 
THE CANAVARS

By

Shaun Whittington

First Edition

Copyright 2020

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The author uses UK English

This book is a work of fiction, and many of the events in the book occur in real places. However, in these areas I have taken the liberty of exaggerating certain things that suited the book. Other places that are mentioned may not be real at all, so if you are from the area that I have written about, try not to be too upset that I have twisted a few things.

This is a book about after the apocalypse, so it does contain tension, gore, and scenes that could upset individuals, especially scenes involving children. It needs to be as real as possible, and in reality nobody would be exempt from such an unforgiving world.

Thanks,

Shaun.
THE CANAVARS

The Canavars are coming, so you better hide and pray.

If you don't believe me then you're going to die today.

They'll eat your flesh, they'll eat your brains, and they'll eat your heart and more.

The Canavars are everywhere; you better lock your door.

Tyler Washington

### Aged 10
PART ONE
Chapter One

He released a long moan and put his head back, staring into the darkness. His daughter had finally fallen sleep, and as soon as Simon Washington could hear the eight-year-old girl snoring gently as she laid her head on his lap, he leaned over and blew the candle out. He had no idea what time it was. Ten? Eleven?

She wasn't a big fan of the dark. She was not exactly terrified of it, which was a near-miracle considering what they had been through, but if the candlelight helped her go to sleep then her father was happy to use up some of the wax.

He ran his fingers from his right hand through his bushy beard whilst stroking his daughter's head with his left, and closed his eyes. He was sleepy, his eyes were stinging, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins was making sleep a hard task to achieve.

He was getting that feeling again.

He hadn't experienced it in days, but it was happening. He sat up, straightened his back, and tried to ride it out. He stopped stroking his daughter's head and put the two fingers of his left hand on his neck, feeling for the carotid artery.

His pulse felt normal, kind of, so where was the surge of adrenaline coming from? And why was he finding it difficult to breathe? Was it all in his mind?

He tried a few breathing exercises, like he normally did in this situation. He took in a deep breath and held it for eight seconds, then slowly released for another eight. He continued to do this, and after a few minutes the episode had come to a close, like it normally did. He had no idea why this was happening. Yes, he and his daughter, Imelda, were in a dire situation, but these panic attacks had only started a couple of months ago.

Why didn't it start straight away? Why didn't it start a year ago when the country, and possibly the world, went into chaos? He didn't know what it really was. Was it really a panic attack? Did he have high blood pressure? Something else?

When it first happened he thought he was having a heart attack. Just the thought of dying frightened him, so his panic grew and it seemed to make the situation worse. The fear of leaving his daughter alone was petrifying for Simon. Leaving his daughter to fend for herself was what frightened him the most. He had taught her things. He had shown her how to catch game by setting traps, how to skin rabbits, filtering water, but being eight years old with no parents, walking these barren lands alone, was something that broke his heart just thinking about it.

He closed his eyes and felt tiredness creep up on him. He nodded off for no longer than ten seconds and suddenly gasped, getting a fright, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention. Was there something outside?

He unzipped his blue fleece jacket, careful not to wake his daughter, and left the jacket opened; it wasn't so cold. He was sure that it was around springtime; maybe April or May, he wasn't exactly sure.

The winter seemed like a lifetime ago now, and he and his daughter had been on the road for a few months; he guessed three. They had stayed in their house for nearly nine months before they had to leave. When they were at their house and had run out of food, they had to spend their time raiding neighbours' houses. Most of the houses were empty, because in the beginning, when the Canavars were in their droves and most people fled to a different place, going elsewhere seemed a better option for most folk. Since the bombs had fallen, people, as well as the Canavars, had been depleted. Simon hadn't seen one in months, and his daughter hadn't seen any since _that_ day. The day she lost her mummy and her brother; the day Simon lost his wife and his son.

He had no idea where to go next once morning had arrived, and knew that staying in the wooden hut for another night was not an option.

For months the pair of them roamed from one house to the next, picking up scraps here and there, and he knew that this couldn't go on forever. Food was going to dry up eventually. Water was fine, for the time being. He knew how to filter water, although the process wasn't entirely perfect. They had a few jars with them that also had lids, and a couple of old soda bottles that Simon kept in his rucksack. The soda bottles were cut in half, and had, at the top of the bottle, small pebbles. Underneath the pebbles was sand. A cloth was below the sand, tied with an elastic band.

Once the water had been filtered Simon would filter it again, boil it for a minute, and then let it cool down. The water had to be filtered to remove waterborne cysts that could harbour and protect bacteria from chemical treatment or even boiling, but he was aware that the cysts were capable of withstanding high temperatures.

The filtering process would remove some cysts along with pesticides, herbicides, sediment, insects and other debris. It was a lengthy process, and was quite frustrating that it took up a lot of their time.

In the beginning, the Canavars were the problem, but after the bombs fell, other humans were now a danger. He knew that not _every_ individual was a danger to him and his daughter, but he had to be wary of any stranger, male or female. Times were different, and people were resorting to any methods in order to survive. He had seen it with his own eyes.

He felt a throbbing in the back of his mouth and placed his fingers in and touched one of his back teeth. He winced when his fingers made contact and knew it had to come out eventually.

He had no tools to deal with the situation, but was sure he could wait a while. He had only felt the discomfort a few weeks ago, and although it was painful, he was certain he could hold on for another few days or so. It wasn't exactly keeping him awake at night. Not yet.

He stroked his daughter's head once more, leaned over and kissed her. Her hair needed washing. The last time she had washed her hair was a couple of weeks ago when they came across an abandoned house that had no food available, but had bottles of lemonade and bars of soap.

The days of old seemed like a lifetime ago now. His daughter went to gymnastics on a Friday evening, and back then all she worried about was her technique for her one handed cartwheel and what the new move was going to be. Now, she worried about other things. She worried about where the next meal was going to come from and if they were going to run into any trouble.

They had been very careful.

They had remained in the countryside since they had escaped from their house, after her brother and mother were attacked, but Simon had told her that they needed to head to somewhere more residential—a place that was reasonably populated in the old world. He was hoping to come across more houses, shops, maybe even a friendly community that had been created by some locals, but he was aware that a place with numbers could also mean danger for him and his daughter.

Most of the houses that they had checked recently had nothing left. The food had either been taken when the owners had packed up and left, when the Canavars had exploded on the scene, or other people had raided the house during that period, maybe even after.

The arrival of the Canavars was bad enough and had depleted the nation severely, but when the country was attacked from the skies, mainly the cities, there didn't seem to be anyone around. That, of course, wasn't the case, but that's what it felt like for Simon Washington and his eight-year-old daughter.

Simon and Imelda felt like they were the last people left on this earth.

How wrong they were.
Chapter Two

Next Day

He woke up with a start, and at first was unsure where he was. His was still sitting up and his eyes scanned around the dusky area and immediately placed his hand on his daughter's head. He smiled. She was still there, still with her head on his lap. He tried to sit up without disturbing his daughter. He had no idea how long they had both slept. Maybe they had had plenty of hours or maybe not enough, he wasn't sure.

He could see that it was light outside because there was light shining through the tiny cracks of the shed that they were in.

He and his daughter had weeks of monotony, walking from one place to the next. To relieve the boredom they talked about how their lives were when things were normal. He openly talked about his wife and son, his daughter's mother and brother, as he thought it was healthy to do this, rather than forgetting they ever existed.

He had no idea how long it had been since their passing. A couple of months? Longer? It felt like years. He was sure they had died in January.

Sometimes it felt like it had always been just him and his little girl, and the flashbacks that consisted of his wife and son were just his imagination. It sounded silly, but that's how Simon felt sometimes. He had no photographs of his family, no video footage to remind him what life used to be like ... nothing! Everything he could remember about his past was in his head. He couldn't remember it all, but a lot of the memories would come flooding back if his daughter would say or do something. Sometimes, however, the memories would sneak up on him like an assassin, without warning, and twang his heartstrings, forcing his throat to harden.

His daughter began to moan and stir and this made him smile. He waited a minute and allowed his little girl to sit up in her own time. Eight-year-old Imelda Washington sat up and stretched her arms. Still sitting, she released a yawn and then looked at the outline of her dad who was sitting next to her.

"Morning, babe," said Simon in a soft voice.

She never responded verbally and looked around, almost as if she was unsure where she was.

"Sleep well?" He looked at the little scar that was on the right side of her forehead, just below her hairline.

"Uh-huh." She nodded and gazed around once more before adding, "Had a weird dream."

"Oh yeah?" Simon smirked and could hardly see his beautiful girl. The dusky shed hid her blonde hair, blue eyes and perfect skin. "What was it about?"

"Erm..."

She seemed reluctant to tell him and Simon decided not to push her. The dream could have been too silly to describe, or it could have been one about her mum and older brother.

"You know what?" Simon gently touched Imelda's cheek and said, "Why don't you tell me once we're on the road."

She nodded and groaned, "So we're moving again?"

Simon smiled and nodded. "We need to go where the food is."

"Nowhere then."

Simon decided to ignore her moaning, stood up and stretched his arms. He then put his arms out straight in front of him and stretched his back. He smiled as he remembered that this was the type of stretch, as well as others, he used when he went to the gym.

The gym, he thought. That seemed like a lifetime ago now.

'You hungry, babe?" he asked her.

"Not really."

Simon cupped his right hand, brought it up to his mouth and breathed into it, immediately sniffing his breath. He twisted his nose. He needed to brush his teeth. He hadn't brushed them in days and his teeth were beginning to hurt. They had two worn toothbrushes in the bag that he had, but had little toothpaste. They had managed to acquire some toothpaste from the last house they were in, and it had also been days since Imelda had brushed her teeth.

They had no plan. They simply wandered from one place to the next, from one town to the other. He just wanted the pair of them to survive. That was what his wife would have wanted. If he had lost his whole family on that terrible day he would have killed himself, but he had Imelda. She was the only thing that was keeping him going, keeping him sane. He had responsibilities, and the thought of him dying and leaving his little girl, alone, upset him. He saw what it did to her when she lost her mum and Tyler, her older brother.

"Ready to go?" he asked her.

She stood and straightened her back and nodded in the dim shed. He picked up the rucksack and went over to the door and pushed the door open. The pair of them squinted as the sun flooded the inside of the wooden hut, stinging their eyes. Both raised their hands to shield their eyes, and slowly stepped outside to a beautiful day, with Simon leading the way. He hadn't eaten for a day and decided to rummage through his bag.

Because of his daughter, he didn't want to use the supplies, but he was no good to her dead. He looked around at the garden they were in and could see the long grass. The houses that stretched along were in ruins. Some were unrecognisable as houses anymore, and yet, bizarrely, the shed that they had stayed in stood untouched. Maybe the houses in front had shielded it from the bombs that had been dropped months ago. He wanted to keep away from the ruins, the areas that had been affected, but last night they had no choice.

Noises from the previous night, coming from males, had forced father and daughter to flee, and the shed was the first thing they saw whilst their bodies were engulfed in panic.

Simon put the bag on the floor, unzipped the rucksack and began to rummage through. Inside the bag he had:

Two steak knives.

One claw hammer.

3 tins of beans.

A tin of sardines.

A packet of Frosties (out of date).

3 bars of soap.

3 carrier bags.

Two jars and soda bottles to purify water..

One empty plastic bottle.

A hairbrush.

An assortment of candles.

A shaving mirror.

Peter Benchley's Jaws paperback (This book was in the bottom of his bag. It was his favourite film, and had read the book when he was a child).

One pair of spare trainers for his daughter.

Two pairs of knickers.

An _OMG_ black T-shirt. OMG was in pink lettering.

One black V-neck T-shirt.

Two worn yellow toothbrushes.

Green disposable lighter

An adult blue T-shirt

He pulled out a tin of beans and shook it in front of Imelda. "You sure you're not hungry?"

"I'm sure." She nodded, and scanned around where they were with fear scrawled on her face.

"Okay. Maybe I'll have a tin later." Simon could see the concern on her face and pointed up ahead. "Let's go this way."

Simon put the tin in his pocket, threw the bag over his shoulder and moved away from the ruins that was once a street full of life. He took a quick scan around the broken street and imagined brand new cars parked on the drives, children playing, and people out walking their dogs. He had hardly seen any animals since he had been on the road. He didn't know why. There must have been a lot of domestic pets, mainly cats and dogs that had lost their owners and had to fend for themselves.

He placed his arm around his daughter's shoulder and his mind went back to that day—not when they announced the first crisis, but weeks after, when the bombs fell.

Before the bombs had fallen, Simon and his family had been hiding in their attic, away from those things, living off scraps, and occasionally going out and taking supplies from abandoned houses that had been left when the country was in stage one of this crisis.

He hated going out. It frightened the life out of him when going out for the first time, but he couldn't let his family starve. Thankfully, the neighbours to his left had decided to chance their luck elsewhere and had fled, but hadn't taken all the food with them. He didn't know why. His elderly neighbours to the right had decided to commit suicide. When he broke into the house, he found them on their bed, on their backs and holding hands. They had taken an overdose of painkillers. The positives from this was that they had left a house with cupboards full of food, and this told Simon that they must have killed themselves in the first week.

Stage One was what Simon and Imelda called it. Stage One was when the dead began to attack. Stage Two was when the bombs fell.

When Stage Two began, Simon had a feeling what was happening and relocated his family to the basement, to lower ground, to be safer. Getting to higher ground was better for Stage One, when the dead were out in their numbers, but going to lower ground was more beneficial when Stage Two began to happen, getting his family away from potential falling debris and shattered glass from the windows.

When the bombs had stopped and he was brave enough to get to the roof of his house, a couple of weeks after, he could see that the area he was in looked unscathed. There was the usual smashed up car from the Stage One era, as well as bodies and blood, but after the explosions had stopped, he could see that the streets near him looked untouched. He could see from afar that certain buildings like high-rise flats and churches, as well as a shopping centre, weren't there anymore, but his area was fine. Whoever dropped the bombs, it appeared that there were specific targets, but his street, as well as dozens around him, hadn't been damaged.

"Dad!"

Imelda had brought Simon out of his daydreaming of yesteryear, and he turned to his daughter to see what she wanted. They were walking side by side and it looked like they were heading towards a small cluster of trees.

"What is it, babe?" he finally spoke up.

"How come those trees look okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"Remember the last time we tried to go to the woods and all the trees were bare and burnt?"

"I think they were affected by Stage Two," Simon said. "And anyway, that's not exactly the woods, is it?" He pointed over to the trees. "We need to walk through and see what's on the other side. We're running out of water, so we need to fill up our jars once we find a pond or a stream ... or something."

"Oh, okay."

"Hold onto my hand." He held out his hand and his daughter took it.

"We haven't seen people for days," Imelda sighed and moaned further, "And when we do, we run or hide from them."

Simon never responded and it only took them a minute to get out of the trees. He looked down at his worn boots and Imelda's dirty white trainers. Thankfully there was another pair for her in his rucksack.

In front of them were miles of fields, nothing else apart from a farmhouse in the distance.

"Now what, daddy?" she asked with a little attitude in her tone.

Simon pointed ahead of him and said, "We're going to that farmhouse, but first..." He sat down, placed the bag on the floor and pulled out the tin from his pocket. "I'm gonna have something to eat."
Chapter Three

After finishing his beans, Simon and Imelda Washington trudged with weary feet through the long grass. He held his daughter's hand for a few minutes, but once their palms became sticky they both agreed to release their grip. There were fields all around, but a small group of trees were in front of them and they went round them to reach a picket fence. He climbed the fence first and then helped his daughter over. The pair of them were now standing on a grassy bank, and a country road stretched by them. They needed to cross the road to reach a small iron gate. They crossed the road and Simon opened the noiseless gate. The pair of them stepped carefully down the garden path and headed for the front door of the farmhouse. Imelda tried to speak, but Simon shushed her and tried to see if there was a way of opening the door without breaking it down.

Simon looked at the concerned face of his daughter. "Let's try round the back."

They both went to the right hand side of the house where a drive stretched from the front and passed the house, stopping at the back of the place. It took just over ten minutes to check out the outside area of the farm.

"Now what, daddy?" Imelda asked once the back door gave way.

"I don't know." Simon gently waggled his head.

"Does that mean there're people inside?"

"I don't know."

They stepped inside to be greeted with a basic kitchen and cupboards that looked like they had been around since the eighties. He closed the back door, once they were both inside, and could also see that the now defunct oven was archaic, something that Simon's granny use to use. Maybe old people used to stay here, he thought.

He told Imelda to stand in the corner of the kitchen, by the sink, and not to move. He placed his rucksack by her feet, told her to be brave, and then took a quick look around the house.

He stepped into the empty living room and went over to open the curtains slightly, letting some light spill in. He then opened a door and was now at the front door that they couldn't get in. He had his back to the front door and was looking at the stairs in front of him.

He went to the first floor and checked the bedrooms. Each door was closed; so opening each one was a scary task. The final room to check was the bathroom, and once that was achieved, Simon smiled and was pleased that the house was clear.

He descended back to the ground floor and could see the main/front door. He noticed that the door had a bolt, like the back door in the kitchen, so at least it could be locked from the inside.

Simon wasn't surprised that there were no supplies, but at least it was safe and clear inside the farmhouse itself. It had a barn but was empty, and no farm vehicle was present, no tractor, combine harvester ... nothing. What _did_ surprise him was that the back door that they went in was unlocked, which delighted _and_ concerned him.

He had always wanted to try a farm, but was scared that the owner would shoot him or his daughter once they were spotted. He didn't live in a country where they were blessed with guns, but you could guarantee that a farmer would have a shotgun stored somewhere.

He entered the living room and told Imelda to come in and join him. He sat down in the living room area in a dusty chair, and was going to check out the place more thoroughly once he found the energy to get back on his feet. Imelda came in from the kitchen, placed the rucksack by her daddy's feet and sat on the couch, opposite her dad, and leaned her head back. Both were hungry, tired, despite the day being so young.

"Is the place safe?" she asked him.

Simon nodded timidly. "Appears so."

His eyes looked around and couldn't understand why others hadn't snapped up such a place. And why did the owners leave?

"I'm tired, daddy," she moaned.

Simon smiled. "Tired or just dehydrated?"

"Tired and ... both." She rubbed her throat. "Could I have the rest of that water?"

"I thought you said it tasted horrible," he gently teased with a thin smile. She never responded and he could see she wasn't in the mood.

He reached into his bag and pulled out the rest of the filtered water in the jar and passed it to her. There wasn't much left, maybe four or five gulps, but he urged her to hold her nose and finish it. She did as she was told, twisted her face in revulsion, and then passed the jar back to her father.

She lay down and curled up on the sofa.

It was still the morning, but sometimes the pair of them did this. They would sometimes have a couple of short naps a day. It was rare that they ever got seven to nine hours a sleep a night, so they just slept whenever their body told them that they needed to, providing it was safe.

He gazed over at his little girl and then got to his feet. He quite fancied a nap himself, but he needed to open a window to let some air circulate and wanted to close the dusty curtains of the living room window, despite only opening them a few minutes ago.

He shut the curtains and looked over at the silhouette of Imelda once more and strained to see her face in the dusky room. It didn't seem that long ago she was born. Like her old man, she had beautiful thick red lips and blue eyes. The eyes were from her mother's side of the family. Simon had dark brown eyes and they were narrow, like Clint Eastwood's in his spaghetti western movies, and his eyebrows were dark and quite thick, like his beard. Imelda's eyebrows were quite thick for her age, and Simon knew that as she got older she wasn't going to thank him for giving her the thick eyebrow gene.

Maybe that didn't matter now.

He was certain that when she reached puberty, boys would be the last thing on her mind; especially the way things were now.

Simon was dreading that day. The day she would become a young woman. Not only would he be looking for food, water and medical supplies, but he'd also be looking for sanitary towels, maybe even bras for the young girl. They hadn't had 'the talk' yet, but he was sure she was aware that the time of young womanhood would come.

He could hear Imelda lightly snoring and although a little tired, he didn't feel the need to sleep. He closed his stinging eyes and decided to relax and lose himself for a while.

His thoughts didn't go back to the days when his world turned to shit; his thoughts went further back. He thought about their last holiday together as a family. They decided to stay in Britain and went to a place called Flamingoland. It was a great holiday and they were blessed with good weather for the week. Tyler had made some friends and claimed that a 'fat boy' had been picking on him. That was the only negative part of the holiday.

The routine of the caravan holiday was the same every day. The whole family would get up between seven and eight. Whilst Diana would be rushing around, making the kids their breakfast and getting them dressed, Simon would escape from the madness for an hour and take the five-minute walk to the complex's gym. He would use the treadmill for an hour then return to the caravan, shower, get dressed and head to the amusement park and zoo that was right next to their caravan with the rest of the family. They would spend all day in there, and the only ride that Simon didn't like the look of was the high swings.

Tyler and Diana freaked about every ride apart from the pirate ship and the water rides. Imelda had no fear of any of them, despite being the youngest, and she especially liked the Mumbo Jumbo, a roller coaster that wasn't for the faint-hearted. Then they would go back to the caravan, eat, and then get dressed for the nighttime.

The club on the complex wasn't the best entertainment, so Simon and Diana would sometimes let the kids play in the park that was opposite the caravan, whilst the parents sat on the decking of the caravan, talk, and drink red wine.

Simon sat with a smile on his face.

The memories of Flamingoland were so vivid that it felt like there was a projector showing the highlights of the holiday in his mind.

He gazed back over to his daughter and lost his smile.

He knew that his holidays with his family had happened, but it didn't feel real now. He felt like it had happened to someone else.

There were many things that he was concerned about, apart from overall survival. He began to worry about dying and leaving Imelda all alone, like he did every day. Even though he had taught her everything he knew about survival skills, which wasn't a great deal, he wasn't sure she would cope. She was only eight years old.

The other thing that scared him was killing another man. He had only killed two Canavars so far, but there were very few of them left now, or so he thought. Whenever he or Imelda had heard the sounds of footsteps or vehicles, they would always hide. They had managed to avoid humans, but their luck was going to run out one day.

Could he kill another man if his daughter was in danger? Of course he could. He didn't want to, but his only goal was to get his daughter through this. It was the only reason why he was still alive. Could he kill another man for his supplies, if it meant those supplies would keep him and his daughter alive for a few more day or weeks?

He wasn't sure.

His daughter began to toss and turn, and Simon stood up, fearing that she would fall off the sofa and hurt herself. Her movement was reducing, but now she was beginning to mumble.

"The ... coming ... hide and pray. If you don't believe me you're ... today."

She suddenly stopped talking. To a stranger, her words would have been confusing and nonsensical, but Simon knew exactly what she was talking about. It was a poem—well, _kind_ of a poem. It was more of a song that Tyler had made up many months ago.

When Stage One was in its infancy, ten-year-old Tyler used to taunt his little sister, as big brothers do, and used to frighten her to death about what was happening in the outside world. He had made up a poem and used to mumble it to Imelda to scare her. He never used to do it in front of his parents, although he had been caught a couple of times and had been told off.

Obviously, in this early stage, Tyler, as well as Imelda, had no idea how bad things were, and were going to be. They did nothing but moan about the lack of food and not being able to see their friends. Then when the power went, things became worse.

Seeing that his daughter was beginning to settle again, Simon sat back down and leaned his head back. This time he thought about the two weeks they had in Benalmadena from two years ago.

He closed his eyes, smiling from ear to ear, and began to daydream about the best holiday he ever had.
Chapter Four

A noise made Simon jump up out of his chair. He stood up, confused, and had a quick look around. His daughter was still sleeping and he realised that he must have dosed off as well.

He remained still, too scared to move, still standing, and trying to listen out for any further sounds. Over a minute had passed and the sound of scratching could be heard. It was coming from the back of the house, from the back door.

Unsure whether to wake his daughter or not, Simon was smothered in confusion; he remained standing and had no idea what was the right thing to do. He made slow steps in the dim quarters and stopped once he was in the kitchen, where the back door was. The scratching grew louder and he had realised that it was coming from behind the door that was situated in the kitchen.

He took two steps closer and then went onto his knees. He made the rest of the small journey to the back door by crawling, and once he reached the door he placed his ear against it. Simon had just realised that he hadn't checked if this door was unlocked or not. He looked to see the door was bolted. He supposed that it didn't matter in this situation anyway, as he was sure that whatever was behind the door was an animal of some kind and was unable to open doors.

He kept his ear against the door, held his breath, and seconds later the clawing had stopped. Now snarling came from the animal that Simon was now certain was a wild dog.

Wasn't most surviving dogs _wild_ these days?

The dog could smell him, he was sure of it. And now the scratching began once more, but this time more frantic. The dog must have been starving. It was so hungry that it was prepared to claw its way through a wooden door to get to its next potential meal.

He was unsure what to do next. Should he kill the dog, or let it continue to scratch its way through and hope it became tired, gave up, and went elsewhere?

He stood up and left the kitchen on his tiptoes, like a drunk coming home late and hoping not to wake his wife. He went over to his daughter, bent down and put his hands under Imelda's back. She moaned a little as he picked her up, and he made the arduous walk up the stairs. He then reached the landing and picked a bedroom to put his daughter in. He placed her on top of the bed and shut the door behind him as he left. He knew if she woke up she'd freak, but he was hoping that that wasn't going to happen.

He went downstairs, returned to the kitchen and unbolted the door. He then entered the living room and reached into his bag. He took out a steak knife and a claw hammer from his bag, and headed for the front door. He put the hammer and knife in a pocket each, and then took off his blue fleece and wrapped it tightly around his left arm. He kept the hammer into his deep pocket and took out the steak knife as he slid the bolt back.

He took in a deep breath as he stepped out and closed the door. He had a look around the desolate fields that stretched around him and checked if the blue fleece was tight enough around his left arm, then headed for the back of the farmhouse, where the scratching had been coming from. He was certain that the dog wouldn't give up and felt he had no choice. He didn't want to kill a dog. He didn't want to kill _anything_. But the safety of Imelda was his main goal.

The other concern he had was that he had no idea what type of dog waited for him. Alsatian? Rottweiler? Pit Bull? He hoped that it was only a Schitzu or a Pug, but it didn't sound like a small dog.

He held his breath as he reached the corner of the farmhouse that was at the back, and peered his head around to see a black and white Collie scratching at the door. He puffed out a breath of relief and wondered if he had anything in his bag the dog could devour.

Simon smiled and bent down. He clicked his fingers to get the dog's attention and said, "Hello there. And what do you think you're doing?"

The dog glared at Simon, cocked its head to one side and began to whimper.

Bless it. Poor thing's probably starving.

"Come on." He continued to click his fingers, trying to beckon the dog. "Come here."

The dog took a step forward and then began to growl, showing its teeth.

Simon was saddened by this and hoped that maybe he and Imelda had gained a companion. In hindsight, he should have gone through his bag and taken some food round with him, but there was no going back now.

He stood up, knowing that walking or running away would make the dog run for him, and raised his knife. He stayed motionless as the canine stepped closer towards him. It looked hesitant, but at the same time it didn't want the 'meal' to get away.

Simon took one step backwards and the dog galloped towards him.

With his heart in his mouth, Simon raised his arm, waiting for the dog to pounce, and gripped the knife handle tight. The black and white Collie jumped at Simon once it was just a metre away, and predictably sank its teeth into the blue fleece wrapped around his arm. It growled and shook its head from side to side, trying to rip the man apart, almost pulling Simon's shoulder out of his socket. He waited a few more seconds, heart beating out of his chest, and then drove the knife into the side of the dog's neck, quickly pulling the blade out. It released a short yelp and let go of his arm immediately.

It took a step backwards, its legs wobbled, and Simon watched as the blood poured out of the mutt's neck. He looked down at his knife and could see the blood running off the steel, then turned his attention back to the dog that had now fallen and lay on its side. He watched as the animal's middle went up and down as it breathed, but then it stopped.

Simon released a breath out and was about to pick the dog up, but then paused. He was paranoid about his little girl waking up, alone, in a strange room. He made a decision to run upstairs and move Imelda back to the sofa before moving the dog.

And so he did.

*

After gathering some branches and making a spit for the fire he had just lit at the back of the farm, Simon filtered some water, ready to boil once the dog was cooked. They sat waiting patiently, both salivating. They had eaten cats before, a fox, squirrels ... but never a dog. Simon had gutted and skinned the animal before placing it over the fire. Making a fire was dangerous, especially on a night, but they needed to eat.

"Your beard's going grey, daddy," Imelda remarked with a smile, trying to kill time. Both sat next to one another and gazed at the dead canine, willing it to hurry up and cook.

"I know, babe." Simon smiled. "It's only grey at the sides of my chin. Anyway, I'm not getting any younger."

She looked at her father strangely. "Neither am I."

"It's just a saying," Simon snickered. "It's just something adults say. You don't have to take it literally."

"Adults are strange."

Simon smiled thinly and wondered about the future of his daughter. He thought about her going into womanhood once more, and wondered what to do when she needed to wear a bra or when she started her menstrual cycle. He had years to play with before this scenario occurred, but if they were going to survive, it _was_ going to happen.

"Once this thing's cooked," Simon nodded to the animal on the spit, "then we'll get back inside. Maybe go for a cheeky nap."

"What about the rest of it?" Imelda asked her father. "We'll never eat it all."

"I can carve the rest up and put the meat on a plate for later."

"Can we eat the meat cold?"

"I think so." Simon hunched his shoulders. "You can eat chicken cold, so why not? Remember that time we ate a cat for the first time?"

Imelda nodded. "I wouldn't touch it."

"That's right. You hadn't eaten for two days and I was getting mad."

"I did in the end," Imelda said with a smile "Only because you told me it tasted like chicken. It looked and tasted nothing like chicken."

"I know, but at least you ate some of it."

She nodded and looked up and seemed lost in thought. Before her father could ask her what was wrong, she said, "I keep on thinking about that song that Tyler used to tease me with."

"Song?" Simon ran the nail of his thumb across his left eyebrow, trying to understand what Imelda meant.

"Yeah. _The_ song."

"Oh yes. Funny you should say that," said Simon. "You was mumbling it in your sleep when you were lying on the couch."

"Was I?"

Simon nodded.

He gazed at Imelda and could see her beautiful features, and began to lose himself. She was sitting next to the fire as the flames licked the air.

"What's wrong, daddy? You're staring?"

Simon shook his head, shaking himself out of his hypnotic state and apologised to his daughter. "There's nothing wrong."

"Are you sure?"

Simon nodded. "It's just that..." Simon gulped and allowed his sentence to trail.

"What?" Imelda queried her daddy further.

"Sometimes..." Simon began, but paused. "Sometimes I look at you and feel like bursting into tears."

Imelda's forehead tightened and she said, "I don't understand."

"It doesn't matter," he laughed timidly. "You're not a parent, so it's hard to explain."

"Okay." She glared at the cooking canine and salivated as the smell tormented her senses. "Do you think it'll be ready soon?"

"Shouldn't be long." He reached to the side of him and picked up two plates he had taken from the kitchen. He leaned over and gave his daughter one and then took a fork from his pocket and passed it to her.

"After we've finished, we'll go straight back inside, okay?" he asked her.

She nodded.

"Okay. A couple of more minutes and we'll carve this baby up."
Chapter Five

Since killing the dog, the rest of the day had passed by with little excitement. The rest of the animal was carved up and placed on a plate from the kitchen cupboard, although there wasn't much. Simon and Imelda had stuffed their faces and gave themselves a protein overdose.

Simon had put the plate on the side of the sofa and he and Imelda spoke about their old life, in the afternoon, whilst picking at the meat.

The evening was maturing and Simon had made sure both doors of the house were locked before heading upstairs with his daughter, bag in hand. Simon picked the room that had the double bed, dumped the rucksack, and both of them kicked off their footwear before lying on the bed, on top of the black and white duvet.

Both of them were fully clothed when they lay on the bed, their heads resting on the soft pillows that were dressed in black covers, and Imelda laid her head on her father's chest. He stroked her hair and then kissed her forehead.

"I want to dream about mum and Tyler tonight," she groaned.

"Do you, babe?"

"Uh-huh. Do you?"

Simon thought for a few seconds and pulled a face. "Well ... I don't need to dream about them. They're in my head."

"But dreaming is different."

"Is it?" He continued to stroke her hair.

"Yeah. In your dreams you can touch them, smell them. You do things that we never did when they were alive."

"Your dreams must be a lot more vivid than mine." Simon smirked and continued to stroke her head.

"What does vivid mean?"

"Clear." Simon cleared his throat and added, "Anyway, I don't like to dream about mum and Tyler, because when I wake up I then realise that they're not here anymore."

"Oh."

"Do you like dreaming of mummy and Tyler because you miss them and want to be with them, or because your dreams take you back to how the world was before...?"

Simon never finished his sentence. He didn't need to. If he had finished his sentence, how would it have ended? Before... Before... their world turned to shit? Before... mummy and Tyler were killed in front of their eyes? Before ... the Canavars came and started ripping people to pieces. Before ... what?

"I just like dreaming about them," Imelda said, her sentence was in a tone to suggest she was a little bit angry with her dad. "That's all."

"Try and get some sleep."

"I'll try, but that nap before might keep me awake."

"I know. In that case, we'll just lie here and see what happens. It's still quite early, isn't it?"

"Okay, daddy."

A silence enveloped the pair of them and Simon closed his eyes, but Imelda disturbed his short-lived peace. He could hear her sighing, fidgeting and groaning. He bit his bottom lip and tried to remind himself that she was staying in a room for the first time and that she was only eight years old.

She said, "Daddy?"

Simon sighed, "Yes, what is it?"

"Remember our guinea pigs?"

"Of course I do." Simon released a short chortle. "They were a bloody pain, weren't they?"

"I miss them." Imelda released a long sigh.

"I know you do, but we couldn't take them with us. We had to let them go in the garden when me, you, mummy and Tyler left the house."

"Do you think they're still alive?"

"Probably not." Simon didn't think there was any point lying to her. They probably didn't get as far as half a mile before a cat or a fox took them into their mouths and carried them away.

The guinea pigs that Imelda was referring to had been bought months before things had turned for the worse. He remembered that day Diana had bought the guinea pigs very well.

The guinea pigs were bought whilst Diana was out shopping with Imelda. She had texted Simon and asked if they could get a hamster. He said yes, but she had returned with two thirteen-week-old guinea pigs instead. Imelda and Tyler had one each. Imelda called hers Alvin and Tyler called his guinea pig Ham Sandwich. It was either Ham Sandwich or Nibbles. He was going to call it Nibbles because it had bitten Diana when she first held it, but Tyler stuck with Ham Sandwich. Amusingly, Tyler had said to his dad, "I don't know where I got the name from, dad. It just came to me."

When the family had to leave their home, Alvin and Ham Sandwich couldn't go with them and were let out in the wild. Simon knew that they wouldn't last a week, but after Stage One and Two, his only concern was for his wife and two kids.

They also had an old cat called Beckham, which Diana and Simon had bought when they moved into their house, years before the kids came along.

When the kids were under the age of four they bought a black Labrador puppy. They called it Buddy, but it died after just five days. It had some kind of bladder problem and had to be put down. A year later they bought another black Labrador, and called this one Buddy as well. 'Buddy Mark Two' was a nightmare from the beginning. It was totally disobedient, hyperactive and did its own thing. They both thought that it was to do with it being young. Simon took it to six weeks of puppy training, but it never did any good. After the sixth week of training, Diana and Simon were watching the TV and Simon looked over to see Buddy chewing one of his slippers. "Well, that was money well spent," he remarked. Then a week later they gave the dog to a friend.

After the two Buddys, Diana wanted another cat. They bought one and called it Azrael. It was eventually given to the neighbours as it managed to get fleas and had passed it on to Tyler's room. Tyler had to sleep in his parent's room for a week until the problem was removed. His back had been bitten on a number of occasions, and a mixture of Rentokil and fumigating the room themselves and a lot of hoovering finally removed the pests.

To Simon's dismay, this incident hadn't put Diana off getting another cat. She bought another black one, just like Beckham, but after a year it had disappeared and was never seen again. So the reluctance from Simon about getting more pets was justified. Their history with animals wasn't great. Their two goldfish, Bruce and Nemo, had lasted longer than most of their domestic pets.

Simon looked over at the bedroom door and realised he hadn't put anything against it. Both doors were bolted downstairs and he was a light sleeper; even in the old world he never slept great, so he wasn't too worried. He decided to move the chest of drawers against the door anyway.

"Babe, I'm just going to get up and block the door."

There was no response from Imelda.

"Imelda?"

He smiled as he could hear her lightly snoring. He decided to leave the door.

He stroked her face with his forefinger and planted a gentle peck on her plump cheek. "Love you."
Chapter Six

Next Day

The bedroom was slowly filled with daylight. Simon was the first to wake up and could see that he had forgot to pull the curtains together before they went to bed.

He yawned and could see that Imelda was stirring to the side of him. The pair of them had slept most of the night on their sides with their backs to each other. He was facing the window, where the light was spilling in, whereas Imelda had her back to it, which explained why she was still asleep.

He turned onto his other side and kissed his daughter on her hot cheek. He stroked her hair and leaned in for another kiss, but he released a gasp instead. A noise from underneath them could he heard, and all Simon could do was stay still in shock.

Who was it? How the fuck did they get in?

He began to gently shake his daughter awake. She moaned and wriggled and once her eyes opened, her dad had something to tell her.

"Babe. I think there's someone inside the house."

"What?" she yawned, then suddenly sat up and gasped. "What, daddy?"

Simon shushed her and told her to stay where she was whilst he went over to the door. The only reason an individual would be inside would be for supplies. He looked over to his bag that sat at the side of the bed and went over to get a knife. He was unsure what to do.

Should he attack or scare off the intruder? After all, it only sounded like it was the one. Or, does he and Imelda hide?

Does he allow the man to see for himself that there's not much here and wait for him to leave? But if they hid, there could be a chance they'd be found.

And then what? A fight? Someone getting hurt? Killed?

Imelda had left the bed now and tied her hair in a ponytail as she went over to her old man.

"Are we going to hide, daddy?"

He shook his head. "No, but _you_ are."

"What?" she gasped and widened her eyes. "I ... I..."

"Get under the bed."

Imelda began to panic and said with tears in her eyes, "But what are _you_ going to do?"

"I don't know yet." Simon puffed out an anxious breath. "I'm staying here, but if he comes in, _if_ it's a he ... I'll ... I'll talk to him. Well, I'll _try_ and talk to him."

"Talk? He might hurt you, daddy."

"Just..." He could feel his nerves making his body judder. He felt tense and Simon was trying to keep it together. He didn't want to snap at his little girl. She was scared. "Just ... get under the bed, please. It'll be okay."

"Okay," she whimpered. "If you say so."

Simon gazed over and felt for the petrified Imelda as she went under the bed and lay there on her belly. He reminded her to be quiet and took an intake of breath as the person in the house began making their way upstairs.

"Oh shit," Simon mumbled.

"Daddy, what is it?"

Simon shushed his little girl.

He could hear the footsteps growing louder as the individual progressed to the landing, to the first floor. Simon had tears in his eyes. _Please don't hurt us. Please don't fucking hurt us._

He clasped onto the handle of the knife tightly as the footsteps continued. Simon placed his ear by the door and heard the man—he assumed it was a man—going through the bedroom next door to them. The bedroom door closed, as the individual exited, and opened the door of the smallest bedroom.

Simon turned and faced the window. Still clasping his knife, he placed his left hand on the door handle, waiting for the intruder to try it. He knew he was going to.

Then the moment came.

Simon heard three slow footsteps coming towards him, towards the door. He held the door handle tight and pushed it up so that it wouldn't move once it was tried.

There was silence, hesitation from the person behind the door. And then Simon felt it. The handle was being tried and Simon managed to keep control of it. It moved maybe about half a centimetre, but Simon made sure that it never went down further.

An awful, terrifying silence engulfed the bedroom and Simon placed his ear to the door and couldn't hear a thing, not even breathing. Had both men held their breaths?

"Is there anybody in there?" a male voice spoke up from behind the door.

The query made Simon's heart giddy-up even more. Simon breathed in, gulped hard and replied, "Yes, there is."

That was it.

No more words were exchanged between the two males, and the stranger in the house walked away from the room where Simon and Imelda were staying, and then Simon could hear fading footsteps which suggested that the man was making his way downstairs. But was he leaving the house altogether?

Silence was present in the room for a matter of minutes, both Simon and Imelda too scared to speak out.

Simon still had his hand on the handle and finally released it, but kept a hold of the knife in the other.

"Daddy?" Imelda finally shattered the silence from under the bed, and added further in a soft voice, "Has the man gone away?"

"I don't know, babe. I'm gonna check. Stay where you are."

There was no protest from Imelda as her dad prepared to leave the room, to leave her alone. There was no response at all.

Simon finally built up the courage to open the door and stepped out onto the landing. He gently closed the door behind him and could see that the intruder had left all doors of the other rooms open, both bedrooms and the bathrooms. Simon was certain that the man was downstairs and that the fading steps wasn't some kind of trick, but he gave the rooms a quick check anyway, and then sauntered to the top of the stairs.

He looked down and remained gazing for seconds, unsure whether going down was the correct thing to do. The right hand that was clasping the knife was clammy and shaking, so he swapped hands and wiped his right palm on his black combat trousers before putting the knife back in his grip.

He made the descent very slowly, pausing with each step he made. In order to survive in the long term, he knew that eventually killing another man was something that needed to be done to protect himself and his daughter. He just didn't want that day to be today.

He finally reached the bottom of the stairs and then hesitantly peered into the living room, like someone would peer over their cushion during a horror movie, and could see that the room was empty. The kitchen was the last room in the house to check.

He made nine steps across the living room and reached the kitchen with his knife now raised. The door was still shut, but could see that the intruder had forced open the window of the kitchen and that's how he had managed to get in. Simon went over to the window and pushed it back down, wondering what the stranger had used to prise the window open. The weak lock had been busted. He was so obsessed with the two doors that he never thought about the downstairs windows of the house as another way that intruders could get in.

Although he was still shaken from the arrival of the intruder, Simon was relieved that the house was clear and that the individual, their brief uninvited guest, had decided to flee.

He decided to go back upstairs and tell his daughter the good news.

He made slow steps to the bottom of the stairs and scratched his head. He put his knife back into his pocket and wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers once more. He looked up to the landing and gasped as he could see a man standing at the top of them.

Simon gulped and said, "But ... how? The other two bedrooms are empty."

The man was of similar appearance to Simon, but this guy's hair was longer and so was his beard. The stranger said with a smile, "You forgot to check the bedroom wardrobes."
Chapter Seven

"What do you want?"

Simon remained calm on the outside, but panic ran through his veins as he knew that the intruder was just yards away from the room where he and his daughter slept, away from where Imelda was right now.

Please don't get out from under that bed. Stay where you are, babe.

The man at the top of the stairs remained gazing at Simon. He was dressed all in black. He was a skinny fellow, had dark features with a thick dark beard and had a hairdo that was reminiscent of Liam Gallagher in his 90s Oasis days.

"I'm not here to harm anyone," the man spoke and held up his hands as if he had a gun pointing at him. As soon as the man at the top of the stairs had said those words, Simon began to relax. He believed him straightaway. The man was calm and had no malice laced in his words.

"So ... what are you after, mate?" Simon asked him. He hadn't called an individual 'mate' for a while. It was probably because he only addressed males as mate, and he hadn't talked to another man in a good while.

"I thought this place was empty," the man began. "I came to seek for food and shelter, but ... you're here."

"I am." Simon nodded.

"Is it just you here?" The man gazed around and added, "The place looks big enough to share."

"Yes, I'm here on my own." Simon stroked his beard and gazed at the man menacingly, trying to scare the man away by using false bravado. "And I don't do sharing."

"Why so hostile, friend? I'm just a normal guy, like you, just doing my best to survive."

Simon gave no answer, and he dismissed the question. He thought for a few seconds and asked the man to come downstairs so they could have a chat, face-to-face.

The man smiled and made the descent. Once he was five steps away from the ground floor, Simon put his hand into his pocket, feeling for the knife in case it was needed. They both headed for the living room and Simon told the man to follow him. The skinny individual stepped into the living room and Simon asked him to sit down in the armchair. The fear that Simon had before was now gone. Going by the behaviour of the intruder, it appeared that _he_ was the one that seemed a little nervous, and also a little paranoid.

"I'm sorry I broke in, sorry about your window," said the man. "I'm just desperate."

"It wasn't really my place until a couple of days ago."

"Still..."

"Give me a minute, mate," said Simon, and headed for the stairs and left the living room.

"Wh-where are you going?"

"I need to do something. Won't be long."

Simon ran up the stairs and went into the bedroom where he and Imelda had slept.

"It's okay, babe," he announced in a whisper and looked under the bed. "It's me."

"What's happening, daddy?" Imelda gasped and her eyes were large with fear.

"There's a man here," Simon tried to explain.

"A man?" she cried.

"It's okay. I think he might be alright," he tried to calm his frightened little girl. "I just need you to stay here while I get to know him, to make sure he really is a good guy."

"Do I have to stay here, under the bed?"

"You can sit on the bed, if you want, but if you hear any noises downstairs or footsteps making their way up here, get back under the bed and stay hidden."

Imelda looked confused and began to crawl from underneath the bed. "Why would I hear noises from downstairs?"

In case we're fighting, Simon thought. Fighting to the death.

He decided not to speak his mind, and told her to be quiet and not to leave the room until he came back.

Simon went over and kissed the confused child on the forehead, then left the room and galloped downstairs to the ground floor.

He tapped his right pocket to make sure his knife was still there before returning to the living room.

The intruder was still sitting in the armchair. He greeted Simon with a smile and then began to gaze around the room. Simon sat on the couch, opposite his intruder, and sat back, giving off a relaxed impression. Now both men were glaring at one another and Simon was the first to speak after a thirty-second silence.

"Why here?" Simon asked the man.

The man opposite smiled and said, "No introductions first?"

"Okay," sighed Simon. "I'm Simon. And that's all you need to know ... for now. And you?"

The intruder nodded the once and announced, "People call or called me Dicko. Or D, if you prefer. It's up to you."

"Dicko?" Simon snickered.

The man who called himself Dicko looked at Simon coldly. "The last people that I were with used to call me that. It's quite a recent nickname, if that's what you want to call it."

"No. What's your real name? I was good enough to give you mine."

"Look, Simon," the man began and revealed a skinny smile. "Dicko was a nickname I was given months ago and it sort of stuck. I don't go by real name anymore. My real name reminds me of the past. And in the past I have lost people. Understand?"

"Not really. I've _also_ lost family members, but I'm still Simon."

"We all have different ways of dealing with this."

Simon didn't understand the way of the stranger's thinking, and said, "You can change your name all you want, but does it stop you thinking about friends and family before you go to sleep?"

"Let's change the subject," Dicko said with a smile. "I won't pry about your past, if you do the same for me. Okay?"

The conversation had dried up temporarily, even though Simon had many questions to ask the stranger, and queried him once more. "You never answered my question. Why here?"

"Why do you think?" Dicko ran his fingers through his scruffy beard and added, "'I've been walking miles, even went into the city."

"The city?"

"Yeah. The place has been bombed to shit." Dicko stroked his hairy chin and added, "I'm from the countryside, originally, so being on the road and seeing cities and large towns that had been bombed was a new thing for me to witness. I suppose it was the government's way of reducing the problem."

"Have you come across any ... unsavoury characters on your travels?"

"You could say that," Dicko laughed.

"Tell me."

"You're not from around these parts, are you? Dicko asked, quickly changing the subject.

"Originally I'm from down south."

The intruder nodded. "I thought so."

"These characters you mentioned. How bad were they?"

"From the old past or the recent past?"

"Recent."

Dicko shook his head and snickered, "You've lived a sheltered life, haven't you?"

Simon nodded. "I've tried to avoid conflict. Nothing wrong with that, mate, is there?"

Dicko never answered and changed the subject. He said, "I was recently with a gang. I was with them for just a couple of days, but they wanted me to join them on a permanent basis..."

"But...?"

"Their ... methods, shall we say, were too brutal for me, so I did a runner during the night."

"Brutal?" Simon looked puzzled. "What do you mean? How brutal?"

Dicko snickered, "Let's just say that people just aren't the same anymore."

"How?"

The man that called himself Dicko leaned his head back and released a puff of breath out. He stroked his beard, gazed over at Simon, and then leaned forwards with his hands clasped together.

"Just remember this," he began. "Friends don't exist anymore. A lot of good people don't exist anymore."

"So I should be wary of _you_." Simon snarled and leaned forward, "So I should throw you out of here right now. Maybe I'll kill you."

Dicko said with a thin smile, "I'm one of the rare good guys."

The stranger didn't seem flustered at all with Simon's so called aggressiveness, which diluted Simon Washington's confidence a little.

"How many men have you actually killed?" Dicko asked with a grin, knowing the answer anyway.

Simon didn't think there was any point lying to the man. He gulped hard and flushed a little. "None ... yet."

"Jeez." Dicko began to snicker. "Have you been living in the shadows or something? How are you still alive?"

Simon gulped and asked, "How many have _you_ killed?"

"A few."

"A few?"

Dicko nodded and said, "I've had to. It was either them or me. It's nothing that has ever given me pleasure, I can tell you. Also..."

"Yes?"

Dicko lowered his head and mumbled, "It doesn't matter."

"I know I'll have to do it eventually," Simon said. "I know that we've been lucky so far."

Dicko smiled and said, "What you need is another housemate. Someone that has a bit more experience, because—"

"That's not going to happen." Simon spoke up with a snarl in his tone, hoping that his face wouldn't quiver with fright like it did when his boss gave him a present and a presentation for his 21st birthday in front of the whole workforce.

"Is it not?" Dicko looked solemn, showing no emotion.

Simon shook his head.

"So no sharing. Finders keepers. Is that the way we're playing this?"

"I'm not playing."

Dicko slowly stood up and looked like he was ready to leave. "You mentioned earlier that _we've been lucky so far_. You're not alone in here, are you?" Dicko smiled and looked up at the ceiling. "Somebody up there?"

Simon now stood up and placed his hand in his pocket, feeling for the steak knife. "Leave ... please."

"Is that what you really want?"

Simon nodded and now seemed unsure. Dicko could see the uncertainty in Simon's face and gave off a thin smile.

"Yes," Simon finally answered Dicko's query. "It's what I really want."

"Okay, friend." Dicko nodded. "I'm going."

Dicko walked into the kitchen, unbolted the door, opened it and stepped outside. Simon went to the door and watched as Dicko descended down the grassy bank and headed for the cluster of trees at the bottom. Once Simon saw Dicko disappear and swallowed up by the greenery, he relaxed a little.

Dicko seemed like a reasonable fellow, Simon thought. If he wanted to hurt him, then he would have. Dicko even left when he was asked to. Simon hoped that asking him to leave was something he wasn't going to regret in the future.
**Chapter** **Eight**

An hour had passed after Dicko's leaving, and Simon had told his daughter that the man that had broken in had now gone for good. He was going to tell her that it was a stray animal that had managed to get in, just so she wasn't scared, but she already asked him who was down there as she heard voices.

Simon had found a yellow plastic bucket in a cupboard, underneath the sink, and wanted to go out and find running water. They could fill the bucket, take it back to the house and filter it in their jars. Imelda didn't want to go out with her dad, but he wasn't leaving her alone, especially since the visit from Dicko.

He took the yellow bucket, a knife in his right pocket, and went outside, taking a reluctant Imelda with him. He was wary because of the visitor from earlier, and also the fact that they had to leave the house unlocked whenever they left the premises.

"How long is this going to take?" Imelda was moaning already, and they had only walked twenty yards. Simon had decided to walk the same way Dicko had gone when he left. The stranger must have headed that way for a reason. He must know the place better than _he_ did, Simon thought.

Simon had been concerned for Imelda. She never drank enough.

Even before the incidents happened, when things were normal, Imelda never drank enough fluids and was always constipated. Simon and Diana used to moan at her all the time. She would take a full bottle of water to school and would return six hours later with the bottle still full. There had never been a problem with Tyler keeping hydrated. But he had his own problems. He was the fussy eater out of the two. He would eat meatballs but never touch normal mince. He would eat a roast potato but claimed to hate mash. And would eat pizza from Pizza Hut but wouldn't eat a square one because it was the wrong shape.

Imelda would try any food once, but keeping her hydrated had always been a problem. The problem was even worse now, as the water, after being filtered, didn't taste great. Luckily, Simon had found some blackcurrant cordial juice in the kitchen, and was going to add that to the water to make her drink more.

"We'll be out for no more than an hour," he told her, holding her hand with his left and clasping the bucket with his right.

"What if we don't find any water, daddy?"

Simon shrugged his shoulders. "We will. Don't worry."

They continued with their walk and he could now feel his daughter staring at him.

"You okay, babe?" he asked her.

She hunched her shoulders and said, "Not bad. I'm a little sad today, daddy, that's all."

"I know, babe."

She gazed at her daddy, gulped, and said, "I was thinking about mummy."

"Oh?"

She looked at her dad with wet eyes and said with a quiver, "I was thinking about when she used to take me to gymnastics."

Simon raised a smile and remembered the Friday evenings well.

Diana used to take Imelda and her friend Sophie every Friday. Sophie was more advanced than Imelda. His daughter was a new starter and began with practising forward rolls, then went onto handstands, and then the crab. Months later she had progressed to cartwheels and one-handed cartwheels. Imelda always used to be high as a kite whenever she came back. She used to have one new move a week, and would drive Diana mad when practising her moves in the bedroom or the living room where there was a hard floor. Diana was concerned that Imelda could end up hurting herself, but she did them anyway, whenever her mother wasn't around. Sometimes Simon would catch her doing a cartwheel in her room, but he never told Diana. Imelda had found something that she loved and he didn't want to discourage her, although he could see Diana's point.

"I miss mummy," Imelda said with a sad sigh. "I miss Sophie as well."

"Of course you miss Sophie," said Simon. "She was ... _is_ your best friend."

"Do you think I'll ever see her again?"

Simon scratched his eyes and had a face that looked puzzled. "Who? Mummy?"

"No, silly. Mummy and Tyler are dead." She squeezed her father's hand tighter than normal and added, "I mean Sophie."

"I don't know. I don't think so." Simon decided to be brutally honest with his daughter. There was no point lying to her. "When the Canavars came, and then the bombs fell, we hid for months. A lot of people died during Stage One, and others fled to go to the countryside or to be with relatives. Sophie and her family had relatives up north, so I'm guessing her family probably left to go there."

"Maybe the bombs killed her."

"I don't think so," said her father. "Sophie lives just a couple of streets away. If just a couple of bomb had hit near her house, we wouldn't be here either."

"Why did they bomb us, daddy?"

"We've been through this before. I'm not entirely sure, but..."

They both started walking again, still holding hands, and Simon was trying to think how he could word his explanation to Imelda. They reached a group of trees that were all huddled together and passed the trees that were to their right.

"Look, daddy," Imelda shrieked and pointed over at the trees. "A fox."

He narrowed his eyes to try and focus and shook his head. "I don't think it's a fox, babe. Looks like a red squirrel. Very rare. Even more so now."

"Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Why didn't we go somewhere safe when the monsters came?"

"We just hid," Simon said. "Me, you, mummy and Tyler only left the house once we realised it wasn't safe anymore."

A while after Stage Two, a few unsavoury, or maybe just desperate, survivors broke into their home. Luckily they were all in the basement so no one got hurt. It sounded like three or four men that had broken in, and Simon came to the decision right away that their home was no longer safe anymore. Their home had been good for Stage One and Stage Two, but desperate survivors had killed his confidence. Not only that, but the scumbags had ransacked the place and had broken the door whilst trying to get in. But at least they didn't take the car—not that it was much use in the long term anyway.

In the first week, Simon siphoned his vehicle and took the wheels off just in case it was stolen. The trouble with doing this meant that it could highlight to looters that people may be inside. When the men came and broke down his door, they were clearly in for food, and not for the car or looking for other people.

Simon sighed, "I miss home, our street."

"I miss nana. I wish we could have driven to her house when we had the car."

"We've already been through this before, babe, many times. I think nana, papa, grandma and granddad, your uncles ... are all ... gone."

"How do you know that grandma and granddad are dead? They live four hundred miles away."

"I just know, okay?"

Simon thought it was easier, mentally, to assume that everybody he knew had died. He didn't want to have false hope, to be travelling to places where relatives once lived, only to be hit with disappointment. Assuming that everyone was gone, allowed Simon to solely concentrate on looking after his little girl.

"Daddy, look," she shrieked.

Simon had been walking with his head in the clouds, thinking about yesteryear, and had a fright when Imelda squealed.

He looked in the direction she was pointing, and a wide smile emerged on his features. Three hundred yards in front of them was a pond, behind the pond looked like the start of a forest.

"Thank the Lord," Simon said with a smile. "Water."
Chapter Nine

"How long is this going to take?" Imelda moaned once they reached the pond. "My legs are tired."

"It's just a simple matter of dipping the bucket into the pond and walking back to the house," Simon huffed. "I'll probably spill some on the way back. Water can be quite heavy, you know. Especially when you've got half a mile or so to walk."

Imelda turned to face away from her father whilst he dipped the bucket into the clear pond. In the days when he first started doing this, he was paranoid if water had been infected in some way, but it was either this or nothing. He and his daughter hadn't been ill so far, thankfully. He knew that other lakes, ponds that were situated in cities were probably in a terrible state, but the area he was in and the area where he lived wasn't directly hit. Buildings were still standing and the trees had leaves on them. In some ways they had been lucky, but most days they didn't feel lucky.

"Okay," said Simon to his daughter. "That's me finished. Time to go back."

"Hey!"

Both Simon and Imelda turned when they heard the stranger's voice call out to them.

A man stepped out of the woods that were situated behind the pond and began waving at the two of them. He walked around the pond and Simon was in two minds what to do. Should he see what the man wanted or ignore him and make his way back to the farm. At first he thought the voice belonged to Dicko, but this was a different guy. This individual had long grey hair, tied in a ponytail, and looked to be in his fifties.

"Where are you staying?" the stranger asked as he reached the pair of them.

"A farm," Imelda blurted out.

"Babe, be quiet," Simon snapped.

"I think I know which one you're talking about." The man revealed a wide grin, revealing his decayed teeth, unnerving Simon.

"Anyway, we're going now," said Simon and held up his hand. "See you later, mate."

He grabbed Imelda by the wrist, picked up the bucket and walked away from the pond.

"Hey!" the man yelled. "Where're you going?"

"We need to get going." Simon could feel his heart beating out of his chest and took a quick look over his shoulder, seeing if the man was following the pair of them.

He was.

"For God's sake," Simon muttered under his breath.

Imelda had now looked over her shoulder and cried, "Daddy. That scary man is following us."

Simon stayed quiet and was unsure what to do. He stopped holding hands with Imelda and put his now-free hand in his pocket and felt for the handle of the knife. He took another look behind him and saw that the man was following them with quick steps and was only twenty yards or so away.

"Stay away!" Simon turned around and yelled, his heart almost beating out of his chest. "I'm warning you!"

"You're gonna be needing a lodger at that farm," the man laughed. "I've got a feeling it's a big one, plenty of room!"

"Daddy, I'm sorry I told him we were at a farm," Imelda said with tears in her eyes. "I wasn't thinking. I..."

"Don't worry about it, babe," said Simon, taking another look over his shoulder, noticing that the man was getting nearer. "It's not your fault."

"Daddy, I'm scared."

Me too.

Simon could now see the farm up ahead in the distance and guessed that it would take possibly ten to fifteen minutes to get there. But they had a problem behind them that needed taking care of. He took a long breath in and placed the yellow bucket of water on the grass.

He turned to Imelda and said, "Keep walking and don't look back."

"But, daddy—"

"Just do it!" he snapped.

She did as she was told and Simon turned around to face the annoying stranger. Simon pulled out the knife and hid both his arms around his back.

"Leave us alone!" he said with a snarl in his voice.

"No chance," the man snickered. "That farm can house more than two people, and I bet you got food in there, haven't you?"

"Just fuck off!"

Simon was frightened, but told himself that if the stranger with the grey ponytail approached near enough, he was going to attack him. Was this it? Was this going to be the first person that Simon was going to kill? But what if _he_ was the one that was killed? Imelda would be all on her own; left alone with this strange man. Perish the thought.

He wasn't going to come out of this situation second best; he couldn't. He had Imelda to think of. He then wondered if the man was carrying a weapon. If he was, why hadn't he pulled the thing out yet?

"I'm warning you," Simon snarled but could feel his face shake. "Stay away!"

"Warning me?" the stranger cackled at the shaking Simon. "Look at the state of you. You're shitting yourself."

Simon gulped and said, "Go away, please."

" _Go away, please_?" the man mocked and lunged at Simon. Simon closed his eyes and lashed out with the blade. The man with the grey ponytail fell to the floor, screaming and holding his bleeding face.

Simon stood in shock and looked down on the man. He was holding his face, his hand covered in crimson, and was writhing around on the floor like a snake on fire.

"Cunt!" the man screamed. "You fucking cunt! You're gonna pay for this. You hear me? You're gonna fucking pay!"

Simon didn't hang around for long and ran away.

Imelda turned around, but told her to face the front and keep walking. He had caught up with her and put his stained knife back into the pocket of his black combats and picked up the bucket.

"Was that a bad man?" Imelda asked.

Simon sighed, his heart still beating out of his chest. "I'm not too sure he's bad ... exactly. He's just..."

"What?"

"Desperate. Remember what I told you before?"

Imelda nodded slowly, but it was clear that she had no idea what her father was talking about. It was clear on her face.

"People aren't the same anymore," he tried to explain whilst constantly looking over is shoulder, making sure the now injured man was not following them. "Some of these people could have been lawyers, teachers. They could have been people that we passed in the town or street, but ... they've changed. They're doing what they're doing to survive."

"Will that man come looking for us?" Imelda cried. "He now knows where we stay."

"He'll be too scared to come to the farm."

"Are you sure, daddy?"

"Of course." Simon nodded.

He wasn't sure. _I fucking hope so_.
Chapter Ten

Hours had passed since the frightening incident at the pond, and Imelda had spent her time at the kitchen table, drawing with a pencil and paper that Simon had found in a cupboard. Both were still affected by what had happened at the pond, but neither spoke about it any further.

Simon had been outside boiling water on a fire he had made, whilst Imelda was preoccupied drawing. Two jars had been filled, whilst the rest of the water in the bucket was placed on top of the sink for another day. It was a matter of waiting for the water to cool down before they could drink the stuff. Simon had promised Imelda that he would put some cordial in hers. She hadn't been to the toilet in days and he was growing concerned for her and her constipation.

Simon could see Imelda was still drawing and went over to her. He stood behind her and kissed her on the top of her head. He gave her hair a little sniff and decided that the next time they went to the pond he was going to wash her hair with one of the soap bars he had in his rucksack.

He peered over her shoulder and could see that she had drawn four people and a car. The four people were obviously Tyler, Diana, himself and Imelda. There was Imelda and her dad on one side of the car, the dead on the other side, and her mummy and brother were up in the clouds.

"Why have you put mummy and Tyler up in the clouds?" Simon asked her.

She stopped drawing at pointed at the picture. "That's Tyler and mummy in heaven."

Simon gulped and took a step back. He could feel his throat harden and felt for his little girl. She stood up from the table and told her dad that she was tired and needed a lie down.

"Don't you want something to eat?"

She shook her head. "Just a sleep. That's all I need."

"Fancy a snuggle on the sofa? Me and you?"

She gave her father a rare smile and nodded. With their shoes still on, they headed for the couch. Simon lay on the couch and Imelda lay next to him; she put her arm across his chest and lay her head on it, closing her eyes.

Simon stroked his daughter's hair and kissed her gently on her clammy head and asked her, "You sleepy, babe?"

She nodded once.

He kissed her head again and stroked her hair like he used to on an evening when the world was normal, when Simon had a job, and Imelda had a school to go to the next day.

Back in the old world, after reading her school book with her, Imelda would sometimes ask Simon if he could stay for ten minutes and give her cuddles. Most days he would say yes.

"I was thinking about when we were all together," she began, then followed the sentence with a moan.

"Oh?"

"I was thinking about when we went to the circus. Do you remember?"

Simon smiled and said, "Yes, I remember."

Simon almost laughed when a flashback of a conversation between him and Tyler entered his head. Both father and son had the conversation whilst the place was filling up with people, before the first act.

Tyler was going through a horror movie phase and liked to draw vampires and werewolves. Simon had been the same when he was that age.

In the circus, Tyler had asked Simon, "Dad will there be any animals in the show?"

Simon replied, "Yes, of course."

"What about jugglers?"

"Yes, there should be jugglers as well."

"What about clowns?" his son asked him.

"I think there's one clown in this show."

Tyler then paused for thought and finally asked, "Will he be carrying an axe?"

Simon found the scene just as comical looking back as when it first happened a couple of years ago. There were many other stories, but that was his favourite.

When Simon's mum and step-dad visited them, Simon's mum told Tyler that her mum had passed away. Tyler then asked his grandma if she had been killed by a big lorry, causing Simon and his mum to burst into fits of laughter. When they first bought heir guinea pigs, Alvin and Ham Sandwich, Tyler told Diana, his mother, that when they die he would like to give them a kiss.

The final one that Simon could remember was when their goldfish Bruce had passed away, floating lifelessly in the tank. Before Diana put it into the toilet and flushed it away, Tyler asked if he could 'have a go' at stabbing it.

Simon began to chuckle quietly, forcing tears to run down his face.

He then turned to the side and could see his daughter sleeping. The man by the pond then plagued his thoughts and he lost his smile. Simon slowly got up and tried his best not to disturb his daughter. He grabbed his coat that was hanging over the armchair, and placed it over her. He walked out of the living room and into the kitchen, looking over to the door to double check that it was bolted. He took a swig of warm water from the jar and glared out of the kitchen window, which was the same direction where the pond was. He wondered if the man dared to show his face again.

Simon never meant to harm him like that, and hoped it had frightened him enough not to seek them out. The stranger knew where the farm was, but Simon was hoping that the altercation earlier was enough to scare him off. Or would he be seeking revenge?

His mind was beginning to conjure up all kinds of scenarios that probably would never occur. What if the stranger decided to turn up during the night, whilst they slept?

Simon walked around the ground floor of the house, made sure the doors were all locked again, and went upstairs to check the bedrooms. He was sure that everything was fine, but thinking about the incident at the pond had fuelled his paranoia.

Once he checked the first floor, he made the slow descent back downstairs and sat in the armchair, hoping to get forty winks. He wanted to sleep for an hour or so, just in case the man by the pond _did_ turn up during the night. He was certain that if he did fall asleep during the night and someone tried to get in, he would wake up, but he wanted to try and stay awake for one night, just this once.

He leaned his head back on the chair and closed his eyes. He began to think about Diana and Tyler.

Twenty-one minutes later, Simon had fallen asleep and began to dream about Diana and Tyler, but it wasn't a nice dream.

*

Simon's dream felt more like a flashback. It was a horrific flashback. It was an incident that he would never forget to his dying day, and neither would poor Imelda.

A gang of individuals had raided their home and Simon and Diana had decided that it was for the best to flee their place and go north, somewhere where it was safer.

Simon went outside and stared at the carnage in his barren and lifeless street and put on his car tyres, trying to ignore the smell of death in the air. Once the tyres were on and the petrol was put back into the vehicle, they were ready to go.

He reversed out of his drive and left the street, telling Tyler and Imelda to close their eyes. Dead bodies and body parts were present and Simon guessed correctly that these bodies had been there since the early days, before Stage Two. He had no idea how long it had been since the Canavars arrived, but he guessed that it had only been a month or so since the bombs had stopped. He drove along the desolate road and gazed up at the murky skies. The sky looked different, unusual ... polluted.

The plan was to hit the motorway and head north, but they had only been on the road a matter of minutes when a Canavar shambled out into the road. Simon hadn't seen the thing in time and hit the creature. Diana, Tyler and Imelda screamed, Simon lost control of the car and veered off the road, the car crashing into a hedge. The car had stalled and Simon desperately tried to start the car. That was when he woke up in the armchair and could feel a pain in his finger.

He quickly sat up, and realised he had fallen asleep with his knife sitting on his lap and had pricked his finger, which was why his dream had been cut short.

He looked over to see that Imelda still sleeping and then thought about the rhyme/song that Tyler had made up to tease Imelda with. Even in dark times, his son still managed to conjure up a rhyme, which highlighted to Simon that his son wasn't frightened when the early days of Stage One were in progress. Tyler hardly showed signs of anxiety when it was happening. Yes, he missed his friends, but he saw it as a big adventure. He couldn't go back to school, he had to stay indoors, and he spent a lot of time watching out of his bedroom window in morbid fascination. It didn't seem to bother him as much when the power went, which was a surprise to his parents, as he loved playing on his phone.

Apart from peeping out of his window and teasing his little sister, Tyler spent his time at the dining table with paper and pencils. He drew pictures and made up some stories and incorporated some rather gruesome pictures to accompany the words he had written. He also made up comics and spent hours thinking up dialogue and colouring in the pictures. The one that Simon remembered was one called Tragedy. It was clearly a rip off from Jaws, a film that Tyler had secretly watched in his room. His story was nearly fifty pages long, something that impressed Simon, and was about a Hammerhead shark terrorising holidaymakers in Jamaica. He was impressed that his young son had written something like this, however, was slightly disturbed that the content was rather bloody.

Simon raised a smile when looking back. He remembered some of the sentences as he had read the book a couple of times out of sheer boredom. Tyler would spell picture as picher, Saturday as Saterday and library as lybrarie.

Simon then heard his little boy's voice scream inside his head "Daddy, don't leave me!"

Simon would never forget those words. Ever.

It was the last words his son had said to him, and the heartbreaking thing about it was that the words were coated with fear.

He took another look at his bleeding finger and began to suck the blood. He stood up and began to walk around the house again, stretching his legs.

Simon decided to abolish the idea of staying awake through the night. He was a light sleeper anyway, and thought that it wouldn't be good for him, mentally, to try such a thing.

Tonight, he was going to sleep downstairs.
Chapter Eleven

Simon had been pacing the floor for the last fifteen minutes. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and he couldn't stop thinking about the man by the pond. He looked over at Imelda and decided to wake her. If she slept any longer, she would struggle to sleep on a night.

He went over to the sofa and crouched down. He began to gently shake his little girl and she began to stir and mumbled, "I don't want to go swimming, mummy."

Simon could feel his eyes filling when she said this, and he wondered if he had disturbed a pleasant dream that Imelda was having. Her blue eyes opened and gave her daddy a thin smile, the same way she would when trying to hide disappointment.

"Was you dreaming?" he asked her.

She shook her head and he knew that she was lying.

"I'm sorry if you were, but if I leave you any longer, then you won't sleep tonight."

"Daddy?" Imelda sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Tell me about when me and Tyler were born."

Simon smiled and was a little too jittery and impatient to be telling stories. "I'm not sure—"

"Please."

His daughter looked at him with pleading eyes. How could he resist?

"Okay," he sighed, "but after that I need to check the outside of the house."

He sat next to Imelda and put his arm around her shoulder. He began, "When you were born—"

"Start with Tyler," she said. "Then me."

"When it was time for Tyler to be born, we went to hospital and seven hours later he popped out. Just like that. Well, _popped_ is probably the wrong word; it was more difficult than that. He was eight pounds and seven ounces and I was the first person to touch him."

Simon paused and could feel his throat beginning to harden. He swallowed hard and continued, "We thought he would be our only child and then suddenly you came along."

"Was I a nice surprise?"

"Of course." Simon smiled, groaned and rubbed his hand over his face. "You were both nice surprises."

"Tyler always used to tease me and tell me that he was the favourite because he was the first to be born, and I was..." Imelda couldn't find the words to finish her sentence.

"You were both special babies," said Simon.

Simon didn't want to tell Imelda the truth. Why do that now?

She said, "Daddy?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

Simon kissed his daughter on the head and sniffed her hair. "You mean the world to me. You _are_ my world."

A rattling could be heard from outside, making Imelda gasp.

"It's okay." Simon stood up, trying to act in control, but he couldn't hide the fact that he looked panicky.

"What is it, daddy?" Imelda stood to her feet and wrapped her arms around Simon's waist.

"It's probably just another dog, an animal or ... or the wind." He turned so that he was facing his daughter and said, "I want you to go upstairs and hide under the bed, just in case."

"Not again."

"Please," Simon begged. "Just do as you're told."

"But daddy," she cried, "I don't want to leave you."

"Just do it. And don't move from under that bed until you hear my voice tell you to. Understand?"

Imelda glared at her father and remained motionless.

"Understand?" he tried again.

She nodded the once.

"Right, go upstairs. I'll call you once I'm done checking outdoors."

She gave her dad a hug, and then headed for the stairs and went up to the first floor with reluctant feet. He could hear footsteps above him, telling him that she was now in the room. He went in the kitchen and his took his knife and the claw hammer from the side. He placed the hammer in his deep pocket and held onto the knife. He placed his hand on the bolt of the door, ready to slide it back, and took a long intake of breath.

He slid the bolt and slowly opened the door. He shut the door behind him and was aware that he couldn't venture far. The door was unlocked and could only be locked from the inside because the bolt was all there was. He made a decision to walk round the house, and then head straight back in.

As soon as he approached the first corner of the house, he was grabbed and thrown to the floor. Simon dropped his knife and was kicked in his side as he tried to get to his feet. He looked up and could see it was the same man by the pond. His face was badly scarred from the cut, but wasn't bleeding anymore, and he bent down and picked up the steak knife that Simon had dropped, and a wide beam stretched across his face.

Simon took another kick and groaned, now coughing hard and unable to find his breath.

"You should have taken me in," the man with the grey ponytail growled.

Simon reached inside his pocket and pulled out the hammer as his assailant, now holding Simon's steak knife, brought his leg back to kick Simon once again.

Simon took another kick to his side, but grabbed a hold of the leg and wrapped his left arm around. Aware that the man now had a blade, Simon began hitting the hammer against the man's right knee. The assailant screamed out and fell, clutching his knee, and Simon scrambled to his feet and struck the man again. He aimed for the head, but he missed and struck the man on the top of his shoulder.

He wanted to kill him.

Fuck it. He knew this day was going to come one day and he had the safety of Imelda to think of. If this man was quite willing to kill another human being to get a roof over his head and whatever supplies were in there, what could he do to Imelda? It wasn't bear thinking about.

Simon tried to hit the man once more, but his attacker stabbed him in the hand. The knife didn't go in far, half a centimetre at the most, but it was enough to make Simon yell and drop the hammer. He took a step back and was now clutching onto his bleeding left palm.

The attacker grabbed the hammer and stood up. He was now holding the knife in his right and the hammer in his left, smiling devilishly, like a clown.

Simon ran towards the door of the house, trying to escape, but felt the hammer hit him in the back, making him collapse to the floor.

The man with the grey haired ponytail bent down and looked down at Simon who was now on his back, gasping for breath.

The stranger growled, "Don't worry, son. I'll make this very quick."

The man then gasped, stood up straight and had a look of confusion on his face, making Simon equally as confused. The man dropped the knife and hammer at the same time, then fell to his knees. Simon could now see another man standing behind the pond guy, blood running off of his trench knife.

It took Simon a while to realise that the pond guy had been stabbed by the other stranger from behind. The man with the grey ponytail fell to his side, gasping for air, and Simon stood up and took a few steps back as the man by the pond continued to gasp.

For reasons he didn't understand, Simon never turned away when the man behind bent down and dragged the blade of the trench knife across the front of the pond guy's neck to finish him off.

Blood gushed out of the pond man's throat and the killer stared over at Simon and said, "Hello again, Simon."

Simon nodded once. "Hello, Dicko."
Chapter Twelve

Simon had told Dicko to come inside the house. Dicko had saved his life, so it was the least he could do.

Dicko told Simon that he'd be with him in a few minutes and that he needed to move the body in case the 'little one' saw it. Simon knew he was referring to his daughter and thanked Dicko for his considerate behaviour. Dicko had given the man from the pond a brutal death, but it was either Simon or him.

Dicko had stepped inside the house and could see that Simon was nowhere to be seen. He then returned from upstairs with his little girl, both entering the living room, and both father and daughter sat on the couch.

Imelda gasped when she saw Dicko, but Simon told her that the stranger was okay and had 'helped' daddy, but never went into detail how.

Simon felt relaxed around Dicko this time round, despite witnessing what he was capable of, and offered him a drink of water.

They talked and Dicko tried to explain to Simon about his recent past.

"I've been staying in a wooded bit. I saw that guy heading to your farm, so I went to the side of the fields and kind of followed him," he said. "I didn't know he was a danger until you two started to fight."

Simon admitted, "I had a confrontation with him before."

Dicko sat back and clasped his hands together. "Oh?"

"He wouldn't leave us alone, so I lashed out." Simon took in a deep breath and continued, "There was a little tussle between the pair of us and I slashed his face, albeit accidentally."

"You have a daughter to protect." Dicko nodded. "You did what you had to do. You also need to think about yourself. If anything happens to you, she's gonna suffer being on her own."

"I know." Simon huffed and felt uncomfortable talking like this in front of his little girl. He went into the kitchen and gave her some blackcurrant juice and asked her to go upstairs for a while.

She nodded and smiled, and surprisingly went back upstairs without protesting, knowing that the two men wanted to talk about grown up stuff. Her and Tyler used to get asked to go upstairs once in a while if ever her mummy and daddy needed to talk or argue about something.

"She's a sweet girl, beautiful," Dicko remarked. "I take it you want to know my story, but you don't want her to hear it. You don't want her scared."

Simon nodded. "That's right."

"I get it." Dicko laughed softly and added, "But there's nothing to tell. I'm just a guy that just so happens to be still around."

Simon took an intake of breath and asked his guest, "What did you kill that man with?"

Dicko smiled and stroked his dark beard. "This," he said. From the brown leather holster on his left, he took his right hand and whipped out a six-inch blade with a D-shaped knuckle skullcrusher. "This is Trevor. I never leave home without it."

"So, what's your story?"

Dicko smiled and placed the knife back into the holster. "What's yours?"

"You're my guest, and I asked first."

"And like I said earlier ... my story is very dull, very boring."

"Tell me anyway."

Dicko smiled and shook his head. "I am your guest. I'm not your prisoner, so I don't feel compelled to answer your question. And let's not forget that I saved your life."

"What's wrong, mate?"

"There's nothing wrong." Dicko sat back in the chair and placed his arms on the rest, looking more than comfortable. He said, "The past is the past. What matters is now."

"But didn't you have a wife ... or children?" Simon didn't understand why his guest was being so secretive. "Who did you lose?"

"I don't wanna talk about it." Dicko bit his bottom lip and added, "Talking about the dead cannot bring them back."

"If you don't talk about your story, then I won't be giving any secrets away."

"Good," Dicko began to snicker, "because I don't think the old life is important anymore. Talking about the old life is pointless."

"It's important to me. It's important to Imelda. Am I just supposed to forget about my wife and my son?"

"So you had a wife and a son?" Dicko rubbed his chin and added, "I thought you weren't going to tell me anything. What happened? How did they...?"

"Doesn't matter now."

"How did you get up here?" Dicko asked.

"What do you mean?" Simon seemed baffled by Dicko's query.

"You're not from around these parts. You're from the south."

Dicko sighed, "Okay. If you don't want to talk about yourself, that's fine. I've got no problem with it. But I'll tell you what me and my daughter have been through."

Dicko glared at Simon, waiting for him to start.

"I moved up here when I was in my twenties. Me and a pal of mine went to Turkey for two weeks and I met this girl. We kept in contact and she eventually moved down to where I stayed for eighteen months."

"Why just eighteen months?" asked Dicko.

"She couldn't settle. She had a big family and she was missing them, so I quit my job as a forklift driver, applied to some colleges up here, near where she stayed, and managed to get in one. Then the pair of us moved up, got married, had kids, blah, blah, blah."

"And you lived happily ever after," Paul said with a smile. "Until the dead arrived."

"The Canavars." Simon nodded.

"That's what they seem to call them around these parts."

"So you're not from around here either?"

Dicko shook his head. "I'm many miles from home. I've heard many names for these creatures since this thing has started, but I simply call them the dead."

Simon released a sad breath out and shook his head. "I can't believe how quickly it'd spread. I mean, what was our army doing, for Christ's sake?"

Dicko could see Simon getting worked up and said, "Those questions are pointless now. They're the questions that we asked ourselves during the period when the dead were here in their thousands."

"Me and my daughter call it Stage One."

Dicko smiled and nodded the once. "And I take it when the bombs fell..."

"That's Stage Two."

"Of course it is," said Dicko. "I never witnessed any bombing myself. I came from a village and was there for months after the announcement. I think the cities and some large towns were bombed, to reduce the dead population, but I didn't even know places had been bombed until I was told by someone."

"Why did you leave this village of yours?"

"I had no choice," said Dicko and his face developed into a sombre one. "It was a shame. I left a few friends behind."

Simon opened his mouth to ask more about the stranger's past, but decided not to push him too far. He had got more out of him than he thought he could.

Dicko ran his fingers through his dark greasy hair and had a look around the living room. "You certainly hit it lucky finding this place."

"We did," Simon agreed. "Not before time. We had spent most of our time going from one place to the next. The woods, fields and a garage. We had spent the night in a shed before we came across this place."

"And that little thing upstairs..." Dicko said, followed by a thin and sympathetic smile. "How's _she_ coping?"

"Better than you'd think for an eight-year-old, but she has her wobbles."

"A shame. She must be missing her mum and..."

"I had a son called Tyler. They were both taken at the same time, mother and son."

Dicko lowered his head and said, "I'm sorry."

Simon could feel a dull sensation in his chest and could feel it moving up to his throat. He was beginning to feel numb and tried to get rid of the feeling by clearing his throat very loudly.

He said, "What's been happening..." He cleared his throat once more and tried again. "What's been happening over the last year has been beyond surreal. Sometimes I feel like I'm in a dream."

Dicko smiled. "I suppose that's understandable."

"I just don't know how long we can carry on like this." Simon looked crestfallen and put his hands behind his head. "I just wonder how the other countries have suffered across the globe."

"I think they've suffered, but the colder countries have probably got an advantage. The dead are slow as it is, without having to wade through inches of snow, or trying to balance on a sheet of ice."

"I just don't understand how a country, the world, could come to a halt from things that are so slow. It just doesn't make sense."

Dicko nodded in agreement with Simon and could understand his frustration. "It's quite simple when you put your mind to it."

"Simple? How?"

