Carson didn’t resist when the man slipped a proprietorial arm about his shoulders, ushering him onwards, the others falling in behind. If he had something to eat, maybe he could think clearly then.
A wave of sadness washed over him as the realisation sank in that his mother wasn’t looking for him, after all. It would have been nice to see her.
*
Joel was as good as his word. Putting the boys on look out, he and Yasmin sat to watch Carson eat, handing him an opened tin of Mexicana’s Thick & Chunky Spicy Chilli which the man spooned out greedily, devouring it like it was his last meal.
When Carson’s fingers were stained red with chilli, the can empty of every last mouthful, Joel took it away as if from a small child. Carson glared at him, the look passing as quickly as it had come. Joel held his breath; he had neither the time nor the patience for a man-sized tantrum. The minute Carson started proving more trouble than he was worth, he was on his own.
To his relief, Carson subsided, leaning back against the wall of The Plaice to Be restaurant, sitting as he was on one of the few remaining chairs that were still upright in the place. Yasmin glanced between the two men, saying nothing, lowering her eyes to rest upon her shabby shoes when Joel returned her look.
“So,” Joel began, feeling his way gently so as not to alarm Carson, “you’re on your own then?”
Carson looked up in surprise, “Yes?” His tone was belligerent, as if it should be no surprise he was alone. Joel tried again, taking a different tack.
“It looks like you’ve hurt your hand,” he gestured to Carson’s bruised and swollen knuckles, “I was wondering how you managed that?”
Carson immediately cradled the fist in his other hand, pulling it in close to his body. He had hit someone, he knew. He had been angry and scared, and he had lashed out. But at who?
Who had he hit?
An image came to him; the small frame of a young girl, untidy blonde hair framing her face, blue eyes open wide in dread and fear…
The name wouldn’t come. No matter how hard he tried; in fact, the harder he tried to recall it, the more it eluded him. He shrugged, the effort of trying to remember giving him a headache,
“I hit her,” he announced truculently, turning away to indicate he didn’t want to talk about it.
Joel grimaced, nodding his head appreciatively, “Must have been one hell of a whack you gave her, judging by the state of your hand,” he observed.
Carson remained stubbornly silent, looking fixedly away. Joel sighed and stood up, brushing his hands down his jeans as if that might make them cleaner, “No matter,” he said, laying a hand on Carson’s shoulder which was quickly shrugged off, “I’m sure if you gave Lavender a little slap, she did something to deserve it,”
Carson made a sound like denial; a small, heavy sob. Joel gave a grunt of satisfaction. He wondered what the chances of getting Carson to lead the way back to Lavender and Naomi were. He had to try. Whether he understood it or not, Carson had two choices; take them to Lavender or wander off alone to his fate. Joel didn’t much care what happened to the man: all he wanted now was his property back.
*
It had been easy enough to get the man moving again, to Joel’s relief. He had simply mentioned Lavender’s name and expressed the false wish that she was all right. Carson’s shoulders had dropped immediately. He turned from his determined perusal of the restaurant wall and faced Joel, his eyes at once bright.
“Lavender!” He had said, as if Joel had just put him out of his misery by reminding him of something long forgotten. Joel resisted shaking his head in disbelief. Instead, he made a beckoning motion, heaving a worn but tough looking sports bag over his shoulder, ordering the sullen Yasmin to follow as he pushed past Drums and Corcoran and began heading back towards the dunes he had seen Carson cresting earlier. Apparently forgetting all about his bruised knuckles, Carson’s hands hung at his sides as he strode to catch up, a new purpose to his gait.
Joel led the way until they reached the other side of the dune, the deserted fairground immediately ahead. Then he subtly hung back, waiting for Carson to take over. Exactly as Joel anticipated, Carson did just that, though there seemed to be a new agitation in his stance; nothing obvious that Joel could pick out, simply a change in the way he held himself and in how he looked around. There was a semblance of fear in his eyes.
“Everything okay there Carson?” Joel asked.
