Vince looked at Pickle after his little rant and waited for a response from the former inmate.
Pickle cleared his throat and was about to say something to Vince. “Look … I…”
“Forget it,” said Vince. “Once you’ve finished that hole you can give me a hand bringing down the bodies from upstairs.”
“All wrapped up, did yer say?”
Vince nodded. “The boy was the hardest thing to do.”
“I could imagine.” Pickle sighed and shook his head.
“What is it?”
“I’m sick o’ doing this,” Pickle moaned.
“Sick of doing what?”
“Burying people.” He looked up to the heavens and stretched his back. “Been doing it since the first week. I buried a guy called Laz, and then some poor woman who was with her husband and daughter. Davina, I think her name was. Davina’s husband and his daughter drove away, claiming it wasn’t safe where we were at Stile Cop, and in the end he was correct.”
“Never saw the father and daughter again?” Vince asked.
Pickle shook his head. “They’re probably both dead.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“No,” he groaned, “but they probably are.”
Pickle dug for a further few minutes and then told Vince he was ready to put the bodies to rest.
The two men carried Jim out first.
Vince had wrapped him up in sheets and placed him in the living room, but even then they could see the blood seeping through the material.
They both struggled as they carried the body down the garden and almost threw him into the hole. His wife was next. After she had been placed on top of Jim, her very own killer, the two tired men trudged through the house and went upstairs to get the boy. Pickle looked tired after all the digging as well as carrying two bodies, and Vince told him that he’d carry the boy by himself.
Once young Zac was placed on top of his parents, Pickle picked up the shovel and began moving the soil over the bodies until the hole was filled. He patted the earth with the other side of the shovel and then put the garden utensil to the side of him.
Covered in sweat, Pickle turned to Vince. “I’m gonna say a prayer. Yer can go if yer want. I know yer not really into that kind o’ stuff.”
“What about the girl?” Vince asked.
“What about her?”
“Don’t you think she should be here, to say goodbye?”
“No, I don’t.” Pickle shook his head. “Her parents and brother have only been dead just under an hour.”
“They’re still her family.”
“True, but I think it’s too soon for her to be here. In a normal situation, it’d be a week, maybe even two, before these guys would be dealt with at a funeral home.”
Vince hunched his shoulders and didn’t really know what to do for the best. “Do what you think. I don’t know.”
“This isn’t a normal situation. Besides, she can come here whenever she wants, in her own time.”
“I suppose.” Vince agreed and nodded. “I mean, it’s not as if they’re going anywhere, is it?”
Pickle flashed Vince a hard glare, his eyebrows knitting together almost because of Vince’s poor joke at such a delicate situation.
“Sorry,” said Vince.
“Is that really necessary?”
“Like I said before: That’s just the way I deal with things.”
Pickle stood with his hands in front of him and lowered his head. Vince decided to stay with him. It didn’t seem right that Pickle was doing this all by himself, even though he never complained.
“I’ll stay,” said Vince. “If you want me to.”
There was hardly a response from Harry Branston, apart from a faint nod, and then the former inmate began to say The Lord’s Prayer.
Once he was finished, Pickle patted Vince’s shoulder and told him that he was leaving the street to go over to the field and get some time to himself. He wanted to be alone for a while.
Chapter Thirty Six
Pickle looked jittery once he returned from the field. He rubbed his chin, looked over his shoulder, and then cleared his throat. Vince was out in the street, standing by the kerb, and noticed Pickle looking uncomfortable. Vince knew something was up, and wondered why Pickle looked so awkward.
Pickle dipped his head and went over to Vince and gave him a big smile.
“You okay?” Vince asked him.
“About before.”
“Before?”
“I shouldn’t have snapped at yer the way I did.”
Vince nodded once and stared at Pickle, knowing that he had more to say.
“It’s the way yer are, I should know that by now. I’ve known yer for nearly three months, for God’s sake.” Pickle chewed his top lip with nerves and was clearly uncomfortable. He wasn’t the kind of man that apologised often, even if he was in the wrong. This was a rare thing for him, but felt that Vince was owed it.
“Basically...” Pickle continued. “What I’m trying to do is apologise. I’m sorry for talking to yer like a dick.”
“A cunt,” Vince corrected, and the corner of each side of his mouth elevated slightly.
“Okay. I’m sorry for speaking to yer like a cunt.” He blew a large breath out, relieved that the apology was out of the way and held out his right hand. “Friends?”
“You know,” Vince began. “Where I come from, an apology isn’t a proper apology if the individuals don’t hug it out at the end.”
Pickle and looked at Vince with a suspicious eye. “Yer taking the piss, right?”
“Nope.” Vince kept a straight face.
Pickle peered over Vince’s shoulder and then over his own. “I’m not hugging you in the middle of the street.”
“It’s the only way.”
Pickle lowered his chin and began to scratch at his head in thought. “Okay,” he sighed. He looked up and opened out his arms and the two men embraced. Four seconds later, Pickle tried to break away, but Vince wouldn’t let him go.
“Not long enough,” Vince chuckled and added, “It’s supposed to be a thirty second hug.”