"Think about it," Dicko began. "After just three weeks trade had stopped. Now, once petrol stops being delivered to supermarkets, other dominoes start to fall. Even gas stations that we get fuel from have to be replenished twice a day. After three or four weeks, due to staff shortages, power stations start to fail. We then lose power. ATM machines stop working, but the shelves are empty anyway in the shops, so we resort to robbing to feed our families. Then the water stops running and the toilets stop working. Eventually people start dying from cholera, starvation..."

Simon grunted, "Well, I suppose when you put it like that..."

"Daddy?"

Both men turned in the direction of the opened door that was situated near the main door and the bottom of the stairs. Imelda was standing by the door and looked concerned.

Simon beckoned her over. "What is it, babe?"

"I was scared, being up there on my own."

"Of course you were." He beckoned her over. "Come here."

She walked over to her dad and sat on his lap. She lay down, resting her head on his chest. Dicko smiled and seemed touched by what he saw. Simon observed this, and was certain that Dicko had had a family once upon a time.

Imelda whispered to her daddy, "When is that man leaving?"

Dicko had overheard the pretty little thing and began to laugh.

"We were just talking," said Simon. "In fact, I was going to ask him to stay for something to eat. What do you think about that?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Okay."

Simon looked over at Dicko. "Is that okay for you, mate?"

Dicko nodded. "I'd be honoured."

"Good," said Simon. "I hope you like leftover dog."

*

After an hour of more chat and some nibbles, Dicko excused himself from the table in the living room. Before Simon could ask the man where he was going, Dicko gave the man a wink and told him that he had stuff to sort out outside. He had moved the body earlier, but wanted to make sure it was completely out of sight.

Simon nodded and thanked the man, knowing that he was getting rid of the body. He didn't know how he was going to do it, though. Was he going to bury the body? Or put it in the empty barn? As far as Simon was aware, the man didn't have a shovel on him. Hide it? But where? Under one of the trees or in the small barn?

Simon and Imelda had exchanged no words in Dicko's absence, and once they had finished their meal, Dicko had returned. He had only been away for seven or eight minutes and sat back down at the table. Simon didn't ask the man where he had put the body, but thanked him by gesturing with his head, and then asked what were his plans.

"My plans?" he cackled.

"Yeah." Simon looked at his guest's hands and noticed that they were dirty. "What are you gonna do, mate?"

Dicko hunched his shoulders. "Do what I've been doing for months: Survive. I _do_ have plans, though."

"Oh?"

"Well, there has to be some kind of—"

"Daddy?" Imelda spoke up and lowered her head.

Simon sighed, "You shouldn't really interrupt adults when they're speaking, babe."

"I'm sorry, daddy," she whimpered, "but I feel sick."

"It's not important anyway," the man that called himself Dicko reached over, smiled and patted Simon on the shoulder. "You see to your little girl."

Simon stood up and said, "Come on then, babe."

Both father and daughter exited the house at the front, walking down the path and Imelda bent over the grass and released some white vomit. Simon stood by her side and rubbed her back. She vomited a little more, and then coughed and spat a couple of times to get the lumps out of her mouth.

"You okay now?" he asked her, still rubbing her back.

"Uh-huh."

Back in the old days whenever Imelda had vomited in the house, usually during the night, Simon and Diana would go to the bathroom and find her crying after the ordeal.

On this day there were no tears. This had been the first time she had been sick since they had been out on their own, which was surprising, considering what they had to eat and the uncertainty on how filtered the water that Simon collected actually was.

She had complained that she had felt nauseous on a few occasions, but this had been the first time she had been sick.

"Do you want to stay out here and get some air? Or do you want to go back inside?"

She never answered his question. Instead, she said, "Daddy?"

"What is it?"

"Is that man staying with us tonight?"

"Erm..." Simon paused for thought and was unsure how to answer. Dicko had never asked to stay, but the thought had crossed Simon's mind. If Dicko _was_ a threat to him and his daughter, then why on earth did Dicko save Simon's life? That thought alone was enough for Simon to be sure that Dicko was a good guy, although brutal when he could be.

"Well?" Imelda was waiting for an answer.

"Well what?"

"Is he staying with us?"

Simon shrugged his shoulders and said, "I don't think so. Why?"

"No reason," she said.

"We don't even know him. How do we know he's not a bad man?" Simon was sure that Dicko was okay, but said it to his daughter anyway.

"I don't think he is," the young girl said with confidence. "I like him."

Simon smiled. _So do I._ _How can I not like him? He saved my life_. "Come on." He playfully nudged his daughter and kissed her on the top of her head. "Let's go back inside."
Chapter Thirteen

Next Day

The morning was a dull one, and Simon was the first to rise. He wanted to sleep on the sofa, but Imelda didn't want to sleep alone so she slept on the sofa and Simon nodded off in the armchair. With everything that had happened with getting a beating and then Dicko killing Simon's assailant, he found it difficult to sleep. His mind wouldn't switch off.

He walked into the kitchen, his knees cracking as he did this, and felt his sides. He lifted his black T-shirt up and couldn't see any bruises as such, but he did feel tender in that area, and then it hit him.

He could have died yesterday. Imelda would have been on her own.

Or even worse.

That man could have gone into the house, after killing Simon, went upstairs to where Imelda was sleeping... _No! Don't even think about it!_

He owed Dicko, or whatever his name was, and he owed him big time. Which was why he decided to finally pluck up the courage to ask the man if he wanted to stay the night. Dicko had politely declined Simon's offer and said that he had plans, but he'd see them both in the morning sometime.

Dicko was a vague character and didn't give much away as far as his past was concerned, but Simon liked him.

Simon decided to take a step outside and gazed around at miles of fields. Maybe tomorrow he was going to have to take another trip to the pond.

He remained standing and closed his eyes as the wind tickled his face. It was peaceful, and it was days like this that he was glad to be alive. He looked up to the murky sky. It looked similar to what it looked like after the bombs fell.

Simon felt something touch his hand, and he gasped and jumped at the same time. He turned to his side and saw his little girl staring up at him.

"You frightened me," he said with a smile.

"Sorry, daddy."

"You okay?"

She nodded her head, but she wasn't convincing her father.

"What is it?" he asked her.

"I was thinking about our guinea pigs."

Simon smiled.

"Do you remember, before school," she began with a rare smile on her face, "that me and Tyler had to clean out the cage, then feed them after it was clean?"

"Of course I do." Simon stroked Imelda's soft cheek on the right side of her face with his finger. "I used to pay you and Tyler ten pounds a week and give you the money every Saturday."

"That's right. Tyler was always messing around and he let me do most of the work, but he would still get paid."

"He used to put the bags in the bin," Simon said.

"Yes, but it was me that picked up the poo and scooped up the hay that Alvin and Ham Sandwich had peed on." She lowered her head and added, "Tyler used to pull my ponytail when I was trying to clean out the cage."

"I know, babe. He used to tease you terribly."

She lowered her head and said in a quaver, "I would give anything to have just one more morning like that."

"Oh, Imelda."

Simon turned and crouched down so that he was eye level with his little girl, and the pair of them hugged. He rubbed his hand up and down her back and they both slowly broke away from the embrace. He looked at her and could see two trails across her plump cheeks where tears had fallen.

He kissed her on the forehead and said, "I love you, Imelda."

"I love you, daddy."

Both father and daughter could hear dragging feet coming from the side of the house. Both looked at one another and froze, unsure what to do. Simon patted his pockets and realised that he had no weapon on him. He grabbed Imelda and they began to make their way towards the back door into the house, but a figure had already appeared from around the corner. It was Dicko.

"Morning, folks." He held his hand up, making Imelda smile and Simon sigh with relief.

"Thank God," Simon gasped.

Dicko looked at both of their faces. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you both."

"What're you doing ... creeping up like that?"

"I didn't think you'd be up so early and outside. What's up?" Dicko snickered, "Did you shit the bed or something?"

Simon rubbed his face and groaned. He was in two minds whether to reprimand Dicko for talking like that in front of Imelda. Dicko had saved Simon's life only yesterday, so Simon decided to keep his mouth shut and let him away with this one. But any more cussing in front of Imelda, and he would have to have a polite word. Imelda began to moan that she was hungry and Simon told her to go inside and see what was in the bag.

"I think there's a tin of sardines in the bag. A few tins of beans as well."

"Ew," Imelda moaned and added as she went inside the house, "I think I would rather starve."

"We're not far off it," Simon murmured.

"I was going to talk to you about that, funnily enough," Dicko spoke up.

Simon narrowed his eyes. "About what?"

"I'm going to disappear for a while."

"What for?"

Dicko rubbed his dark beard in thought and said, "I don't know how far I need to go or how long it's gonna take me, but I'm gonna try and get a set of wheels."

"Isn't that a bit dangerous?" Simon questioned. "If people, desperate survivors, hear the engine, you're opening yourself up to be attacked. It's one of the main reasons why I—"

"We're in the countryside," Dicko began, interrupting Simon's rant. "But we're only a couple of miles from Silverburn, the shopping centre. There's a supermarket next to it. There could be an endless amount of supplies there. I don't know about you, but I'm sick of living off scraps.

"I can't see there being anything for us, especially after this length of time."

"You never know."

"Even if we did get stuff," Simon began, unsure about Dicko's plan. "It's not going to last forever."

"I know. That's why we take a trip to the homestore first, the one in Darnley, a couple of miles from Silverburn."

"Why do we need to go to the homestore?"

"Why do you think?" Dicko chuckled. "What are in these places?"

"Erm..." Simon thought for a few seconds and shrugged his shoulders. "Paint, lawn mowers, kitchen units..."

"And they also sell packets and packets of vegetable seeds and the tools that we need to make vegetable patches possible, like forks, spades..."

"Wait a minute." Simon scratched his head. "We only met yesterday, and you're talking about making vegetable patches."

"True, but I have a deal for you."

"Deal? What kind of deal?"

"You and Imelda trust me, right? I can see that. Let me stay near here and we can share the land. If we make this trip to the homestore, set up patches somewhere in the back, we may have something special here. It's spring. It's the perfect time to grow ... shit."

"Grow ... shit?" Simon smiled at Dicko's remark.

"Okay, so I'm no Alan Titchmarsh. Also, if we get thugs coming here to rob or kill us, I'll come in handy. You know I can handle myself. Oh, and I also saved your life, so you owe me one."

"Jesus, mate. Talk about emotional blackmail."

Dicko scratched at his hairy chin and Simon knew he wanted to say something further, but seemed reluctant to do so.

"If you're going out there, then I'm coming with you," said Simon.

"That's not going to happen." Dicko shook his head. "What about the house, Imelda?"

"I'm not sitting about here while you're out there busting your arse for us two. It's not fair."

"You're giving sharing land with me. It's my way of paying you back."

"It's not even my land," Simon said with a chuckle, but then his face turned sombre. "I've been walking these streets for months. There's nothing out there. I'm coming with you."

"If I go on my own, there'll be more room in the car to put supplies in."

"And if I go with you, we could load up the car a lot quicker."

Dicko rubbed his forehead and thought for a minute. He shook his head and asked, "What about Imelda? You can't leave her here."

"She's coming with us. If she's going to be living in a world like this from now on, she's gonna have to get used to it. Besides, I'm her dad. I won't let anything happen to her. And if others survivors see us and we have a young girl in tow, we'd look like less of a threat, don't you think?"

"Erm..." Dicko couldn't think of anything else to say. He agreed with Simon about his less of a threat theory, and was also convinced that it would be a simple journey, going through wastelands and barren roads to get where they wanted to go, but Simon also had a point about leaving Imelda on her own.

Simon asked Dicko, "So when're you thinking about going?"

"Easy, Tiger," Dicko snickered. "It might not be until tomorrow. If we're gonna do this, it's best to have the whole day so we have plenty of daylight to play with."

Simon nodded. "Okay."

"But I need to get wheels first." Dicko playfully punched Simon on the top of his arm and walked away, going in the same direction he had come from. "Wish me luck."
Chapter Fourteen

Simon and Imelda shared a tin of beans whilst Dicko was out looking for a vehicle. Eating the last tin that he had in his bag was tempting, but he held off. Imelda was moaning that she was still hungry, so he reached into his rucksack and handed her the packet of out-of-date Frosties. If they came back empty handed from the trip to Silverburn, they would have to go elsewhere to find food, even if it was just a trip to the woods to see if it had berries, mushrooms, or even an orchard somewhere. A hydrated human could last weeks without food, apparently, but Simon's growling stomach was in no mood to put that to the test.

After the beans and a small drink, Simon told Imelda to relax on the couch until Dicko came back.

"I'm always relaxing," she moaned and pouted out her bottom lip, clearly bored.

"Have a lie down." Simon sat in the armchair and took out the paperback book from his bag. He had forgot where he was in the book and couldn't remember the last time he read it. He opened it in the middle, but Imelda spoke up before he could start a sentence.

"Is that a book about a shark?" she asked, gazing at the front cover. "What's it called?"

Simon smiled and said, "Didn't we have this conversation a few weeks ago?"

"I don't know." Imelda hunched her shoulders. "Did we?"

"It's Jaws. Daddy's favourite film. It was the first book I ever read."

"How old was you when you read it?"

"I don't know. I read it when I was little." Simon hunched his shoulder and scratched his dark beard as he began to think. "I think I was about eight ... or nine. I'm not sure."

"Why did you take it with you when we left the house?"

"I began to read it again. I started reading it at work, during my break times. I used to take the rucksack to work. It must have been at the bottom of the bag when I packed some clothes and food, before we left."

Simon began to read the page and only had two minutes of peace when Imelda asked him another question.

"Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Could I read it after you're finished?"

Simon's clocked the words 'yawning vagina', near the part where Matt Hooper was about to sleep with Chief Brody's wife. He cleared his throat and said, "It's not for your eyes, babe."

"Oh?"

"Maybe when Dicko comes back with a car and we get to Silverburn, we'll try and pick up some reading books and colouring books as well."

"Silverburn?"

Simon smiled and realised he wasn't going to tell his daughter until Dicko arrived. Maybe it was better to tell her now. At least it would give her time to get used to the idea. He had no idea how she was going to react. She could freak or...

Simon puffed out a breath and mumbled, "Sod it." He stood up, leaving the paperback on the arm of the chair, and went over to Imelda and sat next to her.

"Dicko had come up with a plan that could keep us alive for a long time," Simon began. "Dicko has gone out to get a vehicle, then when he comes back we're going to take a trip to Silverburn, where that supermarket is, and fill the car up with supplies."

"Do _I_ have to go?" Imelda asked.

"Yes."

"But why?"

"Dicko needs me to go, and I'm not leaving you here on your own. We can't just let him do all the work and then eat and drink what he's brought back with a clear conscience."

Imelda looked confused by Simon's ramblings and said, "But we gave him dinner last night."

"Yeah, but he saved my life."

Simon hadn't told Imelda what had happened outside the house and Dicko killing that man, and wanted to keep it that way. Thankfully, she never pressed him about how Dicko had saved his life.

"If we have to go with Dicko," Imelda began. "Does that mean we have to leave the farm empty?"

"I suppose it does." Simon had never thought of that. He looked at Imelda's confused face and said, "I don't like doing this, especially because we can't lock the doors when we leave, but food isn't going to just turn up and land on our doorstep."

Imelda lowered her head and Simon placed his arm around her shoulder. "Are you okay with that?"

She nodded.

"Are you scared?"

"A little," she admitted. "But I'm sure I'll be fine if you and Dicko are with me."

"Yes, you will." Simon smiled.

Imelda smiled and dropped her head and said, "I was thinking about that scary man by the pond."

"Oh?"

"What if he comes back?"

"He won't."

"How do you know for sure?"

Simon leaned and kissed the top of Imelda's head. "I just do." He went back over to the armchair, sat down and closed his eyes. "I'm just gonna rest my eyes for a while."

Imelda never responded.

*

"Daddy, I can hear a noise coming from outside."

Simon sat up and widened his eyes. He had dropped off and was immediately angry with himself for doing so. He had had a terrible night's sleep, but with an eight-year-old girl to care for it was no excuse.

Simon rubbed his eyes and groaned, "What kind of noise?"

"Not sure." She screwed her face up and tried to think.

"Was it an animal or...?"

"Sounds like a car."

Simon walked over to the front window and peered from behind the curtains. He saw a Mazda turn up at the drive, at the side of the house. Simon smiled and knew who it was, despite not seeing the face of the driver.

He headed to the back door, to greet the man that bizarrely called himself Dicko.

"Where're you going, daddy?" Imelda's eyes followed her daddy's frame as he walked to the other side of the house.

"Stay there."

"Who is it?"

"It's Dicko," Simon announced. "He's back."
Chapter Fifteen

Dicko had told Simon that he had seen the car on the drive and broke into an abandoned house. He'd only been away for an hour or so, but both men agreed to start their venture the next day. Fortunately, the owners had left the car keys in one of the kitchen cupboards.

Simon had asked Dicko if he wanted to stay the night for the second time and this time he agreed. Dicko told Simon that he'd sleep on the couch; he also joked that he wouldn't be offended if Simon barricaded his bedroom before he and Imelda went to sleep.

Simon and Imelda had turned in over an hour ago and Dicko had helped himself to some water from the kitchen. He sat in the armchair and closed his eyes. Tiredness was beginning to creep up on him once more. A small sound from outside made him open his eyes wide, like plates, but nothing else was heard afterwards. He began to relax again and had a look around the dusky living room area.

Dicko released a yawn, stretched his arms, and began to groan. He scratched the chin area of his beard and then placed his hands on his lap, closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep once again. He could hear a thudding noise coming from upstairs and wondered what it was. Had Simon got up to go to the toilet? Had Imelda fallen out of bed?

Gentle thuds could he heard above him, and those thuds seemed to be moving. Dicko opened his eyes once more, and puffed out an annoyed breath as the footsteps began to make their way downstairs, down to the first floor of the farmhouse. The footsteps had reached the bottom of the stairs and had stopped. Dicko stared at the door and when it finally opened, Imelda walked through into the dusky room.

"Hello, there," he greeted the young girl. As soon as he clocked the little girl, any frustration that he had had evaporated.

She smiled and said, "Hello, Mr Dicko."

Dicko laughed, "Just Dicko will do."

Imelda was wearing a dressing gown that was far too big for her, and Dicko guessed correctly that it was something that the previous owners of the house had left behind.

"It's a bit cold tonight, isn't it?" he said.

She nodded.

"What's up, honey? Can't you sleep?"

"Not really. Daddy's snoring doesn't help."

Dicko tried to joke, "You should give him a nudge; tell him to turn over."

"I didn't want to disturb him. He never slept very well last night."

"That's very sweet of you." Dicko smiled and her concern for her daddy warmed his heart.

Imelda began to scan around the dim room and was thinking of something else to say.

She didn't feel uncomfortable with the silence. She knew that Dicko was a good guy, and if her daddy trusted him ... that was good enough for her.

Dicko cleared his throat. "You better get yourself back to bed. If your daddy wakes up and you're not there..."

"He won't," she said with confidence. "Mr Dicko?"

"Please, just call me Dicko."

"If you had one wish ... what would it be?"

"That's easy," Dicko snickered. "I would wish for things to go back to normal."

"It has to be something more realistic, otherwise the wish won't work. You can't wish for the old world or loved ones to still be alive."

"Wow." The man blew out his lips and puffed out a breath. "That's makes it more difficult. I don't know." Dicko shrugged his shoulders. "A water-well in the back of the farm would be good. Am I allowed that?"

"Yes." Imelda nodded.

"What about you?" Dicko stroked his dark beard and smirked.

"What about me?"

"What would you wish for?"

Imelda went quiet and lowered her head, staring at her lap. Dicko wasn't sure if she was doing this because she was upset or because she was thinking of an answer.

"Imelda?" Dicko pushed.

She looked down and he felt the sadness in the room.

He persisted, "What would you wish for?"

"I don't know." She hunched her shoulders. "I suppose..."

"Yes?"

"What I'd really like ... is to see my daddy happy again."

Her voice began to quiver and her statement made Dicko's throat swell. Poor little thing, he thought. Living in a world like this.

"I'm certain that _you_ make him happy," Dicko said.

"I'm not sure." Imelda tucked her blonde hair behind her ears and added, "He used to be happy, when mum and Tyler were alive, but now..."

"The situation we're in is horrendous, Imelda," Dicko began. "Your dad isn't happy because he's worried. He's worried about you, this situation we're in ... everything."

"We were staying at a house a few weeks ago," Imelda began, "and I got up during the night and realised daddy wasn't in the bed; he was downstairs. I left the room and sat on top of the stairs. I was thinking about going down, but I changed my mind."

"Why?" Dicko narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. "Were you scared?"

Imelda shook her head. "No."

"Well, what was it then?"

"I think my dad needed some time alone."

"Oh?"

lmelda licked her lips and seemed reluctant to tell Dicko the next sentence, as if it was a secret. Imelda's big blue eyes began to fill and Dicko thinned his lips as his heart began to break for the child.

Dicko said softly, "You can tell me, Imelda. You can tell me anything."

"I didn't go down because daddy was crying, really loudly. At first I thought there was a wolf downstairs. It sounded like howling. But I stayed on the top of the stairs and realised that it was daddy. I think he was crying for mummy and Tyler."

Dicko gulped, trying to remove the swelling from his throat, and asked her, "What happened to your mum and brother, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Erm..."

Both of them looked above when they heard quick footsteps across the ceiling. The panic-filled footsteps ran downstairs and a couple of seconds later Simon burst through the living room.

"Jesus!" Simon exclaimed and placed his hand on his chest, now relieved that he could see his little girl.

"She was just keeping me company." Dicko smiled.

Simon kept his hand on his chest and panted, "I nearly had a bloody heart attack when I woke up to find you weren't there."

"I'm sorry, daddy," Imelda whined. "I couldn't sleep."

Simon held out his hand and urged his daughter to take it. "Come on back upstairs. Give it another try and leave poor Dicko alone."

"That's okay," Dicko laughed. "She was no bother."

Imelda walked past her dad, not taking his hand, and said, "Goodnight, Mr Dicko," before making her way back to the first floor.

"I'm sorry," Simon apologised to his guest. "Did she wake you up?"

"No," Dicko snickered.

"Good night." Simon grabbed the handle of the living room door and was about to shut it behind him and go upstairs, but Dicko had called after him and temporarily stopped Simon from progressing to the first floor.

"What is it?" Simon asked him.

"Your daughter is a little angel, and..."

"And?"

Dicko sighed, "I'm sorry you lost your wife and son."

Simon looked at him strangely. He wasn't sure if he had already told him what had happened to Diana and Tyler. He thought that he did, but revealed very little detail. Maybe Imelda had said something more. She had always been terrible at keeping secrets. Diana used to say that Imelda couldn't even hold her water.

Simon gulped and nodded at Dicko, thanking him for his words, and said, "Me too."
Chapter Sixteen

Next Day

It had been a restless night's sleep for all three individuals of the farm, but neither one complained when they woke up.

Imelda was the last to wake up, which didn't surprise her father. She usually _was_ , even back in the old days. During the week, when the kids had to attend school, Simon would be the first to wake up. He would get up about seven, sneak down the stairs and make himself a coffee. He would then make up Tyler and Imelda's lunch for school, which would contain a sandwich, a packet of crisps and some fruit. He'd also make sure they took a fresh bottle of water with them and mid-morning snacks that would include an apple or tangerine and a croissant or a small packet of cookies.

After making their lunches, he would top up his coffee with more hot water and then sit down and watch the news up until half past seven. It was many minutes of peace he savoured every morning, and by half past seven he would go upstairs and wake everybody up. Even with her dad shaking her and her curtain open, Imelda would struggle to get out of bed every morning.

All three members of the farmhouse were dressed, and the last tin of beans had been shared by father and daughter. Simon had offered some to Dicko, but he claimed that he was okay and didn't like eating breakfast when the world was a normal place, let alone now. Simon guessed that Dicko was lying and was just being nice, but he never pushed the man.

"Right, guys." Dicko clapped his hands together. "The car's outside, so are we ready?"

Both Simon and Imelda nodded. Simon was wearing his usual black boots, black combats and T-shirt. Of course, food and water was the main reason why they were heading to the supermarket after the homestore, but he was hoping there'd be something left in the clothes section.

Dicko ran his fingers through his bushy beard and said, "Okay, good. Now, there's only half a tank in the car, but it'll be more than enough to get us to where we're going. If it's clear when we get there, inside the place and outside, then I'm gonna make a second trip on my own. We'll empty the car when we come back, and I'll go back out straightaway."

Simon was about to open his mouth and say something, but Dicko held up his finger to stop the man. "If the journey is hazardless, then I should be fine on my own. The Mazda is a small car, so I'll need the extra room for the second journey. Besides, we don't want to be leaving that house empty and unlocked for a long period of time, do we?"

Simon thought for a few seconds and then nodded in agreement. Then Dicko went outside and father and daughter followed him.

"Let's go," Dicko said with a smile, and pointed over to the vehicle.

"I'll sit in the back with Imelda," Simon said.

"Sure thing."

"And we're definitely doing the homestore first?"

"I think it'd be best to get it out of the way." Dicko nodded, then asked Simon, "Are you okay with that?"

Simon nodded.

Dicko fired up the engine and pulled away. Imelda began to put her belt on and her daddy asked if she was okay.

She nodded. "I think so."

"It should be okay," said Simon. "And if it's not we'll come straight back. We can try the next day."

Overhearing Simon's talk with his daughter, Dicko looked at the pair of them through the rear view mirror and said to the little girl, "I reckon the places where we're going should be quiet. I think most people have either fled the area or..."

"What about the bandits, daddy?" she asked. "Will there _be_ any?"

"I've no idea, babe. Hopefully not."

Dicko took a left at a junction and began to enter a place that used to be a residential area. Simon recognised where he was now. So did Imelda. Houses were to either side of them, the road was barren and there was no sign of life.

Simon shook his head and asked nobody in particular, "Where did all the survivors go?"

He received no answer.

They entered a town called Darnley and was greeted with bodies strewn across the roads, seven in all, with three abandoned cars, one burnt out. Simon was going to tell Imelda to keep her eyes shut until they arrived at the homestore, but this was the world she was living in now, and she was going to have to get used to it.

It was hard to tell if the dead were victims of bandits. He guessed that they were. If the Canavars had got a hold of them, they'd be nothing left of them.

Dicko made a right and went straight ahead at the roundabout, which told Simon that he had been here before. He seemed to know where he was going. He made a left, and then a left again, into the almost empty car park.

"There're a few cars here," Simon remarked. He counted seven. It wasn't many, but where were the owners? Had these cars been abandoned? If so, was it during the Stage One period?

Dicko pulled up the vehicle by the main doors and all could see that the doors were open.

"Have you done this kind of thing before?" Simon asked the driver.

"I've taken cars before and visited supermarkets in the past. I've never bumped into much danger."

"Much?"

"I had one recent incident," Dicko looked sheepishly at Simon, hesitant to say anything in front of Imelda.

Simon said, "It's okay. Just ... not too much detail."

Dicko nodded and began, "Most places I've visited, mainly in the Paisley area, were reasonably clear, more or less."

"Reasonably? More or less? You're a bit vague, Dicko."

The driver smiled. "Anyway, I went into a place in Elderslie and came across a few undesirables."

"Were they bad men?" Imelda asked the man.

"Well ... in a way." Dicko was unsure how to answer the young girl. "Some of these people are desperate, mentally unstable. A lot of people have seen some terrible things, especially when the monsters were here, the Canavars. I suppose Stage Two, as you guys call it, only affected major cities and some towns in an attempt to kill off the Canavars."

"That's enough," Simon intervened.

"Anyway, back to this supermarket I visited." Dicko rubbed his face before adding, "I took a few tins from a shelf and could hear people arriving. They were on motorbikes. I think there was about six of them, but they were definitely people you wanted to avoid."

"How did you know?" Imelda asked him.

"I dunno." Dicko shrugged his shoulders. "You just ... do. Anyway, these guys came in and I hid. Eventually I was spotted by some of them and they chased me. I dropped the car keys while I was running, but I knew they'd catch me up if I ran back for them."

"What happened?"

"I headed for the countryside and have been on foot ever since."

"So cars can be a nuisance," Imelda said. "Is that what you're saying, Mr Dicko?"

"Just call him Dicko," Simon groaned.

"To be honest, cars nowadays are great for what we're doing today, but it's risky. If survivors are desperate and they hear a vehicle coming their way, they could hide or may even attack you for the wheels. I think getting here is the most dangerous part."

"So what do we now?" she asked.

Dicko switched off the engine and put the keys in his pocket. "It's time to go shopping."
Chapter Seventeen

All three entered the building with Dicko leading the way. He told them that they should take only a few garden utensils, like shovels and forks, and concentrate on packets of seeds and even gas canisters, if there were any. If there were supplies aplenty, another journey could be made in the future. Dicko assumed that all the canisters had probably been taken, but hoped there were some left. Most of the room in the car was going to be used for the supermarket trip.

From what they could see, the establishment was empty, tidy, and although some shelving had been emptied, there seemed to he supplies left. Dicko could see an abandoned trolley by one of the checkouts. He went over and grabbed the trolley and left it by Simon's side.

"Wait there," Dicko instructed father and daughter.

"Why?" Simon held out his arms and shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm going to check down all twenty aisles before we start. I don't want any nasty surprises coming round the corner when we're filling up the trolley."

Simon and his daughter waited around nervously as their new friend started to check down the aisles. Once he returned, he announced that it was clear, grabbed the trolley, and told Simon and Imelda to follow him.

They travelled nearly twenty yards and turned into Aisle 6. The aisle looked untouched and this forced a smile from a Simon and Dicko.

"There we go," Dicko announced a little too loudly, his voice eerily echoing in the empty place. "Garden utensils and seeds in the same aisle. We should be in here for no longer than ten minutes."

Simon parked the trolley up halfway down the aisle, and told Simon that they were only going to take a few utensils, but every packet of seeds that was available. They could see the packets and there was a lot on offer. Carrot, broccoli, beetroot, potato ... they were all there.

"Once we get back to the farm," said Dicko. "We can make a start on an allotment. Don't forget the green fly spray."

The whole process had taken no more than eight minutes, and now the three of them were leaving the homestore with a trolley full of goodies.

They had emptied the supplies into the boot of the car and now it was time for the short trip to Silverburn, where a Tesco supermarket was also based right next to it.

A five-minute journey along the desolate road was achieved with no incidents, and once Dicko turned right at the roundabout, they were in Tesco's empty car park.

They could see to their right the huge shopping mall that was Silverburn, but that could be tried another day. Maybe at a later date. Silverburn hosted many restaurants, clothes shops and a cinema, but food was their primary target. Food would probably be available in some of the restaurants' kitchens, but the supermarket was first and they only had a small car.

All three were out and made the short walk to the entrance of the place. They all stopped and peered inside. The place looked like it had been ransacked more than once, blood was smeared on the floor. All three winced when their noses sensed the horrendous smell. They were unsure if the smell was from rotten fruit, meat, death ... or a mixture of all three. Simon and Dicko looked at one another, both unsure what to do.

"Let me go in first," Dicko said, and pulled out his trench knife from the leather holster. "Me and Trevor will sort this out."

Simon shook his head at Dicko because he had given his knife a nickname, and Imelda gasped on seeing the blade and was given a reassuring squeeze on her shoulder by her daddy.

Dicko treaded carefully, making sure his boots didn't step in any blood or accidentally kick one of the few scattered tins on the floor, and began to walk along the checkouts and look down the aisles for any danger. Simon and Imelda waited patiently and watched as Dicko walked past over twenty aisles. They continued to watch as he turned on his heels and slowly headed back towards them, gazing down the aisles for a second time.

"It seems to be clear," Dicko announced when he reached father and daughter. "There's a bit of a mess in some of the aisles, but surprisingly there's still food."

For twenty minutes, Simon and Dicko filled a trolley each with tins, bottled water and sodas, as well as items of clothing from the upstairs. The rickety trolleys were pushed to the Mazda and at first Simon wasn't sure they'd be able to get it all in.

"There's a bit of room left," Dicko said and clocked that there was a small gap inbetween the driver's seat and the passenger seat. "I think we could get a few more bottles of juice in there, easy."

"Can't we just go," Imelda moaned. "I'm tired."

"Me and Dicko will go in," Simon suggested. "You stay in the car. Stay down."

To Simon's surprise, Imelda said okay and sat in the passenger seat. Dicko shut the door and locked it, then both men headed back to the entrance of the supermarket. Dicko took a basket and told Simon to do the same. The men knew where they were going. They had already been to the soda and water section, and headed for the ninth aisle in silence.

They both stopped at the aisle where they needed to be and Dicko gave Simon a little nudge. "I bet there's more stuff in there." He pointed over at a door that led to a warehouse at the back of the establishment. "I bet they have pallets of drink and food in the back."

"We only have the Mazda with us," Simon said nervously, desperate to get out of the place and go back to the farm. "Let's just take what we've come for and get the fuck out of this place."

"I think that's the first time I've heard you swear," Dicko laughed softly.

Simon smiled and began to lighten up. "That's because Imelda is usually with me."

Dicko grabbed more bottles of water and slipped them into the basket. Simon took water and some cordial juice for Imelda.

"You enjoying yourself there, guys?" a voice called out from behind them.

Simon and Dicko turned and could see a man dressed in dark clothing and wearing a Burberry cap. His face was covered with a ginger beard, matching his hair, and had a menacing grin. Despite it being two on one, in Simon and Dicko's favour, the ginger guy looked confident.

"There's plenty to share," said Simon.

"Is that right?" said the ginger male. His six-foot frame straightened up and now folded his arms, slowly losing his smile.

"Yeah, that's right." Dicko placed down the basket and added, "Do you have a problem with that, ginge?"

"Look," Simon grabbed Dicko's shoulder, "We don't need to be so hostile."

Dicko hunched his shoulders. "I'm not the one being hostile."

Ginger began to laugh and shook his head. "Why don't you two turn around and head out, and I'll even let you have the stuff that you took earlier."

Dicko and Simon slowly turned and glared at one another.

Dicko turned to Ginger and said, "You ... You've been watching us?"

Ginger grinned. "You were spotted when you left the premises. To be honest, you should have been spotted earlier than that. I had to leave my watch, because when you need a shite..."

"Charming."

"I can't believe you came back for..." Ginger looked down at the two baskets of water and juice, "...a few bottles of liquid."

"I'm sorry," Simon said, "But we're desperate. You see, I have a daughter, and—"

"Spare me the sob story," Ginger growled.

"So ... is this your place?" Simon asked.

"This is Orson's place."

"Who's Orson?"

Ginger never answered Simon.

"I think I know what's going on here," Dicko spoke up and pointed at Ginger. "Fanta Pants here is a guard of some kind, and he answers to this arsehole ... Orson ... whatever the fuck the name is."

Simon scratched his head and turned to Dicko. "I don't understand."

"These guys have a base somewhere. This supermarket is being guarded. What happens is that every day food is transported from this place and to where they're based. This continues until the supermarket is cleaned out, then Orson's men go elsewhere, maybe find another supermarket, and do the same."

Ginger began to clap his hands and said with derision, "You got some bits right."

"Look, mate," Simon began, and could feel his arms shaking with fear, "we had no idea that this place belonged to someone."

Ginger said, "What you've taken is nothing compared to what we have in the back. No one will notice. Just you guys be on your way. I'll have a word with Nathan. Make sure he keeps his mouth shut." Ginger pulled out a walkie-talkie and began to converse with Nathan.

Simon scratched his head and muttered, "Who's Nathan?"

Ginger turned, walked away from the two men and added, "Just make sure you don't come back here again. That's the only warning you're gonna get. You see, if Orson found out that I had disappeared during a watch, as well as allowing strangers to steal some of our food, my guts would be ripped from my belly."

"Why are you doing this?" Simon asked.

Ginger turned around, smiled, and said, "I had a daughter ... once."

"I'm sorry."

"Just go."

Simon and Dicko, baffled by the bizarre experience with the big ginger fellow, bent over and picked up their full baskets. They walked away, heading for the exit, still confused about the meeting. And who the fuck was Nathan?

The wind wasted no time and tickled the men's faces as soon as they stepped out. Dicko looked up, over at their vehicle, and placed his free hand on Simon's chest before he had chance to look up. Simon turned and faced Dicko, asking him what was wrong.

"Don't freak out," Dicko said with clenched teeth. "Don't run. Play it fucking cool, okay?"

Simon didn't know what Dicko was talking about until he turned and glared over at the Mazda.

A man was standing by the car and mockingly waved at the two men. Simon wanted to desperately run over there and see if his little girl was okay, but he adhered to Dicko's words, although it was a struggle.

Dicko smiled at the Nathan character as they both approached, "Thanks for looking after the car," Dicko derided, making the Nathan character lose his smile. "There're some bad people about."

"You have no idea," Nathan growled.

"Oh, I think you'll find that I do."

Both men glared at one another, each one refusing to back down. Ignoring the two, Simon knocked on the passenger window and waved at his frightened and confused girl. He gave her the thumbs up and this seemed to have settled her a little. Dicko opened the door and shoved past Nathan to get into the driver's side. Simon jumped into the back passenger seat, next to his daughter, and both hugged.

"I was worried," she said.

Simon smiled. "Nothing to worry about."

Dicko started the engine, took off the parking brake and pulled away. Nathan sarcastically waved at Dicko, who returned the gesture with his middle finger.

"You should ignore him," Simon scolded. "What if some of Orson's men come to the farm?"

"Why would they?" Dicko responded. "These thugs seemed to be monopolising the supermarkets. Anyway, I've met worse than these lot."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Dicko sighed.

Simon said, "I'm surprised the stores weren't raided during the Canavar period."

"Me too."

"Daddy?" Imelda interrupted the men's brief chat.

"What is it, babe?"

"Who's Orson?"

"Doesn't matter," Simon sighed.

Simon was relieved to be on his way back to the farm after the frightening episode. Dicko looked unruffled by the previous incident and Simon put it down to experience of being out there, surviving, and having to do things that Simon hadn't asked about yet. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know about the things Dicko had done to survive, to still be here.

Simon placed his hand on his daughter's lap. She placed her silky hands on top of Simon's and both gazed out of the window, their eyes clocking the empty streets. He hated doing this, taking Imelda into unknown territory, but his pride wouldn't allow Dicko to do all the work whilst he sat on his arse.

Simon suddenly snapped out of his gazing once the vehicle began to slow down. Dicko had slowed to ten, then put the vehicle in second and turned and went down the drive of the farm that went by the house, pulling up near the back.

"Daddy, I'm tired," Imelda said.

Dicko turned to face Simon and said, "That's okay." He then winked at Imelda. "You get this little cutey to bed for an hour and I'll start moving the stuff. I think I'll give the second trip a miss. "

"Okay." Simon smiled. "I won't be long."

"Don't rush."

Simon opened the back door and stepped inside with Imelda holding his hand.

"Didn't you lock it, daddy?" she asked him.

"I couldn't, babe. There're no keys. We can only lock it when we're inside, with the bolts. That's how we managed to get in here in the first place."

"Oh."

They crept upstairs and Imelda began to yawn. Simon rubbed the side of her arm and gave her a kiss on the top of her head.

He told her, "As soon as you wake up, you'll feel great."

Simon put his hand on the doorknob and opened the door.

Imelda gasped and placed her hand over her mouth, "Daddy, what's going on?"

Simon gulped and shook his head. He had no idea.

There was somebody lying on their bed. It was a woman.
Chapter Eighteen

Simon and Imelda continued to glare at the body on the bed and both stood still, frozen with alarm, and unsure what to do. The female groaned and turned on her back. Simon could see she was mid-twenties. She had a slim build and her hair was dark and quite short for a woman, and styled like one of The Beatles in the early sixties. Her trousers were green combats and she was wearing a brown T-shirt. Her black coat was lying on the floor.

Her eyes opened, making Simon and Imelda gasp, and the young female sat up with a start. She gazed at the father and daughter strangely and rubbed her eyes.

"Okay," she said, ruffled her hair with her right hand. "So this is a bit awkward."

Simon never said anything; he just continued to glare, lost for words.

"I saw a rucksack when I first came in," the female stranger began, looking at Simon. "Is that yours?"

Simon nodded.

She swung her legs to the side of the bed and stood to her feet. "Was this place _originally_ yours, or...?"

"We came here a few days ago," said Simon, staring at her slim frame and her perked breasts.

"Ah," she giggled. "It speaks."

"I'm Simon."

The female smiled and nodded, "I'm Yoler." She bent down, placed her hands on her knees and smiled at Imelda. "And you, beautiful. What's _your_ name?"

Imelda had become shy all of a sudden and shrugged her shoulders.

"You don't know?" Yoler said and teased lightly. "You've forgotten your own name? Now that's a little strange, don't you think?"

"No," Imelda giggled and already decided that she liked this person.

"Is your name ... Ariel, like The Little Mermaid?"

Imelda smiled and shook her head. "Nope."

Yoler scratched her dark hair and asked, sticking her tongue into the inside of her cheek, "Is it Rapunzel?"

"No," Imelda giggled, shaking her head. "That's from Tangled."

"What about Belle, like the girl in Beauty and the Beast."

"Not even close," Simon spoke up. "Her name's Imelda."

Yoler looked at Simon's morose face and cackled, "And you must be King Grumpyguts, by the look on your face."

Simon sighed, "I already told you that my name's Simon."

"Oh yeah." Yoler rubbed her face. "I'm still half asleep." She turned and bent over to pick a bag up. She threw it over her shoulder and thanked Simon for the use of the bed, even though he had no say in the matter, and she told them both that she'd be on her way. She took one step forwards to the door, but one word form Simon Washington made the young woman stop in her tracks.

"Wait," Simon said softly.

"What is it?" Yoler asked.

"Have a drink with us downstairs, before you go. What do you say?"

Yoler looked moved by Simon's gesture and said, "Thanks. That's very kind. But can I ask one question?"

Simon nodded. "Sure."

"How have you managed to survive for so long?"

Simon was unsure about her question, and the look on his face confirmed that. He said, "I don't understand."

"There are survivors out there butchering one another for food and shelter. I've seen it with my own eyes. And you're offering me a drink? Your act of kindness is a rare thing these days."

"It's the right thing to do, as far as I'm concerned."

"Doing the right thing might get you killed one day, Simes."

Simon was becoming a little annoyed with the uninvited guest. He knew she was right, and he knew he had to toughen up, but he wanted to hold on to the Simon Washington of old, despite what had happened. He didn't want to change.

He huffed, "You wanna drink or not?"

"Alright, alright, " Yoler giggled. "What's up with you, King Grumpguts? You looked like someone has stabbed your cat."

Simon shook his head and walked away. He began the descent to the ground floor and realised that Imelda wasn't by his side. He stopped moving and turned around. He was about to yell at Imelda to get a move on, but she was already close behind him, holding onto Yoler's hand, the two girls walking downstairs together.

He entered the living room and saw Dicko sitting in the armchair. "I've only just sat down," said the man. "All the supplies are put away, cupboards are full..."

He stopped talking when Yoler entered the room, holding Imelda's hand.

"What the...?"

"I found her sleeping in one of the bedrooms," Simon began to explain. "Her name's Yoler. And she—"

"Alright, Simes," she cackled. "I can speak for myself, you know."

"I was about to say that she's got a bit of a mouth on her."

"Charming," she said. "Anyway, where's this drink you promised me?"

Dicko stood up and it was clear he was instantly attracted to the young female. "We have some water left, but we've just come back with sodas and—"

"Sodas?" gasped Yoler.

"We're just back from a supply run," Simon said. "Could have turned nasty, but we got lucky."

Yoler smiled. "Bumped into a few ... undesirables, shall we say?"

"You could say that." Dicko went into the kitchen and returned with a small plastic bottle of coca cola. He passed it to Yoler and her face lit up, thanking the man for the generous offer.

"Probably not the best drink for hydration," she said, "but it's been a while since I've had a coke."

She unscrewed the bottle and began to swallow the substance down.

"So, where're you headed after here?" Dicko questioned her, but never got an answer straight away. She was still downing the bottle of coke. As soon as she was finished, she twisted her face and rubbed her chest, releasing a loud and long belch, making Imelda giggle.

"That was the absolute tits," she said with a smile, then turned to Imelda and apologised for her choice of words.

She turned to Dicko and said, finally answering his question, "I have no idea where I'm gonna go. I was thinking of staying here for a while, if you fine gentlemen would let me. I could be very useful."

"There's enough in here as it is," Simon spoke with zero hesitation, deflating Imelda and Dicko who had quickly taken to the woman.

Dicko gazed over at Simon and said, "Can I have a word?"

"Sure." Simon nodded.

"Upstairs."

"Erm..." Simon looked at Imelda, then Yoler, and was reluctant to leave the girls alone.

"Oh, seriously," Yoler snapped and pointed at Imelda. "Don't worry. Nothing's gonna happen to her."

Dicko left the living room and Simon followed him upstairs to the landing. Simon turned around and before he had a chance to speak, Dicko had already begun.

"I like her," Dicko announced. "I think we should keep her here."

"I don't know." Simon placed his hand over his mouth and pondered. "I've only been here a few days and we could already have four people living here. When's it going to stop?"

"I did save your life," Dicko said with a cheeky smirk. "Let her stay, and if she fucks up, it's on _my_ head. Imelda seems to like her as well."

"We don't know her. She's been here for a matter of minutes."

"Aw, come on."

"For Christ's sake." Simon shook his head. "You fancy her. You just want her to stay to see if you can bone her."

"That is offensive." Dicko pointed at Simon and added with a straight face. "How could you think of something like that, in the state this country is in?"

"So it's never crossed your mind?"

"Can't get it out of my head," Dicko began to snicker.

"Imelda _does_ seem to like her." Simon began to ponder. "And I do think she's generally a good person."

"Is that a _yes_ then?"

"Okay." Simon nodded. "But that's it. Four people is the max."

"I think we should take turns on watch, now we have a few numbers," Dicko suggested, and could see Simon already agreeing to it. "Three people have been to the house in the last few days, including myself, Yoler, and that arsehole that tried to kill you."

"I agree."

Dicko clapped his hands and rubbed them together, wearing a smile that stretched across his face. "Shall we go down and tell her the good news.

"Yes," Simon sighed in defeat. "I suppose so."
Chapter Nineteen

Yoler had been fed and briefly told Simon and Dicko about her story of survival. She was vague about her tale and never mentioned losing family members. It was a simple story of staying at random places, scavenging for food, and hiding from a gang of men that she had come across on a couple of occasions.

With four individuals present, Simon had decided to go to the pond and collect more water. He trusted Yoler, and asked her if she didn't mind looking after Imelda.

"Why don't I come with you?" she suggested.

"Erm..." Simon didn't know what to say.

"If you run into trouble, you might need some help."

Dicko was sitting in the armchair and although secretly he would have rather have gone out with Yoler, he said to Simon, "I'm happy to stay here with Imelda."

Simon remained silent, lost in thought.

"I can handle myself, if need be." Yoler began to laugh, "How the piss do you think I've lasted this long?"

"Okay," Simon sighed. "I think there's another bucket under the sink. What I do is fill the bucket, then we come back here, fill the jars in the kitchen—"

"Simes," she said and ruffled her moptop hair. "I have filtered water before, and I ain't picked up cholera so far."

"Okay." Simon flushed and lowered his head.

"No matter how much you filter and boil it," she remarked, "it still tastes like cat's piss, though, doesn't it?"

"It doesn't taste the best, but you kinda get used to it."

Imelda was upstairs, playing with an old cuddly toy that had been found. It was a lamb and she had called it Lambie. Simon went upstairs to tell her he was going out, but she didn't seem bothered when he told her. She seemed more troubled that he had interrupted her fantasy playtime by announcing that he was going out and trying to keep her hydrated.

Simon told Imelda he loved her and left the bedroom to go downstairs. He entered the living room and saw Yoler and Dicko chatting. The conversation looked very flirtatious and Simon raised a smile. He went into the kitchen and picked up the yellow bucket that was sitting on the side of the sink; he then went into the cupboard for the other one. He definitely saw two when he first came here.

He pulled out a red bucket and popped his head in the living room and said, "Sorry to interrupt your chat, but are you coming, Yoler?"

She laughed, "Sure." She jumped up to her feet, gave Dicko a playful wave, and followed Simon outside.

"It should be pretty straightforward," Simon began to explain, although Imelda and I did run into a bit of trouble—"

"I know," she interrupted. "Dicky Boy was just telling me, when you were upstairs with your daughter."

Their feet hit the grass and were now heading straight, towards the pond. "Did he tell you everything?"

"Yeah," she said. "You'd slashed his face and the guy returned, and then Dicky Boy turned up and killed him." She said the sentence as if it was nothing.

"And what do you think about that?" Simon gulped and looked at Yoler.

She smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "Not a lot. Shit happens, Simes."

*

Carrying both empty buckets, Simon strolled across the field, heading to the pond with Yoler by his side. Simon wanted to take the time to get to know the girl better, but she decided to sing Beatle songs all the way there. Halfway through _Strawberry Fields Forever_ , she stopped once they were at the pond.

She looked around and asked Simon, "Is this the only source of water you have?"

"What do you mean?" Simon placed the buckets on the floor and wasn't sure what the young girl meant.

"Any streams nearby or...?" She nodded towards the woods that were in front of them. "Streams are clearer and the water, once filtered, tastes better, too."

"I don't think so." Simon hunched his shoulders.

"You don't think so?" she smiled and mocked his southern accent. "This pond looks a bit murky, like King Kong has shat in it."

"We've never gone into the woods. Dicko has been in there, but says there ain't much where he had been."

"But he hasn't covered every square inch of the woods, has he?"

"The man that attacked me and Imelda came from the woods." Simon rubbed his nose before adding, "He came to the farm afterwards. He must have been desperate, so I take it there's nothing in there that could help somebody survive."

"I think we should go in there and check the place out anyway."

Her comment made Simon judder with nerves. He shook his head in disagreement.

"I'm collecting the water," said Simon, "and then I'm going back to the farm to see my little girl."

"You're piss scared." Yoler nodded. "I understand."

Simon was about to protest that he wasn't scared, but he'd be lying. Instead, he grabbed one of the buckets and asked Yoler, "Are you gonna help me or not?"

He walked into the pond a few inches, feeling the water getting into his boots, and dipped the bucket in. Yoler did the same and was standing by his side. Once the buckets were filled, the pair of them made the walk back to the farm. Simon could feel Yoler gazing at him and immediately asked what was wrong.

"I was wondering..." she said.

"Wondering?" he snapped. "Wondering what?"

"I was wondering what it'd be like to sleep with you."

Her comment made Simon almost gasp and he took a quick glance at her, making sure she wasn't joking.

"Jesus," he said. "You're not shy, are you?"

"No," she giggled. "Never have been. I always used to say to my friends that life was too short. Now, after what's happened, that statement has never been so true."

"Erm..." Simon smiled, but his lips quivered with nerves as he stared at the young beauty. "My wife..."

"That's okay. You just let me know if you change your mind." Yoler looked him up and down and cackled, "Oh yeah, I could ride you into the ground, no bother."

*

Hours had passed, Yoler and Simon were back at the farm, and a conversation began to take place in the living room.

Dicko had mentioned that there was an orchard half a mile from the place, and also a visitor centre. Dicko had told Simon that he had been there before, but had to flee the visitor centre because he had 'company', but didn't go into much detail after that.

Simon and Dicko had agreed to check it out, as Yoler was going to dig and plant the seeds that had been taken from the homestore. She had told the men that she had done it before, and both men agreed to let her get on with it.

Simon had an early night with Imelda and had informed Yoler that she could stay. Dicko said that he and Yoler would take turns on watch during the night, and Simon thanked the pair of them.

Imelda had been asleep for a few minutes and the man sat up in bed, curtains open to allow as much daylight as possible, but was struggling to read the paperback book that he had already read many years ago. He was at page 134 and decided to give in. He put the book on the side table and glanced over at his sleeping girl. He smiled and kissed her on the forehead. He lay down next to her, but shot up as he heard a noise from downstairs.

He knew that Dicko and Yoler were downstairs, but decided to check it out for peace of mind anyway.

He crept down to the ground floor and could hear groans as he reached the bottom. He put his ear against the door that led to the living room and could hear the unmistakable sound of two people having sex.

Jesus. She's doesn't waste much time.

He ascended to the landing, and realised he hadn't told the two where to sleep. Dicko had slept on the couch the night before, but there were now two of them.

"There are two extra bedrooms. I'm sure they can work it out for themselves."

The groans were now fading, and he went back to the bedroom, back to his little girl.

*

Simon had finally drifted off after spending half an hour staring at the ceiling, and dreamt about his wife and son. He didn't mind dreaming of Diana and Tyler, but on this particular night the dreams weren't so pleasant. The dream he had was more like a flashback, and it took him back to the time where he had lost both of them.

His dream took him to the time when he decided that they should leave the house. All four family members were travelling in the family car. Simon had turned left at the roundabout, lost control of the car and veered off the road. The car crashed into a hedge. The car had stalled and Simon desperately tried to start the car, and screamed out as the car was surrounded by a herd of Canavars.

There were so many surrounding the sides of the car and at the front, and he couldn't get the vehicle moving again. Imelda and Tyler were hysterical and couldn't stop screaming in the back passenger seats. Simon unbuckled himself and opened the sunroof. It only opened a few inches so he punched his way through and climbed to the top of the car. He pulled Diana out, Tyler, and then Imelda.

All four were now standing on the car roof, shaking with fear. There were about a dozen of the dead around the car, but Simon had noticed that there was a gap at the front of the vehicle.

He grabbed Imelda and yelled to his wife, "Grab Tyler and follow me!"

Simon stepped down off the roof, onto the bonnet of the car, and jumped down.

Cold rotten hands could be felt trying to grab him, but he slapped them away with his free hand and ran a few yards, pulling Imelda with him. A scream forced Simon to stop and turn around. He could see that the horde had lost interest in him and Imelda, and had turned their attention to Diana and Tyler.

Simon took a step forwards and called out for his wife, but Imelda screamed and tried to pull him back. Diana was taken down and disappeared into the crowd and Tyler was next. The little boy screamed at Simon, "Daddy, don't leave me!" before Simon woke up.

He sat up in bed and wiped the sweat away from his forehead and under his neck with the palm of his right hand. He looked to his left side and still could see his daughter sleeping. He took a gape outside and could see that the sky was a bruised colour and guessed correctly that it hadn't passed midnight yet. He didn't know how long he had been sleeping.

Maybe just an hour?

He stood up and approached the window in the dark room. He placed his elbows on the windowsill and gazed out.

His mind began to drift, but not for long. He could hear Imelda stirring and moaning behind him.

He smiled thinly at his precious girl and walked back over to the bed with tears in his eyes. He sat down and stroked her head, gently shushing her as she continued to groan. Even with the little light that was left in the room, he could see her pouting lips, her chunky cheeks and little nose.

"No," she moaned.

Simon shushed her and stroked her head again.

"I don't want you to sing that song. Stop it, Tyler."

Simon shushed her once more. "It's okay, baby. It's okay."

"No, Tyler."

"Shh."

"Leave me alone. You're mean."

"Shh."

She moaned, "Tyler."

Imelda's eyes opened and glared at her dad in the room. She was confused and it took a few seconds to realise where she was.

"You okay?" Simon asked her and stroked her cheek.

"Daddy?"

"I'm here, baby."

She sat up slowly and rubbed her eyes. It was clear that she was still half asleep. Simon asked her to lie back down. She did, and he lay next to her.

"It sounded like you were having a bad dream," Simon said.

"I was." She nodded.

"What happened?"

"In my dream, Tyler was being mean to me." Imelda was becoming emotional and Simon stroked her cheek.

"Don't speak." He continued to stroke her cheek and added, "Just close your eyes, babe. Just close your eyes, my darling."

"He was trying to make me sing the Canavar song."

"Was he?" He smiled. "Naughty Tyler."

"I know."

"I remember the song well," Simon said. "I remember getting him into trouble for teasing you with it."

"Why are boys so mean?"

"I don't know," Simon snickered softly. "I was just like Tyler when I was a kid. I was a real pain in the butt. Put your head on my chest and close your eyes."

She did as she was told, and rested her head above his heart and put her left arm across his chest. He stroked the back of her head and heard her moan once more.

"Daddy? Remember when mummy used to call me Le Bossy?"

"Of course," he released a small chuckle. "You were always telling people what to do, just like your mother, and we realised your name sounded French, so we teased you now and again and called you Le Bossy."

"I miss that," she said with sadness in her words.

"Me too, babe."

"Daddy?"

Simon's sighed softly. "I thought I told you to go to sleep."

"Just one more thing, and then I'll be quiet."

"What is it?"

"I really miss Tyler." Imelda took in a deep breath and released it out. Her silky warm hand rested on her dad's cheek. "And mummy, too."

"So do I, babe."

"Do you?"

He kissed Imelda on the top of his head and could feel two tears fall out of each eye. They ran down his cheeks and were soaked up by his daughter's blonde hair.

"Yes. I miss them every hour of every day."

The young girl sighed and grumbled, "Good night, daddy."

He looked at the palm of his hand where the steak knife had pricked, when he had that tussle with the pond guy, before Dicko had killed him, and could see it was healing up. "Good night, my princess."
Chapter Twenty

Next Day

Breakfast had been served. It consisted of cold spaghetti hoops for Imelda, baked beans for Simon and Dicko, but Yoler had opted to not bother. She told the other three that she wasn't hungry, which Simon and Dicko thought was a lie, and decided to take the occasional swig of orange juice instead.

The two new people were sat on the couch; Simon was in the armchair, whereas Imelda was sitting by the table, drawing with a pencil and some paper that had been found a few days ago.

Simon could see that Yoler and Dicko were occasionally flashing each other glances and then smirking.

Simon sniggered to himself and decided to have a little fun on their part. He looked over his shoulder before making his tongue in cheek statement to Yoler and Dicko.

"So..." Simon began and couldn't help a cheeky smile. "I heard a lot of groaning last night. Were one of you ill? Sore tummy, perhaps?"

Yoler began to giggle, but Dicko's face flushed red.

Dicko was the first out of the two to respond. "I think Yoler was moaning when she was tired, when the two of us were keeping watch. Erm..." Dicko struggled for more words. He was looking uncomfortable, but Simon wasn't finished with his harmless ribbing.

Simon said, "I'm pretty sure at one point I could hear the _pair_ of you moaning."

"Really?" Dicko scratched his head and his face reddened.

"Yeah." Simon nodded. "I was thinking about coming downstairs to see if you guys were okay."

Dicko gulped and hunched his shoulders. "I don't remember making any noises."

Yoler's face was lacking emotion until the corners of her lips elevated slightly. She turned to Dicko and patted his thigh. "Relax. He's taking the piss, aren't you, Simes?"

Simon was unmoved and Dicko scrunched his face up and said, "What?"

"He heard us at it last night, playing hide the sausage," Yoler laughed and took a quick glance behind her, making sure Imelda wasn't picking up on the conversation. "And it's a good job you didn't walk in on us, Simes. I can't imagine how embarrassed you would have been to see Dicko's hairy arse going up and down while he was balls deep in me and destroying my lady garden."

Dicko burst out laughing, and this time _Simon_ had flushed red.

"Just for the record." Dicko held his hands up to Simon. "I used protection. On our supermarket trip I picked up a couple of packets of condoms, and—"

"Alright, alright," Simon huffed. "You're adults. I'm not your father, you know. Anyway," Simon sat up straight and cleared his throat, "when are we going to this orchard, or whatever it is?"

"As soon as you're ready," said Dicko. "It's about half a mile walk. If we go by car, it could attract thugs, plus I want to save as much petrol as I can. What I had planned was to check the place out on foot, and if there's a lot of stuff there and no people, we go back for the car."

Surprisingly, there was no protest from Simon; he nodded in agreement to Dicko's plan.

"There's other fruit there as well," said Dicko.

Simon asked, "Like what?"

"Well ... there's bushes with blackberries, mushrooms, strawberries. Better take a couple of bags with us."

"Seems a bit daft walking all that way for some fruit. What we got from the supermarket should do us for a while."

"There's other stuff there."

"Other stuff?" Simon screwed his face after his query.

"There's a visitor centre not far from the orchard. There's a play park there. A restaurant, a kiosk where they used to sell chocolate, sweets... I think it's worth checking out. I would have checked out the place further when I passed it, but like I told you before ... I ran into some trouble."

Simon suddenly clutched onto his chest as a pain went across. He then began to feel short of breath and stood up.

Dicko looked at Simon strangely and asked if he was okay.

"I'm fine," Simon stood up and added, "I'll be back in a sec," before going upstairs.

Simon felt light-headed and struggled to reach the landing. He turned around and sat on the top step and put his head in his hands. "What's wrong with me?"

Simon felt like he couldn't breathe and tried to suck a deep breath in, held it for a few seconds, and then slowly released it. He still felt short of breath and placed his two fingers from his right hand on his neck, feeling for his carotid artery. He could feel his pulse and placed his left hand on his chest where his heart was. He was trying not to panic. He knew that panicking would make it worse, whatever _it_ was.

Simon heard the door open downstairs and could see Dicko looking up at him.

Dicko called up, "You okay, Simon?"

Simon nodded. "I think so."

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know. Just give me a minute, will you?"

"You don't have to go. I can take Yoler."

"No, I want to. I can't continue in this world with my head in the sand. I need to man up, for Imelda's sake."

Dicko nodded once and went back into the living room.
Chapter Twenty-One

Simon and Dicko said their farewells to the girls, left the house and walked to the front of the place, now heading down the lane. There were trees on both sides of the road and both knew that an ambush of any kind could occur. Dicko seemed relaxed as he strolled, but his partner walking next to him was jittery and was twisting his neck from left to right every second, gazing into the trees.

Noticing this, Dicko released a chuckle and told Simon to relax.

"Relax?" Simon shook his head and felt his right pocket to make sure the steak knife was still there. "I can't do that."

"It'll be fine. I've walked lanes like this and nothing has happened for miles. If you don't go out, fear will keep you inside. Staying inside with no supplies makes you hungry."

"We _have_ supplies."

"I know we do." Dicko nodded. "But this place could be a little goldmine. I didn't have chance to stay long because of that gang turning up."

"What did you do?"

"I did what any sane man would. I ran. I didn't see them, and they didn't see me, so I don't know what they look like. Probably miles away now." Dicko smiled to himself and said, "Maybe many months ago I would have stayed and faced the gang."

"Really?"

Dicko nodded. "I was in a bad place for many months, did some bad things. Maybe I lost my mind for a while, I don't know, but I came back."

Simon sighed and wiped his clammy hands on his jeans. "What if there're other people there today?"

"We approach this place with caution," Dicko said. "If there're more than three of them, then we leave."

Simon seemed perplexed with his companion's statement. "So ... what do we do if there's three of them ... two of them, even?"

"We talk to them, if they seem okay. The gang I mentioned earlier ... you just knew were bad news."

"Talk?"

Dicko chuckled and put his arm around Simon, but Simon felt like shrugging it off. He felt like Dicko was being patronising.

"We can't just assume that everybody we come across are bad people," said Dicko. "If we see other survivors, we need to get to know them, unless they turn on you. We need to help each other out. Look what you did for me and Yoler."

"You told me not to trust anyone a few days ago," Simon said with his face screwed up. "Make up your mind."

"I said that?"

"You said that friends and good people don't exist anymore."

"Did I?" Dicko chuckled. "Am I allowed to change my mind?"

Simon never answered and shook his head with confusion.

"I know you had that experience with the man by the pond, but there are some good people out there as well. There're a lot of people out there that are hungry, have lost family members, and this has turned some of them into psychologically damaged individuals."

"It's just so..." Simon could feel tears filling his eyes.

"What?"

"Fucked up."

Dicko smiled and speeded up a little, noticing that Simon was moving ahead. "It is what it is now. Nothing we can do to change it."

"I'm dreading the next winter."

"Don't worry about winter. Worry about now."

Dicko veered left and stepped into a wooded part. He looked up at the trees and swivelled three-sixty, making himself a little dizzy. They were at the orchard and there were many apples hanging from the branches above them.

"Now what, mate?" Simon asked.

"Now, I climb." Dicko smiled, took off his bag and threw it at Simon's feet. He then climbed the nearest tree. For fifteen minutes Dicko had climbed and picked apples, then threw them at Simon, who then placed them in the bags. It had gone better than the two guys thought it would. Both of the bags were full of apples and there wasn't any room for anything else.

"We'll check out the visitor centre," Dicko said. "If it's clear, and there's supplies there, we'll go back and get the car."

"We should have done that in the first place," Simon huffed.

"Can't be too careful, Simon. Being in a vehicle makes us more of a target when they're people around. We could be heard from hundreds of yards away."

The two men hit the road once more, followed the bend in the road and Dicko pointed up ahead, to a crossroad, at a brown tourist sign. The visitor centre was two hundred yards to their left. They weren't far now.

"This way." Dicko beckoned Simon to follow him through a cluster of trees.

Simon seemed confused and could see the sign for the entrance up ahead.

"If there's someone there," Dicko began to explain, "then I don't want them to see us coming."

"Fair enough." Simon nodded.

"We'll sneak in here," Dicko pointed in the wooded area, "and if there're people here, too many of them, then we're gonna have to scarper."

The two went as quietly as they could as their feet shifted through the bracken, and Dicko held his hand up to stop Simon from progressing any further. Simon stopped behind Dicko and both could see they were coming to the edge of the wooded area.

Dicko took another step forward and could see the visitor centre, the car park and the play park. He could also see the kiosk and restaurant from a distance that was situated behind the play park. The place looked barren.

"It seems quiet enough," Simon remarked.

Both men were crouched down, scanning the area.

Dicko nodded in agreement. "Looks that way. Probably best if we get a proper look, then we can go back and get the car."

The two males emerged from the wooded area and strolled over the play park. A lot of effort had been put into the park. All climbing frames, swings and other props were made from wood, and even the large ground area they were walking on was covered in wood chipped bark.

Simon's right shoulder was getting sore with the heavy bag of apples and swapped shoulders. Despite his skinny frame, Dicko walked as if he didn't have a heavy bag on at all.

They reached the visitor centre and both looked around. The whole area was surrounded by trees, and Dicko told Simon to wait where he was whilst he took a walk round the small wooden building.

Two minutes later, he was back and told Simon the place was locked, but he couldn't see any sign of life around the area.

"We'll check the kiosk and restaurant," Dicko suggested. "If the places have already been raided, there's no point coming back."

They could see that the wooden kiosk was nothing more than a small wooden hut. It was a place that would have sold ice creams, served coffee and sandwiches. The shutter at the front of the kiosk was down and Dicko suggested going round the back. They could see a wooden door and see that it was shut, but there was no padlock. It seemed like it was a simple matter of sliding the bolt to get inside.

Dicko did just that. His trench knife, Trevor, remained in its holster, so he was confident that there was nothing inside. He pulled the door open and peered inside. He turned to Simon and said, "We're definitely coming back." He opened the door wider and Simon had a look inside. It wasn't what someone would call healthy food, but what was on offer was products hard to ignore.

The kiosk had many chocolate bars, soda drinks and crisps. Some of the shelves had been emptied, but there was still plenty left. Definitely worth going back to the farmhouse and bringing the car back, Dicko thought.

"We'll check the restaurant and then go and get the car," was Dicko's comment.

Simon agreed and nodded the once.

Dicko shut the door to the kiosk and slid the bolt back.

"It's quite tempting to just dump the apples and take this stuff instead," Simon said.

"It is," said Dicko, "but we're not going to." He slapped Simon on the shoulder and said, "Come on. Restaurant, and then home."

The two men left the kiosk and approached the restaurant, with their paranoid eyes scanning around.

Dicko was the first to approach the main glass door and tried the handle. They looked inside and both could see the restaurant was empty and immaculate looking.

"Looks empty," Simon remarked.

"Just need to check the kitchen." This time Dicko _did_ put his bag down and pulled out his trench knife from his holster. "You wait there."

"Okay, mate." Simon never argued with Dicko. The man knew what he was doing. He certainly had more experience than Simon.

Simon waited patiently, but the paranoia was strong. He looked from left to right, into the woods, with shallow breath, but he kept his knife in his pocket. Dicko had only been away for a couple of minutes, but each minute felt like an hour for Simon Washington.

Dicko returned and Simon noticed that the man was panting and also had dark blood on the side of his cheek.

"You okay?" Simon looked startled. "You seem a little..." Simon couldn't find the words, but Dicko certainly didn't seem himself.

"There's nothing in the kitchen," Dicko panted. "Nothing that's edible ... anymore."

Simon nodded and scrunched his face at his companion. "You seem different. You look... You look kind of excited."

"Do I?" Dicko cackled.

Simon nodded.

Dicko beamed and beckoned Simon inside. "Come and take a look."

Simon refused to go in and waggled his head. "Tell me what it is first."

"It's a Canavar," said Dicko. "Haven't seen one of them in weeks."

"In weeks?" Simon added, "I haven't seen one of them in months."

"It came at me when I entered the kitchen. It was the only one there. It must have been stuck or something."

"Had it killed anybody?"

"I didn't see any blood or remains anywhere. It was just shambling about, looking lost and disorientated. You wanna take a look?" Dicko revealed his stained knife, and put it back into his holster. " I had to stab it in the head."

"No, I'm okay."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive. Let's just get the hell out of here."

" _Let's just get the hell out of here_ ," Dicko mocked. "You do realise we're coming back, don't you?"

Simon nodded.

"Something like this," Dicko pointed at the kiosk, "is a rare thing after nearly a year into this catastrophe. We've got the stuff from the supermarket, the apples, and now this confectionery. And then when that produce starts growing round the back of the farm, we'll be set up for the rest of the year."

Simon clenched his teeth together and said, "Okay, so is that the lecture over with?"

Dicko smiled. "I'm just saying."

"Let's go back."
Chapter Twenty-Two

"Should take us twenty minutes to get back," Dicko announced. "Maybe a bit longer."

Simon never said anything. He took a quick glance at his companion and realised they were dressed the same. They both had an all black look. They had black boots, combats and a black coat over their black T-shirt. They looked mean, two guys that looked like individuals you didn't want to cross, but Simon didn't feel very mean or brave at all.

Every ten seconds or so he was moving with his bag from one shoulder to the next. The more he walked, the heavier the bag became. He was getting tired.

"Simon?" Dicko looked to the side of him, at his companion. "Are you okay?"

Simon nodded, but not convincingly.

"What's wrong?"

"Just tired, mate."

There were still trees to either side of them, and the two men reached a bend in the road and they both recognised it. They were halfway to the farmhouse.

Dicko took another glance to the side of him and could see that Simon was struggling with the bag, puffing out impatiently, and wiping his forehead with the backs of his hands.

"Won't be long now," Dicko spoke up, trying to raise Simon's already crushed spirits. Maybe he didn't sleep well the night before, thought Dicko.

The road straightened up the more they progressed, and the pace of both men increased as the realisation sank in that their place wasn't very far away now.

"About what you saw in the restaurant..." Simon began but never finished.

"Yes?" Dicko looked to the side and now both men were staring at one another.

"Keep it to yourself."

Simon's comment sounded like a threat more than a request, but Dicko tried not to let it rile him. He was aware that he had bigger balls than Simon and would win in a fight if ever the pair of them fell out, so he didn't take Simon's rude comment to heart.

"Yeah?" Dicko tried to play it down. "And why's that?"

"I told Imelda that they were all gone." Simon lowered his head and kicked the ground. "I told her that the bombs had got most of them, and that the rest had wilted away."

"Why did you tell her that?" Dicko had a feeling why Simon had told Imelda this, but asked anyway.

"After we lost Diana and Tyler she ... we both were ... I don't know how to explain it."

Simon stopped walking and Dicko did the same. Both bearded men looked at one another and Dicko waited patiently for his companion to finish off his explanation.

"We were both shell shocked, but Imelda struggled to sleep and wet herself for weeks after my wife and son were taken."

"I'm sorry." Dicko placed his hand on Simon's shoulder and added, "It must have been rough."

"Still is."

Simon dipped his shoulders and allowed the bag to slowly fall off and land by his feet. He placed his hands over his face and took Dicko by surprise by sobbing like a child. Dicko never hesitated. He took a step forward and put his arms around the man he had only known for a few days and both men hugged. The embrace was short, and Simon soon broke away and took a step back and began to apologise.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," said Dicko. He scratched at his long dark hair that hadn't been cut in a while. The fringe was down to his eyebrows, and his hair at the sides covered his ears.

"She's all that I have left." Simon wiped his tears away with the palms of his hands and lifted his bag back over his shoulder. "If anything happens to her, then that's me finished. I don't even know why I'm putting the pair of us through this."

"You want your daughter to live, right?"

"Of course. But what kind of world is she going to spend her adult life in?"

"If she sticks with you, me and Yoler, that girl of yours will be a true warrior."

"I don't want her to be a warrior. I want her to be like a normal girl, going to dance classes, doing gymnastics, going out with her friends—"

"Those days are gone," Dicko snapped, bringing Simon back to the harsh reality. "And they won't be coming back."

"I know," Simon sighed. "It breaks my heart to think what she'll be missing out on."

"She'll learn to survive, if she sticks with us," Dicko said. "She'll learn other things as she gets older, and..."

Simon had noticed that his companion had paused. "And?"

"If anything happens to you..."

"Yes?"

"I'll take care of her. And hopefully Yoler will be around still."

"Thanks ... I think." Simon wasn't sure how to take Dicko's statement. "I have no plans on going anywhere, but thanks, mate."

"I'm serious, man." Dicko nodded and flashed Simon a smile. "I know I've only known you guys for a few days, but she's a great girl. I couldn't leave her on her own if anything happened to you. I won't leave her to fend for herself."

*

They weren't far away now, and Dicko told Simon that once they were back at the farm they would empty their bags and dump the apples in the sink, have a few drinks and have five minutes. Then they would take the two bags with them, take the car, and head back to the visitor centre and empty the kiosk.

"Sounds like a plan," said Simon. "I can't remember the last time Imelda had some chocolate. I should have grabbed a few bars when we were there and put them in our pockets."

"Already did," Dicko snickered.

He put his hands in his pockets and pulled out four Dairy Milks. "One each." He handed one to Simon. "You want yours now?"

"Why not?" Simon grabbed the chocolate bar. "Can't wait to see her face when you give her hers. She just loves chocolate."

"Doesn't every female?"

"We'll just tell them that we need to go back to get some tins and stuff," suggested Dicko. "When we return with a car full of chocolate and soda drinks, Imelda will love you forever, and Yoler..."

Dicko suddenly stopped and realised he was getting over excited.

"What about Yoler?" Simon asked with a smirk. "Would _she_ love you forever?"

"Up yours." Dicko snickered and both began to laugh. "You know, she's the first woman I've been with since..." Dicko paused and dropped his head.

"Since?"

"Doesn't matter."

Dicko had a quick look at Simon and was glad that he was feeling better. He had only known the man for days, but he liked him. He was a good man, and a good father. Imelda was lucky to have him.

Their eventual arrival was spotted by Yoler. She opened the main door and greeted both men.

"Any luck?" she asked.

Both men nodded and stepped inside. Imelda was at the table in the living room and gave her daddy a smile. There was no hug; he had only been away for an hour. She simply looked up at Simon, flashed him a smile, and then lowered her head and continued to draw. He noticed that her long blonde hair was in a ponytail. He assumed that she or Yoler had found an elastic band from somewhere.

"What're you drawing?" Simon walked over, bag still over his shoulder.

Imelda put her arm around the picture and covered it up. "It's not finished yet."

"Sorry," Simon laughed.

He went into the kitchen and Dicko followed him in, and then both men emptied their bags into the empty sink. Yoler walked in and flashed a smile when she saw the sink full of green apples.

"Excellent, guys." She put her arm around Dicko and kissed him on the cheek. "Was that all there was?"

Simon took a quick glance and felt a twinge of jealousy. He wasn't jealous because he was attracted or had feelings for Yoler. He missed the affection from an adult female. He missed his wife.

"There was more," Dicko spoke to Yoler, "but we came across a kiosk full of confectionery." Simon pulled out two bars of chocolate from his pocket. "One for you and Imelda. And there's much more where that came from."

"Nice one, rent-a-gob," Dicko huffed. "Remember the surprise we were talking about?"

"Shit," Simon laughed. "Sorry."

"Chocolate. Wow, Dicky Boy." Yoler flashed both men a wide grin. "Multiple orgasms in a wrapper. I haven't had a chocolate bar since I broke into a newsagents in Shawlands. I think that was a few weeks ago."

"Well, there's plenty more," Simon said. "Dicko was going to keep it as a surprise, but I messed that up, didn't I? Anyway, all this chocolate is the reason why we're going back."

" _I_ can go if you want," she volunteered.

"No, it's okay." Dicko rubbed his eyes and said, "This shouldn't take as long. We're taking the car this time, now that we know for definite that the place is clear. Well ... it was kind of clear."

"What do you mean?"

Remembering what Simon had told him, Dicko lowered his voice so Imelda couldn't hear and said, "I came across one of the dead."

"Not a big deal." Yoler shrugged her shoulders. "They're still out there."

"Yes, but..." Dicko took a step back and took a peep in the living room to see Imelda with her head down at the table, still drawing. "Simon has told her that they're no longer around."

"Why? To protect her?" Yoler looked at Simon.

Simon nodded. "We hadn't seen any for months, and even _I_ believed that they had gone for good. It's been nearly a year. I thought the ones that weren't killed by the bombs surely must have rotted away and fallen to pieces by now. After all, they're dead, aren't they?"

"Nice theory, Simes," Yoler began, "but they're still out there, and some look quite ... fresh, new."

"These things have scarred her, mentally," said Simon, "especially as they killed my wife and son. I suppose I thought it would help her, psychologically."

Dicko shook his head and huffed, "Until she sees one for herself."

"I think a lot of them are pretty much gone, but not all." Yoler nodded, and then took a look over her shoulder to make sure that Imelda was still in her own world, drawing at the table. "Just hope for your sake you don't come across any. Or you'll have some explaining to do, daddy-o."

Simon and Dicko took a drink of water, then Dicko took the car keys from the kitchen worktop and both men said farewell to the girls for a second time.

"Be careful," Yoler called out as they both left through the back door and headed for the Mazda.

Imelda had now left the table and stood next to Yoler. The vehicle moved away and both females waved. Simon blew Imelda a kiss and she caught it, and then the vehicle turned on the country road.
Chapter Twenty-Three

"There's a lay-by up ahead," Dicko had announced; he dropped the vehicle into third and slowed the car down. "It's just past the orchard."

It had been an uneventful short drive to back where they were before, but Simon and Dicko weren't complaining. He finally brought the car to a stop in the lay-by.

"What are we stopping here for, mate?" Simon asked. "Why don't we drive right into the visitor centre car park and get this thing over and done with?"

"Just being cautious," Dicko said, and couldn't believe Simon's naivety. "We need to park the car in a reasonably hidden place, and you _know_ why. Also, if people have arrived at the visitor centre while we were absent, then they won't be able to hear us coming."

Dicko turned off the ignition and reached into the back passenger seats. He grabbed both of the empty bags and handed one to Simon.

"Ready, soldier?" Dicko snickered.

Simon sighed, "I suppose. Do you think we'll get most of the stuff in the back of this car?"

"I don't see why not." Dicko began chewing the inside of his mouth in thought. "I don't particularly want to go back to the farm and then come back here again, do you?"

"No, I fucking don't," Simon huffed and ran his fingers through his beard.

Dicko opened his door and stepped out, with the bag over his shoulder and his trench knife still in its holster. Simon stepped out and kept his knife in his pocket after seeing that his companion was relaxed enough to walk to the centre without a blade in his hand. Simon had the hammer back at the house, as well as other tools since the homestore raid, but he preferred the knife. If a Canavar did appear, he knew the blade would be the less messy of kills compared to the hammer.

The two men walked along the side of the desolate road, trees to either side of them, and went over to the same cluster of trees they went to before entering the premises of the visitor centre. They crept through the woodland and Simon stopped walking when Dicko had stopped and held his hand up.

Both men were near the edge of the group of trees and could see the play-park and kiosk from where they were crouching. They remained silent for a minute or so, and then Dicko asked Simon if he was ready to go over and start filling his bag.

"No time like the present," Simon said.

Dicko took a quick look and realised that Simon was trying to put on a brave face, albeit not very successfully.

Dicko led the way, with Simon close behind.

Over a twenty-five minute period, Dicko and Simon had made three journeys to the car and had dumped a lot of confectionery and drinks in the back seat.

"There isn't much left in that kiosk now," Simon panted. "I'm getting knackered. One more journey?"

"I think one will be enough to clear the place out." Dicko nodded, sweat running down the arch of his back. "Come on. When we get back I'm gonna have to have a afternoon nap."

"Me too, mate," Simon chuckled.

A snap of a branch made both men hold their breaths and freeze. They gaped at one another and Simon was the first to break the silence.

"What was that?" Simon whispered.

Dicko shrugged and tried to laugh it off. "Maybe it was a bear or something."

"We don't get bears in this country. Well ... apart from what's in the zoos."

"If there're any zoos left."

"Maybe we should just go back to the car."

"Nah." Dicko shook his head. "One more trip."

Both men walked over to the kiosk with tired feet and stopped in their tracks when a figure came from behind the small building.

It was a female.

The woman was in her thirties, had dark greasy hair, tied back in a ponytail, and her face was a little blotchy. She wasn't unattractive to Simon and Dicko, but she certainly wasn't in the same league as Yoler.

"Hello there," she greeted.

"Where the hell did you come from?" Dicko asked her.

Simon could see that his companion was a little jittery and rested his hand on his knife holster.

"My name's Clare," the woman said. She took a step forward and held out her hand. Neither men shook it.

"Oh." She lowered her arm and placed it by her side, and then took a quick glance over her shoulder.

The woman clearly looked embarrassed and Simon felt a little sorry for her.

"You didn't answer my question," Dicko said sharply, making the woman, and even Simon, feel uneasy. Dicko was a nice guy, but Simon had seen for himself that he was more than capable of taking a life if he had to.

Simon decided to step in. "Look, love," he began. "We're all just a little on edge, that's all." Simon put the palm of his hand on his chest. "I'm Simon. And this is ... Dicko."

"Pleased to meet you both." The woman smiled and glanced over her shoulder again. "I just came from the woods. Been living rough, but haven't we all?"

"You on your own?" Dicko questioned her with a hard stare.

"Yes, I am." She smiled.

"Then why do you keep looking over your shoulder?" Dicko elevated his eyebrows and quizzed further, "Expecting someone?"