“Thinkers,” was all Carson said, but it was enough to stop Joel in his tracks.
“Around here?”
Carson gave a grim nod, “Thinkers,” he said again, plodding on through the patchy snow.
Joel watched him go, considering. All they had by means of weaponry were the few pieces that Drums, Corcoran and Yasmin had stuffed into their pockets or waistbands and one or two items in the bag. Joel dropped it at his feet, glad to be rid of its weight for a minute. He reached into it and pulled out a crude morning star, cobbled together from a length of chain, a club and a spiked ball he had made by driving long nails into a billiard ball, then removing the heads and sharpening them. He had never deployed it in combat, so could not say how well it would hold up, but he was ready to give it a try.
“Wait for me,” he muttered gruffly, hastening to catch up with Carson. The others trailed along behind, three abreast. Joel motioned to Yasmin to come to him, grabbing her by the elbow as she drew level and hissing in her ear to keep up. He saw surprise register in her face and turned away in disgust: he didn’t care about the girl any more than he cared for any of them, she was simply his back-up plan should things go wrong with Naomi.
The atmosphere among the ragged group was palpable. When they reached the point where the broken-down stalls formed a rough circle around the fairground’s centrepiece, the Ferris Wheel, Carson stopped. The others followed suit, all of them looking around warily for signs of an undead attack.
Carson simply stared, unspeaking. Joel at last grew tired of this inaction and stepped out again, to one side of the Ferris Wheel.
“No!” Carson snapped, his voice firm, his tone not to be argued with, “this way,” he insisted, leading them round the other side instead.
Joel shrugged, deciding to let the man have his way. Pointless triggering him over something so petty and besides, they’d come out beyond the Ferris Wheel regardless.
“I wonder why he’s so keen not to go that way,” Yasmin mused, her voice small and thin in the cold air.
“Because he’s bat shit crazy, that’s why,” Joel retorted.
Behind his back, Yasmin shot him a look that said very eloquently ‘well so are you,’ but she kept the thought to herself.
Nothing assailed them as they made their way through the fairground, finding the double-gated driveway and the road beyond, just as Lavender and Naomi had done before them. Joel began to relax a little, his grip on the club slackening. There was nothing ahead but the snow-covered road and the hedges and trees that lined it. He stopped, waiting for the others to catch up, allowing Carson to forge on ahead, oblivious.
“They must have come this way, because as far as I can tell there’s nowhere else to go,” Joel told them, saying it aloud to clarify his own thoughts as much as keep them informed.
“How do we know they aren’t hiding back there somewhere, in the fair?” Corcoran asked, a trace of defiance in his voice.
“Would you hang around back there?” Yasmin answered hurriedly, shuddering as she looked over her shoulder at the Ferris Wheel looming large against the darkening sky.
“She’s right,” Drums said in a conciliatory tone, “besides, there wasn’t much left of anything to hide in, was there?”
“There was a building,” Corcoran said sulkily.
“What building?” Joel snapped, “Why didn’t you point it out?”
Corcoran shrugged, “You looked like you were in a hurry. I didn’t think it was important,”
“Not important?” Joel hissed,
taking a step closer to the boy, who drew himself up to his full height, looking Joel straight in the eye.
Joel snorted, a gesture of dismissal. He wanted to give the boy a smack around the head, make him take notice, but he had the bag in one hand, the morning star in the other. He was annoyed, but he had no wish to cause any real damage just yet.
“From now on, you see anything worth pointing out, you tell me, got it?”
“Got it,” Corcoran said through gritted teeth, a belligerent look in his eye.
“Shouldn’t we catch him up?” Yasmin suggested, a blatant attempt to diffuse the situation. Joel let her have her way this time.
“Yes, we should, so let’s go and no more wasting time,” he said, shooting a look at Corcoran, “With me,” he ordered Yasmin. She fell into place willingly, keen to be away from any kind of trouble.
Behind them, Drums placed a placatory hand on Corcoran’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze of encouragement. They ploughed on.
Welcome to Clifftops Caravan & Camping!
