Chapter Twenty Two
It was traumatic for Karen having to deal with the family in the attic, but it had to be done, as they needed a dignified burial, and rotting away up there was no good for them or the new residents that were planning on living there for a while.
Once she gently broke the news to her new guest that a removal of a family needed to take place, George didn't seem too flustered or shocked about what he was asked to do. Karen was surprised by his reaction, but then again, she didn't know his story and how he had managed to reach the outskirts of the village. Maybe he had gone through hell—like everybody else, and nothing shocked him anymore. The new world had quickly desensitised Karen from the Snatchers—from violence itself, and she assumed that George Jones was made of the same stuff, or had been moulded into the same kind of character
she
had turned into. It was now the kind of world that it either makes you or breaks you.
George Jones insisted on digging the grave in the back garden, but informed Karen that if he saw just one of those things, he was going back inside as he was unarmed. Karen got the impression that he was hinting for her weapon, but nobody was having that. It was a gift from Pickle, and she decided to withhold information about there being a shotgun and another Browning—which Pickle had—in the main bedroom. She didn't know why she did this. Maybe a precautionary measure as she didn't know the man and only knew his name.
Karen decided after the burial to hide the shotgun that sat under Pickle's bed in the bedroom cupboard for now, as she didn't know George properly, yet. She did trust him and liked him, but she had decided to be over-cautious with this one after getting burnt with Oliver Bellshaw a week ago.
They spoke very little while they dug, and Karen had come to the conclusion that George wasn't the talkative type. George and Karen both agreed that one large grave would suit both of them
and
the deceased family. They came to the conclusion that one big grave wouldn't be as time consuming and exhausting than digging four individual graves, and it would also be fitting if all four were buried together. They pretty much died together as a family, and now they were being laid to rest together as a family.
The exhausting part had been achieved, by moving the mum and the dad first. George had struggled, especially with the deceased male, but using both he and Karen's strength, they had managed to carry out the bodies despite the awkwardness of the rigor mortis.
Their final trip to the attic was the removal of the two girls.
They moved them out one by one; Karen refused to look at their faces, and once she was outside she gently and carefully placed them on top of each parent who were lying next to each other. George had done a good job of making the solitary grave wide enough for the parents to be placed side-by-side, as dumping each body on top of one another seemed a little callous and disrespectful.
Once each girl was placed on one of their parents of the shallow grave that was three feet in depth, George looked at Karen as if he didn't know what to do next, but Karen wordlessly grabbed the shovel they had raided from the family's shed, and began moving the dug-up soil onto the dead family.
Karen could feel her emotions getting carried away and could feel the lump in her throat and the water filling in her eye sockets. She took a quick peep at George, who didn't seem to be moved by the incident, and felt that his behaviour was a little odd, as well as cold. She was intrigued to find out more about him, and told herself that was exactly what she was going to do once she had seen to Pickle and settled down for the night.
It was an arduous task, especially as they were both exhausted from removing the bodies. George, seeing that Karen was physically struggling, took the shovel off of her and decided to finish the job off. George had become more puffy and stopped a few times to wipe his brow and have a rest, which was understandable as he dug the grave himself. Karen looked up at the darkened sky and estimated that there were a few hours of daylight left. As George patted the soil with the back of the shovel, Karen looked around the garden and over to the other gardens; it literally looked like the whole village had fled.
She was aware, from what she saw from over the road earlier, that a handful of people might be present, but she didn't understand how they never came out of their premises. The streets were empty, and there was no sign of any of those things lurking about...not yet. Was there something else the remaining people were afraid of?
Karen Bradley wanted to go over the road and see if there were any survivors, but her head was telling her that if she did this, she would have extra mouths to feed as well as the responsibility of looking after impossible and hysterical minors. She felt terrible that there could be people in their houses, too frightened to go out, but she wanted to survive, and being close to too many people, only to watch them eventually die, would soften her hard exterior and make her weaker.
If she wanted to survive, she couldn't afford to be weak.
Once they were both satisfied that the grave had been patted and looked reasonably smooth, apart from the odd footprint from George and Karen, they both took their sweat-stained backs into the house and opted for a shower. She thought she might as well shower whenever she could, as eventually the national grid was going to die, and she'd be back to bathing in cold streams. This could be her last.
Karen went first, as George patiently stood in the kitchen, draining the remainder of the blackcurrant juice he got from the fridge. He quickly wiped his face with his forearm, stopping the solitary trickle from running off his face and landing onto his black T-shirt. He looked around and smiled to himself; he had done well. He was aware that most people hadn't survived even the first week, and wondered what would come next.
He liked Karen; how could he
not
after giving him a ride? He hadn't met the other member of the household, but wasn't really that bothered so long as
he
was still breathing, that's all that mattered. He looked around the house and was sure that this time next month he would be somewhere else, as the chances of staying in the house and not coming to contact with any of the creatures looked pretty remote.
According to the radio report he had heard a few days ago, it seemed that the British public, apart from pockets of London, were left fending for themselves. He wondered about trying to get to the capital, but thought that by now every man and his dog would be descending onto the capital. It seemed one of the few places in the UK that had quarantined areas for the time being, but most other experts were telling people from the city to leave, so he didn’t know what to think.
He released a muffled belch and sighed to himself, "This'll do for now."
Chapter Twenty Three
The jeep whizzed by the last bend; while on the bend, both men knew the village hall was only a matter of seconds away. As the view of the hall materialised, Paul could see that there was nobody on guard; he immediately knew there was something wrong, as there was something in the back of his mind, niggling him. Even before he pulled the jeep up, he could feel Jack staring at him, wondering what was happening.