"No," she snickered. "Of course not."

"Are you sure about that?"

Before she could answer, two men appeared from around the corner and stood either side of the female.

"We don't want any trouble," Simon said immediately and raised his hands in the air.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Dicko growled at Simon. "Put your hands down. We've done nothing wrong."

"You muppets have taken from our shed!" the man on the right yelled. "You've completely emptied it."

The man that had spoken was surprisingly clean-shaven, unusual these days, and the man next to him had short grey hair and a grey beard to match his hair.

"Shed?" Dicko snickered. "What shed? You mean the kiosk?"

"You know what I mean, funny fucker," snapped the clean-shaven individual.

"Where did you put the stuff?" the man with the grey beard asked.

"What?" Dicko wasn't sure what the man meant at first.

"Did you hide it somewhere ... or do you have a vehicle?"

The woman spoke up and said, "What's going to happen is that you guys are going to take us to where you've put our stuff."

"Then what?" Dicko laughed.

"Then we're gonna bring it back to our shed, sorry ... kiosk, and you two gentleman can be on your way and never come back."

Simon shook with nerves and turned to Dicko. "That sounds fair. We now have a sink full of apples, and we have enough produce back at our place anyway."

"Don't be naive, Simon," Dicko laughed. "These three aren't going to let us out of here alive."

"That's not true," said the woman with the greasy ponytail. "Deep down, we're good people."

"Bullshit." Dicko smiled and reached for his knife. "We know where you're based now, so in your eyes we're a threat."

"Don't listen to him." The woman glared at Simon. "All I want you two to do now is put your weapons on the floor so we can sort this predicament out peacefully."

"Come on." Simon turned to Dicko. "Let's just do what they say."

Dicko shook his head. "It's not happening. As soon as we unarm ourselves, they're gonna kill us." Dicko then nodded over to their bulging pockets. Each one had a knife. "They're all carrying. All three of them."

"So are we, aren't we?"

"Look," the woman placed the palm of her hand on her head in thought. "Why don't we see if we can come to some kind of arrangement?"

"What kind of arrangement?" asked Dicko.

"Well," she began; her eyes moved to the side and this was noticed by Dicko. "What we can do ... is ... sit down and talk and..."

She seemed to be trying too hard to make conversation and her eyes slightly looked away again, this being noticed by Dicko.

Shit.

He quickly turned around and saw a large man with short dark hair, holding an axe. As soon as Dicko had spotted the man, the man ran at Dicko and raised the axe.

Dicko dropped his bag and ran at the axe-man as Simon stood in shock. He straightened both legs and went to ground, taking the man's legs from underneath him. Simon left his empty bag and ran away from the scene as the other three ran over to the two men that were fighting; all had their blades out.

Dicko called after Simon, but the father of one disappeared into the wooded area. Dicko decided to make a run for it as well, now that the three were near him, and the fourth man with the axe was scrambling to his feet. Dicko ran through the wooded area, after Simon, and knew that Imelda's dad was heading for the car. Where else would he go?

Dicko had exited the other end of the cluster of trees and ran as fast as he could. He had always been a quick runner, even as a child, and appeared to be making good ground and leaving the four assailants behind, but he needed to get back to the car and pull away before they reached them. He needed to be ten seconds ahead of them, at least, giving him time to get inside the vehicle and start the engine. He turned left and ran into the lay-by where the car was, but there was no Simon.

"Oh no."

He gazed at all the products in the back of the car and was aware that the four individuals from the visitor centre weren't far behind. He took his keys out of his front pocket and got inside. He started the engine and pulled away. His driver's side window was being slapped and he quickly looked to see that it was one of the men from the centre trying to slap and punch his way in. The car reached twenty in seconds and Dicko could see that the man, and the other three, had stopped trying to pursue the vehicle. The car took a bend and Dicko had shifted the vehicle into fourth and was now doing thirty. He then slowed down and pulled in at the side.

He couldn't go back to the farm without Simon. He couldn't have left the vehicle either; otherwise the four individuals would have taken back the products as well as the car.

Dicko was in a hopeless quandary now. What was he to do? He had to drive round the country lanes and hoped Simon would jump out and flag the car down. But what if the four that they had stolen from ambushed him? That was the risk.

He flirted with the idea of parking up the vehicle once more, somewhere secluded, and trying to search for Simon in the woods on foot.

"Stupid prick," Dicko huffed, thinking back at what Simon did.

Simon Washington had left Dicko to his own devices. Without warning, he just ran, leaving Dicko to fend for himself. He wasn't sure if he should have been angry with Simon. Maybe preparing to fight was stupid on Dicko's part, but he was certain that they were going to be killed even if they both yielded.

Simon had Imelda to think of, so Dicko knew his reason for fleeing, but he was also a coward. That was going to have to change. _Simon_ was going to have to change, just like Dicko did.

Simon and his daughter had survived the Canavars, the bombs, but as far as human savagery was concerned, this was just the beginning. It was going to get a hell of a lot worse than this.

Simon had told Dicko that he and Imelda called the plague of the dead Stage One. When the bombs fell, Simon called this Stage Two. Maybe Survivors killing other survivors was Stage Three.

Dicko punched the steering wheel in frustration. Maybe he should return to the farm without Simon, at least then he could empty the car and the girls would have treats to munch on, and then he could go look for him.

"Fuck it."

The man that called himself Dicko pulled away and took a left at a junction. He was going to drive for ten to fifteen minutes, and then he was going to go back, with or without Simon Washington.

He couldn't think of anything else to do.
Chapter Twenty-Four

Dicko came to a junction and took a left. He kept the vehicle in third, at twenty, and pulled out his trench knife and sat it on the passenger seat, just in case. With the tall intimidating trees on either side of him, he turned his head from left to right, smothered in paranoia.

"Come on, Simon," he moaned. "Where the fuck are you?"

Seconds after his groan, Simon Washington was seen coming out of the woods on the right, thirty yards up ahead. Dicko flashed the car's lights at him and the man on foot stopped. He stared for a few seconds, and then ran towards the car that was heading his way. Dicko stopped and Simon entered the passenger side without saying a word.

Dicko moved away and took quick disapproving glances at his shamefaced passenger as he went through the gears. Dicko decided to drive back to the farm in silence, waiting for Simon to speak.

He had been in the car for two minutes and Simon finally spoke, "I'm really sorry for what happened," he said. "I panicked."

"No shit," the driver mumbled.

"I'm a coward. What can I say?"

"You left me there to die, Simon."

Simon flashed the driver a quick look and said with a frown, "Now you're being melodramatic."

"Oh really?" Dicko slammed on the brakes and pulled the parking brake up. He turned to Simon with a vicious glare, making his passenger jump, and said, "You need to grow some fucking balls, and pretty soon. Those four pricks weren't there to give us a spanking, they were going to kill us."

"Wait a minute. I have a daughter to think about. If I die..."

"You still need to grow a pair, daughter or no daughter. In fact, you'll need to grow some for the _sake_ of her. If you two ever end up on your own again ... I'll never know how the fuck you've lasted this long."

Snapped Simon, "Don't forget who gave you a roof over your head."

"And don't forget who saved your life. As for the roof over my head ... you honestly think I couldn't take that place for myself if I really wanted to, if I was a real heartless bastard?"

Simon screwed his eyes at Dicko and could feel his blood boil. "What are you saying? You would have hurt me and my little girl to get that house for yourself?"

Dicko sighed and sat back in his seat, his head resting on the head restraint. "Let's just go back, before we say anything else that we'll regret."

He moved away and was driving for a matter of seconds, then both men could now see the axe bearer from the visitor centre step out of the woods from almost twenty yards away. The man began yelling into the woods that he had spotted the car. It was obvious that he was speaking to his three friends who hadn't appeared yet, and he had been the first of the four to have stepped out from the condensed woodland.

"Hold on," Dicko said to his passenger.

By the time Dicko had reached forty in fourth gear, he was near the axe bearer. He turned the steering wheel slightly to the right, aiming for the individual, and saw the other three step out seconds before he made impact. The Mazda struck the man and a huge clatter was made as the individual hit the bonnet of the car and went over the roof. Dicko never stopped the vehicle and took a quick peep in his rear view mirror and could see the man lying in the middle of the road.

"Holy fuck!" Simon gasped and looked around, staring out of the rear window. "Do you think he's dead?"

"More than likely." Dicko nodded.

"Well, I don't think we should be going back to that area again. Especially with the other three hanging around."

"Doesn't matter where we go. There will always be the possibility of danger. We were lucky with the homestore. Even the supermarket had been claimed. There is _one_ good thing to come out of all of this," Dicko said.

"Yeah? And what's that, mate?"

"The only travelling we need to do for a while is to the pond and back. We have those bottles from the supermarket, so we can get them filled once we've drank them. No more buckets."

Simon nodded. "And if Yoler gets this allotment up and running at the back of the house, things will be looking up. But the winter ..."

"Don't worry about the winter." Dicko slowed the vehicle and took a sharp bend to the left. "A few more minutes and we're nearly home."
Chapter Twenty-Five

Yoler had spent an hour digging a plot. It was small, but she was going to extend it day by day. The first seeds that she was going to plant were the potatoes. She told Imelda that this time of the year was almost perfect for planting potatoes. They planted the King Edward seeds in loamy soil and had put in pre-planting potato feed in first and forked the soil. They had many others to plant, but the digging process and the planting of the potatoes alone had taken up most of the morning.

Yoler could hear the sound of an engine. She looked up and could see the two men returning from their trip to the woods.

*

Hours had passed, and Imelda had decided to have an early night. She helped as best as she could, helping the three adults to empty the car. It was a great feeling for everyone. The cupboards in the kitchen were full of sodas, tins and chocolate bars, the potato seeds had been planted and there was going to be more to follow.

Yoler sat down in the armchair, opposite Simon, and Dicko was in the kitchen, filtering the last of the water from the yellow bucket. With the sodas available, all agreed that they were in no rush to take another trip to the pond. Tomorrow they were going to play it by ear.

"So..." Yoler said and revealed a smile. There were signs of some decay in some of her front teeth that Simon hadn't noticed before, but that was understandable considering the world they were living in now. Thankfully, toothbrushes and toothpaste was something else that they had taken from the supermarket. Despite the decay, Yoler was still a beautiful woman.

"So?" Simon scrunched his eyes in confusion. "What is it?"

"Now that Imelda is in bed," Yoler began and spoke loud enough that Dicko could also hear her. "Are you two gonna tell me what happened when you went out?"

"I don't know what you mean." Simon shrugged his shoulders. Even though Yoler didn't know Simon well, she could tell he was lying.

"Come on, Simes," Yoler snickered. "You and Dicky Boy have hardly spoken to one another since you've got back. You two haven't had a Brokeback Mountain episode while you were out in those woods, have you?"

"No," Simon sighed.

"And those dents on that car weren't there before."

"Oh, you saw them?"

"Yep."

Simon puffed out a breath and clocked Yoler gazing at him with those wonderful large dark eyes of hers, waiting for the truth to spill out of the man's mouth. Simon decided to tell the truth.

Dicko remained in the kitchen as Simon informed Yoler what had happened. He told her about the four individuals turning up, his cowardice, and that he had left Dicko in a precarious position. He flushed as he told her how he had ran and was eventually picked up by Dicko. And he informed the twenty-six-year-old female that one of the gang was purposely run down on the way back to the farm.

"Dead?" Yoler asked.

"Possibly." Simon nodded. "It was a hell of a hit."

"Fuckity fuck."

"I know."

"Jesus Christ on a cross." She shook her head and sighed, "What was Dicky Boy thinking?"

Simon shrugged his shoulders.

"Let's hope to piss they don't find this place."

"That's what I was thinking." Simon rubbed his eyes. It was time for a nap before doing a few hours guarding during the night. Dicko was going to do most of it.

Yoler remarked, "You look tired."

Simon smiled. "I was gonna try and get an hour before doing my stint."

"Good idea."

Simon rose to his feet and held his hand up at Yoler. Dicko emerged from the kitchen and stepped into the living room.

"Simon!" Dicko called out.

Simon stopped and turned around.

"No hard feelings." Dicko held out his hand. "Let's wipe the slate clean and start again tomorrow."

Simon looked relieved, produced a thin smile, and shook his hand. "I'm sorry I let you down. It won't happen again."

"Forget it."

Simon lowered his head and turned on his heels. He went though the living room door and slowly made his way to the first floor. He opened his room and could see that Imelda was fast asleep, still dressed in her day clothes. It was still light outside and he could see her face perfectly. He lay next to her and kissed her on the head. He sniffed her hair and decided that he would take her down to the pond and get herself washed the next day, despite deciding earlier that he wasn't going to bother.

His daughter smelt a bit stale.

He kissed her again and then sat up to take his boots off. He sat at the side of the bed and kicked them off, then noticed an A4 piece of paper sitting to his right on the side table.

Simon picked up the piece of paper and his heart sank when his eyes clocked the drawing. It was the same drawing that Imelda had been working on before Simon and Dicko had left.

The drawing was in pencil. In the middle of the picture, at the bottom, Imelda had drawn a car. On the left side of his car were six bodies, standing up with their arms out. Simon guessed correctly that these were Canavars, and on the other side of the car was a man and a girl, Simon and Imelda. Tyler and Diana had been also drawn, but Imelda had placed them at the top of the paper, in the clouds, in heaven.

The picture had been worked on and the little girl had added extra details, compared to when Simon had seen the picture for the first time. Where Imelda had drawn Diana and Tyler in the clouds, she had added four more individuals and Simon guessed that she had put her grandparents there, Simon and Diana's parents. There was no evidence that his or Diana's parents had died, but he was convinced they were gone. What filled his eyes was the speech bubble she gave Tyler who was in the clouds with his mummy and grandparents. In the speech bubble Imelda had written: "Daddy, don't leave me!" which were Tyler's last words before those dead bastards took him down.

In the picture, Tyler was saying those words when he was in the clouds, when he was dead. But in reality, he screamed those words to Simon when he was still alive, before he experienced the first bite, but Simon was hardly going to tell his daughter that the picture wasn't a correct account of what really happened. She was only eight years old, for Christ's sake!

My poor baby girl.

Simon lay down next to his daughter once again and put his arm around her. She was snoring gently and her red lips were pouted.

He had a short cry to himself, and then he nodded off for half an hour.
Chapter Twenty-Six

Next Day

Yoler and Simon were up early, sitting in the living room. Imelda was still in bed and Dicko was now sleeping in one of the rooms after doing most of the guarding during the night.

Yoler was sitting in the middle of the couch and Simon was opposite her, lounging in the armchair. She could see he was crestfallen and had every sympathy for the man, especially that he had another soul to look after as well as his own.

"You okay, Simes?" Yoler asked. "You look like somebody has jizzed in your Corn Flakes."

"I'm okay." Simon took in a deep breath and groaned, "Just sick of shitting in a bucket."

"At least we managed to get all that toilet and kitchen roll from the supermarket," said Yoler.

Simon never responded and Yoler smiled and rose to her feet. "I'm gonna take a look outside."

She went into the kitchen and unbolted the door. She stepped outside. It was cloudy but dry, and the temperature was reasonable enough not to need a coat.

She began to inspect her handy work from yesterday, and quickly turned around, noticing Simon was now exiting the house to take in some fresh air.

Simon scratched his dark hair and could see that Yoler had filled some buckets with soil as well as creating a large square patch for other products due to be planted.

"You've done well," said Simon, smiling at the woman.

"Thanks."

"You really busted your arse over this, haven't you?"

"I've had some help, Simes."

Simon rubbed his stomach and could feel a little pain where his colon was situated. He was constipated earlier and it had been the first time he had evacuated any faeces in days. He put it down to lack of hydration as well as eating, and stuck by his decision to take another trip to the pond. They had plenty of fluids now, but Imelda needed a wash, but it wasn't something he wanted to do with just the two of them. Not after what happened before.

"When you've done all that," Simon said to Yoler. "Do you fancy a walk to the pond? I need to get Imelda washed."

"Sure." She nodded.

"If you want a rest, I'll understand."

"No, it's fine. I could do with a change of scenery."

Simon smiled and was about to say something further, but Yoler had beaten him to it.

"I was thinking about our sanitation issue earlier, Simes," she began.

"Oh?"

"Yeah." She nodded. "I was thinking about another method, now that toilets don't really work."

"Like pit latrines?"

"No." Yoler shook her head. "Pit latrine is a good idea, but they have some serious drawbacks, the first of being that they stink."

"Then what?"

"A composting toilet."

"What's that?"

Simon looked up and waited for an answer off of Yoler, but he was staring out, down to where the trees were, where the pond was behind.

"What's up?" Simon stood next to her. "Did you see something?"

"I don't know."

Simon looked up to the sky to see that, despite the murky clouds, the sun was desperately trying to shine from behind them. "Maybe it's just the glare."

"Maybe." Yoler nodded. She then turned around when Imelda stepped out. She had clearly just woken up and went over to Simon and wrapped her arms around her daddy's waist.

"You okay, babe?"

"I woke up, " she moaned, "and you weren't there."

Simon rubbed her back and felt her arms tightening around his waist.

"Listen," Simon began. "Me and Yoler are going to the pond for a wash, and you're coming as well."

Yoler said, "Why don't we kill two birds with one stone and get some water as well? You can never have enough."

"I don't want to kill any birds, Yoler," said Imelda.

"Relax," Simon chucked. "It's just a saying."

"I'll go and get the soap," Yoler spoke up and added, "I could do with a bit of a clean myself. I'm beginning to smell like a fish market down in the nether regions, know what I mean?"

*

Dicko was now awake. Yoler had woken him up before she left the farm with Simon and his daughter.

The walk to the pond was a pleasurable experience for Simon Washington. The day was still murky, but at least it was dry and humid, and he closed his eyes and moaned every time the wind gently stroked his face. Alongside him was Yoler, singing _Dear Prudence_ , and to his other side was little Imelda. Most of the walk had been made in silence, with the exception of Imelda singing a Katie Perry tune every now and again.

Yoler was carrying a bag with six empty bottles that were going to be filled. Simon told her that they had more than enough fluids for the time being, but Yoler insisted. She also had a bar of soap and a towel stuffed inside and insisted on carrying it before they left. The bag was light, but the empty-handed Simon still felt guilty.

"We need go through those trees and the pond should be there," Imelda said to Yoler.

Yoler smiled, and didn't have the heart to tell the eight-year-old that she knew where the pond was. She had been there before.

The three of them walked through the trees, but Yoler's steps were more careful than the father and the daughter's.

"Why are you taking your time?" Simon turned around and could see that the female was a few yards behind Imelda and himself. Yoler was walking on her tiptoes through the long grass, like she was barefoot and trying to avoid broken glass.

Yoler never answered Simon's query, so he asked her the same question, hoping that the second time round he'd get an answer.

"Doesn't it worry you that there could be spring coil animal traps in here?" Yoler said, still staring at the ground and stepping ever so carefully. "There could be traps that have been here for months, left by poachers, before the shit hit the fan."

Yoler could see Imelda looking at Simon, knowing that the little girl was shocked to hear the _shit_ word.

Noticing this, Yoler apologised and said, "When I said ... _shit hit the fan_ ... I meant when the dead arrived."

"Me and daddy call it Stage One," said Imelda.

"Oh."

Simon continued to walk, but was more careful where he put his feet after Yoler's announcement. Did Yoler have a point? Dicko was a survivor and never mentioned the threat of traps as such.

Once they were out of the trees, they made the short walk to the pond. All three stopped by the water's edge and gazed at the water.

"It's beautiful, don't you think?" Yoler dropped the bag on the ground and placed her hands on her hips, looking around the area. Trees surrounded the water and the pond itself was like a large mirror.

"I suppose." Simon hunched his shoulders. "Never really thought about it, to be perfectly honest with you."

Yoler bent over and began to take the empty bottles out of the bags. She threw Simon a bar of soap and a towel, and Simon and Imelda walked ten yards around the pond and began to take their shoes and socks off. They held hands and walked into the pond. Once the water was up to their ankles, Simon told Imelda to stop walking and took her top off and his as well.

"We'll just wash our top half today," he told his daughter. "We can come back down here tomorrow."

"The water's cold," Imelda moaned and began to shiver.

"It'll just be for a few minutes." Simon pointed by the water's edge where the towel sat. "And then we'll dry off straight away."

"Okay."

Simon said, "Ready?"

Imelda nodded, her lips still quivering with the cold. "Are you going to wash my hair as well?"

Simon nodded, and then bent down and dipped the soap in the water and began rubbing the soap on his hands. He soaped his body, bent over and dipped his head in the water. He rubbed some in his hair and beard and then dipped his head again. He passed Imelda the soap and she began to also wash her body and her hair. She wouldn't be able to wash it like the old days, but it'd have to do.

On bath nights, on a Thursday and Sunday, Diana would wash Imelda's hair with shampoo and then conditioner. She would then dry off and go to her parents' room to blow dry and brush her hair. As a special treat, Diana would sometimes straighten Imelda's hair with the hair straighteners. But now, a bar of soap and a cold pond was the best that was on offer.

Simon looked to his left and could see that Yoler had almost filled the bottles. He had been washed, but was waiting for Imelda to finish washing her hair. He wanted Imelda to use the towel first. If he used it first, she would be left with a damp towel to dry herself off.

Simon went back to the grass and stood shivering, patiently waiting for his little girl to finish. Finally, Imelda had finished and made her way over to her dad. He picked the towel up and handed it to his little girl. She dried her body first, put her T-shirt back on, and then wrapped the towel around her head.

"Should have brought two towels," Simon muttered.

Simon picked up his black T-shirt off the ground and put it back on his damp body.

"I'm sorry, daddy," Imelda said, realising she was hogging the towel.

"I was almost dry anyway," Simon began to laugh and turned to Yoler. He called over to her, "What about you? You having a wash?"

"What are you trying to say, cheeky prick?" Yoler had her hands on her hips and glared at Simon.

"Erm..." Simon decided to be brutally honest. "Well, I don't think you've washed since you've been with us. And didn't you say you smelt like a fish market?"

"Am I starting to smell?" Yoler snarled. "Is that what you're saying? I'm beginning to stink like a monkey's arse?"

"Erm..." Simon gulped. He was in two minds whether to reprimand Yoler for saying _prick_ and _arse_ in front of his daughter, but he thought: What's the point?

"Relax," Yoler began to snicker. "I'm just pulling your pisser. Throw me the soap over, you clown."

_Prick, arse and now pisser_. Simon shook his head and still kept his mouth shut.

He took the soap and threw it over to Yoler, then took the towel and walked over this time and placed it on the grass, near where Yoler was. She kept a hold of the soap and took her top off. Simon turned away when he realised she wasn't wearing a bra and began to put his shoes and socks back on, helping Imelda with hers.

"That's me finished," Yoler announced some two minutes later. "Everything cleaned: Armpits, buttocks, and even managed to soap up the growler while you weren't looking."

Simon shook his head. "For God's sake."

Yoler walked over to the bag and put the soap in, followed by the towel. She then took the bag and went over to where the bottles were lying and put them in the bag. She bent down and zipped the bag up, ready to go, and then stood up as she threw it over her shoulder.

"Are you two ready to go?" she asked them.

Both father and daughter nodded.

Imelda looked up and gasped, pointing ahead of her and exclaimed, "Daddy! Who's that?"
Chapter Twenty-Seven

All three stood and stared in silence. What they could see in the distance was a boy, no older than ten, walking at the other side of the pond.

"Where the hell did he come from?" Simon muttered.

Yoler shook her head. "Bollocksed if I know."

Simon raised his hand and waved at the boy. They could all faintly hear that the boy was crying, and guessed that he was lost.

"Poor thing," said Simon. "Let's go round and see what we can do for the little guy."

"His guardians can't be too far away," Yoler said, and was now following Simon and Imelda, who were both walking around the pond to meet up with the boy.

"You think?"

Yoler could feel the heavy bag slipping off her shoulder and moved the strap back up. "There's no way a child that age could survive on its own. He's either ran away or his guardians have ... well, you know."

As they got closer, it was clear that the boy was frightened. He was wearing a pair of red shorts and a matching top, with trainers on his feet.

Simon, Yoler and Imelda approached the boy and stopped a few yards away from his presence. He looked nervous and teary, but Simon thought without Imelda's presence the boy would be more terrified.

"Are you okay, little fellow?" Simon asked the infant and crouched down to his level.

The boy began to cry and wailed, "I'm lost."

"Where're you from?" Yoler asked the boy.

The boy pointed into the woods and Yoler and Simon gaped at each other briefly.

Yoler asked another question. "And what's your name?"

"My mummy said I shouldn't talk to strange people."

"Yoler's not that strange," Simon tried to joke.

Yoler stood up straight and looked at Simon. "Shall we take him back to his home?"

"Home?" Simon blew out his lips and moaned, "We don't even know where his home is."

"Well, we can't leave him here, can we?"

Simon stood and thought for a moment, unsure what was for the best. There were only two options he could think of: Take the boy back to his home, wherever that may be. Or take him back to _their_ place and hope that the boy's guardian decides to look for him at the farm so they could be reunited. Leaving him wasn't an option.

"We should try and take him back to his ... home. Shall we take Imelda back to the farm first?" Simon asked Yoler.

"No, I don't think that's a good idea," she responded with no hesitation. "If we return this kid to his guardians and we also have Imelda by our side, the people will know we're not a threat. And more importantly, we won't be attacked."

"Do you think the people where this boy stays are ... bad guys?"

Yoler laughed at Simon's naivety, which he took offence to. She stopped giggling and raised her hand at Simon as a way of apologising to the man.

She said, "I'm sorry. You say _bad guys_ , but maybe _we're_ the bad guys to other people."

Simon ignored Yoler's comment and turned to the frightened boy. The little man was a cute thing with dark hair and large brown eyes. "Do you know exactly where you stay?"

"In the woods," was his vague answer.

"If he knew exactly where he stayed, Simes," Yoler snickered, "he wouldn't be lost in the first place, would he?"

Simon rubbed his chin in thought and knew that Yoler had a point. Maybe taking him back to theirs was the only thing to do.

Voices could be heard in the distance, from within the woods. It sounded like two or three different voices, and they were all calling the name _David_.

"You recognise those voices?" Yoler asked the little man.

For the first time, the little boy had managed a wide smile and said, "Mummy's one of them."

"Good." Simon smiled. "So you must be David."

The little boy nodded.

"We can wait here and let them come to _us_."

"Is that definitely your mummy's voice," Yoler asked little David as the voices continued to bellow through the woodland.

David nodded rapidly and continued to smile; the relief could be seen on his innocent face.

"Then you should call her, so that she knows where you are."

David did as he was told, whilst Simon, Yoler and young Imelda took a step back.

The woman's voice yelled, seconds after David called out for his mum, "David! Oh my God! David, is that you?"

"I'm by the pond, mummy!" David cried.

"Straight ahead!" the woman's voice yelled to her companions.

Simon and Yoler didn't know exactly whom she was talking to, but they'd soon know. They could see three figures in the trees heading their way. Yoler and Simon gazed into the trees as the excited yells continued, but they still couldn't see the faces of the three individuals that were approaching.

David took a step closer to the trees and ran in once he clocked his mum's face.

Both mother and son hugged from around twenty yards where Yoler, Simon and Imelda were standing, and could see his mother break away from the embrace and look at the three of them with suspicion. So did her other two male companions.

Simon and Yoler could hear the little lad say to his mum, "It's okay, mummy. They're my friends."

_Friends. Bless his innocence_. Simon smiled. _He doesn't even know us._

Simon took in a deep breath as the four individuals, including David, began to walk forwards. They were heading out of the trees and around the pond, heading for Simon, Yoler and Imelda.

The people from the woods practically stepped out at the same time. The first person that Simon had clocked was a woman in her late thirties. It was David's mum. She was in tears, had dark bobbed hair, brown eyes and was very pretty in the face. She was a little heavy, but Simon thought that she was very attractive.

The woman walked over to Simon and gave him a hug. "Thank you," she cried. "Thank you so much."

She broke away and wiped her eyes. She took a step backwards and put her arm around her son. The two other people that were with her were men. There was a man in his thirties, with dark hair, attractive and slim. There was also a scary looking individual, bald, thin, and looked to be in his early forties, and he stood next to the thankful woman.

The pretty woman placed her hand on her chest and said, "My name's Helen." She then pointed at the scary bald man to her side. "This is Donald. He's our leader." She then turned and pointed at the younger man with dark hair. "And this is Gavin."

Simon smiled and introduced Yoler and his daughter to the three of them.

Neither party shook hands or even spoke to one another. They simply gave off a nod of the head once they were introduced. There was an awkward silence between the two groups, forcing Yoler to say, "I'm glad you have your boy back. We better be off."

"Of course." Helen smiled. It was such a pretty smile, Simon thought.

"Right," the bald man standing next to Helen growled, "crisis over. Let's get back."

"Back to where?" Yoler asked politely.

"None of your fucking business," the bald man snapped. "That's where, darling."

Yoler took a step forward, narrowed her eyes and said, "The last guy that called me darling got a knife in his gut."

"Donald," Helen scolded. "don't talk to her like that. These are good people."

"Its okay," Simon laughed. "I suppose we're all a bit paranoid ... and maybe a little overprotective."

"Mummy?" David spoke.

"What is it?" Helen bent down and David whispered in her ear. As this was going on, Helen glanced over at Imelda a couple of times.

Once David had finished his whispering, Helen stood up and said, "I'm not sure that's a good idea, David. I think we better go back and leave these people in peace."

"What's up?" Simon asked. He had an idea what the short conversation was about, but asked anyway.

"David would like to play with Imelda for a while." Helen blushed and scratched the back of her head. "It's been a while since we've seen someone of similar age."

"Same here." Simon looked at Yoler and thought for a few seconds before saying, "I'll tell you what. Why don't you come to ours for a couple of hours? We also have another person back at the farmhouse you should meet."

"You live on a farm?"

Simon nodded.

Helen looked at Donald. "How did we not come across that?"

"I knew it was there all along," the bald man growled. "We're better off in the woods, and not out in the open, exposed."

"Anyway," Simon continued before an argument broke out between Helen and the volatile Donald. "Come to ours and we'll walk you back to yours later on. What do you say?"

Donald and Gavin looked at one another and shook their heads. They didn't approve.

"Don't worry, guys," snickered Simon. "I meant just Helen and David." Simon then flashed the two men a cheeky smile and gave the pair of them a wink. "You're not invited."

"I don't want this prick knowing where we're staying, you dig what I'm sayin'?" Donald pointed a menacing finger over at Simon.

Helen sighed at Donald and said, "He's taking us to his place first. Calm down. And he saved David."

"Well," Simon began, "I'm not sure we _saved_ the boy. We just stood about for a bit."

"Anyway," Helen grabbed David's hand and said to Donald, "We won't be long."

"We'll bring them back in one piece," Yoler spoke to the bald man and gave him a little wave.

The man called Donald Brownstone bit his lip and huffed, "Fine. Do what you fucking want!"

"Now, now," Helen sniggered. "Language in front of the kids."

Simon waved goodbye to Donald and Gavin. Donald just glared, but Gavin waved them off as Helen, David, Simon, Yoler and Imelda began to move away from Gavin and Donald and around the pond, heading back.

Helen, David and Imelda were walking ahead as Simon and Yoler lagged a few yards behind.

"Well, he seems delightful," Simon said to Yoler, referring to the Donald character. "Charming, wasn't he?"

"Charming?" Yoler scoffed and said in a whisper, "More like a cunt. The younger guy seems okay. I wouldn't kick him out of bed for farting."

Simon said, "I don't think that Donald fellow likes you."

"Doesn't like me? That's fine. He can take a seat with the rest of the bitches that are waiting for me to give a fuck."
Chapter Twenty-Eight

Dicko was outside and admiring Yoler's handy work. He folded his arms and stared at the soon-to-be vegetable patch, and at the buckets where she had planted the potato seeds. Originally she was going to plant the potatoes in the patch, but had changed her mind. Yoler told Dicko that it would take between two to three months for them to be ready, as well as the other produce. Thank goodness they had raided the supermarket and the kiosk at the visitor centre, Dicko thought.

Dicko could hear voices from behind him. He turned around, his hand resting on the leather holster where the trench knife rested, and took a few steps forwards, looking down the grassy hill.

Five figures could be seen approaching from a fair distance. He knew three of them, but the female and the little boy were a mystery. _What's this? More survivors? Two more mouths to feed?_

He stood with his hands on his hips and waited for the first person to approach. When they were only twenty yards away, he was greeted with smiles and a wave from Imelda. Dicko raised his hand and said to Simon, "What's this?" He nodded over to Helen and her son.

"They're guests," Simon began to explain. "We've actually managed to bump into people that are decent for a change."

"Apart from that Donald geezer," said Yoler. "He's a bit of a bell end."

"Donald's okay," said Helen. "He's just a bit grumpy." Helen held out her hand and introduced herself and her son to Dicko.

"I'm Dicko," he said.

Helen never battered an eyelid and accepted Dicko's name without making any wisecracks.

"Go inside," Simon urged mother and son. "Have a look around."

"Come on." Yoler took Imelda's hand and said to the guests, "I'll show you about."

They disappeared inside and Simon told Dicko what had happened once they were left alone.

"And they're only visiting, right?" Dicko asked Simon, looking concerned. "I don't want this place ending up like The Little House on the Prairie."

"Don't worry, John Boy," Simon laughed and said further, "They already have a place in the woods. We met two others. They seem ... okay, kind of. Two guys."

"You don't sound so sure," Dicko began to snigger.

"Anyway," Simon sighed. "We're gonna take a walk over to their place once Helen's had enough here."

"She seems quite nice." Dicko began to smile and winked at Simon, playfully nudging him in the side.

"She _is_ , so keep your filthy mitts off her." Simon gave Dicko a glare, but Dicko could see that he couldn't keep a straight face. "Anyway, we don't even know her background. She could be a widow. She could be grieving."

"She could also be choking for it," Dicko laughed.

"You're a very bad man." Simon tucked in his top lip and began to chew it in thought. He turned to Dicko and said, "About yesterday..."

"Let's not go over this again." Dicko shook his head. "Forget it. _I_ have."

"Admittedly, I left you in the shit, and I'm sorry." Simon ran his shaky fingers through his beard and continued, "Imelda and I have spent most of our days hiding. We've had to."

"You don't have to explain. Seriously." Dicko placed a comforting hand on Simon's shoulder and could see he was beating himself up over the incident. "I understand why you did it. Your experience of violence and confrontations is minimal, and not only that..."

"What?"

"Like you've mentioned before ... If anything happened to you..."

"Just the thought of her being alone for one day, after all she's been through, kills me inside."

"Okay." Dicko smiled and scratched his nose. "Let's just say that you die tomorrow. Do you honestly think me and Yoler would up sticks and abandon that little girl?"

"Probably not." Simon lowered his head like a child after being reprimanded by its parent.

Changing the subject, Dicko cleared his throat and said softly, "So what's the purpose of this trip to their small camp?"

"I don't really know." Simon hunched his shoulders. "When Helen decides she wants to go back, I thought it'd be best if just me, Yoler and Imelda went. Is that okay with you? Don't wanna be leaving this place unguarded."

"It'd be interesting to see what kind of set up they've got." Dicko nodded in agreement.

"It will," Simon agreed.

"Besides, I'll probably get to see it another time."

"Of course, and there're a few new characters to meet."

"But what's the point? To make new friends?"

"I suppose just knowing that there are good people about kind of dampens paranoia we have in survivors in general. Maybe in the future we could help each other out, regarding food, and anything else that pops up."

Dicko nodded, but wasn't too keen on the idea. Helen and the boy seemed nice, but he was concerned that if these survivors came across rough times and needed a place to stay, then their own food supply would suffer. If things got so bad, would they feel obliged to put these people up? If that were the case, then that would mean more mouths to feed.

Simon could feel his tooth throbbing in the back of his mouth again. He winced, gave his mouth a quick rub and then nodded down at the made patch of soil, ready for seeds to be planted. "Are you gonna add to that while we're away?"

"I did say to Yoler that I could give it a go, but I don't think she trusts me." Dicko chuckled gently and added, "Maybe she's a control freak."

"Or maybe she thinks that you'll fuck it up," Simon laughed.

"More than likely."

Yoler exited the house and onto the back garden, smiling at Simon and Dicko. Helen wasn't far behind her.

"Where're the kids?" Simon queried Yoler.

"Upstairs," she said. "They can have half an hour and then we're gonna take Helen and David back."

Helen smiled and said, "Thanks. They seem to be getting on really well. It's good for the pair of them."

"I agree." Simon nodded. "It's been a while since she's had company around her own age. We should definitely do this again."

Dicko yawned and was growing tired of the small talk. He looked over at Helen and asked, "So Helen, what's your story? Are you still married, or...?"

Both Yoler and Simon verbally blasted the man for his rude question and gave him a cold glare.

"What?" Dicko held both of his hands up as if someone was pointing a gun at him. "I'm just intrigued, that's all. Just trying to make conversation with our guest."

"It's okay," said Helen, and gave off a little giggle. "I'm not offended." She took in a deep breath and told them all, "It's just me and David. My husband died before it all happened."

"I'm sorry," Dicko said.

"He died of a brain haemorrhage four years ago," she said sadly. "David doesn't even remember him. He says he _does_ , but I think he just says that so he doesn't hurt my feelings, bless him."

The group fell silent and Helen turned and looked at the opened back door and through into the kitchen. She saw Imelda and David running out, both giggling, and both of them stopped running once they reached the four adults.

"That's the first time for a long time I've seen Imelda smiling," Simon said, looking at David.

Helen nodded. "Same here."

"Right, you two," Yoler clapped her hands loudly to get the attention of the two youngsters. "I hope you two have been to the toilet, because we have a camp to go back to ... wherever it is Helen and David stay."

"Are we going now, mummy?" David moaned. He was clearly having a good time at the farm, and now these adults were about to ruin it.

"I'm afraid so," his mum replied, "but Imelda, her dad, and Yoler are walking us back. They've showed us round their place, so we're going to do the same."

"Are we ready?" Simon looked over at Helen and smiled.

She nodded.
Chapter Twenty-Nine

The five of them slowly walked down the grassy incline and headed for the small cluster of trees.

Once they were on flat land and were near the trees, Yoler spoke up.

She said, "I like this walk. I could get used to this."

"You like this walk?" Simon narrowed his eyes at Yoler. "Why?"

"It's just a nice change, Simes. I'm used to walking through barren streets, going through homes that are abandoned, stepping over bodies that have been dead for months. It's like the lands, streets and towns are now full of ghosts, rather than people."

They walked, all side by side, and Simon spoke up and mentioned that Yoler had told him about animal coils spring traps.

"Well, we've never come across any where _we_ were," Helen remarked. "And we've lived in the woods for a while."

"Okay," said Simon and turned to his daughter, "but you're still walking behind me and following my lead. I'm not taking any chances."

They entered the small cluster and were out at the other side and near the pond in minutes. Yoler was now leading the way and went right to walk around the pond. Helen, Simon, Imelda and David were close behind, but they all stopped once Yoler held her hand up, like a captain to his platoon, and everybody remained motionless and quiet, patiently waiting for an explanation from the twenty-six-year-old female.

"I thought I heard something." She turned and gazed at the two adults, and then the two children. To their credit, both kids looked relaxed and were behaving impeccably.

"Like what?" Simon put his hand in his pocket and was getting ready to take out his knife. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want Imelda to see him carrying a knife.

"Movement," was Yoler's short answer.

The rustle coming from the woods was to their right, at the other side of the pond, and the noise was growing, getting louder. Whatever was inside, it was getting close to revealing itself, or themselves.

Yoler pulled out her knife and took a few steps forward, and then they all saw what was in the woods. An Alsatian dog stepped out of the wooded area and growled as soon as its eyes clocked the five humans. Its black and faded red fur was matted in old blood, and the adult members of the group were certain that the blood was from other living things that the dog had attacked.

"Don't move," said Yoler, raising her arm to the people behind her. "This has happened a few times before with me."

"We had a couple of them in our camp a few weeks ago," Helen whispered to Simon.

"What happened?" he asked her nervously, dreading the answer.

"Donald and some of the others managed to chase them away?"

"Will it go away?" Simon called out to Yoler.

"Maybe," was her short vague answer. "Just keep still."

The dog cautiously stepped towards the group, snarling and gnashing, saliva running from its mouth.

"What's wrong with it, daddy?" Imelda groaned. "Is it ill?"

Simon placed his arm around his daughter and could feel her whole body shuddering. "It's not ill, babe. It's starving."

The canine took a few more careful steps further and stopped once Yoler stood up and made herself tall. The snarling and gnashing began to subside and the animal retreated, taking two steps back, then turned around and trotted off back into the woods with the greenery eventually swallowing the animal up.

All five relaxed and released relieved breaths out. Helen asked both minors how they were feeling and their responses suggested that they were both okay.

"Half the time we come this way, something seems to happen," Simon moaned.

"It was just a dog." Yoler shrugged her shoulders. "It's not what I'd call a major worry."

"No? What would _you_ call it then?"

"It's a normal way of life now," she said, shaking her head at Simon. "In one day I was attacked by a lone man, was attacked by two Canavars, and shot at by a farmer who claimed I had got too close to his land, and then he set his dog on me."

"In one day?"

Yoler nodded with a smile.

Helen placed her hand over her mouth on hearing the story from Yoler, and asked the young woman, "So what happened with the dog? Did you manage to shake it off?"

"The mutt caught up with me. It was very quick."

"Were you hurt?"

"Nope." Yoler flicked her hair, moving her fringe from tickling her eyelashes. "Fortunately it was just _one_ dog. They're not so dangerous on their own, but if there were a pack of them..."

"So you killed it?" Helen asked.

Yoler nodded. "And it tasted delicious." She then began to move, heading to the woods. The other four followed.

Two minutes had passed, and the only words that had been spoken were strong words to the two kids. David and Imelda had been playfully poking one another with their fingers as they walked, unaware that the situation they were in could be dangerous. A minute had passed and the kids began to giggle behind the adults; this was followed by moaning about the walk and that their legs were tired. This resulted in David and Imelda being reprimanded by Helen and Simon.

It wasn't the time for horseplay, and it appeared that the dog incident had been quickly forgot about by the two infants.

Yoler was still leading the way, listening to Helen's instructions where to turn, and the two kids were behind Yoler, Simon was at the back of the line and Helen was in front of him, behind the two children.

Simon asked Helen, "How do you know where to go? All I can see is trees and bracken."

"I don't know." She hunched her shoulders and giggled in unison. "I just do. We've made this journey a few times when we go to the pond and collect water."

"I suppose we would have met eventually, if that's the case."

"Probably." She turned around and smiled at Simon.

He then lowered his head, smothered with guilt. _What are you doing?_ It was clear that she was attracted to him, but as soon as the thought of being with Helen for a brief second skated across his mind, the image of Diana and Tyler being taken down by the gang of Canavars polluted his thoughts. He whispered, "Sorry" to his wife and thought that there was no reason why he and Helen couldn't be friends without intimacy.

Helen smiled and said to Yoler, "We're nearly there."

"Really?" Yoler scratched her head and look confused. "I can't see piss all but trees."

Helen laughed, "Yes, we're well hidden. Just wait until you pass that huge sycamore."

As soon as Yoler did so, she saw a large bald guy standing next to four homemade huts and a large cabin. It was Donald. There were washing lines tied to trees, a fire with a pot on a metal grid, and a couple of people skulking about. The set up didn't seem as good as the one that Yoler and Simon had back at the farmhouse, but these people had made this from scratch. The farm was already there and Simon had just happened to stumble across it.

"I thought you'd got lost," Donald growled. "It'll be getting dark soon."

"Don't exaggerate," Helen chuckled, which seemed to have angered Donald.

Helen turned to Yoler and Simon and said, "Let me introduce you to everyone."

"Er ... okay," said Simon.

"You know Donald," she pointed at the miserable looking man and then clapped her hands. "Everybody come out! There're people here for you to meet!"

Seven people had gathered in the middle of the area where they stayed, some exiting the small huts that they were staying in. There were ten people in all, including Helen, young David, and the grumpy Donald Brownstone.

Yoler noticed that the small area had thin rope around the circumference of the small camp and had tins and chimes attached to the rope. There were small manmade huts, but there was also an impressive looking cabin that was to their side. Yoler guessed correctly that the cabin had already been there when the group had turned up to this particular part of the woods, and had built their small huts near it. The rope was tied around the trees and was at knee height. It had obviously been put there to warn the campers of any intruders, especially during the night.

Helen began introducing the people to Yoler and Simon, but there were far too many names to remember. It looked like a reasonably young crowd and it appeared that Donald was the eldest at just forty-three years old.

She reeled off the names to Yoler and Simon: Hayley Bertrand, Gavin Bertrand, Jason Martins, Harriett Henderson, John Duncan, Jamie Monk and Gary Monk.

A young woman approached them and asked them if they wanted some soup. She nodded over to the large pot that was sitting on the fire.

"No thanks," Simon politely declined her offer.

"Don't mind if I do." Yoler wandered over and another woman by the name of Hayley, another blonde, gave Yoler a bowl and began to serve the soup.

"What kind of soup is it?" enquired Yoler.

Hayley smiled and said, "It has a bit of everything."

"Of course it does," Yoler laughed and began to slurp the soup once Hayley had passed her a spoon.

"Sit down," Helen smiled and pointed at the others. "Sit around the fire, everyone. Let's get to know our new friends."
Chapter Thirty

For many minutes they conversed with Helen's people, most of them sitting around the fire. Out of all of them, apart from Helen, Simon liked Gavin the best. He was a dark haired fellow, and was incredibly polite. His sister, Hayley, was also a nice woman. She had blonde hair and both had told Simon and Yoler that they had no kids and were both fortunately single when it all kicked off. Simon told them all about his own family and they seemed genuinely sorry for his loss.

"At least there ain't many of the dead about these days," Hayley said. "At least that's something."

Simon shook his head at Hayley and signalled her to keep it down. He looked over his shoulder and was relieved that his daughter was playing with David, out of earshot what the adults were talking about.

"What's the matter?" Hayley asked.

"I told Imelda that they're not around anymore," he said softly.

"You told her that?" Donald folded his arms, began to snicker and shook his head. "What did you tell her that pish for?"

"Because we hadn't seen one in ages." Simon was getting annoyed with Donald Brownstone. "What's it to you anyway?"

"It doesn't matter whether you're seven years old or seventeen, a person should be told what's really happening."

Helen could see that Simon was getting annoyed and she tried to change the subject, but no one was listening to her.

"She knows what's happening." Simon snapped. "We were all cowering in my basement as we heard the bombs fall."

"But you do know what _really_ happened, don't you?"

"Of course." Simon nodded, not entirely sure what Donald was getting at. "It started in that medical centre, in Newcastle. That was when the outbreak occurred. That was the start of the ... Canavars."

"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about months after, when the dead roamed our lands, and every other nation was shit scared, paranoid of it spreading. So they left us to fend for ourselves, and people, _millions_ of people, died. A lot of them reanimated and turned into those freaks, leaving us with an estimated ratio of ten to one, in the dead's favour."

"We're aware of this," Yoler scoffed. "Why are you telling us things that we already know?"

"Before I met up with this lot," Donald pointed at the people from his camp. "I was with a friend of mine and we met up with a stranger."

"A stranger?" Yoler queried.

"I don't know whether he was crazy or not, but he claimed to be a deserter from some regiment. He had heard that our major cities were nuked by the powers overseas, and the rest of our lands were bombed too nullify the danger. Then soldiers from NATO, or whoever the fuck it is, were going to go through our land and wipe out the remaining threat."

"I think you've been reading too many books," Yoler said with an imperfect smile.

"It's true."

"I don't believe that's what happened?" Yoler laughed. "Anyway, I don't think that nukes were used."

"I don't care what pish you believe, darling. I think it makes sense." Donald twitched his nose and added, "I was also told that escaping from the UK is impossible."

"Of course. The waters are freezing and the..."

"I'm talking about the English Channel. That's the only realistic way of escaping, especially from Dover to Calais. But the English Channel is swarming with boats. Any survivors escaping would be killed. Even the Channel Tunnel has been blocked up at both ends. Not that it makes any different to us, being six hundred miles away."

"I think your information is bollocks." Yoler paused and then added, "Don't you remember the first week, when we had power, when this thing was global? Didn't you watch TV when it kicked off? It's not just a UK problem. This thing was ... _is_ global."

"I know that, but it's not as bad in other European countries, or so I've heard."

"Now, you seem to be guessing." Yoler shook her head at the bald forty-three-year-old. "And as for the nukes..."

"I'm telling you now," Donald snapped. "Our cities were nuked. I've heard stories from other survivors who witnessed the cities from afar getting hit. They nuked the cities because, obviously, the more populated the area, the more of the dead. Have you seen what it does to people? When the Americans dropped the bombs in Japan, the victims that were hit were burned instantly to ashes. And imagine what it was like for folk in this country who lived on the outskirts of the city, with the radioactive dust and ash created when a nuclear weapon explodes. Fallout may get entrained with the products of a pyrocumulus cloud and fall as black rain, which is rain darkened by soot and other particulates."

"But we don't know for sure if our cities were hit like that," said Simon. "Not for sure. Of course, I never saw anything like that because I lived in a small town, but I definitely heard bombs being dropped, but they weren't nukes, otherwise I wouldn't be here."

"I'm telling you, according to this soldier, that's what happened. Why would this man lie to me, you dig what I'm sayin'?"

"I suppose it could have happened." Simon began to scratch his head. "I lived thirty miles from the nearest city, so I wouldn't have known."

"The lingering radiation hazard could represent a grave threat for as long as one to five years after the attack," said Yoler. "So if what you say is true, then surely we should be suffering."

"Not necessarily." Donald shook his head "Predictions of the amount and levels of the radioactive fallout are difficult because of several factors. Beyond the blast radius of the exploding weapons there would be areas, hot spots, if you like, the survivors could not enter because of radioactive contamination from long-lived radioactive isotopes. That's why I don't like moving about. And it's certainly the reason I don't wanna go down south or anywhere else. Look at where we are. We're twenty-five to thirty miles away from Derby, our smallest city. And we're twenty-five to thirty miles away from Birmingham the other way. If nukes have been used, then Birmingham definitely got it."

"And on that bullshit light note," Yoler finished the rest of the soup and stood to her feet, "I think I might go and stretch my legs."

"It's not bullshit," Donald snapped.

"I think it is."
Chapter Thirty-One

They had spent fifteen minutes chatting around the fire, and Yoler was having a little stroll around the area. Others had now decided to move away from the dying fire and Yoler clocked the dark handsome man that was called Gavin. She leaned against a tree trunk and smiled at the man. He smiled back. He stepped over to her and introduced himself, but she reminded him that they had briefly met at the pond. He was dark in features, handsome, and seemed polite, almost shy.

"How long have you been with this lot?" Yoler asked him.

He laughed shyly, making Yoler's heart melt, and said, "A while."

"He seems quite a character," she whispered and nodded in the direction of Donald. He was still sitting down and talking to Simon.

"Er ... yeah," Gavin cackled. "You could say that."

"Not too sure about his theory." Yoler glared at Gavin and was strongly attracted to him. "What are _your_ thoughts?"

Gavin hunched his shoulders. He took a look over, as if he didn't want to be heard and was fearful of Donald, and said in a soft tone, "I think it's a global thing. I think _everyone_ is affected."

"So what is he on about with nuclear hits on cities, boats along the English channel—"

"He has his own theory. Everybody has their own theory."

"And what do _you_ think?"

"I go by what we were told in the first couple of weeks, until the power died, of course. But I think we're all fucked. Maybe NATO or the RAF did bomb certain areas in the beginning, but ... I think the world has changed for good. We're alone."

Yoler smiled and felt her face flushing. "So ... what's your story?"

Gavin looked perplexed and screwed his eyes up. "Story? What do you mean?"

"Come on," snickered Yoler. "Everybody has a story. We're almost twelve months into this ... whatever it is, and you don't have a story?"

"I suppose it's like everybody else's," said Gavin. He dropped his head and seemed reluctant to continue. "I had a family, a girlfriend, a mum and dad, but now they're gone. At least I have Hayley."

"That's your sister, right?"

He nodded.

"You don't give much away, do you?"

Gavin flashed Yoler a smile. "We've only just met, and anyway, you haven't told me anything about yourself."

"True," she laughed. She turned around and could see Helen, Donald and Simon talking about something and turned her attention back to Gavin. She opened her mouth, about to tell Gavin about her journey, but he had interrupted her and began talking.

"The first weeks seems like years ago now," he began. He folded his arms and leaned against a tree. "I suppose it started off the same way it did for most people."

"I know what you mean." Yoler nodded. "What did you do for a living, before...?"

"I don't think it matters now," Gavin sighed.

"And your girlfriend?"

Gavin shook his head. "She never made it."

Yoler opened her mouth to ask how she never made it, but then realised her question would be deemed as insensitive.

Gavin sighed and added, "We're from down south, Hayley and I," he began. "From Bristol. We thought the further north we headed, the better it'd be. We only managed this far."

Yoler nodded. "I thought your accent was different."

Gavin continued, "When we finally left ... me and my sister got as far as the next town and then we came across a horde." Gavin shook his head and a thin smile developed on his features.

"What's so funny?" Yoler asked him.

"You know, one on one, even two on one, those things are easy to take care of. When they're in numbers it's a different kettle of fish altogether."

"I hear what you're saying." Yoler nodded.

"Anyway," Gavin groaned. "We turned the car around and there was another horde, out of nowhere. They must have heard the engine of the car ... or something." He didn't seem sure.

"What happened after that?"

"There were fields to either side of us, and those Canavars, or whatever you call them, headed towards the car, quicker than we thought was possible."

"I think they call them Canavars because it was a term used when the media was still up and running. I think the phrase was coined by some Turkish scientist being interviewed by the BBC."

"I heard quite a few names, but Canavars seems to be the one that stuck the most."

"What other names do you remember?"

Gavin rubbed his chin and smiled at the female. Already, he was wondering what it would be like to sleep with her. He loved her hair. It was like one of The Beatle haircuts from the Rubber Soul album, and despite the fact that she had no make up on and probably hadn't showered in a while, he thought she was gorgeous.

"Erm..." Gavin finally answered. "The ones I can remember off the top of my head were Biters, Shamblers, Rotters..."

"My friend used to call them Shufflers, but with the amount of people I've come across I've heard other names like, Monsters, Lurkers, Crazies. Another friend of mine called them Snatchers."

A silence fell on the two of them and Gavin cleared his throat, looked down, and began to kick at the ground, desperate to think of something else to stay. He didn't want Yoler to excuse herself just yet. He was enjoying her company.

"So..." It appeared that Yoler had decided to break the silence. "When are you going to take me out?"

"What?" Gavin burst out laughing and placed his hand over his mouth, apologising to Yoler for his insulting reaction. Her question was ridiculous and had also taken him by surprise. Take her out? Where on earth could he take her out? In this area? In this situation they were all in?

Gavin finally managed to compose himself and was thankful that Yoler was also laughing with him.

"Take you out?" he continued to snicker. "And where do you suggest I take you out? To an Italian restaurant? Out for a coffee? To see the new Tom Hardy movie?"

"Mmm, Tom Hardy." Yoler began to lick her lips. "Now there's a face I haven't seen for a while. I hope he's still alive."

"Probably not," Gavin said with a cheeky smile. "Anyway, back to this so called date of ours..."

"In a few days we can have a picnic by the pond," said Yoler. "Maybe even get up to some naughty stuff."

"Jesus," Gavin scoffed and his face flushed red. "You're not shy, are you?"

"Life's too short to be shy these days." Yoler leaned forward and rubbed Gavin arm. "After you've seen what I've seen ... well ... you just don't know when your time is up."

"It's not as bad as it used to be, don't you think?"

"The dead have certainly dwindled in numbers." Yoler gently brushed her dark fringe from her eyes. "But a lot of survivors have become arseholes now."

"Arseholes?" Gavin questioned. "Or simply just desperate people wanting to survive?"

"Trust me," Yoler said. "Some of the stuff that I've seen has had nothing to do with survival. What has beating a man to death in front of his family have to do with survival? What has raping a fifteen-year-old girl got to do with survival? And what has killing a harmless family dog with a crowbar, even though the family allowed the men to go inside their house and take what they wanted, got to do with survival?"

Gavin gulped, stood up straight and took a small step away from the tree he was leaning against. "And you've seen all these things?"

Yoler nodded. "I have seen some human kindness as well. It's not all doom and gloom, but you don't know who to trust. Like Simon, I tried to avoid company, and now suddenly, for the last few days, I'm with a small group of people, _good_ people, and loving it."

"Anyway," Gavin smirked. "Let's talk about this date of ours. You mentioned being ... naughty. How naughty?"

Yoler giggled and said, "As naughty as you like."

"But..."

"But?"

"What about...?"

"You need to start finishing your sentences, Gavin," said Yoler with a smile, her tongue planted inside her cheek.

"What about protection?"

"There're ways and means of doing things without me falling pregnant," she said with a smirk. "Anyway, a friend of mine brought back some condoms from a recent supermarket trip." She decided not to tell Gavin that this _friend of hers_ , Dicko, was someone she had slept with and would probably continue to sleep with.

Gavin began to shake with nerves. There were a number of reasons why this was the case. He wasn't used to being around women so up front. Helen was all about the safety of her son and had never hinted or showed any signs of wanting any sexual activity. Neither did the other females in the camp. The other reason why he suddenly felt uncomfortable was because of guilt.

Gavin had kept himself to himself and had told the people in the camp very little about his past life. He had told Helen that he used to live with his parents and had lost them in the first week, but he never told them much about his girlfriend.

He kept in contact with his partner in the first week and both had agreed that they should stay where they were, despite only being half a mile from each other. After eight days of staying indoors, on June 17th, his parents' house was attacked by a group of the dead. Gavin had no idea how this had happened. They had kept the curtains and blinds shut and made very little noise, but something had stirred a couple and had made their way to the front door. There were only two of them at first, and then a day later there were dozens of them.

It took only hours for the ground floor windows to give way, and Gavin and his parents moved upstairs for good, but the danger hadn't stopped there. The dead crawled their way up the stairs and Gavin and his dad spent many hours killing these things as they reached the top. Gavin used a pool cue, whereas his dad had taken a rolling pin from the kitchen when they first went upstairs.

His dad was grabbed and pulled downstairs, where a sea of crawling dead devoured him in minutes. His screams were short. After this incident his mother just gave up and had taken an overdose whilst Gavin was at the top of the stairs, fighting some of them off.

He returned to his parents' room for a breather and found his mum on the bed, dead. She had written the word 'sorry' in lipstick, on her dressing table mirror. After a few minutes of crying, he texted his girlfriend to tell her what had happened and that he was coming over. She told him that she wanted to leave to go to a school where her friends were staying at, but her parents didn't want to leave the house. He told her to pack a few things and that they'd be leaving in her car.

Gavin went through his attic and climbed over his roof; he went down a drainpipe and reached the ground floor, then ran for his girlfriend's house. She was still there, and when they left, with her parents' blessing, they headed for the primary school where her friends were supposed to be staying. But they never made it.

Two of the dead had shambled out from behind a bush; his girlfriend hit the pair of them and panicked, and then ended up crashing into somebody's brick wall. The pair or them got out of the car, took the packed bag from the back passenger seat, and fled on foot. They stayed in an abandoned house for two nights, but his girlfriend was then killed when they both broke into a newsagents to grab some food, but one of the dead inside, presumably the owner, had grabbed her and took her down before Gavin could do anything about it.

He then took the short drive to Hayley's house and was relieved that she was still alive. The pair of them were on their own for many months, and agreed to journey north where they eventually met this group. Despite the quote that time was a healer, he was still hurting. There wasn't a day that went by when he thought of his partner, or his parents.

"Gavin?"

He snapped out of his daydreaming and looked up to see Yoler calling his name and playfully snapping her fingers in front of his eyes.

"Hello, Gavin." She continued to snap her fingers and giggled, "Is there anybody in there?"

"What?" Gavin yawned, widened his eyes and took a quick peep at Yoler. "What was that?"

"You were miles away," she snickered and slapped him on the shoulder. "What were you thinking about?"

Gavin shook his head gently and smiled thinly at Yoler. "It doesn't matter."

"An old flame?"

Gavin became irritable with Yoler's persistence. "I said ... it doesn't matter."

Yoler gazed at Gavin and said, "I'm sorry. I know I'm a bit full on some of the time, but..."

"You don't have to explain."

"I never used to be like this ... in the old world."

"You don't have to explain, I said."

"Okay."

Gavin excused himself from a confused Yoler and turned on his heels, ready to move away from the female.

"Is that our date out of the window then?"

Her question made Gavin pause and stopped him from making his first step. "Probably not a good idea," he said.

Gavin walked away and went over to the large cabin that had been there before they arrived. He placed his hand on the door handle of the place and Yoler spoke once more before he had a chance to go in.

"I had a partner once, when it all kicked off," she said. "If this situation has taught me anything—"

"I know, I know," Gavin snapped. "Life's short."

"It is."

Gavin lowered his head and looked to the side, over to Yoler. "I suppose I'll see you around, Yoler. Good to meet you. You're not exactly ... normal, are you?"

She shook her head and smiled. "I sometimes pretend to be normal, but it gets boring so I go back to being me."

She gave Gavin a wink and walked away, back over to Simon and the rest.

Gavin shut the door behind him and looked around inside the cabin. Supplies were getting low. They were always low, but they always somehow managed.

Gavin sat on one of the chairs, in the corner of the cabin, and looked up to the ceiling.

His thoughts went to Carla, his girlfriend of almost two years, and his mind went back to her demise. It scared the life out of him. He knew that hundreds of thousands, possibly millions, had gone this way, but it wasn't the way he wanted to go.

The Canavars had depleted in numbers as time passed on, but they were still around. For reasons he couldn't understand, he thought about their weekend trip to Rhyl. It was their last break before the apocalypse began. He remembered driving most of the way there whilst Carla slept.

He smiled as he remembered passing places like Prestatyn, Flint, Queensferry, Mostyn and Mold ye Wyddgrugg.

He wondered what condition they were in now. Were there any survivors?

He could feel his eyes filling, and allowed the tears to fall now that he was alone in the dusky place. He sobbed gently, and even began to think about his friends from the past, his work colleagues and even his ex-girlfriend, Jade.

He was too young when he went out with Jade Greatrix, and he treated the poor girl like dirt. Sometimes they would arrange to go out, only for Gavin to cancel at the last minute and go out with his pals instead. She dumped him after four months, and accused him of only using her for sex. She wasn't wrong.

He smiled and apologised to Jade under his breath. He hoped she had made it, but doubted it. The last thing he heard, she had moved to the West Midlands and got herself at job at a sports centre as a fitness instructor. But that was around a year ago.

He wiped his eyes and could hear voices being raised. He looked out of the cabin window and could see that the new people were getting ready to leave. He smiled, hoped he would see them again, and sat back down in the murky cabin.
Chapter Thirty-Two

The feet of Yoler Sanders and Simon and Imelda Washington trudged through the bracken. They exited the wooded area and were now at the pond, on their way back to the farmhouse. Simon looked up to the murky sky and was feeling tired. Another few hours and he and Imelda were going to retire to their bedroom for the night.

With Yoler leading the way, they went around the pond and headed for the cluster of trees that would lead them out to the field, leading them to the incline that would take them to the farmhouse. Yoler wiped the few beads of sweat on her head and turned around to see both father and daughter holding hands. This scene made her heart swell and she knew she was lucky. She had spent months after months scavenging, going from one place to the next. Now, she had found somewhere where she was happy, with people she liked and got along with. She just hoped that it was something that would last.

She had walked along the flat part of the field, was many yards in front of Simon and his daughter, and began to walk up the grassy hill, up to the back yard of the farm.

Yoler was the first to make it up to the farm and looked at a sleeping Dicko who was outside and sitting on a deck chair, head lowered and snoring heavily, like a hog with asthma.

Yoler walked up to him and gave him a kick, making the guy jump to his feet. He looked at Yoler with confusion, and then looked around the area, rubbing his eyes and beginning to groan.

"What's going on?" he asked with panic. "Anything wrong?"

"Some guard you are, Dicky Boy," Yoler scoffed and wiped her fringe away from her eyes. "Useless prick."

"It's all under control," said Dicko with wide smile. "I'm a light sleeper anyway."

"You're bloody hopeless."

"So you don't want to spend time with me tonight then?" he snickered.

"I suppose it would kill a minute or two."

"Below the belt," Dicko laughed, and then turned to his left to see that Simon and Imelda had arrived.

"Everything alright?" Simon asked Dicko, once he and Imelda had finally cleared the hill and was now at the back of the farm. "No trouble?"

"Went like a dream," Dicko snickered and flashed Yoler a look. Simon understood that it was a private joke between the pair of them and decided not to ask any further questions. He went inside the house with Imelda and the pair of them grabbed a drink of water.

Simon stared at his little girl and could see that her face was sombre. He placed his hands on her plump cheek and asked if she was okay.

She nodded, but unconvincingly, and gave her daddy a small smile. "I'm a little bit tired after all the walking."

"Fancy an early night?"

She nodded and took a step forward and wrapped her arms around Simon's waist. She put the side of her head against Simon's stomach and released a heavy sigh.

"What's wrong?" he asked her. It was a stupid question. Everything was wrong.

"I want a cuddle."

"Why?"

She sighed, "Because I need it."

They hugged for a minute and once they broke away, Imelda announced that she was going upstairs for a lie down.

"You want me to come up with you?" Simon asked.

She shook her head. "I'd like to be on my own, daddy, if that's okay?"

"Of course." He leaned over and kissed her on the top of her head. "See you in a bit."

He watched her as she left the living room to go upstairs, and then headed for the kitchen. Simon stepped outside and saw Yoler and Dicko sitting down and chatting. Simon remained standing up.

Yoler turned to Simon and said, "I was just telling Dicky Boy about that Donald fellow. What a head banger he was."

Simon agreed and said, "He's rather highly strung."

"He _should_ be." Yoler smiled.

"What do you think to his ... story?" Yoler asked Simon. "Load of crap, if you ask me."

"I don't know." Simon rubbed his face with both hands. "I'm not sure anybody knows for certain what really happened during Stage Two."

"I was thinking about the situation at the visitor centre," Dicko said.

"Let's not go through this again, please," Simon sighed and shook his head.

"I'm not talking about you fleeing; I'm talking about those guys mentioning that Orson."

"Don't worry about it. Take each day as it comes." Simon looked over to Dicko and could see him staring into space, lost in thought.

"You okay over there?" Simon asked and put his hands in his pockets.

Dicko smiled and nodded the once. "Just thinking about ... old friends."

"Oh?" Simon was unsure whether to continue the conversation.

"Dead friends?" Yoler asked bluntly.

Simon opened his mouth, about to reprimand Yoler for such a harsh and unsympathetic question, but Dicko held up his hand to Simon and told him it was okay.

"I'm not sure. They were alive when I left them," Dicko said with a smile. "I hope not."

"What about you?" Dicko asked Simon. "I've only been told snippets about what you've been through..."

"That's rich coming from Mr Secretive over there," Simon nodded over to Dicko and laughed.

"I'm not much of a storyteller."

Simon puffed out a breath and looked at Dicko. He smiled thinly and decided to speak. "When we were awash with the Canavars," he began, "we stayed hidden and did everything the media told us. Then when the bombs fell we hid under the stairs, in a cupboard."

"Coming from a village, I never heard any bombs fall," Dicko announced.

"And then?" Yoler tried to hurry Simon's story along.

Simon told them that his family lived in their attic once the bombs had stopped falling, and a gang of people broke into their home and raided the place, took what they had left, which wasn't much. He told them that their car was still on the drive.

In the first days of Stage One he was convinced that thugs would arrive, so he siphoned his car and took the wheels off the vehicle. The car sat on a pile of bricks, a pile for each wheel. They eventually left in the vehicle, but didn't get far. He told them that he had turned a corner and crashed into a hedge, and then was surrounded by the dead. He gave them the shortened version and told them that he and Imelda escaped, but his wife and son didn't.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," Yoler said. "It must have been horrific."

"It was," Simon smiled thinly. "It is."

"At least you have somebody left," said Dicko. "She's a cracking girl, your Imelda."

"Thanks, mate. She's all I have left." Simon excused himself and told the pair of them that he was going to go upstairs and check on her.

He reached the landing and felt the room spin. His chest tightened and his breathing became shallower. He decided to go into the bathroom first and sat on the toilet with his head in his hands. "Not again," he moaned. "What's wrong with me?"

He lifted his head up and held out his hands in front of him. They were juddering, and Simon Washington was concerned this time that he was about to have a heart attack. "Please. Not now."

He sat up, placed his hands on his thighs and tried to take control of his breathing.

"Not today," he gasped. "Next year. If it has to happen ... then next year."

He stood up and made slow steps to the bedroom where he and his daughter slept. He walked in and cracked a smile when he saw her sleeping. She had a hold of the cuddly toy that was found, Lambie, and almost slept with a smile on her face. Simon wasn't doing the night duty so decided that an early night wouldn't harm him.

He was going to inform Yoler and Dicko that he was turning in, but couldn't be bothered to go back downstairs. They'd eventually work it out for themselves, he thought.

He kicked his boots off and lay next to his daughter. He lifted his arm up and gave his armpits a quick sniff. Maybe tomorrow he'd go back to the pond and wash the clothes.

He felt his carotid artery and then put his hand over his heart. "Stay strong, you little bugger."

He closed his eyes and hoped for a long sleep. He also hoped that he wouldn't die in his sleep from heart failure.

*

Dicko looked to the ceiling of where he was standing, in the kitchen, and was certain that father and daughter were now settled. He took a swig of water from one of the jars and placed the palms of his hands flat on the sideboard. He was leaning with his head bowed and his arms straightened to keep him up as support. He took in a few deep breaths and tried to cool his face down. The face of his wife projected in his mind and he suddenly jumped when he could feel arms wrapping around his waist.

He didn't turn around. He didn't need to. He knew it was Yoler Sanders.

She groaned, "Are you up for it, or what?"

Dicko put on a brave face and cleared his throat. "Of course."

Yoler released her arms and Dicko turned around, now facing the gorgeous woman that he could never attract back in the old world.

The two of them stood kissing in the kitchen, with the window behind them, but Yoler could feel that Dicko's response was hardly full of passion.

She broke away gently, developed a small smile and asked him what was wrong.

"I'm not sure," was his vague answer.

"If this is about the first, and the last time, we did it, it's okay. I still enjoyed it."

"I just couldn't..." Dicko was struggling for words. "I couldn't finish."

"You went soft." Yoler tried to lighten the mood and added further with a snicker, "It happens to a lot of guys your age. Maybe, next time we go out on a run, we'll try and pick up some viagra from a chemist or something."

"I'm glad you think it's funny." Dicko didn't look impressed with Yoler's ribbing.

"Come on, Dicky Boy." She gave him a playful nudge. "I'm just pulling your pisser."

Dicko gazed at Yoler and then dropped his head. She could see he was embarrassed and asked him what was wrong.

He began, "What happened the other night, between us..."

"Yes?"

"That was my first time since..." He couldn't find the words and grunted, "I've only ever been with one woman before."

Yoler felt terrible right away and placed her hands on Dicko's shoulders and told him it was okay. She could see he was getting upset. He tried to shrug her away because the attention he was receiving was making him worse.

"It's okay." She leaned in, trying to hug the man, but he gently pushed her away.

"Leave me for a minute, will you?"

Yoler nodded and went back into the living room, and began to sing _Sexy Sadie._ Once Yoler was out of the room, Dicko put his right hand over his mouth and nose, and began to sob. He tried to be as quiet as he could, knowing that Yoler was in the next room and that Simon and Imelda were upstairs, but covering his mouth and nose, his way of suppressing the noise he was making, didn't work very well.

After a couple of minutes, Dicko began to calm down and wiped his beard that had been dampened by the tears that had fallen from his eyes, and blew a breath out. He could feel his temperature cooling down, and he could sense that Yoler was hanging around near the doorframe of the living room, wondering if he was okay.

He walked inside and was greeted with a smiling Yoler. She was sitting on the armchair and asked if he was okay now.

Dicko said yes and the pair of them sat down. Half an hour later the pair of them made love.
Chapter Thirty-Three

Next Day

Simon opened his sticky eyes and turned his head to the side. Before lying on the bed, he had forgot to draw the curtains. He could see from where he was lying that dawn was breaking. It was the start of a brand new day and Simon guessed that it was around four in the morning. He heard moaning to the side of him and could see that Imelda was beginning to wake up.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. A twinge of pain in his mouth made him wince. Toothache. There were many things that he missed and took for granted in the old world, like music, online shopping, television ... many things, but a dentist wasn't one of them. He thought about having to extract the tooth out himself. It could be worse, he thought. It could be appendicitis. Then he'd be fucked.

Simon rubbed his mouth, hoping the discomfort was going to pass, and stood up. Fully dressed from the night before, he walked around the room. Maybe he should get up now, he thought. He could give Yoler or Dicko a chance to turn in early.

He stopped walking when he heard voices coming from downstairs, but it didn't sound like the voices of Simon and Yoler.

Simon put his boots back on and took the knife from the side table and placed it into his pocket. He left the bedroom and went onto the landing, where the voices could be heard clearer. He sat on the top step and listened to what was being said. A scuffle broke out, followed by more raised voices, and then silence.

"Right," a man's voice bellowed; a voice that Simon didn't recognise, "now that we've all calmed down, I'm gonna ask you two a few questions."

It sounded to Simon that these impostors were in control. He didn't know how they were in control. He couldn't see. Was there many of them? Or were Dicko and Yoler overpowered by them? Or did one of them have a gun? Surely if one of them had a gun then nobody would dare start a scuffle.

"Where's the other prick?" another man growled.

Simon screwed his eyes with confusion. _Other prick? How do they know someone else is here?_

"There is no one else here," Simon heard Dicko saying from the ground floor.

"The shitebag that ran off," the man yelled. "Where is he?"

As soon as Simon heard this, he knew it was the people from the visitor centre.

"Haven't seen him since he ran away," said Dicko.

"Bollocks! We saw that you were both in the car when you knocked our pal down."

"I'm telling you," protested Dicko, "he's gone."

"Then you don't mind if I take a look upstairs then, do you?"

Simon Washington felt his limbs shake with panic and was unsure what to do. Simon went into his bedroom, stopped moving and took a peep at his little girl who was fast asleep. He stepped over to her and gave Imelda a quick shake. "Babe," he said frantically. "Babe, wake up."

Imelda moaned, stretched and began to yawn. Simon grabbed her hand and urged her to get off the bed and stand next to her daddy, startling the girl.

"Is it morning? " she yawned.

"We might be in danger."

"What?"

"I know it sounds strange, but we could be in trouble."

"Daddy, what's going on?"

"Look, don't panic."

"Panic?"

"There're some people in the house. We need to hide."

"People? What kind of people?"

"Bad ones?"

The sound of footsteps could be heard creeping up the stairs. Simon looked at Imelda and said, "You, in the cupboard. I'll get under the bed."

"But daddy..."

"Just do it."

Imelda stepped inside the clothes cupboard, and Simon shut her in before crawling underneath the bed. He could hear the individual, probably a man, walking across the landing and then trying the doors. Theirs was next.

Simon held his breath, heart racing, and waited for the door to be tried. He didn't have to wait long.

The door opened and the first thing, and pretty much the only thing, that Simon could see was the brown muddy boots of one of the intruders. He held his breath as the boots slowly went to the left side of the bed, Simon's eyes following. The boots then walked around the bed, going by the cupboard, and went to the right side of the bed. Simon released a long and quiet breath out and then sucked another one in. The boots stopped at the foot of the bed, inches away from Simon's head.

Simon had no idea how long the person had stood for or why. It felt like hours. The boots then moved, making Simon gasp, and headed towards the cupboard.

As soon as the person opened the cupboard, Simon crawled out from under the bed and said, "Okay, okay."

Imelda released a scream as Simon stood up. He held both hands up and said, "Don't you touch her."

Simon then looked over to Imelda and beckoned her over. He recognised the man from the visitor centre and could see he was holding a knife. He gazed at Simon's pockets and pointed at his right one.

"I'll be taking that," the man said.

Simon slowly reached into his pocket and threw the knife by the man's feet.

The man with the grey hair and beard smiled, picked the knife up and opened the bedroom door wider. "The pair of you, downstairs."

Simon felt Imelda's warm silky hand grab _his_ , and father and daughter went downstairs with the intruder behind them.
Chapter Thirty-Four

Simon and Imelda entered the living room and could see Yoler and Dicko sitting on the couch with their hands on their lap. Simon stood next to them, with his little girl standing behind. The man with the grey hair went over and stood next to his two other companions, put his knife away and pulled out a machete from his belt that Simon had never noticed before when they were upstairs.

It was the same three people from the visitor centre. Simon and Dicko didn't know the names of the men, but they knew that the female was called Clare, because she had introduced herself when they first met.

The female told Simon to pass whatever weapon he had over. Simon looked at Dicko, and Dicko nodded at Simon. "Me and Yoler have handed ours over."

Simon huffed, "I've already given it to _him_." Simon pointed over at the man with the grey beard and patted his pockets, showing the intruders that he wasn't carrying, not no more.

Simon did as he was told and remained standing by the couch with Imelda behind him.

"It took a while to find you folk," Grey Beard cackled. "And yet here you are, in a farmhouse and fully exposed. Not great thinking. Most people opt to find an abandoned house or stay in the woods, but you folk..."

"We have everything we need here," Dicko said. "Why live in the woods and live off berries? When winter comes..."

"Enough!" snapped the thin man that was clean shaven. "We're not here to hurt you. Despite what you did to our friend, we're just here to claim compensation."

"Compensation?" Yoler scoffed. "What the piss are you on about, compensation?"

A thin man with dark hair shaven stood holding a knife, and pointed over to Imelda who was cowering behind her father.

He said, "Right, cutie, you come over here and stand next to me."

"She's going nowhere," Simon snarled with his teeth clenched together. "You need to get through me first."

"Very touching," the man giggled and looked up at his two friends, Clare and the grey haired man with the thick beard.

"Tie these fuckers up," the man with the shaved head commanded to the other guy and the female.

"You can fuck off!" Yoler snapped and raised her fists.

"We're not going to harm you," Clare, the female, said. "We need to empty your supplies into your car that we're going to take. And that'll take a while with the three of us."

"We need you guys to be on your best behaviour when we do this," said Clean Shaven. "Tying you up is the only way. Now, where are the car keys for that Mazda?"

Yoler and Dicko remained tight-lipped.

"Come on." Grey Beard put his machete away, and tapped the machete handle and nodded over in Simon and Imelda's direction. "Do you really want me to harm the little girl to get a fucking answer?"

Dicko sighed in defeat and said, "They're in the kitchen. By the sink."

Clare went in to look for them and returned to the living room seconds later, shaking the keys. "Got them."

"Good." Grey Beard nodded.

"We could always lock them in one of the bedrooms," Clare suggested, looking at her two male companions.

"Nah, fuck that." Grey Beard shook his head. "They're staying here."

Grey Beard pulled out four black tie tags out of his pocket and began conversing with his other two colleagues.

Yoler turned to Dicko and Simon overheard her say, "We can't let them take everything, just like that."

Dicko nodded and whispered, "I know."

Once the three had finished talking, Grey Beard walked over with his hand on the machete handle and went over to Yoler first. He asked her to stand up. She did as she was told and held out her hands in front of her. Simon noticed that Yoler gave Dicko a glare, but had no idea what it was about. What were these two planning?

"Put your arms behind," Grey Beard snarled at Yoler.

She moved her arms behind her and Grey Beard moved to the side of her and bent over. Yoler was making it difficult for him to tie her up.

"Fuck's sake." Clean Shaven laughed. He had his arms folded and was standing next to Clare. "Let's hurry this up."

Grey Beard huffed, "Fuck off, Clare!"

"You're taking ages."

"I wouldn't mind a hand over here."

Grey Beard grabbed the standing Yoler's wrists and bent over, struggling with the tie tag. Dicko glared at the machete handle and shifted a few inches nearer to Grey Beard. Dicko could see that Grey Beard was still bent over, struggling with the tie tag, and was becoming exasperated, cussing under his breath.

Dicko and Yoler glared at each one more time and Simon held his breath, knowing that something was going to happen.

Dicko reached for Grey Beard's machete handle and Yoler leaned to her left and took and bite into the man's arm. Dicko punched the man in the throat and then pulled out the machete and stood up before Clare and Clean Shaven had a chance to pull out their own large blades.

Clare panicked and left the house, leaving a very confused Clean Shaven to ask where the fuck she was going. He never got an answer and decided to flee himself, running through the kitchen and out of the back door, the same way Clare had left.

Dicko ran after the pair of them, and Yoler turned to Simon and pointed at the bleeding Grey Beard who was lying on his front, injured and moaning on the floor.

Yoler screamed at Simon, "Kneel on his arm and whatever you do, don't let that bearded cunt get up!"

She then followed Dicko, picking up her knife on the way out. Simon told a confused and petrified Imelda to go upstairs, but she refused. She was quiet, stunned, and looked like she was in shock.

"I don't want to leave you, daddy," she groaned.

"Just go," Simon snapped, panting. "Get in the room and hide in the cupboard. I'll come up for you once we're ... done."

Imelda took the stairs and made progress to the room her and her dad had been staying in for days.

Simon was kneeling on the man's outstretched arm and could hear him gasping. He had been punched in the throat and Simon looked down and could see the blood pouring out of the man's right arm, in the triceps area. It was a hell of a bite from Yoler, a desperate bite. It was the similar kind of bite an individual would take out of an apple.

Simon twisted his neck, making it crack, and looked in the direction of the kitchen when he heard the sounds of a man screaming from outside. He had no idea what happened to the Clare character, but was convinced that Yoler and Dicko were attacking Clean Shaven.

Simon was praying under his breath. He was scared and was trying to block out the pleading from the man that was underneath him.

"Please, man," pleaded Grey Beard. "You're hurting me."

"Hurting?" Simon scoffed. "And what would have you three scumbags done to us after you'd emptied the house?"

"We would have let you go."

"Bullshit!"

"It's true. That was the plan. Orson told us not to kill you guys, unless it was absolutely necessary."

Orson! There was that name again.

Yoler and Dicko returned to the living room. Dicko's machete was stained with blood and so was Yoler's knife.

"We lost that Clare character," Dicko panted, "but the other one won't be giving us any bother."

