“So why bring these men with yer in the first place?” Pickle pointed over at the gate.
“I'm unarmed, Harry.” Drake stared at Pickle with his dark eyes and added, “They are my insurance. If any attempt on my life, or any other of my guys here are harmed, then that gate will be knocked down and those lot will come in and kill every single one of you cunts. But that's not going to happen, is it?”
Pickle gulped. “O' course not.”
Drake nodded the once. “Of course not.”
There was a silence between the men, and Drake stood straight and folded his arms, almost as if he was waiting on Pickle to say something next.
“Look,” Pickle began. “What happened o'er the last few days ... it could have been avoided. There ain't many people left on this earth as it is, without turning on one another. The dead are our enemy.”
“Don't be a cunt, Harry.” Drake smiled, arms still folded. “The dead aren't our enemy. They were in the beginning, but now the dead are just obstacles that get in the way now and again. It's humans that are the enemy now.”
“That's not entirely true.”
“Are you telling me you've never had a run-in with another fellow human being since this shit started? Of course you have. That's why you're still here.”
“Aye, I admit. I've had to kill people, but it was something I had to do and didn't take pleasure from doing it.”
“Let's start from the beginning, shall we?” Drake unfolded his arms and put them in his pockets. “A couple of weeks back, you hit Ina with your pickup. She was killed, and I was told by Mac,” Drake pointed to the driver at his right side, “that she died slowly. Then Mac set two guys on you, and I heard you put them down with ease. He told you all to hit the floor; then he got a young kid, now deceased, to shoot one of you guys. I heard he shot a woman.”
“Sheryl,” Pickle nodded. “That's right.”
“But remember, you drew first blood.”
“It was an accident. I didn't mean to hit that woman.”
“Ina,” said Drake. “Her name was Ina.”
“Ina.” Pickle nodded.
“Anyway,” continued Drake, “a week later I get the news that one of my men was killed by some guy that ran off with one of our new recruits, Jez. This guy now lives here, and apparently carries a hockey stick. He also took out one of my men and stole one of their mopeds and had Jez on the back.”
“That's not a story I'm familiar with,” said Pickle.
Drake added, “Two other of my guys were out last week and bumped into some mad guy that attacked them. He also lives here as well, and I know that because the same two guys that were attacked were involved in the attack on your street. They saw him with their own eyes arrive in that red pickup,” Drake pointed at the parked vehicle, “you know, the same one you hit Ina with and the same one we took off you. Then he left the vehicle and unloaded a shotgun on my men. They recognised that it was the same man that had attacked them, and he also killed Brian.”
“Who's Brian?”
Drake smiled. “He was driving the vehicle, before your mental friend killed him and took the vehicle for himself.”
“He was just protecting the camp. Yer have to understand that.”
“I understand perfectly, but let's go back. Before your place was attacked, I sent men over to pick up Jez, the traitor.”
“I know,” Pickle sighed.
“And what happened, huh?”
Pickle glared at Drake and refused to answer him.
Said Drake, “You killed two of them, after lying to them and telling them that Jez and his buddy had left.”
“It wasn't like that,” Pickle tried to explain. “Terry had a daughter down in the cellar and she attacked one o’ yer men, then one o' yer guys killed her, so Terry killed him.”
“Then we send men over to get vengeance and we lose a shit load.” Drake could see that Pickle was about to speak, but held his hand up to stop him. “Granted, the loss of life during the attack was my fault. You had no choice but to fight back, and I underestimated you as a camp. But you've got to admit, killing those two cunts that just wanted to pick Jez up was cruel and plain stupid.”
“And I've already explained why that happened. We never meant for those men to die. The whole thing’s a mess, I admit that.”
Drake nodded and revealed a small smile. He turned around and looked at the two WOE men behind him and then turned to his right to look at Mac. “I don't want a massacre. But I can't look weak either. As for my brother … I’m thankful that you spared him. And we’re not gonna attack your street ... if you give me something.”
“So what do yer want?” Pickle gulped, dreading the answer he was going to get.
“Initially, I wanted all of you cunts to die.”
“Yer didn’t answer ma question,” Pickle sniffed. “What do yer want?”
“I want you to give us someone, then the bloodshed stops right here.”
“Look,” Pickle began, “we can't give you Jez. He took off, and Craig is a good guy, deep down—”
“Who's Craig?” Drake narrowed his eyes, and asked a further question. “Is that the hockey stick guy?”
Pickle nodded.
“I don't want either of them now. And Jez is dead anyway.”
“What?” Vince spoke up.
“Two of my best men caught up with him about twenty minutes ago.”
Vince looked confused and looked at Pickle. Pickle hunched his shoulders and shook his head.
“He must have left the camp,” Pickle said to Vince, trying to make sense of why Jez was out of Colwyn in the first place.
Drake continued, “Anyway, your other friend, the madman, the cunt...”
“What friend?”
“The one that hit two of our guys with the truck and shot another one. He probably killed a lot more. I know he killed the pickup driver, but the guy he shot had a kid and a partner that are back at our base. Telling you that they're distressed would be an understatement.”
