The Dead Don't Fear

by Shaun Whittington

“What do yer reckon?” Pickle asked Karen. “We’ve done this many times. Do we sneak through the back or just walk in?”

  Karen snickered and opened the driver’s door.

  “What are yer doing?” Pickle asked her.

  Karen laughed, “If people are inside and someone’s on a lookout, then they’ve already spotted us arriving on the car park.”

  Pickle thought for a moment. “Good point.”

  Pickle also exited and took both machetes. He handed one to Karen as the two friends headed to the entrance of the establishment without an ounce of hesitation in their strides.

  Karen looked around and revealed a reminiscing smile. “I used to go drinking up around here, many years ago.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “There’s a pub further up where we used to go every Sunday called The Winking Frog, but we used to nickname it The Wanking Toad.”

  “Nice.”

  Pickle raised his machete; they were now yards from entering the already opened doors that used to be automatic once upon a time.

  Karen asked, “How are we gonna do this?”

  “Just do what we did when we went to The Wyevale Garden Centre near the Wolseley Arms,” was the response from Harry Branston. “As soon as we go in, we’ll start from the first aisle and work our way down. Ready?”

  Karen nodded and walked behind her male companion as they stepped inside.

  Predictably, there were a lot of empty spaces and empty shelves inside, but not everything had been taken.

  They walked by the paints sections and went into the second aisle. They both reached halfway down the aisle and then stopped once they could see that there was nothing to take.

  “There’re six more aisles to check,” said Karen.

  “Aye, but the rest are screws, windows, doors ... that kind o’ shit.”

  “There might be flat pack sheds outside.”

  “They already have a large one and two greenhouses. And half the hospital is not even used. We have more than enough space.”

  “Don’t wanna return empty handed.”

  The two of them went to the bottom of the aisle and walked across, looking down each one. Pickle pulled out a sheet of paper and read the list that Drake had given him: Seeds, garden utensils, fertilisers, plant food, compost and gas canisters.

  “Apart from gas canisters and seeds,” Pickle began. “I think we can do most o’ the list.”

  “Aren’t those two the priority?”

  “Yep. Trouble is, Bradley, they’re everybody’s priority. That’s why we can’t see any.”

  Karen stood and looked around the desolate place and thinned her eyes, which was noticed by her male partner.

  “What is it?” he asked her.

  “Just wondering why Drake never gave us the food run yesterday.”

  Pickle never thought anything of it. Drake gave the orders and Pickle didn’t care who went on what run, so long as he was a part of it, overall. “He had others to do that,” was all Pickle could come up with.

  “I’ve noticed his own crew, that WOE lot, do food runs,” she said. “Maybe he doesn’t trust us yet.”

  “Don’t be so paranoid,” Pickle laughed. “We’ve only been there for a few days.”

  “I also noticed a few days ago that he was stinking of alcohol.”

  “Who? Drake?”

  Karen nodded.

  “You sure it wasn’t mouthwash?”

  Karen nodded again.

  “Can’t say I’ve noticed.” Pickle rubbed his head and said, “Shall we check the back?”

  Karen didn’t continue with the subject of Drake and said, “Might as well.”

  Pickle nodded. “Don’t wanna fill the back o’ the pickup and then suddenly come across a load o’ canisters we don’t have room for.”

  “Um ... Pickle.” Karen tapped him on the shoulder and both gazed down the ninth aisle.

  A stray dog walked towards them with tired movement and looked up, just noticing that they were there. The dog was a black and white Border Collie and began to snarl once it clocked the two of them.

  “Jesus,” Pickle sighed. “That’s all we need.”

  Karen raised her blade whilst Pickle put his in his belt.

  “What are you doing?” she asked him.

  “Don’t hack the poor thing to death. It’s just scared ... starving ... a mixture o’ both. Let’s see if I can persuade it that we’re friendly.”

  “And if you can’t?”

  “Just get behind me.”