Simon turned and asked, "Where did she go?"

"She was heading for the pond. She was too far away to chase. She must be going into the woods."

"This piece of shit mentioned that name again ... Orson. If that Clare character gets back to, wherever she came from, she'll tell that Orson guy where we stay."

"Well, let's hope she doesn't make it," Dicko sighed.

"Maybe she's heading towards Helen's camp," Simon wondered. "Maybe if..."

Simon never finished his sentence. He felt a dull ache in his stomach and fell backwards. Grey Beard had escaped and was now scrambling upstairs. Simon rolled around on the floor, winded, whilst Yoler and Dicko ran towards the door that led upstairs, after Grey Beard.

Simon quickly got to his feet, gasping for breath, and tried to warn his two friends that Imelda was in the usual bedroom upstairs.

Simon headed upstairs, for his room, and could see that Yoler and Dicko were already standing by the frame of the opened door. Simon stood behind them and looked in. Grey Beard had Imelda around the throat and was standing behind the little girl.

"I'm sorry daddy," she cried, once she clocked Simon's face. "I thought it was you coming in and I came out."

"Fucking shut up!" Grey Beard snarled at her.

"Don't you fucking touch her!" Simon screamed. He took a step forward, but he was being held back by his two other housemates.

Grey Beard revealed a devilish grin, "I swear, I'll snap her fucking neck."

"Don't you touch her!"

"Right." Dicko held his hand up to the assailant and added, "Let's not do anything stupid now. What do you want?"

"What?" Grey Beard looked perplexed.

"What do you want? You want to be allowed to leave?"

Grey Beard had lost all his confidence and swagger, and looked like a frightened and desperate man, which he was.

He nodded. "Yes, I want to leave."

"Then let the girl go."

"No." Grey Beard shook his head and looked to be close to tears.

"No?"

"As soon as I let her go, you'll kill me. I know where you live. You're not going to risk letting me go."

"Maybe that would be true if you was the last survivor of the three. But you're not. That woman knows where we live and she's gone, she's escaped. So what'd be the point of killing _you_? With that woman now on the run, we know we have to leave here now."

"I could talk to Clare, if she returns to our camp," Grey Beard said desperately. "I'll keep my mouth shut and I'll make sure she does the same. I'll make sure she doesn't tell Orson a thing. But I'll need to go now, try and get back before _she_ does."

Yoler didn't believe him and was growing impatient with this standoff, and the frightened look on Imelda's face made her heart go numb.

Simon snarled. "Just ... let-her-go."

Grey Beard side stepped over to the bedroom window and opened it with his free hand.

"What the piss are you doing?" Yoler asked.

"I don't believe you guys. I'm gonna let this girl go and jump out of this window. Don't you fucking follow me."

"There's no need for that," Dicko tried to reassure the man. "We'll let you out downstairs. We'll keep our distance."

"Bollocks!" the man laughed. He opened the window wider and pushed Imelda towards Yoler and Dicko, and then jumped out.

Simon and Imelda immediately hugged and Yoler was about to move downstairs after the man, but Dicko held her back. A cry from outside from the man was heard, and Dicko just assumed that he had landed awkwardly before fleeing.

"Don't bother," Dicko said to her.

"But I can catch him," said Yoler. "I'm quick."

"You won't catch him. It's amazing how fast a person can run when they're scared to death."

A male moan was heard again and Yoler and Dicko went to the bedroom window and looked out.

Grey Beard was lying on the floor, trying to crawl away from the house, but his obvious broken left leg was preventing this.

"Ouch," Yoler said, and then winced.

"Looks like our friend isn't going anywhere for the time being," snickered Dicko. "Let's tie him up and put him in the spare bedroom. We might need him alive."
Chapter Thirty-Five

Clare had been running for over five minutes. She was so out of breath that she had to stop once she passed the pond and was near the woods. She bent over and tried to catch her breath. She looked around and knew her only option was the woods.

She couldn't go back.

They'd be waiting for her. And to the side of her were just fields.

She straightened her back, placed her hands on her hips, and waited a minute. She placed her right hand on her side and felt for the handle of her knife. It was still there. At least she had some kind of protection.

She then pulled out the large blade and strolled into the woods, into the unknown. She had no idea how, but she wanted to find a road and try and get back to Orson and the rest of the crew. At the moment she was going the wrong way, but going back on herself and heading back where the farm was situated could be disastrous for the woman.

She made her way through the bracken and constantly scanned all around her with paranoid eyes. The woods were condensed, but she could still see about ten to fifteen yards in front of her.

She had been in the woodland for ... she didn't know how long, but to her left she could hear noises, people chatting. She couldn't see a fire, but she could see smoke billowing into the air from many yards away.

A camp, she thought. But was it a friendly camp?

She decided not to risk it, and crept around the camp. She made sure that she didn't get too close and was aware that guards could be around.

She held the knife with her shaking hands and relaxed a little when she was obviously moving away from the location. She looked behind her and could see the smoke in the distance and the chatter from people could not be heard anymore.

She put her knife back into her pocket and ran her fingers over her greasy hair and tightened her ponytail. She licked her dry lips and rubbed her throat. Jesus, she needed a drink.

The bracken seemed longer up ahead, and she hoped that there was some way out of the stifling woods real soon. She made a move, wiping her damp forehead with her sleeve, and speeded up, hoping that she wasn't far away from a road. She wanted to be out in the open. She needed to feel the cool wind temporarily cover her frame.

Her feet continued to go through the bracken as her eyes looked around, and a sharp pain shot through her left leg. She released a scream and fell to the floor. She lay on the floor and cried out once more, feeling the white hot pain. She sat up and tried to lift her left leg, but it was no use. She searched through the bracken and could see that she had stood on an animal spring coil trap. She guessed that it had broken her ankle, and she tried to use her fingers to prise the metal jaws open, so she could release her foot, but she couldn't do it.

She cried out again and this time didn't care whether the camp from a few hundred yards back had good or bad people in it. She needed help. She needed to be heard.

She lay back down and put her hands on her head. The pain was intense and she cried out for help again.

She sat up and once more tried to prise open the jaws of the trap. Her head was lowered and she cussed as she struggled to get her leg free. The sound of disturbed plantation could be heard in front of her, which was followed by a growling. She gulped and looked up to see an Alsatian, only yards away from her. More noises could be heard, and this time a black slavering Pit Bull appeared to her right and another canine, a Red Setter, appeared to her left.

Clare never said a word. She didn't want to antagonise the situation. Were they just being inquisitive because of the noise she was making? Or were they going to...?

No. Surely not.

The Alsatian took a step forward and began to sniff her. She shook with fear and the black Pit Bull was the first of the three dogs to attack her. It ran and grabbed her by the throat and the other two dogs also attacked. Clare's screams never lasted long as the ravenous animals ripped her to bloody shreds. Once her head was torn from the rest of her body, the hungry canines bit into her torso and began to devour her insides, like pigs eating from a trough.

Their snouts became bloodier as they dipped further into Clare's cadaver. Not even the sound of a dozen moving bodies, heading the dogs' way, bothered them. They were too busy enjoying their raw, bloody and delicious meal.

The twelve members of the dead, attracted by the screams of Clare, both whilst she had been trapped and whilst she was being devoured, headed in the direction of the culprit that started this mess: the spring coil animal trap.

The first one approached the Pit Bull.

The dogs were so engrossed in their feed that they were unaware of the dead that surrounded them. Until they were attacked.

Squeals of pain from all three dogs emerged once the dead, some of them dropping to their knees, began to rip the canines to pieces. There were twelve of the dead, four to every dog, and the only animal to fight back was the black Pit Bull. It turned and tried to gnaw away at the rotten face of one of them, but soon stopped when one of the creatures took a generous bite out of its neck. The dog was still conscious when they opened up its stomach.

The twelve ghouls made light work of the three dogs, and even one knelt and grabbed the decapitated head of Clare, forcing its arm in and scooping out her brains, then stuffing its face.
Chapter Thirty-Six

Helen had spent the last hour washing clothes. She and a male called Jason Martins had been at the pond and were now hanging the clothes on a line that had been tied to two trees. The wet clothes were washed in the pond with soap and then dumped in a bucket and taken back to the camp.

There was plenty of water filtered, but the food situation could have been healthier. Ten mouths to feed was a hard task to do on a daily basis, and the supplies were dwindling so much that Gavin and Donald had planned to go for a dangerous jaunt through the woods to see if there were any mushrooms, blackberries, chestnuts ... even an orchard.

Once the clothes were hung up on the lines, Helen walked over to the main hut to grab herself a bottle of water. She opened the door to the main hut to see a half-dressed Donald Brownstone. He had his back to her and was putting on a fresh T-shirt. She could see the tattoo on Donald's back. She had seen it before. It went from shoulder to shoulder and in old English the words "Charlie" was present. Helen had asked him about it weeks ago and he had told her that it was the name of a dog he had lost a while back. She didn't believe him, but never felt it necessary to dig any deeper. Everybody had secrets; even Helen Willis.

"Fuck's sake!" he snapped, realising somebody had walked into the cabin. "Doesn't anybody knock anymore?" He turned around and immediately apologised when he could see that it was Helen that had walked in on him.

"That's okay," she said with a smile. "Now, don't be hogging this place. Me and David have this place tonight."

Donald Brownstone snickered and said, "That's right. It's your turn tonight. It's better in here, isn't it?

"What a difference, staying in this place," Helen laughed, and had a quick scan around in the cabin, making Donald reveal a rare smile. It was no secret amongst the others that he had a soft spot for Helen.

"Tell me about it."

Helen placed her tongue in her cheek and said with a cheeky smirk, "Shame me and David couldn't have it every night."

"You know the rules." Donald playfully wagged his finger. "We share the cabin. One night for every person, or couple."

"I know."

When they first arrived at this area, it was the abandoned cabin that made them set up camp. The other four huts were made by the people themselves from loose logs and branches that had been collected from the area.

Donald asked the woman, "What do you think of the new people, now that you've spent some time with them?"

Helen bit her bottom lip in thought, and then hunched her shoulders. "They seem okay. Just ... survivors like you and me."

"I don't know." Donald ran his fingers over his hairless head and added, "I don't trust them, you dig what I'm sayin'?"

Helen snickered, "You don't trust anyone, Donald."

"True."

"The trouble with you..."

A scream in the distance stopped Helen from speaking and made her gasp. "Did you hear that?" she asked Donald with wide eyes."

Donald seemed unsure. "I think so."

"You _think_ so?"

Helen and Donald stepped out of the cabin and looked around and could see Gavin and Jamie Monk. She called them over and asked if they had just heard a scream, but both men shook their heads. "Maybe I'm going mad." Helen scratched her head.

"Are you sure it was a scream?" Gavin asked Helen. "It could have been an injured animal, or..."

"I'm telling you now," Helen panted. "I heard a scream. A woman. I also heard squealing ... like dogs in pain ... or something. I don't bloody know."

"From which direction?"

Helen pointed.

Gavin sighed and said, "Okay. I'll check it out."

Jamie Monk asked to join him and both men walked deeper into the woods, away from the camp, and headed in the direction where Helen had pointed.

Once the two men were swallowed up by the greenery, Helen and Donald waited anxiously.

*

"I have no idea where we're going," came the voice from Gavin Bertrand to his partner Jamie Monk.

The two young men stepped into an open part of the woods and could see bloody carnage in front of them. Twelve of the dead, all now standing, with bodies, bloody meat, and trails of intestines like thick spaghetti by their feet.

"Oh shit." Gavin placed his hand over his mouth once the smell hit him. It was a mixture of the rotting bodies of the dead that were on their feet and the dead human and the three dogs.

"What the fuck?" was all that Jamie Monk could manage.

Both young men stood in shock and gazed at the twelve standing cadavers.

Still chewing, every single one of the dead began to advance towards Gavin and his friend. They were slow, but very persistent, and Gavin screamed at his friend to run.

Gavin ran a few yards ahead but stopped when he realised his companion wasn't by his side. He turned around and could see that Jamie was still standing and staring at the advancing dead. He was in shock and his legs had frozen with fear.

Two of the dead grabbed Jamie and took him down, burying their heads in his neck. Gavin watched in horror as they ripped his friend's throat out, and could see the fresh blood spurting onto the faces of his killers. Jamie released an awful scream, but it was short-lived.

Gavin gagged when a third fell to its knees, bent over as if it was going to give Jamie the kiss of life, and began chewing his lips off.

Gavin was also in shock, but his legs thankfully worked. And when the other nine walked past his dead friend and headed for him, he turned around and ran like he had never ran before.

*

A shriek filled the air, only yards away, and everyone that was inside their huts came out, wondering what the hell was going on.

Gavin darted out of the condensed part of the woods and back onto the camp and screamed, "There's loads of the dead! They've got Jamie!"

"Wait, wait." Donald was the first to approach the young man and said, "Calm down. What happened?"

"They're coming!" Gavin shrieked. "The Canavars are coming!"

Donald gazed and could feel the blood draining from his face when he saw the dead emerging from out of the trees. He quickly found his voice. "Quick, everyone," said Donald. "Get inside your huts."

The dead all emerged from out of the woods and before anybody had a chance to move. There were twelve of them, and the camp was filled with screams once one grabbed a hold of a nineteen-year-old called John Duncan and bit into his neck.

Little David ran over to his mum and the three of them, Helen, David and Donald Brownstone, stood in shock and saw another resident being taken down. Gavin and three others fled to the left, leaving Helen, David and Donald standing alone.

David stood in shock and was unable to cry. Instead, he stood with his legs shaking and had dribbled a little in his underpants.

Not one of the dead pursued Gavin and the other three individuals; they had been distracted by something else. Every single one of the dead turned and gazed at Helen, her son and Donald, and moved in their direction. The dead headed towards them in almost an organised semi-circle and Donald grabbed Helen and said, "The pond! Both of you! Now!"

"What about the others?" Helen screamed.

"Fuck the others! They're gone." Donald grabbed Helen by the hair and forced her to look at her frightened boy that was by her side. "That's the only thing you should be worried about! Let's move!"

The three ran from the dead, leaving the camp behind, and headed into a more condensed part of the woods. Donald led the way, whilst Helen ran behind him, holding a petrified David's hand.

"Where are we going?" David cried, but he never got an answer. "Mum? Where're we going? Are we going to the farm?"

Helen had no idea where they were going to go, but Donald had an answer for David. "Yes," he panted. "We're going to the farm. I take it that it's this way."

"Yeah!" Helen yelled. "It's straight on."

"I hope these pricks let us in."

"They'll welcome us," Helen panted. "I know they will."

They came out of the woods and were at the pond, all three of them gasping. Donald told them to follow him around the pond, but Helen and David already knew where they were going.

David tripped over a thick tree root before they reached the cluster of trees and Helen helplessly saw Donald Brownstone running away from them, unaware of David's predicament. Helen tried to pick her son up and quickly managed to scramble to their feet. The sight of the twelve dead exiting the woods and following them around the pond had injected more adrenaline through their bodies.

Both mother and son ran through the group of trees faster than they had ever ran before. The pair of them were still holding hands, and could now see Donald on the field and heading for the incline of the hill that led up to the farmhouse that was visible.

Donald Brownstone genuinely didn't know about David's fall and thought that Helen and David weren't far behind. He looked over his shoulder and stopped running when he saw how far away they were.

"Hurry!" he cried. "They're right behind you! Don't turn around! Just run to me!"

Helen ignored Donald's advice and looked over her shoulder. The dead were only ten yards behind her, and she knew that they would have been way ahead of them if it wasn't for David's fall. Their hideous faces made her gasp in fright, as it had been a while since she had seen any.

They were all the same. They were slow, thankfully, and stunk to the heavens. All or their eyes had a milky film over them, and their movement was awkward and clumsy.

Donald reached his hand in his pocket and pulled out a knife, but it was just a precaution. He couldn't take on twelve. That would be madness, and he was convinced that the incline would slow them down. But what about after that?

A high-pitched scream could be heard in front of them and all looked up.

"What the fuck's that?" Donald yelled, but Helen didn't answer him.

It was Imelda. She was standing at the back of the farm, staring at the three individuals.

She had seen the dead following the three of them, and she seemed hysterical.
Chapter Thirty-Seven

Imelda Washington was drawing at the table with her pencil and paper. She came out of her little world briefly and looked up to see that nobody was with her. The living room was empty. Her dad couldn't have gone far, so she never panicked. She put her head down and carried on drawing.

She had so far drawn a picture of the farmhouse. She even drew a car by the side of the house, representing the Mazda Dicko had taken, and then underneath the house and to the side she put in the grass, albeit grey in colour, like everything else.

She then began to add clouds at the top of the paper and placed a circle in the right corner, representing the sun. She leaned back in the chair and had to think about how many people were staying in the house. She counted on her fingers. "One, two, three, four."

She began to draw herself and her father first. After all, they were the first to arrive at the house.

She made the drawing of herself wearing a dress and with a huge smile on the face. She didn't know why she drew this. She hadn't worn a dress or skirt since she last went to school, and smiling wasn't something she did on a regular basis, not these days. She had lost her regular smile when she saw her brother and her mummy being taken down by the Canavars.

The drawing of her was next to the front door of the house, and she even added her scar that was on the right side of her forehead, just below her hairline. Next to her, by her side and on the left, was her dad. In truth, it could have been anyone and wasn't a good representation of Simon Washington, not that that was something someone would say to an eight-year-old child. It was a simple drawing; she had given her father dark hair, and also a smile, but not as large as the one she had given herself.

She then looked up to the ceiling in thought, and tried to recall who was the next individual to join them. Her and her dad had found Yoler sleeping in their bed, but Dicko was already sitting in the living room when this incident had happened. So Dicko was the next person to join them, she thought. She spent a while on Dicko, even sketching a knife attached to his side, and then she then immediately began to sketch Yoler.

The little girl tried to draw Yoler, but wasn't happy with the end result. She wanted to make Yoler just as pretty as she was in real life, but couldn't seem to pull it off. She knew if she kept on rubbing the drawing of Yoler, then she'd end up making a mess of the picture. She kept the third draft, but still wasn't happy with it. The only thing she was happy with was the hair she had given her.

Imelda placed the pencil at the side of the drawing and sat back, inspecting her work. She then felt a rush of emotion suffocating her. She felt like she was being slowly strangled, had a dull sensation in her chest and could feel her eyes becoming damp.

Then she had a mini breakdown.

The girl cried hard and her beautiful wet eyes continued to release water down her shuddering cheeks. She very seldom had breakdowns like this anymore, although for a month, after she had lost her mum and brother, it was all the time, but she knew how much her breakdowns affected her dad. Every time she showed she was hurting, Simon would become upset. As the days ticked by, the easier it had become. The pain was still there, but it wasn't as raw as it used to be.

Imelda dried her eyes and decided to go into the kitchen and use a small amount of water to splash her face. If her daddy saw her like this, she knew that it would upset him, and she didn't want that.

She sat back at the table and decided what to draw next. A minute later, she could hear footsteps and her dad entering the living room.

*

Simon entered the living room, stood by the front window and peered out onto the road. He was standing guard whilst Yoler and Dicko slept in one of the rooms upstairs, exhausted after burying the bodies of two men in the small wooded area: Clean Shaven and finally the attacker from the pond that Dicko had killed days ago.

He rubbed his jaw as his tooth began to ache again. It was going to have to come out one day, he thought. Just not today. The captive, Grey Beard **,** was in the other room, tied up, gagged and dosed by three solpadol tablets for his pain, and more importantly so Yoler and Dicko could get some shuteye.

They were still unsure what to do with the man. Yoler wanted him dead, Dicko was unsure, and Simon didn't want a man killed if it could be avoided. Imelda was at the table, drawing another picture with her pencil, and Simon felt at peace. It was quiet, but it wasn't eerily quiet. The fact that he had two people upstairs who were almost like warriors helped a great deal, and his confidence had never been so high since this shit had began.

He took a deep breath and created a smile. His thoughts went to Diana and Tyler. He began to think about the time when they went to Lochgoilhead for a three-day break, but those thoughts were short-lived when he heard the sound of a chair scraping from behind him. Simon looked over his shoulder and could see Imelda getting to her feet.

"You okay, babe?" he asked.

She said, "I'm going to get a drink from the kitchen."

"Okay."

"I might pop out and get some air as well."

"Good idea." Simon faced the front window and glared out at the barren road. "I think I might join you." He then muttered under his breath, "There's a whole lot of fuck all happening here anyway."

Imelda went to the back of the place, went through the kitchen, took a drink and went outside to the back. Simon remained staring out the front window. He rested his hand on the handle of the machete that had been taken from Grey Beard and smiled when Yoler made a crack that they were now like the three Musketeers, as two of them now had machetes that were taken from Grey Beard and the now defunct Clean Shaven who was butchered out in the back.

A scream filled with fear alerted Simon, and he ran towards his daughter's screams, to the outside.

He exited the place and was now outside, standing next to her and could see three people running up the hill. He knew who they were and knew why they were running. A dozen of the dead were behind them.

Some of the dead were limping, some were dragging their legs as if they'd been shot, some shambled with their arms by their side, and others had their arms raised like something out of a black and white Frankenstein movie.

Simon shushed a hysterical Imelda and gave her a hug as Donald, Helen and David ran towards them. Yoler and Dicko had come from upstairs and exited the house bleary eyed. They stood next to Simon, both panting and confused.

"Jesus Christ on a cross," Yoler huffed once her eyes witnessed the figures coming towards her. "It's some of the guys from that camp. And where the piss did the dead come from?"

"What do we do?" Simon asked with panic. "What do we do?"

"We get rid of them," Dicko said calmly, and then turned to Simon and pointed at the bald menacing figure of Donald Brownstone who was getting nearer to them. "Can he handle himself?"

"Of course." Simon nodded. "I don't think Helen can."

"Okay." Dicko nodded. "Me, Yoler and baldy will sort the Canavars out. You, that woman, and the kids get in the house and hide upstairs."

"Bollocks to that, mate!" Simon snapped. "I'm doing this."

"Good." Dicko looked down at the machete that was tucked in Simon's belt and said, "You'll be using that in a few minutes."

Yoler pulled out her machete, and Dicko pulled his trench knife from the brown leather holster.

"Hopefully," Dicko began, "this'll be over quicker than you think."

"Well, if it's anything like your performance the other night," Yoler laughed.

Simon couldn't believe how relaxed the two were. He was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, yet Dicko was up for the battle, and Yoler was cracking jokes.

"Well, let's hurry this up," Yoler snapped. "As soon as we're done, I desperately need to brush my teeth because my breath is like a tramp's cock."

Donald was the first to reach them; he nodded at the three of them, panting and unable to talk.

"Oh," Simon scratched his head, realising that Dicko hadn't met Donald. "Dicko, this is Donald. Donald ... Dicko."

Both men nodded at one another and Yoler asked, "Where did the dead come from?"

"They came into our camp and attacked us," cried Donald. "Helen said she had heard a scream from a woman, then the sound of squealing dogs. That's probably what attracted them to the area. I've hardly seen any for weeks and now this happens."

"A scream from a woman." Yoler scratched her head.

"Clare escaped in that direction," said Simon. "It must have been her. So, maybe Clare was taken by dogs first, and then the Canavars turned up and ate the dogs and what was left of Clare."

"Who's Clare?" asked Donald.

"She was part of a small gang that came here and..."

"What?" Donald looked confused.

"It doesn't matter now."

Donald pulled out his knife as Helen and David had arrived out of breath.

"Are we ready?" said Donald.

"Let them come a little closer," Dicko said. The dead were about twenty yards from the group, struggling with the incline.

A scream could be heard from behind and Simon, Yoler, Donald and Dicko turned and saw two more of the dead grabbing Helen and Imelda. The two ghouls had come from the front of the farmhouse and appeared from the side, taking everybody by surprise. Imelda fell with her female Canavar and Simon cried, "No!" on seeing this.

Dicko was the first to react, ran over to the girls and planted his trench knife into the back of the head of Imelda's attacker. Helen had managed to push the other creature away and Yoler drove her blade through the side of its head. It remained standing until Yoler quickly removed the blade, and then it fell in a heap. Simon released a cry and his panic stricken body ran over to his little girl.

"Are you okay?" Simon yelled, his body flooded with panic, and ran over to his shaken little girl. "Babe, talk to me."

"I'm fine," she cried and said with a quiver, tears in her eyes, "Daddy?"

"Yes, babe? What is it?"

Imelda's eyes filled with water and couldn't get the words out.

"We really don't have time for this, right now."

Imelda looked at her father with wet eyes and cried, "You told me that they were all gone."

"I'm sorry," said Simon. "We'll talk about that later."

Dicko said to Helen, "Let's not take any more chances. Get the kids upstairs. Go to Simon's room, the lot of you. Imelda will show you where to go. Just don't use the back bedroom."

"What's in there?" Helen asked.

"I'll explain later. Just don't go in."

"Daddy?" Imelda cried.

Simon, holding the machete with both hands, said, "It's okay, babe. Just go with Helen. I'll be up in a bit."

Helen took the kids into the house and shut the back door behind her.

"How do we do this?" Simon asked, his words drenched in panic.

"How many have you killed before?" Donald asked him, staring at the dead that were a matter of yards away.

"Just the two."

"Jesus wept," Donald moaned.

"Spread out!" Yoler yelled. "I don't want to be catching you men when me and Simon are swinging our machetes about."

"Are we all ready?" Dicko asked the other three. He could see that the dead gang had almost finished climbing the hill and were nearly on flat ground.

Simon, Yoler and Donald nodded in unison.

"I'm a bit out of practice," Dicko said with a smile, "but here goes."

Dicko took a couple of steps forward and rammed his blade into the forehead of the nearest one. Yoler also attacked them and, Simon could see Donald take out his first, a female, with a stab to the temple.

Simon could see the three individuals take the dead down with ease, and felt guilty for hesitating. He pulled his blade behind his head and embedded it into a creature that had its back to him. The machete blade went into the top of the skull by a few inches, and this made the creature fall to the ground with the machete still stuck, but it wasn't finished, and Donald had to step in and finish the creature off.

Simon pulled the blade out of the head and could see one of them coming over, a teenage girl in its former life with a bloody dress on. Its face was ashen, its eyes pale, and it looked like it had fresh blood on its chin.

Clare's blood, possibly?

He took in a deep breath and swiped at the female, but he missed. He swiped once more and this time the blade struck the side of its head, but it wasn't enough to kill the ghoul. With the blade still stuck in the side of the creature's head, the Canavar's arms were outstretched and grabbed Simon by the shoulders.

Simon tried to push the thing away, but it was freakishly strong.

He grabbed the female ghoul by the throat to stop himself from being bitten, took a step backwards, lost his footing, and the pair of them fell to the ground.

With the Canavar on top of Simon, he put his hands under its chin as it tried to bite, but it was a battle he was losing. His arms were weakening and the diseased mouth of the dead being was dropping closer to his face.

He winced as the smell from the female hit him. He retched as he could see a handful of maggots fall out of its rotten mouth as it opened to take a chunk out of him. He turned his head to the side to avoid the maggots from hitting him in the face, then turned to face the dead thing and focused on more important matters: not getting infected. He cried out as his arms quivered, and the female Canavar snarled and managed to free itself from Simon's weakening grip.

Its head dropped and Simon screamed out, knowing that he had lost the fight and could feel the teeth of the Canavar touch his neck.

He closed his eyes, winced, and waited for the inevitable bite.
Chapter Thirty-Eight

Helen, David and Imelda hid in the room, listening to the commotion outside. Imelda was desperate to see if her daddy was okay. She attempted the once to go over to the window and see how they were getting on, but Helen had pulled her back and they remained sitting in the corner of the bedroom, all shuddering like cats being cornered by a fox

It had gone quiet all of a sudden.

Helen looked at her petrified son and then at the terrified face of Imelda Washington.

"What's happening?" Imelda asked Helen.

"I don't know," was Helen's response. "I really don't know."

"Go and have a look, mummy," David whined. "I want to know if the Canavars are all gone."

"Okay, son." Helen nodded and took a quick glance at Imelda. She asked Simon's daughter, "You okay, love? You look very pale."

Said Imelda, unconvincingly, "I'm alright."

"You sure? You're sweating as well."

"Yes," Imelda snapped.

Helen told the kids to stay where they were and slowly stood to her feet. She shuffled over to the window and reluctantly took a peep out, looking down. She could see dead bodies scattered across the back yard, and gasped when she saw Simon lying on the floor, on his back.

"What is it?" Imelda asked. She had heard Helen's gasp and could tell by her face that she had seen something upsetting.

"It's nothing," Helen lied.

"Is it daddy?" Imelda stood up and was about to walk over.

"Stay where you are." Helen pointed at Imelda and added, "I'm not gonna let you see this."

Imelda sat back down, next to David, and both children shook with fear, wondering what was and what _had_ been going on outside.

Helen took another look outside and looked down where Simon lay.

A smile stretched across her face.

*

He opened his eyes and looked up to the grey skies. He raised his hand and felt his neck, then inspected his fingers.

There was no blood.

The faces of Yoler, Dicko and Donald Brownstone could now be seen in his vision, and the three of them were looking down on Simon Washington.

"You okay?" Dicko asked him.

Simon looked unsure. "I ... think so."

Dicko knelt down and gave Simon his hand and pulled him up until he was sitting. Simon scratched his head and looked to the side of him and could see his female attacker was lying defunct, stab wound to the back of the head.

"One more second and you would have been Canavar meat," Dicko laughed gently, wiping his blade on the tattered clothes of the deceased.

"Thanks," said Simon, still dazed.

"Don't mention it." He patted the holster where the trench knife was and said, "All thanks to Trevor once more."

Simon rubbed his head and decided that it was time to stand on his feet. He put his hands on his head and had a look around, staring at the dead bodies.

"The two that went for Helen and the kids..." Simon began. "They came from the front; from the main road."

Dicko nodded and said, "I'll check it out. See if there're more."

Once Dicko disappeared, Yoler asked Simon how he was feeling, whilst Donald stood near Simon, staring at the man with contempt.

"How's he feeling?" Donald scoffed. "You're asking how's he feeling? Embarrassed ... that's probably how he's feeling. I had to help him with the first one. Overall, he only killed one of them in the end, and that was from behind. I saw it with my own eyes." He then widened his eyes at Simon, and growled, "Your performance was fucking pish. You're about as much use as a stitched up cunt."

"Alright, alright," Yoler barged past Brownstone and stood next to Simon. "Leave him alone, you bald prick."

"No wonder. He was about as much use as a condom machine in a fucking nunnery."

"Simon was the first to come here," Yoler said, "so he has overall say who stays and who doesn't."

"So?"

"So, slap head, watch your mouth."

"You've got a big mouth for a little slag," Donald Brownstone took a menacing step forward, but Yoler wasn't for budging.

"I may not be able to take you on," she said, "but what I can do is cut your ball sack open while you sleep."

Donald opened his mouth to react to Yoler's threat, but the presence of Dicko returning stopped him.

"It's clear at the front," Dicko announced. "Must have been a couple of strays from the main road."

"The screaming didn't help," said Donald.

"That was my fault," Simon confessed. "I told her that the dead weren't around anymore, so she must have had quite a fright."

"Yeah, well, if that little bitch screams like that again..."

Donald never had chance to finish his sentence and staggered backwards, slowly realising that Simon had punched him in the jaw.

"You bastard." Donald rubbed his jaw and ran over to Simon, but Dicko went over and took out Donald with a left hook, making the burly man stagger and fall onto his backside.

"Another trick like that," said Dicko, "and it's curtains for you, Kojak."

"Are we gonna let this prick stay with us?" Yoler asked Simon. "Helen and little David are no bother, but this prick would make a priest kick his cunt in."

Simon looked down on Donald and watched as the large bald man rubbed his face where Dicko had struck him. He knew that he'd make a good warrior, be a great asset, but would living with someone with such a volatile temper be worth it?

Simon said, "We'll give him another chance. On one condition."

"And what's that?" Donald mumbled, getting ready to stand on his two feet again.

Simon went inside, and returned from the kitchen a few seconds later. He tossed a cigarette lighter over in Donald's direction. "Drag the bodies into a pile at the side of the house and burn them."

"But there's twelve of them, you dig what I'm sayin'?" moaned Donald.

"Then you should make a start now," said Dicko with a hard glare.

Simon turned on his heels, heading for the house again, and Yoler asked him where he was going. "I'm gonna see how my daughter is."

By the time Simon reached the living room, Helen and David came through the door that led to the upstairs.

"Where is she?" Simon began to panic.

"It's okay. Relax." Helen smiled and brushed her fingers through her dark bobbed hair. "She said she wanted to be left alone. Is it safe now?"

"Yes." Simon nodded. "The others are outside. No one got hurt ... not really." Simon squeezed past Helen and her son, but she grabbed his sleeve and said, "Your daughter said she wanted to be left alone."

"It's okay." Simon gave Helen a strange and confused look. "In case you've forgot, I'm her dad."

He left the living room and trotted upstairs, approached the closed bedroom door where he and Imelda slept and gave it a gentle knock. "It's daddy," he announced, but opened the door before getting a reply.

Imelda was sitting up on the bed, and had her knees up. She had sheets of white paper; almost the same colour as her face, by her feet and was writing-or drawing with her pencil.

"You okay, babe?"

"Uh-huh." Imelda wasn't crying, but her eyes looked wet. It looked like she was close.

"Look," Simon gulped and paused, "the reasons why I told you that—"

"I know why you did it, daddy," she said. She never looked up at Simon and continued to scribble.

"You do?"

"You did it to protect me."

"I'm sorry you had to see that ... _them_." Simon took a step forward, but Imelda spoke and stopped him in his tracks.

"Don't come near me, daddy," she said.

"What?" Simon was mystified. "Are you angry with me?"

She shook her head, still scribbling. "I want to be left alone for a few minutes, then we'll talk. We'll all talk."

"What do you mean?"

"Daddy, please."

"Okay."

Simon never asked any more questions. He did as he was told and left the bedroom, closing the door behind him ever so slowly. He trudged his frame back down to the ground floor, his mind polluted by confusion.
Chapter Thirty-Nine

Minutes had passed and Simon, Yoler, Dicko, Helen and young David watched from outside as the bodies burned. It didn't take long for Donald to drag the bodies in one spot, but trying to set the defunct creatures alight was far more difficult.

Donald asked if he could wash his hands with the water that was available and promised to take a trip to the pond himself to get more the next morning. Because of the large supplies of bottled water and sodas anyway, they all agreed and he went inside to the kitchen. The remaining individuals looked up when they heard a window opening and could see Imelda's face.

"Can you all come up?" she said. "I have something to tell you."

They all looked up at her, and Simon was the first to enter the house and make his way up.

Helen and David followed, and then Yoler and Dicko walked behind them.

"What's going on?" Donald asked Dicko and was bent over the sink.

"Stay down here," said Dicko, who was unable to answer Donald's query. "Keep guard."

Simon was on the landing and entered the room and went over to his daughter; he was quickly followed by the others. Imelda was sitting up; her blonde hair tied back, and had her hands resting on her lap. She looked pale and was sweating.

Dicko was the last to enter and shut the door behind him. Yoler, Dicko, Helen and David stood by the end of the bed, patiently waiting for what Imelda had to say, whilst Simon sat at the side and stroked his little girl's hair.

"So?" Yoler couldn't bite her tongue any longer. "What is it? What's happening?"

The little girl remained silent; her pale face quivered with nerves, and Simon continued to sit next to her on the bed, stroking her clammy head with his thumb.

"What is it, babe?" her father asked her. "What's wrong? Is there something on your mind? Is it because I told you that the Canavars were all gone, is that it?"

Again, there was no answer from the eight-year-old.

"Tell me."

Imelda cleared her throat, lifted her hands from her lap, and turned her hands around and showed them her palms. The left hand had a sock wrapped around it. With her right hand, Imelda removed the sock.

"It's just a small one," she said with sadness. "But it's enough. We _all_ know that it's enough."

Helen gasped and Simon broke down when he saw the bite at the side of her left palm. It was small, and didn't look like a full bite, but Imelda was correct. It was enough. They all knew in the room, even young David, that it was enough to get her infected. And she was. She _was_ infected.

Simon screwed his right hand into a fist and bit into it. He was sobbing quietly, but Imelda tried to remain calm.

"When they came from the side of the house, the first one tried to attack me, but I pushed it away, and then we both fell over. That's when it bit me, but I pulled my hand away as Dicko killed it."

"No, no, no." Simon grabbed his little girl and kissed her head. "Not my baby. Not my sweet little baby."

"Don't be sad, daddy," she spoke with calm and added, "It's okay."

"You can't go," Simon cried and hugged his little girl. "You can't."

Helen released tears of her own and gave an upset David a hug as they watched the sad episode unfold in front of their eyes.

"What do we do?" Yoler asked nobody in particular. "How do we handle this?"

The adults in the room all stared at one another, and Simon broke away from his pale daughter.

"I want to be buried in the back garden," Imelda said openly, stunning the people in the room. "I don't feel too well and I think I've got minutes left, if I'm lucky. I don't want to turn." She looked at Yoler. "Once I fall asleep, I want you to do it."

Simon flashed Yoler a look. Simon said, "Do it? What do you mean by _do it_?"

A silence fell on the room and all the adults knew what she wanted, but not Simon. What the hell was his daughter talking about? Do it? Do what?

Imelda spoke with a croak in her voice. "I want Yoler to kill me, daddy."

"Oh God." He placed his hands on his head and waggled his head from side to side. _Please tell me this isn't happening. Please tell me this is a dream._

Imelda placed her cold hand on her daddy's thigh and said, "I would never ask you to do it, daddy. That wouldn't be fair."

"How?" Yoler asked the little girl. There was no emotion in Yoler's voice, but her eyes were moist, despite trying to be strong for father and daughter.

Imelda produced a thin smile and a tear each fell from each eye. "A knife through the temple. Nothing too messy."

Simon fell to the side of the bed and now had his knees on the carpet, kneeling by the side of the bed and had his hands on his daughter's leg.

"Do you want a drink?" Dicko asked the little girl.

She shook her head and moved down the bed and lay down. She released a sigh and said to Simon, "I'm tired, daddy."

He touched her clammy head and released more tears. She was getting colder. It wasn't long now.

She closed her eyes and groaned, "Don't be sad, daddy."

"I can't help it," he sobbed. "You're my baby girl. The only thing I have left."

"I'm not sad, daddy. I'm going to see mummy and Tyler."

He watched her chest rising up and down as she breathed, and leaned over and kissed her on her cold, damp forehead.

He lowered his head and rested it on the bed, sobbing for the only thing he had left to love. He could hear whispering between Dicko and Yoler, but couldn't make out what they were saying. He didn't _want_ to know what they were saying.

"Simon? Simon?"

Yoler's voice could be heard, but Simon never lifted his head.

She tried again. "Simon?"

Simon felt a hand on his shoulder, making him jump, and lifted his head and looked up to see whom the hand belonged to. It was Dicko.

"What is it?" Simon snapped, his cheeks stained with tears.

Dicko pointed at Imelda and could see that she had closed her eyes, but she was still breathing.

Simon turned and looked at his daughter. He leaned over and kissed her on her clammy head. "I'm so sorry I let you down, baby."

She didn't respond.

"It'll takes a few minutes for her to turn," said Yoler. "At least that's what they said on the news, when it first broke out. I think it's best if everyone leaves. Nobody needs to see this."

"I want to stay here," Simon said. "I want to be with her until she's actually gone."

Yoler walked over to her and felt her neck for a pulse. She gulped, and then gave Simon a sympathetic look by thinning her lips. "I'm sorry, Simes. She's already gone."

"Has she?" he cried, putting his shaking hands to his mouth. He looked at her chest and realised she wasn't breathing anymore.

"Leave the room." Yoler pulled out a knife from her pocket. "Everyone."

A tearful Helen walked around the bed and put her arm around a devastated Simon.

"Come on," Helen said to the broken man. "Let's go."

"I can't leave her," Simon sobbed.

"You don't want to see this."

"Everybody out," Yoler snapped. "And I mean everybody."

Dicko left with an upset David. Helen was the next to go, urging Simon to follow her, but he remained where he was.

"Remember what she said, Simes," Yoler said to Simon, gripping the handle of the knife tight. "She doesn't want to turn. So if you don't leave in the next thirty seconds, you're gonna have to watch me put this knife into the side of her head. Is that what you want?"

Simon wiped his tearstained face with his forearm and shook his head.

"Then go..." Yoler's voice quavered and a tear fell from her left eye. "Now."
Chapter Forty

Simon reached the ground floor last and walked through the empty living room. He felt like he was floating, and gazed around with his wet blurry eyes. Where was everyone? Simon entered the kitchen and could hear voices from outside. He stepped outside and looked to his left where he could see the pile of smouldering bodies.

Would the fire attract more of the Canavars from afar? He wasn't sure. Maybe it was just noise that they followed. Maybe their vision was so impaired, like their movement, they couldn't see very well. Maybe some couldn't see at all.

He looked to his right and stared at the sympathetic faces that were gazing at him. The faces of Dicko, Helen, David and Donald Brownstone all looked away as Simon approached them slowly with dragging feet.

Dicko put his hand on Simon's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Simon. I really am."

Helen stepped forwards and hugged him, but there was no response from the shell-shocked man. She stepped away once she saw Yoler exiting the house.

Simon broke away from the embrace and could see the stare from Helen. He turned around and saw Yoler.

Yoler looked emotional and said, "I'll dig her grave myself."

Nobody spoke. Nobody responded. There was a deathly silence amongst the group.

"I'll take good care of her," said Yoler. "I'll wrap her up in a sheet, but I'll need a hand to bring her downstairs."

"I'll do it," Donald gulped.

"Me too," said Dicko.

Simon remained silent.

Yoler said, "I'll get a shovel."

*

It had taken half an hour for Yoler to dig a shallow grave for Imelda, and once she was done, she asked Donald and Dicko to go upstairs with her. Imelda was wrapped up in an orange sheet and her body was carried downstairs and outside.

Simon, Helen and David sat on the grass, with their backs to the house. They never conversed with each other. They just sat in silence. Yoler had dug a grave to the left of the house, a few yards away from the vegetable patch, near a few trees.

Simon turned to his left and saw the two men placing a wrapped up Imelda into the hole. Yoler walked over to Simon and crouched down next to him.

"Simes, I'm going to put her to rest," she said. "Do you want to say a few words?"

"I don't know." He hunched his shoulders. "No. What's the point?"

"Okay," she said, "If you change your mind."

He shook his head. "I won't."

Yoler stood to her feet and walked away, heading for the grave.

"Yoler," Simon called over.

She stopped walking and looked over her shoulder.

"Thanks ... for everything."

"It's the least I can do, Simes."

She walked over to the shovel and began to place the dug up soil that sat in a large pile over the body, whilst Donald and Dicko watched, ready to take their turn once Yoler became tired. But she never became tired. If she did, she never let on that she was. She did it all herself.

Yelling could be heard from inside the house. It was the sound of a male voice; it was the prisoner. It was Grey Beard. He was moaning about the pain he was in, and that he was thirsty. But it was mainly the pain that he was moaning about. Maybe the painkillers were wearing off. He _had_ broken his leg after all.

After everything that had happened, Simon had forgot about the intruder.

"I'll go and see to him," Simon heard Dicko say to Yoler.

"No, you won't." Simon stood up. " _I_ will."

"But I was going to..." Dicko paused and decided not to finish his sentence. "Now that we know that Clare's dead, I was thinking that we might as well get rid of him. To keep the place protected."

Simon nodded. "You're right. He needs to be dealt with."

Simon strolled over to Yoler and held out his hand. Donald and Simon were now standing next to Yoler and were concerned about Simon's behaviour.

"What is it?" Yoler asked.

"Give me your knife," said Simon. "I'll do it."

"We need every room in the house, now that there's a few of us," Yoler said. "We can't have the room that he's in turning into a blood bath. If we need to do it, we can do it outside."

"We should go up and suffocate him," Dicko said. "No mess."

"I suppose that'll work." Yoler nodded.

"That's too easy," Simon snarled. "I want to kill him myself. If those bastards hadn't come to the farm, this wouldn't have happened. All of this shit started when they came here. Imelda's dead because of them."

"I'm not entirely sure about that," Donald said. "I mean..." He looked up and could see the vicious glare from Yoler, Dicko and Helen. He cleared his throat nervously and nodded his head in defeat.

"You want revenge." Dicko nodded. "I get it."

"I've never killed anyone before," said Simon with a shiver in his voice. "I may as well get my first out of the way and do it to someone who deserves it."

Yoler and Dicko peeped at one another, unsure what to do.

"Get him out the house," Simon said to the two of them. "Then everybody get inside and I'll do the rest."

Dicko nodded and went inside the house; Donald Brownstone went after him. A minute later, a screaming Grey Beard was dragged out of the place and dumped on the grass, a bone sickeningly protruding through his skin.

Yoler walked up to Simon and handed him her knife. Grey Beard was moaning and dragging himself across the grassy hill, desperately trying to get away. He wasn't going anywhere fast. His progression was very minimal, but he was trying, as he knew he was going to die. He had a strong feeling he was going to die.

Everyone, apart from Simon, went back into the house, but they all watched from the kitchen window. It was a precaution, just in case Simon struggled with the man or decided that he couldn't kill him. Yoler and Dicko didn't want another one of them escaping. If Grey Beard escaped and managed to get back to his group, telling Orson what had happened and about how Clare and the other man had died, it would be curtains for Simon and the rest. But how could a man, especially a man with a broken leg and couldn't walk, possibly get back to his camp in once piece, especially in this new and dangerous world? They weren't going to take the risk. He was going to have to die, and Simon wanted revenge anyway.

Simon sat back down on the ground and stared at the elderly man, who continued to desperately drag himself across the long grass. He didn't want to kill him straight away, he wanted to make him wait a while, make him suffer.

He stuck the large blade into the grass and pulled his knees up to his chest. He put his arms over his knees and rested his head on them, staring down at the grass.

He began to cry, and not only did he feel that he had let Imelda down, he felt that he had also let Diana down as well. "I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I'm so sorry."

He quickly lifted his head and angrily wiped his tears away. He pulled the knife out of the ground and got to his feet. He glared at the injured man. He was almost thirty yards away and was making decent progress, still dragging himself away.

He must be exhausted, Simon thought. And with that broken leg, possibly catching it occasionally on the ground, it must have been sheer agony.

The injured individual was now on the flat part of the grass. Simon was certain that he didn't have the energy to reach the cluster of trees that needed to be passed to get to the pond, but Grey Beard was certainly giving it a damn good try.

Simon strolled down the hill, knife in his right hand, and slowly headed in the direction of Grey Beard. He reached the flat part and progressed another twelve yards before crouching down next to the injured man. He was still trying to get away, but he was tiring and panting hard.

"Stop struggling," Simon told him. "There's no point."

The injured man stopped crawling and looked at Simon with a look of defeat on his features. He sighed and went onto his back, panting hard, tears of pain in his eyes.

"You shouldn't have come to the farm." Simon stood over him and added, "My daughter's dead because of your arrival?"

"If you hadn't have come to the visitor centre and killed our friend," Grey Beard spat, "then we wouldn't have come seeking for revenge, which is exactly why you're going to kill me ... for revenge, right?"

"Yes, that's true." Simon nodded. "I do want revenge, but you was going to die anyway. Clare's dead, which means that you're the only person from Orson's crew that know we live here."

"Go ahead," the man snickered, but it was clear in his face that he was frightened. Wasn't everybody frightened of death?

"Make it quick." The man slapped his chest. "Straight through the heart."

"What's the point of revenge if I'm gonna make your demise as quick as possible?"

"It's all I ask." He nodded down to his leg and added, "I think I've suffered enough, don't you?"

Simon knelt down next to the man and said, "You're not going to get your wish."

Grey Beard growled, "And why the fuck not?"

"Because you don't deserve it."

"I'm a survivor, just like yourself," Grey Beard continued to pant. "I had a family once, before meeting up with Orson's lot, had a job, worked in the prison service as a Human Resource Manager."

"Not anymore." Simon snapped. "What you used to be doesn't matter anymore, so stop your bellyaching. You're going to die the way _I_ want you to die."

"And how's that?" He began to laugh, mocking Simon.

"Bloody and painful."

"Fucking cunt!" Grey Beard snarled and spat in Simon's direction, missing his face by inches. "I wish I killed that slag daughter of yours now. Blonde cunt. Yeah, if I could have my time over again I would have fucked that little bitch. I would have fucked her good—"

Simon rammed the blade into the man's side. "Sick bastard," Simon spat, and gave the knife a slow twist.

The man coughed and moaned. He yelped when Simon pulled the knife out. With the blood still running off the end of the blade, Simon stabbed Grey Beard in his midriff, again and again, and continued even when the elderly man had stopped moaning. Simon only stopped once he became tired and fell onto his backside with exhaustion.

The knife and his hands were covered in blood. He looked at the mutilated man and sneered at the corpse. He had been stabbed seventeen times.

Simon wiped his bloody hands on the grass, and then cleaned the blade. He stood up straight and glared at the corpse, gritting his teeth so hard that he thought they were going to shatter. Killing the man in such a brutal way didn't seem enough to satisfy his revenge. He took a step back and booted the side of the man's head and spat on his lifeless face.

He began to make the walk back to the farm. He looked over his shoulder, looking at the body, and decided to leave it for the crows, or whatever came first.

"Cunt," he snarled, and then placed the knife into his pocket, hitting the grassy hill and heading for the house.
Chapter Forty-One

The evening was near; Simon decided to spend some time outside whilst some of the others were having a snack from the cupboard. He stepped out and closed his eyes as the wind tickled his face. He looked around the back of the farm and could see the Mazda to his right, sitting on the drive. He looked down across the field and could see the dead man had company. Six crows were sitting on his front, pecking away at the cadaver.

Simon had no idea why crows liked the meat from a human.

And where the fuck did they come from?

He once read that when an animal dies and begins to rot, a number of quite smelly chemicals are given off. Maybe the smell attracted the crows, like blood does to sharks.

He took a gander to his left and released a sad sigh. He looked over at the pile of charcoal bodies and walked by the vegetable patch that Yoler had made and then went over to Imelda's grave.

He looked at Yoler's work and realised there was no headstone or crucifix to state whom was resting in peace. He promised himself that he would make a crucifix for his little girl tomorrow. He wasn't a believer, but Imelda used to talk about God every now and then.

He crouched down by the grave and eventually sat down and crossed his legs. He closed his eyes and tilted his chin back, feeling the wind caress his features. He opened them to see the murky heavens above him. He brought his head back down, cleared his throat, and could feel his eyes fill.

"Hey, baby girl," he said with a tremble in his voice. He lowered his head and felt stupid for taking to a pile of dirt. He knew she was gone. Could she hear him? Of course not!

"I'm pretty sure you can't hear what I'm saying," he sighed. "In fact, I don't know why I'm doing this." Simon rubbed his face with both hands and felt silly for talking to himself. He looked at the grave, and then looked up to the side where the field was. His throat began to harden and could feel his eyes filling.

He said, "I'm so sorry, Diana. I couldn't protect any of you. Keep our Imelda safe. _I_ couldn't. Please forgive me."

Simon broke down and took a minute before he could compose himself. "All of you were my life. Now I have no one, apart from a few people I've met a couple of days ago. This hurts so much that I feel I can't breathe." Simon paused for a few seconds, wiped his nose, and then cleared his throat. "I've let you all down. And for that I'll never forgive myself. You have no idea how much I want to be with you guys. No idea."

Simon placed his hands on the dirt where Imelda lay only a couple of feet down. He was on all fours and dipped his head as he cried, the tears falling from his face like a dripping tap. He sobbed, "Sleep tight, baby girl. I will always love you. Always."

"Simon," a voice was heard from behind him. It was Helen. "You okay? You've been out here for ages."

Simon awkwardly got to his feet, like a drunk after falling down, and wiped his dirty hands on his trousers. He turned around and walked over to Helen. She gasped and placed her hand over her mouth when she saw the state of the man. The pair of them embraced and Helen rubbed his back as he sobbed.

"Let it out, Simon," she whispered into his ear and pecked him on the cheek. "Don't keep it in. Let it all out."

They broke away and Helen placed her hand on Simon's wet cheek. "Let's go inside. You can't stay out here all evening. Donald said he'd do the night stint."

Simon nodded and announced, "I need a drink."

Helen put her arm around him and the pair of them walked inside. The first thing that Simon did was grab a plastic bottle of filtered water and took three gulps. He placed the bottle back and walked into the living room where he was greeted with glum faces.

Nobody spoke to him. Nobody knew what to say.

Simon smiled thinly at the sombre faces and headed straight upstairs.

He went into the bedroom where he and Imelda slept, and kicked his boots off before lying down on the bed. He turned on his side and could faintly smell his daughter. He wiped his eyes and sat up. He swung his legs to the side and sat facing the window. He had had enough. He was going to kill himself. With all his family gone there didn't seem to be any point carrying on.

He searched the bottom drawer of the side table to see if he could find a belt or a tie. There was nothing but underwear.

Still sitting, he opened the top drawer and saw two pieces of paper folded up.

He took out the two pieces of paper and opened up the first one. It was another picture. Imelda must have drawn it when she asked all of them for some privacy, after she had been bitten.

The picture was similar to one she had drawn a couple of days ago. The one she had drawn a few days ago was her and her dad on one side of the car, the dead on the other side, and her mummy and brother in heaven,

In this picture she had drawn a car, the family car, and surrounding the vehicle were a horde of Canavars. Simon was drawn at the far right of the picture, away from the horde. At the top of the picture were three figures: Diana, Tyler and Imelda.

Simon's heart went numb looking at the picture, and gently placed the A4 piece of paper on top of the side table. He opened up the second piece of paper and cried as soon as he saw Imelda's handwriting.

Daddy.

Don't cry for me, daddy. I know you will be sad, but please keep going for me. I'm going to see mummy and Tyler and I'll tell them what you did to keep me safe. You are my hero and I'll always love you.

Stay strong and keep living, no matter what it takes.

Imelda

It was such a brave and mature note from a girl so young that knew she was dying, and he read it once more before putting it on top of the drawing.

Simon jumped when he heard knocking on his door.

He gulped and asked, "Who is it?"

The door opened and Helen, Dicko and Yoler stepped inside.

"What's the matter?" he asked the three of them.

"Just making sure you haven't topped yourself," Yoler joked, but Simon could tell there was some seriousness in her comment.

Dicko flashed Yoler a hard look.

"What's up with you, Dicky Boy?" Yoler shrugged her shoulders. "You look like someone has shat on your new rug."

"A little tact would be nice," he said, shaking his head in disapproval.

"It's okay." Simon raised his hand up at Dicko.

"What's that?" Helen nodded over to the pieces of paper on the side table. Simon smiled and picked them up and passed them to Helen. Helen gasped when she opened up the drawing, and cried when she read the short letter. She passed the papers to the other two and went over to Simon and sat by his side.

"You'll get through this," Helen said to the distraught man. "We'll help you. Everybody's afraid of dying until you lose a child. Then you're afraid of living."

"I can't think straight." Simon took in a deep breath and continued, "I can't believe I'm never going to see her again. I can't believe I'll ever see those lovely big blue eyes, blonde hair, her chunky cheeks and those gappy teeth. I'll never see my baby again."

"It's gonna be hard, Simes," Yoler said, handing back the pieces of paper. "But like Helen said ... we'll help you through this. Like what Imelda said on the note: stay strong. She was your flesh and blood and it might seem like there's no option left—"

"She wasn't my flesh and blood," Simon said with his head lowered and his hands clasping.

"What do you mean?" Dicko said.

"My son was mine, biologically, but not Imelda."

"What are you talking about?" Helen spoke with a perplexed look. "You're not making sense."

Simon's head dropped an inch and the man began to chew his bottom lip, wondering if he should tell these folk about a period in his life that had always saddened him.

He said, "After Tyler was born, Diana and I began to argue. We just weren't getting along at all." Simon looked up at the confused faces, gulped, and then continued further, "Anyway, Diana had a fling with a consultant at work. She confessed a couple of months later and told me she was pregnant. It was _his_. I knew straight away that it was his."

Helen asked, " _How_ did you know?"

"Because Diana and I hadn't had sex in months."

"Oh," Helen said in astonishment, "I had no idea."

"Why would you? Anyway, we decided to stick together and I raised Imelda like one of my own. I loved her like one of my own."

"You never told her the truth?" Yoler asked him.

Simon shook his head. "No. Even the consultant that Diana had an affair with never knew. I think after a few months he moved to a different hospital anyway."

"Raising her as your own chid was a very noble, yet very difficult decision to make," Dicko said with a succession of nods.

"I suppose I would have been a hypocrite if I left her for the affair."

"What do you mean?" Helen questioned the heartbroken man.

Simon shook his head and sighed, "I was hardly a saint myself."

"You strayed?" Yoler asked.

"When Diana was pregnant with Tyler." Simon nodded and shamefully lowered his head, unable to look his new friends in the eye. "And a couple of others before that. She never knew."

"That was a different world. A different life." Yoler walked over to him and kissed him on the head. "I'm going downstairs, Simes. Get some rest, and stop beating yourself up about past misdemeanours that don't matter now."

Yoler left with Dicko, leaving Helen alone with the Simon.

"I'll be downstairs as well," she said. "If you need me..."

"Thanks, Helen."

"Do you need anything before I go?"

"No." Simon shook his head.

He lay down on the bed and turned on his side. He heard the door shut and Helen's steps heading to the ground floor. He curled up and closed his eyes. He knew he wasn't going to get any sleep tonight, but he closed his eyes anyway.

He released a melancholic breath out and his thoughts took him to a time when the family went to a caravan holiday in Wales. It had rained the whole time, and the holiday had been made worse when Imelda, who was only a toddler at the time, fell off the guest room's bed and had banged her head, causing a one-inch mark on the right side of her forehead, just below her hairline.

It was then he knew that he loved her just as much as Tyler. He freaked out when she fell and was riddled with panic as they drove to the nearest hospital. It turned out to be a minor cut and mild concussion.

His eyes filled and when they opened, water fell out. Then he remembered the words on Imelda's note.

His little girl had only been dead hours, but he told himself that he needed to see some light despite the darkness.

He closed his eyes once more and took in deep breaths. He felt exhausted, but even a full bottle of bourbon wouldn't have been able to put Simon Washington to sleep. He then began to think about the poem that his son would say to Imelda to frighten her.

Tyler was always reprimanded for teasing his sister, but he had said it so many times, and had been caught so many times, that even Simon knew his son's poem off by heart.

The Canavars are coming, so you better hide and pray. If you don't believe me then you're going to die today. They'll eat your flesh, they'll eat your brains, and they'll eat your heart and more. The Canavars are everywhere; you better lock your door.

Simon kept his eyes closed, but his psyche was plagued with Imelda's goodbye letter, especially the last line. It was easier said than done, but he was going to try if that was what she wanted.

Maybe that last line had saved his life, because minutes before reading it he was thinking about ending his existence. The words from the last line of the letter swirled around in his head like cigar smoke, and Simon released a sad sigh.

Stay strong and keep living, no matter what.
PART TWO

### Chapter One

The walk to the shop had been made with no problems, and Lisa Newton took a gander at the small place that was situated by the defunct nursery. She and her two daughters had been staying in an abandoned caravan and had no idea what was around. She decided to check out the area, alone, leaving her daughters in the caravan, and wanted to see if there were scraps of food ... anything.

She wasn't from this village.

Originally, Lisa Newton was from Alrewas, and had fled the place months ago when the dead began to breach her house. She and her two daughters, who all literally left their home with just the clothes on their backs, had been going from one place to the next since then.

She approached the door of the shop and was surprised when she tried the handle. It was open.

She pulled out her knife from her pocket and pushed the door open. She released a deflated sigh when she could see that the place had already been ransacked.

Of course it had!

It had been a year since the apocalypse had kicked off. There was nothing left anymore. She stepped inside and could see that all the shelves were empty.

Cussing quietly, the dark haired woman walked through the dusky place, empty rucksack on her back, and headed for the door at the back. She knew that the door would lead upstairs, to where the owners of the shop lived, or used to live, but was apprehensive going up. If the shop was bare, then surely there wouldn't be anything upstairs.

Lisa Newton had been scavenging, going from one place to the next, for the last eight months, ever since leaving her home. She lost her husband in the first month. He had gone out on a supply run and had never returned. She assumed he had been killed by the dead. Four months later, Lisa and her two daughters left their home on foot to go to a pub, near Fradley. Staying there was a short affair, and the three of them left and found an abandoned house that had a cupboard full of supplies.

They had been at the caravan park for nearly a month. When they first arrived, they searched the other fourteen caravans and found that, surprisingly, no one else was staying in the area. There were also bits and drabs of food and water in the other fourteen caravans, and this was collected by Lisa and her two daughters, Jemma and Grace.

She crept up the stairs, still clasping the knife, and reached the landing. She checked the bedrooms and already knew that there was no one in. Once she had checked the final room, she stood and thought for a moment.

Would it be better if her and her daughters moved from the caravan and stayed here instead? She shook her head, telling herself no. If she entered this place, thinking that there could be something to eat, then others, passing survivors, could do the same. At least in the caravan park, where all fifteen caravans looked the same, they were kind of well hidden and not exposed.

She came to her senses and headed back to the ground floor. She exited the defunct establishment and stepped outside. It had been a wasted journey, but at least the walk was only half a mile.

She placed both straps of the empty rucksack over her shoulders and walked briskly, her head twisting from side to side, checking the abandoned houses on either side for danger. She thought about her husband John, and her throat began to harden. The only positive of his disappearance was that they both kissed and said that they loved each other before he left. That was the last memory she had of him.

She descended the hill and could see the caravan park to the left. She raised a smile when she could see one of her daughters—she couldn't make out which one—in the kitchen window. It looked like her eldest, Grace.

She quickened her pace and lost her smile when she realised that she had returned empty-handed. They had enough food for a couple of days, but that was it. She was going to have to think of something. There was an allotment up the road, but it was a place she had already checked. Most of the vegetables had been taken when she arrived, and the produce that was left was taken by Lisa and her daughters. She couldn't think of anywhere else she could go. It wasn't an area she knew well.

She entered the caravan and could see her two girls at the table, playing with the deck of cards that was found in one of the drawers.

"Hi, mum." Jemma, Lisa's fourteen-year-old, flashed her mother a smile. Grace, her eldest, never flinched. Both girls had dark hair, like their mother's, but it had been a while since their hair had been washed.

Lisa dropped the empty bag on the floor and sat down, puffing out an exasperated breath.

"No luck?" Grace looked over at her mother and could see the disappointment on her face.

Lisa said no words. She simply looked over to her two daughters and shook her head, with disappointment scrawled over her features.

"We'll go out tomorrow," said Grace. "All three of us. We'll find _something_."

"Where're we gonna go?" Lisa looked annoyed and her head pounded from the dehydration. "We don't even know this town."

"Well, maybe we should _get_ to know the place."

"It's dangerous out there," Lisa snapped.

"We don't really have much of a choice, mum," Grace said with a snarl. "If we don't go out, we stay in here and starve."

"I need to keep you girls safe!" Lisa snapped. "Don't you get it?"

"Stop arguing, guys," Jemma piped up and looked close to tears. "I hate it when—"

"We're not arguing," Grace huffed and folded her arms. "We're having a discussion."

Lisa opened her mouth to say something, but she paused. She held her hand up and placed her finger on her lips, shushing the girls, even though they weren't talking, and quickly stood to her feet.

Both sisters gaped at one another and then turned their attention back to their mother.

"What is it?" Grace whispered.

Lisa Newton turned her head to one side and announced, "I thought I heard something." She went over to the living room window and peered from behind the netting. Nothing. "Probably nothing."

Grace stood to her feet and headed to the bedroom.

"Where're you going?" her mother asked her.

"Going for a lie down," she responded. "My head's pounding."

"You should drink some water," Lisa called back.

"That stuff you filtered yesterday tastes like piss."

Grace shut the bedroom door and left Jemma and her mother alone in the living room.

Lisa shook her head. "Now there's gratitude for you."

Jemma moved away from the table and went over to give her mum a hug. She knew she was trying her best and could see that she was getting upset with frustration.

Both mother and daughter hugged and Lisa released tears. Jemma pulled away and told her that everything was going to be okay. Lisa smiled. Her fourteen-year-old daughter was telling her that everything was going to be okay? Shouldn't she be saying that to her?

"We appreciate everything you've done for us, mum," Jemma began. "We really do. Maybe me and Grace should help out a bit more."

"You're my girls." Lisa touched Jemma's cheek and kissed her on the forehead. "It's _me_ that should be looking after _you_. I'm just running out of options. The longer it goes on for, the less food there is out there."

"We need to grow our own," suggested Jemma.

"I know, but we need to get the seeds first, and I don't even know where to go to get them. It's hopeless. The situation is hopeless."

"Like Grace said," Jemma began and cleared her throat before adding, "we'll all go out together. Sitting on our arses, while you go out isn't fair on you."

"You're my girls."

"I know, but we're not babies anymore. We have to do more. We're _going_ to do more."

"Okay." Lisa nodded and wiped her wet face. The strength in her youngest daughter made her so proud. "We'll go out together."

Jemma's eyes widened and she took a step back. Lisa narrowed her eyes in confusion and asked her daughter what was wrong. She was looking over her mother's shoulder, at something that was behind Lisa.

Jemma gulped and said, "Look."

Lisa slowly turned around, dreading what she was about to see, and gasped when she could see four men through the window, approaching the caravan. Lisa had been spotted.

"Mum," Jemma said. "I'm scared."

"It's okay." Lisa put her hand in her pocket, feeling for her knife. "Just stay calm."

"Shall we get Grace?"

Lisa shook her head. "Just stay with me. Don't move."

Lisa sat down and Jemma did the same, sitting next to her mum.

Only seconds passed and the door to their caravan was kicked in, making both females jump.

*

The menacing bald male strode in silence with quick steps. He had three accomplices walking behind him, and he gazed around the area with his striking blue eyes. They were all silent. All four had stayed the night at an abandoned farm, but with the place having no provisions, moving was essential. The leader was called Hando, and he had aspirations of staying alive for as long as possible.

In the beginning, people wanted to avoid the cities because of the dead and the bombs that fell out of the sky, but living in the countryside was difficult, as it was harder to find food. Most of the males in the small group had been together since the beginning and had had to steal and kill to still be breathing now.

Hando and his three other pals walked by a pub to their left and headed along the main road. They walked in the middle of it, ignoring the fields to their left and the neglected golf course to their right. The road ascended and Hando wanted to see what was over that hill. He hoped for a place to stay for the night, maybe a place that had scraps of food. That's all there were these days ... scraps.

The fit and lean six-foot frame of Hando continued to make large scissor-like strides. Behind him, from left to right were his accomplices, Dirty Ian, Wazza and a man simply called Q.

Dirty Ian's real name was Ian Robinson. He was a skinny fellow, had dark grey hair, wearing a long grey cardigan, black jogging bottoms and blue trainers. He was forty-one years old, three years younger than Hando.

Next to him was Wazza, real name Wayne Jennings. Wazza was thirty-four, had ginger receding hair, brown eyes, and was quite a muscular guy. He was wearing black jeans and a Chelsea football shirt that hadn't been washed in months. John McHugh, simply known as Q, wasn't as aggressive as his three comrades. He was a softly spoken fellow, thirty-nine years old, had almost jet-black hair and green eyes. He was wearing nice black shoes, trousers, and a smart black shirt with buttons down the middle, no collar. He looked smart, he _always_ looked smart, but it was clear that the shirt hadn't been near an iron for a while.

Everything that they were wearing was from an abandoned and already-ransacked selection of clothes shops at an industrial estate a few miles away.

The four individuals continued to pace with long strides, and as soon as they went over the hill, Hando stopped walking. He held his hand up, stopping the three behind as well.

"What is it?" Dirty Ian was the first to speak up. "What's up, Hando?"

Hando never opened his mouth. He simply pointed over at the caravan park to their right, then continued to walk, but at a slower pace. His three companions followed obediently behind.
Chapter Two

Simon Washington tossed and turned, moaning to himself, mumbling his son's name as the nightmare he was having reached its climax. Once his son screamed: "Daddy, don't leave me!" before being taken down by the dead, Simon woke up and glared at the ceiling with his wet eyes. He looked to his left and the realisation that Imelda was no longer with him twisted his guts.

He sat up and rubbed his face with both hands, and then gazed around the room. He swung his legs to the side of the bed and dropped his head in his hands.

It had been nearly a month since he had lost his little girl, but the nightmares kept on coming thick and fast. He was wearing just his underpants and picked up the clothes that were tossed in the corner of the room and put them back on. He put his black combats on first, followed by his old black T-shirt. He scanned the carpet for his boots, and then realised he had kicked them off near the door. He went over, slipped them on and tied the laces. He checked his breath and winced. The first thing he was going to do once he left the room was brush his teeth.

He looked over at the window, released a heavy breath out, and made small steps towards it. His walk was interrupted when he heard a knock at his door.

He turned around to face the door, and groaned, "Come in."

"Are you decent?" he heard the unmistakeable female voice say from behind the door. It was Yoler Sanders.

"I am now."

The door opened and Yoler stepped in, singing _Come Together_ under her breath. From clothes she had taken from a run a few weeks back, Yoler was now wearing green combats and a black and yellow Nirvana T-shirt. She flicked her fringe from her eyes and asked Simon if he wanted breakfast.

"I don't know." He shook his head. "Probably not yet. I'm just up."

"We've still got some oats from that run the other week. I could rustle you something up later."

Simon walked away from Yoler and headed for the window. "That'd be great."

She walked in further and stood next to him by the window. Both were now looking out.

Simon looked down at the vegetable patch and could see that the produce was blooming. He looked at the large buckets of soil and could see that the potatoes were coming on a treat as well.

"They're coming on." Simon nodded down at the potatoes.

Yoler smiled and said, "Had some problems with the tomatoes, but the spuds seem to be doing okay."

Simon smiled and had a light chuckle to himself.

"What?" Yoler placed her hand on his shoulder and asked further, "What is it?"

"You know what I would really like?"

"I'm not giving you a blowie," Yoler sighed, shaking her head with a smirk.

"Not that." Simon began to laugh.

"Then what?"

"Steak and chips," Simon sighed. "I haven't had a steak in ages."

"I can't help you with that." Yoler said with a smile. "If I could magic a steak out of my arse, I would, Simes."

Simon laughed and said, "You certainly have a way with words, Yoler."

"I do." She placed her arm around Simon and they were both now looking to their left, gazing at Imelda's grave. A blanket of melancholy suffocated the two adults, and both of them could feel their eyes getting damp.

A silence fell on both individuals and no words needed to be spoken. After Imelda's death, Simon became a recluse for a week. He drank, but he never ate a thing. His behaviour worried them all, especially Yoler and Helen, but as the weeks went by, he began to eat more and spend a little more time outside. He hadn't left the farm in nearly a month, and most of the runs, even walks to the pond for water, had been done by Dicko, Yoler and Donald. But nobody complained about his lack of contribution to the group.

"We were thinking about checking out that industrial estate near Hansworth," Yoler said.

"What's there?" Simon asked her. He looked at her Beatle haircut. It appeared to be getting longer, and the fringe was almost covering her eyebrows.

"Donald's friend used to work there ages ago. He said there was a café, buildings belonging to offices—"

"Sounds pointless."

"There's also gallons of petrol in a hut. A garden company used to be there."

"Petrol." Simon rubbed his chin in thought. "Now that's more like it. Sounds good. When are you thinking about going?"

"Not sure."

"I'd like to go. What do you reckon?"

Yoler hunched her shoulders and seemed unsure. Her coy behaviour made Simon a little angry. He had been engulfed with grief for many weeks, but with the pain diluting a little, he wanted to get out; he wanted to contribute. He got the impression that Yoler, maybe all of them, thought that he was too fragile to be leaving the farm just yet.

"I'm not a child, Yoler," said Simon. "I want to go."

She never protested. She nodded her head and said with defeat, "You can take my place. I was going to go with Dicko."

Simon nodded. "Thanks. I just don't want people thinking I'm useless."

"Nobody thinks you're useless, Simes. You've gone through the hardest thing an adult could go through." Yoler placed her hand gently on his cheek. Their eyes locked and Yoler continued, "I can't imagine what it's like for you. I mean ... with Imelda gone, you've lost your entire family."

Simon created a thin smile and said, "This is not you trying to cheer me up, is it?"

Yoler smiled, revealing some of the stains on her front teeth, and removed her hand from Simon's cheek. "My friends used to say that I don't have a filter."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning ... I sometimes say things without thinking."

"I'm not offended." Simon said, and stroked her arm. "You mean well and you have a good heart, Yoler. I'm glad you're here."

"Ah, thanks, Simes."

"I mean it." Simon smiled and could see that the young twenty-six-year-old female was blushing a little. "Dicko is a very lucky man."

"We're not an item, you know," she laughed. "It's just gland to gland combat."

"It's okay." Simon laughed gently and held his hands up. "You don't have to explain."

Yoler leaned forwards and kissed Simon on the cheek. "I'll see you down there."

She shut the bedroom door and left Simon alone.

He moved closer to the window, placed his hands on the window ledge, and gazed outside. He thought about the time he and his family went to Salou, in April. When his wife booked the holiday, they knew it was a risk. They had never been to Spain in April before.

They went for just the week and that was long enough. The weather was quite cold, there were very few tourists, and the hotel they were at seemed to be housing a lot of Spanish senior citizens. The holiday was all-inclusive, so at breakfast, lunch and dinner times, they would go down to the restaurant with the kids. The problem with this was that some of the senior citizens that were there didn't seem to like the fact that there were also tourists in the hotel, and they were very rude, pushing and shoving in the queues.

When they flew back to England, Simon told his wife that they were never going back at that time of the year again.

He chuckled and shook his head. "My worst holiday. Yet, I'd give everything to experience that week again with you guys."
Chapter Three

Lisa and Jemma Newton remained sitting when one by one the four men stepped inside. The first man to step in appeared to be the leader of the rabble. He was bald, lean, and had intense blue eyes to suggest he was someone not to mess with. The second person to step in was a skinny man, slightly taller than the leader, and was wearing a long grey cardigan. Person number three was a slightly overweight but muscular individual with ginger hair, wearing a Chelsea football top. The final and fourth man was smart looking and had black hair.

The leader turned and told his three pals to sit on the couch that was opposite the two girls. They did as they were told and the leader remained on his feet.

Lisa Newton shook with fear, but she asked the intimidating man, "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" Hando released a wide smile and looked around the living room part of the caravan. "Now there's a question. What do I want? _Everything_ , that's what I want."

Lisa shook and said, "I don't understand."

"We could be dead tomorrow, sisters," he addressed mother and daughter. "And I'm ... _we're_ gonna make sure that we have as much fun as we can."

"Have you come to rob us?" Jemma asked the leader. The fourteen-year-old quavered as she waited for an answer.

"We don't have anything for you," Lisa snarled, and her anger, because of this intrusion, seemed to be stronger than her fear.

"Is that right?" Hando leered at Lisa and added, "We'll see about that."

He took a step closer and crouched down, looking at her daughter, Jemma.

"Hey, honey," he smiled at Jemma, who refused to look at him. "How are you holding up?"

"Leave her alone!" Lisa growled.

Ignoring the mother, Hando continued, "You've done well to get this far."

"I said, leave her alone."

"Am I talking to you?" Hando turned and flashed the mother a hard glare.

He turned to face Jemma once more, but before he could open his mouth Lisa jumped on top of him and scratched his face. The pair of them rolled around on the floor like kids fighting in a playground, whilst Hando's three friends sat and stared in shock. They had never seen anyone attack Hando before. Now here he was rolling around on the floor with some woman.

Lisa pulled out her knife, but it was knocked away with a powerful slap from the bald man. Lisa screamed out as Hando pulled back on her hair, and stood up, still clutching onto Lisa's hair. He had lost his smile and seemed annoyed that this woman had the nerve to attack him and also pull a knife on him. It was unthinkable, it was inconceivable ... it was fucking disrespectful!

He threw her onto the couch where her daughter sat and inspected his face in the mirror above it. He had a few scratches on his cheeks, but they were just superficial wounds. He turned and picked up the knife, placing it in his own pocket.

He turned and pointed at Dirty Ian and Wazza and told them to pin the mother down onto the floor. They stood to their feet and grabbed the woman, making Jemma cry, and threw her to the floor.

"Now," Hando began, "take her to the nearest bedroom, strip her and tie her up."

Dirty Ian and Wazza dragged the screaming mother to the nearest room and took a few hits as they were doing this. Hando then clicked his fingers at the man they called Q, real name McHugh, and told him to sit next to the girl. The smartly dressed man did as he was told, and then Hando told him to pull out his knife and place it against her throat.

"If she tries to leave, cut her open," said Hando with no emotion in his tone. He then walked away, heading to the bedroom.

Jemma sat shivering, tears streaming down her face. Minutes passed, voices were raised, and she sat there for twenty-seven long minutes. She hummed a tune in her head, trying to drown out the muffled screams coming from her mum and the excited shrieks being made by the three men, and prayed for the ordeal to be over.

She then heard words, softly spoken words, coming from the man that was sitting next to her. The man holding the knife whispered in Jemma's ear, "I'm sorry about this. This is not me. What they're doing ... it's not what I'm about."

"Please..." Jemma began, but the man shushed her.

"Just stay still, don't move, and don't say anything until we've left. Understand?"

Jemma nodded.

After nearly half an hour, the hollering from the bedroom had finally died down and Jemma could hear the bedroom door being opened. Hando was the first to leave. He fastened his belt, sat down on the couch opposite Jemma, and began to put his boots on. He looked at his right fist and inspected it for any cuts or bruises.

Q knew right away that Hando had hit the woman, probably knocked her out, and this was confirmed when he said to Jemma, "Your mum's fine. She's ... sleeping at the moment." He then began to giggle and they could see that Dirty Ian and Wazza were now leaving the room, doing up their trousers.

"How is she?" Hando giggled and looked over to his two comrades.

"Sleeping like a baby," Dirty Ian cackled. "That was some punch you gave her at the end. We untied her also, like you said."

"Of course." Hando nodded and smiled. "I don't want her to think that we're complete animals."

Hando looked at Q and nodded over to young Jemma. "Did she behave?"

Q said, unable to hide the disgust on his face, "Of course."

Hando then clicked his fingers at Q, telling him to move. Q did as he was told and was replaced with Hando, now sitting next to the petrified Jemma Newton.

Hando could see the fourteen-year-old was shivering with fear and this made him smile. "I need you to listen to me, okay?"

Jemma never verbally responded; she shivered with fright and couldn't find words.

Hando tried again. "Okay?"

"Yes," she cried.

"Good." Hando cleared his throat and pulled a knife out of his pocket, the knife that Lisa used to attack him. "What your mother did to me was very disrespectful, so I had to teach her a lesson. You understand, don't you?"

Nothing.

"Don't you?"

"Y-yes," Jemma stammered, tears now streaming down her face.

"Good. The trouble is ... I feel that the punishment that we gave her wasn't enough."

"Please, don't rape me!" the girl cried and became inconsolable.

"I'm not going to do that," Hando tried to appease her. "We're not child molesters. Give us some credit, for Christ's sake."

"We've kept your mum alive. But to really hurt your mum, I need to do something that will most definitely even things up."

"I don't understand," Jemma sobbed.

Hando smiled at the girl's innocence and ran his fingers over her hair, making her shiver. He clasped the knife tight and rammed the blade into the young girl's side. She yelped and turned to look at her attacker with wide eyes and jolted when he plunged the blade into her twice more.

She grasped his shirt, but Hando shushed her, stared into her eyes, and could see the teenager was slipping away. He wiped the blade on her hair, stood up, and watched as she slowly sat back and stopped breathing.

"Right, brothers," Hando announced and clapped his hands together as if what he had done was nothing out of the ordinary. "Gather what we can and then we can check out the rest of the caravans."

"Are we staying here?" Dirty Ian asked.

"Nah." Hando looked around and twisted his face. "We'll keep walking. We can do better than this."

*

She put her hands over her ears to drown out her mum's sobbing and the men's yells. They were clearly having a good time, and her mum was clearly in some distress. She knew what was happening, but what about Jemma? Where was she?

Grace Newton felt terrible for hiding under the bed once she heard their voices, after the door being kicked in, but what was she supposed to do? She was a young woman and the intruders were grown men. She guessed that there were three or four of them from what she could make out from the voices.

But what was going to happen afterwards? She already knew, or at least she _thought_ she already knew.

Her mum and sister were going to die for sure.

Then what? They search the caravans, including theirs, for supplies.

She'd be found and that would be the end of her. She had to get out. Fear was keeping her still, but she _had_ to get out. There was nothing she could do for her mum and little sister. Nothing!

The eighteen-year-old crawled from underneath the bed, tears streaming down her face, and walked over to the window and opened it as quietly as she could. She could hear the voice of a male from the living room, and looked back, muttered an apology to her mother and sister, and then climbed out.

She ran as fast as she could and never looked back.
Chapter Four

Simon Washington could feel the pain in the back of his mouth once again. It was becoming more frequent. Everybody was outside, chatting and relaxing near the vegetable patches, including young David Willis, and he winced when the sharp pain hit him once more.

He rubbed the side of his mouth and moaned, "I'm getting sick of this."

"Are you okay?" Helen asked him.

He nodded and smiled at Helen, went inside, and went through the kitchen drawers. He knew there was one somewhere. He had seen it weeks ago.

His eyes widened when he went through the third drawer. "Bingo."

He picked up the pair of pliers and decided to do this in private. He went through the living room, went through the door that led upstairs, and reached the first floor. He entered the bathroom and gazed into the shaving mirror.

"Alright, here goes."

He blew a big breath out and touched the sensitive tooth, just to make sure it was the right one, before putting the pliers into his mouth.

Satisfied that the pliers had now a decent grip on the infected tooth, Simon winced and began to pull the tool to the side and then to the other side. He did this a couple of times, but the tooth wasn't for moving. He took the pliers out of his mouth.

"I can't do it." He shook his head. "Maybe I need to get drunk for this."

He puffed out a hard breath and decided to try once more.

It wasn't happening.

"Fuck." He threw the pliers on the floor and gave his tooth a wiggle with his thumb and finger. It wasn't budging at all.

"Yeah," he sighed to himself. "I'm definitely gonna have to get drunk for this."

*

"So what's the plan then?" Donald Brownstone asked Yoler.

"The plan?" Yoler queried.

"What pish is happening today?"