Pickle shrugged his shoulders. “If you send men out to war, some may never return.”
Drake produced a wide smile, but Pickle could see anger behind it. “True, but the guy he shot was also my cousin Gerry. Now, I told Gerry's partner and twelve-year-old son, that are also back at the base, distraught, that I would take vengeance on this killer.”
“Vengeance?”
Drake smiled and nodded. “That's right.”
“So ... what are yer asking?”
“I think you know. I’m glad you spared my brother, but I need to do this.”
Pickle gulped and said, “I want you to say it.”
“Fine,” Drake sighed. “Give me the madman, and you all live your lives without any threat from me from now on. Deal?”
Pickle stared at Drake, unsure what answer to give him.
There could be only one.
Chapter Forty One
“No way.” Karen repeatedly shook her head. “No fucking way. You're not having Paul.”
“Oh, is that his name? Paul.” Drake rubbed his chin. “Not a scary name, is it? I was expecting him to be called Butch or some other hard cunt of a name.” Drake turned to Mac and asked, “What's the name of that character that Kurt Russell played in Escape from New York?”
“Snake Plisken,” Mac replied.
“That's right.” Drake nodded. “Snake. Now that's a cool cunty name, don't yer think?”
“Look,” Pickle began. “Surely we can come to some kind of humane arrangement.”
“No. I want Paul.” Drake pointed at Karen Bradley and added, “And I take it by her reaction that he's here.”
Karen said with gritted teeth, “The person you're talking about has gone through hell over the last few weeks.”
“Haven't we all?”
“Paul Dickson has gone through more. He—”
“Paul Dickson?” Drake interrupted Karen and released a short laugh. “Oh God, it gets worse. I can't have my cunt of a nemesis called Paul Dic
kson, that's just fucking embarrassing. You can't get any more ordinary than Paul Dickson.”
Karen continued, “Paul is a good man. He's had a rough ride.”
“So you keep saying?”
“He lost his wife and daughter, and me and him witnessed his son being eaten by one of those dead cocksuckers.”
“Well, that's a tragedy,” Drake said sarcastically. “It sounds like the cunt needs putting down. But don't worry about that, he will, but the family of the people he's killed wants to witness it.”
“He's not going anywhere,” Karen snarled. She took a step forward, but Pickle held her back. “Don't mollycoddle me, Pickle. I'm not pregnant anymore.”
“I know yer not,” said Pickle, “which means if yer don't calm down I'll be giving yer a slap.”
Vince gently placed his hands on Karen's shoulders and pulled her back. “Come on. Calm down.”
“Let me repeat what I said before,” said Drake. “Give us this Paul and nobody else gets hurt. Simple.”
“Not a chance!” Karen screamed. “No way!”
Pickle turned to her and growled, “Keep it shut!”
“You can't just hand Paul over. These fucks killed a kid.”
Drake glanced in Pickle's direction. “What's she talking about?”
Pickle paused for a few seconds before adding, “A toddler died yesterday. One o' yer guys suffocated it to shut it up.”
Drake's eyes widened and seemed incensed by what Pickle had told him. “I'm sorry about that. My gang has been around for years, but over the last few months we've recruited guys that used to have families, but some we recruited were originally prisoners from Stafford, so we may have some bad apples. I can't control my men when they're out there, and I'm pretty certain they don't tell me everything that has gone on.”
“I understand.”
“Let me ask you a question, Harry?” Drake turned and pointed at the gate. “Do you want my men on the mopeds to take their helmets off and see if any of them were the perpetrator? I'll kill him myself.”
“No need. The man's dead.”
“Oh.” Drake sighed, “Look, I know we're partly to blame for the loss of life on your part, and I'm not happy that a kid died, but give us Paul and we'll leave peacefully.”
“Why?” Karen cried. “So you can take him back to Stafford and torture him to please the people that want him dead?”
“Yep,” Drake said with no remorse, “something like that.”
“Look,” Pickle rubbed his stubbly chin in thought and asked Drake, “Is there any other way we can sort this out. We have supplies, we—”
“We have supplies coming out of our ears,” said Drake. “Just Paul. That's all I ask, and the rest of you folk can live in peace until another bad bunch turns up, and there will be others. You think we're bad? Just wait another six months or so.”
“You can't do this, Pickle?” Karen said softly, now lowering her head.
“Use yer head, woman.” Pickle didn't like the idea of handing Paul over, but the other option wasn't bear thinking about. “If we refuse to hand Paul o'er, they'll get him anyway, but the rest o' us will die. Yer want that to happen? You want the Dansons to be butchered? Their two kids? David MacDonald? After all that boy's been through, do you think it's fair that he ends up getting killed?”
“Just for the record, Harry,” Drake spoke up. “Parents and their kids would have been spared. I’m many things, but I’m not an animal.”
Tears began to form in Karen's eyes and frustratingly knew that Pickle was right. There wasn't any other option.
Chapter Forty Two
“What do you reckon?” Stephanie asked Elza.
The pair of them were standing in the bedroom window, because the view was better from there, and Ophelia had chosen to hang out downstairs, almost unbothered about the visit.
