*
Paul raised a smile once he was at Lincoln's door and asked what was the matter.
Lincoln pushed his spectacles up his nose with his middle finger and told Paul to follow him. Lincoln turned on his heels and Paul went inside and followed the man into his kitchen.
“What is it?” Paul asked.
“I need a hand with a cabinet.” Lincoln took a bottle from the side and took a generous few gulps of water.
“A what?” Paul wasn't sure if John was joking or not.
“You heard. A cabinet.”
“A cabinet?” Paul looked confused.
Lincoln lowered his head and looked embarrassed. “I want to go to sleep, but I won't be able to unless my door is blocked off. After what happened today...”
“I thought most people blocked off their doors anyway.”
“I never did.” Lincoln cleared his throat and was physically shaking, close to tears. “I suppose with somebody on the gate and being in the middle of nowhere, I never thought we'd get any trouble. I thought we were untouchable. How wrong was I?”
Lincoln then broke down in front of Dickson and sobbed like a child. Paul Dickson remained unmoved and watched Lincoln as he cried his heart out. It took minutes for the fifty-five-year-old to regain his composure. He temporarily removed his glasses and wiped his wet eyes with the backs of his hands. He placed the glasses back on and apologised for his break down.
As if the incident had never happened, Paul then asked Lincoln if he wanted the cabinet moved right this very second, and Lincoln nodded.
“Just help me move it near the door,” Lincoln ordered. “You can give yourself enough room to get out, and I'll do the rest once you've left.”
Paul nodded and stepped into the living room. There was an oak cabinet by the fireplace and pointed at it. “This one?”
Lincoln said, “Yes. I'll probably struggle a little. My back's playing up a bit.”
Paul went over to the cabinet and tried to get a good grip. Lincoln joined him and went to the other side.
“On three,” said Paul. “And then we'll lift it.”
Paul counted to three and both men lifted.
“Hang on, hang on.” Lincoln dropped the cabinet to the floor and clutched onto his chest.
Paul sighed impatiently, “What is it?”
“Indigestion.” Lincoln continued to clutch his chest. He walked back into the kitchen and began to go through his cupboards. Paul followed him and asked what he was looking for.
“I thought I had some Gaviscon in here.”
“What's that for?”
“Indigestion. There should be some over where we stored that stuff from the chemist run last week.” Lincoln glared at Paul and raised a smile.
“And you want me to go over and get you some?” sighed Paul.
“That would be great,” Lincoln chortled and clutched on his chest with both hands, now wincing with discomfort. “Better hurry, though. It's getting worse.”
Paul headed for the door and stepped outside, into the dim street, moaning to himself about Lincoln. He crossed the road and heard Pickle call out from the wall, “Where're yer going?”
“Lincoln has indigestion,” said Paul. He looked over at the wall where Pickle, Vince and Bonser were. “Off to get some stuff for him. Who's on guard in there?”
“Nobody tonight,” Bonser called over. “Just help yourself. It's open.”
Paul entered the house and went into the dimly lit place. The medical supplies were on the ground floor, in the living room, and Karen had put labels on the shelves.
Paul went over to the large cabinet and saw the label for indigestion and heartburn on the third shelf down. He took a bottle of Gaviscon, put it into his pocket, and then exited the house.
He walked across the road, back over to Lincoln's and ignored Vince who called over sarcastically, “Don't forget to wipe his arse if he goes to the toilet.”
Paul went through Lincoln's door and announced, “Got it.”
He popped his head into the living room and could see that there was no one there. He called after John, thinking that maybe he had decided to go upstairs. Nothing.
The kitchen?
Paul strolled through the living room and had a look in the kitchen. John Lincoln had collapsed. He was lying on the floor, still clutching his chest, shaking, and his breathing was shallow.
Paul took out the bottle and placed it on the side. He then bent down to have a look at John. “What happened?”
Lincoln tried to explain but his speech was slurred.
Paul guessed that it wasn't indigestion and that Lincoln had had a heart attack or maybe a stroke.
“You're okay. Need to rest.” Paul then went on his knees and added, “I think you've had a heart attack or a stroke. I'll get Karen to look you over. Pickle can take charge.”
“I'm the one that makes the decisions around here,” Lincoln snarled, still clutching onto his chest. He curled up on the kitchen floor and cried out as shooting pains went across his chest. “I'll be okay.”
“Look, this is the wrong time to have an argument. With what's going on, I think it's better for Pickle to be in charge, at least until this Drake business has been sorted out. You should be in your bed, resting.”
“We did okay before you lot arrived,” he slurred.
“I know, but this is a threat that's way over your head. There’s a big difference between ordering people about when it comes to getting water or seeing to the vegetable patches, compared to what we're facing now. Hand the reins over to Pickle, even if it's temporary. He's been brought up with violence. He'll know what to do, especially if these talks with Drake breaks down.”
“What talks?”
Paul had forgot that Pickle's plan hadn't been discussed with John yet. “Forget it.”
“I'm in charge. Got it?” Lincoln grabbed a hold of Paul's shirt, eyes bulging, and growled, “Now go and get Karen. Make yourself useful.”