"Pish?" Yoler scratched her head in confusion. "Isn't that a Scottish word?"

Little David, Helen and Dicko were sitting on the grass, in silence, not even listening to the chatter between Donald and Yoler.

Yoler began, "Well, originally, me and Dicky Boy were going to check out this industrial estate, but Simes wants to go."

"Is that wise?" Donald began to laugh.

"What do you mean?"

"Well..." Another chuckle came out of Donald's mouth. "He was about as much use as a concrete trampoline before, you dig what I'm sayin'? And now, a month after losing his daughter..."

"What are you trying to say?" Yoler stood up straight with her hands on her hips.

"He's probably not ready to go out there, not yet."

"He _wants_ to go. Oh, that reminds me. I haven't told Dicky Boy yet." Yoler whistled over at Dicko to get his attention, making him snap out of his daydreaming.

"What do you think I am?" Dicko said with a smile. "A bloody sheepdog?"

Yoler laughed. "It worked, didn't it?"

"I'm not your slave, Yoler," snickered Dicko, and began to stand to his feet.

"You do as I say, if you want to feel these tits again," she said with a smirk. She then held her hand up to Helen, apologising for the lewd talk in front of her son. Helen never responded.

"Anyway, what is it?" Dicko asked and walked over to the pretty dark haired Yoler Sanders.

"Change of plan." Yoler ran her fingers through her hair. "Simes is taking my place for this run. What do you think?"

Dicko shrugged his shoulders. "As long as he doesn't run out on me again, if the going gets tough."

"I'm sure that won't happen."

Dicko walked away from Yoler and left her with Donald, Helen and young David. He went inside the house and grabbed himself a cup of water, and then began to snack on a bowl of chopped apples that Helen had prepared earlier.

Dicko filled the cup up and looked in the cupboard, below the sink, and smiled when he saw half a bottle of concentrated juice. He put some diluting juice in the water, to give it some taste, and a wave of sadness hit him when he did this. Imelda hated drinking the water from the pond, even though it was filtered, and would have to use diluting juice before any of it touched her lips.

Dicko could feel his eyes filling up when he thought of Imelda.

She was so brave, right to the end.
Chapter Five

Lisa Newton had spent many minutes sobbing into her pillow. The ordeal that she had to endure was something that she thought would never happen to her.

Why did they do it? What was the point?

The only positive out of this was that they allowed her to live after it.

Was all of this because she had scratched the leader's face? She wasn't sure.

Her sobbing came to a sudden halt when she realised that she had two daughters in the caravan. What had happened to them? Did those monsters touch them?

She placed her feet on the carpet of the bedroom and cried out when a shooting pain was felt in her groin. _Bastards._ Her anger began to boil when she thought about the things they had done to her. _Dirty, filthy bastards_.

She was half-naked and bent over to put her black trousers on, but quickly changed her mind when she could feel the men's seed running down her thighs. She sobbed as she hobbled to the toilet and sat down with her head in her hands as she urinated.

Once she was finished, she shuffled her feet towards the bedroom again. She was worried for her daughters, but never called out. She wasn't entirely sure if the men had left, despite the caravan being deathly silent, and needed to get dressed before she did anything.

She picked up her trousers from the floor and checked to see if they had been ripped. They were pulled off her when she was thrown on to the bed and her knickers had been ripped off.

The flashbacks flitted through her mind, and she began to sob when she could see the face of the man they called Hando. He was on top of her, inside her, calling her names. Once he was finished, the skinny man had _his_ turn, and while all this was happening, the other guy that was called Wazza, was standing over her, playing with himself with his right hand and rubbing her breast with his left.

She shook her head, mentally reprimanding herself for dwelling on what had just happened, when she didn't even know where her daughters were and if they were okay.

Lisa put her trainers on and staggered out of the bedroom, heading for the living room. She could feel the breeze swirling around, caressing her face, and could see that the main door was open. She went over to shut it. After she did this, she turned around and her knees buckled.

"Oh my God!"

She placed her hand over her mouth and fell to her knees, seconds after her eyes had clocked the corpse of her youngest daughter. She crawled across the carpet, on all fours, and touched the face of her deceased child. Her shaky hands inspected her fourteen-year-old. Her right hand touched something wet. She raised her hand and inspected it. It was blood. She had been stabbed in her side, but Lisa didn't know how many times.

Why did they do this? Why?

Because she had scratched the man's face? Because it was deemed as disrespectful?

Really?

Why didn't he just kill _her_?

Because if she was dead, then she couldn't suffer?

"My baby," Lisa cried and dropped her head in Jemma's lap. "My poor baby."

For minutes she sobbed in her daughter's lap, but then she stopped suddenly, as if somebody had a remote for her emotions and had hit the pause button.

Lisa stood up quickly and whispered, "Grace."

She knew that her eldest had gone into one of the bedrooms before the men arrived, and strode towards the room, dreading the outcome. "Grace? Grace, baby?"

Lisa smiled when she saw that the bedroom window was open. She had escaped. Her eighteen-year-old daughter had escaped.

She walked back to the living room and sat down next to her dead daughter. She pulled Jemma's body to her and gave her a cuddle. Lisa stroked Jemma's hair and wept. Her weeping had been cut short when she heard the voices of men. She got up and peered through the window. It was them. She thought they had left.

They were carrying stuff, and it appeared that they had taken some things from the other caravans. She didn't know what they had taken, because she thought she had cleaned the caravans out when she first arrived with her girls.

Three of them, including the Hando character, walked by her caravan, but the skinny character, Dirty Ian, told Hando that he'd see him later and seemed to be heading back to Lisa's place.

"Shit." She shuddered with fright and mumbled more, "What does he want now?"

Lisa had no idea what to do. She decided to go back to the bedroom, the way that they had left her. She didn't know why she did this. The panic wasn't helping her to think straight.

She went into the room and was about to take her trousers and shoes off, but the man had entered the caravan quicker than she thought he would. She quivered with fear as his steps headed to the room and opened the door to see a petrified Lisa sitting on the bed, now fully clothed.

He looked at her suspiciously and asked if she had gone into the living room yet.

"No, I haven't," she lied. "Why?"

He smiled, revealing his dirty teeth. "Don't matter."

The skinny man gazed at Lisa and produced a devilish grin that sent a shiver down her vertebrae.

"Wh-what do you want?" Lisa's voice trembled as she spoke. "Why are you here?"

"With Hando's permission," the skinny man grinned, "I'm allowed to come back here for my seconds."

Lisa gritted her teeth, with the picture of her recently deceased daughter in her head, and snapped, "Don't you think you've done enough damage?"

"What can I say?" The character called Dirty Ian threw his arms up and added, "I'm a highly sexed individual. Always have been."

"Please," Lisa begged. "Leave me alone."

"I'll leave you alone once I've had my wicked way with you."

"You already did."

"No, no." Dirty Ian wagged his finger at her and pulled a knife from the back of his trousers, making Lisa gasp. "I fucked you in the arse. Now, I'm gonna do you the traditional way."

Frozen with fear, Lisa sat motionless as the man wasted no time and felt her breasts through her top with his left hand, his right still clasping the knife. He leaned over and kissed her on the top of her head.

"Lie down on the bed," he ordered.

She looked up at him, her eyes soaked with tears that hadn't fallen yet, and begged him to reconsider what he was doing.

His free hand grabbed her around the throat and yelled, "Lie down on the fucking bed! Don't you ruin this for me with your fucking moaning!"

Lisa did as she was told, still fully clothed, and closed her eyes as Dirty Ian was over her, on all fours, and was now kissing the side of her neck. She opened her eyes slightly and gazed at his knife. She was certain that he would have to release it or put it away when undoing his trousers, and she wasn't wrong.

She kept her eyes narrowed, and with Ian thinking that they were still closed, he shut his eyes and continued to rub his hand over her breasts, over her clothing. He slipped his left hand underneath her top, and then knelt up straight.

He began to undo his belt with his right hand, as he played with her nipple with his left. Lisa could see that the knife was lying on the bed, but she was frozen with fear.

_Now! Do it now!_ Her own voice screamed inside her head.

This is your last chance. This is your only chance. He's going to kill you after this. You know that, don't you? That's part of the thrill.

Lisa wasn't sure that that was going to happen, but the words still echoed through her head.

Your daughter was stabbed to death by one of those guys, and you're lying there like a sack of potatoes. Seriously?

She held out her shaking hand, almost touching the handle of the knife as Dirty Ian nibbled on her ear.

Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it!

She grabbed the handle, but Ian had seen this straightaway, noticing what she was up to. He punched her in the cheek, and tried to grab the knife, but Lisa slapped his hand, screamed out, and stabbed the point of the knife through his left eye. It wasn't in enough to kill him, but it was in enough for him to fall to the floor and writhe around the floor, screaming in pain.

Aware that the other three were probably not far away and could probably hear him, Lisa exited the bedroom quickly and left the caravan the same way Grace, her youngest daughter, did. And like her daughter, she ran as fast as she could from the caravan site, not looking back once.

Her heart galloped and crashed against her chest, just waiting to hear male yells and then to be pursued. She was a hopeless runner. She knew that if these guys spotted her fleeing and decided to chase her, they'd catch her up with ease.
Chapter Six

Simon was outside, alone, and taking in the fresh air. He wore black combats and was also wearing a black leather belt, and a machete was slipped in it. He took a peep to his left, over at Imelda's grave, and made the short walk over. He sat on the ground, near her grave, and raised a small smile when he saw Lambie, a cuddly toy that Imelda had found and played with, sitting against the cross that was placed on her grave. Simon had made the cross himself a couple of days after her death, from two branches and some string to keep them together.

Stay strong and keep living, no matter what it takes.

He turned to his left, and saw Dicko leaving the house and heading towards the car that was parked at the side of it. It was time to go.

Simon stood up and brushed himself down. He blew the grave a kiss, turned around, and followed Dicko to the car. Both men got in without uttering a word to one another.

"Ready?" Dicko looked at Simon Washington as he buckled himself in the passenger seat.

Simon clipped himself in, sighed and said, "As I'll ever be."

Dicko was armed with his trench knife, Trevor, whereas Simon had now taken out the machete and had placed it on his lap. It was more comfortable that way when travelling. They had two machetes, Yoler had the other, and these were the weapons that were taken from the three Orson intruders from a month back.

Simon had taken a belt and had wrapped it around his trousers, so whenever he didn't need the weapon, which he hoped would be the case for the whole trip, he could place it in the belt at his side, saving him carrying it around.

"Let's hope this goes better than the last time we both went out," Dicko said with a chuckle.

As soon as he said that sentence, the image of the bearded man in his fifties projected in his mind. He was a man at the side of the road that Dicko had spotted, when he was driving around the countryside, looking for Simon after he had fled from the visitor centre. The man was average in height, had a long grey beard, and was wearing blue jeans, a black shirt and a cardigan. It was such a bizarre moment, and there had been many over the last twelve months, and Dicko couldn't shake the image off.

"It will," Simon said with a nod, a little annoyed that the man kept on bringing that subject up.

"You sure?" Dicko turned to his side and gave Simon a quick look. He fired the engine and selected into reverse. "Going out is a hell of a risk. More trouble could be waiting for us."

"True," said Simon. "I won't run out on you. I don't have anyone back at the farm waiting for me anymore."

Dicko was confused by Simon's comment, but chose to ignore it. He took off the handbrake, turned and looked over his shoulder, and reversed the car. As soon as the car hit the road and he had straightened it up, now selecting first gear, he queried Simon about the comment that he had made thirty seconds ago. He tried to ignore it, but he couldn't help himself.

He asked, "What do you mean by that?"

Dicko pulled the car forwards and looked to the side again, looking at Simon, waiting for an answer.

"What's that, mate?"

"About not having anyone back at the farm?"

Simon hunched his shoulders nonchalantly. "It means I have nothing to live for, now that Imelda is gone."

Dicko was beginning to think that this trip was a bad idea, especially with Simon for company. Maybe it was too soon. "Look, if you're going to be reckless out there, or do anything stupid—"

"What I mean is that ... I won't bail out on you, like I did at the visitor centre. That won't happen again."

"Okay." Dicko went through the gears and wondered once more if taking Simon was a good idea. He looked lost and subdued. Yes, he had lost his little girl a month ago, which affected everyone, but he lacked any emotion when he was in company.

Maybe Donald was right. Maybe he _wasn't_ ready.

"Do you know where you're going?" Simon asked Dicko.

"Yeah, kind of," Dicko snickered.

"Kind of?"

"Don't forget, I'm not from these parts. I know the area a little, but I'm from..." Dicko paused, realising he was opening up to the man he had only known for a month.

"You're from?" Simon said with a grin, realising that Dicko had let his guard down slightly.

Dicko smiled and said, "It doesn't matter." He turned left at a junction and looked at a sign that stated: Barrhead. 2 miles.

"Is that where we're heading?" Simon asked. "Barrhead?"

"We'll be stopping just before it. The industrial estate is a few hundred yards before that town."

The rest of the journey was completed in silence. The car slowed down as both men could see a turn up ahead on the left. Dicko turned the vehicle onto the road called Walkers Rise.

The road was a steep and windy one, and Dicko dropped the vehicle into second so that the struggling vehicle could make the hill before dying. There were trees to either side of them as the car made the steep climb, and Dicko 'thanked God' when the road became flat and the vehicle entered a spacious area.

He parked in the desolate car park and buildings that used to be businesses surrounded the car park. Both men seemed relieved that the place was quiet. The visitor centre a month ago was also quiet, Dicko mentally reminded himself, trying not to let his guard down. And look what happened there.

Dicko turned the engine off and turned to face Simon.

"And now what?" Simon asked the driver.

"Now," said Dicko. "We go and have a look around." He was the first to step out of the vehicle and Simon seemed to take an age to follow suit.

Simon took the machete out of the vehicle, before shutting the door, and slipped it into his belt.

"Shame we can't get some kind of holster for that," Dicko remarked, nodding at the large blade. "You try and climb a fence with that thing in your belt and you could end up cutting your leg."

"Don't you worry about me, mate," said Simon. "I'll be fine."

Dicko stood in the middle of the car park, hands on his hips, and managed to find something he was looking for.

"Over there." He pointed over at a small warehouse. "I think that's where the gas is kept."

Simon nodded and followed Dicko over to the small building. Dicko placed his ear against the door and began to knock on it. Simon looked at Dicko with confusion, which Dicko noticed.

He explained, "Just a habit. I used to do this before entering any building, just in case. Especially in the early days."

"The Canavars?"

Dicko laughed, "The Canavars, or whatever you wanna call them."

Simon looked around and could see the café that was mentioned before, an office to his left, and he assumed that the hut with the petrol was the place that Dicko was trying now.

Dicko tried the door and both men gasped when it opened. Simon looked delighted, but Dicko was suspicious.

He opened the door wider and peered inside the dusky area. The place was the same size as the ground floor of his old house, but there was nothing inside it, apart from some empty containers that were lying on their side.

Both men trudged back to the car, crestfallen, and Simon asked Dicko if it was worth their time checking out the café.

"After a year?" Dicko looked furious because of the wasted journey and shook his head. "But be my guest if you think you might come across a mouldy cake or biscuits."

"There might be tea bags in there," said Simon. "And coffee."

Dicko bit his bottom lip in thought and said, "It _has_ been a while since I've had a nice cup of coffee. I suppose it's worth a try."

They walked over to the café, and couldn't see through the dusty windows to see if there was anybody inside.

"I wonder if this door will be open," Dicko said, and gave the door a try.

This one seemed to be locked and an agitated Dicko shoulder barged it in anger. The door flew open on Dicko's second attempt, and both men peered inside the dark place. Tables were turned and chairs had been knocked over. Dark smears of blood were present on the floor and walls, and both men gagged as the smell hit them.

Simon stepped outside, bent over, and retched a couple of times, only liquid coming out of his mouth. He stood up straight, took in a few gulps of fresh air, and then turned around to go back inside.

Dicko stepped out of the building, holding two bags of tea bags and a tub of coffee.

"That's all there was in the kitchens," Dicko announced, then shut the door behind him. "Nothing else in there."

"Really?" Simon thought that Dicko was acting suspiciously. He took a step forwards, heading for the door, but Dicko pushed him back.

"Time to go," said Dicko. "This trip has been a waste of time. You win some, you lose some."

"Let me go inside." Simon glared at the man he had known only for a month.

"There's nothing in there. What's up? Don't you believe me?"

"You're acting weird."

"Just get in the car."

Simon felt his anger boil and wanted to punch Dicko's lights out, but was certain he'd come off second best. He hadn't had a proper fight in years.

"I want to see what's in there." Simon wasn't for moving.

"Go ahead," Dicko sighed, "I'll wait in the car."

Dicko headed for the driver's side and took the keys out of his back pocket. He sat in and waited for Simon to return.

Dicko leaned his head back and tapped on the steering wheel as he sang a Joy Division track. He only had to wait three minutes when Washington could be seen leaving the establishment. His head was lowered and his feet dragged across the concrete. He got in the car and sat in the passenger seat, gazing out of the windscreen and placed the large blade on his lap.

Dicko turned to Simon. "You okay?"

He received no answer.

"Simon?"

Simon gulped and said, "Just drive."
Chapter Seven

Donald Brownstone and Yoler Sanders hadn't said a word to one another since leaving the farm. Donald had mentioned that he needed to wash some clothes, and Yoler suggested that she should tag along. She told Donald that if he was making his way to the pond, then they might as well bring water back to the farmhouse to filter.

With an empty bucket each, and a bar of soap in Donald's pocket, they left Helen and David alone. They were certain they'd be okay for half an hour, but told Helen to bolt the doors, just in case. Donald had a knife in his other pocket and Yoler was carrying a machete she had 'claimed' from the intruders a month back.

Donald looked to the side, at Yoler, and knew she didn't like him. Maybe he wasn't the most pleasant of men at first, he thought. He knew what he was like. He was like this in the old world, had very little friends, but now he was worse.

He opened his mouth, about to say something complimentary about Yoler, but he paused. He didn't want to come across as some kind of middle-aged pervert.

The pair of them were still walking with large strides and were getting near the cluster of trees. Yoler took a glance to her side and noticed he was staring.

"You wanna photo?" she snapped.

Donald didn't respond straightaway. He took in a breath and began to speak. "I know we didn't get on in the beginning," he began, "and you don't really like me..."

"That obvious, huh?"

"But..." Donald tried to swallow his anger and made a second attempt on his sentence. "But if this is going to work, we're gonna have to start being civil to one another, you dig what I'm sayin'?"

"Is that right?"

"Look, if you hate me that much, then why come to the pond?"

"Because it's a necessity, dumb fuck, that's why?" Yoler huffed and chewed the inside of her mouth in thought. Donald knew there was more to come, so he remained quiet.

She said, "You're just scared in case we kick you out."

"That won't happen," he chortled.

"You reckon?"

"If _I_ go, then Helen and David will go with me. They're like family to me," he said smugly. "And we all know that Simon likes Helen."

"And we all know that _you_ have a thing for Helen as well. That's why you're so snappy with Simon." Donald never responded, allowing Yoler to continue her little rant. She continued, "And what makes you think Helen will go wherever you go? She has to do whatever makes David safe; even if that means turning her back on people she's known for a while. Your kid comes before anything and anyone."

"I know," he mumbled and lowered his head.

They went into the trees, careful where they were putting their feet, and were soon out at the other end and by the pond.

"Right," Yoler snapped, grabbing Donald's bucket off of him. "I'll dip these buckets and then you can get yourself washed. I promise I won't look.

She took her shoes and socks off, rolled up her trousers, then walked into the pond. Once the water was just below her knees, she filled both buckets.

She walked back to the grassy bank and plonked the buckets on the ground.

Donald had his top off and was giving himself a quick wash, using the soap. Yoler could see a tattoo on Donald's upper back. It was in bold, in an old English style, and the word that was tattooed on his back was _Charlie_.

"Who's Charlie?" she asked Donald with zero hesitation.

"You said you weren't going to look."

Donald was still washing and never turned to face the woman. It took a while for him to answer, as if he was thinking about it, and finally said, "Charlie was a dog I used to have."

"You must have really loved that dog, having a tattoo of his name on your back," Yoler persisted, not believing a word he had said.

"I did," was his short response.

Donald's legs waded through the water once he was finished and put his shirt, trousers, socks and boots back on once he was back on dry land. Yoler realised that Donald hadn't taken a towel with him, but it wasn't something he moaned about.

"Right, let's head back." Donald went over to Yoler and picked up both full buckets.

"I can lift one of them, you know," Yoler said.

"Don't want you breaking a nail now, do we?"

Yoler never cracked her face and turned to walk into the cluster of trees, but a rustling from the other side of the pond made the pair of them pause.

Donald, still holding the buckets, turned and looked into the woods. Both turned their heads and gazed at one another, unsure what the next move should be. Donald briefly thought about his old camp that was deeper into the woods, and wondered if it was one of the people that had escaped. He was in two minds whether to call out or not. It could be anything, he thought. It could be a Canavar, a wild dog, a survivor, a gang of thugs.

Anything!

No more noises could be heard, and Yoler whispered over to Donald, "Whatever it was, I think it's gone now."

Donald never flinched. He remained staring into the woods, still holding the buckets.

"Don't you think we should check it out?" he asked her.

Yoler looked at him and could see that he wasn't as relaxed as her. Donald Brownstone wasn't as tough as he made himself out to be, she thought. All bark and very little bite.

"No, I don't." Yoler headed for the cluster of trees. "It was probably just a squirrel. No need to shit yourself, Donnie Boy."

Donald could feel his blood boil and caught up with Yoler, carrying the heavy buckets.

"I wasn't shitting myself," he snapped, making the young woman smile. "I'm just being cautious, you dig what I'm sayin'?

"Oh, I _dig_ what you are saying," she mocked.

Donald flashed Yoler an evil glare and could see her smiling. "So, is that you taking the piss out of the way I talk now?"

She shook her head. "God, you're so sensitive. I never had you down as the sensitive type. Is that why you're always mouthing off? You trying to hide your gentle side."

"Mock away all you like, little girl."

"I bet you cried watching Titanic, didn't you?"

"Is that the best you've got?"

"You must have been real heartbroken when you lost Charlie. Was that dumb dog your best friend, your only friend?"

Donald dropped the buckets and saw red. He grabbed Yoler around the throat with both hands, making her scream at the man to let her go. He pushed the woman over, forcing her to fall to the ground.

Donald took a step back, looked at his hands as if he had no control over them over the last few seconds, then lowered his head, about to apologise.

"Prick." Yoler stood up, took out the machete, and held it up with both hands, as if she was ready for a fight. "Touch me again, and I'll open up your ball sack, you bald cunt!"

"You need to stop pushing people." Donald glared at the young woman. "You need to know when to stop."

"It was banter," she snapped. "I was having a laugh."

"Well, it didn't feel like it."

Minutes later, the two of them walked across the field and could see the hill up ahead with the farmhouse on top of it. Yoler breathed in some fresh air and a smile emerged on her face. This had been the happiest, and the safest, she had been for months.

She took a quick glance at Donald and thought that maybe if she got to know him, he'd be okay. She knew she could be fiery tempered and had a mouth on her, but he seemed to be the same. Maybe that was what was wrong. They were similar.

"Look, we're going to have to live together," Yoler said. "Whether we like it or not."

"True." Donald nodded.

"We're probably not going to be friends, but we may as well be civil to one another. What do you say?"

Without looking at her, Donald replied, "I suppose I could give that a try. It's either that or I get kicked out."

Both were now walking up the hill, and Donald was struggling with the buckets, but to his credit he never moaned about the weight he had to carry.

Once the pair of them reached the back of the house, where the vegetable patches were and Imelda's grave to their right, Donald put the buckets down and began to shake his arms out.

He picked the buckets back up whilst Helen opened the door and let Yoler in. Both females went into the living room, whilst Donald took the buckets straight into the kitchen, and placed them on top of the sink.

"Oh." Yoler popped her head into the kitchen and said to Donald, "I'm sorry for mocking your dog. I know what men are like with their dogs. I suppose it was like losing a family member."

Donald nodded and lowered his head.

"So ... sorry for slagging off the Charlie tattoo." Yoler smiled thinly at Donald and added, "I'm not normally a cruel person."

"I've never owned a dog," Donald said, and decided to go back outside and headed towards the back door.

"What are you talking about?"

"Charlie was my son."
Chapter Eight

"This is not the way we came," Simon said.

"I'm going a different way."

Dicko put the vehicle into fourth and was now doing a steady thirty along the windy country roads. Simon was about to ask Dicko the purpose of going back to the farm a different way, but as if Dicko was telepathic, he began to explain the reason.

"There was nothing on the way here," he began. "Maybe we can come across something on the way back if we go a different way."

Simon leaned his head back on the restraint, looked to the side and glared out. The trees and bushes that whizzed by hypnotised him and made his mind wander. He thought about his son and about the first weeks when the disaster was announced by the media. He thought about the rhyme about the Canavars that his son Tyler would use to scare Imelda, his younger sister. He could be so cruel sometimes, but at the same time he could be so sweet.

A couple of years ago, Simon had taken his son to his friend's house to put up a cupboard. Whilst Simon and his friend were assembling the furniture, his son was in the back room, being cruel to his friend's cat, trying to scare it and running after it around the house. However, he could also be a sweet boy. A year ago, at his and Imelda's sports day, at school, his son came first in a flat race and he received a winner sticky label that was placed on his chest, which made him very proud.

When it came to the last race of the day, the parents' race, Simon's wife volunteered to be one of the runners in the mum's flat race. Ten yards into the race and she had tripped and fallen over. She was clearly embarrassed and so was Imelda. However, Tyler went up to his humiliated mother and said, "Don't worry, mum. You'll always be a winner to me." He then took off his sticker and put it on her shirt.

Simon's eyes were filling as he thought about this story, and before he became too emotional, his daydreaming had been disturbed when Dicko announced, "Something up ahead."

Simon looked forward and could see an abandoned red car, a Renault Clio, and a minute later Dicko had pulled up behind it. "I knew that hose pipe and that jug would come in handy in the boot."

Simon knew what Dicko was talking about, but he was unsure if siphoning the fuel from the vehicle would be worth it. How long had the car been there? Even if it had been there longer than a month, then surely somebody must have already beaten them to it. Simon turned the engine off and told Simon that he didn't need to come out if he didn't want.

Simon remained silent and stayed where he was. Dicko went outside and opened the boot of his car. He took out the hose bit and jug, shut the boot, and then went over to the Renault with cautious steps.

He unscrewed the petrol cap, stuck the pipe in, and gave it a suck. Unbelievably, petrol came out and he began to fill it with the jug. After a few minutes, the petrol had run dry and the two-litre jug was two thirds full. Dicko went over to the Mazda and emptied the jug into the car. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing and the tank was now half full.

Dicko went back over to the abandoned car and walked around it, looking inside. From the passenger seat of the Mazda, Simon could see Dicko waving at him. Simon wound his window down and asked Dicko what he wanted.

"Come and have a look at this," Dicko said.

Simon sighed impatiently and stepped out of the car. He just wanted to get back to the farmhouse.

He walked over to Dicko and stood next to him, staring into the driver's window.

"I was contemplating whether you should take this car for yourself, but that's not gonna happen now." He pointed at the window.

Simon could see a Canavar, a female Canavar, writhing around in her seat. It was strapped in and the stupid fucker didn't know how to unbuckle itself.

She must have been bitten outside and then fled in her car, Simon thought.

"Shall I put her to peace?" Dicko asked Simon.

"I don't care," said Simon, coldly. "You brought me out of the car to show me this? Is that it?"

"Okay, Mr Grumpyguts," Dicko laughed.

"Don't call me that. Yoler calls me that sometimes, and it gets on my wick."

"I thought _you_ could take it out." Dicko smiled at Simon. "Give yourself some practice."

"Now you're being patronising." Simon glared at Dicko and huffed. "I have killed these things before, you know.

"There's no winning with you, is there?"

"Just leave it there," Simon spoke almost in a whisper. "It's dead. It doesn't matter if it walks, it's still dead."

"Look, if you don't want to do it—"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Simon sighed. He opened the driver's door and pulled out the machete with his right hand that was under his belt. He gazed at the dead thing and could see it snarling, snapping its teeth together, and reaching out to grab him, but this scene didn't move him.

He grabbed the handle with both hands and his son's rhyme that he used to tease Imelda with swirled around his head like cigar smoke. He couldn't shake the words off.

The Canavars are coming, so you better hide and pray.

He raised the blade, pointing it at the ghoul's face.

If you don't believe me then you're going to die today.

He then rammed the blade into the side of the Canavar's head.

They'll eat your flesh, they'll eat your brains, and they'll eat your heart and more.

It stopped moving and slumped in the seat once the blade was removed.

The Canavars are everywhere, you better lock your door.

Simon wiped the blade on the shirt of the female ghoul and said to Dicko, "There, happy now?"

"Delighted," was Dicko's sarcastic response.
Chapter Nine

Helen Willis snuggled up to her tired little man and urged him to have a nap. He kept on protesting that he didn't want to. He was fighting it, but she knew him. She knew when he was tired.

"Just a little nap with your mum," she encouraged him. "You'll feel a whole lot better."

Eventually, she had won him round and both mother and son lay on the couch and Helen's eyes were becoming heavy already. It wasn't surprising, considering the terrible night's sleep she had. Her dreams were plagued with macabre images, and even David had yelled during the night after having a nightmare about Imelda Washington. He had only known the little girl briefly, but he couldn't stop thinking about Imelda during the day, and now the dead girl was hijacking his dreams.

He felt his mum's hand stroking his forehead, and could feel that he was losing the battle to stay awake. His mum continued to stroke his head and eventually he dozed off. Two minutes later, Helen was next.

*

Yoler went inside the house, bolted the door shut, and helped herself to a cup of water. She went into the living room and could see mother and son asleep, so she crept by them and headed upstairs. Once she reached the landing, she went to Donald's room with no hesitation and gently knock the door.

"What is it?" he asked from behind the door.

"I want to speak to you," said Yoler.

"Why?"

"Jesus Christ on a cross, just open the bloody door, will you?"

Yoler waited and eventually heard steps coming towards her and the door opening. Donald opened the door wide, turned around and sat down on the bed. He sat where the pillows were and placed his knees up to his chest, as Yoler shut the door behind him, and sat at the foot of the bed.

"I want to apologise about what I said on our way back from the pond," she began to explain. "Obviously, I had no idea you used to have a son, and—"

"You don't have to come in here and apologise," Donald muttered. "It doesn't matter. Honestly."

"I don't have much of a filter when it comes to speaking my mind," Yoler said. "But I'm not a heartless bitch. I wouldn't have said anything if I knew that Charlie was your son."

Donald gently nodded, and Yoler took this as some kind of acceptance for her apology.

"So ... what the piss happened?"

"What?" Donald scratched his hairless head, unsure what Yoler was asking. "You mean ... how did Charlie die?"

She nodded.

Donald took in a deep breath and said, "Look, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not say."

"I understand."

"It's not something I really want to talk about."

"Okay." Yoler slowly stood up and headed for the bedroom door, ready to let herself out. "If you change your mind, you can talk to me."

"Thanks," Donald smiled. "But I won't."

Yoler let herself out of the room and left Donald in peace.
Chapter Ten

Lisa Newton had no idea where she was. As soon as she left the caravan park, she headed over the field and kept going once she had reached a country lane. From there, she walked and walked for ... she didn't know how long for, and had no idea how many miles for, but it had been for quite a while.

She had remained on the lane for a while, but the sound of an engine forced her to go into the woods and hide. This happened on two occasions, and on the second time, she decided to stay in the woods and see if she could find something edible or even some kind of brook so she could wet her dry mouth. She hadn't been away from the caravan long and she was already struggling. Her feet were aching and she decided to sit against a tree and rest a little.

She sat down and put her back against the trunk of a fully bloomed birch, and closed her eyes. The thought of her little girl, alone in that caravan crippled her, but she had to flee. She didn't have a choice.

The images of the caravan flashed through her head and the pale face of her youngest daughter haunted her. She then thought about Grace. Thank God she left. She was a beautiful young girl and there was no chance that those animals would have left her alone. She must have heard the commotion coming from the living room and then fled, Lisa thought.

Tears fell from the woman's eyes and she dropped her head as she sobbed. She couldn't believe that her youngest daughter had survived this long, only to be brutally stabbed by a bunch of thugs. Lisa's concern when the announcement was made of June last year was the dead, dehydration, and starvation. But it was men that had taken away her daughter's young life. The same men were probably fathers a year ago, worked for a living, and probably had respectable jobs. Why or how did they become so vicious and vindictive, she would never know. Had they experienced tragedy of their own and had become psychologically traumatised by what they had witnessed? Or did they just think ... fuck it! Life on this earth now was going to be a short affair, so they may as well enjoy the ride before their demise, even if it meant abusing and killing people that didn't deserve it.

Lisa's daughter was only fourteen. She should have been preparing herself for her summer exams, worrying about boys she fancied at school, and looking forward to seeing her favourite group at a concert. She shouldn't have been stuck in a cold caravan, held against her will, and then hearing her mother being raped, and then stabbed to death herself afterwards. That wasn't right. That wasn't normal.

Lisa wiped her eyes and blew a long breath out.

She licked her arid lips and pulled herself up on her feet. She had no idea where she was going. She wanted to avoid the road for fear of being exposed and attacked, but remaining in the woods was stifling and hardly a breeze could be felt. She hoped that her walk through the woodland would eventually bring her to a place or a cabin that had something that could keep her going.

She walked a few yards and could hear the sounds of birds above her, but her ears picked up something else, something that gave her a shot of adrenaline through her tired body. It sounded like... No, surely not. It sounded like ... running water.

She smiled and increased her pace in the direction of where the sound was coming from. There were so many trees that it was impossible to see if there was anything up ahead, so she had to rely on her ears. Her pace increased the more the sound of running water grew, and her walk slowly turned into a jog.

There it was.

A brook could be seen, and Lisa ran the rest and fell to her knees at the edge, cupped her hands in and began to drink the icy water. She knew that the water wasn't perfect, probably needed purifying before drinking, but she didn't care. If she contracted diarrhoea, then so be it. She didn't care at this very moment. She just wanted the feeling of dehydration to go away: the dry mouth, feeling weak, and the pounding head. She was quite happy to swap that for a day of sickness and diarrhoea, if the water was polluted in some way.

She took five generous gulps, one after the other, and then she splashed her face to cool herself down. That wasn't enough.

She held her breath and slowly dipped her face into the icy running stream and could feel the whole of her body drop in temperature. It was a glorious feeling.

She held her breath for as long as she could, then lifted her face out of the water. She kept her eyes closed, got her breath back, and did the same again. She repeated this once more, lifted her head, and took another mouthful of water from her cupped hands, then combed her wet hair back with her fingers. She decided to have one last dip, then walk further into the woods by following the brook, but a sound coming from her left had disturbed her.

She twisted her neck and could see three figures heading her way. All three looked like males. Their walking was clumsy, like three drunks on a Saturday night, and one staggered to the left so much that Lisa thought it was going to fall over.

She stood to her feet, knowing that these three figures were Canavars, and didn't want to risk running around them, in case she fell and they caught up with her. That's not how she wanted her life to end. She knew that millions of people had died that way, especially in the early weeks and months of this crisis, but not her. It wasn't going to happen to her.

Lisa decided to run the way she came, and took a look over her shoulder to see that she was making good ground on the docile beasts. She tripped over an exposed tree root, but never panicked, as she knew the three dead were quite a distance away.

She got to her feet, brushed herself down, and had a look to see the three hadn't given up, but were nearly twenty yards away. She could now hear an engine in the distance. If she went out onto the road now, the person or persons in the vehicle would see her, but if she waited for the vehicle to pass, the Canavars would get her, or at least be dangerously near.

She waited and could see the dead getting nearer and the sound of the engine getting louder. She held her breath, watching the dead getting closer and closer, but the vehicle hadn't passed yet. They were getting too close.

"Oh, fuck it!" she snapped, and ran out onto the road, away from the Canavars, and could see a car hurtling towards her. She jumped before making impact and her body hit the windscreen.
Chapter Eleven

The vehicle did a steady thirty and it appeared that Dicko didn't seem to be in much of a rush to get back. Simon didn't say anything. Thirty miles per hour was more than enough for him. Who knew what was around every bend, or if there was anything or anyone waiting to jump out from the trees at the side of the road?

"Five minutes and we'll be there," Dicko announced.

Simon rubbed the palms of his hands across his face and released an exasperated sigh.

"What's up with you?" Dicko snickered. "You look like somebody has taken a piss on your bran flakes."

Simon moaned, "You're starting to sound like Yoler."

"I'm just trying to lighten the mood." Dicko took a sharp bend and guessed that they were just under half a mile away now. "You're gonna have to lighten up."

"Mate, really?" Simon turned his head to the right, unsure whether Dicko was serious with his statement. Simon had lost his daughter only a month ago. Everybody was aware of that, so why was this guy telling him to lighten up? Had his heart gone cold as the last twelve months passed?

"Dicko," Simon began. "Don't tell me to lighten up, mate. I lost my daughter only four weeks ago or so. She was the last person in the world that I had left and now she's gone."

"Okay, so maybe I was being a little heartless with that statement—"

"A little?"

"I ... _we_ don't want you to fall into a pit of depression, that's all."

" _We_? So I'm the talk around the campfire then, eh?"

"We've had a chat," Dicko admitted. "We've all had a chat about it, even Donald and Helen."

"Oh?" Simon dipped his head and seemed unsure how to feel about Dicko's admission. Should he feel betrayed?

He didn't know how he felt, but it was certainly a negative feeling that smothered him. After all, people he lived with had been talking behind his back.

"Don't take offence," said Dicko. He glanced to the side and could see the look on Simon's face. "We're just worried about you, okay?"

Simon never responded.

Dicko had another glance to the side and was about to ask Simon if he was okay, but an outburst from Simon Washington prevented that.

"Look out!" Simon cried.

Dicko faced forwards quickly, hearing his neck crack, and slammed on the brakes as soon as his eyes clocked a female human being out in the road and yards from the bonnet. She released a shriek, jumped up, and hit the windscreen, then rolled off the car and landed on the tarmac once the car came to a stop.

Both men panted hard, as if they had just stepped off a treadmill, and gazed at one another, then faced the front to see the person that they hit was trying to scramble to their feet. Dicko slipped the vehicle into neutral and took his feet off the clutch and brake pedals.

"Who the fuck is that?" Simon yelled.

Dicko twisted his face at Simon's ridiculous question. He gazed at his passenger and said, "It's Rita. The woman from the coffee shop at Silverburn."

"Really?"

"No, of course not." Dicko shook his head. "How the fuck should _I_ know who it is?"

Simon opened his door, prompting Dicko to ask where he was going.

Simon never responded.

Dicko also left the vehicle, and had his hand placed on the holster where his trench knife was, just in case the individual that they had hit turned hostile.

The female eventually picked herself up off of the floor, rubbed her throbbing neck, and then looked up and clocked the two men. She stood, hunched over, and looked like a scared cat, a trapped cat.

"It's alright, love," Dicko said, and held out his hand. "We won't harm you. Are you okay?"

The woman looked agitated and remembered the last time she was alone with men. She ran to the side, entering the right side of the woods. Simon took a step forwards, but Dicko told him to let her go.

"She might need help," said Simon.

"Well, let her get it somewhere else. We have enough mouths to feed."

Simon gazed into the woods and watched as the woman slowly disappeared, the greenery eventually swallowing her up. "I hope she's okay," he mumbled.

Both men returned to the vehicle, this time not putting their belts on, and Dicko pulled the vehicle away as soon as it was ready to go.

"Look!" Simon nodded. "Canavars."

Dicko slowed down and looked in the direction Simon was looking. Three of the dead stumbled out of the woods, behind their vehicle, and Dicko increased the speed of the vehicle by pressing on the gas pedal.

He said, "Maybe that explains why she was in such a rush."

"Or maybe she was scared of us," Simon said.

Dicko never responded, and this time increased the speed of the vehicle, despite what had just happened.

Six minutes later they were back at the farm.
Chapter Twelve

Helen Willis had been boiling the water outside. She didn't mind drinking the water that had been purified, but when it came to David, she preferred to boil the water and it had taken her an hour just to build and light the damn fire.

Once the water began to boil, she took the pan off and took it into the kitchen. She kicked sand over the fire, killing it off in seconds, and could hear the purr of an engine. She didn't panic. She knew it was Simon and Dicko. She didn't know how, she just knew.

She stood still and waited for the car to park up at the side of the house. As soon as she saw the recognisable vehicle pull up, she smiled as the two men got out.

Dicko and Simon walked away from the vehicle. Helen received a nod of the head from Dicko as he walked by and went into the house. Simon's welcome was warmer and he asked if she was okay.

"I'm fine." She nodded. "The house is kind of quiet without you guys around."

"Ah," Simon laughed. "Were you missing us?"

Helen blushed. "Well ... I was missing _you_."

"Oh." Simon stood awkwardly and began to scratch the back of his head. This time he was the one to blush, and didn't know what to do with himself, whether to continue the conversation or not.

He didn't want to just walk back into the house. Wouldn't that hurt Helen's feelings? But what else could he do? Kiss her? He really liked Helen, but his wife had only been dead for months and Imelda had passed away four weeks ago. A relationship was the last thing he needed, and even thinking about being with Helen sparked off an avalanche of guilt.

It seemed like an eternity before he responded to Helen's remark, but when he did, he said, "And I've missed you, too."

"Didn't you manage to get anything?" Helen asked him, changing the topic to Simon's relief.

"Not much. It was a waste of time really."

"Oh?"

"There wasn't much at the industrial estate. We managed to siphon a car on the way back." Simon gazed at Helen's dark eyes. God, he thought. She was so lovely.

"Why don't you come inside?"

Simon nodded, and then he clicked his fingers as if he had remembered something. "Oh, I forgot."

"What?"

Simon never answered and went back over to the vehicle. Simon tried the boot of the car and was pleased that Dicko hadn't locked it before he went inside, and pulled out a large bag of tea bags and the coffee. He closed the boot and went back over to Helen, holding the stuff, and she smiled.

"Well, that's good timing," she said. "I've just boiled some water."

Simon smiled. "Great. I could murder a coffee."

"Me too."

The pair of them stepped into the kitchen and began making drinks. Helen asked Yoler and Dicko, who were sitting down in the living room, if they wanted a hot drink. Yoler and Dicko wanted tea. Yoler told Helen that Donald was upstairs, having a lie down, and that it would probably be for the best if they didn't disturb him.

A few minutes had passed, and Helen and Simon exited the kitchen, both holding a cup in each hand. Young David was at the table, drawing a picture.

Simon could feel his throat tighten. Seeing David at the table reminded him of the short time that Imelda stayed here. He was sitting in the same place where Imelda used to sit. Simon still kept the pictures that she had drawn, in the top drawer at _his_ side of the bed, as well as the message she had written before Yoler ended her life.

For two minutes, chatter amongst the adults took place, and Helen was the first to look up to the ceiling when the sounds of feet could be heard.

"Looks like Donald's up," she remarked.

They heard the sounds moving across the living room floor and now heading downstairs. The door opened and Donald stepped in, anger etched on his face.

"You're awake then?" Helen said.

"Didn't have much of a choice," he snarled. "Fucking racket you lot were making."

"Simon and Dicko were telling me that they bumped into a woman, quite literally." Helen began to laugh.

"What're you going on about?" Donald rubbed his face, still tired.

"We were coming back from the run," Dicko began. "And this woman came out of the woods and we hit her."

"What?"

"She's okay. But she ran away, and we found out why."

Donald huffed impatiently and asked, "Why? Or do I have to guess?"

"Three Canavars were chasing her. They came out of the woods as we drove away, only a few minutes from here."

"You... You..." Donald placed his hand on his head and couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You didn't kill them?"

"They're already dead, Donnie," snickered Yoler.

"Okay, smart arse," Donald snapped and added, "And it's Donald, not fucking Donnie, sugar tits."

"Donald," Helen spoke up. "Watch your language in front of David."

Donald looked over at the youngster at the table, but he wasn't aware of the conversation that was going on. He was too busy drawing.

"I can't believe you left them. You said yourself ... only a few minutes from here."

"So?" Yoler shrugged her shoulders. "What's your point, Don-meister?"

Donald bit his bottom lip in anger, and then said, "What happens if they come here and catch us off our guard, you dig what I'm sayin'?" He glared at Simon. "Don't you remember what happened to your little girl?"

"Of course I fucking do, mate." Simon's blood began to boil and he went to stand up to confront Donald, but Dicko quickly stood up and pushed him back into the seat.

"Let's not do this, guys," said Dicko.

A stare-off began between Donald Brownstone and Simon Washington, and neither one of them looked to be backing down. Eventually Donald did; he shook his head at Simon and mockingly snickered.

Donald patted his pocket to make sure his knife was there and announced that he was going out at the front for some air. He left via the front door and slammed it shut, leaving everybody else to gaze at one another in quiet.

"He certainly knows how to a kill an atmosphere," Yoler guffawed.

"Maybe he has a point," Helen said. "You know, about the three dead. I don't want David playing out the back if those three things are around."

"We wouldn't leave him alone, unsupervised," said Simon. "Especially with what happened to Imelda."

"I'll go and talk to him," said Dicko.

"Maybe you should leave him for a few minutes," Yoler suggested. "Let him calm down."

"I'll go anyway." Dicko opened the front door and stepped outside, shutting it gently behind him.
Chapter Thirteen

Still raging, Donald Brownstone stood outside with his arms folded. He could see to his left and right that the road was clear, and decided to keep the knife in his pocket. He was aware that something could come out of the woodland from the other side of the road, but knew he would have time to react if he needed to.

Donald took in deep breaths to calm himself down. He knew he had a temper, and he didn't want it to ruin things for him. If they kicked him out of the house, which was a possibility, where would he go? He could go back to his old camp in the woods and live alone, but it depended on what kind of bloody mess it was in.

Donald still stood at the end of the drive, on the pavement of the main road, and could hear footsteps coming from behind him.

He felt a presence standing next to him and turned to the side to see it was Dicko.

"Is this you coming out to see if I've calmed down?" Donald asked.

"Kind of." Dicko smiled.

"I think it was stupid not to put down those three Canavars, especially if they weren't so far away from here."

"It was just the three," Dicko sniffed. "If we somehow took away all the trees from the woods in this area, you'd probably find that there're dozens, possibly hundreds of those things around here. It's like flies. You don't see them around, but as soon as a noise appears or a dead body, they turn up in numbers."

"Beautifully put," Donald mocked. "Very poetic."

"I can understand why you kicked off, especially after what happened to Imelda."

Donald lowered his head and muttered, "I just don't want anyone else to get hurt, especially if it's avoidable."

"By anyone else, you mean Helen and David?"

Donald flashed Dicko a hard look, but it didn't stop Dicko from continuing.

He said, "It's obvious you have a soft spot for her and the boy."

"What do you mean by that?"

Dicko could see the anger on Donald's face. He couldn't be bothered with a confrontation, so he shook his head and sighed. "Just forget it."

"No," Donald snapped and grabbed him by the shoulder. "I want to know what you mean. Have you lot been talking about me? Laughing at me?"

"Er ... no," Dicko laughed at Donald's paranoia, squinting his eyes in confusion.

"You all think I have this obsession with Helen, but all I'm doing is looking out for her and her lad. I've known them for a while and they're like ... they're like ... family to me."

"If you say so." Dicko looked down at Donald's hand that still had a hold of his shoulder. "So, are you going to let me go, or should we get a room."

Donald gritted his teeth and clenched his clasp on Dicko tighter.

"Don't do this," Dicko said.

Donald growled, "I'm sick of you cunts looking down on me. When I had my camp, I was the number one guy."

"You're alive," Dicko said. "What're you complaining about? Now let me go in ten seconds or..."

"Or what?"

Donald staggered back when Dicko delivered his right hook to the side of his face. Donald released his grip and looked at Dicko with surprise, now rubbing his face.

Donald then shook his head quickly, gazed up at Dicko and ran at him. Both men grabbed onto one another and fell to the floor and began rolling about.

Dicko was clearly struggling with the weight advantage that Donald had on him, and took a tame punch in the face from Brownstone.

Brownstone screamed out as he could feel the tip of his knife in his pocket sinking into his thigh. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled the blade out, but this was misinterpreted by Dicko that he was going to be attacked. Dicko grabbed the back of Donald's head with both hands, pulled him down and bit into his left ear.

Donald released a scream as Dicko's teeth sank further in and tried to grab at the knife that Donald was holding.

Yoler and Simon came running out of the front door. Simon tried to drag Dicko away, whilst Yoler was behind Donald and had her arm around his throat, trying to pull him off.

Dicko's teeth released their grip and he fell backwards. Yoler, who had a grip of Donald, also fell backwards with Donald landing on top of her, left ear bleeding.

"Get off me, you stupid bitch!" Donald yelled.

"He was gonna stab me!" Dicko bellowed, pointing at Donald who was now standing up, holding the knife in his right hand.

"What are you talking about?" Donald put his blade back into his pocket and touched his ear to see how heavy it was bleeding.

"You pulled out your knife," said Dicko. "That's why I bit you."

"I pulled out my knife because it was sticking into my thigh, you stupid bastard, not because I wanted to stab you with it."

"Oh." Dicko scratched his head. He somehow knew that Donald was telling the truth and began to feel a little guilty for biting into his ear.

Simon put his arm around Dicko and said, "Come on. Let's go inside and calm down."

Simon and Dicko were the first to go into the house, leaving Yoler and Donald alone.

"It doesn't look too bad," Yoler told Donald, inspecting his ear. "It might be sore for a few days, but if we go inside and clean it..."

"Okay, okay." Donald shook his head, thinking about the dirty move Dicko had made. "Can't believe that prick tried to take my ear off."

"Well, by the sounds of things he did think that you were going to knife him."

"This isn't finished," he snapped.

"Yes it is," Yoler said.

"Is that right?"

"Yeah, that's right." Yoler nodded, staring at the big brute. "That's if you want to keep a roof over your head."

Donald opened his mouth and looked like he was about to say something, but then changed his mind and closed it. Common sense had prevailed with Brownstone, and he walked to the front door of the farmhouse with Yoler following behind.

"Honestly, you men," Yoler huffed as Donald stepped inside. "Born with dicks, but most of you act like cunts."
Chapter Fourteen

Lisa Newton's feet were aching so much that once she spotted a house she decided to try it, regardless whether somebody stayed there or not. She was on the country lane and hadn't heard or seen a vehicle since she had been on it.

She gazed at the small cottage and hoped that nobody was inside. The place was painted white on the walls and the roof looked like it needed re-thatching. There was a small steel gate that needed opening to make it possible to walk down the ten-yard path that led to the front door. Lisa decided to go for it, but instead of trying the door straightaway, she decided that the safer option was to check around the cottage and back garden before trying to enter. She couldn't wait to get in. She desperately needed a drink and she also needed to take something as protection, a weapon of some sort.

She opened the gate, wincing as it cried, and stepped towards the door with hesitant feet. She looked around the simple garden with the overgrown lawn, rusty tools in the far corner, and made her way around the house, wary of every corner she approached.

Once she had checked the outside of the house and the basic garden that had little plants in it, it was time to go inside.

She took in a deep breath and tried the door. Predictably, it was locked or bolted from the inside. She went to the right side of the house and tried to look inside. She could just about see that it was a living room, and she tried to push the old looking window up. The frames were wooden, rotten looking, and she remembered that her mother had similar windows when she was a kid. She was certain that she could get it open if she could find something that would fit underneath and then yank it up.

She returned round the back, remembering that there were tools in the far corner of the garden. She went around to the back garden and used the weed infested garden path to get to the tools, rather than walking through the overgrown grass, and had the choice of a rusty spade, a rusty fork, or a rusty hoe.

She went for the hoe.

She took the tool and could see that the windows at the back of the house were the same design, so she tried the kitchen window. She placed the metal of the hoe under the window, so that the tool was now horizontal with it, and once a centimetre of the metal was pushed under where the window lifted, Lisa pushed down on the handle and was surprised that the window opened so easily, breaking the small lock.

She then placed the tool on the ground, and put both hands underneath the gap that had been created and pushed upwards.

"Oh, Lisa," she muttered under her breath. "I hope you know what you're doing, girl."

She put her head through the gap and could see that the kitchen was empty. She was undecided if she should call out or not. If there were people inside, which she very much doubted, then at least she wouldn't take the residents by surprise, which could give them a fright, and also result in Lisa being assaulted.

She yelled inside the kitchen, "Hello! Is there anybody in here?" She paused and thought about what to say next. "Listen, I'm coming in. I'm a good person, and I'm unarmed, so don't harm me, please!"

She climbed inside and struggled to get herself across the sink's draining board. She yelped as she scraped her leg trying to get in, then shut the window once she was inside and sitting on top of the sink.

Lisa jumped off the sink, landing on the linoleum floor, and went through the drawers. Fortunately, all the cutlery was present, and she decided to take a couple of knives from the wooden knife block. She put one into her pocket and held the other in her clammy right hand.

"Okay. Here goes."

Now it was time to search the rest of the cottage. She stepped forwards, leaving the kitchen and headed for the living room.

*

Yoler took Donald into the kitchen and began to clean him up. Feeling the tension in the air, Helen decided to go upstairs, out of the way, taking David with her.

Dicko and Simon were left alone. Simon was sat in the armchair, but Dicko was still filled with adrenaline and paced the floor up and down.

"Just sit down and relax," Simon urged his friend. "You pacing up and down is only gonna keep your heart elevated."

"I can't stand that prick," Dicko huffed, knowing that Yoler and Donald were in the kitchen and could probably hear him.

"To be fair," Simon said with a smirk. "You did have a nibble on his ear."

"That's because I thought he was going to stab me."

"But he didn't."

"I didn't know that, did I? We need to get rid of him." Dicko looked over to Simon for a reaction. He had now lowered his voice. "It's your call."

"I know it is." Simon ran his fingers through his beard that was littered with three different colours: ginger, grey, but mainly dark brown. "At first I didn't like him, but he's kind of grown on me."

Dicko huffed, "I'm not so sure."

"He's a tough guy."

"He's a dick."

"He's an asset."

"You really believe that?" Dicko asked.

Simon smiled thinly, almost apologetically, and said, "Yeah, I do."

"Fine." Dicko accepted Simon's comment and was about to head upstairs.

"Where're you going?" Simon's eyes widened and looked panicky. "You're not leaving, are you?"

"Of course not," Dicko laughed gently. "I was gonna have a lie down ... somewhere. I wouldn't leave here. I'd be mad to leave this place. This is the safest I've been for months."

"It wouldn't be the same without you. I mean..." Simon never finished his sentence. He scowled at the front window and took a step forwards. He continued to walk until he was right next to the window, and then Dicko asked him what was wrong.

"Those very same Canavars that we were talking about are out there."

"What?" Donald's voice bellowed from the kitchen.

It appeared that Simon's voice wasn't as low as he thought, and could be heard from the kitchen. Donald entered the living room, Yoler behind him, pulling his knife out.

Dicko stood next to Simon and looked out, watching the three dead stumble along the road, and said, "It's okay, Donald. It's alright. Looks like they're going by."

Donald ignored the words from Dicko and stormed towards the front door, opened it, and stepped outside, despite the protests from his three other housemates.

Donald pulled out his knife and walked briskly towards the three. The sound of his boots were picked up by the Canavars, and the three dead turned and headed in his direction. He released an angry cry and stabbed the first one in the forehead.

Struggling to get his blade out, he stood up straight as the remaining two advanced and front kicked the pair of them. The one to the left fell to the floor, but the other one only staggered a little. Donald head-butted the male ghoul, forcing it to the floor, and brought the heel of his boot down onto its head twice, the heel going through the skull on the second strike. He could hear groaning and looked to his right to see the remaining creature struggling to get to its feet.

Dicko was now outside and approached the ghoul, with his knife, Trevor, being gripped with his right hand, but Donald told him to leave it. Brownstone bent down and tried again to take the blade out of his first kill, and this time was successful. Donald jogged over to the last ghoul that was now on its feet, and released a cry before ramming the blade into the top of its skull. The Canavar grabbed onto Donald's shirt, but then its rotten fingers loosened and it dropped into a heap.

Donald bent over, still clasping the bloody knife in his right hand, and was panting hard as if he had been sprinting. Aerobically, Donald wasn't the fittest of individuals and he was more about strength and power than aerobic exercise.

"This is what should have been done earlier," Donald turned around and snapped at Dicko and Simon who stood in silence.

"They were passing," Simon said. "They weren't even heading to the house."

Donald was still panting and shook his head at Simon, unhappy with his response.

Dicko took a few steps over to the three rotten corpses and placed his hand over his nose. The smell of death was something he would never get used to. He bent down to grab one of the bodies, but Donald told him to leave it.

"Are you sure?" Dicko asked him.

Donald nodded. "It's my mess. I'll sort it."
Chapter Fifteen

With Hando leading the way, the four tired men made their way through a desolate road called Hadley Street. The street had twelve detached houses, all on one side of the street, and on the other side of the road were trees and a swing park.

They checked out the houses, staring at the first one they came across, and found a few edible things that would keep them going for a few days. Each man, carrying a bag on their backs, continued to walk and hadn't uttered a word to one another in the last twenty minutes. There was one more house to check and that one, it was decided, was going to be the one where the four men were going to lay their head.

All four were exhausted and decided to sit on the lawn to get a rest before ransacking the last house.

"One more to go, brothers," Hando said, breaking the silence. "And then a deserved break. It's been a cunt of a day."

"So what's the sleeping arrangements going to be?" Wazza asked, and took his disposable lighter out of his pocket and began playing with it. "The usual?"

"Yeah." Hando nodded. "The usual. I'll sleep downstairs on the sofa, and you guys take a bedroom each."

"Is it worth trying this house?" Dirty Ian moaned, now with a white eye pad on his left eye and bandaged around his head. "There was fuck all in the last two. We have enough in our bags for a few days."

"I'll check it." Q stood up and brushed himself down. "You guys hang back."

"Yeah," Ian mocked. "Let the new boy check."

"New boy?" Q chuckled falsely, although deep down he was annoyed with Ian. He had been called the new boy for months and Ian wasn't letting up. "I've been with you guys since January."

"You'll always be the new boy," Dirty Ian laughed at Q, annoying the man. "If you don't like it, you could always go back to that group you were with before."

Q sighed and placed his hands on his hips. "I've already told you, many months ago, that I could never go back. Besides, I left that place six or seven months ago. They're all probably dead now."

"Why did you leave?" Wazza asked Q, picking the inside of his ear and trying to remove a piece of stubborn dead skin.

Q sighed, knowing that this was a story he had already told before. "I was staying at Stafford Hospital. I had a falling out with one of the new people, and was asked to leave."

"Sounds a tad unfair, brother," said Hando.

" _I_ thought so."

"You don't get asked to leave for no reason," Dirty Ian giggled. "What did you do? Be honest."

Q cleared his throat and half hunched his shoulders. "Okay, so I was stealing food," he admitted. "And this young girl, with a right mouth on her, caught me at it. I lost the plot and threatened her to keep her mouth shut. She refused, and so I gave her a slap. And then her male pal, some guy called Pickle, turned up and gave me a doing."

"Didn't you get him back, brother?" Hando folded his arms, gazing at Q as he was telling his tale.

"No offence, Hando," said Q, "but you would have struggled against this guy."

Hando took in a deep breath and seemed annoyed by Q's remark.

"Anyway, I was asked to leave by Drake, the guy that ran the place, and so I did. I never looked back."

Q puffed out a breath and headed for the front door, but Hando grabbed his shoulder, stopping Q in his tracks.

"What is it?" Q asked, now by the front door of the place.

"Not keen on any of my men going in a place on their own," said Hando. "It's too risky."

"Let him go," Dirty Ian scoffed. "He has more to prove than we do."

"What are you trying to say?" Q stood patiently, waiting for an answer from Ian Robinson. "I do my bit."

"You're the softest out of the four of us," Dirty Ian cackled, and now Wazza was joining in. Q had been with the guys for months, but sometimes he still felt like an outsider.

"Why am I the softest?" Q ground his teeth in anger. "Because I don't rape women and kill little girls?"

"That's enough!" Hando snapped, then turned and looked at Q. "Okay, you go in, but be quick about it."

Q nodded at Hando and tried to ignore the giggling coming from Ian and Wazza as he headed for the main door of the house. He tried the door and was surprised that it opened. This was the only one in the street that was open.

Keeping his weapon where it was, he entered the musty reception area of the place and checked out the living room and kitchen. He opened the curtains to allow a little light to spill in, but the evening was approaching anyway and it didn't make too much of a difference.

The ground floor was clear and it was time to go upstairs.

He crept to the next floor and pulled out his knife when he heard the sound of groaning coming from one of the bedrooms. He reached the dark landing, his heart trotting at a high speed, and crept towards the closed bedroom doors.

The first room appeared to have a Canavar inside it. Q recognised the sounds, and the smell hit his senses and made him retch. It was a smell he would never get used to. Had somebody locked it inside? A family member, perhaps?

Curiosity got the better of him and he placed his hand on the door and opened it. A rotten ghoul turned and stared at Q, flesh hanging off the right side of its cheek, and staggered over to the male. Q could have easily shut the door and left the creature, but stood his ground and slammed his blade through the forehead of the Canavar, something he had done many times before, and watched as it dropped to the floor.

He retrieved his knife, shut the door behind him, and then went to the next bedroom. He placed his ear against the door and opened it once he was satisfied that no one was inside. He couldn't have been more wrong.

He pushed it open and could see a female in her twenties, sitting up on a bed and cradling a boy no older than two years old. She wasn't a Canavar. She was human. They _both_ were.

She cried when she spotted Q, but he raised his hand and said to the woman, "It's okay. I'm not going to harm you."

She cried out again, but he shushed her, and told her to be quiet. He was fearful of her cries being overheard. God knows what they could do to the woman, child or no child. He had witnessed on a few occasions that they just didn't give a fuck about anyone but themselves.

"What do you want?" she shrieked. She was a brunette, her hair hadn't been washed in weeks and her sweaty skin was the same colour as milk. She didn't look well at all.

"I was just checking the place out," said Q, shushing the woman once more, and then winced when the toddler started to cry. Paranoid, because Hando and the other heartless two were hanging about outside, Q asked the woman to silence the child.

"I can't," she cried. "He's distressed."

"You're gonna have to. I've got three guys outside who aren't nice people, believe me." Q noticed a mark on the woman's arm and pointed over at the mark. "What happened?"

She wiped her eyes and sniffed, "I went outside to the orchard, over the road. I haven't been back long." She raised her arm and Q could now clearly see the bite.

"Just the one of them?" he asked.

She nodded. "I pushed it off, but it went for me. We both fell over."

"How long ago?"

"Ten ... twenty minutes." She sobbed and stroked her baby boy's head, before adding. "I had to leave Dale on his own, like I normally do."

"Jesus." Q placed his hands on his head, unsure what to do. "I'm sorry."

"And who's the guy in the other room?"

"My husband," she said. "I could never bring myself to kill him. He's been in there for months."

"Listen," she began and nodded down to her dark haired boy. He was a handsome fellow, but his plump cheeks were stained with tears. "You need to take Dale with you."

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that." It killed Q to say these words to the woman, but there wasn't a chance in hell that Hando would allow a toddler to tag along with them. They were too needy, too noisy, and this particular one would be missing its mother and would never stop crying.

"You have to," she cried. "And you have to take care of me. You know what I mean by that, don't you?"

"I do." Q nodded. "But as for your kid—"

"Dale," she sobbed. "His name's Dale."

"As for Dale..." Q couldn't find the words. "The guys that I'm with—"

"Promise me you'll look after Dale," she interjected.

"I..."

"Promise me!" Her eyes widened, and she was now threatening more than pleading.

Q knew that the alternatives were disastrous for the boy. If he left her alone with the boy for much longer, she'd turn and then devour her own child. The only way she could stop that would be to kill her own child before he turned, something he didn't want to bring up.

"Promise me," she said once more, now in a hushed voice.

"I promise," Q gulped, and had no idea why he said that.

"Yeah, don't worry," a voice came from behind Q, making him and the woman both gasp. "We'll take good care of the boy."

It was Hando. His six-foot build leaned against the doorframe and gave off a smile, whilst he ran his fingers from his left hand over his bald head.

"Hando," Q groaned. "I never heard you come in."

"I was wondering what the hold up was, brother," Hando remarked and then nodded over to the mother and child. "Now I know."

"She's been bitten," Q began to explain.

"I know. I heard most of the conversation."

Q looked at Hando and asked, "What do we do?"

"What the lady said. Take care of her, then take care of the boy."

"Thank you." She wiped her streaming eyes and said to Hando, "Let me say goodbye to my boy. And then when I fall into a coma..."

Hando smiled and nodded, "I'll know what to do." He then placed his hand on Q's shoulder. "I'll leave you in peace."

Hando was about to go downstairs, and could see Q moving away from the door as well, as if he was about to follow Hando outside.

"Where're you going?" Hando asked him.

Q stammered, "Um..."

"You stay with her. Let me know when she's passed."

Hando galloped down the stairs and exited the place. Looking over to Wazza and Ian, who were both sitting on the kerb of the pavement, he said, "Who wants to play spin the knife?"
Chapter Sixteen

Simon Washington scratched his head and screwed his face as he felt the pain in his mouth from his toothache. He had been in the kitchen for the last ten minutes whilst everybody else was in the living room. He placed his hands on the sink and gazed out of the window. It was a strange kind of day. It wasn't sunny, but it wasn't raining either. It was ... clammy, yet dull. It just looked ... strange.

Simon's eyes looked to the left and his heart skipped when he saw Imelda's grave. The wooden crucifix that he had made looked to be leaning and Lambie had also fallen over.

Simon had guessed that a gust of wind must have occurred, and left the kitchen to go outside, heading to the grave. He stepped out and created a thin smile as his feet trudged their way over. There was no headstone, no message, just a poorly made crucifix and Lambie.

Simon slowly dropped to his knees and began to fix the crucifix. Once he was satisfied that it was straight, he began to fix Lambie.

He could feel his throat swelling, almost choking him, and could feel his eyes becoming damp. He bent over and the palms of his hands were now on the soil of her grave. He was on all fours and began to sob. He didn't know where it came from; he felt fine seconds ago, and suddenly a tidal wave of emotions took him by surprise and opened the emotional floodgates.

"I'm sorry," he cried. "I'm so sorry." Feeling the contents of his nose running down and about to escape, he took a long sniff, and then added, "If I could have done things differently..."

He closed his eyes and that fateful day projected in his mind, when he was fleeing the house, his family in the car. Simon had his wife, Diana, next to him in the passenger seat, and Tyler and Imelda were in the back. He didn't know how quick he had turned the corner, but it felt like the horde had appeared from nowhere.

The vehicle went through the crowd, like a hot knife through butter, and all four family members screamed. The vehicle stopped, and dirty rotten faces surrounded the car, most slapping their hands to get in. All four escaped through the sunroof of the car, with Simon leading the way.

Once they were off, Simon and Imelda became separated from Diana and Tyler. Tyler was taken down by one of the Canavars and Diana went after him. Simon helplessly watched, and the last thing he saw was his wife holding onto her son whilst Tyler was reaching out and screaming, "Daddy, don't leave me!"

He picked up Lambie with two hands and sobbed into the toy, repeating the words, "My baby girl" over and over again. He wiped his eyes with the old toy and placed it back where it was.

He removed his hands from the dirt and stood up straight, wiping his hands on his black combat trousers.

Stay strong and keep living, no matter what it takes.

"Simon?"

Simon Washington recognised the female voice, but took his time moving. He wiped his face with his hands, and cleared his throat before turning around and facing Helen Willis.

"Oh, Simon." She took one step forwards, unsure whether to give him a cuddle or not, so she didn't move any further.

"My first breakdown in a few days," he said with a small smile. "I'm getting better."

"It'll get easier, Simon," she said, with her words shivering with emotion. "I know it will."

"Come on." Simon approached Helen and put his arm around her. "Let's go inside."
Chapter Seventeen

Hando, Dirty Ian and Wazza were standing on the garden path of the final house of the street, and all heads turned when Q stepped out of the front door, holding the distraught little boy in his arms.

"Has she gone?" asked Hando.

Q nodded.

"And didn't you finish her?"

Q shook his head and said, "You said let me know when she's passed. Anyway, I couldn't do anything with this little fellow around."

Hando sighed, pulled out his blade and entered the house, running upstairs. Half a minute later he exited the house and said, "Well, that's taken care of." He then turned to Q and asked, "Wasn't there anything we could take from the ground floor?"

"No," Q shook his head. "Nothing." He held the boy a little tighter and could feel that the little guy had taken to him as he wrapped his arms around Q's neck, but his sobbing continued.

Q guessed that the child was starving and more distressed about that than being in the company of four strange men.

"Are you going to tell him, or shall I?" Wazza asked Hando with an unnerving grin.

"Right." Hando rubbed his head in thought and couldn't think with the child's crying. He put his hand on his head and shook it. He looked up at Q and said. "First of all, Q, I want you to shut that fucking cunt up while I try to talk."

"Sure." Q gulped and shushed the little fellow, kissing him on the head, which amazingly, seemed to work.

Now, all were on their feet and Q was concerned about what was about to be said.

Hando clapped his hands together and folded them against his blue Everlast T-shirt. He began, "We've seen and experienced some mental things. I'm not just talking about the beginning, where we all lost family members, but I'm also talking about the last few months. We've killed people for the food. Wazza even killed that kid for his two litre bottle of coke a few months back, but being cruel, and behaving the way we do, has helped us survive."

"Hear, hear," Dirty Ian chipped in.

"I don't enjoy being a bastard," said Hando. "But nice guys come last. And they certainly come last in this new world."

"Where're you going with this, Hando?" Q asked, impatience getting the better of him and holding the infant tighter. He was now beginning to fear for little Dale, and was nervous as Hando continued with his speech.

"Cast your mind back to the scenarios we've been in. Now, imagine those scenarios with a kid in tow, especially a whiny fucker. Remember when we stayed in the woods?"

Q nodded sadly and knew where Hando was going with this.

"We hid for an hour as a horde of over twenty Canavars passed us. And what do you think would have been the outcome with a screaming brat in tow?"

"It's also an extra mouth to feed," Wazza spoke up.

"The boy will he a hindrance if stealth is needed in a dangerous situation," Dirty Ian chipped in.

"So what do you suggest?" Q held the boy tight. "We can't leave him here. He'll die."

"You're right." Hando nodded.

"I could stay behind and look after him," Q suggested. "I know leaving you guys will be a pain, and—"

"That's not happening." Hando shook his head. "We're stronger as a four piece, not as a three. Even before you came along, there were four of us. But we lost Jim when we went into a house. We went to the back of someone's house and a girl, a dead girl, with these incredible wide flying saucer eyes attacked him. I had to kill the girl and a wounded Jim."

Q sighed. He had heard this story before, and didn't understand why he was being told it again.

"Not only that," Dirty Ian chipped in. "But don't you remember a couple of months ago, when we were trapped in that garage?"

"That's right." Hando nodded. "When we were cornered by that group of Canavars, we were lucky to get out alive. We only got out because we fought our arses off, all _four_ of us. If it was just the three, we might have lost the battle, or at least had a couple of casualties."

Q begged, "But Hando—"

"You're staying with us. No arguments."

"What about the boy?"

"Well," Hando sighed, "while you were upstairs, playing Mother Teresa, we had a little game of spin the knife."

Q looked confused, so Hando elaborated.

"Ian won ... or lost," Hando snickered. "I suppose it depends which way you look at it, so he's going to take care of the boy."

"Take care?"

Hando smiled thinly and put on a regretful face.

Q gulped. They were going to kill the boy.

"No, Hando," Q begged. "No."

"It's the only option," Hando said. "It's the kindest option. You can't leave the poor lad out here to fend for himself, now that his mother's gone. He'll die of starvation."

"There must be another way."

"There isn't."

Q had two choices. He could allow them to take the boy, or he could fight for the toddler.

Q thought that if he fought for the boy, he'd be killed by Hando and then the boy would die anyway. There was no point fighting these guys. He placed the little boy on the ground. The little boy was holding Q's hand and standing, all confused, wondering what was going on.

"Ian is going to take the boy upstairs," Hando began. "And then put him to rest, then lay him next to his mother once he's passed. It's the best way. It's the only way."

"Hando, don't do this." Q's eyes were filling, making Wazza and Dirty Ian shake their heads and giggle at the man, and begged Hando further, "I'm begging you, pal. Don't do it."

"Don't make me lose my temper in front of the boy."

Q had seen Hando lose his temper numerous times, and it was quite a powerful thing to behold.

Knowing that persuasion wasn't going to work with his leader, Q crouched to the tearful and confused boy and said, "Are you okay?"

"No," he cried, tears running down his plump cheeks. This had been the first time he had heard the toddler speak. "I want my mummy."

Q wiped the boy's tears away, pointed at Ian, and said, "This man is going to take you back inside. You're going to be with your mum real soon. You understand?"

The boy nodded, but Q knew that he didn't really understand, and Dirty Ian walked over to the little fellow and took his hand. Q was half-blocking the front door, forcing Hando to tell him to move, or else.

Q reluctantly moved away and watched as Dirty Ian and the little boy made their way upstairs.

Two minutes later, Ian exited the house and said to the men, "Right. Ready when you are."

"All taken care of?" Hando asked.

Ian Robinson nodded and flashed Hando a confident smile. "All taken care off, done and dusted."

Hando was the first to move, and Wazza was next to follow.

Dirty Ian slapped Q on the back and said, "Come on."

Dirty Ian and Q were a few yards behind Hando and Wazza, all four carrying a rucksack each.

Q gazed to the side of him, and stared at Ian to see if there was any hint of regret or guilt on his face. He could see nothing.

"I can feel you staring." Ian smiled. "It was for the best. Believe me."

Q gulped and looked at Ian again, staring at the white eye patch that was bandaged around his head. "How's the eye?"

"Stinging like a fucker," he laughed. "Fucking bitch."

"I suppose it could have been worse." Q stopped talking and said, "Ian?"

"Yes," Dirty Ian sighed. "What is it?"

Q released one word, and it was a query: "How?"

" _How?"_ Ian smiled and said further, "Do you mean ... How did I do it? How did I kill the lad?"

Q nodded the once.

"Trust me." Ian shook his head and put his arm around John McHugh. "You don't wanna know."
Chapter Eighteen

#### Next Day

Donald Brownstone's dreams were bizarre and vivid, and the forty-three-year-old man had woken up with sweat around his neck and on his forehead. He got off the uncomfortable bed that was designed for a child, and stood up, groaning as his back cried in pain.

He rubbed his lower back with both hands and could still feel the springs from the bed that had been digging into his back for most of the night and early morning. He began to pace the floor and hoped that some kind of movement would loosen him up. He had no idea what time it was. Two? Three in the morning? It was still dark outside, and he decided to make his way downstairs and have a drink of water.

He exited the room and peered at the door where Helen and David were sleeping. He wondered for a few seconds what she wore when she was in bed. Was she naked? Did she just wear her panties?

He shook his head at himself for thinking about Helen in such a way. Sometimes it was all he thought about. He loved the woman, or at least he _thought_ he loved her, and thinking of having sex with the woman plagued his thoughts on many nights. It was the apocalypse, people had died, but Donald was still a man and still got turned on every now and then.

He then took a peep at the door where Simon and Imelda used to sleep. Now it was just Simon. Donald felt for the man, and crept his way downstairs, heading to the ground floor.

He placed his hand on the handle of the door and opened it with his face scrunched up, just waiting for the door to creak, but it didn't.

It was dark, but he could see the outline of Dicko sleeping in the armchair. He was sitting up, but his head was drooping. Yoler Sanders was on the couch, snoring like a man after he had had a few beers, and Donald smiled on hearing this. _Jesus, I don't know how you can sleep through that, Dicko._

He crept by the two sleeping adults in his bare feet and headed for the kitchen. He could see jars of water sitting in the corner of the room, near the sink, and took one. Instead of pouring it into a glass, he drank from the jar, some of it spilling down his chin and onto his T-shirt and his boxers that he had slept in. Once he was finished, he made an _ahh_ noise and placed the jar back. He then looked outside and remembered Yoler stating that somebody being on watch was pointless and she claimed that her and Dicko would wake up if the house was broken into. With the way Yoler was snoring away, Donald wasn't so sure, and wondered if they should introduce a night watch once more.

Hearing the snoring from the other room, Donald giggled to himself and then thought about Helen. He lost his smile and then broke down, sobbing like a child, but putting his fist into his mouth so he didn't wake anybody.

Two minutes had almost passed and he felt better, and was certain that dropping off was achievable. So he headed back to his room and went back into bed. He lay on his side and threw the quilt over him, feeling the springs poking his ribs, and kept his eyes closed.

Fourteen minutes later he fell back to sleep.

*

Surprisingly, Donald was the first up. Helen was next and seemed to be dressed in the same clothes as the day before, and Yoler and Dicko also seemed to be stirring in the living room.

Donald and Helen were in the kitchen and greeted one another with smiles.

"David still asleep?" Donald asked her.

She nodded. "He had a rough night."

"Oh?"

"He was tossing and turning all night." Helen looked at Donald and added, "I heard someone getting up during the night. Was that you?"

Donald blushed and said, "Yeah. Couldn't sleep."

"I was gonna get up myself and get a drink, but I was scared that David would wake up and freak, especially if I was somewhere else."

Donald had a horrendous vision of him sobbing and Helen walking in on him. It could have happened.

Helen went over to the sink and bent over to grab a drink. Once she was finished, she told Donald that she was going upstairs before David woke up, and Donald stared at the woman's backside as she left the kitchen to go upstairs.

_Behave yourself, Donald_.

Dicko walked in, wearing nothing but a pair of worn pants, making Donald turn away.

"Fuck's sake, Dicko," Donald growled. "Put some fucking clothes on, will you?"

"Relax." Dicko laughed and went for the door. He unbolted it and turned around to speak to Donald further. "I'm going out to get some air."

"Going out there in your pants?" Donald scoffed. "Bloody idiot."

"You can't beat fresh air on the skin first thing in the morning, especially now you can't have a shower."

"What you're doing isn't normal, you dig what I'm sayin'?"

"This fucking world isn't normal." Dicko said, and then mocked, "You dig what _I'm_ sayin'?"

"That's it," snickered Donald. "In the old world you wouldn't be taking the piss out of me. In the old world I would have kicked your arse all over the place."

"And after that you would have been arrested for assault."

"But in the old world—"

"It's not the old world anymore, Donald."

"I know. And if I do give you a slap, you and Simon would have me kicked out."

"And you'd never see Helen again," Dicko snickered, and then winked at Donald.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing. Just making polite conversation."

"In the old world you'd be on the floor..."

"But we're in the new world now," said Dicko with a smile. "A world where I can put a blade into your throat while you sleep and nothing would be done about it."

"Is that a threat?"

"Nope." Dicko opened the door and said before leaving, "It's a fact."

A fully dressed Yoler walked in and said, "Morning, Donnie. So what's the plan today?"

Donald shrugged his shoulders. "No idea. Maybe we'll wait until Simon gets up, and Dicko gets some clothes on, and have a chat then."

"What time is it?" Yoler asked. "Maybe we should get him up."

Donald turned to the side and clocked a piece of paper he never noticed before, sitting on the bread bin.

"No need," said Donald, and nodded at the piece of paper, urging Yoler to take a look. She took a step forwards and read the note. It was from Simon. It said:

Gone for a walk. Back soon. Simon.
Chapter Nineteen

His left hand rested on the top of the machete as he strolled down the country lane, and took in a large gulp of breath. It was good to be out and away from the four walls of the farmhouse. He was lucky he had the place. He knew that. But with half a dozen people living there, it got claustrophobic for Simon, and he was sure that the petty squabbles between them was because of the cramped living arrangements.

The sound of a vehicle could be heard in the distance, which forced Simon to veer off the road and hide in the woods until it had passed. There were trees on either side of Simon, but he could see up ahead that the trees stopped on both sides, with houses on the right.

He was ten feet into the woods, not taking any chances, and waited as the sound of the engine grew louder. He kept his head down as it passed and didn't even look to see what type of car it was. There could have been anyone inside that vehicle. A lone man who had lost everyone could have been driving, and now had no care in the world for human life apart from his own. Or the vehicle could have had a bunch of thugs inside, who had spent the last year taking from the weak and killing whoever got in their way. Or it could have been a family who were just lucky to be alive.

Simon laughed at himself and at his overactive imagination. He stood up and walked through the long grass and bracken to get back to the main road.

His feet hit the tarmac once more, and another five-minute walk had taken Simon away from the trees, and now there was a field to his left and houses to his right. He had no intention of breaking into the houses to see what was in there. He hadn't even brought a rucksack with him. His goal was to get fresh air and to take himself away from the farm for the sake of his own sanity.

It may have sounded like madness to most, going for a walk the way the world was now, but Simon needed this. He needed to be alone.

He had to leave the way he did. Mentioning going out alone would have sparked questions from his housemates and they would have probably tried to stop him from going, which is the reason why he sneaked out in the first place.

Things didn't matter now. Imelda was gone, so even if he did get attacked by a group of people or by a Canavar, he had no one to think about anymore. Him dying wasn't going to be a big deal with Imelda now gone.

When Simon and Dicko took a trip to the orchard and the visitor centre a month ago, they were confronted by a group of people. Simon cowardly fled, leaving Dicko alone, and had done this mainly because he didn't want Imelda to grow up without her daddy. Part of it was because Simon was a coward and had lost his nerve, but thinking about his daughter with no living family member left, played a big part in Simon's cowardly behaviour.

He gazed at the houses to his right and had decided that once he reached the end of the street, he would turn around and go back to the farm. He wanted to walk alone, but he didn't want them to worry, especially Helen, even though he had left a note. He reached the end of the street and could see that he was on the edge of a village he had never heard of. It was called Brackley.

He turned around and clocked the last place in this street and could see that it was an off-license. He thought about the arguments the group had, and that Donald was the cause of most of them. Maybe if he and the rest got to know the man better... There must have been a reason why Donald was the way he was. He never spoke about his old life, so maybe he had a history of tragedy that had polluted his personality. Dicko was another secretive individual, but Dicko wasn't an aggressive and obnoxious person like Donald.

Simon rubbed his chin in thought and headed for the off-license store. He approached the closed door and tried the handle. It opened, and Simon pulled out the machete from his belt immediately. He entered the place and could see most of the shelves had been cleared. He wedged the door open to allow some light in, and slowly stepped around the area. He went through the back and could see a set of stairs leading to the first floor.

