks, or something similar.
"I don't get it." Lee scratched at his dark thin beard. "What's it doing tied up?"
Vince quipped, "Well, not a lot, by the looks of things."
Sheryl gave Vince a quick dirty look, then turned her attention back to the mystery. She took a closer look at the top of the head and guessed, "Either...somebody has manically attacked the thing, or they've been using it as target practice."
"Target practice," laughed Vince. "Don't be daft, you silly tart."
"Then why is it tied up?" Sheryl answered her own question. "So it doesn't fall." She glared at Vince and added, "And don't call me a tart again, or you'll be going back to the camp with your balls in your pocket."
Vince turned to Pickle and said in a whisper that they could all hear, "I think I'm getting a semi."
"Behave yerself." Pickle nudged him away.
"Anyway," Lee looked at the body with confusion, "whatever happened, we need to move on and find Bentley. This is not our problem."
They trudged through the greenery and looked with paranoid eyes from side-to-side. They could hear the sound of running water up ahead, and Lee spoke, "I don't really know this area that well, but I think the River Trent is up ahead."
"Sounds more like a stream to me." Sheryl chipped in. And she was right.
They progressed further and could see and hear the stream that went through the woods and stepped over it, using the stepping-stone rocks provided.
"Look." Pickle pointed to a body that was lying on the dirt. They could tell by its appearance that it used to be a member of the dead, but what made them screw their face in confusion was the arrow sticking out of its head.
"Probably the same person that did that other creature," sniffed Sheryl. She walked over and took a hold of it and slowly pulled it out, looking at the dark gunk that was dripping off the metal point.
"Something very weird is going on." Vince began to rub his chin in thought and added, "Shall we go on and check out near the river?"
Vince walked on, now leading the way, and as soon as he and the rest of the crew came to the edge of the woods they all stopped in their tracks and gazed at the macabre and surreal sight that their brains were digesting.
To the right of them was a huge hill that Bentley had gone down, and at the top was the industrial estate. Up ahead was the River Trent and a lone cabin, and across the field was bodies of the dead scattered around.
They slowly stepped over body-after-body, looking at the damage to their heads. Some had been pulverised, others had been penetrated with something. Vince was the first to reach the cabin and took a look inside.
He came out coughing, and said, "Jesus, it fucking stinks in there."
"No sign?" Pickle asked.
Vince shook his head. "No, but I think he might have been here. And I don't think he would attempt to cross that river, unless he was feeling suicidal."
"Let's go back on ourselves then," Lee called over, covering his nose with his T-shirt, trying not to breathe in th
e stench of death that was all around them.
"Where?" asked Pickle.
"Back through the woods and continue going south. If it reaches late evening and we still can't find him, I'm afraid Bentley will be on his own for another night, unless he's already at the camp."
"We better hurry up then."
Chapter Twenty Five
With Pickle away, Paul had invited Karen round for something to eat after their cuddle, which was an invitation she had accepted. She knocked on the door of 19 Sandy Lane.
Paul opened the door and began to laugh. "You don't have to knock, Karen. Just walk in."
"Thanks." She stepped in, still wearing her yellow shirt and green combat trousers, and said, "I was going to bring wine, but we seem to be in the middle of an apocalypse."
Paul Dickson smiled and looked at his watch. "It's probably a bit early for that anyway, and you're with child."
"Don't remind me." She stepped into the living room and asked, "Where're the kids?"
"Upstairs, playing." Paul held out his hand and urged Karen to take a seat at the dinner table. "They've already eaten."
"And what are we having?" Karen smiled and sat down, knowing that whatever he was going to produce was not going to be something one would order in a restaurant.
Paul blushed and answered, "Noodles...from a packet."
"You have hot water?"
"Got a pan on the go right now, on one of the camping stoves in the kitchen."
"So we can have tea as well, later on." Karen beamed and rubbed her hands together in anticipation.
Paul snickered, "If the noodles aren't enough, there're biscuits in the cupboard."
"So when will this majestic feast be ready?" The light ridicule in Karen's words made Paul smile.
"Not long."
"Good." Karen clapped her hands together and announced, "I'm going upstairs to see what the kids are up to."
"Fine," giggled Paul. "I'll give you a holler once it's ready."
"You do that."
Karen stood up and made her way upstairs. Once she reached the landing she could hear the sound of children's voices. Kyle and Lisa were talking to one another in the back bedroom, and out of intrigue Karen crept to the door that was slightly ajar and listened in on what they were talking about.
"Do you think they can run?" Kyle asked.
Karen assumed immediately that they were talking about the dead and their behaviour.
"I think some can," Lisa began, "but most walk slowly."
"But if the ones that can run come after me, I can beat them. I was the fastest runner in my school on sports day. They would get out of breath before me."
"The dead don't breathe," Lisa sighed with exasperation in her voice. "I've already told you this before."
"But if one came up to me and tried to bite me, I'd punch it right in the face, just like Batman did to Bane when—"
"You're not listening, are you? These things will tear you apart. They don't get scared, or feel sorry for anyone."
Karen continued to listen and allowed Lisa to tell the younger Kyle what was happening—it's not as if what she was telling him was a lie, and was fascinated how the youngster had got her information.
"Anyway," Lisa continued, "it's not just the dead that you have to be scared of. There are some bad people out there as well. When I was tied up to that bed, in the Murphy's house—"
"Hey, kids." Karen walked in and made both Kyle and Lisa jump. Karen had to interrupt the conversation as she thought that what was going to come out of Lisa's mouth was something not for the ears of a seven-year-old boy. "So what's been happening? What are you doing?"