Pickle broke away and smirked. “Now I know yer taking the piss.”
“I could have sworn you was getting erect while we were hugging, Pickle. I did feel something.”
“Fuck off,” laughed Pickle. “As if I’d go with a guy that has a face like a bucket o’ worms.”
“Charming.” Vince feigned hurt on his face and placed his left hand on his heart. The laughter died down and Pickle lost his smile.
He asked Vince, “So, are we cool now?”
“Yeah, we’re cool.”
“Good.” Pickle smiled. “I’m just gonna go back to the Danson’s back garden again. Make sure it looks presentable for when Kelly visits.”
“I’ll come with you.”
*
Pickle and Vince were in the Danson’s back garden once more and inspected their handy work, making sure it looked presentable in case Kelly wanted to visit her resting family.
Pickle and Vince could hear feet from behind them and turned around to see Stephen Bonser approaching them.
“Guys!” Bonser beckoned the two of them. “We’ve got a bit of a problem at the gate.”
Pickle said, “A problem. What kind o’ a problem?”
“Come and take a look.”
Pickle rubbed his clammy head, looked at Vince, and sighed, “Now what?”
The three went down the side of the house, onto the Danson’s drive, and were out in the street. Bonser pointed over at the gate. Terry stood at the side with his bat, and behind the gate were three men, one of them giving Terry some verbal abuse.
Pickle approached the gate, with Vince by his side, and held both of his hands up to calm the irate man who was verbally abusing Terry. It was clear that the men were desperate and wanted in.
Pickle inspected the three men with a vulture’s eye and could see all three were average in height. The man on
the left had ginger hair and a beard, like Terry, but looked terribly thin. His two pals were built the same, but were both dark with long dark beards that could have done with a trim. The man in the middle, who was shouting at Terry, was shaking and had thick eyebrows that were knitted together as he snarled. The ginger guy was also carrying a bag over his shoulder and had a canister in his hand.
“Problem, guys?” Pickle spoke up.
“It’s dangerous out there and we’re fucking starving!” Eyebrows yelled. “And this prick won’t let us in!”
Pickle folded his arms and gazed at the men, nodded at the ginger guy with the rucksack and canister, and asked Eyebrows calmly. “What’s in the bag and canister?”
“All we have left in the world.” Eyebrows was still furious, but his anger was beginning to dilute. “Some tins, a bottle of water and petrol.”
“Petrol but no car?”
“We thought we could use it to trade for food or … something.”
“And why should we let yer guys in?”
“Because... Because...” The flustered man couldn’t give Pickle an answer and seemed at the end of his tether. “Look, are you gonna let us in or not?”
“Give us a minute, will yer?” Pickle said to the three men.
Harry Branston took a step back. He, Vince and Terry huddled in a small group.
“It’s okay,” said Terry to Pickle softly, out of earshot from the three men behind the gate. “We used to get this every now and then when John was in charge.”
“What did John do?” Vince asked Terry.
“He used to make the decision himself. If he didn’t like the look of them, he’d turn them down.”
“What do yer two think?” Pickle asked the pair of them.
“I know the speaker seems a bit on edge, but we don’t know what they’ve been through,” Terry said. “We could give them a chance. You want to strengthen the numbers, don’t you?”
“I do.” Pickle nodded. “But not with people who are going to cause us grief.”
“Like Paul Dickson?” Terry questioned, and gave off a cheeky smirk. “You and John stuck by him.”
“Paul came as a package with me, Karen and Vince. But these three...”
“We could give them a two week trial,” Terry suggested.
“I don’t know,” Vince piped up and turned to Pickle. “I know you said helping out Roger and Peter was the Christian thing to do, your words, not mine, but I’m not sure about these cunts.”
Pickle looked at Terry and responded to his suggestion. “After two weeks, if we’re not happy with them, we kick them out? Is that what yer sayin’?”
Terry nodded.
Pickle began to chuckle. “Oh, they’d love that. That’s too much of a tease. What do yer reckon, Vince?”
Vince paused for thought and had a look over at the gate, staring at the three men that were now also huddled together, conversing about something.
“To be honest … I’ve got a bad feeling about them,” Kindl said. “I think if we let them in, it might be the worst decision since Hitler invaded Poland.”
“A bit melodramatic, Vince,” Pickle sighed. “So we’re agreed then?” Pickle clapped his hand together. “It’s a no. I’ll go and tell them the bad news.”
Pickle stepped towards the gate and could see now that the three strangers had broken away from their huddle. and Vince and Terry remained behind Pickle. Pickle gave the men a big smile and said, “I’m sorry, guys. It’s bad news.”
“Why the fuck not?” Eyebrows snarled and smacked the gate with his fist.
“That, right there,” Pickle pointed at the man, “proves to me that our decision is the right one.”
The ginger man to Eyebrow’s left spoke for the first time. “That’s shite. We’re just angry because we’re starving, weary.”
“Well, I’m sorry. But it’s not happening, guys. Yer will need to move on to pastures new.”