In most businesses, like pubs and off-licenses, the owners usually had a place upstairs, and this was no different. Simon decided that he wasn't brave enough to go upstairs, and took a few steps back and went around the back of the cash register. He crouched down and could see bottles of Jack Daniels, forcing a smile to stretch across his face.

"Hello, Jack," Simon said with a smirk. "It's been a while."

*

"He'll be back," Yoler appeased a nervous Helen Willis. "He's just popped out for a walk."

"A walk?" Helen shook her head. "You can't just go out for a walk nowadays, that's insane."

"We live in an insane world."

"Don't patronise me, Yoler. We should be out there looking for him."

"Why?" Yoler picked up the note and handed it to Helen. "Read it. Does that sound like a man who has lost it? He'll be back. Don't panic."

Dicko entered the kitchen and could see that Helen was worried. Yoler walked out and went into the living room and sat next to David at the dining table, looking at what he was drawing. Donald had been outside, on watch.

Helen gazed at Dicko and asked him, "Am I making a big deal about this?"

"Possibly." Dicko ran his hand over his hairy face and took steps forwards and placed his hands on Helen's shoulders. "Simon's been through a lot in the last month or so, we all have. Staying in this place is stifling, even without us lot being here. Simon needs some time to himself."

"Why doesn't he just sit on the grass outside?"

"We're all different." Dicko lowered his head by an inch to stare at Helen's eyes. "Simon needs to be away from here once in a while, to be in different surroundings, away from us lot, including you."

Helen looked up, opened her mouth, but no words fell out.

"You have feelings for him, don't you?" he asked her.

She never answered. She didn't need to answer. Everybody knew it.

"Look," Dicko began and took his hands off of Helen's shoulders and leaned back against the sideboard, folding his arms. "I know exactly why Simon is doing this. I used to do exactly the same when I was in a camp. It used to piss people off, but I used to just pop over the back garden fence and leave."

"Where did you go?"

"I just walked," Dicko hunched his shoulders. "Sometimes I would come across some trouble, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. I just needed to be out of the area I was in, away from the people."

"What was this place like?"

"It was a good place, a good set up." Dicko smiled as he reminisced, and realised that he had told Helen more than he had told anyone. "Some of the people were good people, but I don't know if they're alive or dead now. I'd like to think that they're still kicking about."

"Why did you leave this place, if it was so good?"

"Haven't I already told you this?"

Helen shook her head. "I don't remember."

"I had to leave. I didn't have a choice," said Dicko, and he could feel his throat hardening with emotion. It was time to wrap this story up. "So I walked and walked. I met many people; lost many people. Killed a few people; nearly got killed myself a few times. Months later, and many miles away from my old camp, I bumped into Simon and Imelda, and I have to say that this has been the happiest I've been for many months."

Helen lowered her head and wiped her eyes, prompting Dicko to ask what was the matter.

"I can't seem to stop thinking about my old camp, too," she said. "The people that we lost, especially Gavin and Hayley. They helped out me and David a lot."

"Did you see any of them die?"

She shook her head. "Jamie Monk was killed. I know that, because Gavin and Jamie checked out some noises, and Gavin came back telling us that Jamie was dead. Then the camp was attacked and all hell broke loose."

Helen broke down and Dicko embraced the woman. Both individuals gasped when the kitchen door opened and Simon Washington stepped inside, making Dicko and Helen quickly break up their embrace.

"Morning, folks," he said with a smile.

"Where the hell have you been?" Helen stepped away from Dicko and folded her arms, like some wife waiting up for her drunk husband to roll in.

Simon laughed and lifted up a carrier bag that clinked when he did so. "I've brought these for the party."

"What party?" Dicko asked.

"The party we're gonna have tonight. Well, more like a gathering, a get to know each other kind of thing."

Dicko gazed at a confused Helen, then turned his attention back to Simon, asking him, "Have you finally lost it?"

"Probably," laughed Simon. "I don't know about you, but I fancy a drink."
Chapter Twenty

Lisa Newton hoped that the house she was in was something that would be a long-term thing. There was still one problem. She had a missing daughter somewhere, and she was aware that trying to find Grace would be like trying to find a small needle in a very big haystack.

She decided to take a walk into the woods.

She went through the kitchen and exited the back door, knife in pocket. There were two reasons why she was doing this. The unrealistic reason was in case there was a minuscule chance that her walk could reunite her with her daughter. If Grace was frightened and hiding, and then saw her mother... There was also a danger that Lisa could bump into undesirables, like the men who came to her caravan, but she was willing to take the risk of going outdoors. The other reason for her walk was to see if she was near an orchard, or a place where there were bushes of blackberries or even mushrooms. A nearby stream would also be welcomed.

Her feet waded through the long grass and she raised a smile once she came across a dirt path. She took the path and constantly scanned to her side, both sides, paranoid that she could be attacked.

Lisa had been on the dirt path for a matter of minutes, and had to stop once a rustling noise could be picked up by her ears.

Lisa pulled her knife out of her pocket, certain that the noise was coming from a Canavar. Unable to see the dead being, Lisa took slow and careful steps along the path, almost crouching, trying to make as little noise as possible.

The groaning was becoming louder, indicating to Lisa that she was getting nearer. A few more yards were taken and now Lisa Newton could see the ghoul. It was on the floor, to her left, and was writhing around like a distressed snake.

Lisa took a few steps towards the Canavar and could now see why it wasn't standing to its feet. Its ankle was caught in a snare, probably left by a poacher many moons ago, and Lisa was certain that it was going nowhere. She took another step forward and crouched down. The dead beast was a male, dressed in bloody dungarees, and Lisa guessed that maybe it used to be a farmer. Her theory was almost confirmed when her eyes clocked a shotgun lying a few yards away from the Canavar.

"Oh, shit." Lisa felt a little excitement on seeing the shotgun. She didn't know why. It could have been empty, and even if it wasn't, she had never used any kind of gun in her life.

She leaned over and picked up the gun. She stood up and wondered if she should put the dead being out of its misery. She had killed these things before, and pondered whether to use the butt of the gun to cave its head in. She decided to let it be, walked away from the ghoul, and never looked back, with the sound of the Canavar snarling behind her.

She had decided to abandon the idea of trying to get food and go back to the house, but she then wondered, especially now that the thing had seen a human, if it would get free anyway. They didn't feel pain, so what if it got free, even if it meant losing its foot that was trapped? Lisa may have to roam these woods over the next few days or weeks, and having that thing out there, even if it was trapped like it was, would be a hindrance.

"Fuck it."

She turned around and went back over to it, turned the shotgun around, so now the butt of the gun was pointing downwards, and brought it down onto its head with both hands holding onto the barrel. Three strikes to the head had stopped the thing from moving, and Lisa, satisfied with her work, walked away once more.

She decided to go back to the house and try another venture in a few hours. She had lost the stomach for it.

*

Helen had decided to get David upstairs.

The youngster didn't protest too much, but did ask why he was being ushered away from the living room. Helen decided to be honest with her son, and told him that some of them were going to be drinking and some bad language could occur as well as stories that wouldn't be fit for David's ears.

"Are you going to be drinking, mum?" he asked her as they reached the top of the stairs and went to the middle bedroom door.

"Me?" Helen opened the door and shook her head. "God, no."

"Why not?"

"Because, for a start, I don't like bourbon, it's a stupid idea anyway, and I don't particularly want to wake up tomorrow morning with a bad head."

David sat on the bed and took his shoes off. "Why would you get a bad head?"

"Because," she sat on the side of the bed, "when adults drink too much alcohol, they can get a bad head in the morning. Sometimes they become sick."

"So, why do they drink alcohol in the first place?" David scratched at his dark hair and added, "It doesn't make sense."

Helen had no immediate answer for her inquisitive son. Why _do_ adults drink alcohol? "Um..." she paused for thought. "It helps them relax and feel merry."

"And after that ... they have a bad head and get sick?"

"Well ... yeah, sometimes."

"Adults are weird."

"We are," Helen giggled. She passed David a pencil and some paper, as well as a piece of cardboard to put his paper on, and asked him, "So what are you going to do while us adults are downstairs? Another picture?"

"No." He shook his head and sat up against the headboard and put his knees up. "I'm thinking about doing a comic."

"A comic? What about?"

David reached for the cardboard and paper on the bed and began scribbling. "I'm going to make it about what's happening now, about the Canavars."

"Oh." Helen wasn't sure about his idea, but then thought that maybe it was something he needed to get out of his system, a kind of therapy. "So ... do you have an idea about what's going to happen?"

"Not sure." David hunched his shoulders and continued to scribble. "But I think we all die in the end."

"That's a bit morbid." It was David's story, but his mother was less than impressed with the ending he had planned. "Don't you think you should have some hope in your story?"

"Maybe, but I'm trying to make it realistic."

This comment made Helen extremely sad. She stood up and stared at her damaged little boy. David looked up at his mum, almost annoyed, and she got the impression that he wanted to be left alone to start his new project.

"If you need anything," she said, "just come downstairs."

"Okay," said David without looking up.

Helen stepped out of the bedroom and onto the landing. She shut the door behind her and remained still. She ran her fingers through her dark bobbed hair and was worried for her son. He was all she had left and didn't want him to become too damaged in this new world. Her nine-year-old was psychologically scarred from the experience of the last twelve months, but she was hoping that being at the farm would shield him from any future tragedies.

Since Imelda's death, which affected him greatly, hardly an incident of any kind had happened. She just hoped it stayed that way.

She released a long slow breath out and went for the stairs, heading to the ground floor, but taking her time. The voices from downstairs were raucous already, and she knew that the volume would increase as the drinks flowed.

She hoped they knew what they were doing. She could understand why Simon had brought the booze back. It was to help the group bond. Most of them got on, but the main problem was Donald, which put Helen in an awkward position. She liked Donald, and he looked after her and David when they were in the woods, but he seemed to rub the rest of the people in the house up the wrong way. If he was kicked out, she'd feel terrible, but she wouldn't leave with him. She had David to think of. She needed to be in the safest place for her and her son, and the safest place was at the farm, surrounded by people who could take care of themselves.

Donald could be an asset to the group. He was a strong man, a fighter, but his demeanour didn't go down well with the rest of the adults in the house. This was a last attempt to build bridges, otherwise, or at least Helen thought, Donald would be out on his arse.

She opened the living room door and stepped inside.

Helen could see that all four Jack Daniels bottles were open and laughed as she realised that Simon, Donald, Yoler and Dicko had a bottle each.

"You guys are mad," she said. "You're gonna be wasted tonight."

"We'll probably be wasted when we get up in the morning as well," Dicko laughed, and then took a swig from 'his' bottle.

Helen laughed and thought that she was going to have a lot of fun tomorrow morning when everybody else, except her and David, were going to be in a terrible state.

She sat down in the armchair and zoned out as they began to tell one another of their journeys over the last couple of months, conveniently avoiding the beginning of the apocalypse where some had possibly lost family members.

Being sober, Helen Willis was certain that it was going to be an interesting night, for sure. She was going to spend the evening sitting back, and whilst she did this, she was going to get to know the pasts of her housemates.

She was kind of looking forward to it.
Chapter Twenty-One

An hour had passed and Dicko, Yoler, Simon and Donald were getting merry from consuming the bourbon inbetween talking.

Dicko and Donald's story was a brief summary of their experiences, but Yoler decided to go into further detail about her life before she met Simon and the rest.

"So you never met Mr. Right?" Donald asked, with his tongue in his cheek.

Yoler shook her head. "I've always been a free spirit. I was never looking for a Mr. Right, more a Mr. Right Now."

"You like your men then, eh?" Donald was now slurring his words and had consumed half a bottle, more than any other individual.

"I like men, just the same as a man likes the women," she said, a little too defensively.

Simon gazed over at Helen. Both looked concerned and were wondering if Donald was going to get too drunk and blow this evening with his snide remarks.

Simon decided to move away from the subject of Yoler and her free attitude, and concentrated more about what happened to her family when the apocalypse happened. Everybody else seemed to have avoided talking about family, but Yoler didn't seem to mind.

"My parents have been dead for years," Yoler began. "So I'm kind of thankful that they weren't around to witness all the chaos when it all started."

"They both died?" Simon said, and queried his female friend further. "Did they die together?"

Yoler nodded, but she wasn't crestfallen. She was quite cool about talking about her past.

"They both died in a car crash," she began. "They were coming home from a night out. Dad was sober and driving, but he lost control of the vehicle and crashed into a tree. Both dead."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Dicko.

"Don't be. It was seven years ago."

"Still..." Dicko tried to find the words. "You were only nineteen when it happened."

"I had the support of my sister and other family members. And my work colleagues."

"Sister? Work colleagues?" Simon tried to lighten the sombre mood and probed further. "You need to tell us about this sister of yours. And where did you used to work?"

Yoler snickered, "My sister is older than me by three years. Her name was ... is ... Margaret. She lives in Texas."

"What's she doing there?"

"She was over there with some pals and met somebody. She moved over two years ago."

"What about this job?" Donald slurred, forcing Helen to drop her head in her hands. She was in two minds whether to ask him to lay off the booze now, but was concerned that it could cause an angry tirade from the man.

Yoler snickered, "I used to work in KFC."

"Fuck off!" Dicko yelled. "No way. _You_ serving people? I can't see it."

"Well ...I did work there." Yoler smiled. "It was okay, I suppose."

"Listen to this," Donald spoke up.

"Here we go," Dicko sighed, knowing that a bad joke wasn't far away.

"Why did the rooster go to KFC?" Donald cackled, and added, before any one had a chance to reply, "He wanted to see a chicken strip."

Simon was the only one that laughed and Yoler sighed. "I've heard all of these KFC jokes before. They're all piss poor, and that's one of the worst, Donnie."

"KFC is like a woman," Donald continued, slurring as he spoke. "After you're done with the legs, thighs and breasts, you still have a greasy bone to put in the bucket."

Yoler smiled and shook her head.

This time Simon decided to have his turn, "Someone once came up to me, and said that my mother was so poor that when she goes to KFC she has to lick other people's fingers."

Yoler moaned, "I've heard that one before as well, you pair of tossers."

"I know what we can do to make this evening a bit more interesting." Dicko stood up and went through the door that led to the first floor. He ran upstairs, leaving four bemused adults on the ground floor, and returned shortly with a box.

"What's that?" Yoler asked him.

Dicko turned the red and white box round to show them all that it was a Monopoly board game that he was holding.

"Awesome," Yoler cackled.

"God, I haven't played that in a while," said Helen.

Dicko put the box on the table and urged everyone to sit around. Helen opted to stay in the armchair and told the drunken adults to play without her.

The game was set up and they all picked their pieces. Donald was the dog, Yoler was the hat, Simon was the car, and Dicko opted for the iron.

They began the game and Helen seemed happy enough to watch, occasionally drifting off and reminiscing of the times she had spent with her husband.

They were only minutes into the game, when Helen could hear footsteps from the ceiling. David was up. She was about to get up and see to her little man, but she could hear that he was already making his way downstairs.

David entered the living room and Helen asked straightaway if he was okay.

David nodded and said, "I found some Lego in one of the cupboards. Can I play with it?"

"What about this comic you were going to do?"

"I'm going to start that tomorrow." David sighed and asked once more, "Can I play with the Lego?"

"Of course you can," she said with a smirk. "Just don't go making a mess."

The four adults were talking amongst themselves and Dicko looked over to the young man and asked him, "You okay over there, buddy?"

"I found some Lego," David said excitedly. "I think I might make a house or a cave."

"Great stuff."

"Do you want to help me build it, Dicko?" David looked at the man with his wide, almost pleading eyes, but Dicko was lost for words. In truth, he would rather have stayed with the adults, play Monopoly, and get drunk, but he didn't want to hurt the lad's feelings.

"Dicko is already playing a game," Helen spoke up. "But—"

"No, it's okay." Dicko winked at David and stood up. "You take my place, Helen. I'll be down in half an hour or so."

David produced a wide smile and this warmed Dicko's heart, and both went upstairs to where Helen and David slept.

David went in first and Dicko followed. The adult could see that David had all the Lego scattered on the carpet. It was the usual different coloured blocks, but there were also figures.

David bent down and picked up one of the figures. "Look, Dicko. It's 'The Joker'."

Dicko looked at the small green Joker figure and suddenly realised that the figures on the floor were from the Batman franchise.

"I think I might have enough blocks to build Arkham Asylum," the little boy said elatedly.

Dicko was feeling emotional; he felt a pain in his stomach, and felt nauseous being around all these Lego toys. They were reminders, painful reminders. He could see the little boy was excited and didn't want to rain on his parade.

He swallowed hard and played with the boy, helping him to build the asylum that he wanted, so he could put The Joker, Mr Freeze, The Riddler and Catwoman in there, as well as Bane.

For twenty minutes Dicko helped the boy, and left him on his own once the asylum was nearly built. The man then walked to the bathroom, tried to compose himself, and then went back downstairs.

Helen moved from his seat once Dicko returned, and he sat down. Yoler had made a comment right away that his eyes looked bloodshot. Dicko blamed it on the alcohol and spent the next hour playing Monopoly in a daze and hardly spoke to Simon, Yoler, Donald and Helen.
Chapter Twenty-Two

"Gonna try and find a bed for the night, brothers," Hando announced.

The four men looked crestfallen, and Q was the only member of the gang that was finding it difficult to hide his annoyance. The day had been uneventful and the usually mild mannered man was finding it difficult to stop moaning. They had strolled through streets of a village that they didn't know. Now they had reached a country road. Hando had decided to try it, and hoped that they'd all come across something better than what they had experienced over the last few days.

Hando pointed up ahead and said, "There's a little cottage up ahead, see?"

Dirty Ian and Wazza groaned, and Q moaned, "A little cottage? We had a whole caravan park to ourselves and ended up leaving there."

"Keep your mouth shut!" Wazza snapped. "If it wasn't for Hando..."

Wazza, real name Wayne Jennings, became quiet once he saw Hando raising his hand to quieten the man down. Hando, leading the way, stopped walking and dropped his bag to the floor. Everybody else did the same, but were confused why they were stopping when they could see that the cottage was a hundred yards away.

"Why are we stopping?" Q huffed and folded his arms. He looked angry, almost close to tears.

"What's on your mind, brother?" Hando spoke with a smile, but it was a smile that sent a shiver down Q's vertebrae. "You seem troubled."

Q lowered his head and didn't answer right away. He bit into his bottom lip and raised his head and gazed at the confused faces of Dirty Ian and Wazza.

"We have eaten and are reasonably hydrated." Hando clicked his fingers at Q, and beckoned him with his forefinger to step closer, which he did, and added, "Yes, if we don't find anything in the next two days, we're gonna struggle. But us brothers always seem to find a way."

"He's still pissed off about what happened at that caravan." Dirty Ian began to smirk. "I think he had a thing for that teenager, Hando. You know, the one you stabbed."

"I had no _thing_ for that teenager _,_ " Q said with his teeth clenched. "I'm not a fucking paedophile."

"You know what we're like," Hando said. "We've behaved the way we have because we want to survive more than the people we've had tussles with. Don't you remember the four men that were driving that van of sodas? We killed them, because they put up a fight. If I remember rightly, you put a knife into the belly of the old man. You're hardly a saint, so why are you behaving the way you are, brother? I'm intrigued."

Q remained quiet, his head slightly lowered.

Hando persisted, "Is your attitude anything to do with that kid Ian had to take care of?"

"That boy..." Q began, but couldn't find the words, so he tried again. "Killing that boy was uncalled for."

"That boy was a mercy killing," Ian chipped in, before Hando had a chance to respond.

"Okay," Q gulped. "And what about what happened at the caravan? We didn't need to harm that woman and her daughter."

"No, we didn't." Hando nodded his head in agreement. "But the mother attacked me and I found that very disrespectful. Then she stabbed Ian in his left eye when he went back for her." Hando then began to chuckle. "But I suppose that serves him right for being greedy."

"So you gang raped her, and then stabbed her daughter who, a year ago, when the world was normal, was still in school?"

"What's your point, brother?" Hando straightened up his posture, and Wazza and Dirty Ian folded their arms, glaring at Q.

"It's not right. We've ... _you've_ never done anything like that before, not with me around."

"So what are you saying?" Hando's six-foot frame remained still. Q never answered him, so Hando huffed and clicked his fingers at Q, "Come on. Speak up."

"Why do you always click your fingers at me," Q moaned.

"You used to be a waiter, didn't you, brother?"

Q never responded and wondered where things were going to go from here. He wasn't happy with things that had happened in the recent past; he had expressed his views, and now the ball was in Hando's court.

"Okay," Hando sighed. "Let's get to the cottage and check it out." He picked his bag up and walked away. Q was thinking the same as Wazza and Dirty Ian. _Is that it?_

Once they reached the cottage, Hando ordered Wazza and Dirty Ian to check the place out, whilst he and Q stood outside and looked after their bags. The two men did as they were instructed and went around the back of the cottage. Over three minutes had passed, and Wazza and Ian exited the house from the front door.

"We managed to break into one of the windows," Wazza explained, as the two men strolled down the garden path.

"All clear?" Hando asked.

"All clear, Hando," Dirty Ian snickered.

Hando smiled. "Good." He then turned to face Q and clapped his hands together. "Right then. Let's get started."

Hando palmed Q under the chin, completely taking him by surprise. Q bit his tongue and fell to the floor, dazed and confused. He rolled around and groaned, his head thumping and spinning at the same time.

"Okay, brothers," Q could hear Hando say above him. "Do what needs to be done."

Wayne 'Wazza' Jennings and 'Dirty' Ian Robinson began to kick Q as he lay on the floor, and only stopped once Hando told them to after a minute had passed.

Dirty Ian pulled a knife from the back of his black combats and asked Hando, "You want me to do it? I've never liked him anyway."

"Relax," Hando laughed and patted Ian on the back. "I don't want him dead. He just needs reminding, brothers, that he's lucky he's with us."

"So now what?"

"Now, we pick him up and take him into the cottage. Tomorrow we're gonna try and find somewhere where there's food. But first we need a decent night's sleep."

"Where shall we put him?" Wazza bent down and grabbed the legs of the battered and bruised John McHugh. Ian grabbed his arms.

"Put him on the couch, if there is one," said Hando. "I'll get the bags."

"There're three bedrooms."

"Good." Hando smiled. "We can have one each. I think I'll take a room for a change. Mr. McHugh can stay downstairs and lick his wounds."

*

His eyes opened and Q looked around the dark room, but he could hardly see anything. He tried to sit up, but the pain was excruciating, and he lay back down with a loud groan. It was all coming back to him now. He was certain he was in the cottage, in the living room, but he had no idea where the other three were. He guessed they were upstairs and was surprised that his life had been spared. It looked like he was going to be given a second chance.

He tried to sit up once more, but again he struggled, and this time he decided to roll off the couch. He hit the floor and went on all fours. His ribs were aching and the pain increased as he tried to stand to his feet.

He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't be hanging around with these men. He had to leave. He was aware that if he fled and was spotted in the future by Hando and his cronies, he would be a dead man.

No.

He had had enough.

It was time to go. It was worth the risk.

He felt his way around the dark place and realised that his knife had been taken off of him. He entered the room, which he could see was the kitchen. He wanted to go through the drawers to see if he could get himself a blade, but was paranoid that the cutlery drawer would make a noise. He grabbed the handle of the drawer, under the sink, and pulled it out slowly. He stopped with the drawer only being opened a few inches, when he noticed something to his left. He looked up and could just about see a knife block to his left, sitting on the windowsill.

He had no idea which were the steak knives, the bread knife, or what. He grabbed himself any knife. He thought, so long as it had a pointy end, it should work if ever he needed to attack someone or something.

He paused and stood in thought, questioning himself whether he was doing the right thing. These guys were bastards, but he was still alive because of them; he was aware of that.

The door was a few yards away, and it was a simple matter of opening it and walking out. It was night time and it was going to be dangerous, but he needed to get away from these three.

He thought about sneaking upstairs and killing them.

All three of them?

He was lucky if he could manage the one before the alarm was raised.

Q didn't know the sleeping arrangements upstairs and it was so dark up there, he would be lucky to reach the landing unscathed, let alone entering a room and killing the men.

Escaping was the only option. It was a dangerous one, but he was willing to take the risk.

Q opened the door and winced when the rusty hinges cried a little as the old wooden door was pulled wider. He stepped outside and shut the door behind him, slowly. He walked along the walls of the cottage, until he reached the front and the country road.

Aware that danger could be lurking anywhere, Q swallowed his fear and strolled down the dark country lane, heading back to the place where they had come from.

There was something he needed to do.
Chapter Twenty-Three

Monopoly had been abandoned. Donald and Simon had become too drunk to care, and Dicko had hardly said a word since he returned from the first floor. It appeared that the party atmosphere was dying.

Donald's bottle was almost finished, and with a large slur in his words he suggested a game of spin the bottle. Simon was starting to think that his drunken bonding plan was now a bad idea, and Donald was beginning to get on his nerves.

"Spin the bottle?" Yoler looked confused. "And what happens if the bottle points at a particular person?"

"Then you have to tell us something about yourself that we didn't know, something juicy," Donald slurred.

Yoler picked at her left ear with confusion on her face. "Like truth or dare?"

"Yep." Donald nodded. "But without the dare."

"I'm not sure about this." Helen shifted in the armchair uncomfortably and added, "You count me out."

"We're all in; no matter what," Donald growled, struggling with most of the words from his sentence.

Simon laughed and said, "Fuck it. I'm up for it. I've got nothing to hide. You already know that my family are dead and I was a shitty husband."

The bottle was placed on the floor and Simon sat down. Yoler, Dicko and Donald also sat on the carpet, in a circle, but Helen remained in the armchair.

"It's not a thick carpet." Donald grabbed the bottle, ready to spin it. "So it should spin okay." His bloodshot eyes gazed at his housemates and asked them if they were ready. They all nodded, except for Helen, who thought that she should be going upstairs to check on David.

"Who's asking the questions?" said Yoler.

"I am, unless it points at me." Donald grinned and added, "My game, my rules."

Donald lay the bottle down, grabbing the body of the bottle with his right hand, and span it, a little too fast. It didn't spin for long and stopped with the bottleneck pointing at Simon.

Simon smiled and held his hands up. "Okay, I'm ready. Ask me anything."

"One question." Donald held up his fingers, hiccupped, and his head was wobbling. He was obviously soused, a lot more than anyone else. "The question could be about the past or the future."

Simon nodded. "Okay."

"Okay, here's the question," said Donald Brownstone. "Yoler and Helen come on to you tonight. Which one do you turn down?"

Simon cackled and dropped his head with embarrassment. He didn't want to offend either woman. "I thought this was supposed to be serious? I thought we wanted to know about our past and shit."

Donald snickered, "Just answer the question, Washington."

"Come on, Simes." Yoler looked over to Helen and gave her a playful wink; Helen responded with a smile. "That should be an easy one."

"Um..." Simon thought for a moment. If he hadn't been drunk, he wouldn't have answered the question at all. "Okay, I'd turn down Yoler."

"Really?" Yoler laughed. "Fuck's sake." Yoler looked over to an embarrassed Helen and gave her a smile to tell her that she was joking. "You don't know what you're missing. I would have ridden you into the ground, Simes."

"I can vouch for that," said Dicko, also now clearly soused.

Helen blushed and looked away from Simon, just in case their eyes locked. Donald lost his smile. Although it was his question, the answer didn't please him, and Helen's reaction suggested to him that there was an attraction there.

Donald spun the bottle again. This time it pointed at him when it stopped. He raised a smirk and looked at his housemates.

"Can _I_ ask the question?" Simon put his hand up like he was a child back in school, and Donald nodded.

"Okay," Donald sighed. "If you must."

"The other day, I saw you changing shirts when you were outside," Simon began. "You have a tattoo on your back, written in old English. Charlie. Who's Charlie?"

"I've already explained this one to Yoler," Donald groaned. " _She_ can tell you. I can't be bothered."

"No, _you_ tell us," said Simon. "It's your turn, your story."

"Not sure I can be bothered with this now."

"No." Simon shook his head and tried to joke. "You're not getting away that easy, Brownstone. Come on. This was your idea, so spit it out."

"Alright!" Donald snapped. He licked his lips and ran his fingers over his bald head, showing signs of anxiety.

"You don't have to say anything," Helen called over, noticing that the man was looking anxious. "We can call it a night. You're all drunk and—"

"No, it's okay. Helen and Yoler already know, so I may as well tell you guys as well."

Simon persisted, "So who's Charlie?"

"He is ... he _was_ my son."

"Was?"

Donald nodded.

"I'm sorry," said Simon. "Did you lose him during the apocalypse?"

Donald shook his head and was struggling for words.

Helen said, "Take your time, Donald."

"For months, I moaned about the speed some of the cars went in my street," he began. "I sent an email to the council, asking for them to put speed bumps in the road. I can't remember what exactly they put in the letter. But they basically said that they had no funds for speed bumps and pretty much said that there had been no fatalities, so they didn't think there was any need."

"Typical," Yoler huffed.

"At the bottom of the letter, they had the cheek to have the words, _proud sponsors of the upcoming Commonwealth games_."

"But they couldn't afford a couple of grand for some bumps?"

"Exactly. Anyway, I contacted the local newspaper and told them about the problem and the response from the council."

"And what happened?" Helen asked him. She had known Donald for months, but this was the first time she had heard the long version of how he had lost his son.

"The newspapers e-mailed me back and said they would like to interview me, but I never replied back. I was too busy. I wish I did now. Maybe the story being in the papers would have put the pressure on the council. The speed bumps could have been put in place and maybe Charlie would still be alive."

"So your son was hit by a car, on your road?" Yoler asked him, and placed her hand over her mouth, already knowing what the answer was going to be.

Donald nodded. "It happened not long after I complained to the council. It was a Saturday. Me and the wife were painting the living room and Charlie was playing outside with his pals. We heard the screech of the tyres."

"Oh, shit," Yoler gasped.

"Apparently, Charlie had dropped his ball. It bounced onto the road and he went after it, but was hit by a stupid young driver doing forty in a twenty zone."

"I'm sorry," said Simon.

"Me too," said Helen.

"Anyway," Donald cackled falsely and clapped his hands together. "This has been a barrel of laughs so far. Whose stupid idea was this? Who's next?"

Nobody answered. Everyone felt sombre after Donald's story and, in truth, everyone wanted to abandon the stupid game, especially Simon, as getting drunk and getting to know one another was _his_ idea. It seemed a good plan at the time, but the evening had become depressing.

Donald leaned over and spun the bottle again. Helen, Yoler and Dicko had still yet to be 'picked' and once the bottle stopped spinning, they could see that Dicko was up next.

"You don't have to do this," Helen said to Dicko. "Let's all just turn in."

"She's right." Yoler uncrossed her legs and was about to stand up. "I think we should call it a night."

A drunken Dicko shook his head, and said, "No, you guys have answered some painful and awkward questions. It wouldn't be fair if I got away with it."

"I have two questions," Donald spoke up.

"That's cheating," Simon laughed. "I thought the rule was one question at a time. Wasn't it?"

"But Dicko is the most mysterious out of the lot of us, so I think it's only fair."

"It's okay." Dicko held his hands up, looking over at Simon and Yoler. "Let Donald have his way."

"Okay," Donald began. "So, here are the two questions: Did you have a family? And what's your real name?"

Dicko smiled over at Donald and could see the drunken man leaning to the side, but then immediately straightening himself up. Donald shook his head and gazed over at Dicko, making him laugh.

"Are you ready?" Dicko snickered. "I thought we nearly lost you there."

"I'm ready," said Donald. "Start with your family first and the story of how you lost them."

Dicko nodded. "Okay."
Chapter Twenty-Four

A beaten and bruised Q strolled down the dark country lane. He had slept in his clothes and his black trousers. His collarless smart black shirt especially could have done with a press, but it was something that couldn't have been further from his mind.

The thirty-nine-year-old followed the bend in the road, thanks to the little light coming from the half moon hanging above him, and he was staggering like a drunk. With hospitals defunct now, he hoped that the three guys hadn't harmed him too much and that he wasn't bleeding internally. He was aching all over, and hoped that there were no breakages.

He knew where he wanted to go, but was unsure how to get there. He came to a junction he recognised and turned left. He knew where he was now.

Many minutes had passed and he finally entered the street he wanted to be in. He reached the house and stopped walking. He stood by the front garden path and looked at the house. He remembered that a window had been broken around the back in order to get in, so he went around and entered the window and into the kitchen.

Q, real name John McHugh, went through the kitchen drawers and found a lighter. He went through cupboards and at last found a large cinnamon Yankee candle. He lit the candle with the disposable lighter, and went upstairs, pleased that there was some light.

Once he reached the landing, the man paused. He wasn't sure if he was ready to see what awaited him.

He entered the room where the mother was, and lifted the candle so that he could see better. Hando had stabbed her through the temple. It was supposed to be a mercy killing, but Q couldn't help think that Hando had probably enjoyed it. He moved the candle ever so slightly and clocked the boy, Dale. The boy was by her side and Q nearly dropped the candle when he saw the way Dirty Ian had killed the poor little thing.

The little fellow had been suffocated to death. Dirty Ian had placed a pillow over the toddler and had killed him that way, but what angered Q was that Ian Robinson didn't have the decency to remove the pillow once he was done. The pillow was still covering the child's face.

"Bastard," Q barked, his eyes filling. "Fucking bastard." Maybe he should have tried to kill them before he had left, or at least Ian. Dirty Ian was the worst of the three.

Q ignored the smell from the room and continued to gaze hypnotically at mother and child. It reminded him of his own family.

In the second week, with his girlfriend and five-year-old daughter, John McHugh had jumped in his Jeep and headed somewhere where there were less of the dead. He had a scared wife in the passenger seat in the front, and a hysterical little girl in the back. They travelled for miles and eventually came to a stop at a beauty spot in Cannock Chase. Q's thinking was that if they headed for the countryside, there should be less of them.

He was wrong.

After three days of no sleep, John McHugh _had_ to sleep. He slept in the car, whilst his girlfriend and daughter sat around the small fire and ate berries. Screams woke him up and he looked over to the fire to see six of the Snatchers, as he used to call them, tearing his partner and daughter apart. There was nothing he could do for them. All he could do was watch helplessly with tears in his eyes and witness their agonising deaths. It took a while to sink in for John to flee, and once he moved off in the car, he drove for miles, and kept on driving until the vehicle eventually conked out and ran out of petrol.

There were many images that Q would never forget. Of course, the image of his wife and daughter being eaten before his very eyes would always overshadow anything else that he had experienced, but after their deaths, after the car had broken down and he was made to walk, the man entered a village and scavenged.

He entered a garage that belonged to one of the houses and was overcome by the smell of carbon monoxide. He noticed inside the Renault Clio that a male in the driver's seat was slumped in the seat, obviously dead. But what upset him the most was the beautiful little blonde girl in the back. Her head was back as if she was just sleeping. She wore black leggings and a Barbie T-shirt, and it was clear that the father was convinced that they were both better off away from this world. It was hard to disagree with him.

That was nearly a year ago, and that image had never left his mind.

Bringing himself out of thoughts from the past, Q shook his head and looked at the deceased mother and son once more. Despite his pain and injuries, he wanted to bury the mother and child in their own back garden, but he was so exhausted that he wasn't sure he could do it on this particular night.

Maybe he should wait, get a good rest in one of the spare bedrooms, and do it in the morning. And after that he would need to venture out and get some food and water. Maybe he should try the neighbours.

His head ached with tiredness and he decided to sleep in one of the spare rooms. Not the one next to the dead, but the one furthest away that looked out onto the main road.

Before leaving for the spare room, Q walked ungainly over to the bed, where mother and child lay, and removed the pillow off the little boy's face.

He knelt down with tears in his eyes, leaned over and kissed the little boy on his cold cheek. "God bless you, little man."

Q left the bedroom and shut the door slowly behind him. With the candle still in his left hand, he staggered across the landing to the spare room and opened the door. He went inside and held the candle up to get a better look in the place.

The bedroom was small, and it had an Ikea cupboard to the left and a single bed in the other corner. There were no teddies or wallpaper with cartoon characters; it was a simple room, suggesting to Q that it was a spare room and not the room where the little lad used to sleep.

"Fuck it," he snapped and said to himself, "I'm going to do this, even if it kills me."

Q staggered downstairs, taking the candle with him, and managed to open the back door and go outside. There was very little wind, so the flame from the candle managed to stay alive. He headed towards the shed and smiled that it didn't seem to be locked. He looked around and tried to peer over the other back gardens. There was nothing but darkness. The place was lifeless, and Q guessed that the woman was probably the only survivor left in the street before she was bitten.

He reached out for the handle of the shed and opened it with no hesitation. A snarling ghoul fell out of the shed and on top of Q, making the man yell out in surprise and shock. The two rolled around on the floor, and Q struggled to take his knife out of his pocket. The male Canavar grabbed Q around the face, but Q punched the thing twice on its nose. Once it let go, he pulled out the knife and stuck it into the thing's left eye socket. He gave the knife a twist, screwing his face as the squelching noise was made, and then pulled the knife out, wiping the blade on the tattered clothes of the dead.

Panting hard, Q stood up straight on his wobbly legs and wondered if the male ghoul was a relation of the deceased woman. What was he doing in the shed in the first place? He grabbed the ghoul by the legs and dragged it into the corner of the garden.

Q then walked over and picked the candle up and waved it in the shed, clocking garden utensils in the corner and a couple of bikes on the right hand side. He took a shovel with his free hand and picked a spot to start digging.

He winced as his ribs throbbed, but was determined to do this. He felt responsible for the woman and boy, and thought that they at least deserved a proper burial.

Twenty-seven minutes of digging at the back of the garden had created a sufficient hole, albeit shallow, and now he needed to transport the bodies from the first floor of the house, to their new resting place. And after that, Q was certain that he would probably sleep for a week. He was on his feet, and was struggling to keep his eyes open, but was too stubborn to leave mother and son and move them in the morning.

Leaving the shovel and the candle by the shallow grave, John McHugh stumbled through the long grass of the garden and headed for the back door. He clattered into some furniture in the dark living room, but still managed to get to the bedroom without receiving any further injuries.

Without hesitating, the exhausted man lifted the woman first and struggled to exit the bedroom. He hated doing this, but he had to put her on the landing's carpet and slowly dragged her down the stairs. He lifted her up once more when he was at the bottom, and carried her all the way to her new home. Once he placed her in, he fell to his knees, exhausted. That was the hardest one. Now, the boy.

Q cradled the boy from the moment he picked him up, to the moment he stepped outside. He slowly went to his knees and placed the poor little fellow on top of his mother.

With tears in his eyes, Q grabbed the garden utensil and shovelled the dirt on top of the two dead in the dark, now that the candle had died. He briefly thought about placing the male body with them as well, but he wasn't entirely sure if he was a part of the family or was just a random Canavar that had got itself stuck in the shed or if somebody had put him there, out of the way. And he certainly didn't have the strength to remove her dead husband in the other room that Q had taken care of.

He mumbled The Lord's Prayer as he was hunched over the grave. It seemed right. He wasn't a believer, but simply walking away from the cold grave without releasing any words didn't seem acceptable. After saying Amen, the man was ready to go back inside.

As worn out as he ever had been in his life, John McHugh left the shovel and the candle where they were, and made the arduous walk back to the house. He shut the back door behind him, not barricading it, and collapsed on the couch.

He was asleep in seconds.
Chapter Twenty-Five

"Okay ... so ... my family," Dicko tried to begin, but he was clearly struggling.

Nobody said anything.

Everyone was staring at Dicko, waiting for information from the man that they had all known a month, more or less. There had been a shroud of mystery over this man who was in his early forties, and everyone, especially Simon, wanted to know more about him.

"Um..." Dicko sighed and he seemed to have sobered up in seconds.

There was seriousness on his face that they all noticed, and Simon, despite aching to know more about his friend, was in two minds whether to tell Dicko that it didn't matter. He wanted to know more about Dicko, but he didn't want to see the man upset.

"Just tell us about the beginning," Donald said with a straight face, and then hiccupped. "It doesn't have to go on for hours. Just a short summary."

Simon opened his mouth to say something, but Yoler had beaten him to it. "You don't have to say anything, Dicky Boy," she said. "Let's call it a night."

"Hear, hear," Helen yawned.

"No," Dicko said. "It's only fair I should say something. You guys are not strangers anymore, and some of you have told me about your past lives, even before this daft game."

"In your own time," said Simon gently.

Dicko took in a few deep breaths, trying to compose himself, and then began to speak. "My wife and daughter went out to the shops when the announcement was made on the ninth day of June. I stayed in the house, waiting for them to come back. I waited for weeks." Dicko cleared his throat and added, "But they never came back."

"Did you think about leaving at all?" Yoler asked him. "Did you never try and look for them?"

"It was difficult." Dicko gave Yoler a hard stare and reached for his bottle. He unscrewed the cap and took two large gulps. The warm sensation inside of him felt good, and he added, "I had no car. I had a son as well. He was with me while my wife and daughter were out. I couldn't just leave. Plus, I was so convinced that they'd be back, but we had to leave in the end."

"But you left in the end? Why?" Simon asked.

"Look, I'm not going to go into explicit detail about my family and what happened to me over the last twelve months."

"We understand," Helen said with a sympathetic tone in her words. "It's your personal life."

"No, it's nothing to do with that," Dicko said, and released a light chuckle, waggling his head. "It's because if I did, we'd be here all fucking night, and none of us, except Helen, are sober enough to listen to it anyway."

Dicko took one more gulp of the bourbon and continued, "So ... me and my son left our house. We met up with some guy and his partner, Bentley and Laura, and eventually ended up in a camp or two after that."

"Did you ever find out what happened to your wife and daughter?" Helen queried Dicko.

"They're both dead," he said quite coldly, almost robotic like. "They had reanimated and a friend of mine put them out of their misery. It wasn't a nice experience."

The room fell silent and Simon, Helen and Yoler began to stare at one another. Donald wasn't listening. He seemed too drunk to care and his head kept on dropping, indicating that he was ready for bed.

Yoler was the first to speak up after the brief silence, and asked Dicko what everyone else was thinking. "And what happened to your son?"

Dicko licked his bottom lip and his head dropped an inch. He opened his mouth, about to explain, but he struggled for words. He gulped, took in a deep breath and said, "He was killed in this camp we were at. Me, and a girl called Karen, came across his little body. It was the most distressing thing I've ever seen. I'll never get over it. Never."

The room fell silent again.

Dicko cleared his throat. "Anyway, this camp was attacked and we had to move to another place. After a couple of weeks, I left the people behind because I didn't have much of a choice in the matter."

"You didn't have a choice?" Yoler look baffled. "Why? Were you forced out?"

"Yeah, something like that." Dicko smiled, not giving too much away. "I walked for miles, days and weeks went by. A few months later and I met up with some guys. It was these guys that called me Dicko. It just kind of stuck."

"What happened to them?"

"In short, we were attacked and went our separate ways. Anyway, I spent a few more months on my own, meeting people here and there, and then I bumped into Simon here."

"I suppose meeting up with people and then having to leave doesn't give you much confidence for this place," Simon said.

"I think it's the pattern that most of today's survivors have gone through," Dicko said, elevating his shoulders. "You find a place, you get attacked, and then you have to leave. I'm still alive, so I can't really complain too much."

Dicko had stopped speaking and it looked like everybody was ready for their beds. Helen couldn't stop yawning, and she was the only sober one out of the five of them. But Simon wasn't finished yet. There was something else he needed to know.

"So ... Dicko," Simon snickered. "That just leaves the other question."

"And what's that?" Dicko asked.

"Can't we just go to bed now?" Helen moaned. "David is probably wondering where I am."

Ignoring Helen's moaning, Simon asked, "What's your real name?"

"Doesn't matter what his real name is, Simes," Yoler chipped in. "He'll always be Dicky Boy to me. I don't give a piss about his real name."

"And he'll always be Dicko to me." Helen smiled and looked over to Donald, who was now nodding off.

"Tell us anyway," Simon said with a smirk. He reached for his bottle for a swig of his bourbon.

"Does it really matter, Simon?" Dicko smiled at Simon and added, "What's wrong with Dicko?"

"Nothing's wrong with Dicko, but out of interest, I'd like to know," Simon said with a smirk. "Even Imelda used to call you Mr. Dicko."

Dicko smiled when he was reminded of this. Imelda, he thought. Poor little soul. Poor little thing.

"Okay," Dicko sighed and said, looking at Simon, "If you really want to know, that's fine, but I'd still prefer you to call me Dicko after I've told you."

"Why?" asked Simon.

"I would just prefer it. Deal?"

"Deal." Simon smiled.

Dicko cleared his throat and could feel his eyes dampening. He said, "It's Paul."

"Paul?" Yoler scoffed. She then screwed her face and thought for a few seconds. "So why did those guys start calling you Dicko?"

"Because my surname is Dickson." Dicko looked at Yoler and gave her a thin smile. "My full name is Paul Dickson."
Chapter Twenty-Six

##### Next day

Her eyes had been opened for just a couple of seconds, and she had already made a decision that her body needed food. Lisa Newton sat up and the thoughts of her youngest daughter began to pollute her mind, making her tearful.

She thought about those four men. Those bastards. She'd never forget their faces. Especially the three cunts that raped her.

She got to her feet, put her footwear on, and then headed for the downstairs with the shotgun in her hand. Her mouth was dry and her stomach growled impatiently, waiting for something to be dropped into it.

She needed to find a stream somewhere, in the nearby woods, and whatever it had to offer as food. She had been 'playing' with the shotgun the evening before and had finally managed to open it.

Once she did, she could see that two cartridges were in there and then she snapped it shut. It was a simple matter of squeezing the trigger, if ever she needed to. She hoped that time would never come.

She exited the house, leaving the snib off the door so she could get back in. She walked down the street with confident strides, thanks to the gun that she was holding and the knife in her pocket.

The woods weren't far away and minutes of walking later, she went through a cluster of trees and smiled when she could hear a stream straightaway. Her feet followed the sound of running water and it wasn't long before she fell to her knees and drank some of the icy liquid. She told herself to calm down and knew the water was plagued with parasites, but at least she knew there was water. Now, she could go back to the house, make up a jar, and set it up so that she could filter the water. She had one last gulp and wondered if she should try and go back and get the jars and empty bottles ready, or walk further to see if there were any edible goodies in the place.

The area she was in was a small place. She could see the woods thinning out at the other end, but further up was a wooded area that stretched for miles. If there was nothing in this area, then she was going to try the larger wooded area. She just hoped that she didn't get lost.

She was going to make her way back to the house, but she wanted to check the other side of the woods first.

With the gun under her left armpit, she went through the plantation with zero hassle, and came out of the other side and onto the road. She didn't want to venture far, because she didn't want to get lost, so she took a stroll down the road. To either side of her were abandoned fields, and she wondered how far away the next village or town was.

She was approaching a bend in the road and stopped walking. She was unsure whether going further was the correct thing to do. She needed to drink water first, before she did anything else. She decided to be disciplined and return to the house before she got carried away and became lost.

She turned around and walked back over to the trees, and guessed that it would take her ten to fifteen minutes to get back to the house she had stayed in for the night.

As soon as she reached the trees, she veered left, but before she could take one step into the woods, a voice made her stop in her tracks.

It was a male voice.

She wasn't scared. She had the gun, so she had the power.

She turned around and could see a figure waving and heading towards her. She couldn't see his face; but he looked smart, like he had just visited a nightclub.

Her eyes narrowed in thought as the man's face was slowly but surely becoming visible, and once he was only a matter of ten yards away, he stopped and smiled. He was also wearing black shoes.

"Hi," he said, and raised his hand up as a welcoming gesture. "I'm John. John McHugh."

"What the...?" Lisa gasped and raised the shotgun, pointing at John's midriff.

"What ... what are you doing?" John stammered and looked agitated. "I'm not here to hurt you, I'm here..." He stopped talking and his eyes widened. He recognised her now, and she could see that the penny had dropped with this John McHugh character.

"You recognise me now. Don't you?" Lisa flashed the man a devilish grin and her hands remained steady as both barrels pointed at him.

"Oh, shit," Q gasped.

"Oh, shit indeed," she cackled. "And where're your rapist friends?"

Ignoring her question, Q tried to explain to Lisa. "Look, I never touched your daughter. It was Hando that killed her. I'm simply the gopher in that group. I'm not with them anymore."

"Why?"

"I ... I ... I just didn't agree with their methods, shall we say."

"My daughter is dead because of your friends," Lisa said coldly. "And you expect me to let you walk away because you've suddenly developed a conscience and have left your gang?"

Q ran his fingers through his black hair and threw his head up in thought, gazing at the murky sky. "I know you probably hate me right now—"

"You have no idea—"

"But I'm a good guy. I'm not like them." Q could see that she wasn't budging and added, "We can work together. They're not that far away, but we can get far away from them and survive together. What do you say?"

She didn't answer Q's queries. Instead, she asked the nervous man, "Where're your friends?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Oh, I think it does."

"Let me ask you a question," said Q. "And try and answer this one. Is that gun loaded?"

She nodded.

"And would you have any more cartridges or shells spare once you unloaded it."

Lisa didn't know where the man was going with these questions, but she decided to be honest and shook her head. "I only have two."

"I don't care how pissed off you are, lady. But you're gonna need more than two shells to sort out Hando and his men. So don't waste any of them on me, because these guys are not to be messed with."

"Neither is a mother that has just lost her daughter."

"Trust me. Don't go after them."

Lisa thought for a moment. Did he have a point? She still had to find Grace, and she couldn't do that if she was dead ... obviously.

"You don't know what they're capable of," Q continued.

"Oh, I think you'll find that I do," Lisa chuckled falsely. "Three of them abused me, one of them killed my daughter, and the skinny guy that took a hit in the eye came back for desserts."

Q lowered his head, sad at what Hando and his crew had done to this woman. He said, "They've done bad things, but what they did to you and your daughter, and then a few things after that ... just made me realise that I'd rather try and be out there on my own and die within the next six months, than be with them and continue for another six years. I had had enough, and ..." Q smiled and said shaking his head, "Sorry, I ramble when I'm nervous."

"Are you finished?" Lisa thinned her eyes, no emotion on her features.

"Yes," Q spoke with a smile. "I'm done now."

Lisa squeezed the trigger and felt her right shoulder kick back with the blast. She had never fired a gun in her life, and the power of this old looking shotgun took her by surprise.

She lowered the gun and gazed over at the man. He was on the floor, groaning, and holding his bleeding stomach. He kept on placing his hands on the wound, looking down at his middle, then looking at his bloody hands as if he couldn't believe what was happening.

"You ... you ... shot me!" he screamed.

"You pick up real quick." Lisa strolled over to the man and pointed the two barrels at the man's chest. "Tell me where they are and I can end your suffering. And if you don't, I walk away and leave you to die slowly."

"I'm not telling you," Q groaned, knowing he only had minutes left before he would meet his maker. "If I tell you, then you'll go there and get yourself killed."

Lisa turned to the side and thought for a moment, but she had slightly dropped her guard. Q reached and grabbed the barrels of the shotgun and pulled it out of her hands. She released a shriek of surprise and bent over to retrieve the gun, but Q pushed and kicked her away and now had the gun pointing at her, although his hands were shaky and the gun looked unsteady.

Lisa took a step back and raised her hands.

"I don't blame you for shooting me," Q said, and was struggling for breath. "You have one cartridge left, but if you had no loaded gun at all, maybe you'll think twice about looking for Hando."

"What are you gonna do?" she asked.

"I won't harm you," Q gasped, looking down on his wounds. "I don't blame you for what you've just done."

"I don't know what to say."

Q managed a smile, but there was clearly pain behind that smile, and he said, "I suggest you look away now."

He turned the gun around and placed the barrels under his chin. It was a hell of a stretch, but he managed to pull the trigger back, and Helen looked away as most of his head came apart.
Chapter Twenty-Seven

Simon Washington was the first one to wake up. He had no idea of the time, but knew he wasn't going to go back to sleep. He stood up and could feel the room spin and sway; and it was obvious he was still drunk from the night before.

He had only downed two thirds of his bottle, whereas Donald had almost finished his bottle last night. Simon crept downstairs and reached the ground floor. Aware that Yoler and Dicko would be sleeping, Simon opened the door carefully and peeped in the dusky area before stepping in.

He crept by the two snoring individuals and entered the kitchen. He unbolted the door and stepped outside to empty his bladder, up against the wall of the house. He was about to go back inside and grab himself a drink of water, but a soft wind stroked his face and he decided to stay outside.

He walked over to the left of the house and sat by Imelda's grave. He crossed his legs and placed his hands on his thighs, still enjoying the coolness of the breeze. He looked up to the heavens and could see that another murky and clammy day was on the cards.

With his head kept raised, he closed his eyes and waited for the next breeze to soothe his features, and he didn't have to wait long.

Stay strong and keep living, no matter what it takes.

"This is what being alive is all about," he purred.

He groaned in delight and kept his eyes closed as more breezes glided over him. But his quiet was shattered once a voice spoke from behind, making him jump with fright.

"Made a right tit of yourself last night, didn't you, Simes?"

It was the unmistakable voice of Yoler Sanders, and Simon released a moan and turned around.

He shaded his eyes from the glare from the sky, and asked Yoler what on earth she was talking about.

"I'm just saying," she spoke, and raised her eyebrows at the man. "You made yourself look like a tit."

"I don't give a shit. Didn't we all make tits of ourselves?" He said further, "If I remember rightly, Donald couldn't even speak."

"You don't remember, do you?"

Simon stood up and gazed at Yoler with a perplexed look. He placed both of his hands in his pocket and said, "Enlighten me."

Yoler opened her mouth to say something, but Helen appeared and said good morning to the pair of them.

"Just wanted some air," she said to the two of them. "You don't realise how bad those rooms smell unless you leave them and then go back in."

"How are you this morning?" Simon asked her. She looked like she was wearing the same clothes as she did yesterday, probably slept in them as well.

She shrugged her shoulders and mumbled, "Okay, I guess."

She then flashed Yoler a smile and went back inside.

"That was strange." Simon rubbed his head and looked over at Yoler. "I wonder what's up with her."

"This is what I was trying to tell you, Simes."

"What is it?" he asked.

"You came onto her last night."

"What?" Simon took a step backwards, his face drenched in shock.

"We were turning in, and after you and Dicky Boy carried Donald to his room, you came back downstairs for some water. Do you remember that bit?"

Simon shook his head. "Um..."

"Anyway, you and Helen were in the kitchen. I came in to make sure the door was bolted and you made a move on her."

"Fuck off." Simon smiled, convinced that Yoler was lying and trying to wind him up. "That didn't happen."

"Don't you remember at all?"

"No." Simon lost his smile and was now certain that Yoler was telling the truth.

"She didn't look impressed."

"What did she do?" Simon's heart was in his mouth and he placed his hand on his head and shook it in disbelief.

"Not a lot." Yoler shrugged her shoulders. "She didn't look happy when she was going upstairs to bed, though."

"Shit."

"Not sure this alcohol bonding get together has worked, Simes." Yoler walked away from the man and said, before entering the house, "But at least you tried."

Simon dropped his head in his hands and shook it. He then looked up and could see Donald hanging out of the bathroom window, shaking his head.

"What the fuck are you shaking your head at?" Simon snapped at him.

Donald disappeared and was out of the house within seconds, heading towards Simon. Simon could see by Donald's face that he was about to commit a violent act, but Simon stood his ground and took a large gulp.

Donald grabbed Simon with both hands and threw him to the ground. Simon never made a sound, but was taken aback by the strength of Donald Brownstone. Donald bent over and clutched Simon's shirt with his left hand.

"You're a fucking disgrace," the bald man growled. "You know that?"

"I've done nothing wrong," Simon mumbled. "And I'm a disgrace? You couldn't even speak last night, you were that drunk."

"I'm talking about coming onto Helen," he snarled. "I heard what Yoler said to you."

"Yeah, well. I don't remember any of it."

"She's a fragile woman," said Donald, and moved his face closer to Simon's so they now had their foreheads pressing against one another. "The last thing she needs is a filthy cunt like you trying to get into her pants."

"It was nothing. Just chill out."

"Don't you fucking tell me to chill out."

"I just did."

Still clutching his shirt with his left hand, Donald brought his right fist back and hit Simon on his cheek. Donald hadn't caught him right, but it was still a sore one for Washington. Simon shook his head and was still conscious.

"The trouble with you," Simon began, his anger swelling, "is that you have a thing for Helen, and you've seen the little looks she's been giving me and it's tearing you up, isn't it?"

"Bullshit. I felt like I had a family when I had that camp in the woods. Helen and David are all I have left of that family; that's why I'm so protective of her ... of the pair of them."

"Is that so?" Simon smiled and waggled his head. "I think there's more to it than that."

Donald brought his fist back, ready to strike the man for a second time, but his fist was grabbed by Dicko who was standing behind him.

Donald was pulled back off of Simon and thrown to the floor. Donald stood up and could see that Dicko and Yoler were standing near him.

"We heard the commotion from indoors," said Yoler.

"This prick came onto Helen last night." Donald pointed at Simon.

Simon stood up and began to brush himself down.

"And? So what?" Yoler laughed, making Donald even more irate. "We're adults. Simon drunkenly came onto Helen; she turned him down. What's the problem?"

Donald gritted his teeth together and couldn't give Yoler an answer.

"You men," Yoler cackled and shook her head. "It's all about getting a bit of snatch, isn't it? Always thinking with your cocks and don't even know how to use _them_ properly. That's what you're fighting over, isn't it?"

Donald said, "This is nothing to do with being jealous, or—"

"Of course it is," Yoler interjected, stopping Donald from finishing his sentence. "Over the centuries, men have killed one another for a bit of the old gash action. Pathetic creatures."

"What are we gonna do about this?" Simon spoke to Yoler and Dicko, trying to blank out Donald's presence. "This is not working with him living here."

"You want me out of the way?" Donald flashed Simon a hard glare. "She needs me here so you don't get your scummy paws on her. You came onto her last night. What's it gonna be in a month's time? You gonna rape her?"

Simon, Dicko and Yoler couldn't believe the words that had left Donald Brownstone's mouth, and all looked gob smacked.

"What did you say?" Simon was stunned at what had just come out of Donald's mouth.

"You fucking heard me!"

"You think I could be capable of that? Is that what you really think?"

"You're a man, aren't you, you dig what I'm sayin'?"

Simon looked at Yoler and Dicko, who both shook their heads and remained silent.

"Wow, you're really messed up, aren't you?" Simon groaned.

Donald clenched his hands into a fist and took a step forwards, in Simon's direction.

"Touch him again," Dicko said, stopping Donald from progressing any further, "and I'll knife you right here. You're skating on thin ice even before last night, so don't act the cunt."

All four stood in the back area and were silent. Donald turned and headed for the back entrance of the house that led into the kitchen.

"Donald!" Dicko called out.

"What?" he snapped.

"Don't go too far. I want you two to calm the fuck down."

"And then?" asked Yoler.

"And in the next ten minutes, we all meet up outside, at the front, away from young David. We need to sort this out, once and for all."
Chapter Twenty-Eight

Dirty Ian was the first to wake. He went downstairs and once his eyes clocked the empty couch, he knew that Q had left for good. Once Hando was informed, he reacted by shrugging his shoulders and stated that Q was weak and the group would be better off without him.

Once the three men had nibbles and drinks, they left the house to go elsewhere, somewhere better. There was always somewhere better. They hadn't found a place that was perfect yet, but once they did... It was going to be home.

They purposely stayed in the countryside, as Hando felt they were better off and safer. The countryside was where all the farms were based, and farms were the best places to stay in the long term, even with the cattle gone. Farms had land, the houses were solid, and they were out of the way of populated areas.

The three men strolled on the abandoned road, not one of them mentioning their departed friend, and wordlessly walked. Nine minutes had passed before a word was uttered.

Dirty Ian and Wazza were walking behind Hando, and Robinson sniggered and nudged Wazza. "I've got a joke for you," he began.

Wazza moaned. "I think I've heard all your jokes, Ian."

"No, this is one I remember from years back. I haven't told you this one."

"Oh, go on then," Wazza groaned, and began to scratch at his chest. He had been wearing the Chelsea top for a while now and needed a change, especially as they only washed around once a week, and that'd be in some mucky pond or a polluted stream.

"An eighty-year-old couple were seen shagging furiously up against a fence," Dirty Ian began. "For forty minutes they shagged like bastards, arms and legs going everywhere until they fell to the floor. 'Christ,' she said. 'You didn't fuck me like that fifty years ago!' To which the old man replied, 'Fifty years ago that fence wasn't fucking electric!' Like it?"

Wazza chuckled lightly and admitted, "It's definitely one of your better ones. Here, I've got one."

"Go on."

"Why do bulimics love a KFC?"

"I don't know."

Wazza laughed, "Because it comes with a bucket."

Hando stopped walking and raised his hand, telling his other two comrades to do the same. The chuckling from the two men behind Hando came to an abrupt end.

"What is it?" Dirty Ian spoke in a whisper.

"I hear noises," said Hando in a soft tone.

Trees were to either side of the men, but they could see up ahead that the woods had stopped and fields were on each side, further up.

The three men stared in the direction of the sound of rustling in the woods, and could see what the danger was because the trees weren't so condensed. They could see two Canavars shambling through the area, heading towards them.

"Shall we just keep walking?" Wazza waited for an answer and wiped his clammy hands on his Chelsea shirt.

"No." Hando shook his head. He pulled out his knife, and the other two did the same. "If we ignore it, they'll just end up following us, brothers. Besides," he pointed into the trees and they could see that they only had a few yards before they exited the woods. "They've already spotted us."

All three men took a couple of steps back and watched the two ghouls stumble out into the road. The two looked male and were badly decomposed, dead skin hanging from their faces, and the smell coming from them was more horrendous than these men had experienced.

"Jesus Christ!" Dirty Ian exclaimed. "They fucking stink worse than ever!"

"Yep." Hando nodded. "They're pretty badly decomposed. The worst I've seen. Maybe they've been around since the beginning."

The two dead, for whatever reason, headed for Wazza and Ian, ignoring Hando, who was to their right, and he watched as his two men frantically stabbed at the skulls of the rotten contaminated beings. One by one the bodies dropped to the floor, and Hando waited a minute for Wazza and Ian to get their breaths back.

Wazza then bent down, over one of the dead, and pulled out his disposable lighter.

Hando asked his companion what the fuck he was doing.

Wazza answered, "Probably best if we burn the bodies."

"Don't waste lighter fuel on those things," Hando remarked.

"Yeah," Ian chipped in. "Leave them for the crows."

Wazza nodded his head, taking his reprimand, and stood back up, putting the lighter back into his pocket.

"Ready?" Hando called over to the two men.

They both nodded.

"Good." Hando walked away, and his two guys followed behind, leaving the two corpses lying in the middle of the road. They left the woods behind and could now see fields to either side of them, making them a little more relaxed, enough for them to put their blades back into their pockets.

Hando was the first to walk around the tight bend in the road and stopped walking once the road straightened up. "Well, well, well."

Wazza and Ian stopped and stood either side of Hando.

"What is it?" asked Wazza.

"Use your eyes," Hando snickered gently, and then pointed up ahead. "It's a farmhouse."

"But there're people outside it. Look."

Wazza was correct. Four people had appeared, three males and a female, and were standing at the front of the farmhouse, and seemed to be discussing something.

Dirty Ian asked his leader, "Shall we go back?"

Hando shook his head.

"So what are we gonna do?"

Hando thought for a moment and said, "You two hang back and stay out of sight. I'm going to introduce myself."

*

Dicko was the first to step outside and was quickly followed by Simon and Yoler. Helen had been invited outside for the discussion, but she refused and wanted to stay neutral because she liked Donald. She didn't want to get involved in whatever decision was made about the man.

Donald stepped out of the front door and walked the ten yards over to the three other housemates.

"Is this really necessary?" Donald held out his arms.

"After the night we had last night, I thought the air would do us all good," said Simon. "Not only that ... I don't want that youngster in there hearing any bad language or witnessing any kind of violence, not that there's gonna be any."

"Let's cut to the chase. Because I'm bored already." Donald folded his arms and huffed, "What's going on?"

"I wanted Helen here," Simon said. "I wanted her on this, but it looks like we're gonna have to do this without her."

Donald groaned, "Do what?"

"I want you out, but the fair way to do this is to vote you out."

"I've lived in a street where I wasn't welcome," Dicko said to Donald. "I could imagine that living in a house with most people not speaking to you could be quite uncomfortable."

Donald shook his head and said, "Helen and David would speak to me."

"Look," Simon moaned. "You're fucking going, mate. And that's that."

Donald clenched his fists tight and snarled, "And are you going to make me, fucker?"

Dicko stepped forwards and placed his hand on the leather holster where Trevor rested. "No, but I will."

Simon stepped inbetween both men and said, "Look, guys, I don't want to be kicking anybody out." He then flashed Donald a look. "But Donald, you don't do yourself any favours, do you, mate?"

"I'm not gonna be a shrinking violet and walk on eggshells in case I offend anyone," Donald continued to rant. "That's the way I am."

"I know." Simon nodded. "And if it wasn't for Helen, you would have been out a long time ago. But enough is enough. You're not welcome here anymore. I mean—"

"Simon," Yoler interrupted.

"I haven't finished yet," Simon snapped at Dicko.

"Be quiet."

"What?"

Dicko pointed down the road. "Take a look. Everybody, take a look."

All four sets of eyes stared at the bald man that was approaching them. He wore a blue Everlast T-shirt, black jogging bottoms, and was wearing blue Adidas trainers. The stranger had his hands up, and he strolled towards the four individuals, wearing a wide smile.

"Good morning, brothers," Hando then turned to Yoler. "And, of course, beautiful sister."

"And you are?" Dicko rested his hand on the leather holster, which Hando clocked, and waited for a response from this stranger.

"My name is Kevin Pritchard, but people call me Hando." Hando placed his hand on his chest. "You're the first good people I've come across in months."

Yoler folded her arms and huffed, "And how the piss do you know if we're good people or not?"

"I can just tell."

Yoler, Simon and Dicko had a quick glance at each other, but Donald remained unmoved and glared at the stranger. He didn't like him.

"You look healthy," said Hando. "You all do. You must be well set up."

"We're doing okay," said Simon. He seemed to like the strange man. "We have supplies, a vegetable patch round the back—"

"Don't tell him fuck all," Donald snapped. "Bloody idiot."

"I've been on the road for months." Hando lowered his hands and placed them in front of him, and added, "My family were killed last year, in the first month. I did have a camp, but we were attacked."

"Attacked?" Simon spoke up. "Who by? Orson?"

"Orson?" Hando shook his head. "I'm afraid that that's a name I'm not familiar with, brother."

"Doesn't matter." Simon ran his fingers through his hairy chin and said to the strange man, "Look, what is it that you're after?"

"If I'm being honest," Hando smiled thinly and opened his arms. "A bed for the night, brothers. That's all I ask."

Dicko, Yoler and Simon looked at each other once more, but before they could converse with one another, Donald began to rant.

"Look, it's not happening," Donald growled at Hando. "So why don't you just fuck off? If anything, the place is overcrowded as it is. I might be getting kicked out myself."

Hando raised his hands in defence. "I don't want to argue with you, brother."

"Then fuck off!" Donald took long strides towards Hando and placed his forehead against his. "And don't come back, you piece of shit."

Hando, refusing to budge, smiled, and said, "Now, that's not nice, is it?"

Donald pushed Hando in the chest, forcing Hando to take a step backwards, which prompted Simon, Dick and Yoler to call for the short tempered forty-three-year-old to calm down.

"We don't know who he is!" Donald snapped.

"You don't have to be so volatile towards him!" Dicko yelled, and went over to pull Donald back.

Ignoring Dicko's remark, Donald took a swing at Hando, but Hando managed to duck out of the way and jumped a few steps back.

"Get back here!" Simon yelled at Donald.

Donald lowered his fists and began to walk back to the other three. Hando began to walk away from the four individuals, occasionally looking back, and it looked like he was seconds away from disappearing around the country lane that bent to the right.

"I'm sorry," Simon called over to the stranger. "We simply have no room."

Hando shrugged his shoulders and said, "That's all you needed to say." He waved and disappeared around the bend. "No hard feelings, brothers. I wish you all the best. I really do."

Donald turned to face his three housemates and could see their look of disapproval.

"What?" he said.

*

"Fucking disrespect me the fucking cunts. I'll fucking show them. I'll fucking burn them while they sleep." Hando's rage was for all to see once he came around the bend and met back up with Wazza and Dirty Ian.

"Fucking cunts," he continued to rant, and both Dirty Ian and Wazza were on edge. They knew when Hando lost his temper, which wasn't that often, he could be an unpredictable animal.

"Was it all of them that disrespected you?" Dirty Ian asked.

"No, but fuck 'em. Fuck the lot of them."

"What was the plan, Hando?" Wazza asked. "Why did you go and talk to them anyway? You didn't say anything to me and Ian."

"The plan?"

Wazza nodded.

"The plan was to get into their good books, earn their trust, move in with them." Hando cleared his throat, turned to the side, and spat in the grass. He continued, "Then, once they were all asleep, I was going to kill every one of them. Then we take the farmhouse and the facilities for ourselves. Now, after speaking to me like a cunt, they can all fucking burn. And that'll happen tonight."

"Burn the whole house?" Wazza scratched his head. "What if they have supplies that could benefit us? We'd be cutting our nose off..."

Hando was beginning to calm down and thought for a moment. He took in a few deep breaths and was beginning to think clearly now. "Okay, so maybe burning the place down is a daft idea," he admitted.

"So, what then?" Ian asked.

"Maybe we'll break into the kitchen, take what we want, then burn it down. Apparently they have a vegetable patch outside as well. Don't wanna be damaging that." Hando began to laugh.

"Why don't we just get in and kill them while they sleep?" Dirty Ian suggested. Because he didn't question Hando's actions normally, he took a gulp before continuing. "At least then we can take the premises and everything that's in it."

Hando was beginning to calm down and looked at his two comrades. He could tell by their faces that they wanted him to use a different process. They never normally questioned his methods, but he admitted to himself that burning down the place would be reckless, especially if it could provide shelter for them for the foreseeable future and if supplies were in there.

Hando thought and nodded. "You're right. We keep on moving from one place to the next, hoping something better comes along. Maybe that place is the best we can do, for now."

"Killing four people is a big ask," Ian said, unsure they could pull it off.

"It is," Hando agreed. "Especially that bald guy that tried to assault me, but I'm willing to give it a go. If we can pull this off, the rewards could be excellent."

"But we don't have to kill them all, do we?" Wazza asked. "If some flee on foot then we'll leave them be."

Hando nodded. "I suppose."

"And there's definitely four? No more?"

"I saw four standing outside. Maybe we should watch the place for a few hours and see if any new faces pop up. And _then_ we hit the place."

Both Wazza and Dirty Ian agreed with the plan. For _them_ it was all about bettering their lives. For Hando it was about that as well, but it was about getting a little revenge.

"So what now?" Dirty Ian asked Hando.

"We watch the house and then we'll make our move."
Chapter Twenty-Nine

The young man's feet made their way through the long grass of the field, and holding a heavy branch, he went into a village, passing the welcome sign. He was on tenterhooks.

It was a place he had heard of, but had never visited, and the village only had half a dozen streets, one pub, and a primary school at the end of the main road.

A month ago he was in good company. He had a camp and shared the place with good people. Unfortunately, the place was attacked by a horde of Canavars and the group split, with he, his sister, and a male friend running for their lives. Nobody stood their ground and fought the dead, the panic was too much and most weren't armed when the surprise attack occurred.

Two weeks after the attack, his sister and his male friend were attacked in their sleep by two Canavars as they slept in the woods. His sister was supposed to be keeping watch and must have fallen asleep. He managed to flee before a set of rotten teeth managed to rip into his flesh, but had left behind two people, people that were very dear to him.

His eyes went frantically from side to side as he walked down the street with a slow pace. The street was small and had only twelve houses.

He needed a bed for the night.

His thoughts went back to that fateful night, the night he lost his friend and sister. Exhausted, he sat down on the kerb in the barren street and began to cry. He placed the heavy branch by the side of him and his head dropped into his hands. He closed his eyes tight and could still see the image of their torn bodies, the screaming for help, but he had to leave. They were beyond help. He had to flee, otherwise he'd be dead also.

He wasn't selfish. It was a fact, and he never once thought that he had abandoned his sister Hayley. He knew, in order for his own survival, that what he did was the correct thing, but it was still raw and painful that she was dead.

"Are you okay, mister?" a voice said above him. It was a female voice.

*

Donald Brownstone had disappeared upstairs after the incident with the stranger outside, and hadn't been seen since the incident had taken place fifteen minutes ago. Young David had been told to stay in his room by his mother, and Helen, Yoler, Simon and Dicko were all sitting around the dining table, discussing what to do with the man.

It was clear that Dicko, Yoler and Simon wanted Donald out, especially after his unnecessary behaviour towards the stranger from outside. The only person that was fighting his corner was Helen. She wanted them to give him one more chance.

"I think he's had enough chances," said Yoler "I don't want to kick a man out, leaving him out there to fend for himself, but his unpredictable behaviour could put us all at risk."

"It seems a bit harsh." Helen rested her hands on the table and with her head slightly dipped, she took in a breath before adding further, "He's been very good to me and David since we met up. It feels like I'm stabbing the man in the back."

Yoler said, "He was only good to you because he eventually wanted to get in your pants." Yoler looked at Helen and waited for a reaction. She didn't get one, so Yoler Sanders continued, "Donald has always been kind of unpleasant, ever since the first day he got here. And now he knows there's an attraction between you and Simes, and don't tell me there isn't, he can't seem to keep his rage in."

"I know he's going." Helen nodded and was now flushing after Yoler's comment about her and Simon being attracted to one another.

Yoler was right.

There was no point denying it, although Helen wasn't impressed with Simon the other night. The fact that he was blind drunk and then came onto her felt insulting, but now she had time to think about it. Maybe he needed to be drunk to have the courage to approach her.

"Even if we put it to a vote," Simon chipped in. "It's three to one. I'm sorry, Helen. I know that you and Donald go back a little, and I know David likes him, but..."

She dropped her head in defeat and sighed. "I know."

"He's a liability."

"Can't he just stay in the small abandoned barn outside? At least then he'll still be with us, kind of, but not living in the house."

"I just don't want him around at all," said Yoler. "None of us do. And don't you think camping outside would leave him vulnerable from any future attacks. And there will be some."

The living room door opened and Donald stepped in. Helen stood up, but he motioned her to sit back down.

"I'll be on my way," he said with a sombre tone.

"Okay." Simon stood up and went over to shake Donald's hand, but Donald refused to shake it. He walked by Simon and stood next to Helen.

"I've already said goodbye to David," he said to her.

She stood up and they both hugged. "I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I'd come with you, but ... David."

"I understand." Donald broke away from the embrace and added, "You're better off here, you dig what I'm sayin'? It's safer here."

"I'm sorry it worked out like this, Donald." Dicko decided to say something before the man departed.

"Are you really?" Donald laughed with sarcasm.

"Where're you gonna go?" Helen asked him.

"Back to our old camp. The cabin should still be liveable, and it's probably clear by now. There shouldn't be any dead bodies. I think most of the people that were attacked either fled or turned into Canavars."

"Okay."

Donald looked at Simon. "I'll need a bottle of water and some snacks to keep me going until I get sorted."

"No problem." Simon nodded.

Donald went into the kitchen, grabbed a few things, and then left the house altogether a minute later.
Chapter Thirty

The man continued to gaze up at the young girl and finally spoke.

"Er ... what?" the dark handsome man said.

"I was asking if you were okay."

"I've had better days," he laughed falsely. "You?"

"The same."

The young girl smiled. She was a pretty thing, he thought. She was a teenager and had black hair, brown eyes, with a haircut like Uma Thurman's in Pulp Fiction.

Grace Newton was relaxed in the man's company. Despite her experience in the caravan a couple of days ago, this stranger seemed like a good guy. He was on his own, he came across as a decent fellow, and when she approached him, he was in tears. This meant, unlike the thugs that had turned up at her caravan, that this man had a heart. He had feelings, and at the moment the both of them were hurting.

"Where're you staying?" the man asked.

She pointed over at the house to their right and said, "Me and my family were staying somewhere else, but we ran into some trouble."

"The dead or the living?" he asked.

"The living."

"Man," he sighed. "They're the worst. Where're your family now?"

Grace dipped her head and said, "I think they're dead."

"You ... _think_?"

"I was asleep." She paused and was struggling to find the words. "These guys came in, I woke up, and I could hear them attacking my mum and sister."

"You ran?"

With shame on her face, Grace bit her bottom lip before saying, "I panicked. I..."

"If you hadn't have run, then you could have been killed as well."

Grace was already sure of that, but it didn't stop the guilt from twisting her insides.

She sat down next to the young, handsome man, and they both stared into oblivion and a word never left their mouths for over a minute. Their minds were relaxed and the peace was welcomed by both of them.

The stranger looked around in the diminutive street and asked Grace, "Have you checked any of these houses since you've been here?"

She shook her head. "I was too scared to. It took all my courage to break into the house where I'm staying."

"Maybe I should try them." The man rubbed his hair whilst thinking. "It shouldn't take long. And maybe there could be stuff in there that we could use."

"Like food?"

The man nodded.

Grace guffawed, "After a year?"

"We won't know until we've tried."

"Where are you from?" Grace Newton asked him. "I mean, where were you based before you came here?"

"I've been on the road for the last month."

"And before that?"

"I had a camp," the man began to explain.

"You _had_ one?" Grace was confused and the stranger could see this. "What do you mean you had a camp?"

"It was attacked," he began to explain. "By the Canavars."

"I didn't think there were many around these days."

"Oh, they're around. There just ain't as many as there used to be."

Grace tucked her dark hair behind her ears and asked, "So what happened?"

The man ran his fingers over his mouth and his stubbly chin and said, "They came into the camp, attacked a few of our people, and ... that's it really. Some of us ran. Me, my sister and this other guy ran so hard that we must have done two miles before we stopped. It's amazing how fast and far you can run when the panic kicks in."

"Tell me about it," Grace half-laughed. "I know what you mean."

"Anyway, we kept on walking, for miles, and a couple of weeks later we were attacked by more of them. I lost my sister and my pal."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"I was lost and literally didn't know where to go." The man paused and ran his fingers across his lips before continuing. "I'm trying to go back to the area where I stayed for many months. I don't know why. I don't really know where else to go."

"And are you near?"

"Not far now." He nodded. "Three people from my camp fled a different way when we were attacked, and I think I know where they went to."

Grace never asked; she lifted her chin, prompting him to continue with his story.

"A farmhouse. It has to be the only place they went. They had been there before and that was the direction they headed, towards the pond, when we were attacked."

"Pond?" Grace giggled and added, "You're talking like I know this place, like I've been to this place before."

"Sorry." The stranger smiled and gazed at the young girl and said, "You can come with me, if you want."

"Um..." Grace wasn't sure about his offer. She didn't know him, but she thought that she'd be better off with a companion.

"Aw, come on," the man snickered. "I roughly know where this farmhouse is. The more I retrace my steps, the more familiar the area becomes."

"I'm not sure."

"Unless..." He gazed around the barren street and said with a pinch of sarcasm, "you have plans for this place?"

She tried to joke, "You could be a serial killer, for all I know."

"So could _you_ ," he chuckled. "Anyway, if that was the case, I would have done you in by now, wouldn't I?"

"I suppose."

"So what do you say? It could turn out great. And not only that, I could do with the company."

Grace's eyes began to fill. On seeing this, the man never hesitated and put his arm around her shoulder to comfort the girl. The thought of leaving her mum and younger sister with those thugs broke her heart, but she had no choice. She had to flee! Didn't she? What could she have done? There was _nothing_ she could have done. Nothing!

"Okay." She nodded. "I'll come with you."

"Brilliant."

"Are we going now? I've got a drink and some snacks inside that house I'm staying at if you..." She never finished her sentence. She didn't need to. The stranger knew that she was offering him something to eat before embarking on their short journey.

"That'd be good," he said, and the pair of them headed towards the house and he continued to speak before going inside. "I'm more thirsty than anything else."

"The water doesn't taste the best."

"Never does these days, does it?" The man then stopped walking and realised something. They didn't know each other by name.

"How ignorant of me," he said and shook his head.

"What is it?"

"You don't know my name. I never introduced myself."

"Neither did I," she giggled.

He held out his hand and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss..."

"My name's Grace." She smiled and stroked her dark hair. "Grace Newton. And you?"

The pair of them shook hands.

"And I'm Gavin," he said. "Gavin Bertrand."
Chapter Thirty-One

The evening was drawing in, and the group at the farmhouse were getting settled after having something to eat and drink.

Simon, Yoler and Dicko were downstairs in the living room, whereas Helen was upstairs with David. David was upset that Donald had left, and Helen was upstairs trying to explain to the youngster why he had to go.

Dicko was sitting next to Yoler on the sofa and Simon was where he usually sat, in the armchair.

Donald left twenty minutes ago and there was calmness now that he'd gone, more relief than anything. They were going to see him again. He had only gone back to the camp, which was a fifteen to twenty minute walk away. They knew he was going to turn up to see David now and then, so they weren't completely rid of the cantankerous man. It wouldn't be fair if the youngster never saw Donald again.

"Any regrets about kicking Donnie out?" Yoler piped up. "Simes? Dicky boy?"

"None at all," Dicko said, putting his hands behind the back of his head. "I wouldn't want any harm coming to the man, but he's an impossible housemate to live with, that's all."

"I feel for little David," Simon began, and scratched at his hairy cheek. "But Donald was too much of a loose cannon."

"I think the fact that he has a thing for Helen doesn't help," Yoler said, "Especially as she has the hots for you, Simes."

"It's not like that between me and Helen." Simon flushed a rose colour and added, "We're just good friends, that's all. The other night I was drunk, and—"

"If you say so."

"There's no doubt that Donald adds muscle to the group," Dicko began. "But he's too much of a liability. The cons outweigh the pros."

Simon nodded his head in agreement. "The way he behaved with that stranger was way over the top. I don't think we'll be seeing that guy again. Poor bastard."

Dicko yawned and put his arms behind his head and began to stretch. "Anyway, me and Yoler are going to have a game of poker. We found a pack of cards in one of the cupboards. Fancy joining us?"