They had trudged on in weighty silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts. It was Carson who first pointed out the difference in landscape, the canopy of trees overhead adding to the coldness of the day, deepening the gathering gloom. He turned to Joel and Yasmin, who were close behind him.
“This looks promising,” he said, his tone as normal as if his earlier behaviour had never occurred.
“Maybe,” Joel said cautiously, walking past Carson and on up to the signs flanking the driveway. He waited for the others, then when they were all together he said, “I think Carson’s right. If nothing else, maybe we can find somewhere to bed down for the night. I suggest everyone stay close, get your weapons ready. This is just the kind of place where a surprise or two lurks, as you all know well enough. Here, Carson,” Joel ducked into the bag and came back up with a short, three-pronged garden fork, its handle removed to make it easier to wield. The tines were spitefully sharp.
“Don’t drop it on your toes,” Joel joked sarcastically, brushing aside the uneasy feeling he got when he saw how comfortable Carson looked holding the thing; how dangerous it looked in his hands.
“Let’s go,” he said, deliberately turning his back to demonstrate his lack of concern. Drums and Corcoran exchanged a look, making sure to keep Carson ahead of them. Behind them, a brave little robin perched on a low branch, singing prettily.
*
At the sight of the hut, its door banging in the breeze, the group came to a natural halt.
“I don’t like the look of that,” Carson said, at once more alert than Joel had ever seen him.
“Me neither,” Joel agreed, “let’s steer clear,” he said, striking out widely to the right of the hut. As they gained ground, it was easy to see the disturbance in the lying snow; its’ clear, neat whiteness becoming a dirty mess, here and there so furrowed as to expose the green grass beneath. Spots of a putrid green-brown colour dotted the crusted snow elsewhere, as if a particularly dirty rain had fallen. By the time they reached the line of crazily parked cars, it was clear there had been some action here, and recently too, judging by the fact that the snow had not yet re-covered the exposed areas.
The men had all breached the cars and were in the car park proper when they heard Yasmin expel a tight breath of air, “Oh Christ, no!”
As one they turned to look at her. She backed away a step or two, fear and dread clear on her face.
“What?” Joel hissed, “What is it?”
“A foot, that’s what!” Yasmin hissed back, “A fucking dead, rotting foot, sitting on the boot of that car! There are zombies here!”
“I knew it!” Corcoran muttered, “It’s obvious they’re here! Look at the state the snow is in!”
Bang on cue, a low moan came from the building ahead. Corcoran visibly paled, “They were chasing someone, must have been!” He added, backing up just as Yasmin had done, coming to rest against the side of a car.
“Chasing someone?” Joel mused, “Of course they were, you’re right. Now I wonder if our little Naomi and Lavender got this far?”
In a second, Carson was in his face, the tips of the sharpened fork resting uncomfortably at the skin at his throat, “You better hope she did,” Carson threatened irrationally, referring to Lavender. Joel was reminded yet again that, whether the man had his full faculties or not, he was still a force to be reckoned with.
“I’m sure she did,” he soothed, backing up; relieved when Carson didn’t pursue him. He rubbed at the three tiny points in his skin where the fork had rested, glad he had not drawn blood, “Right now Carson, I think we may have other things to worry about,”
“Damn right we do!” Drums intervened, “Look!”
They all turned to follow his gaze. As one, they shifted, backing up from the paralysing sight that faced them.
Rounding the far corner of the building was a mass of zombies, at least six at Joel’s first hurried count. Worse, at least one of them was a Thinker.
*
The Thinker had lost interest in Lavender the moment it saw she was out of reach. Somewhere deep in its primitive, corrupted mind it sensed the approach of more human flesh. It lumbered away from the bin bay, back to the front of the building, unconscious of its surroundings other than the odour of fresh meat, new brains. The shamble of mindless zombies followed dumbly in his wake.