"Just playing and stuff." Lisa walked over to the corner of the room and began scribbling on a piece of A4 paper. She seemed annoyed that Karen had turned up suddenly.
Karen looked over at Kyle. "And what about you, handsome? What have you been doing?"
"We've just come back from Rosemary's." Kyle said shyly, his head slightly dipped. "We're going back later on when daddy does a watch."
"Karen!" Paul called from downstairs. "Your majestic feast is ready."
"Better go." Karen waved at Kyle and Lisa. "I might come back up later. See you later, kiddies."
Neither one of them responded verbally, and Karen left them to it, making her way downstairs. She salivated as soon as the smell hit her and sat down at the table, opposite where Paul was sitting. Next to the plate of noodles was a glass of water, and Karen took a sip before digging in.
Two minutes had passed and Paul looked on in surprise as Karen ate the noodles as if it was the first thing she had eaten in days.
"Hungry?" he sniggered, and was only halfway through his own meal.
"That obvious?" She laughed and took another sip of water.
Paul could see that Karen's mind was doing overtime and that she was about to say something, but she paused. She gave him a look and he asked, "What is it?"
A thin smile emerged on her face. "Nothing really. I was listening in on Lisa and Kyle talking. You kind of forget what these kids are going through."
"Were they talking about Julie and Daisy?"
"Who's Daisy?"
"Lisa's mum."
"No. They were talking about the Snatchers, as I call them. You could sense the fear. It's a shame kids can't be kids anymore."
Paul was finishing his noodles and said with his mouth full. "You know what? When I was Kyle's age I was worried about not being picked for the school football team and not getting full marks in my English tests. They're the things that Kyle should be worried about. It's not right that he's worried about getting eaten, if bad human men out there come and get us, or worrying that the food in the camp won't be enough to go around."
"I know."
Tears suddenly filled Paul's eyes and his face trembled when he said, "I still can't believe that me and Kyle have to live without Julie and Bell. I still can't get the picture out of my head, them being stuck in that car. My two girls."
"I heard what happened." Karen walked over and put her arm around his shoulder. "It must have been horrendous to see."
He regained his composure quickly and cleared his throat. "I invite you round for something to eat and end up becoming a blubbering mess. Sorry."
"Don't be." Karen held his plate, ready to take it away into the kitchen. "It's healthy not to keep it all bottled up. You men seem to be good at that, but it ain't good for you."
"You're probably right."
Karen took both plates into the kitchen and returned to see that Paul Dickson was bearing up rather quickly after his mini collapse. "I'm gonna go and talk to the kids again. You sit down here for a while. Have a cry if you think it'll make you feel better."
Paul never said a word, and remained sitting at the table, staring.
Karen went back upstairs.
Chapter Twenty Six
He knew that the further he walked into the woodland, the harder it would be for his friends to find him if they came out looking for him, which he hoped they didn't. He didn't want others putting themselves at risk for him. Initially he had informed them that he would meet them back at the camp, but with him missing for the night, Bentley knew that they'd be a good chance that they were out searching.
He was aware that once he found a main road, he could use that and the signage to get himself back to Rugeley, but at the moment he was lost. In the old world, the sounds of vehicles would tell a lost individual that there was a road up ahead, but there were hardly any vehicles around anymore, and if he did finally reach a road, it was going to be down to luck and persistence.
He veered left and thought that heading north would just get him deeper and deeper into the humid woods. He had no bag of supplies with him, so he needed to get back as soon as possible before he died of dehydration.
This part of Cannock Chase was alien to Bentley, in fact most of it was, and had no idea if any waterfalls, bridges, cabins or ponds could be up ahead. He was walking into the unknown. He patted
the front of his trousers to make sure his Glock 17 was still there, and puffed out a stress-filled sigh when he saw that he had to go through a cluster of trees that were in front of him.
He pushed his way through and eventually hit a dirt path. The scene was greeted with a welcome relief by Bentley, as the trees were now spaced out and he could see up ahead. Still plagued with paranoia he looked all around whilst he was walking, and could see one in the distance, up ahead, but Bentley was untroubled by this.
He could handle one. It was when they were in their gangs it was time to worry.
His mind then began to think about the strange incident at the stream. Who was that person dressed in the black waterproof poncho, and why did they go out of their way to help him...twice? It didn't make sense. And where were they now?
He shook off these thoughts and pulled out his gun to remove the sole creature up ahead. Maybe that was a bad idea. He put his gun back and looked around for some kind of thick branch. He eventually found something sufficient and was only yards away from the fiend. In its previous life it looked to be a man, possibly in his thirties, but it was now dead, rotten, and its features were so hideous that this was possibly the worst one Bentley had clocked his eyes on.
Its right cheek had been torn away; the eye on the same side was missing from its socket, and its bottom lip was hanging off as if it had bitten into it. Bentley drew the branch back and took a swing at the side of its head. It fell to the floor, but it wasn't dead...yet. He could see that inside the exposed cheek was hundreds of maggots, all wriggling around as if they were on speed, devouring the dead flesh that was on offer.
Bentley turned to the side and threw up, taking himself by surprise, then brought the heel of his boot down onto its face. Its demise was a messy affair, and Bentley wiped the dark gunk and diseased brain matter from his heel on the bracken.
He walked away from the minor carnage and headed down the path. His dry tongue investigated the roof of his mouth and could feel the wrinkles there—a sign of dehydration. He needed to come across another stream and wet the inside of his body. He had no idea where this dirt path was going to lead, but he knew it couldn't go on forever and must come to an end at some point.
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