"No, thanks, mate. I'll leave you two to it." Simon laughed and nodded over at Yoler. "Knowing her it'll be strip poker."

"Cheeky twat, Simes." She feigned hurt on her face and said, "What are you trying to say?"

"Forget it." Still laughing, Simon stood up and headed for the kitchen.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going outside for some air, and then I'm going to bed."

Simon stepped inside the kitchen and looked through the window. The evening was upon them and the night hung like a beaten convict, stretched over black and blue. It was a beautiful sight to behold and it raised a small and rare smile from the forty-four–year-old. It wasn't quite dark yet, but another hour or so and it'd be pitch black.

He unbolted the door and stepped outside to take in the early night air. He gazed around the area and savoured every second of being alive. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the calm and the occasional brush of wind that whispered in his ears and ruffled his already scruffy hair. If the world wasn't so dangerous, he thought, he would have liked to have stayed outside for one night.

He spent another minute outside and then turned around and decided to retire to his bedroom, and read a few pages of Peter Benchley's _Jaws_ that he had since the day he left the house with his family. The last page he had read was page 219. Hooper, Brody and Quint were out hunting the shark, and Brody had asked his two mates if they both wanted a beer. After that, Simon's eyes grew tired and he put the book down.

*

It had been a slow walk back, but Donald Brownstone had returned to the camp he had stayed in for many months with a heavy heart. He was only a mile or so from the farmhouse and would still see Helen and David, but he knew he was going to miss them terribly. The position he was in was all his own doing. He was aware of that.

Even in the old days, his temper had dragged him into trouble.

Thirteen years ago, he had an argument with a man in a pub over a trivial subject. They were discussing, or arguing, about the state of English football and how overpriced the players were. Donald's argument was that the players got too much money from a supposed working class sport and were living in a fantasy world. The other man argued that if the players didn't get a slice of the pie, then the Chairman would pocket most of the cash. His friend also stated that Hollywood stars commanded millions before they started making a film, so why shouldn't footballers get the same rewards?

Donald was clearly losing the argument and was laughed at by the man who then disappeared into the toilets for a piss. An irate Donald followed the man in and smacked his head off the tiled wall whilst the man was in mid flow.

Once the man hit the floor, pissing all over his trousers, Donald began to boot the man in the torso and had to be dragged off by two customers who had just walked into the toilets.

He received 120 hours community service and was told by the judge that if it happened again, he could be looking at a six to twelve month prison sentence.

He sighed as he looked around the place. The homemade huts were still present, but he was more pleased that the solid looking cabin was still standing. Why wouldn't it be? The place was in a mess, but there were no bodies or signs of carnage. The people that had been attacked must have fled and reanimated in a different location, and the rest of the survivors, like himself, Helen and David, went elsewhere.

He stepped into the cabin, dropped his bag on the floor, and had a look around. The cabin was the main place where they kept the supplies. After the attack, the supplies were taken to the farmhouse and now the place looked empty, apart from the little furniture that was present, including the bed in the corner.

It was better than nothing, and at least they allowed him to take some supplies with him.

Simon and the rest weren't heartless, and did not wish any harm against the man; they just couldn't live with him. Donald had calmed down now and agreed that he wasn't the easiest person to live with. It didn't help matters that he was in love with Helen, but it was clear that she had eyes for someone else.

After all he had done for her and her boy, it just wasn't enough. They were friends. And that's the way it was always going to be. Nothing more.

He looked at the bed in the cabin, pleased that there was some kind of bedding there, but there was something he needed to do. He didn't want to rely on the farmhouse for handouts. He needed to look after himself, and the supplies in his bag were only going to last him a week if he rationed the stuff. The woods that surrounded the camp had hardly been ventured in when the camp was thriving with its ten residents, so he wasn't aware if there was a nearby orchard, mushrooms or bushes of berries anywhere.

He stepped outside and took a look on the ground. He could see the remains of some mouldy soup that Hayley Bertrand had been warming up before they were attacked. There were also a few items of clothing on the floor, a trainer, and a cup.

He went into the small huts and could see some of the clothes thrown into a corner. He didn't know why he checked the huts. He had checked them before when he came for the supplies a month ago.

There was nothing here.

He then remembered that he had simply dropped his bag of goodies on the floor of the cabin and decided to return to the cabin and hide the bag. It would just be his rotten luck if he disappeared for an hour to look for edible stuff, only to return and find the bag gone.

He returned to the cabin and put the bag under the bed, then stepped back outside and wondered if he should wait until the morning to look for additional supplies. The evening was drawing in, and at least tomorrow he would have all day to look.

"Ah, fuck it," he mumbled. "A quick look won't do any harm. An hour ... tops."

Patting his pockets, making sure he was carrying, Donald Brownstone then walked further into the woods with his senses on high alert.

It was going to be dark soon.
Chapter Thirty-Two

Lisa Newton's feet were aching for rest. The forty-one-year-old had returned to the house and was carrying two jars she had found in the kitchen of the house she was staying at, and was carrying them in a carrier bag. Once she had filled the jars, she was going to go straight back to the house and begin filtering the liquid from the stream that she had drunk from earlier.

Her mind went to the guy she had shot. She did feel some regret for shooting the man, as it turned out that even in his remaining seconds on this earth, he was thinking about Lisa and not himself. He shot himself so that she'd be unable to go looking for the man that was called Hando. The man knew that with the gun unloaded, she wouldn't be dumb enough to go looking for revenge with just a blade.

She had never pulled the trigger of a shotgun before, any gun for that matter, and her right shoulder was beginning to feel painful from the kickback.

She had managed to retrace her steps back to the stream. She dropped to her knees and began filling the jars with the ice cold water. Once they were full, she screwed the lids and was about to stand up, but a snap of a twig from behind her made her freeze.

"Hey, there!" a male voice called out from behind.

Lisa stood up straight and slowly turned around to see a dishevelled looking man. His clothes looked tattered; he was small in stature, looked unsteady on his feet, and had a grey beard plastered over his face.

"Hi," Lisa said. She put her hand in her pocket, feeling for her knife.

The man chortled, "And what is a nice woman like you doing in a place like this, eh?"

Lisa gulped; her confidence was diluted after losing the shotgun, and she struggled to respond to the creepy individual. She did consider keeping the gun for effect. For example, if she had it with her now and the weapon was spotted by this stranger, he would probably be too nervous to approach her. However, she left the gun by the man's body, blood and bits of brain were all over it, and she didn't want to waste water cleaning the thing up.

"What's up, honey?" He took a step forwards, making Lisa shudder with fright. "Cat got your tongue?"

"I'm ... I'm s-s-sorry," she stammered, unable to hide her nerves. "I ... I need to get going."

In truth, Lisa needed to get by the strange man to get back to the house she was staying at.

"Going where, exactly?" he asked. "I'd stay away from the road, if I were you."

"Oh, yeah? And why's that?"

"The meat wagon," the man said with a straight face.

"The ... what?" Lisa was confused by the man's ramblings, and now just wanted to get away from this creepy individual.

"You never heard of or saw the meat wagon?"

She never answered the man and began to walk away, unnerved by this strange individual, and could now hear movement behind her.

She turned around and could see him following her.

"What do you want?" she screamed at him.

He never responded verbally. He laughed devilishly at the woman as he stumbled through the long bracken after her. She had a knife on her, but she could see from the bulge in his pocket that he was also carrying. He just hadn't revealed it yet.

Smothered in panic, Lisa turned and ran as fast as she could. With her legs noisily going through the bracken and her heavy breathing, she had no idea if the man was following her, but had convinced her mind that he was.

She entered a spacious part of the area, something she didn't want to do, and because there were no trees for the next twenty yards to bump into, she took a look behind her.

There was now nobody behind her.

She smiled and began to laugh at herself. Was she being paranoid? Maybe the man wasn't a threat at all. Maybe he was just like her: An individual that had lost people and was now out on his own, clinging onto survival, and had been starved of company.

"Lisa, you idiot."

Still panting hard, Lisa Newton sat against a tree and was still amused about the way she reacted. She then thought about what he had mentioned earlier.

"Meat wagon." She shook her head. "What was that mad bastard talking about?"

She closed her eyes and her breathing was returning back to normal as well as her heart rate, but it began to speed up again and gallop when a noise could be heard from behind.

What now?

Lisa pulled out her knife from her pocket and stood to her feet. A rare thing could be seen in her vision, some yards away. It was a lone Canavar. It had already spotted the woman and was trying to speed up its clumsy pace. She had done this before, many times, but it still made her panic whenever she was face to face with these things. If she ran, she knew it would follow her, albeit slowly. She may as well get rid of it so she could walk back to the house reasonably relaxed. She just hoped that the strange man had disappeared somewhere else.

The Canavar was a male, an elderly guy when he was human, and Lisa had taken it down with very little fuss. She buried her blade into its skull and took a step back as it fell to the floor. She gazed at the still being for a few seconds, lying motionless on the floor, and bent over to retrieve the blade. Before placing it back into her pocket, she wiped both sides of the blade on the dirty clothes of the Canavar and was about to walk away. She gasped when her eyes clocked the same strange man from earlier. He stood and glared at her with a wide grin from ten yards away.

Lisa gulped and snarled at the man, "What the fuck do you want?"

"You," he began to laugh.

Lisa wasn't sure if he meant sexually, or if he wanted to carve her up and eventually put her into his digestive system.

Whatever he meant, he wasn't having her, she thought. No fucking way! She put her hand into her pocket and revealed the blade.

"Come on, you fucker," she squealed. "Let's 'ave ya."

To her horror, the man cackled and began to walk forwards. He had only made three paces when he suddenly stopped.

Lisa was baffled by this and then could hear the sound of rustling coming from behind her. She was reluctant to turn around because of the strange man in front of her. She took a quick glance over her shoulder and could see a man approaching.

The man behind was bald, thin, had blue eyes, and was wearing black jogging bottoms, and trainers that had seen better days. A blue T-shirt could also be seen under his black nylon jacket that he was wearing and was zipped down to his chest.

The strange man that had followed her turned and ran away on seeing the bald man getting closer. Lisa didn't know what to do. She could see the back of her weird stalker disappearing into the greenery, and then turned to face the other male.

The bald guy held his hands up, clocking her knife, and said with a cackle in his sentence, "Relax. I'm not here to cause trouble."

Lisa never responded. She continued to clutch her knife and glared at the man, unsure what to do.

"I came here looking for something edible," he said. "I have a little camp back at my place, with some nibbles, but I thought it was probably best not to be complacent."

She felt a little relaxed when he spoke, and lowered her knife.

"Where're you based?" she asked him.

He smiled after finally hearing her voice and said, "I'm staying in the woods. I was at another place with some people, but we had a falling out."

"They kicked you out?"

"Kind of. It's not that bad. I have shelter, some things to eat, and I have the ingredients to filter water."

"You stay near a stream?"

He shook his head. "A pond."

The male and female stood in silence, and it was Lisa Newton that broke the quiet between the two of them.

"I'm looking for my daughter," Lisa blurted out.

"Oh?"

"I was attacked and my daughter was killed." Noticing the confusion on his face, she tried to explain further, "I have another daughter. She's older. She's the one that managed to escape."

"I'm sorry that you lost your daughter." The man had genuine regret on his face and dipped his head slightly. He took an intake of breath and said, "I also lost a child, about five years ago, but to lose a child to the dead is such an horrendous way to go."

"It was the living that killed her. Four men." Lisa had no idea why she was opening up to this stranger. They had only met two minutes ago.

"Shit." The stranger ran his fingers over his bald head and added, "What happened?"

"I was staying at a caravan for a while," Lisa began to explain to the stranger, fighting back the tears. "Then these guys showed up and I was repeatedly raped by three of them, and my daughter was stabbed to death. She was just fourteen."

"Shit. I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, me too."

The bald man lifted his head and began to shake with rage on hearing her story, and snapped, "What is wrong with some people?"

She hunched her shoulders and looked like she was becoming emotional.

"What happened afterwards, if you don't mind me asking?" The stranger took a step forwards and was in two minds whether he should comfort the woman or not. He decided to keep his hands to himself, just in case he freaked her out. "Did they just leave?"

"Yes, they did." She nodded. "After raping me and stabbing my fourteen-year-old daughter to death. I don't know where my other daughter is. She fled whilst it was all happening."

"Shit," the man groaned, and looked depressed on hearing this news.

"I killed one of them." She blurted out. "A couple of days after it had happened, I saw one of them walking down a road."

"Good." The bald man was about to say something, but seemed reluctant at first. "Listen, it's gonna be dark pretty soon. If you want to come back with me, back to the camp, you're very welcome. I know you don't know me, but—"

"Thanks. But I don't have much luck with men," she tried to joke. "We don't seem to get on these days."

The bald man smiled. "And I don't get on with either sex." The man stood and folded his arms and added, "But we could give it a go. If you want."

"I don't know. I'm supposed to be looking for my daughter, but where do you start?"

"I have no idea," the man sighed gently. "If you change your mind, I stay half a mile from here. Keep walking north, you dig what I'm sayin'?"

He smiled and turned around, ready to walk away, but Lisa asked him to wait.

He asked the woman, "What is it?"

She placed her hand on her chest and said, "I'm Lisa."

"Pleased to meet you, Lisa," the man laughed gently. "I'm Donald."

There was a seven second silence between the pair of them and Lisa sighed and said, "You know what, I've changed my mind."

"You're coming?"

She nodded and walked over to Donald Brownstone. "What's the worst that could happen?"
Chapter Thirty-Three

###### Next Day

Simon Washington couldn't sleep.

He decided to go for an early night, but he spent his time in the bedroom staring up at the ceiling, as he couldn't shut his mind off. It was going at a hundred miles per hour and it was like somebody was fast-forwarding his life story, from his childhood to the present day.

It took a while, but he admitted defeat and stood up. He bent over and put the clothes that were strewn in the corner of the room back on, and peered outside, into the darkness. It was the early hours of a new day.

He moved away from the window, took his machete that was leaning against the wall, and crept down the stairs. He entered the living room, walking by Yoler and Dicko, tucking his large blade in his belt and went into the kitchen. It was pitch black, but he managed to get himself some water from one of the jars by the windowsill. A snap was heard and this made him tetchy, yet he wanted to know who or what it was.

He went for the kitchen door, slid the bolt back, and gazed around the area. The stars were non-existent and there was no moon on this particular night. It was as dark as it could be. Simon contemplated going back inside to light one of the candles, but he held his finger up and guessed that a naked flame wouldn't survive the wind.

A rustle of a branch was heard to his left, making him immediately twist his neck and stare over in that direction, but it was so dark that it was hopeless to see. He relaxed a little and had persuaded himself that the noise was coming from the cluster of trees, so it could have been an animal of some kind.

A deer, perhaps?

He walked by his daughter's grave with slow steps, and gazed into the small wooded area that was at the left side, at the back of the farm. He could hear no more noises, but his intrigue was still strong. He rested his hand on the handle of the machete, and was in two minds whether to pull the large blade out or not. Maybe he was overreacting. He was sure that it was an animal.

He cocked his head to one side and took a step forwards, trying to look deeper into the small crowded area of trees. He thought he saw something move, but wasn't sure.

He was getting fearful, cleared his throat and managed to find his voice. "Is there anybody in there?" he asked in a whisper.

He was given no response. It was getting dark and seeing through the trees was proving difficult. All he could see inside the trees was blackness.

"Hello?" he said, but still received no response. "Is there anybody there?"

"Help me," a voice came from the woods, making Simon's heart elevate to an absurd rate, but Simon couldn't see anybody.

"Who's there?"

A figure came stumbling out of the trees. Simon's eyes widened and could just about see the silhouette of the man, and the way he was walking, it looked like the guy was injured. The man was limping towards Simon, making Washington nervous and feeling for the handle of the machete once more. The man's right hand was holding his left arm; he was staggering, and his head was down.

"Wait." Simon began to panic and took a couple of steps backwards. "I'll get some help."

"I just need..." the man panted, unable to finish his sentence, still keeping his head down.

"Yes?" Simon now remained still and watched as the man came towards him.

"I just need..." the man panted, but still never finished his sentence.

"What?" Simon could see that, despite being hunched over, he was a tall man, bald, and was now almost toe-to-toe with Simon.

"Are you okay?" Simon asked the man.

The man shook his head and had a look of angst on his face. "I was attacked by a couple of guys."

"Come inside." Simon was sure that the man was genuine. "Let me help you."

"No, no, no," the man protested meekly. "I don't want to impose on you."

"Don't worry about it," Simon said with a smile. "There ain't many of us in there."

"Oh?"

"Come on," Simon beckoned, then the man lifted his head and Simon recognised him. It was the same individual that had approached them earlier, from the front, and ended up getting verbally abused by Donald.

Before he could respond, Simon felt a clout at the side of his face and lost his balance. The man had struck Simon and now had the dazed man in a headlock.

"I just need you to shut the fuck up!" the man cackled.

Hando then turned around and told his two men to come out. Dirty Ian and Wazza stepped out from the trees, and Hando nodded over at the back of the farmhouse. "Let's introduce ourselves, shall we?"

"Why don't we just kill him?" Dirty Ian spoke up, glaring at the dazed man that Hando had in a lock. "I'll do it."

"Originally we were going to wait until the middle of the night and then go in and slaughter them all, but we didn't know how many were in there. He's just said that there ain't many, and now we also have someone to trade. Tonight, I'm feeling generous."

"Hando," said Wazza, looking confused. "What are you talking about?"

"It's simple," the bald man they called Hando cackled. "They can leave peacefully, with laughing boy here. If they refuse to leave, this fellow dies and we'll have to fight it out with the rest."

"Leave peacefully?" Wazza looked astonished at Hando's unusually soft approach. "And what happens if they come back, armed to the teeth?"

Hando laughed, "You worry too much. I'm trying to be nice for a change. What's your problem?"

Hando placed his free hand in his pocket and pulled out his blade, placing the tip of the blade against Simon's temple. He lowered his head and whispered in Simon's ear, "Call your pals out. We need to talk."

"No chance," Simon snarled. "We're not leaving. You're gonna have to kill me."

"Fine," Hando laughed. "I'll kill you and then go inside and butcher everyone inside, while they sleep in their beds. I take it you don't have a guard as such." Hando smiled and added, "Unless _you_ were it."

"Go fuck yourself," Simon spat.

"I'm offering you a peaceful solution to this." Despite the predicament and the verbal abuse from Simon Washington, Hando was relatively calm. "Call your pals out."

Simon never said a word and remained tight-lipped.

"Just beat the cunt," Wazza suggested. "His stubbornness is beginning to get on my fucking nerves."

Hando turned to the side and looked at the small grave. He turned Simon around to face his daughter's grave and asked Washington, "Anybody you knew?"

Simon clenched his teeth together and still never responded.

Hando could hear the growl coming from the man he had in a clench, and guessed correctly that the grave belonged to somebody he was close with, although unaware that it was actually Simon's daughter.

"Still not talking?" Hando's anger was now beginning to surface, and the lack of verbal response from Simon was testing his patience. Hando said, "Fine."

Wazza was unsure why Hando was hesitating, just standing there, and repeated, "Do him, Hando. Beat him."

"I've got a feeling that this little puppy isn't going to bark," Hando sniffed. "You guys smash up that grave while I hold him."

Hando then nodded at Wazza and the injured Dirty Ian who then began to desecrate the shallow grave. Ian pulled out the crucifix and Wazza was kicking at the dirt and Lambie.

Simon never said a word, but the tears were now streaming down his cheeks. It was heart breaking for the man that these thugs were just feet away from his little girl.

"Who's in there?" Hando asked Simon, but he never responded. "Still not talking? Maybe we'll dig them up. Maybe that will get you talking."

Hando looked over to Wazza and Dirty Ian and told them to start digging the body up.

"Don't you fucking dare!" Simon sobbed.

"Tell me who the fuck is in there," Hando snarled.

"It's my daughter!" Simon cried. "Okay? It's my daughter, you sick bastards."

"Ah, so it does have a tongue?"

"Stop it!" a female voice cried from behind them.

Still holding Simon, Hando turned around to face whoever had spoken.

It was Yoler.

She was standing by the back door and was carrying a machete in her right hand. A little light was now present, as it appeared that she had lit a candle and put it on the kitchen windowsill. Dicko was soon standing next to her and pulled out his trench knife, Trevor, once he could see Simon being held against his will.

Dicko called out, "Let him go!"

Yoler and Dicko recognised the man straightaway, and Yoler asked him why he was here ... again.

Ignoring her query, Hando asked them, "Where's the other fellow? The one with the mouth?"

"We sent him away after the run-in with you," said Dicko. "Looks like we made a mistake."

Simon looked up, the tip of the blade still pressing against his temple, and could see a frightened Helen in the bedroom window. David must have been with her as well. He motioned with his face for her to get away from the window. She interpreted his minimal body language well and disappeared from view.

"What're you doing here?" Dicko asked Hando.

"I think you know," said Hando.

In truth, Dicko knew exactly what Hando wanted. He and his cronies wanted the house all to themselves.

"And you want us to leave in peace?" Yoler cackled.

Hando nodded with a straight face. "That's right. We could have just snuck in and killed you all while you slept, but with me being a nice guy, I think this is a fairer option."

"Well, we're all touched," Dicko spoke with heavy sarcasm.

"Even if we did leave in peace," Yoler snapped and grinded her teeth together. "What is stopping us coming back and taking it back from you guys?"

"You won't," spat Hando and they could see a smugness on his face. "Unless you bring an army back with you. You see, sugar tits, we spent the last twelve months fighting to survive. We're no pushovers."

"What the fuck do you think _I've_ been doing all year, hiding in a corner and fudding myself?"

"Now _that_ I would like to see." Hando raised a smile and looked Yoler up and down.

Yoler and Dicko gazed at one another in defeat. They had managed to overcome the intruders from a month ago, but these guys looked intimidating and they also had Simon. They both sighed in defeat and accepted that they would have to give the place up, especially if they wanted Simon to live.

"Okay," Dicko sighed. "You win, but give us time to get our things. We also have a woman and child in here as well."

Simon seemed annoyed that Dicko had revealed that Helen and David were also in the house. For all Dicko knew, these guys could have been rapists, child abusers.

Hando nodded. "Agreed."

Simon could feel the muscular arm loosening and the tip of the blade being removed. He dropped his head and kept it there for a few seconds before bringing it back, hard, cracking his neck in the process. The back of his head made contact with Hando's face, and a yell appeared from behind him. Simon felt a punch in his back, or at least it _felt_ like a punch, and then collapsed to the ground.

Yoler gasped as Simon fell to the floor, and raised her machete.

Dicko did the same as the three men, Hando, Dirty Ian and Wazza, hurtled towards them.

The skinny guy was the first to reach them, but his swipe at Dicko was blocked when Dicko raised his forearm and made contact with Dirty Ian's, then counter attacked the man and rammed his trench knife into Ian's stomach. Dicko removed the blade straightaway and watched as Ian fell. Incredibly, Wazza never ran and tried to stab Yoler, but with a machete against a knife there was only going to be one winner. Wazza tried to ram his knife into Yoler's throat, but Yoler took a step back and swiped at the man, taking his hand off.

Male screams filled the air, and the knife-wielding Hando began to panic as blood from his two comrades spilled onto the ground. He took a step back and seemed unsure what to do next. Wazza, still screaming and staring at his hand that was now lying on the floor, began to run away, leaving Hando alone. Wazza ran to the side of the place, bypassed the car and headed to the front. Knowing that his odds didn't look good, Hando quickly followed, still with his bag over his shoulder, but neither Yoler or Dicko pursued the man. They were more concerned about Simon who was lying on the floor, motionless.

Yoler approached Simon and called out his name, but there was no response from the man that was lying face down.

Dicko checked the man that was called Dirty Ian. He was curled in a ball, groaning, still alive, but he was going nowhere. He was losing blood and had minutes left to live, if that.

Dicko then stood up straight, by the side of Yoler and, unlike Yoler, he never hesitated on checking on Simon Washington. He bent down and could see the stab wound in Simon's back.

"Simon." Dicko had his hands on Simon's shoulders and gave him a gentle shake. "Simon? Speak to me, pal."

Dicko wasn't getting a response and looked at Yoler with fright in his wide eyes.

"What is it?" Yoler stood, biting her nails and repeated her question that Dicko was struggling to answer.

Helen had now exited the house, alone, and Dicko told her to get back inside, but she blankly refused. She had seen most of the melee from the bedroom window and wanted to know if Simon was okay.

"Is he okay?" she shrieked.

"Where's David?" Dicko asked, ignoring her question about Simon. "Go back and see if your son's okay."

"He's hiding under the bed," she cried. "We heard the noises. Neither one of us was asleep. How's Simon?"

"He seems to have been stabbed in the back by that thug," said Dicko, rubbing the palms of his hands over his face in exasperation.

"But is he alright?" Helen asked and took a few steps forwards, but stopped when Dicko instructed her not to get any nearer. "He doesn't seem to be moving."

Dicko placed his two fingers on Simon's carotid artery and remained quiet for a few seconds. This worried the girls, and Yoler went over to Helen and stood next to her.

"Well?" Helen said impatiently. "How is he, Dicko?"

Dicko's head lowered for a few seconds, and then he looked up to Helen and Yoler.

Dicko shook his head. "He's gone."
Chapter Thirty-Four

"You're gonna have to shut that moaning," Hando snapped at his remaining comrade, and then touched his nose. It wasn't broken, but it was bleeding a little and very tender.

The pair of them were jogging down the road. Wazza was unsteady on his feet and losing a lot of blood, but he was getting no sympathy from Hando.

"Come on, brother," the leader snapped. "Hurry up."

"I can't hurry, Hando," Wazza cried, and tried to keep the injured arm raised. The pain was so excruciating that the tears were impairing his vision.

"Another mile or so and we'll be near a village," Hando panted and added, "We can stay the night at one of the houses and think of something come the morning. Need to get our revenge. Or we can go back in a few hours. Maybe tonight, when it's dark."

"Revenge? Tonight?" Wazza said with surprise. "I only have one hand left and they kicked our fucking arses anyway. I'm not going anywhere."

Hando stopped jogging, now that he was sure that no one was following them and that they were a decent distance away from the place, and urged Wazza to slow his pace.

"I'm not gonna make it, Hando," Wazza cried. "I'm losing too much blood. I don't feel too good. I feel dizzy."

"Okay, brother," Hando sighed and patted Wazza on the shoulder. "Take off your T-shirt and I'll wrap the stump up. But I warn you, it's gonna be sore."

"I don't know, Hando!" Wazza cried.

"We need to stop the bleeding and then we'll go back. I've made up my mind."

"I'm not going back there." Wazza furiously shook his head and kept on saying. "No way."

"Is that right, brother?" Hando looked annoyed, straightened his back, and folded his arms.

"Hando, there were four of us a few days ago, and now there's only two."

"We'll recruit more ... eventually."

"I don't want to do this anymore."

Hando raised his eyebrows and lifted his chin up. "What?"

"You heard me."

Hando glared at the injured man, swallowed his anger, and asked Wazza, "You still have that lighter?"

"In my pocket." Wazza nodded. "Much good it's been. Haven't come across a cigarette in weeks."

Hando put a hand each in the front of Wazza's pockets and fished out the lighter from the left one. He placed the disposable lighter into his own pocket and told Wazza that he had an idea, and took out his knife with his right hand.

Wazza began to take his T-shirt off, getting no help from Hando, and asked, "And what's this idea?"

"Well, first of all it doesn't involve you, brother." Hando plunged his knife into Wazza's throat. "So long."

Wazza's eyes were as wide as golf balls, blood poured out of his mutilated throat, and he dropped to the floor once Hando coldly removed the blade.

Without an ounce of remorse, Hando cleaned the blade on Wazza's clothes, and headed back to the farmhouse as his comrade continued to lie on the floor, gurgling, seconds away from death.

Hando, real name Kevin Pritchard, looked up to the darkening bruised-like sky and instead of waiting, he thought that there was no time like the present. With revenge polluting his mind and his anger fresh, he wanted to attack the farmhouse as soon as possible.

With determined steps, leaving the mutilated corpse of Wazza in the middle of the road, Hando could feel his blood boiling and headed back to the farm, with the rucksack hanging off his shoulder. He had no idea how long he and Wazza had run when they fled, but he reckoned that he'd be back at the place within half an hour.

He returned to the place in twenty-three minutes.

He looked and could see that there was nobody outside at the front. He entered the woods that were opposite the farm, and stepped carefully until he was opposite the house and could see the main door. He knelt down.

He went through his bag and pulled out a half litre bottle of water he had filtered the day before. He drank the whole thing, tucked the plastic bottle under his arm, went through his bag and pulled out a two-foot long rubber hose piping that they used to siphon cars over the months, and then waited in the trees.

He lay down in the bracken and closed his eyes. He had fallen asleep. It wasn't something that he had planned, but it had happened. He was in no rush. He had time on his side.

*

Hando woke up with a start and had no idea what time it was. He guessed that it was the early hours of the morning.

He sat up and went onto his knees, staring over at the farmhouse. He gazed for a while, but there was no sign of anyone standing at the front or even the sign of a curtain twitch. It appeared that everyone was inside. Maybe the people of the house who had killed one, severed the hand of another, and then made the remaining two run away ... maybe they thought that that was enough to frighten them away for good. Maybe the attack on Hando's men had made them over confident. Or maybe they were inside and consumed in grief for the loss of their friend. Hando knew he had killed the man he had stabbed in the back, because he drove the knife into the left side, through his heart, when the scuffle broke out.

Hando was growing impatient. _Fuck it. It was now or never._

Grinding his teeth, and still consumed with rage, Hando crept out of the wooded area and over the road. He tiptoed around the side of the house and once he reached the corner of the place, he peered round to see that the back of the farmhouse was clear. He could see nothing apart from the desecrated grave that Dirty Ian and Wazza had wrecked when he had that guy hostage.

Hando approached the Mazda and tried to unscrew the petrol cap. It wasn't budging. He assumed it was one of those that had to be opened from the inside of the vehicle, so he forced the cap off with his knife. He turned around to make sure once more that there was no one around, placed the tubing into the car, and then sucked on the pipe. Once he could taste the disgusting taste of petrol, he placed the tubing into the bottle that he had under his armpit. There was more than enough. He had filled the bottle, took out the tube, and placed it back into his bag.

After putting the petrol cap back on—he had no idea why he did this—he went to the front of the house. He was in two minds whether to wait a few hours until they were sleeping, but he was certain, especially after what had recently happened, that somebody would be on guard anyway to raise the alarm, so he approached the main door.

He sat down on the doorstep and placed his ear against the door. He couldn't hear talking. Fuck it. Maybe they had all gone to bed, he thought. After all, it was ... what? ... One, two, three in the morning?

Hando shuffled to the side of the doorstep and lifted the plastic bottle that was full of gasoline. He opened the letterbox of the main door and began to pour the bottle through the letterbox. Once it was done, he ripped off a piece of his shirt, lit it with the disposable lighter he had taken from Wazza, and then put it through the letterbox and gently dropped it. Maybe he should do the car as well.

Satisfied with his 'work', Hando walked away from the place and strolled down the road as if he didn't have a care in the world. He was heading for the village that he and Wazza were originally going to, before he decided to put a blade through the throat of the whining prick, and seemed content with what he had done.

He could have sat opposite the farmhouse and watched the panic from the woods, people fleeing, maybe even people dying and on fire, but he was happy enough just to burn the fucking place down, regardless whether the people in there lived or died.

It didn't matter to him. If they burned to death ... fine. Justice had been done. But if they escaped and had managed to flee the burning place ... then that was fine as well with the man.

The comfort of living in that farm would have been taken away from them, and it meant they would have to start again, scrapping for food, maybe eventually dying from dehydration or starvation.

Whichever way it had turned out for the remaining people on that farm, Hando was certain that they were being punished justifiably.
Chapter Thirty-Five

The group sat around the living room, shocked, and never uttered a word to one another. Simon was dead. Only Yoler, Dicko, Helen and David were left. David was upstairs and Helen was about to go up and leave Dicko and Yoler alone, but she had something on her mind.

She approached the door that led to the upstairs and looked at the morose looking Yoler and Dicko. The pair of them were sitting on the sofa, struggling for words.

Helen asked them, "What are we going to do with Simon?"

Dicko looked up and paused before speaking. Simon had been wrapped up in a sheet and left outside. Dicko and Yoler had already agreed that Simon was going to be buried next to his daughter in the morning. Everyone was too exhausted to do it right away, plus it was pitch black outside.

"I'll bury him next to Imelda in the morning," said Dicko. "I'll do it first thing. Try and get some sleep. Everybody, try and get some sleep."

Helen cried, "Not too sure I'll be able to after what's happened."

"I know." Dicko nodded. "But you need to try, Helen. We all do."

Helen shut the living room door behind her and disappeared upstairs. Dicko gazed at Yoler and told her to get some sleep.

"And what about you?" she said.

"I feel okay." Dicko hunched his shoulders. "Maybe I'll even bury Simon while you lot are sleeping. Probably be better if I stay up anyway, just in case."

"Don't be silly," Yoler huffed. "Wait 'til the morning, and we'll fix Imelda's grave as well."

Dicko leaned over to give Yoler a kiss, but she moved her head back and asked him what he was doing.

"I was going to kiss you good night," he said, baffled by her behaviour.

"Well ... don't, Dicky boy."

"And why not?"

"Because that's what couples do. And we are not, and never will be, a couple."

Dicko gulped, a little hurt from the verbal response, and said, "Suit yourself."

"I know it's hard not to fall for me," she began to tease. "But you're gonna have to be strong. There ain't many men about these days, and in the old world I wouldn't have looked at you twice."

"Well, that's nice to know." Dicko was baffled why Yoler was saying such things, epecially soon after losing their friend. He queried sarcastically, "So I should be thankful then?"

Yoler smiled. It was an imperfect smile, but it warmed Dicko's heart nevertheless. It didn't matter how much she pissed him off, her smile seemed to win him over every time.

She added, this time revealing a smirk, "Yes, you should be thankful. I bet after sleeping with me, you wake up on a morning, look over and have to pinch yourself."

Realising that Yoler was kidding and trying to wind him up, he said, "You'll be getting a kick in the growler if I get any more cheek off of you."

"And you'll be getting a punch in the plums, Dicky Boy."

The two of them chortled gently, but suddenly stopped. They both never said a word and knew why they had both stopped. Simon had only died hours ago, and here they were making each other laugh.

Yoler closed her eyes and lay back on the sofa.

Dicko took the armchair.

No more words were spoken and Yoler had managed to fall asleep after eleven minutes had passed, leaving Dicko alone with his thoughts.

He thought about his family. He thought about his wife Julie, his daughter Bell, and his little boy Kyle. When it was first announced, Julie and Bell were out at the shops and Dicko was left with his son. He never saw his wife and daughter alive again.

His thoughts went back to those times when he and his son were stuck in that damn house, unsure whether his girls were alive or dead. To keep Kyle safe, Dicko set out some rules for the boy to stick with. The rules were chalked on his daughter's blackboard and were there to keep his son safe.

Jesus, he thought. It felt like a lifetime ago now, and Dicko could still remember the set of rules, word by word.

1. Never look out of the window.

2. Don't shout or make any other kinds of noises.

3. Don't go outside.

4. Don't play near doors or downstairs windows.

5. Always do as dad says.

6. Don't moan, because there are people worse off.

7.

Rule number seven had never been completed. He couldn't think of another one at the time, and it had been left blank.

It seemed like an age since he had left his house and bumped into a man called Bentley. The two of them went to a supermarket, to look for Dicko's girls, and Dicko had spotted his wife's car and went over to it.

He found his wife and daughter in the Renault. Bentley had taken care of Julie and Bell. Both had been bitten and had reanimated into those Canavars, Snatchers, Rotters ... whatever people called them. Only a month or so later, Kyle had died.

He then thought about his son's death on Sandy Lane. The image of his son's ravaged body would never leave his mind. He was mentally scarred forever, and losing his son was the worst and most painful experience of his life. Kyle was all he had left, and then he had nothing. It had been ten months since his son's passing, but Dicko, real name Paul Dickson, would never forget seeing his boy all messed up like that.

It wasn't right for a young boy to die in such a way.

He closed his eyes and rested his head back on the armchair. His eyes filled and as soon as they were opened, tears spilled out and ran down his cheeks. He wiped his tears away as his bottom lip wobbled, and puffed out a breath as his throat began to get tighter, almost choking the upset man.

Unbelievably, he managed to fall asleep, despite his mind being polluted with images from the last twelve months. His last thoughts, before he drifted off into a sleep, were about the people at Colwyn Place. He hoped that the place was still going strong, as well as the people, and hoped for some kind of reunion one day.

He guessed he was about thirty or forty miles away from where he used to stay, and with this new world, and the dangers that came with it, he may as well be a thousand miles away, he thought. Just walking two miles on foot was a dangerous thing to do, especially a year ago when things were chaotic. Maybe not so much now, but it was still a dangerous world.

He fell asleep and his first dream was of Imelda Washington. Dicko was sitting on the couch, Imelda was at the table, drawing, and Simon was sitting in the armchair, trying to read his Jaws paperback novel. The dream was like the first days, when Dicko had just arrived on the scene.

He soon woke up, screwed his eyes in confusion, and began sniffing the air like a dog.

"What the...?" He sniffed again, and this time finished his sentence. "What the fuck is that smell?"

It took him a while to realise that he could smell burning.
Chapter Thirty-Six

Dicko stood up and continued to sniff the air. He went over to a sleeping Yoler on the couch, unsure whether he should wake her or not. Was he imagining this? He sniffed again, and then shook his head. _No, I can definitely smell burning._

He began to shake Yoler, making the woman groan. He shook her again, and she groaned again, but never woke up, so he shook her harder, maybe a little _too_ hard.

Her eyes opened and she suddenly sat up, making Dicko take a step back. "What is it?" she asked straightaway.

"I don't know for sure yet."

Her nose twitched and she stood to her feet. "Is that smoke I can smell?"

Dicko never answered her. He crept over to the door that led upstairs and placed the side of his head against it. He could hear a sound. He could feel the heat, and the smell of smoke was strong. It was fire. He knew it was fire.

He placed his hand on the handle, but Yoler told him to stop.

"I think the place is on fire," she said.

"I know, but I need to open this door because Helen and David are upstairs."

He opened the door and took a step back as a precaution. The heat hit his face hard and the flames were all over the walls and carpet, licking the inside of the wooden main door, and the smoke was snaking its way up to the landing, ready to claim its first victim or victims.

He thought about running upstairs to alert Helen and the young boy, but there was not a chance he could run through those flames and not receive any kind of burn injuries. Not a chance! He decided to use his voice instead.

Dicko yelled upstairs, calling Helen's name, hoping that'd be enough to wake the pair of them up.

He turned to Yoler and said, "Get round to the front of the house. Call on them; throw something at their window. Do anything to try and wake them up. I don't care if you put the window through."

She nodded, grabbed her machete that was lying on the floor, and went into the kitchen and unbolted the back door. She took a quick glance to the side before exiting the house, and could see Simon's machete lying on the side.

She stepped outside and ran to the side to see the Mazda on fire.

She gasped, shook her head, and then headed to the front of the house. She reached the front door to see it ablaze. She looked up and could already see Helen opening the window above her. As soon as the window opened, Yoler could hear the panic-filled screams from young David. In her head, Yoler was telling the little boy to shut up, but had to remind herself that he was only young.

"Get David out first," Yoler called up, trying to ignore the flames to her side that were burning away the front door and trying to lick her.

Helen had a hold of David, but he was refusing to leave his mum's side. In the end, Helen had to grab the young man and dangle him over the edge, making his screaming even more frantic and louder, and she finally dropped him once Yoler reassured Helen that she would catch him at the bottom.

Helen, with tears in her eyes, dropped her screaming son and, true to her word, Yoler Sanders caught the boy, although she received an accidental kick in the face for her troubles. Helen then climbed out of the bedroom window with zero hesitation and slid down the unsteady drainpipe. As soon as she reached the bottom, as her feet touched the floor, the young boy ran at his mother and they both hugged.

At this point, Dicko had appeared from around the corner and asked if everyone was okay.

He took a step back and looked at the house, then shook his head as he saw the burning vehicle. "Bastards. The car's fucked as well."

"Dicko." Yoler slapped the man's arm and pointed behind her. Helen gasped and David released a terrified scream once the pair of them looked. Thanks to the raging fire, they could see three Canavars on the road, and they were approaching the four of them.

Dicko yelled, "We can take them!"

Yoler agreed and raised her large blade.

"There's three of them, but with this fire there'll be more," Helen cried. "Just look at the fire."

Yoler ran at the three and kicked the first one over with a front kick.

She smashed the nearest one in the face with the machete handle, forcing it to stumble backwards, and then swiped her blade to the side and saw the machete sink into the side of the ghoul's head. The one on the floor had managed to get to its feet and now the two remaining ones approached her, stumbling side by side, from the other side of the road. She pulled out her blade from the Canavar's head and waited for the other two to come. Dicko was now by her side.

The one on the left was female; the one to the right was an obese male that was severely rotten, and Dicko tightened his grip on his trench knife, Trevor, and rammed the blade into the forehead of the male before it could grab him, whilst Yoler had used her machete like a spear and stabbed at her female attacker with one blow to its forehead.

"Look." Dicko pointed down the road and, thanks to the fire providing a little light, they could see a crowd of them heading towards the farmhouse. Dicko guessed that he could see at least twenty, and God knows how many were behind?

"So what do we do now?" Yoler cried, and had a rare look of panic on her features.

"Helen's camp," Dicko said without an ounce of hesitation. He looked over to Helen and she remained standing, hugging her son. She nodded at Dicko, agreeing with his suggestion.

"Where we sent Donald?" Yoler, however, wasn't sure.

"Yeah, so what if we all turn up? He can't turn us away. He doesn't own the fucking woods."

"I'm up for that," said Helen, hugging onto her son. "Let's go back to my old camp before more turn up. Donald won't turn us away. I'll make sure of it."

"Too right he won't," Dicko snapped. "I'm not gonna give him a choice."

"It's a bit dangerous, Dicky Boy," said Yoler. "Travelling to that camp in this dark."

"Can't be any more dangerous than the situation we're in right now," Dicko said. "We don't have any other option."

"Fine," Yoler huffed. "Ready when you are."

All four ran around to the back of the house. Helen stopped and placed her free hand over her mouth when she could see the wrapped up body of Simon Washington.

"Simon," she gasped.

"We'll sort him when it's daylight," Dicko said. "I'll come back and take care of him. Now move it."

He grabbed Helen and urged her and David to follow him and Yoler to the field. They ran, and the further they ran, the less they could see ahead of them, as the burning house grew smaller and smaller the more they moved.

"Get to the pond!" Dicko yelled. "Then we all stop and walk the rest. I'll lead the way."

"And why are _you_ leading the way?" The perplexity could be heard in Yoler's tone.

"We don't know what could confront us," Dicko began to explain. "And you guys are more important than me. That's why!"

"Well, that's true." Yoler managed a cackle. "Whatever you say, Dicky Boy."
Chapter Thirty-Seven

"I can hear a noise," said Lisa Newton, once she had managed to wake Donald up.

The two of them decided that sleeping in the cabin was the safer option, rather than staying in the huts. Donald had told Lisa the story of his camp being attacked, and she insisted on staying in the solid looking cabin with Donald. The pair of them slept at either end of the cabin, on old mattresses that had been there since Donald and his crew had discovered the place.

Donald Brownstone sat up quickly in the dark cabin, rubbed his eyes, and looked over to where the voice had come from. It was so black in the wooden place that he couldn't see anything. He whispered to Lisa, "What kind of noise?"

"Erm ... like ... movement. People walking."

There was no response from Donald Brownstone, making Lisa impatient. She asked him, "Shall I light a candle?"

"A candle?" Donald gently snickered. "Can you see one?"

"I put one next to the mattress before going to sleep, and that box of matches that was in here."

"You certainly don't take any chances, you dig what I'm sayin'?"

"I've had plenty of practice," Lisa huffed, still waiting on an answer from her question before. She tried again. "Well? Do you want me to light a candle or not?"

Donald shook his head, something that Lisa couldn't see, and said, "No. Not yet. Let me go and check it out."

"I think you should stay here. I think it might just be an animal."

"Then there's nothing to worry about," Donald said, and now Lisa could hear the man getting to his feet.

Lisa couldn't believe the stupidity of the man. Check it out? Isn't that what the dumb people do in the horror movies? There's a noise outside, better check it out. There's a scream coming from the cellar, better check it out. There's a howling coming from the attic, better check it out.

Although Lisa thought that it was a reckless and stupid thing to do, she kept her mouth shut and watched Donald's shape moving around inside the cabin, and could hear him unbolting the cabin door. He then stepped out into the darkness. He turned around and told Lisa to shut and bolt the door once he was gone. She had no problem with that.

She stood to her feet also, and felt her way around the cabin.

"Have you got your knife?" she asked him.

"Of course."

Donald stepped out, and a petrified Lisa shut and bolted the door before Donald had made it down to the bottom of the steps. His breathing was erratic, heart galloping, and he gazed into the darkness, unsure whether to call out or not. In the old days, before the camp was attacked, the place was surrounded by strings with cans attached. These were put into place to warn the residents in case danger appeared. Those strings had been snapped by the invading dead a month ago, as well as the fleeing survivors.

He had only been back at the camp for a few hours and hadn't had time to fix the 'alarm' system. If something, or someone, did enter the camp, he wasn't going to know until they were a breath away, especially in this darkness.

Oh, Donald. I hope you know what the fuck you're doing.

He could hear the noises of feet getting near and pulled out his blade. He was certain that this was the sound of humans. The steps were careful and not clumsy like the dead.

And the noises certainly weren't coming from an animal.

But what kind of survivors in their right mind would be strolling through the woods at this time of night, in the dangerous world that they lived in now?

Desperate ones? he thought. It could only be desperate ones.

He could hear the feet getting closer, and the rustle of disturbed branches, but no words could be heard from these people heading towards him. Not even a whisper.

He could now see the shapes of people coming towards him, once they reached the spacious part of the woods where the camp was situated.

The sets of feet stopped moving and a female called out, "Who's there?"

Donald smiled on hearing the voice. It was a voice he recognised.

"It's Donald."

*

Lisa Newton sat against the cabin door, despite it being bolted, and held her knife in her right hand. She had her knees up and her arms wrapped around her shins. She practised some deep breathing to lower her pounding heart rate, and it seemed to be doing some good. Her mind then flashed to the scene where she had found her daughter stabbed to death by those thugs, shooting one of them, and watching him blow his own head off.

She felt nothing for the piece of shit. She just wished it was the other guy that was killed, the leader. She thought back to when she was raped. When the guys were encouraging one another, they mentioned their names. The leader was called Hando. She would never forget that name.

She then thought about sexually transmitted diseases. And what if she was pregnant? She tried to shake the thoughts from her mind and turned her head to one side and listened out. She could hear movement from outside, talking, and she held her breath to get a better listen.

She couldn't make out the conversation, but it seemed friendly enough, and she almost raised a smile of relief as she continued to listen.

The talking had stopped, and now she could hear the movement of feet getting nearer. She heard the sound of boots slowly making their way up the couple of wooden steps to the cabin and waited for the knock.

It seemed to take an age, but then the cabin door was suddenly knocked, making Lisa jump, and she felt relaxed within a second when she heard Donald's voice.

"It's me, Lisa," he said. "Open up."

Lisa stood up and slid the bolt across. She opened the door and three people began to pile in.

Lisa took a step backwards, unsure who the other people were, and Donald approached Lisa and put his lighter in her hand from his pocket and told her to light a candle.

"Are you sure?" Lisa asked.

"Yeah, fuck it. It's safe out there." Donald added, "But just light the one. That'll do the trick."

Lisa lit a red stumpy candle and could see four individuals standing inside the cabin, by the door. Donald bolted the cabin shut and took a while to introduce the people to Lisa. It was clear that it was people he knew.

The male on the far left was a skinny fellow, sporting a dark bushy beard, and had dark features with long hair that was similar to Ian Brown's in the nineties. The individual next to him was a female. She was slim, pretty, and had her hair like Paul McCartney's from the _Beatles For Sale_ album, and wore green combats, boots and was wearing a creased brown plain T-shirt. A machete was tucked in her belt at her left side. Another woman was next to her. She was heavier than the other two adults. She was average in height, around five-five, had dark features and her haircut was like Corrine Drewery's when she sang with _Swing Out Sister_ in the eighties. It looked like she had cut it herself, which she probably had done not so long back. The little lad next to the woman, clasping tightly onto her hand, was cute as a button and was also dark like his mother, Lisa thought.

Donald finally introduced the four individuals to Lisa, from left to right. They were, Dicko, Yoler, Helen, and a little boy called David.

"Where's Simon?" Donald had just realised that there was somebody missing. "And come to think of it, why are you lot here in the first place? You never answered me when we were outside."

The four guests all looked at one another and Donald urged them all to sit down on one of the mattresses.

"Remember that guy that turned up earlier on in the evening?" Dicko asked Donald, and was the last person to sit and rest his aching feet.

"The one that I had a go at?" Donald queried and remained standing, like Lisa. "The reason why I was asked to leave in the first place?"

"Yeah ... well..." Dicko looked embarrassed and cleared his throat. "He came back with some guys. They..."

Helen, clearly becoming upset, got up off the mattress and decided to move David away into the corner. He didn't need to hear this.

Seeing that Dicko was struggling, Yoler decided to take over and said, "To cut a long story short, they took Simes hostage, a fight broke out, and Simon was killed. One of the guys was killed as well, and the tall guy and the ginger one with the Chelsea top escaped, after he got his hand cut off."

Lisa recognised the descriptions of the men and could feel herself becoming nauseous. She gulped, looked over to Yoler Sanders and asked her, "Was the guy that got killed a skinny, scruffy guy?"

Yoler nodded. "Yeah."

"And the leader was bald and wearing a blue Everlast T-shirt and black jogging bottoms?"

Yoler nodded again. "Um ... yeah."

"You know these people?" Donald asked Lisa.

Lisa lowered her head, paused for a moment, and never uttered a word. The three adults were whispering to one another in the far corner of the cabin, and Lisa decided to break her silence.

"A few days ago," she said with a gulp, "these guys turned up at a caravan I was staying at. Three of them abused me, while another sat in the living room. They then stabbed my fourteen-year-old daughter to death and my other daughter fled."

"Jesus Christ on a cross," Yoler blurted out. "That's terrible. I'm so sorry."

"You said that three abused you and the other one sat in the living room?" Dicko spoke up. "Was there four of them initially?"

"There used to be four." Lisa nodded, and not for the first time her thoughts were plagued with guilt for leaving her little girl's body in that cold caravan. "Afterwards, after the caravan incident, I had bumped into one of them. He was on his own. He's dead now."

"Well, the scruffy fellow is definitely dead," Dicko said to Lisa. "The ginger guy had his hand cut off and the other was left unscathed. I've got a feeling the ginger guy won't make it due to blood loss, but we'll see."

"So it's just Hando on his own?" Lisa said.

"Hando?" Dicko queried. "Is that his name?"

Lisa nodded.

"Never heard of Hando. Keep on hearing the name Orson, though."

"Anyway," Yoler turned to Donald. "They must have come back for revenge, because me and Dicko woke up to find the house on fire. Then a piss load of Canavars turned up. We had no choice but to flee."

"So you came here because of the fire or because of the dead?" asked Donald.

"Both."

Donald scrunched his eyes, held up both of his hands, and told everyone to shush.

"What is it?" Yoler asked, ignoring Donald's command to be quiet.

"I can hear noises."

Yoler, Dicko and Donald placed their ears against the door and nobody said a word. They all knew it was the dead. The fire had attracted a lot, and some must have tried to follow them from the farm.

Donald waved his hand at Helen and told her to put the candle out. The cabin only had a small window, but he decided not to take the risk. He didn't want to risk attracting the dead to any kind of light. She did as she was told and cuddled her frightened little boy, singing gently in his ear, trying to stop his sobbing.

They could hear the stumbling feet in the bracken and the snapping of dead twigs on the ground.

At one point, it sounded like a couple of them had fallen over. Hardly a surprise. It was pitch black and there were a lot of obstacles, like branches, thick exposed tree roots, and small holes in the ground.

David then released a small yelp of terror when a loud thud was heard at the side of the cabin.

Donald shushed into the darkness and now Helen had her hand over her son's mouth, still holding him tight. However, the damage had already been done.

For a moment there was silence. An eerie calmness suffocated the place, but then suddenly the sounds of hands slapping the outside of the cabin began, and all of the people inside now feared the worst.

"Light the candle again," Donald called out into the darkness.

Helen tried to protest. "But Donald..."

"They already know we're in here now. Just do it."

Helen did as she was told, and over the noises of the rotten limbs slapping at the cabin, Yoler asked, "So what now?"

"They won't go away if they know that people are in here," Dicko said, the clamour growing louder. "I've been in this situation before."

"Haven't we all?" Donald scoffed, then scratched at his head. "I wonder how many are out there. It sounds like a lot."

"We saw at least twenty coming towards us before we left," said Yoler. "There could be more out there. A lot more."

"Superb," Donald huffed.

"What do you think we should do?" Helen shivered in the corner and still had her hands over her petrified son's ears.

They all looked at Donald for an answer.

"How come I'm the leader all of a sudden?" Nobody gave him an answer. "Well," he began, "we can sit here for a couple of days and play charades."

"It's not the time to be cracking jokes, Donnie," Yoler snapped.

"They won't give up," said Dicko.

"I haven't finished yet," Donald said. "Or we can escape."

"Escape? How?"

Donald patted his pocket to make sure he had his knife, then took another candle from the table, a thin cream one, and lit it before approaching a side door that nobody had noticed before.

He nodded over to Dicko and Yoler, and told them to start banging on the main door and yell. The cabin was surrounded, and Donald hoped that this distraction would entice the dead behind and at the side of the cabin to the front. They did as they were told, and Lisa joined in, then Donald waited a minute and placed his ear against the side door. Once he was satisfied there was nothing behind it, he opened the door and told Helen to bolt it shut once he was gone.

"See you in the morning," he said with a smile. "Hopefully."

Nobody protested or asked what he was doing. They didn't have chance. Once he was gone, Helen bolted the side door and everyone inside the cabin could hear Donald Brownstone hollering outside, trying to entice the dead away from the cabin and to follow him.

Dicko was impressed and thought that it was an incredibly selfless act, but felt it was all for the benefit of Helen and David, people Donald deeply cared about, and not for him and Yoler. Despite that, it was still a brave thing to do by Donald.

The smacking of hands and the groaning slowly but surely dissipated, and the individuals inside the cabin guessed that Donald's hollering had attracted the dead, and most of them had moved away from the cabin and were hopelessly trying to pursue Donald, going deeper into the woods.

It was clear that they were moving away, because the slapping and the scratching had almost stopped, and Dicko said to the others, "It's working."

Yoler shook her head and managed a smile. "The mad bald bastard."

"What do we do when it's all clear?" Lisa asked in a whisper.

"Nothing," said Dicko softly. "We stay here until the morning. Try and get some sleep. Donald will be back."

"What if Donald doesn't come back?" Lisa asked Dicko.

Dicko smiled at all three females. "He'll be back."

After six minutes had passed, there was silence. The dead were gone.

All the Canavars had moved elsewhere, thanks to Donald Brownstone.
Chapter Thirty-Eight

Donald Brownstone's heart was in his mouth. His breathing was erratic, but he knew that what he was doing was for the benefit of five lives. The main two lives he cared about were Helen and the boy. Lisa seemed nice as well, but he wasn't bothered about Dicko and Yoler. They had never bonded the whole month he had stayed at the farmhouse, and they were eventually desperate to see the back of him.

The burning candle that Donald was holding had managed to survive the short journey he had taken so far, thanks to the lack of wind. It had now gone out due to his increased pace and frantic turning around every three seconds to see where the dead were.

The last time he looked, before the candle died, they were ten to fifteen yards away. He was making progress, but he wasn't sure if there were any in front of him. He put his hand in his pocket and realised he had left the lighter in the cabin. Cussing, he threw the useless candle to the floor and was now holding his blade, ready for any nasty surprises.

The noises of snarling and clumsy feet from the Canavars behind was beginning to diminish the further he walked, and he thought about increasing his pace to a jog. The trouble was that he couldn't see what was in front of him, and he was bumping into the occasional tree and branch just _walking_ through the heavy plantation.

"Come on, Donald. You can do it."

He wanted to reach an area where there was space, even a main road. It didn't matter where he ended up. He was sure that he'd be able to find his way back to the camp. It would still be pitch black, but these woods had other dangers as well as the Canavars that were pursuing him.

He thought for a second about climbing one of the large trees and staying there until the morning, but common sense prevailed rather quickly.

What happened if he tried to climb one and then fell and sprained his ankle or broke his leg? Any kind of injury in this new and nefarious world was something best to avoid. Even if he climbed with success, and was twenty feet off the ground, what would he do if the dead somehow knew where he was but couldn't get to him? These persistent bastards would surround the tree and would never move until he fell or climbed down.

No, the tree idea wasn't going to work. And it would also mean that he would be sleep deprived the next morning, as sleeping in a tree was near impossible.

He continued to walk briskly, aware that there could be holes or ditches that could make him lose his footing and sprain something, or a dormant animal trap that could easily break or injure his foot.

He waved his arms in front of him, like a blind man who had lost his cane, and occasionally slapped the trunk of a tree and felt the scrape of a hanging branch, but at least his feet were treading on level ground for the time being.

He felt a small gust of wind stroking his face, and could sense that an open stretch of road was up ahead. The trees were thinning out and he was now hitting fewer trunks, and fewer branches were trying to scrape and prick and stab at his body.

He finally stepped out into the open air and looked up to the stars that looked like scattered glitter, then wondered where he could go to ride this episode out until the morning. He didn't want to be walking for the rest of the night/early hours of the morning, because he was too tired, he didn't want to bump into any further danger, and he didn't want the daylight to return and realise that he didn't know where the fuck he was.

Donald walked along the road, his tired feet scraping along the tarmac, and somehow managed to follow the road that began to bend. He stopped walking when the sound of scraping could be heard up ahead.

"Fuck. Not another one," he moaned.

For months, Donald had hardly seen any of the dead and had put this down to two things: being in the countryside, and the fact that there probably weren't that many around anymore, due to being destroyed by humans and literally rotting away to the bone.

His walk continued and his mind began to wander. He thought about his ex-wife, and wondered if she was still breathing, but he very much doubted it. He had nothing against his ex. She was a nice woman, and Donald knew that it was his bad temper and excessive drinking that had caused a rift in the marriage, even when Charlie was alive. But as soon as his son passed away, the marriage died with him. The bad temper and the excessive drinking increased, and Donald's wife was left with no choice but to get rid of the man that frightened her.

Donald's daydreaming came to an abrupt halt when he heard something. It was something Donald hadn't heard for a while. It was the sound of a vehicle.

He sidestepped into the woods and could see the dipped headlights of a vehicle brightening up the main road. He could now see the lone Canavar, shambling along the road, the one that he had heard before his daydream. It was heading in Donald's direction and had its back to the headlights.

The vehicle stopped, still drenching the road and the ghoul. The dead figure turned around and began walking ungainly towards the headlights.

"Right, Stuart," a man's voice called out. "This one's yours. And hurry up. I don't like being out here on a night."

"Why?" a young voice asked.

"Because it's late, and we don't want to bump into the meat wagon," said the male voice.

The young man cackled and said, "Meat wagon? That's just a myth."

"I'm telling you," the man began. "Joe Kelly, months ago, was out with his wife and decided to go into the woods for a piss. The van pulled up, she was dragged into the back of it before Joe had a chance to run after her."

"You know what they do to people, don't you, Stuart?" a new voice spoke up.

"They're cannibals," said the young voice. "They abduct people and kill them for food."

Donald peered out from the long bracken and could just about see that the vehicle was some kind of pickup. There were three guys in the front of the vehicle, and had the interior light on with both windows wound down, and he could also see a young man holding a baseball bat, walking towards the Canavar. The young boy, Stuart, looked nervous, and Donald thought that maybe this was some kind of initiation test for the youngster, something that would make him accepted by the gang.

The young man, who couldn't have been older than nineteen, stood sideways, bent his knee and pulled the bat back.

He waited. And waited.

Donald, for whatever reason, was hoping that the young man would do it without any help from the others. The young man took in a deep breath and swung the bat once the dead being was in striking distance.

First strike!

The Canavar fell to the ground, producing a cheer from the other three guys that were sitting in the cab of the vehicle, and the youngster hit the thing once again. With the adrenaline taking over, young Stuart brought the bat down again and again, until the head was turned into a bloody mushy mess.

The men cheered, Stuart turned to his audience and punched the air, but then he turned to the side and threw up, causing laughter amongst the three men.

"Don't worry about it, Stuart," the driver called out, head hanging out of the window. "It happens after your first time. All you need to do now is drag the body to the side of the road and get back in the pickup."

Stuart did as he was told and apologised to the men as he headed back to the vehicle.

"It's okay," the driver said. "We won't tell Orson that you threw up."

There was that name again, Donald thought. _Orson_.

The vehicle began to move again, once all were inside the pickup, and went by the hiding Donald. The place was covered with a blanket of darkness once again.

Now that the coast was clear, Donald stood up and made the short walk out of the woods and walked along the road again.

He looked around him and literally couldn't see anything. He needed to find somewhere to sleep. Soon.
Chapter Thirty-Nine

Yoler and Dicko were the first to wake in the cabin. They guessed that they had about four or five hours sleep. They felt okay now, but knew by the afternoon that the lack of sleep would catch up with them. Once everyone was awake, Yoler and Dicko told them what they planned to do. Yoler and Dicko needed to go back to the farmhouse and bury Simon, and also tidy up Imelda's grave.

"I should really go with you," Helen said. "I really liked Simon. I should be there to say goodbye."

"You stay with your son," Dicko said with a comforting tone. "You can say goodbye to him once he's been buried. We can all go up later on."

Helen agreed and said, "We'll wait for Donald to come back. I'm dying to brush my teeth."

"We'll see what there is left at the farmhouse," Yoler said. "But I wouldn't hold my breath. I've got a feeling that it's been burned to the ground."

Yoler and Dicko unbolted the door and popped their heads out to see if it was clear. Everybody inside was certain it was. They hadn't heard a thing from outside since Donald had left.

The two left the cabin and walked through the woods, heading for the pond in silence. They went by the pond, through the cluster of trees, and walked through the long grass of the field. They stopped walking and looked at the farmhouse from a distance.

They gazed at the smouldering farmhouse with sadness. Even the small barn had been torched. Like Yoler had guessed, it was ruined. It was a shame. It could have been a great home for them, long term, but it never worked out, thanks to Hando.

They were at the hill within minutes with their quick pace and went up it, with their breath now getting heavier, and their hearts trotting at a quicker pace. They stood and looked at Imelda's ruined grave, and then their eyes fixed on Simon's body that was still wrapped in the sheet, flies buzzing around it and crows circling above them.

Thankfully, no stray animal had come along and had a nibble, and Dicko was also surprised that not one Canavar had tried to eat him. Maybe he wasn't fresh enough, or they simply didn't know that a human body was wrapped in the sheet, and they were distracted by the fire and the fleeing people during the melee.

Yoler remained staring at the back of the place and shook her head with sadness. Dicko went to the side to see the Mazda smouldering away, and then returned to the back and stood next to Yoler.

"There should be shovels by the trees, next to Imelda's grave," Dicko said, finally breaking the silence between the pair of them.

"I know, Dicky Boy." Yoler looked at the side and flashed Dicko a cheeky smile. "It was me that put them there."

"A shame about Simon," Dicko said. "I really liked the guy."

Yoler agreed and nodded. "We should be used to it, me and you. I mean, how many people have you got to know over the last twelve months and have lost them?"

"Too many," sighed Dicko. "Although for many months, like I've already told you before, I was on my own and kind of lost my mind for a while."

"I think I was a little lost as well, mentally. But what you've been through, losing your family ... that's something I couldn't even comprehend."

"We've all suffered, Yoler. It's not a competition."

They had a minute breather before heading over to the shovels. They finally grabbed them and went over to Simon's body. They stood by the body, gazed down and used the shovels to lean on. They then looked over at Imelda's grave that had been vandalised by Hando's men.

"We'll fix Imelda's grave first," Dicko began to speak. "Then we'll dig a hole next to her and put Simon there."

He looked at Yoler for a response and could see her head down, her eyes filling. He had never seen her upset before. Not like this. He placed his hand on her shoulder and she looked up.

"You okay?" he asked her.

"Never better," she responded sarcastically.

He took his hand off her shoulder and nodded at Imelda's grave. "Shall we?"

Dicko took a step over to the grave, but Yoler stopped him from going any further when she said his name.

Dicko turned around and asked, "What is it?"

"Give me a cuddle."

"Why?"

"Because I need one."

Dicko dropped his shovel and Yoler did the same.

The two adults embraced and remained in that position, the pair of them crying. Two minutes later, they broke away from their embrace and dried their eyes, almost embarrassed that the two tough cookies had let themselves go in such a way.

Minutes had passed, and Imelda's grave had been fixed. Simon's grave had been dug, and the body had been put to rest, with Dicko grabbing Simon's shoulders, and Yoler taking the legs.

Dicko and Yoler then placed the dug up soil over Simon's body and were finished after fifteen minutes. Altogether, they had been away from the cabin for over an hour, and both dropped the shovels and walked away from the two graves without uttering a single prayer.

"Wait," Yoler spoke, stopping Dicko in his tracks.

"What is it?"

"Not everything is ruined." She pointed over at the vegetable patches and the buckets of soil where the potatoes were planted.

Dicko smiled. "We'll come back for them. Come on," he urged his female companion. "Let's go back to our new place. I'm exhausted."

Tired, Yoler Sanders and Paul Dickson made their way back to the camp, to their new home.
Chapter Forty

Refreshed and hydrated, Gavin Bertrand and Grace Newton were ready to hit the road. The two of them had been up 'til midnight, talking about their past and present, and Gavin announced to the young woman that in order to survive in the long term, they needed to leave the street. There was nothing here, but he told Grace that he knew a place where they would be safe. It was a farm, a place he hadn't been to before, but a place where he knew that good people stayed. Grace liked and trusted Gavin, and agreed to go with him.

They stepped out of the musty smelling house and went out into the street.

"What a shame." Gavin turned and had a look at the diminutive street they were about to leave.

"What's a shame?" asked Grace. The eighteen-year-old ran her fingers through her dark bobbed hair, and rubbed her crusty eyes. She had only been awake for an hour, but Gavin insisted that they should leave as soon as they could, so they had plenty of daylight to play with.

"If we had the supplies, a nearby pond or brook, then this place would be perfect. The street's abandoned, there's—"

"But we have nothing, not really," Grace moaned. "Nothing that could even keep us going for a week. That's why we're leaving. It's nice that the place has nobody in it and is safe, but that isn't going to help our grumbling stomachs."

"Okay, okay," Gavin began to laugh. "Don't ruin my fantasy."

Grace asked Gavin if he was ready to go, and she verbally asked the man why they were standing around like a couple of fannies.

Gavin smiled at the cheeky teenager and told her to start walking. He put a bag over his shoulder that had snacks and a couple of bottles of water inside it, and then began to lead the way.

"So how long do you think this'll take?" Grace asked, trying to lengthen her strides so that she could keep up with Gavin.

"Dunno." Gavin shrugged his shoulders. "How long's a piece of string? Just keep up the pace, and hopefully we'll get to that farm by the afternoon."

"It's not that far, is it?" Grace moaned.

"Well," Gavin sighed. "I'm not sure where I'm going at the moment. Maybe I'll recognise something the more walking we do."

They walked side by side, with Grace struggling to keep up with Gavin's long strides.

Grace huffed and puffed and could see that Gavin was getting ahead of her. As the minutes went by, the more he seemed to be progressing ahead, and he didn't seem to notice until he turned around to speak to her.

"Keep up," he said, and then laughed. "Bloody slow coach."

"You're too quick," Grace whined. "I can't keep up."

"The trouble with you..."

Gavin Bertrand suddenly stopped walking and never finished the sentence that was directed at Grace. Grace also stopped and looked at Gavin, wondering what was up.

"What is it?" Grace's impatience had got the better of her and she had to ask. She couldn't help herself.

"Two things," said Gavin. "I think I know where I am now."

"Okay." Grace looked at her companion with a scowl. "And the other thing?"

"And I can hear a funny noise coming that way." He pointed to his left, into the woods.

"Well, forget about the noise," Grace huffed. "Just keep walking. It's probably just a deer or a squirrel or ... something."

Gavin ignored her and took careful steps towards the trees.

"Gavin?" Grace hissed.

He waved her away. "Just ... give me a minute, will you?"

Gavin pulled out his knife from his pocket and entered the area and could see right away the culprit of the noise. A Canavar was sitting down on the ground and appeared to be tied to a tree with some rope. It looked female and the smell was horrendous. It had clothes on, but they looked like dirty rags, and the face was so rotten that parts of the skull was exposed in the left cheek area and the eye socket.

Grace gave in, the intrigue was too much for her to ignore. She walked over and stood next to Gavin. She gasped once her eyes clocked the dead being and asked, "Why is it tied up?"

Gavin shook his head. "Maybe this ... person was bitten and the person that was with them couldn't bring themselves to kill her, so they tied her up instead."

"Is that what you think happened?"

"How the fuck should I know?" Gavin laughed.

"Alright, alright," Grace huffed. "I'm only asking. You don't have to..."

Grace stopped in mid sentence and gave Gavin a playful slap and pointed ahead. Gavin looked up and could see a small man in the woods, grey beard on his face, staring at the two of them from around thirty yards away.

"Shall we go over and see who he is?" Gavin asked Grace.

"No, I don't think that's a good idea," said Grace. "In fact, I think that's a terrible idea. Let's just fuck off, away from the weirdo."

The two of them walked away and had one last glance at the strange man before exiting the woods.

They continued to walk and five minutes or so later, they reached a bend in the road and a smile stretched across Gavin's face when the road straightened up. He knew where he was now.

"We're near," he said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Gavin nodded. "A few more minutes."

The two individuals could now see that the woods were finishing in this particular part of the area. The road was on a slight incline and they could now see the farmhouse up ahead.

As soon as they reached the place, the pair of them stopped walking and looked on in astonishment. The place was black, smouldering, and thick black smoke snaked its way to the murky heavens.

"You didn't tell me that this place was a little burnt," Grace giggled, trying to put some humour into the situation.

Gavin ignored her, took a couple of steps forwards, and stopped by the front garden gate, still gazing at the wrecked establishment. "I don't understand."

"Well, that's pissed all over that idea," said Grace.

Gavin placed his hand over his mouth and gazed in astonishment. "What happened?"

"Did you know the people in there?" Grace asked him.

Gavin scratched at his head, still staring in disbelief. "Not really. We briefly met once." Gavin remembered the flirty conversation he had with a young woman called Yoler, weeks back, before the camp was attacked and everybody dispersed or died. "My main concern is that some of the people from my camp probably went here." Gavin remembered Donald, Helen and her son heading in the direction of the pond during the attack, before he fled himself. They must have gone to the farm.

"We don't know if anyone has perished or not," said Grace. "They probably escaped and went elsewhere. We can't be too negative."

Gavin took a look to his left side, gazing at Grace, and a smile stretched over his features. "You're right," he said. "If they're still alive, I think I know where they could have gone."

"Where?"

"My old camp."

"And how far is that?" the teenager moaned.

"Not far." Gavin looked at Grace and gave her a wink. "Come on. Let's check the place out before we go back to my old camp."

They reached the farmhouse and walked around the side of the house to see a burnt out car. The house was made of stone, so it was still obviously standing, but the windows were all blacked out and smoke was billowing from the demolished roof. They reached the back part of the house. There was a large dirt patch, possibly a vegetable patch that had been dug up, and further on were two graves.

Grace looked at Gavin for answers, but he shook his head.

"I haven't a clue who lies here," he said. "As long as it's not Helen and David, I don't care."

"Shall we go inside?"

Gavin opened the back door and peered inside. The place was a black and smelly mess. Five minutes inside the place would lead to a serious coughing episode. It wasn't worth the risk, Gavin thought. He then looked at Grace and said, "There's no point."

"So what now?"

Gavin turned and looked over at the field. Behind the trees the pond was present, and further on was a place he had stayed at for many months.

Gavin walked away from the house and headed to the field, descending the hill. "Follow me."

"Will it be safe?" Grace followed Gavin through the long grass. "I thought you said that the Canavars attacked you."

"That was a month ago."

"So the place should be safe, right?"

Gavin hunched his shoulders. "Only one way to find out."
Chapter Forty-One

Exhausted from the walk and burying Simon, Yoler and Dicko sat on the ground, whilst Helen and David had decided to go into a hut where they used to sleep.

It appeared that David had had a bad night and was still tired, so Helen had taken him into their 'old place' and tried to get him settled down so he could sleep for a few hours.

"We'll get some water from the pond later on," Dicko said to Yoler. "Just need to get the ingredients to filter the stuff."

Yoler agreed and said, "We gave Donald some food to keep him going for a week or so, but now we're here and there are more mouths to feed..."

"We'll go out on a run later on."

"Me and you ... again." Yoler huffed. "Is that the way it's gonna be from now on, Dicky Boy?"

Dicko was unsure why Yoler was moaning and queried, "What do you mean?"

"Well," she lowered her voice, knowing that the hut that Helen and David were in wasn't far away, "What's Helen going to do?"

"She's not a fighter. Everybody knows that," said Dicko, sticking up for Helen Willis. "And she also has a son."

"So?"

"If she went out with either myself or you and something happened, it'd be hard telling the boy that his mother was gone." Dicko ran his fingers through his beard and smiled thinly. "Trust me. I've had to do it with my own son, telling him that his mother and little sister were not coming back, and it ain't easy, I can tell you."

"So she sits around while we go out and risk our necks, is that it?" Yoler kept her voice to a whisper and looked over at the huts where Helen and David were.

"Well, when she was here with the rest of them, she cooked, she washed clothes, she hung them out to dry ... she'll be useful. I suppose me and you going out there and leaving them on their own would be putting them at risk, but hopefully Donald will show up."

"Don't hold your breath."

Dicko smiled at Yoler's pessimism. "No, I think he'll be back. He's a prick, but he's a tough prick. I can't believe I'm saying this now, but I'm glad he's with us. I suppose he could have told me and you to go fuck ourselves when we turned up, especially as we kicked him out of the farm."

"Maybe this is the scenario he wanted," Yoler said with a smirk. "Being back in the company of Helen. Maybe _he_ set the place alight."

"I can't believe you've just said that." Dicko laughed and shook his head at Yoler. "No, it was that Hando guy that did it. Donald loves Helen and that little boy. He wouldn't do that."

"Men have done stranger things," Yoler said, and began to twirl her dark hair with her finger.

"Don't even joke about it."

Yoler could see that Dicko looked crestfallen and asked him what was wrong.

"I was thinking about Simon," he began. "When we went on that pointless run, the one where we came back with tea and coffee, I went into a café. I came across a child Canavar. I swear ... it was the spitting image of Imelda. I came out and Simon could tell something was wrong and wanted to take a look for himself. I tried to talk him out of it, but... He never said a word on the way back. Poor bastard. I know what it feels like to lose a son and a daughter."

Yoler held her hand up and gazed at Dicko.

Baffled, Dicko asked her, "What is it?"

"I hear something."

"Well, I can't hear fuck all," Dicko snickered gently. "You must have ears like a bat."

Yoler shushed him, putting her forefinger to her lips, and now Dicko could hear the sound.

The two individuals looked in the direction of the sound and waited and waited. They never thought to warn Helen and David, they just stared and lingered.

Two figures could be seen coming out of the trees. One was a female, a teenager with dark features, and she was dressed in grey jogging bottoms, and a black T-shirt. She had no coat and looked cold. Dicko recognised the woman. It was the same woman he and Simon had hit when they were in the car, but he chose to keep quiet. He didn't want to alarm the woman.

The male was dark also, a lot older than his female companion, and he was carrying a rucksack on his shoulder.

Yoler scrunched her eyes. She didn't know the female, but she had met the male before. "Gavin," said Yoler.

The handsome man smiled and lifted his hand as a way of greeting the pair.

Dicko smiled and said, "I'll go and get Helen."

Dicko went inside the cabin and returned with Helen seconds later.

She clocked Gavin and, ignoring the young female by his side, she ran for him and the pair of them hugged. They had grown close over the months and Gavin always saw Helen like an older sister.

They broke away and Helen asked, "Where's Hayley?"

Gavin dropped his head slightly and shook it. "She never made it." He scanned around the area and looked at Helen with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry," Helen cried. "I always hoped that..."

Gavin asked, "David?"

Helen smiled thinly. "David's sleeping in the cabin. Donald also made it. He's... Um ... out. He'll be back soon."

"What about the rest?"

Helen shrugged her shoulders. There were only ten of them to begin with. "I don't know, but I'm assuming the worst."

"It's good to see you, Helen."

"You too." Helen then moved her head to the side and said, "Aren't you going to introduce me to your young friend?"

"Of course," Gavin said. "Sorry. I'm a bit dehydrated and my head is pounding."

"Grace!" a shriek came from behind Yoler and Dicko, making the pair of them jump and turn around to see Lisa running out of the cabin and heading over to Gavin and Grace, but it was the young girl that she was delighted to see.

"Mum!" Grace shrieked.

Mother and daughter hugged for what felt like an eternity to Yoler and Dicko, and once they broke away from each other, Grace was the first to speak.

She said, "I thought you were..."

"No." Lisa Newton wiped the tears of joy from her face and had lost her smile and had a more sombre look etched on her features. "They killed your younger sister, though."

A blanket of melancholy was over the two females and they hugged one another once again.

"Well, this is breaking my heart," Yoler said with derision.

"It's like that show with Cilla Black," said Dicko. "Surprise, surprise."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Yoler guffawed. "A bit before my time, old man."

"A bit before your time," Dicko chuckled quietly.

"You really are an old fart, Dicko, aren't you?"

"You don't complain when we're at it." Dicko immediately blushed when he said what he had said.

"It's not as if I have a group of stallions to choose from, is it?"

"Oh, cheers." Dicko feigned hurt, and was enjoying the gentle banter with his comrade, whilst Lisa and Grace were still hugging and having their moment.

At this point, Gavin and Helen had gone inside. Helen had told Gavin to be quiet because David was still sleeping, and wanted to catch up with their bums parked.

"You've got a good body," Yoler continued, gazing at Dicko. "I'll give you that. You're quite ripped."

"That's what happens when you're constantly on the move, you have little food, and hardly any water to drink."

Dicko and Yoler watched as Lisa and her daughter finally broke away from their embrace. A teary Lisa kept on touching Grace's face and kissing her and couldn't believe that they had found one another.

Yoler called over to Lisa, "Why don't you take her into the cabin. She must be thirsty."

The two did as they were told, leaving Yoler Sanders and Paul Dickson standing in the woodland.

Dicko asked Yoler, "I'm thinking about how to get this place up and running."

Yoler nodded. "It was alright the way it was before. Just need to get the string and tins back up. Maybe a washing line as well."

Dicko nodded in agreement.

Yoler looked behind at the cabin, and pointed to her right. "We could sneak off for a bit and have some fun."

"Fun?"

"Do I have to spell it out?" she sighed. "A quick shag."

Dicko shook his head.

"Why not?" Yoler huffed. "I'm a bit smelly as well, if that's what you're worried about."

"The condoms were in the farmhouse that is now burnt to fuck."

"You can pull out when..."

"No," he said. "Too risky."

"So we're gonna have to act like a couple of teenagers and I have to give you a wank and you give me a finger blasting?"

"You really have a great way with words, Yoler." Dicko began to chuckle.

A rustle to the right of them made the pair of them turn around, and they could see immediately who the creator of the noise was. Donald was back.

Covered in sweat, Donald huffed and puffed the last ten yards and raised his hand at Yoler and Dicko, and looked like he was on the verge of a heart attack. He was bent over, struggling to get his breath.

"Made it then?" said Yoler.

"Yeah," Donald groaned. "But I've got a throat drier than a nun's snatch and my stomach thinks my throat's been cut."

"You sound like a guy I used to know. A guy called Vince Kindl." Dicko yawned, and then turned to Yoler. "And this guy was worse than you."

"What a fucking night I've had," moaned Donald. "I need to sleep for a week."

"Go inside then," said Yoler. "There're some new people inside to meet. I believe you already know one of them."

"Who?" Donald looked exhausted, but a small shot of adrenaline went through him after Yoler told him the news of the arrival of guests. He stood up straight and looked at Dicko and Yoler with suspicious eyes.

Donald looked at the smiling Yoler and Dicko, still unsure if they were tricking him or not, approached the cabin door, paused, and then went inside.
PART THREE
Chapter One

The broad-shouldered man's legs were becoming tired and he decided to sit on the step of the large cabin. He sat down and released a groan as his knees cracked. He was in his forties, but sometimes, especially first thing in the morning, he felt like he was in his seventies. His knees hurt, his back ached, and his neck was stiff.

It was early morning and it looked to be a nice day. It felt humid already and the sky was cloudless. Nineteen days had passed by without an incident, and that was just the way Donald Brownstone wanted it to stay. He had only seen one Canavar on his search for supplies, and that was from a distance, but he knew complacency could lead to death.

The dead had dwindled in numbers, or at least that's what it felt like, but another danger was around: Other survivors.

Over the last month or so he had heard the name Orson, his friends were burned out of their home three weeks ago by a man called Hando, and a new danger could be present that had been brought to his attention. He still hadn't forgotten the story of the meat wagons.

When the cabin was surrounded by the dead and he had fled to lead them away from the rest of the group, he saw a group of guys in a pickup, with one of them killing a Canavar. It was there he had heard the story of the meat wagons. He had no idea if the story was true. Maybe the older guys were trying to scare the young man doing his initiation test, but they certainly sounded convincing.

After twelve months of the world being the way it was, Donald didn't think cannibalism was totally far fetched, but what did intrigue him was where did these guys get their fuel from? Twelve months after the announcement on June 9th, and these guys were still driving around. Did they have a large supply back at their camp? But where was their camp? Wherever it was, it was where Orson stayed, because he heard the name being mentioned by one of the men. Wherever they stayed, it appeared that Orson was their leader.