“For fuck’s sake!” Eyebrows kicked at the gate and pulled out a knife from his pocket. “If we can’t get in...” Eyebrows seemed lost for words and couldn’t finish his sentence.
“Then what?” Vince persisted. “You’re gonna cry?”
“Vince.” Pickle turned to Kindl and added out of earshot from the three strangers behind the gate, “Antagonising them is not helping the situation.”
Vince turned to Pickle and said in a soft tone. “There’s only three of them.”
“Only takes one person to cause carnage, if they want. Yer forgot about Sandy Lane? And Drake’s guys managed to jump o’er our fences and into our back gardens o’er a week ago, and that was when we had people in them. We don’t have the numbers to be guardin’ every back garden, the gate and the wall.”
“So what are you saying?”
“Just don’t antagonise them. They’re disappointed, so yer taking the piss is only gonna fuel their anger which could result in some kind o’ spiteful payback.”
“Fair point.” Vince nodded and took his light reprimand. “Just say what you need to say. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
Pickle smiled. He turned and took a step forwards, and went face to face with the three guys once more.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen,” he began. “I hope yer find somewhere safe, I really do, but it’s not going to be ‘ere.”
“So, that’s it?” Eyebrows held out his arms like a petulant child, knife in his right hand.
“That’s it.”
“Can’t we have some kind of trial or something?” the man asked.
This comment made Pickle suspicious, and wondered if he had overheard them talking when they were huddled together.
“I’m sorry, guys. It’s a definite no.”
Eyebrows pointed at Pickle with his knife and growled, “You’re gonna fucking regret this.”
Pickle stood straight and released a breath out. “I hope not.”
“We’ll be back, but we’ll be back with numbers, you’ll see.” Eyebrows was annoyed that he wasn’t getting a reaction from Harry Branston and yelled, “You’ll fucking see! Cunts!”
“I wish you luck, gentlemen. I really do.”
“Oh, fuck off!”
His two companions never said a word, knowing that whatever they said wasn’t going to work anyway. They weren’t getting in. Simple as that.
Eyebrows was still ranting and raving, and Pickle remained calm as the verbal assault continued from the desperate and angry man. Pickle thought that any minute the man was going to calm down, but he wasn’t letting up.
His two pals grabbed him and gently pulled him back, telling him that he was wasting his time. It appeared that they had lost patience with their companion and had accepted that yelling wasn’t going to get them in; if anything, his behaviour had made things worse.
Eventually, the three men disappeared out of view, but Pickle was aware that the man in the middle’s threat may not be just hot air. Pickle thought that if he was going to do something, he was going to do it soon whilst his anger was fresh. He told Vince and Terry to stay alert, and went back to his house to grab a machete and then do a tour of the back gardens, just in case.
These three guys could strike at any time.
Chapter Thirty Seven
Now having no bag of supplies, Craig Burns decided to go back to Colwyn Place at Little Haywood. He guessed that journey alone was going to take a couple of hours on foot and he would be almost dying of thirst once he got there, but now after being robbed by the young girl there was nothing else he could do.
He was in two minds whether to stay at the house and wait until the morning. It was late and he wasn’t sure, especially now that September was close, how long it’d be before darkness turned up.
He decided to risk leaving right away. His throat was already dry and was unsure whether his body could wait another twelve hours until the next morning and then make the two-hour walk back to Little Haywood.
Craig took the only thing that he had left, his hockey stick, and left the premi
ses, heading back through Milford.
He passed Shugborough Hall and had now began to walk along the country road with trees to either side of him. It was risky, but it was the quickest way to get back to Colwyn Place. His walk was only ten minutes old when he heard a rustle coming from the left of him. Craig began to pick up the pace and could see that two of the dead had already stumbled out of the woodland and onto the road.
Trying to hopelessly follow him, the two dead were losing ground as Craig picked up the pace and began to lightly jog away from both of them. He turned around and saw the two males stumbling like two drunks on a Saturday night.
“You’re gonna have to do better than that, lads,” Craig chuckled to himself.
He hit a steep incline and knew that the two freaks were going to struggle with it. He reached the top of the hill and looked over his shoulder, seeing that the two dead were almost motionless, desperately trying to get up the hill but failing miserably. He relaxed a little and his jog had turned into a stroll again after seeing the distance between him and the two Creepers, as some residents from Colwyn occasionally called them.
He looked up to the dark blue sky and could see a couple of grey clouds sneaking across to suffocate the already dying sun, and guessed he wasn’t far away from night time.
He picked up the pace and could hear the thin sounds of mopeds coming from in front of him. He recognised the sound straightaway and knew no other vehicle sounded like that.
Despite the truce that had been formed a week ago by Drake and Pickle, and the two men he had bumped into earlier that turned out okay, he decided to hide in the woodland to his right and let them pass.
What if it wasn’t Drake’s men and it was some other thugs on two wheels? What if it were Drake’s men, but decided to beat or kill Craig for a sick thrill? Truce or no truce, Drake had admitted to Pickle that he had some bad apples in his large group that were sometimes hard to police. When Drake had heard of the toddler being killed when one of his men entered Beverley’s house, he wasn’t a happy man.
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