Paul dropped a gear and eased off the gas; the vehicle eventually came to a halt, right next to the entrance of the hall. The door was wide open. Jack and Paul looked at one another, and Jack jumped out and ran into the hall without convalescing with Paul. Jack had a son he was concerned about and couldn't care less if there was a hundred of those things in there; he would try and fight them off if he had to, as Thomas' safety was his only concern.
Paul struggled to get out of the jeep, and once he managed to open the driver's side of the door, Jack had returned from the hall and stood outside by the entrance in tears.
"What is it?" Paul quizzed, expecting to find a load of bodies and witnessing the aftermath of a brutal and bloody massacre.
"There's no one there; it's empty."
"What?"
Paul and Jack both ran into the entrance of the hall and saw the main hall had its usual untidy and scattered clothes and sleeping bags, but there were no people present.
"Let's try the back of the hall," Paul suggested.
Both men walked through the main hall, down a corridor and headed for the back door that led to the back of the place into the woods, where they would sometimes make a small fire and have their dinner. They both gazed at one another as they saw the door already slightly opened, but there was no sound of humans behind it; the omens weren't good.
Both men stopped walking once they reached the opened door, and hesitated on opening it further. Paul swallowed and took a step forward, held out his hand and gently pushed the door fully ajar. The old wooden door cried open, because of the old rusty hinges that were attached to it, and both men peered outside looking into the trees.
They couldn't see any members of their group, and it appeared that they had fled, and the reason for their fleeing was self-evident to both men. Both Jack and Paul could see in the distance eight beings stumbling around the woodlands; their backs were against the men as if they were heading towards where the group might have fled. The only comfort both of the men had was that there was no sign of a body or any blood on the floor, informing them that the group had ran but thankfully hadn't received any injuries or were killed in the process.
The two men were surprisingly calm as their numbed brains tried to soak up the information.
Jack sighed, "We're gonna have to find them. It's gonna be dark soon."
Paul nodded in agreement. "We'll go now, but as soon as it gets dark, we'll come back to the village hall. We'll just walk in a straight line and look to either side of us in the trees. If we wander too far, we'll get lost in the woods and never make it back to the hall."
Jack never agreed to Paul's plan with a verbal response, but made a gesture with one nod of the head that Paul didn't see.
Paul pulled out two of his homemade spears that were leaning against the wall of the building, and handed one to Jack. Without uttering a word, both men walked on, bypassed the smouldering camp fire where they would normally sit and get warm, drink, have chats and eat while the place was under guard, and walked slowly through the long, dry bracken that stroked their knees as they made their quiet, long strides, aware that there was eight of the things not so far away from them. It halted their progression, but spear or no spear; Paul felt that if they turned around and decided to attack, the sheer numbers would overwhelm them.
Paul and Jack were spaced out ten feet away from each other, but their progression was ponderous and frustrating to Jack Slade, and on two occasions Paul had to wave at him furiously, telling Jack that he was going too fast and was getting too close to the things. Paul could understand Jack's dilemma, as he had a son to think about, but there didn't seem to be any point in putting themselves in danger as well. Paul looked to the darkening sky and released a loud sigh of frustration, and then he stopped walking once he came to a decision.
"This is hopeless," Paul spoke up. "It'll be dark soon. Let's try in the morning."
"You do what you want," Jack snapped. "I need to find my boy. I've already lost him once."
Paul turned round and began walking back towards the village hall, his head lowered, and his overall body language admitting defeat, for the night at least.
"What are you doing?" Jack scolded in a strident whisper. "Paul!"
Paul Parker at last spoke as he continued to walk. "It's gonna be dark soon. You go if you want, but you won't be coming back. I need to stay alive for
my
family."
Paul could hear the hurried feet hurtling towards him and felt Jack's hand grab his shoulder and attempted to turn him around. Paul helped matters by swivelling around to face him and allowed Jack to have his rant.
Jack snarled, "What do you think you're doing? My son's out there."
"We're better off waiting till the next light." Paul looked at the distraught father. "He's out there with his mother, either hiding in a place they've found, or somewhere in the woods."
"More reason we should go."
"If we go out there now, it'll be suicide."
Jack looked frightened, but simultaneously, determined. "I can't just stay here, knowing that he's out there."
"Fine, but I'm not going with you. Not tonight."
"Fine."
Jack trudged off and headed the way they were originally going. All Paul could do was stand and watch the man walk off into the unknown, maybe to his eventual death. Paul shook his head, muttered an expletive under his breath about the determined individual, but he did understand why he was doing it. If it were his Hannah, he would probably have done the same. At least Jack had a rough idea where his son could be, Paul, on the other hand, had no clue where his wife, Jocelyn, and his two-year-old daughter, Hannah, were. All he could do was hope for the best and keep his fingers crossed.
He sighed, and took a gawp at Jack one last time, who only had one of Paul's homemade spears for protection, and turned around to walk back into the hall. He had a car load of food to empty and store away, and after securing the hall, all he had to look forward to was a night of being locked in the place, alone, hoping that there would be no disturbances, as well as an old Shaun Hutson book for comfort.
It was going to be a long night.
Once Paul got back into the village hall, he locked the place up. He knew that all it took was for Jack, or for any other member, to rattle the door and he could open the door within seconds. He didn't feel guilty about locking the door and leaving Jack to his own devices. That was
his
choice. He was more worried about the rest of the group.
He opened the book and began reading the paperback that he had read three times before. It was either that or sing to himself, but the words from the book weren’t being taken in. His worry for the people he had known for days, especially for the children, Thomas and Yoler, were too distracting. He lay back and placed the book on the floor and waited for the door to be knocked. He didn't know how long it would take, but as soon as darkness grew, he was certain that common sense would prevail with Jack Slade.
He'll come back, Paul thought. Unless something gets him first.