If it could have roared, it would have. Upon seeing the assembled group of humans, the Thinker thrust out its neck, squaring its shoulders in an unmistakable display of aggression. In a living man, his neck would have become a labyrinth of veins, standing out bold against his skin. In the Thinker, several of them burst free of their confinement, snapping like liquorice sticks stretched too far, spray-painting his neck with blood. It did not appear to have felt it in the slightest. Behind it, the pack of zombies increased their shuffling pace.
“Run!” Joel advised, seeing there were too many to take on. The advice was not necessary as far as Drums, Corcoran and Yasmin were concerned. They had already taken to their heels, clambering hurriedly over the cars in a desperate bid to get away.
“Wait!” a voice shouted from above. Joel looked up, to see two men leaning over the edge of the low building, holding a ladder between them.
Yasmin needed no second bidding. She changed direction, hurtling herself at the ladder and climbing up at speed. She had scarcely cleared the top and was safely on the roof when Corcoran followed suit, scaling the ladder as fast as he was able.
Leaving Drums, Joel and Carson on the ground, with the zombies approaching fast.
“You next!” Carson screamed at Drums, backing up as fast as he was able without falling on the treacherous surface. He had begun to swing the fork in a lethal arc in front of him in an attempt to hold the approaching undead off.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Drums halt his retreat, hesitate for a fraction of a second, then hurtle for the proffered ladder. From the rooftop, screams of encouragement, urging him on, rained down. Drums vaulted a car parked in his way and ran hell for leather for the ladder.
Joel shouldered him savagely, sending the boy staggering. He mounted the ladder, testing the strength of those above as he pulled himself up one-handed, the bag and weapon in his left hand.
“Bastard!” Carson heard Drums screech behind him, lying prone in the snow, “You lousy bastard!”
Carson turned then and ran, grabbing the boy by the scruff of the neck and half dragging him along. There was no way they could fight off that many undead alone. Their only option was to get out of reach or hide.
Or die, but Carson wasn’t ready to consider that just yet.
*
Lavender heard the commotion as she came round. She sensed frenzied activity around her, heard the clank of the wooden ladder, the only one still whole, banging against the side of the building, telling her there was someone down there worth saving.
She sat up, dizziness assailing her. Fighting of
f a wave of nausea, she rolled onto her knees, into a sitting position. Someone had wound a rough bandage around her wrist when she was out of it. Not ready yet to stand, she tested her weight on all fours. The wrist protested, but it held her weight. Not broken then. Grateful for that much, she crawled to the edge of the building, away from the ladder where she would only be a hindrance, to look below.
Her heart leapt when she saw Carson. She had hardly dared believe he would have survived alone in that fairground from hell, yet here he was. She could have cried at the sight of him. Drums was with him she saw, and that rapist scumbag Joel.
She looked about her, desperate to find a way to help. The rope ladder lay discarded and useless where it had been cut to free her wrist. It was knotted beyond all help too; nothing of any use there.
Nothing of any use anywhere. She had no choice but to watch with bated breath as those holding the ladder attempted to rescue those below. She saw Yasmin breach the rooftop and sink to her knees, rolling away from the edge; then Corcoran do much the same bare seconds later.
She looked below, just in time to see Joel slam his body into Drums, pitching him into the snow. He began to climb the ladder one-handed as she looked on in disgust.
She toyed with the idea of telling the men to drop it and leave him to his fate, but the ladder had already proved too useful and Carson might make use of it any minute too.
Then she saw how wrong she was. The huge Thinker was almost within striking distance of Carson now; no way he would make the ladder in time and even if he did, the Thinker would haul him down from it, she was sure of that.
She wanted to scream but couldn’t find any words. Her terror and anxiety stuck in her throat, rendering her silent as she saw Carson finally turn and run, grabbing the boy and pulling him along as he went. It didn’t take Drums long to find his feet. As soon as Carson saw he was able, Carson let go of him and the pair of them ran, hell for leather, across the broad expanse of snow. She knew it was deep enough there to slow them down; knew in her heart they could never make it, not with a Thinker on their tail.
Mindless Trilogy (Book 3): Brutal Truths Page 11