Paul grabbed Lincoln's hand and pushed it away. He remained on his knees, staring at the man who was in severe discomfort and shook his head.
Paul began, “You're fifty five years old. You've lived a lot longer than any of these fine people are going to, but you making the decisions, with the problem that we have right now, is not good for the camp. Not good at all. Time to take a step back.”
“Go and get Karen,” Lincoln spat, still clutching onto his chest.
“We've lost a lot of people tonight. One more won't make a difference.”
Paul pushed Lincoln's head down with his left hand, and with his right he covered the man's mouth and pinched his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
Lincoln struggled very briefly, and Paul kept his hands where they were until John Lincoln had stopped moving altogether. Paul remained where he was for a minute, just to make sure, then removed both hands and stood up.
Lincoln was dead. Paul was convinced that it was for the best.
He left the kitchen and headed for outside again. He stepped out of Lincoln's house and went over to the lads by the concrete wall.
“Are you finished?” Vince began to snicker, “Or is he going to need his head rubbed later?”
“Go and get Karen,” said Paul to Pickle, ignoring Vince's comment.
“What?” Pickle queried. “Why?”
“I think John has had a heart attack. I can't wake him up.”
Chapter Twenty Six
August 20th
Dawn was breaking. It was the start of a new day, and Chris stood up from sitting on the floor and stretched his arms and back. His moaning stirred Elza, Ophelia and Stephanie, and all three couldn't believe that they had nodded off.
“Well, are you sisters ready?” Chris began to laugh. “I bet you can't wait to get back, clean your teeth and get a proper sleep in a decent bed.”
Elza groaned at the man, “You don't even know what our place is like.”
“Well, you look in good condition. I'm guessing you lot live in house
s, maybe even have solar power.”
“We lived in a church for weeks,” Stephanie spoke up, rubbing her eyes. “We've only been in this camp for a few days.”
“So you're new.” Chris rubbed his hairy chin in thought. “So they are taking in people. This is getting better.”
Nobody responded.
“So who's in charge of this little ... community?”
“A guy called John Lincoln.” Elza didn't think there was any point lying to Chris.
He stretched his legs and said, “Let's go then.”
Elza smiled. “You must be mad if you think you're gonna be staying at Colwyn Place.”
“It's not up to you, is it? It's up to this John Lincoln guy. I just need you guys to give me a ride to your place.”
“And what was this surprise that you had for us?”
“Surprise?”
“You mentioned it last night.”
“Oh yes.” Chris smiled and said, “Come outside and I'll show you. There’s something in the shed. It's my way of saying thanks for the ride.”
Chris gestured for the girls to leave the house. Stephanie picked her bag and bow up and led the way, Ophelia followed behind, with Elza leaving last out of the girls. They exited the house and Chris told them to walk to the shed. He still had his knife on show and made sure that the girls were yards in front. Elza peered over her shoulder, making sure that Chris was a reasonable distance away, making the man giggle.
“Relax,” he said. “I'm not going to hurt you.”
“I am relaxed,” Elza huffed and pointed at the door of the shed and asked Chris, “So is this thing locked or what?”
Chris shook his head. “No, it's not locked.”
Elza could see that Stephanie and Ophelia were already by the door and had stopped walking. Elza didn't hesitate at all. As soon as she reached the shed's door, she pulled it open.
“I think the owners must have left it because they had no room left in their vehicle,” Chris began. “They must have taken as many canisters as they could and left the rest.”
He could see the surprise on their faces and placed his hand on his chest, grinning. “Let's call it a peace offering.” Chris stopped behind the girls and added, “So are we happy? This little trip here wasn't a complete waste of time, was it?”
The girls stared at the red canisters. There were six in all. Six ten-litre canisters of diesel were sitting on the floor of the shed. There were other utensils in the shed, but it was the six canisters that took the girls' fancy.
“Ten litres of gas in each canister,” said Chris. “You pick up two canisters each, one in each hand, and that'll be ten kilos to carry back to your vehicle. Very doable.”
“And why are you not helping?” Stephanie turned round and asked.
He smiled. “I have a lower back problem.”
“Of course you have.”
“Right then,” Elza sighed and tucked her bat in her belt. Ophelia did the same and Stephanie placed her bow over her shoulder and the bag over the other. “It'll be a struggle to the car, ladies, but it's sixty litres of gas that we can't leave behind.”
With Chris walking behind the girls, he watched as they struggled to their vehicle that was on the country road. They managed to get all six in the boot and Chris announced that he would sit in the back.
He placed his hand on Stephanie's shoulder and rested the knife on it.
“I thought you didn't want to take us by force,” Elza said.
Chris grinned and responded, “Relax. I won't hurt her. It's just in case you try something.”
“It's still force.”
“Let’s call it insurance. Me and the girl will both sit in the back.”
*
Ten minutes later, the vehicle was now out of Rugeley and on the Rugeley Road, heading to Little Haywood. No words had been exchanged and it was Stephanie that broke the silence by making small-talk with the man from the farm. Chris' knife was pointing at her side, but she wasn't nervous. She genuinely thought that he was just desperate and was doing this because he had no other option. But she would still try and flee from the man if the opportunity arose, just in case.