“What do I reckon to what?” Elza finally responded, still hypnotically staring out.
“About what's going to happen?”
“I dunno.” Elza shrugged her shoulders. “The signs look good, though.”
“Good? Good, how?”
“Well, if they wanted to attack us like they did when we were absent, they would have done it by now. The fact that they brought a load of guys with them but kept them behind the gate is a good sign. I suppose it depends on how well the talks go.”
“God, I hope it goes well,” Stephanie said with a shudder. “So many people died yesterday.”
“I hope it goes well too, but I'm ready to fight, if need be.”
Stephanie turned and gazed at Elza and wondered what Elza was like when she was a normal woman, before the apocalypse fucked her up.
“Do you think that guy is Drake?” Stephanie pointed at the tall, thin man.
“Who else could it be? It must be.”
“I hope it doesn't get too heated.” Stephanie looked on with nervous eyes.
“I know.” Elza nodded. “I don't think having Karen down there is a good idea, not with her temper.”
The girls looked on and tried to watch the body language of all seven that could be seen. It looked positive for a while, until Karen became upset about something.
“What's going on?” Stephanie nervously asked Elza an impossible question.
Elza shook her head. She didn't know.
Elza Crowe leaned over and opened the window so that they could now hear voices, but couldn't make out what was being said.
Elza began to shift uncomfortably as Karen's body language didn't look positive at all. They weren't sure if she was upset about what Drake had said, what Pickle had said ... they just didn't know.
Stephanie was getting tetchy and gasped, “What's happening?”
“I dunno.” Elza gently slapped Stephanie on her back and said to the fourteen-year-old, “If you had to, do you think you could hit that Drake guy from here with an arrow?”
“What?”
“Just answer the question.”
Stephanie shrugged her shoulders. “If I needed to hit him first time ... then I'd have to aim for the body, just in case.”
Elza pushed the window open as wide as it could get, giving the girls the option of leaning out, if that's what they wanted.
Elza turned and gave Stephanie a hard, long and cold stare. “Go and get your bow.”
“What?”
“Things could kick off.”
“I ... I can't.”
“Just fucking do it. He's only one man.”
“But they're dozens of them.”
“True, but if you remove the leader first, then you've already won half the battle,” said Elza. “You're the only person that can do this, Stephanie.”
“I don't know.”
“Get your bow,” said Elza. “I'm not saying that we have to shoot him right away. There may be no need and it could start an unnecessary fight.”
“Then why do you want me to get my bow?”
“If that Drake guy or his other three guys start attacking either, Vince, Pickle or Karen, then he should get an arrow. Putting him down may make the guys behind the gate think twice about coming in. For all they know, there could be half a dozen archers in the street, and the reason why there weren't any present yesterday was because we were taken by surprise the first time they attacked.”
“You've got it all worked out, haven't you?”
Elza smiled. “Just trying to survive, Stephanie.”
“Okay,” the teenager sighed. “I'll aim, but I'm not comfortable with this.”
“That's all I'm asking ... for now.”
Stephanie walked away from the window and left the bedroom, returning a minute later with the bow in her hand and five pine arrows in the other. She put four arrows on the floor and took aim with the one that she had kept in her hand. Elza produced a wide beam and the thirty-one-year-old gazed at the girl, who was just about young enough to be her daughter, with admiration.
“I can see you looking,” Stephanie groaned.
“Sorry,” Elz
a said.
“It makes me nervous when I'm being stared at, and when I'm nervous my hands shake.”
“Point taken.” Elza moved away but never went far.
Stephanie could see Pickle out in the street, waving at 13 Colwyn Place. A few minutes later Paul Dickson stepped out.
“Wait a minute,” Elza heard Stephanie say softly.
“What is it?” Elza returned, stood next to Stephanie again, and looked out to see Paul out in the street and walking away from his main door.
Stephanie lowered the bow and relaxed the tension on the string. They both watched in silence as Paul Dickson strolled calmly down the road and headed towards Pickle, Karen and Vince. He stopped when he was by them, confusing the two females that were watching from afar.
Elza cussed, “What the fuck is going on?”
Chapter Forty Three
“Paul, do you wanna drink?” Joanne asked.
Paul Dickson shook his head and continued to stare out into the street from Joanne’s bedroom. He was on the ground floor, looking out of the living room window, and watched with dread as Pickle conversed with the man that must have been Drake. He didn't look much, Paul thought, but neither did Napoleon. He was tall but skinny, and was clean-shaven. He wasn't what Paul was expecting at all.
Joanne claimed that she was bored with watching what was unfolding and had decided to move away from the window, go downstairs and into the kitchen for a drink. But the truth was that she was frightened. She was certain that a fight was going to break out between Pickle and the rest, which would mean attack number two. Even with Elza, Ophelia and Stephanie back, Joanne was certain that everyone in Colwyn this time would be massacred. Drake had too many people with him.
Joanne had returned from the kitchen and, like everybody else in the street, Paul and Joanne glared out of the bedroom window. The window was slightly open, and the pair of them were trying to listen to what was being said.
“Can you hear anything?” asked Joanne.
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