  Karen kept a hold of her machete and stepped behind Pickle. He took a few steps forwards and crouched down. He started to click his fingers and made noises with his mouth to suggest that he wasn’t there to harm the canine. The Border Collie became increasingly fierce the closer it stepped towards Pickle, making Branston sigh in defeat. The dog stopped briefly and continued to snarl, but had stopped moving altogether.

  “What are you gonna do?” Karen asked him.

  “As soon as it goes for me, I’m gonna grab it and break its neck. It’s more humane tha’ way, rather than stickin’ a blade in the poor creature.”

  The Border Collie started to progress forwards again and was an arm’s length from Pickle.”

  “Grab it,” Karen whispered.

  “Just a couple o’ more steps.”

  The dog moved within a few inches and Pickle leaned and grabbed it by the ears, but it yelped, shook its head, and ran away behind the aisle. Branston stood up straight and was pleased that the dog had run away and that he didn’t have to harm it.

  “Well, you fucked that up, didn’t you?” Karen smiled, waiting for a response from her ribbing.

  Pickle opened his mouth, but his words were halted as the sounds of a dog in agonising pain echoed through the establishment.

  The pair of them looked at one another in confusion and Pickle was the first to realise what had happened. The dead had gotten to the poor thing. He pulled out his machete and Karen raised hers on seeing this.

  They waited patiently and looked down the aisle, waiting for the dead to turn up after they had feasted on the canine.

  The first one entered Aisle Nine, fresh blood down the front of its clothes, and still chewing. It was a male and the clothes it had on were dirty jeans and a shirt that looked grey and red. The grey was from the dirt it had accumulated over the weeks or months, and the other was the fresh blood down its middle where it had feasted.

  Another dead male appeared, chewing on a bit of intestine, like a child at the dinner table, and was a couple of yards from his companion.

  “Just the two cocksuckers, do you think?” Karen asked.

  “Probably not.” Pickle spoke with a dull tone. “If it is, then they became bored quickly with their kill. There’s probably more round the corner, stuffing their manky faces.”

  “We better kill those two before the others show up. It’ll make it easier for us.”

  As the two dead approached the halfway mark, Pickle and Karen marched towards them and buried their blades into their skulls and into their contaminated brains. Both blades were withdrawn simultaneously and the two Snatchers dropped straight to the floor like two detonated buildings.

  Karen and Pickle went to the end of the aisle and peered round and saw just the one left. It was a female and on its knees, stuffing the bloody insides of the dog into its mouth. She hadn’t noticed the two standing yards from her. She looked like an older woman, short ginger hair, and had rather large front teeth.

  “She looks like—”

  “I know.” Pickle interrupted Karen’s sentence and added, “Yer stay there, I’ll deal with Cilla Black. Then we check out the back o’ the place and go shopping.”

  Chapter Seven

  Vince pulled up the van before the entrance to the wholesalers’ car park, and told his two passengers that he was going to check the car park before entering. The area was surrounded by high hedges, similar to how The Spode Caravan Park was at Vince’s old place, and he wanted to see
if the place was clear before entering, and if the place had been taken over. If there were people outside, or even inside, guarding and on some kind of watch, then trouble could ensue.

  He popped his head around and could see that the car park was clear. There were a couple of bodies scattered on the floor and three empty vehicles, but there wasn’t any danger as such.

  It had been a strange journey.

  They had done ten miles and not a sign of trouble was seen. The dead were still about and survivors were still around somewhere, but Vince guessed that survivors that had no camp and were on foot, hid whenever a vehicle could be heard. Nobody could be sure who was good and who was bad these days. The best way to survive, the dead aside, was to avoid other survivors. The only fear that Vince had was being carjacked, but that fear was in the backs of most peoples’ minds whenever they hit the road.

  He made his way back to the van and jumped back into the driver’s seat, telling his two companions that it was all clear, from the outside at least.

  “I was thinking about a woman I once slept with.” A reminiscing smile could be seen on Vince’s face. Craig ignored his remark, but Stephen was intrigued.