The vehicle went by a bed and breakfast establishment on their right; they took a bend, then once the road began to straighten up they could see a small group of the dead twenty yards in front of them. Elza began to slow down and eventually brought the vehicle to a stop. There was only five in the middle of the road, but going through them wasn't an option.
“You two take care of them,” Chris spoke from the back. “Stephanie is staying here with me.”
“We'd be better with Stephanie outside,” Elza tried to explain. “She's a skilled archer.” Elza pointed at the bow and rucksack that was by Stephanie's feet. “She could take out a few of them before they reach the car.”
“I don't give a shit,” Chris laughed. “If I'm left on my own, you three could turn on me.”
“Look here,” Elza snarled. “We could have turned on you when we were back at the farm, when we were heading to the shed.”
Chris grimaced and held the knife tighter, pushing it gently into Stephanie's side. “Don't make me do this.”
“Fine,” Elza huffed and left the vehicle, with Ophelia copying her. Chris and Stephanie watched from the back, looking through the windscreen as Elza and Ophelia put down the five dead with ease.
“Wow,” Chris whispered, lowering the knife. “They're fucking good.”
He suddenly dropped the knife and found that he couldn't breathe.
With watery eyes, he watched helplessly as Stephanie left the vehicle quickly. He held onto his throat where she had hit him with the side of her left hand, and tried to massage it.
“Little bitch,” he gasped.
He wiped his eyes and reached for the passenger door. It opened and he fell out.
He struggled to get to his feet, and didn't look behind him when he began to hobble away from the girls, heading back to Rugeley.
*
Elza and Ophelia wiped their bats on the clothes of the dead after dealing with them, and both turned when they heard one of the doors belonging to the vehicle open. They watched as Stephanie ran towards them, and could see Chris falling out of the other side of the vehicle, holding onto his throat.
Elza stepped forward, but Stephanie grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back.
“Don't,” said Stephanie.
“He threatened us. He threatened you,” Elza said. “I can't let that piece of shit go.”
“He was desperate, that's all.”
“The problem with you, Stephanie, is that you're too nice.” Elza shrugged off Stephanie's grip and took another step forward.
“Please,” Stephanie begged. “For me. Don't do this.”
“If he’s so nice, why didn’t you stay in the car?” Elza grinded her teeth as she asked the question.
“I … I don’t know. Just to be on the safe side.”
Elza glared into Stephanie's blue eyes and released a frustrated sigh. Elza shook her head and said, “God, I must be going soft.”
Stephanie managed a small smile, but it was short-lived when she saw Elza give Ophelia a nod of the head.
Ophelia marched forwards, passing the vehicle and was now jogging after Chris, who was running like a drunk.
“Don't do this!” screamed Stephanie.
Elza and a helpless Stephanie Perkins watched as Ophelia had caught up with the man. Ophelia struck Chris with her bat on the back of his head. He fell hard on the tarmac and never got up again.
Ophelia stood over him and raised the bat. Stephanie looked away, but Elza watched coldly as her friend smashed the man's brains in with four more strikes to his skull.
Once she was finished, Ophelia dragged the body to the side of the road and returned to the vehicle, and sat in the front passenger seat.
“Right,” Elza said to the teenager. “Let's go. We're five minutes from Haywood.”
Elza headed back to the vehicle and
stopped when she realised that Stephanie hadn't moved.
“Move it!” Elza yelled. “I don't know about you, but I could do with a decent sleep.”
Stephanie did what she was told and moved with reluctant feet. She sat in the back and closed both doors that were open.
Elza returned to the driver's seat and started the engine. She looked in the rear view mirror, at Stephanie, and asked her what was wrong.
“What's wrong?” Stephanie seemed surprised by Elza's query. “You know what's wrong.”
“Tell me.”
“You said you wouldn't kill him,” cried Stephanie.
“I didn't,” Elza said calmly and pulled the vehicle away. “Ophelia did.”
Chapter Twenty Seven
The jeep turned left and went by the Wolseley Arms pub and was now on the road to Colwyn Place. Stephanie was in the back and had tears in her eyes. The punishment that had been delivered to Chris was far too much and she was beginning to wonder if these two were a liability. She knew Elza was a tough cookie, but the talk of killing residents a few days ago and now this was making her think twice if she wanted to be under the same roof as these two.
“You okay?” Elza looked at Stephanie through the rear view mirror when she asked her the question.
Stephanie turned and looked out of the passenger window, staring out as the trees and shrubs whizzed quickly by her eyes.
“So ... you're not talking to me then?” Elza spoke with a smile.
“There's nothing to talk about,” Stephanie huffed and folded her arms.
“Don't tell me you're still upset about that Chris fellow.”
“Still upset?” Stephanie couldn't believe what she was hearing. “Still upset? It was only minutes ago you bashed his brains in.”
“I didn't do anything.”
“Okay, so Ophelia did it, but it was on your command.”
“The guy was a liability, dangerous, and don't forget he had a knife pointing at you.”
Snatchers Box Set, Vol. 4 [Books 10-12] Page 38