  “Somebody special, chap?” he asked.

  “Not really, Steve ... Stephen.” Vince fired the engine, but was in no rush to move just yet. “Her name was Liza Troth.”

  “Nice, was she?”

  “No, not really. Clue’s in the name, I suppose.” Vince slipped the vehicle into first and added, “Only slept with her once. She was married. Jesus, I was on fire that night. She got it stinking.”

  “Wha-what do you mean?” Stephen was confused and it showed on his face.

  “You know,” Vince groaned. “She got it stinking. It’s a saying.”

  “Stinking? What do you mean? You mean ... with your willy?”

  Vince hunched his shoulders. “Well, yeah.”

  “Ew, that’s disgusting.” Stephen screwed his face and it looked like he had just tasted a bitter lemon. “Don’t say that again.”

  “Jeez, sorry.”

  Stephen turned to Craig, who was now giggling, and asked him, “Have you heard that phrase before?”

  Craig nodded. “We said that kind of thing when we were teenagers. But we said honking, not stinking.”

  “You’re a bit of a prude, Stephen,” said Vince. “But you must have had a few sessions with the opposite sex.”

  “Of course, chap.” Stephen grunted and twisted his neck. “Me and my pals used to go to a club in Cannock called Fat Willy’s and chatted girls up all the time.”

  “Really?” Vince and Craig said in unison. Neither one could see Stephen Rowley chatting women up and Vince told him so.

  “I’ve noticed you don’t seem that comfortable with the opposite sex,” Craig decided to speak up. “Especially around good looking women like Joanne and Karen.”

  “I’m not shy,” Stephen huffed. “I’ve had women before.”

  “I’m sure you have, but you just seem a bit ... awkward around some,” said Vince.

  “I chatted women up,” Stephen protested too strongly, but Vince smiled as he got a rise out of the man.

  “Any killer lines?” Vince asked him.

  “Well ... no.” Stephen grunted and twisted his neck. “Sometimes I talk to them about the weather and what TV programmes they like.”

  “Wow,” Vince chuckled. “They’re probably saturated by the time you’ve stopped talking to them, you silvery tongue devil.”

  “I suppose if a woman sees you from across the room,” Craig began, “you don’t need a killer line. Any kind of conversation will do, so long as you break the ice. If you do have a killer line, and she finds you repulsive, it won’t work anyway.”

  “Fuck me,” Vince laughed. “Well, thanks very much, Romeo. Any advice and I’ll come looking for you.”

  “I’m just saying.”

  “Well, chat up lines worked for me. I suppose it depends who you talk to.” Vince scratched his head and a smile stretched under his nose. “I went up to a woman in Bo Jollys and asked if that was a ladder in her tights or a stairway to heaven. Three hours later I was back at her place.”

  “Look.” Craig cleared his throat and said, “I don’t wanna break up the banter, but aren’t we supposed to be somewhere.”

  Vince nodded and pulled the van away and parked up on the car park, near the entrance of the place.

  “So what’s the plan?” Stephen asked.

  “There isn’t one,” said Vince. “Just grab what we can, if there’s anything to grab. Try and fill the van. When we get to the hospital it is only medical supplies we’re taking.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to go to the hospital first and then come here? What if we fill the van and then get robbed on the way to the hospital? And didn’t Drake said that only his own men were to do food runs?”

  “We’ll be fine. We’re passing anyway. Seems a bit stupid to pass a wholesalers and not check it out just because we’ve been given a specific medical run.”

  “Agreed.” Craig nodded.

  Vince opened the driver’s door and looked at his two passengers who were ready to exit themselves. As soon as we finish at the hospital, I want to boot it and just get back to Stafford as soon as possible without any breaks. Now, are you coming or what?”

  *

  Vince and Stephen had their knives out, whereas Craig was clutching onto his hockey stick with both hands. The not knowing what was inside the wholesalers was making the three paranoid. It was a place they hadn’t been to before, so they didn’t know the layout.

  Once they were inside, they could see that the shelves and aisles were bare. The occasional tin could be seen, but overall they were suffocated by disappointment.

  “Not looking good, is it, chaps?” Stephen spoke.

  “Well spotted, Columbo.” Vince put his knife away, certain that the place was not just empty of supplies, but danger as well.

  “So now what?” Craig asked.

  “The hospital,” Vince said. “Drake said that this could take a while, but I’m not so sure. He guessed that the van would take a few hours to fill, and other dangers could occur that could hold us up.”

  “I wouldn’t be too despondent, Vince.” Craig lowered his hockey stick and was also certain that the place had no danger present.

  Stephen walked away from the two and both asked him where he was going.

  “Just gonna have a look around, chap.”

  Vince ran his fingers through his grey hair and groaned with anger. “I suppose we may as well have a quick look round before we go.”

  Chapter Eight

  Stephanie had spent two hours in the nursery area, but there wasn’t a great deal to do and she felt like a spare part. Apart from runs and washing, the jobs were very limited. A lot of people on the grounds, especially the young men, didn’t have a job. A lot of the times Drake would send out bikers to roam the area of Stafford, but half the time they would come back with no news and no information about supplies.

  Drake always treated Stephanie with respect every time he saw her, although he would forget her name now and again, and promised her she’d go on a run soon.

  She left the area and stepped outside. She saw a guard to her left, pacing the floor, blade in hand. There were guards around the hospital, including Peter and Roger who were outside the grounds to warn of any potential threats, but there was no kind of emergency response plan in place in case of a surprise attack.

  Compared to the open Colwyn Place, Stafford Hospital was like a fortress, and the only area that didn’t have an eight feet high brick wall was the entrance to the car park. The original entrance to the hospital used to be a simple barrier, controlled by security, but now a six-foot wiry fence had been installed and was on wheels so it was easy to slide back and forth for returning folk. It almost looked like Stafford Prison from the outside, although that prison wall was much higher.

  From the hospital, HMP Stafford was only 1.4 miles away to
54 Gaol Road, and it was a place that had been talked about between people on the site as a few of Drake’s men, including Pickle himself, had been inmates of the place. The two prison officers, Jamie Thomson and Janine Perry, released nearly four hundred inmates on that Sunday morning.

  Stephanie went to her quarters and took her bow from under her bed. She grabbed her rucksack that had a small bottle of water in it from the day before and a few pine arrows that she had made herself over the days, and walked over to the sandbag she had placed against the wall, near the two greenhouses. She saw Henry working in the greenhouse and gave him a wave. He waved back, smiled, and then she crouched to the floor and picked out three arrows from the rucksack.

  She fired the three into the sandbag from twenty yards and then retrieved them. Walking back to where she stood when she fired them, she could see a young man stepping out of the outpatients building and heading in her direction.

  Stephanie dropped two arrows to the floor and prepared one for firing. She held the bow with both hands and kept it lowered as she saw a guy called Christopher heading her way. She had seen him every now and again talking to Ronnie and John, but didn’t think they were friends. She had no idea how old Christopher was, but he looked younger than Ronnie and John. Sixteen, possibly seventeen?

  She knew the problem with the youngsters in the place. It was boredom. In the old days at that age teenagers were stuck between a rock and a hard place. They couldn’t drink, they could drive, if they were seventeen, couldn’t vote, but could smoke and have legal sex. Now, it was worse.

  There was no cigarettes and alcohol anyway, at least they hadn’t come across any in the hospital, and sex was never going to happen.

  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  Stephanie kept the bow lowered and responded coldly. “I’m doing just fine.” She then snapped at the young man. “What do you want?”

  “That’s not very nice,” he began to snicker. “I’m just being friendly.”

  “No, you’re not.” She stared at the youngster and added, “You knock about with Ronnie and that other dick. I’ve seen you. They’ve been giving David a hard time, so what do you want?”