Donald, still sitting on the step of the large cabin, brought his knees up and took a look around the greenery that surrounded him. They had supplies, but they needed to get more before the Autumn kicked in. They were near a pond, so water and washing wasn't a problem. It was the lack of food that was the trouble. The produce that grew outside the now burnt out farmhouse was reluctantly allowed to grow for two more weeks, before Yoler and Dicko went up and gathered the vegetables before somebody else came across them. The potatoes especially were small and weren't given the time to flourish to a more respectable size, but the paranoia of other survivors taking the produce was too strong to leave the vegetables for another couple of weeks. After two weeks, Dicko had decided that he couldn't wait any longer. He said that if they went up there and the vegetables had been taken, they would kick themselves.

Donald could feel himself drifting away, but soon lifted his head once his eyes closed and his head dropped. He hadn't been on watch. Donald had simply woken up early, after having a nightmare about his son, and decided to get up and get some air.

Putting somebody on a night watch was something that had been discussed, but all came to the conclusion that it was too dangerous. Sitting in the darkness, surrounded by trees, would only put the life of the guard in danger. The camp was surrounded by tins with string, so if intruders, alive or dead, did enter the camp, the group would soon know about it.

A rustle to his left widened Brownstone's eyes and made him reach for his knife he had in his pocket. He gazed in the direction of where the noise had come from, and waited for whatever was about to unfold.

"Anybody there?" Donald whispered. "If so, you're with good people. No need to be alarmed."

There was no response, and a minute later Donald knew why.

Out of the woods stepped out something he had been face to face on a few occasions. It was a dog. The female dog was a black Labrador, and many moons ago Donald had owned a similar dog. This breed were normally placid, a bit over excited, and relatively harmless. This one, however, was starving. It wasn't as malnourished as some dogs he had seen in the past, but he could see the ribs of the canine. He was pretty sure that in more populated areas, especially cities, a lot of domestic pets who had lost their owners were roaming the streets, desperate to eat anything.

"Alright, boy?"

Donald had always wanted a canine companion, but every time he came across a stray dog they were vicious, frightened and starving. This dog was no different.

The female canine lowered her head and crept towards Donald, showing its teeth, snarling.

Donald sighed and knew he had to put the animal down. He hated doing this. He stood up and took a few casual steps towards the dog, and the canine stopped moving and seemed hesitant. Donald was a big man and this desperate canine had stopped snarling. It looked like the Labrador was backing down, and Donald was relieved. He didn't want to kill the animal if he could avoid it.

The cabin door opened, startling both Donald and the dog, and the canine turned and scampered away into the woods.

"What was that?" Helen Willis scratched at her dark bobbed hair, stepped out and gave off a youwn.

"A dog," Donald said.

"Was it friendly?"

"Not really," Donald cackled and began to scan the trees, making sure there was no sign of the canine. "Given the chance, I think it would have loved to eat me, you dig what I'm sayin'?"

"Jesus," she cried.

"Nothing to worry about, Helen," Donald looked up at the woman. "Nothing I'm not used to. But I suppose it's mental to what we're now used to."

Helen sat down on the top of the cabin's step and brushed her hair back with her fingers. She leaned her elbows on her thighs and puffed out a sad breath.

"You okay?" Donald called over to her.

Helen shrugged her shoulders. "Just feeling a bit down."

"I can relate to that."
Chapter Two

Dicko opened his eyes and had woken from his nightmare. He looked around and could hardly see in the dusky cabin. He could hear the sound of heavy breathing from the people who were sleeping in the cabin with him, and attempted to sit up. He had slept on the floor, and now his back was feeling the aftermath of six hours sleep on a hard floor with no protection. He sat up with difficulty and put his arms in front of him and tried to stretch. He heard part of his back crack and wondered if had overstretched. The last thing he needed was a back injury, any type of injury, in this world.

He remained sitting in the middle of the floor whilst people slept around him, and brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his shins. He tried to clear his mind, but the nightmare he had experienced was affecting him and making his throat swell. He had had nightmares before, but this one was more like a flashback than a fictional dream. In Dicko's nightmare the incident had actually happened many months ago.

Dicko had just lost his wife and daughter, and the only thing he had left in the world was his seven-year-old son, Kyle.

It had been over two months into the apocalypse, and Dicko and his son were staying at a camp in a town called Rugeley. The camp was basically a road that had been sectioned off at each end by LGVs. The road was called Sandy Lane and the place was simply known as The Sandy Lane Camp and had many residents in the place and was still growing.

Some people lived in the houses, but farmers who had fled their farms had chosen to live on the football field, near a large building that used to be a place where people drank and where functions took place.

His eyes filled as his thoughts went back to that day he lost his son. Kyle and his father were out for a walk along the field, and Kyle announced that he needed to pee. Dicko told his son to pee on the field, but his son was too embarrassed to, and opted to use the toilets in the changing rooms. Dicko had always blamed himself for the death of the only thing he had left, and it had made him lose his mind for a few months and became unstable in his behaviour. But somehow he came back. He didn't come back as his old self. That would never happen after losing his entire family, but he did manage to claw back most of his sanity.

Paul remembered looking for Kyle, with a female friend of his, and checked everywhere possible. They checked the changing rooms, which was used back in the old world for football teams, and he felt his knees buckle when his eyes clocked his son. Somehow a stray Canavar had gotten into the camp and was inside the changing room.

Kyle had been attacked.

He was already dead when Dicko and his friend had arrived, and was being devoured by a member of the dead.

The last moments of his little boy's life had always plagued Dicko. He had lost his mind for months after. His last camp was at a place called Little Haywood. The small camp was a street that had been closed off called Colwyn Place. He left there after a few weeks, and had been on the road for months.

He stroked his dark beard that had signs of grey, especially in the chin area, and wiped his eyes.

He then thought about the people he had left behind at the camp, and then meeting a member of Colwyn Place when out on the road. Her name was Stephanie, and she was only fourteen years old.

Dicko had met up with two other survivors, but didn't realise there was a dark side to these guys. A vehicle was heard in the distance by Dicko and the two other men and saw it lose control and end up on the grassy bank. Not waiting for Dicko, the two men excitedly ran towards the motor. When Dicko finally caught up with them, after answering the call of nature, he could see the two men were abusing a young girl. It was Stephanie. She recognised Dicko straightaway, and he recognised her.

Dicko tried to persuade the two men to let her go, but they refused and turned nasty. Dicko killed them both and saved Stephanie. The young girl had been out on a run with two other females called Ophelia and Elza, but the two had been overwhelmed by the dead. Stephanie, a fourteen-year-old, was trying to drive the large vehicle back to Colwyn Place by herself. They said their farewells and that was the last time Dicko had seen anybody from that camp.

He looked around the cabin one last time and made a painful noise when trying to stand to his feet. He stretched his arms in the air, almost bending his spine in the shape of a banana, put his boots on, and then made his way outdoors. He opened the cabin door and went down the steps to the grassy area and could see Helen and Donald conversing with one another.

"Morning," Helen called over. "Sleep well?"

"Not really," Dicko groaned. "I'm stiff all over. And not in a good way either."

"You should try lying on the grass tonight," Donald chuckled. "If you look up you can see the stars, you dig what I'm sayin'?"

"I was thinking about doing that tonight," Dicko said with a straight face, stopping Donald's chuckling.

Dicko looked around where the huts used to be. When the camp had ten people, before they were attacked, there was the large cabin and some huts where people used to sleep. The cabin was a luxury, as well as safer, and the residents took turns to sleep in there. Donald had decided to remove the huts and used them as firewood over the weeks, and everybody, all seven of them, slept in the cabin.

"Are you mad?" Donald scoffed at Dicko. "Sleeping outside?"

"Why not?" Dicko hunched his shoulders. "I've done it before. This is a lot safer than what I've done in the past."

"Forget it." Helen nudged Donald and nodded over to Dicko. "He's winding you up."

"I'm not." Dicko smiled. "If I stay out here tonight, I'd be able to hear the sound of the dead coming through the woods. Stealth isn't their strong point. Plus, the camp is surrounded with our ... ahem ... alarm system. And I sleep with one eye open these days."

"Anyway, I better make a move," Helen moaned and scratched at her greasy hair. "I've got David's clothes and my hair to wash."

"Okay," Donald nodded. "I'll keep you company. Wanna go now?"

Helen nodded. "I'll try and get it done before David wakes up."

Helen went over to the cabin and crept inside. Seconds later she exited with a bunch of clothes.

"Those quilts need washing," she said. "They're starting to stink."

"We'll need to get more on the next supply trip," said Donald. "I've noticed that the evenings have been getting a bit chilly, despite it being summer. Bloody English weather."

Donald and Helen were ready to go. Donald looked at Dicko strangely and could see he was staring into space, like some madman. Donald gave Helen a gentle nudge and pointed over to Dicko and began to chuckle.

"You alright over there, Dicko?" Helen spoke up, and joined in with Donald. "You were miles away."

"Yeah." Dicko released a depressed sigh and added, "I was just thinking about Simon and Imelda."

The smiles on Helen and Donald's faces soon evaporated.
Chapter Three

Gavin, Lisa Newton and her daughter, Grace, had emerged out of the cabin over the last ten minutes. They decided to collect wood for a fire. Usually, on a morning, a fire would be lit and soup would be made. With only vegetables left, the soup was going to be a vegetable one. Some other stock, situated in the corner of the cabin, was still available, but a supply run was definitely needed, and Yoler and Dicko were the ones to go once they were washed at the pond.

Yoler Sanders and young David were the only ones left in the cabin.

Out of the female and the young boy, Yoler Sanders was the first to wake up. Like Dicko, she had slept on the floor, but had a quilt doubled over and placed on the floor as a poor substitute for a mattress. The trouble was that she when she woke up, she was off the quilt and was lying on the floor. She had no idea how long she had been like that, but her smarting back suggested that it had been most of the night.

She sat up and could see cracks of daylight seeping into the cabin. She was aware that everybody had gone, apart from young David, and decided to stay with the little man until he woke up. She stood up, put her boots on, and walked around the cabin, trying to limber up and reduce the stiffness. Yoler was dressed in green combats, boots, and was wearing a creased light blue T-shirt.

She sniffed her armpits and her nose twitched. This had been the worst she had smelled in months. As soon as she got to that pond and put some shower gel to good use the better. The toiletries, as well as the food, was being rationed, and she couldn't wait to go out with Dicko for a supply run. The group of people had three weeks of quiet with zero drama, but in truth, Yoler was bored and missed the action, providing she wasn't in any life threatening situations.

She was glad to be out of the camp. She loved Dicko's company. He was cheeky and since he had opened up nearly a month ago about his past, she liked him even more. He used to be a father and a husband, and she had empathy for the man that had lost everything, yet was still surviving a year after the announcement.

She heard whimpering coming from her left and could see young David's head going from side to side. It looked and sounded like he was having a nightmare. She sat next to him on the bed, and placed her hand on his forehead and shushed him gently. It didn't work and he opened his eyes and released a frightened gasp. The boy sat up and rubbed his eyes. He looked around the cabin, confused, and then gazed at Yoler.

"I think you were having a nightmare, kiddo," Yoler said with a smile.

David nodded and said, "I was having a bad dream."

"You certainly were." Yoler rubbed his head. "What was it about?"

"I was running through the woods with mummy," the boy began with little hesitation. "The Canavars were behind, following us, and I got stuck in some mud."

"Oh, that sounds terrible."

"It was very scary," he said with a nod. "The Canavars were getting closer and mummy was struggling to pull me out of the mud and I was screaming."

"Oh, that's a shame." She placed her hand on his soft cheek briefly.

"But then suddenly..." David paused and a small smile emerged on the little boy's face. "I felt these hands grab my shirt from behind. I was lifted up in the air and I was stood next to mummy."

"How did that happen?" Yoler spoke with a smile. "Was it God?"

David shook his head. "It was daddy."

"Your dad?"

"It was his ghost." David wiped his eyes and although he seemed happy when talking about his dream, his eyes were filling. "He kissed me on the forehead and then disappeared."

"And what about the Canavars?" Yoler asked, now getting a tad emotional herself.

"I don't know." David hunched his shoulders. "As soon as daddy kissed me that was when I woke up."

David then looked around the cabin, only just realising that it was just him and Yoler present. "Where's mummy?"

Yoler stood up and offered her hand to the young boy. "Outside, of course. Are you coming?"

David smiled and took Yoler's hand. The pair of them exited the cabin and could see that Gavin, Grace and Lisa trying hopelessly to make a fire. Dicko was a few feet deep into the woods, with his back to everyone, having a pee, and Donald and Helen were coming through the trees to their left.

"Mummy!" David yelled and ran over.

Both mother and son hugged and Yoler looked at Helen and Donald with a smirk.

She said, "Where have you two been? Have you been up to any funny business?"

"Don't be silly," Helen laughed. "We were at the pond, having a wash." She then bent over and sniffed David's hair. "I think you'll be taking a trip to the pond tomorrow."

"I'm okay," said David.

"It's not up for debate," Helen laughed. "Your hair's beginning to smell a bit."

Grace, Gavin and Lisa Newton had managed to get the fire started, and Dicko emerged from the woods and mocked, "That's cheating. You used a lighter."

"So?" Grace laughed. "May as well use it if you've got it."

"Try using two flints. In fact, I used two sticks once. Took me ages."

"It's not a competition," Lisa laughed. "But you win."

Yoler went over to Dicko and gave him a playful slap, asking if he was ready to go. He nodded.

All Yoler and Dicko took with them, apart from their weapons, was one towel and some soap that would only last one wash. They said farewell to the small group and headed for the pond, eventually being swallowed up by the greenery.

"When we get to the pond," Dicko began, "the first thing I'm gonna do is strip down to my bare arse and go straight in."

"Are we still talking about the pond, Dicky Boy?" Yoler giggled.

"Yes." Dicko flashed Yoler a hard stare. "I told you weeks ago. We're just gonna have to put up with handjobs from now on, now that we don't have protection."

"Oh, you can't beat the real thing, though."

"No, but unprotected sex is too risky."

"Just pull out when you're near."

"I said no."

"Fine." Yoler pouted her lips like a child and said with a smile. "Once you are clean then maybe I'll nosh you off. You up for that?"

"Well, it's not gonna suck itself, I suppose," Dicko laughed.

"Fine, But I want you to return the favour."

"First things first." Dicko pointed up ahead and both could see the trees thinning out. They had made this journey dozens of times and were about twenty yards from the pond.

Over the last few weeks it had been a lifesaver.

Thank Christ it was there.
Chapter Four

Not for the first time, Yoler and Dicko stripped to their briefs by the pond, ready for a freezing cold wash. It wasn't so bad once they were in for a few minutes, but stepping into that water was the worst part of getting washed. David Willis cried when he had to get washed, but was getting better as the days ticked by. Dicko looked over at the other side of the pond. For weeks they went to that area to collect water, when they were staying at the farm.

"You okay?" Yoler asked him. She was in a foot of water and could see that her male friend was staring into nothingness.

Dicko nodded the once.

"You thinking about Imelda and Simes?"

"A little," he groaned. "I was thinking about going up to the farm and having a look around."

"What for?" Yoler shivered as she ran the soap over her shoulders and chest. "The only thing that's up there, since we dug out all the veg, is Simon and Imelda, resting in peace.

"Just fancied a walk around there." Dicko shrugged his shoulders. "Take a trip down memory lane. I know it was short-lived, but that was the happiest I'd been in months."

"I'll come with you."

"No." Dicko shook his head. "I'll go alone."

"Okay." Yoler had finished lathering her body and dipped herself in, up to her neck. "But don't go inside. The farmhouse is still standing, but the fire's probably weakened it and it could collapse any time."

Yoler walked out of the pond, shivering, arms wrapped around her chest. Dicko held out the towel and she took it.

"We can't do this washing malarkey in December," she huffed. "It'll freeze the piss out of us. We'll end up with pneumonia."

"Don't worry about that now," Dicko said with a snicker. "December is months away."

She passed him what was left of the soap, and the man in his forties waded through the bitterly cold water and washed his body and his beard and hair, with the rest of the soap. He dunked himself under and stood up straight so that the water came up to his nipples. After his quick wash, he returned to the grassy area where Yoler was getting dressed, and grabbed the towel off of the floor, his body shivering violently.

Yoler looked down to Dicko's groin area and laughed, "Cold in that pond, isn't it?"

"Piss off," Dicko laughed. "Anyway, the next supply run we go on, we better come across some razors. That minge of yours looks like it belongs to a Yeti."

"Cheeky cunt." Yoler sat down and began to put on her boots. "I'm doing okay, considering I haven't waxed in a year. It's not that bad. You're just being defensive because..."

Yoler had finished tying her laces and quickly stood up, picking up her machete. Dicko could see what she was looking at and quickly got dressed.

Two of the dead had stumbled through the wooded area and were now on the other side of the pond. The two dead were burnt, as if they had been set on fire. Dicko guessed that they were part of the horde that turned up at the farmhouse all those weeks ago, or somehow been involved in another fire incident.

The dead already spotted Yoler and Dicko, but couldn't quite fathom how to get to them. They seemed reluctant to step into the water, and by the time they realised that they could reach the pair of them by walking around the pond, Yoler and Dicko were already out and dressed.

"I'll get rid of them," said Dicko, and pulled out his trench knife. "I'm going that way anyway."

"You're going to the farm now?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"Okay." Yoler sighed and said with a cheeky smirk, "I'll see you later, Paul Dickson."

He managed a chuckle and said, "Dicko will do just fine."

Dicko casually walked around the pond to meet his two aggressors and removed them with ease. He kicked one over, making it fall, and stabbed the remaining one at the side of the head. Once the stabbed creature fell to the floor, Dicko placed his boot on the chest of the one that he had kicked over, stopping it from getting to its feet, and shoved his blade into it right eye socket. Once the blade was pulled out, he wiped it on the grass and put it back into its holster. He looked at the two bodies and decided to drag them into the woods on his way back, out of sight.

He strolled through the cluster of trees and was out on a large field within a minute.

He stopped walking and a small smile was produced. He looked at the farmhouse, but there was sadness behind that smile also.

He made his way across the field and the memories came flooding back. His feet hit the incline of the hill and once he reached the top, he looked up at gazed at the burnt out place. He then looked to his left and could see the small barn and the drive where they used to park the Mazda.

The car was still sitting there, burnt out. In front of him were the vegetable patches Yoler had worked hard on, although there was nothing there now. To his right were the two graves of Simon and Imelda. Thankfully the graves hadn't been damaged by individuals or wild dogs. Even Imelda's cuddly toy Lambie was still present by the cross.

Dicko was feeling emotional and turned to look at the house once more.

Despite what Yoler had said to him earlier, he was going in.
Chapter Five

Lisa Newton and Gavin were sat on the top step of the cabin and watched as young Grace and Helen were gathering sticks to make a little camp for David. What they didn't tell him was that, like the huts before, his camp would probably have to be dismantled and used was firewood.

"He seems to be a lot cheerier these days," Gavin said to Helen, referring to the little boy.

"I know."

Lisa smiled as her daughter Grace playfully ruffled the boy's hair, and left the grassy area to go into the woods a foot deep to get more sticks and branches. She told Grace not to go in too deep, but they could all see in the woods for many yards. It was clear. And by the time winter arrived, there wouldn't be a leaf left on any tree, and they'd be able to see danger coming from a long way away.

"When I returned here, with Grace," Gavin continued. "He hardly spoke."

"He's had a rough ride," said Lisa.

"When it was the ten of us," Gavin spoke with a reminiscing smile, "the lad was in decent spirits. Then we were attacked and we all split up. Some of us died."

"Helen told me what happened during your absence. That young boy had lost his little friend and her father died as well."

"Simon," Gavin said with a nod. "I only met him once. David had gone awol and Donald, Helen and myself went looking for him. He was at the pond where Simon, Yoler, Dicko and Imelda were.

Lisa cleared her throat and gazed at her daughter with sad eyes. "I can't thank you enough for what you did, looking after my daughter."

"I know. A strange one that I bring her back to this place and you and Donald are here. Not sure whether it was luck or fate."

"My other daughter didn't deserve the death she had. She was only fourteen, for Christ's sake. I just wish I had the chance to bury her."

Gavin released a depressed sigh and placed his hand on Lisa's thigh. "What you and your daughters went through should never have happened."

"And yet that bastard is still out there. That Hando character."

"There's no justice in the world, is there? You killed one of them, Dicko and the rest kill another and chops another man's hand off, which probably killed him, but the leader escapes without a scratch."

The two continued to look in the direction of Helen, Grace and little David, and a silence covered them briefly. Grace looked over to her mum and gave her a wide smile.

Gavin also smiled, but soon lost it and cocked his head to one side as if he had seen something through the trees. Not taking any chances, Gavin stood up and walked down the cabin's steps.

"Where are you going?" Lisa asked him.

"I thought I heard something."

Gavin picked up a three-foot branch from the floor, despite having a knife in his pocket, and walked over to Helen, Grace and David, telling them to get back inside the cabin.

"What is it?" Helen asked.

"He thinks he heard something." Lisa Newton approached the four of them and pulled out a knife and looked at Gavin. "I'll come with you."

"But..."

"I'm no stranger to violence, Gavin. I'm coming with you."

Gavin sighed in defeat and said, "Come on then."

He watched Helen, Grace and the confused little boy go into the cabin, and the pair of them reluctantly walked through the trees. It was clear enough, and the two could see ahead of them and to the side, but it was still eerie being in the woods, knowing that there was a presence near them, somewhere.

The two of them never exchanged a word as they progressed deeper. Gavin was in two minds whether to just go back to the camp and keep an eye out, but then he released a gasp when a female appeared from behind a tree, like something out of a horror movie, and just stared at the two of them from around thirty yards.

Gavin and Lisa stopped walking and Gavin held his hand up, letting the female know that they were friendly. The female began to walk backwards and seemed to be unsure of the two individuals.

"It's okay," Gavin spoke up. "We won't hurt you. We have a place not far from here."

"I know," the female said. "I've seen it."

"Let's talk," Lisa decided to speak up, hoping that the presence and the voice of another female would relax the stranger. "My name's Lisa, and this is Gavin. We're just trying to survive, just like you. There's a few more back at our place, including a little boy."

The strange woman had long dark greasy hair and was wearing sports attire that had seen better days. She looked confused and said, "You're not people from the wagons, are you?"

"The ... the wagons?" Lisa looked genuinely confused and the stranger could see this.

"The meat wagons. You're not with them, are you?"

"We have no idea what you're talking about."

Gavin decided to take a step forwards and Lisa did the same. Gavin dropped the branch and raised his hands as a 'I come in peace' gesture and Lisa copied him. The woman now looked relaxed and sat down, against a tree. Lisa and Gavin continued to walk until they were near the woman. Lisa and Gavin decided to sit down, opposite the woman, and also had their backs against a different tree.

The woman gave off a timid smile and announced, "I've been out in the countryside for a while now."

Lisa asked, "How long?"

"Not sure." The woman elevated her shoulders and thought for a few seconds. "A few weeks ... maybe. Sometimes a week can feel like a month, so I'm not sure."

"Have you always been on your own?" Lisa continued to probe and Gavin decided to keep quiet. He thought that she would open up better talking to another woman.

"No." The woman dipped her head with sadness and added, "I was with my husband and son."

"Oh," was all Lisa could muster. She knew there was going to be a heartbreaking story that involved the woman's husband and her child, and allowed the woman to pour her heart out in her own time.

"We were walking along the main road. We reached an orchard and decided to pick some apples. We hadn't eaten in three days, so when we came across this we were delighted. But then we saw a man walking along the road and he waved at us. He seemed friendly, just like you two, but then he pulled out a walkie-talkie, spoke into it, and a few seconds later a van or a truck came from around the corner. I think it was a large white Transit van, but for some reason people nickname them the meat wagons." She shook her head and laughed at herself, realising she was going off on a tangent. "Anyway, this van pulled up and two men jumped out the back. My son was grabbed and another man clubbed my husband. They threw them into the back of the van and the man with the walkie-talkie ran after me, obviously trying to get me in the back of the van with them. I ran. I ran so hard, but I had no choice."

"Of course," Lisa said, and could see the woman was becoming emotional. "You had to."

"That was the hardest thing I ever had to do. Run away and leave my family behind." The woman cried, "You know, I could hear my son crying as I ran away."

Lisa stood up, went over to the woman and crouched down and touched her shoulder. "If you'd stayed, you would have died as well."

"I know." The woman wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands. She then quickly stood up and brushed herself down. "You do realise what these meat wagons are for, don't you?"

"I can guess. I heard about them from another survivor, before my family were taken away. They're cannibals. They take people and they eat them."

"Try not to think about it now."

"Just stay away from the roads," the woman said. "And be wary of strangers."

"We've never come across anything like that," said Lisa, and turned to Gavin. "Have you?"

"No." He shook his head. "But then again, I've spent most of my time in the woods with my camp."

Lisa could see the woman was about to leave and asked her where she was going.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you," the woman said, "but I'm better off on my own."

The woman began to run away, further into woods before Lisa could respond.

"Come back!" Lisa began to yell. "At least let us feed you before you go!"

"Leave it," Gavin said and stood up straight.

Lisa watched helplessly as the woman eventually disappeared. She shook her head and turned to look at Gavin.

He said, "Well, that was weird."
Chapter Six

He crept through the house with his T-shirt over his nose. The smell of burning plagued the house and he stood at the bottom of the stairs. He looked up and shook his head. There was no point going up. Nothing could have survived the fire.

He thought taking a walk in the place would ignite the few memories that he had, but he felt nothing. The memories that he had weren't inside the four walls of this decrepit house, they were in his head. He sighed and walked through the living room and into the kitchen. He stepped out of the place and could see Yoler Sanders standing with her hands on her hips, and the machete tucked into the belt she had on.

"I thought you were going back to the camp," Dicko laughed.

"I was just passing," she joked. "Anyway, it's boring back at the camp. It's all washing clothes and making soup and filtering water."

"Has to be done."

"Yeah, well it bores the piss out of me."

Dicko lowered his head and shook it. "You know what your problem is, don't you?"

Yoler smiled. "Why don't you tell me?"

Dicko walked over to the two graves and Yoler slowly followed him. He stood and gazed at Simon and Imelda Washington's graves and began to speak.

He said, "The trouble with you is that you've spent the best part of the year fighting, surviving and killing."

"And?" Yoler giggled. "What's your point, Dicky Boy?"

"We had a few good weeks on the farm, before it went tits up," he began to explain. "And since we've moved into the woods, nothing has happened for three weeks. No drama, no Canavars ... nothing."

"So...?"

"You're bored, Yoler. I think you actually miss the violence."

"Would you think less of me if I agreed with you?"

"Of course not. I'm no different. I've been in situations where I've been face to face with the dead and had to kill the living. Shit, months ago, when I was staying at that place that I left, we were under attack by some gang. I stabbed the driver of a pickup to death, took the vehicle and drove through the gates of the camp, and ran two of the gang members over and shot another one with a shotgun that was inside the truck."

"Wow, Dicky Boy." Yoler smiled and moved closer to her male companion. "Now that I would have liked to have seen."

"It's a rush," said Dicko. "No doubt about it. But your luck will run out one day. Embrace the boredom."

"I can't," Yoler laughed. "When I'm bored I get horny. And what's a girl to do after she's given herself a good finger blasting."

"You really do have a way with words, don't you?"

"I just hate being bored." She looked up to the cloudless sky and smiled as the sun's rays touched her face. "I remember one time, back in the early days, I stayed at this place in the countryside. My god, I had never been so bored in all my life. I decided to go north after robbing some poor guy, but at least the food kept me going for a good week."

"What do you mean?" Dicko was perplexed by her short story. "You actually robbed a poor survivor?"

"Not like that," she said, knowing what Dicko was getting at. "I think he was recruiting for a nearby camp he had. He came into the room, where I was sleeping, and asked if I wanted to join him. He left his bag of goodies and went out. He said he'd be back later, but I took the bag, barricaded the room, and left through the bedroom window."

"Poor guy." Dicko shook his head at Yoler, like a disappointed father.

"Poor guy? He was a dick. I mean, what kind of person, in the middle of the apocalypse, walks around with a hockey stick?"

Dicko narrowed his eyes and turned his head to the side. "Hockey stick?"

Yoler nodded.

He ran his fingers through his beard and asked his female companion, "Where was this place that you were staying?"

"Milford, I think you call it."

"And this guy with the hockey stick. Did he give you his name?"

She nodded. "Craig ... something."

"Was it Craig Burns?"

"Shit, yeah." Yoler folded her arms and looked at Dicko suspiciously. "How...?"

"He was from the camp I was at. I left soon after he arrived." Dicko scratched his head and was finding the information difficult to process in his head. "That means, at one point, you and I were only two miles from one another. If you had agreed to join Craig, we would have met a lot sooner."

"Oh, right." Yoler didn't seem as excited as Dicko, and her lack of interest was clear on her face. "He did say something that I would never forget."

"What's that?"

"I asked him if that camp had guns, and he replied, we don't need guns, we have a Pickle."

Dicko burst out laughing and placed his hand over his mouth as soon as Yoler finished her sentence. She thought his behaviour was strange, but never bothered to query him further. Instead, she looked down on the two shallow graves, and as Dicko's laughter began to diminish, her thought went to Simon and Imelda.

She sighed and looked down at the two graves. "I miss them. I miss them both."

"Me too."

"I sometimes wonder..." Yoler never finished her sentence and both individuals turned around when they heard a noise behind them.

Dicko looked at the individual who created the noise and said, "I've seen you before."

The man that they were staring at was five-six in height, in his fifties, with a grey beard. He was dressed in dirty blue jeans, a cardigan was over a black T-shirt he had on. The first time Dicko had seen the man was when he was driving around the countryside looking for Simon, after they had fled from a gang and were separated.

"Can I help you?" Dicko asked the man.

The man in his fifties smiled and shook his head. "Nobody can help me."

Yoler remained silent as Dicko walked over to the man. The man didn't seem intimidated by Dicko or Yoler, when he thought it was clear that they were both had weapons. The man turned and gazed at the farmhouse and puffed out a sad breath.

"A shame about this place," he said.

"I know." Dicko stood next to the man and folded his arms.

"How on earth did it happen?"

"Sabotage," Dicko replied. "Someone set fire to it."

Dicko could see the man turn in the corner of his eye and felt his gaze.

The man with the grey beard asked, "And why would someone do that?"

"They wanted what we had." Dicko decided to keep the story short with little detail. "They couldn't have it, so they tried to burn it and kill everybody inside."

"That sounds like the work of a very dangerous man."

"There're plenty of them out there, I'm afraid."

"I know. That's why I prefer to be on my own, but you guys seem okay." The man cleared his throat and asked Dicko, "So you used to stay here?"

"Briefly. I was taken in by a kind man and his little girl."

"And where are they now?"

Dicko looked to his right and pointed over to the two shallow graves.

"Oh." The man lowered his head sadly.

"I've seen you before," Dicko said to the man.

"I know. I remember. I've never left the area."

Dicko was ready to go back to the camp and say farewell to the man. The conversation was lacklustre and trying, and he could also hear Yoler impatiently huffing in the background.

"Anyway, I better go," Dicko said, and was unsure whether to invite the man back to the camp. He decided not to and pointed at the farmhouse. "You're welcome to it."

"Thanks." The man began to laugh. "But it was mine in the first place."

Dicko looked at the man strangely and the stranger began to explain.

He said, "This was my place for many years. Me and my wife stayed here. Then there was that announcement on June 9th, and then the dead came."

"How did you manage to survive so long?"

"We just stayed indoors. Months later it was the starvation that forced us out. I went out one day, trying to get supplies, and then I returned and found the place was empty. My wife had disappeared."

"What the hell happened?"

"At the time I didn't know." He hunched his shoulders. "Then a month later, when I was out, I saw her hanging from a tree."

"Jesus."

"She was in despair before I left. She wasn't coping well. A part of me thinks that she killed herself, but she didn't want me to find her body at her home and put me through that."

Dicko began, "Listen, we have a camp—"

"I walk alone." The man turned and smiled at Dicko. "But thanks for the offer."

Dicko decided not to ask any further questions and looked over to Yoler. He moved his head, suggesting that they were going. He then turned to the man in his fifties and held out his hand.

"Is that you off?" the man asked.

Dicko nodded and could see that Yoler was already slowly making her way down the hill. "That's right."

The man shook Dicko's hand. "Tony Parsons."

Dicko smiled. "Paul Dickson."

"Take care, Paul."

"You too, Tony."

Dicko walked away and left the man on his own to reminisce.

He caught up with Yoler and put his arms round her shoulder. They cleared the hill and were now on the flat field. Minutes later and they had arrived at the pond.
Chapter Seven

The sticks on the fire were crackling and the huge pot on the stove was bubbling. It was early afternoon, Helen had made a vegetable soup and everybody was famished after having nothing to eat since the day before. They didn't wait for Yoler and Dicko, and decided to tuck right in as David had been moaning for hours that he was starving. With a jar of filtered water shared and passed amongst them, they had a bowl of soup each, served in ceramic bowls and spoons that hadn't been cleaned in days. Helen noticed that Lisa and Gavin were acting strangely since they had returned from the woods. At first, she thought that maybe some sexual activity had occurred between the pair of them, but as the minutes went by she thought it was something else.

They finished their soup and piled the bowls and spoons together, stating that a trip to the pond to boil water and wash the utensils and bowls would have to occur before people started picking up bugs.

David was clearly bored and told his mum that he wanted to go into the cabin and work on a comic he was making. He still had crayons, a pencil, and a pad of A4 paper Donald had brought back from a run a week ago, and Helen kissed her boy and told him to go ahead and watched as he returned to the cabin. David kept the cabin door open, as the light wasn't that great, and the boy began to scribble with the adults some ten yards away or so, sitting around the fire. Lisa took the pot off the stove, in case the soup burnt and stuck to the bottom, and placed it on the grass with the lid on top, the fire still burning.

Grace, Lisa, Gavin, Helen and Donald were sitting around the fire and were all silent. Helen looked over her shoulder to see if David was still scribbling away inside the cabin. She then turned and stared at Lisa and Gavin.

"Okay," Helen sighed. "What's going on?"

Lisa and Gavin looked at one another, and Donald had no idea what she was talking about.

"What do you mean?" Donald said to Helen.

"Not you, Donald." Helen nodded at Lisa and Gavin. "These two. They've been acting strangely since they returned from the woods."

Young Grace shook her head and was fearing the worst. Had her mother and Gavin, a man she had a crush on, been at it in the woods?

"We were going to tell you," Gavin spoke up. "We were waiting until David was out of the way. We didn't want to frighten the boy. There's enough out there as it is to give the boy nightmares."

"Gavin," Donald groaned. "What are you talking about?"

Gavin looked at Lisa and she decided to be the storyteller.

"We met a woman in the woods," Lisa said. "She looked..."

Lisa didn't really know how to explain what the woman looked like.

"She looked lost, scared, and emotionally ruined," Gavin said. "She needed help."

"Anyway," Lisa took over the reins once again, "she told us her story and mentioned something about the meat wagons. Apparently men in a vehicle turned up and took away her husband and son."

"Meat wagons?" Donald spoke with a scowl. This was something he had heard before.

"Whoever goes out on runs from now on, they need to keep away from the main road, especially if an engine can be heard in the distance."

"What are these ... meat wagons?" Grace asked. She was shaking with nerves and already knew that the explanation was going to frighten her. Even the name 'meat wagon' sent a shiver down her vertebrae.

"Cannibals," Donald said sharply. He could see Lisa and Gavin looking at him, wondering how he knew, so he decided to speak up and explain himself. "Not sure how many there are or how many vehicles they have, but there's a group of people out there ... somewhere ... that drive around and kidnap people, you dig what I'm sayin'?"

"Kidnap them?" Young Grace questioned. "What for?"

All four looked at Grace and already knew the answer.

Donald continued, "Meat wagons. Cannibals. I think it's easy enough to work out."

"So..." Grace was finding the information hard to process. "So ... these meat wagon people are eating others?"

"Looks that way."

"And how do _you_ know about this?" questioned Helen.

" _A few weeks ago, I was out," Donald began. "In fact, it was just after the cabin was surrounded when I slipped through the side door. It was the same night." Donald cleared his throat and added, "I was at the side of the road and some guys pulled up in a pickup and killed a Canavar. They were men of Orson's, and they mentioned the meat wagons."_

"Again," Helen huffed and glared at Donald. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"I didn't want to cause unnecessary panic, you dig what I'm sayin'? Wasn't sure if it was just rumour talk. But now that these g have bumped into that woman..."

"We better tell Dicko and Yoler," Grace said. "They go on more runs than anybody. You should have said something sooner, Donald."

"Why?" Donald shook his head and said, "It's an unwritten rule that when you hear an engine, you hide anyway."

A rustle could be heard from the side of them. Neither of them were alarmed by this. They knew it was Dicko and Yoler.

The two appeared from out of the trees and raised their hands as a silent salutation.

"You guys okay?" Dicko asked, checking out their sombre faces.

"Yeah, said Yoler. "You guys look like somebody has just shot your dog."

Donald stood up and the rest of the people around the fire did the same.

"Are you guys still going out in the morning?" Helen asked the pair of them.

"Yeah, why?" Yoler was uncomfortable about the way they were behaving. "What the piss is going on?"

Donald said, "There's something you need to know."
Chapter Eight

Next day

With an empty rucksack each, Yoler and Dicko said their farewells to the rest of the group and walked into the woods. They were out of the woods and on the main road within fifteen minutes. They had been told the story about the meat wagons, but Dicko had told the group not to worry and that he always hid whenever an engine could be heard in the distance anyway.

He believed the story, but he wasn't overly concerned about it. He was convinced that it was only desperate people who hitchhiked that probably became victims of these so called wagons. Yoler was also unconcerned, and it was a story that wasn't mentioned between the pair of them as they walked, unaware of where they were going.

"What's up with you?" Yoler asked her quiet companion.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" she laughed. "You've got a face like a smacked arse. Something's wrong."

"A memory appeared in my head," Dicko admitted. "It took me by surprise, that's all."

"Memories? About your kids?"

"Actually, no." Dicko smiled thinly and waggled his head. "I was thinking about my wife, Julie."

"Your wife?" Yoler giggled and tried to joke, "Were you reminiscing about when you used to spit-roast her over the marital bed?"

"Show some compassion for once," Dicko moaned at his female companion, unimpressed with her attitude. "Fuck's sake."

"Okay." Yoler lost her smile and adopted a sombre look, aware that she had spoken out of turn and that her joking was bad timing. Instead of apologising, something she wasn't good at, she asked, "What was the memory?"

"Julie had a row with our neighbours, Robert and Daisy, so the man from next door put up a large fence. We made up eventually."

"How did that happen?"

Dicko shushed her and held his hand up. They both stopped walking and looked ahead. The road ahead was winding and the woods were to either side. They could see a sign up ahead and it looked like a small village wasn't far away.

"Did you hear something?" Yoler asked her male companion.

Dicko simply nodded and never answered her verbally.

They waited and looked ahead. Yoler was unsure whether the noise that Dicko had heard was from the left or the right hand side of the woods. She never bothered to ask.

Two men stepped out of the woods and immediately turned and clocked Dicko and Yoler standing in the idle of the road.

Both men were six feet in height and had on camouflage clothes and heavy boots. They were dressed the same, but one was rotund and the other man looked almost anorexic. They were five car lengths from Yoler and Dicko and seemed reluctant to approach them. Both of them were carrying baseball bats.

"Where you headed?" the rotund man called over.

Dicko didn't want to be rude, but he didn't want to give too much away either. "We're just on the road, my friend. Trying to survive."

"Same here," the man laughed. "You have a camp?"

Dicko looked at Yoler, who timidly shook her head at him, then turned to the two men and told them that they didn't.

"You can join us, if you want."

"Join you?"

The rotund man continued to talk and said, "We have a place, not far from here."

The rotund man was given a nudge by his malnourished-looking companion, telling him to shut up. The two of them turned to one another and began to bicker. Yoler and Dicko looked on awkwardly and waited for the two men to finish their exchange of words.

Once they were done, the large man, who looked embarrassed, said farewell to Yoler and Dicko and apologised.

"What are you sorry for?" Yoler spoke up, confused by the man's apology.

"I've said too much," the rotund man said. "It's not really up to me who can join or not. I was just getting a little excited. Apart from the people back at my camp, we don't normally see other folk."

"Okay, that's enough," his thin companion said. He raised his hand at Yoler and Dicko and said, "We need to be going. Best of luck, guys."

The two men began to walk to the other side of the road. It looked like they were entering the woods on the right side.

"Oh, and by the way." The large man called over to them and pointed to where they had just come from. "Don't bother going that way, especially if you're looking for supplies."

"Nothing there?" Dicko asked.

"No, there isn't. Plus, there's a herd of the dead not too far away. About twenty of them."

The two of them disappeared into the greenery and Dicko thanked them for the warning.

He turned to Yoler and she asked him, "Now what?"

"Straight ahead." Dicko pointed in front of him. "I was thinking of going that way anyway."

"It's a village up ahead, meaning more people and potential Canavars."

"Also means that there could be food." Dicko began to walk and Yoler stayed by his side, "Better not go too far. Even if we find a shit load of supplies and fill your bags, it's not gonna last that long with eight mouths to feed. And I'm not too sure it's worth trying to grow shit this time of year."

They could see that the road was getting steep and moaned as they made their way up. The road began to straighten and flatten, and they could both see that the village could be seen to their left. There was a main road that ran by the side of the village. It dipped and then inclined, and most of the place was situated at the bottom of the road where it dipped. The pub was up ahead, at the top of the hill, and the residential part was mainly in the area where the road was at its lowest point. It was almost as if a massive crater was there before and the village had been built at the bottom of it.

They went by the sign that stated: "Welcome to Trongate" and could see seven or eight streets, a pub, a primary school and a newsagents. The place was lucky to have had a population of seven hundred in the old world. But now...

"What do we check out first?" Yoler sighed.

Dicko hunched his shoulders and said, "The pub? If there's anything in there, which I doubt, then there'd be no point trying out the houses if we can fill our bags."

"If you say so." She nodded in the direction of the pub and they could both see that some of the windows had been smashed in. "Doesn't look good, though, does it? Probably was raided in the first week, last year."

"May as well try anyway."

"Okay." Yoler sounded less than enthusiastic.

"Shall we?"
Chapter Nine

"Make sure you don't let her out of your sight," Lisa Newton warned Gavin.

Gavin and Grace, after their little scare earlier, had decided to go mushroom and berry picking, whilst Lisa and Helen washed some clothes as well as themselves. Helen was weak in this new world, but Donald knew she was in good hands with Lisa by her side. It was only a short trip to the pond, but he still worried. Helen and Lisa left with a bag full of dirty clothes, and Donald sat on the step of the cabin, next to young David, and watched Gavin and Grace walk into the woods with an old carrier bag that had seen better days.

Gavin screwed the carrier bag up and put it into his pocket and took out his knife from the opposite one.

"Have any idea where these berries could be?" Grace asked.

"Nope." Gavin began to laugh.

"But you've stayed here for a while now, on and off."

"I know, but we rarely went walking into the woods," Gavin said. "I suppose, in the beginning, we didn't need to. We had a decent amount of supplies, but now..."

"So you have no idea?"

"We won't go far." Gavin smiled at Grace, knowing she was feeling agitated and confused by his behaviour, so he tried to explain. "Look, I hate hanging around that place. It's so boring. And who knows? We may come across something."

Their walk continued for another three minutes and they constantly looked to their side, in front, and behind them. Aware that a lack of concentration could cost them their lives, their frantic looking continued until Gavin stopped suddenly. Grace did the same and asked what was wrong.

"Can you see what I can see?" he said with a smile.

"Um ... no." Grace ran her fingers through her greasy hair and asked Gavin, "Why are we stopping?"

Gavin pointed up ahead and said, "Look."

Grace stared in the direction of where the finger was pointing and shrugged her shoulders. "It's another tree. So what?"

"Look up."

Grace did as she was told, and saw the apples that hung off the branches of the tree that they were in front of.

"Shit." Grace's eyes widened and she ran over to it.

"Wait up." Gavin put his knife away and added, "I don't think they should be picked until late summer to early autumn."

"You seriously want to wait?"

"Probably not." Gavin walked over to Grace and could see she was about to climb up it. "I'm sure they're still edible."

He took out the carrier bag from his pocket and opened it out. He watched as she climbed higher and he told her to shake the branch, but she insisted on picking them one by one. Gavin stayed on the ground and opened out the carrier bag, ready for Grace to drop the apples into it.

"Be careful!" Gavin called up.

Grace had managed to pick two apples and dropped them. Gavin moved around with the opened bag and managed to catch them.

"This is taking forever," he moaned. "Just shake the bloody branch."

"Just let me do it _my_ way." Grace began to climb across a thick branch and Gavin wasn't sure if the branch would be able to take her weight. She dropped three more into Gavin's bag and ten minutes later the bag was full and Grace was now on the ground, exhausted.

She reached into the bag that Gavin was carrying and pulled out one of the apples and took a bite.

"Tastes alright," she mumbled with her mouth full.

"Oi, that's the camp's stash," Gavin said, but she could see he was joking.

"Hang on." She took another bite and added, "I worked for those bad boys. I earned at least one apple. Helen never goes out on supply runs."

"Helen has uses in other departments." Gavin wasn't joking anymore. He was annoyed that Grace was berating Helen, and felt that it was his duty to defend the woman that he cared for.

"Oh." A smile crept onto Grace's face and this made Gavin suspicious.

"What?"

"You have a thing for Helen, don't you?"

"Me?" Gavin shook his head. He cared for Helen, but he had no desire to be her partner, although he would have been lying if he claimed that he had never fantasised about having sex with her. "Donald has a thing for her. Not me."

"Are you sure about that?"

She took another bite and Gavin reached to grab the apple she had now half eaten.

"Get off," she moaned.

He went to grab the apple again and she moved away. He walked forwards with the bag, towards Grace, and she giggled as he tried to playfully grab the apple again. She ran a few yards and he ran after her. She giggled and ran through the woods. Gavin followed with the heavy carrier bag in his right hand.

She veered left and he did the same, now both of them laughing. She almost tripped over a large tree root and Gavin decided to run to the side and began to make growling noises, making the girl scream. Grace laughed and turned to the side and could see that Gavin had disappeared.

She stopped running and was panting hard. She gazed around the wooded area and couldn't see Gavin at all.

"Very funny, Gavin," she said. "Where are you?"

"Down here," came a timid voice.

She screwed her face in befuddlement and walked in the direction of where the voice had come from. Her feet continued to wade through the bracken and stopped when she came across a large ditch. It was around six feet in length and in width, and almost eight feet in depth. She looked down and could see Gavin was down there, the apples scattered along the floor.

"Are you hurt?" Grace asked him.

"Not really," Gavin called up. "I'm surprised I didn't break my leg."

"What the hell is this?"

"No idea. It looks man made."

Grace lay on her stomach and tried to reach down.

Gavin didn't even attempt to reach up. He knew it was useless and Grace certainly didn't have the strength to pull him up.

"Go and get Donald," he called up.

"The ditch is too deep."

"I know, but he's got some rope back in the cabin. Go get him."

"Okay."

"And be quick. This is creepy as hell."

"Be back as soon as I can."

Grace turned and ran through the woods, heading for the camp. She didn't know how far they had walked and wasn't the fittest, but was sure that she could run there without stopping.
Chapter Ten

They walked around the perimeter of the pub before going inside, and found nothing untoward apart from some broken windows. They were certain that people had already been here. Whether it was last week or months ago, people had definitely been here, which possibly meant that the owners no longer resided in the establishment.

No words were exchanged between the male and female, and as soon as the circumference of the pub had been completed, Dicko tried the main door. Both weren't surprised that it was open.

"Shall we?" Dicko said with a smile.

Yoler was the first to step inside and Dicko had a quick look behind him before entering.

They made sure the door was shut behind them and looked around in the dim room. It was a place that Dicko had never been in, but was aware that, like most pubs, it had living arrangements upstairs and there was a cellar somewhere.

"I think the best thing we can do is check the kitchen and the cellar," Dicko said to his female companion. "There won't be anything upstairs."

They made careful steps across the lounge area of the pub, and Dicko stopped once he clocked a door with a round window. He pointed at the door and they both made their way over. They weren't expecting anything when they walked inside. In fact, Dicko was convinced that the pub would be barren of food, and their only hope of supplies would be to scrounge from the scraps that could be available from the houses of the small village. Even if they returned to the camp with a handful of tins, the journey would be worth it.

Dicko was the first to push open the swing door and peered inside the place. It seemed clear, and he stepped inside with Yoler behind him. The place looked like it had already been ransacked, and as he approached the large refrigerator he already knew there wasn't going to be anything edible. He opened the fridge and twisted his nose at the little rotten food that was left inside.

"Nothing," he sighed.

Yoler looked to her side and walked through the water-soaked room from the freezer that had been defrosted.

"What now?" Yoler huffed. "The cellar?"

Dicko nodded and they both left the kitchen, now looking for the cellar.

"There." Dicko pointed at a wooden door that they never noticed before. It was situated five yards to the right of the main door.

Dicko walked over to the door and tried the handle, expecting it to be locked. He placed his ear against the door, but could hear nothing. He tried the handle and surprisingly the door opened. His heart sank and the door being open told him that somebody, probably the owner, had already been into the cellar.

He pushed the door open wider, expecting there to be nothing left, and could see a set of steps and a flat ramp-like incline to the left of the steps, probably used for the transportation of beer barrels, and both were reluctant to go in. The place was pitch black and Dicko looked at Yoler, wanting a reaction.

"No way in piss am I going down there," she said.

"Okay." Dicko rubbed his head, agreeing with her blunt comment. "We'll try and find a candle or something."

Yoler, with her machete still tucked in her belt, went behind the bar and went through a set of drawers.

Dicko remained standing by the open cellar door and called over to his female companion, "Anything?"

"No candle," she said. "But I found a lighter."

"Good. At least that's something we can take back to the camp."

Yoler made her way over and flicked the lighter. It lit straightaway, and she adjusted it to increase the flame. She stepped into the cellar and they could now see inside. Two barrels sat at the left of the room, a huge wine rack was situated across the back wall, and boxes of peanuts and crisps were stacked up to the right of them.

"Good." Dicko nodded, slipped the rucksack off his shoulder, and said further, "Not the healthiest of stuff, but looks like we'll be going back to the camp with two full bags."

"Ouch!" Yoler yelled as the flame from the lighter kicked her finger.

"Give it here," Dicko demanded.

"I'll see if there's a candle in the bar area," she said.

She left Dicko alone in the cellar and walked through an alcove to the bar area. She turned a corner and stopped suddenly, revealing a gasp. Her eyes widened and she froze with fear.

By the bar were a group of Canavars, fifteen in all, and two of them reacted quickly and grabbed a hold of Yoler Sanders before she had chance to pull out her machete.

She released a yell and head butted one of them that had a hold of her shirt, and she then scrambled away from the bar area. She looked over her shoulder and could see all were behind and unusually quicker than what she had been used to. She took a quick look in the cellar to see Dicko by the wine rack. Should she go in? Leave him in there and flee? She had a second to make a decision and stepped inside the cellar and slammed the door shut, sliding the bolt across.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Dicko yelled.

"Canavars," she gasped.

"How many?"

She gulped. "Loads."

The sound of hands slapping the door occurred and the noise quickly increased.

"There was more than half a dozen," Yoler said. "I hope that door holds out."

"Me too."

"What do we now?"

Dicko hunched his shoulders and shook his head.

"Not the answer I was hoping for, Dicky Boy."

Dicko, still holding the lighter, told Yoler to fill her bag. She did as she was told and he did the same.

He turned the lighter off, as it was burning his thumb, and said to Yoler, "We just need to wait until it's clear. Then we'll make a run for it."

"How do we know when it's clear?"

"When the banging stops."

"We know how persistent these cunts can be. And what if it never stops?"

"I don't wanna think about that right now."
Chapter Eleven

Gavin Bertrand looked around the ditch to see if there was any way he could climb out. There were no stray roots to grab hold of and trying to climb it by simply grabbing clumps of dirt was impossible. It took him four attempts to realise this. He had no choice. He had to simply wait, and had no idea how long it would take for Grace to get back to the camp. She couldn't get lost. It was impossible. They walked in a straight line, almost, and were conscious about heading out too far.

He wiped his hands on his jeans and looked around the decent sized hole he was stuck in. It was definitely man made, but he had no idea what it was for and if it was created before or after the apocalypse.

"Come on, Grace."

Gavin couldn't stand still.

He was pacing the bottom of the ditch nervously and began to think about the other people who used to be in his small community. Apart from Donald, Helen and her son, there were also his sister Hayley Bertrand, Jason Martins, Harriett Henderson, John Duncan, and brothers Jamie and Gary Monk.

He placed his hands on his head and could feel a headache coming on. Was it because of the stressful situation he was in? Or was he just dehydrated?

He rubbed the top of his scalp as he paced the earth, back and forth, mentally screaming at Grace to hurry up, but he suddenly stopped walking when his ears picked up a sound above him.

"Shit."

The sound was coming from his left side, so he went to the right of the ditch and looked up to get a better view of what was approaching. It was just a rustle of a branch, so it could have been a deer or a badger or ... something.

The noise had stopped and was then replaced by the sound of dragging feet. He had heard that sound before. The sound of clumsy feet could only mean an exhausted survivor or the dead.

Gavin remained gazing up, heart slamming his ribcage, and held his breath as the noise stopped. He released a long and slow breath out before taking in another gulp of air, and could hear the dragging sound once more. He had a knife on him, but he still didn't want to put one of the dead down if he could avoid it.

A face emerged above him. It was a dead face, and Gavin cursed and took out his knife. The creature shuffled a few more yards and then stopped once it reached the edge of the ditch. It looked down on Gavin and snarled like a creature from prehistoric times. Gavin had never heard anything like it before, and braced himself for an attack. The male was as rotten as anything Gavin had seen and must have turned during the early days of this catastrophe. Its skin was yellow, clothes tattered, and the left side of its skull was exposed, making the Canavar even more chilling to look at.

It took a step forwards and fell into the ditch with a clump. It was face down and it appeared that it had broken its right leg, but Gavin immediately went over and stuck his knife into the back of its head.

Once he pulled out his knife, he chuckled, "Well, that was easy enough."

More shuffling could be heard and Gavin walked backwards, now with his back against the ditch and waited for the other creature.

"No more, please. No more."

The next Canavar was a female. It approached the ditch and fell straight in, as if it didn't know it was there. Like the one before, he ran over and stuck his knife into the back of its head before it had time to get up. He pulled out the knife and cussed when the handle was all that he had in his hand. The blade remained in the skull and Gavin desperately tried to pull out the blade. More noises came from above and he began to panic, still trying to prise out the blade, but it was in too deep.

Gavin stood up, knowing that it was fruitless what he was doing, and prepared himself for a battle he hadn't experienced before. He knew what to do, but actually doing it was another thing. The only thing he could do was stick his fingers or thumbs in the eye sockets of the oncoming Canavar. He waited for the dead bastard and could see the male approaching.

All Gavin could do was watch it drop into the ditch and then go over and kick it in the head multiple times, and hope that would be enough. Shoving his fingers in the eye sockets was something he didn't want to do, not if he could help it.

His heart was in his mouth as the creature dropped into the ditch. He hesitated little and ran over to the slumped body and frantically kicked the head of the dead being. He brought the heel of his boot down onto the skull, and his boot managed to go through, black diseased brain sticking to the heel. With his stomach doing somersaults, he wiped his boot on the tattered clothes of the dead man and cried out when an object from above floored him.

The adrenaline coursed through his veins and he quickly realised it was a Canavar that had fallen on him. Paranoid about being bitten, he pushed the thing off of him and scrambled away to the other side of the ditch. He stood up and could see that the dead being was already on his feet. Another two fell into the ditch, and Gavin wondered how many more there were. Was there a horde coming his way, or was that it?

"Jesus Christ!" he cried. "No more."

He took an intake of breath as the first fallen one made its way over. He knew he had to despatch this one quickly before the other two got to their feet and advanced towards him.

It snarled and grabbed his shoulder. Gavin never hesitated and grabbed the Canavar's face and pushed his thumbs into its cold eyes sockets. Something spewed out of the sockets as his thumbs went in further. He didn't know what it was, but it twisted his guts all the same. His thumbs were in as far as they could, but the ghoul wasn't going down. Gavin didn't know why. Maybe his thumbs weren't long enough to penetrate the brain.

He could feel his thumbs pushing into something; maybe it wasn't far enough. He threw the being from side to side, eventually pulling his thumbs out and throwing it to the floor. He stamped on the thing's head a couple of times, as the other two made their way over, and didn't know if he had the energy to put them down. He was exhausted.

Trying to get his breath back, he front-kicked the Canavar on the left, knocking it over, and tried to put the other one down. As soon as they grabbed one another, Gavin knew he didn't have the strength to put it down. They continued to grapple and Gavin cried out as Canavar Number Two was back on its feet and heading over his way.

Somehow the dead being he was wrestling with overpowered him and they both fell to the floor, with Gavin underneath the Canavar. He grabbed the creature by the throat, to stop him from being bitten, and was certain that in a few minutes he was going to lose this battle, especially with the other one near.

His arms shook with weakness and the Canavar was now only inches away from tearing a chunk out of his face.

Gavin closed his eyes and was seconds from releasing his grip, but the sound of a heavy thud opened his eyes and could see the advancing Canavar falling to the floor, and the one on top of him was dragged off and Donald Brownstone stabbing the thing through its temple. He pulled out the knife, wiped it on the Canavar, and put it away.

"Enjoy your walk, did we?" he laughed.

"Thank fuck you're here." Gavin smiled and remained on the floor. He couldn't get up because he was so exhausted.

"Right!" Donald looked up the ditch and called up. "Have you tied that rope around the tree?"

"Yes," Gavin heard a familiar voice shout. It was Grace.

"Good. Throw it down."

Gavin sat up and blue rope dropped into the ditch.

Donald smiled at Gavin. "You first. I might need to help you up, you dig what I'm sayin'? You look fucked."
Chapter Twelve

Yoler and Dicko sat on the floor, listening to the dozens of hands slapping the outside of the cellar door, and both had their knees up with their heads lowered. There was nothing they could do. All they could do was wait, and hope that the dead eventually became distracted and went elsewhere.

Dicko couldn't see it happening.

He was quite happy to wait a while, but overall he was convinced that they were putting off the inevitable. If they had any chance of getting out of the cellar, they would have to fight their way out.

For minutes, the door continued to be pounded, but the noise diminished until it sounded like there were only three or four behind the door. They still slapped against the door, but at least the noise was tolerable now.

"I think I'm getting a migraine," Yoler moaned. "That's all I pissing need."

Dicko flicked the lighter and lit up the cellar temporarily and asked her if she was okay.

"I'm okay," Yoler said. "Just need to ride it out."

"Would a head rub help?"

"Not really, no."

A silence enveloped the pair of them as the slapping continued, but it now sounded like it was just two Canavars behind the door.

"I was thinking about Donald," Yoler blurted out in a whisper.

"Oh?"

"Just thinking about what he went through, and what you went through... I'm not sure I would have coped."

"Donald lost his son _before_ the apocalypse," Dicko said in a soft voice.

"I know." She nodded and said further, "But still..."

"You do cope," said Dicko. "I don't know how, but you do. Although I did lose it for a while."

"No wonder." Yoler cleared her throat and looked around in the darkness. She literally couldn't see a thing. "Did you manage to take care of your son, like we did with Imelda and Simes?"

" _What do you mean? Put him to rest?"_

Yoler nodded. She had no idea why as Dicko couldn't see her. "Yeah," she eventually said.

"I managed to bury my son," Dicko said with a quiver in his voice. "But not my wife and daughter."

"Why?" Yoler them immediately apologised and said, "Do you mind me asking? I know you mentioned it weeks ago when we were playing that daft truth game, but you never went into detail as such."

"I don't mind," said Dicko. He ran his hands over his face, released a groan and said, "I met up with a guy called Bentley Drummle. I don't know if he was some kind of criminal in the past, but he had a gun on him that he called Glen."

"What?"

"Yeah, I know. A bit weird." Dicko began to chuckle and continued with the story. "Anyway, this guy and his partner had a camp in the woods. He had been predicting this thing for months, apparently."

"A prepper?"

"I suppose so," Dicko said. "I was with my son at this camp, and I asked Bentley to take me to the supermarket where my wife had gone before the announcement was made. I knew which one it was, but didn't want to leave the house because I had Kyle."

"But you was at this guy's camp, so you did leave your house eventually. You mentioned leaving your house a while back, but never went into detail why."

"I did eventually, but that's another story why I had to leave." Dicko cleared his throat and added, "So, to cut a long story short, Bentley took me to this supermarket in his car and we found my wife and daughter in our Renault Clio. They had both reanimated."

"Shit, sorry about that, Dicky Boy."

"Bentley shot them, but we had to leave them there. I didn't mind. Those two sleeping together in the family car feels better than putting them in the cold ground, which is what I had to do for Kyle."

"And your son was killed on that camp?"

Dicko nodded. "Yeah, that was my fault. I let him go to the toilet on his own in the changing room. What I didn't know was that there was a Snatcher in the changing room."

"A what?"

"Sorry," Dicko laughed. "A Canavar. Anyway, he was buried at the camp that was called Sandy Lane. It was a nice service, to be fair, but sometimes the thought of him being stuck in that ground..."

Dicko allowed his sentence to linger and the two of them remained silent for a while. Dicko could hear an intake of breath and knew Yoler had more to say.

"So why did you leave your house in the first place?"

"I didn't want to." Dicko answered straightaway. "I wanted to stay there in case my wife and daughter came back, but we didn't have a choice in the matter." Dicko paused, but Yoler never persisted with more queries, as she knew that her male companion was ready to speak further.

Dicko said, "I had a neighbour called Daisy. Her husband and one of her daughters had turned, but we all kept quiet for a month or so. We got talking eventually and she and her other daughter Lisa stayed with me for a couple of days."

"Just a couple of days?"

Dicko could understand why Yoler was confused and decided to elaborate. Why not? They weren't going anywhere for a while?

"Our house, as well as others, was targeted by scavengers," Dicko explained. "A guy came in and went upstairs to where we were hiding. I hit him with a hammer and he fell and died. My first human kill, and it was an accident."

"And I take it these guys forced you to leave?"

"Well, they were a notorious family called the Murphys. They came into the house and we all hid. They found the body of this guy called Lance, their brother. They went in and searched the house. They found Daisy and her daughter."

"What happened then?"

"Well," Dicko released a depressed sigh when a flashback entered his mind. "To her credit, she never told them that Kyle and I were in the house."

"So they thought that your house was hers, and..."

"And they thought she was responsible for killing this Lance character," Dicko decided to finish off Yoler's sentence for her. "Kyle and I remained hiding in the cupboard as they were being dragged out of the house. The guilt I felt, and still feel, was quite overwhelming."

"You had a son to protect." Yoler jumped in. "If anything happened to you..."

"I know, but it doesn't stop the guilt."

"And the mother and daughter? What happened to them?"

"The father of this Murphy family caved Daisy's head in with the butt of a shotgun?"

"Jesus Christ on a cross!"

"Tell me about it"

"And the daughter?"

"She was thrown into the back of a truck. She turned up at the Sandy Lane camp when a resident went out on a run and brought her back. Apparently, the same family that killed Daisy was responsible for killing his son years ago. The girl, as well as many others, eventually died when the camp was attacked by the dead."

"Jesus, and what—?"

Dicko shushed the woman and this made Yoler stop talking. Almost.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Can you hear that?"

"I can't hear fuck all."

"Exactly."

"Exactly?" She huffed. "What do you mean exactly?"

"They must have gone elsewhere, probably to another part of the pub."

"So what do you want to do?"

"Grab your bag." Dicko flicked the lighter and the cellar lit up. He looked at Yoler's face and smiled. "Time to go."
Chapter Thirteen

Donald Brownstone trudged through the bracken with Grace and Gavin lagging behind. Donald and Gavin were exhausted and Donald felt a lie down in the darkness would be needed if he had to manage through the rest of the day. He looked over his shoulder and told the guys that they should be back at the camp in another five minutes or so.

"Donald, wait!" Grace called from behind.

Donald stopped and turned around. "What is it?" he puffed. He could see both Gavin and Grace had stopped walking, and both were looking to their right.

Donald looked in the same direction and released an angry huff, shaking his head with anger. Two male Canavars were slowly shuffling through the woods, twenty yards away, but hadn't spotted Donald and co yet.

"I'm ready to fall down," Gavin said. "I couldn't possibly put another one down."

"Stay there," Donald instructed the pair of them.

"Just leave them," Grace said in a whisper.

"No chance." Donald put his hands on his hips and gazed at the two dead, seething. He hated these things. "They're too near the camp, you dig what I'm sayin'? I'm not taking any chances."

He quickened his feet and moved in the direction of the dead. They spotted him and headed towards him. Donald pulled out his knife and assessed the situation. One was behind the other, so if he quickly put down the first one, he would have plenty of time to remove the second without putting himself in danger.

Donald rammed his blade into the side of its head, but it dropped quickly and had no time to retrieve his blade as the second one grabbed him. He grabbed the hair of the Canavar and with what strength he had left, he smashed its head off of the nearest tree. He became a little over zealous and hit its head off the tree six times before allowing it to drop to the floor. He looked down, panting hard, and could see that he had smashed its diseased brain in. He made tired steps to the first body, bent down, and pulled out his knife, wiping the blade on the clothes of the deceased by his feet.

He stood up, hearing his knees crack, and looked over at Grace and Gavin who stood looking over, with wide eyes.

Donald smiled and made his way back over.

"No more," he moaned to himself. "I'm dead on my feet."

Once he was back with Gavin and Grace, he told them that he needed to sit down for a couple of minutes. His heart was beating out of his chest and thought that it'd be Sod's law that he had survived the apocalypse for nearly twelve months, only to die from a cardiac arrest.

Neither Gavin or Grace complained, and both stood patiently as Donald sat on the floor, against the tree.

"I hope that was just a one off," Grace said, looking around the area, seeing if there were any more lingering about.

"Me too," Donald spoke with a nod. "We can't just assume that it was, though."

Neither Gavin or Grace responded and waited for Donald to rise to his feet. Eventually he did. He put his arms in the air and stretched his back, making a groaning sound, before leading the way back to the camp once more.

Like two obedient dogs, Grace and Gavin followed behind.
Chapter Fourteen

"Ready?" Dicko asked in the darkness.

He received a positive reply from his female companion, and slid the bolt across and opened the cellar door by an inch. It took a while before his eyes could be accustomed to the light from inside the pub, and after twenty seconds had passed he could see perfectly. From what he could see, it looked clear of danger. He couldn't hear any noises, so he opened the door wider and stuck his head out. He was certain that they were still in the establishment and had moved to the bar area, but the lounge area of the pub was clear.

Dicko turned to Yoler and announced that the area was clear, or at least that was what he thought. The main door was only yards from the cellar door, so escaping the place was an easy feat.

He left the door open and grabbed his bag off of the floor, and threw it over his shoulder. Yoler already had her full rucksack. He told her it was clear and he asked if she was ready.

"As ready as I'll ever be." Both straps were over her shoulder and she had her machete in both hands.

Dicko crept through the lounge area with Yoler closely behind, and both could see that the dead had gone into the bar area. They had no idea why this was the case, whether they had been distracted by a noise or something, but they were all there and this made Yoler and Dicko's escape easy.

"Where to now?" Yoler asked.

The pair of them were outside the pub, on the outskirts of the town, split on what to do next.

"Well, our bags are full," Dicko eventually spoke and looked to his right, down the road where the residential area was. "Maybe we should just head back. We can come back and search the houses tomorrow."

"I'm happy with that," she said. "We'll search for medical stuff as well as food."

She didn't specify why she needed medical accessories, and Dicko never asked. Yoler thought it'd be advantageous to have some kind of first aid kit, or even make up one with whatever she could come across. Most homes, in the old world, had some kind of medical gear. Whether it was just plasters, bandages, or drugs that could help with certain illnesses, she thought that these kind of medical supplies for the camp would come in handy.

Over the last few weeks, David had cut open his finger on a twig, which could have been taken care of with a plaster. Gavin had sprained his wrist two weeks ago when chopping wood. He had to rest it, but with the correct equipment it could have been strapped. And Helen had been suffering headaches over the last few days. It may have been dehydrated related, but painkillers could have helped.

They strolled along the bendy country road and began to talk about Donald, and how he didn't seemed to be as annoying compared to the first time they had met him.

When Brownstone was living with them at the farm he was aggressive and argumentative, resulting in him being kicked out. Once the place was torched by Hando and they had to flee to the very same camp where Donald was staying, he seemed to have mellowed.

He still had his moments, but he was tolerable.

He could have been smug about them having to stay with him, especially after kicking him out, but he never dwelled on it. In truth, he was glad to have company again, especially Helen and David, two people he had grown close to during these crazy days.

Yoler slapped Dicko on the arm and the man stopped walking and screwed his face at her.

"What is it?" he asked.

"You were miles away," she snapped. "Humming some tune."

"I was humming a song by Radiohead."

"Yeah, well, you need to concentrate," she said. "I called your name a couple of times and no response."

"So?" Dicko hunched his shoulders. "What's the matter?"

"Can't you hear it?" Yoler groaned.

Dicko shook his head. "Hear what?

"Listen." Yoler held up her finger and looked at her male companion.

Seconds passed and she could now tell by his face that he could also hear it. A vehicle was heading their way.

"In there." Dicko pointed into the woods and the pair of them crouched down once they were around ten feet in. They waited and the sound of the engine grew louder. The vehicle didn't seem to be in a rush and passed them by slowly, around twenty mph, and they could both could see it was a large white Transit van.

They stood once the coast was clear and Yoler was the first to speak.

"What do you reckon?" she asked Dicko. "One of those meat wagons?"

Dicko puffed out his bottom lip, unsure what to think. "Not sure. I've been on the road for months and I'd never heard of these meat wagons up until a few days ago."

"Imagine it was true."

"Best not to." A shudder went down Dicko's vertebrae as he made his way back to the main road. They walked side by side and guessed another hour or so and they'd be back at the camp.

"I suppose it's not surprising that this kind of thing happens," Yoler began to speak. "It's been nearly a year since it kicked off. With the boats and planes that transport gas and food not running anymore, people still need to eat."

"True." Dicko nodded the once. "We just need to try and stay off the menu. It's not something that I've thought about, even when I was at my lowest ebb, months ago, and hadn't eaten in a week."

"You would never consider it?"

"I'd rather starve."
Chapter Fifteen

Grace, Gavin and Donald were minutes away from reaching the camp and no words were spoken from the moment they left the ditch, to where they were now. Gavin was carrying the rope that had saved his life, and Grace walked alongside him, close to tears, relieved that he was still alive.

Donald Brownstone walked with his knife in his clammy right hand, looking left and right as they progressed through the plantation. He wasn't taking any chances. A week ago he had a machete, but had lost it on a supply run. Two Canavars had burst out of a café kitchen door, where he and Gavin were, and he killed one with by burying the blade deep in the dead being's head. The blade was stuck and he was finding it difficult to retrieve the weapon, which had to be left as more of the dead turned up. He and Gavin fled the area eventually, on foot.

On their travels, over the last three weeks or so, they had never come across a vehicle that was in working order. But even so, now dwelling in the camp, there wasn't really anywhere to park a vehicle. Unless they left it at the farm or the edge of the woods, near the burnt out Mazda, and just hoped nobody took it in their absence.

The knife was all he had now, and Yoler was the only one left that carried such a large blade.

"You two need to do me a favour," Donald spoke up.

Neither of his companions responded verbally. They just looked at him, waiting to hear what he had to say.

Donald added, "You can't mention that there're Canavars around here, you dig what I'm sayin'?"

Gavin knew why Donald wanted them to keep quiet, but Grace asked why.

"Because," Donald moaned, "I don't want Helen, David, and the rest knowing. I'll keep a lookout during the day, and we'll all be in the safety of the cabin on a night anyway. I don't wanna cause any more stress for these people."

"But Donald," Grace spoke, "What if some turn up and you're not there?"

"I'll let Yoler and Dicko know about it. That's it."

"I don't agree." Grace shook her head. "I can understand why you wanna do it, but this could turn out to be a bad idea."

"I'm sorry, Donald." Gavin looked to the side, at Donald, but Donald never made eye contact. "I know you have feelings for Helen and David especially, but these kind of secrets can cause harm."

"So we give the woman and child sleepless nights, because you don't like the occasional white lie?" Donald huffed, "For fuck's sake."

"Most of us are having sleepless nights anyway," said Grace. "At least people will be extra vigilant if they know the truth."

Donald grinded his teeth in anger and kept quiet. He could see their point, but was adamant that his idea was still for the best.

"And didn't Simon lie to his daughter," Gavin began, "and told her that the Canavars were all gone? That didn't work out, did it?"

"No, but her last days were probably a lot more relaxed than if he had told her the truth." Donald scratched at the back of his head and now looked to the side, at Gavin. "Anyway, you didn't even know Simon."

"No, but Dicko told me about that story."

"I suppose there's no point putting this to a vote."

The three entered the camp and could see Yoler and Dicko were back. Helen and Lisa were chatting on the steps of the cabin, and Donald assumed correctly that David was inside.

Helen stood up and smiled. "You okay?" She asked Gavin. "Grace said you fell into a ditch. Did you break anything?"

Gavin shook his head and looked at Donald. The strange look was noticed by Helen and Lisa, And Lisa asked the returning residents what was wrong. Yoler and Dicko had now shown interest and now Donald had a little audience to make his announcement to.

"We're just gonna have to be a bit more vigilante from now on, you dig what I'm sayin'?"

"No," Lisa huffed and was concerned about the tone in Donald's voice. "We don't dig what you are saying. What do you mean?"

David was inside the cabin, so Donald decided to blurt it out before the little man stepped outside.

"There's Canavars in the woods," he said. "Gavin was attacked by a few, and I had to put some down."

"How many?" Yoler asked.

"No idea, but it shouldn't be a problem."

"Not a problem?" said Lisa. "And how do you work that one out?"

"If we stay focused through the day, we'll be fine. We sleep in the cabin anyway. Just have to make sure David doesn't go off on any adventures by himself.

"Okay." Yoler pulled her machete from her belt and Donald asked what the hell she was doing.

"I'm going Canavar hunting." She then turned to Dicko. "Fancy coming? Better to get them before they get here."

"This is not a bloody game," Donald snarled.

"I know." Yoler walked up to Donald and playfully patted his cheeks. "If there're too many out there, we won't be stupid and put ourselves at risk. But if there're strays out there, we may as well put them down before they get to the camp. Any kind of lapse of concentration or distraction with David here could turn disastrous. It would only take one of them. One bite. That was all that was needed to kill Imelda, and her bite wasn't even that severe."

Helen nodded frantically and told them that it was a good idea. She knew that a part of Yoler Sanders, and maybe even Dicko, enjoyed the killing of the dead, but if it meant keeping her son safe she didn't care.

"Okay." Donald sighed, "Don't be too long. Want company?"

Dicko shook his head. "We'll be fine."

"Good," Donald snapped. "I'm knackered and Gavin needs a rest, too."

Dicko and Yoler waved cheerio to the residents, went into the woods, and were out of sight minutes later.
Chapter Sixteen

With their weapons clasped in their right hands, Yoler and Dicko trudged through the bracken. The plan was simple. The pair of them were to walk through the woods to the main road, checking to their side for any surprises. Once they reached the road they were turning back. The woods went on for miles, occasionally separated by country roads, and Yoler and Dicko didn't see the point searching for miles. As long as the patch of woodland near their camp was cleaar, then that was good enough for them as far as safety was concerned. It may have to be a daily thing.

"You honestly think there'll be more of the dead in this area?" Yoler asked.

"Probably not." Dicko twisted his neck and looked from side to side. "But it gets us out of that cramped camp of ours."

"Are you wishing we were back at the farmhouse?"

"Of course." Dicko looked at his female companion. "The only trouble was that it made us a bit of a target. And if these meat wagon stories are true, then if we were still there what's to say that these cannibals wouldn't have attacked us while we slept?"

"Personally, I think the stories are bullshit," Yoler grunted. "I'm not saying cannibalism isn't happening, I just don't believe there's an organised gang out there, doing this kind of stuff on a regular basis."

"I hope you're right."

Yoler stopped walking and gasped when she spotted something move ahead of her on the floor.

"What's up?" Dicko could see the look on her face, but couldn't see anything around him or on the ground.

"I think..." She paused and scowled in confusion. "I think I saw a snake."

"Probably." Dicko nodded and seemed unconcerned. "Was that it?"

"I didn't think we had snakes in these parts."

"I think we have grass snakes and adders in this country."

Yoler shuddered and said, "I'm not a fan of snakes. That's the first time I've seen one."

"Well, next time you see one, give me a shout," Dicko said. "They're edible."

"Ugh." Yoler twisted her face. "Fuck that."

Dicko continued walking, and lagging behind Yoler made careful steps through the plantation, paranoid about coming across more snakes.

Dicko nodded up ahead and said, "The trees are thinning out now. We'll get to the main road, sit on the grass for a bit and have a rest, then head back."

"I ain't sitting anywhere where there're snakes around."

"Probably just a grass snake or a smooth snake. They're not poisonous."

The two sets of feet had reached the main road and the two individuals stepped out of the greenery. Both were pleased to be out of the suffocating trees and feel the gentle wind lick their faces.

Dicko sat on the side of the road and pointed his toes upwards, stretching his hamstrings slightly. He began to take his boots off and allowed his feet to get some fresh air. One by one he took them off, and the smell of the stale socks he had been wearing for the last four days made his nose twitch. With the clothes getting washed at the pond regularly, there was no excuse for the smell. Maybe he'll wash them himself sometime today.

With the thought of snakes in her mind, Yoler decided to remain standing and paced the middle of the road, waiting for Dicko to finish his resting. She looked to her right and could see thirty yards up that the windy road bent to the left, but to her right the country road stretched for a quarter of a mile and eventually bent to the left. There were trees on either side of the road.

"Sit down." Dicko called over to her. "You pacing up and down is getting on my nerves."

"Just get on your feet and get back to the camp," she huffed impatiently. "You can rest in the cabin."

"Just give me a few more minutes."

Dicko leaned over and touched his toes. He then began to do something he hadn't done in a long while. He began to do some leg stretches, the same kind of stretches he used to do when he attended the gym. He stood up and leaned over, pushing his hands against a tree, with his back leg stretched, trying to stretch out his calf, and then swapped legs and did the same. He then placed the palm of his left hand on the tree and grabbed his right ankle with his right hand and pulled his own leg up to stretch his quad muscles.

After fifteen seconds he swapped legs and did the same procedure. Yoler was giggling at him, but he ignored her. Once he was done, he walked over to her and asked if she was ready.

"I was ready five minutes ago," she said. "Shame there're no Canavars. Could have done with a bit of excitement."

"I think I've had enough for one day."

Yoler's eyes narrowed and this was noticed straightaway by Dicko. She was looking to her left and he looked in the same direction, wondering what she was staring at.

A bearded man emerged from around the corner and had his head down. Neither Yoler or Dicko said a word. The man's clothes were dishevelled and he looked thin, too thin. He was twenty yards away from Yoler and Dicko, and he finally raised his head and stopped walking once his eyes clocked the two of them.

"Jesus Christ on a cross!" the female blasphemed, as she usually did. "Well, I don't pissing believe it. Look who it is."

Dicko could feel his rage building and wanted to run over to the man and stab him to death, but the man waved at the two of them, revealed a wide smile and pulled out two machetes that were strapped to his back.

It was Hando.

"I'm ready when you are," Hando laughed.

Yoler took a step forwards, but Dicko grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back.

"We can take him," she snapped.

"Maybe." Dicko nodded and didn't look too sure. "But even if we did kill him, we could sustain an injury on doing so."

"So?"

"A bad cut can become infected if we don't have the right meds for it. I know we're gonna check out the houses for medical stuff tomorrow, but that doesn't help us today. At worst, an amputation could kill you with the loss of blood."

"So we just leave him, eh?"

Dicko never answered and Hando called over. "I'm sorry for your friend," he said. "But to be fair you did kill two of mine."

"So your pal with the Chelsea top didn't make it?" Dicko was certain that one of Hando's henchmen that had lost his hand had died anyway from blood loss. What he didn't know was that it was Hando himself that had killed him.

"That's right, brother," said Hando with a chuckle. "I've been all on my lonesome since then. As you can see, I'm not in the best shape."

"My heart bleeds."

Hando smiled widely and could see that during the conversation that the two hadn't pulled out their weapons. He put his back and eventually put the machetes back in the leather holsters that were strapped to his back.

"So now what happens?" Hando asked the two of them. Neither one could give the man an answer.

Yoler knew it wouldn't happen, but she said, "Now, you toss those blades over to us and give yourself up. We have some justice to serve you."

"So, you want to kill me because of that one weak guy?" Hando shook his head and yelled, "You did two of my guys!" This was a complete lie. Dirty Ian was killed, but Hando had killed Wazza himself.

"Maybe," she said. "But we have two women back at our camp that would love to stick a blade in you."

Hando looked confused and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"Let me explain," Yoler began. "A while back, you and your scummy pals broke into a caravan where a woman and her two daughters were staying."

They could tell by Hando's face that he knew straightaway who she was talking about.

"Two daughters?" Hando looked to the side in thought.

"Yeah, the other one, the one that's with us, ran while you and your cronies raped Helen and killed her fourteen-year-old daughter.

"Helen. Is that her name?" Hando ran his fingers over his bald head and added, "I liked her. Even when she attacked me, I still liked her. Didn't realise that there was another present."

"You're one sick individual," Yoler snarled.

"We're all on borrowed time, sister. I'm just trying to survive and have as much fun as I can. That's all." Hando pointed ahead of them and said, "Now, I'm going that way, so I need to walk past you." He put his hands behind his head and patted the handles of the machetes. "Will I be needing these?"

"No." Dicko gently took Yoler's arm. "We're going."

"Good." Hando smiled. "Not in the mood for bloodshed."

Dicko walked into the woodland and dragged Yoler in with him. They walked, constantly looking over their shoulder, and could see Hando on the road, passing by them.

"Give my regards to Helen." He chuckled and continued with his walk. He had now disappeared from their view and Yoler shrugged off Dicko who still had a hold of her.

She huffed, "We should have killed that fucker."

"It's not worth the risk," said Dicko. "We could get seriously injured, or worse."

"It just doesn't seem right to let him go like that."

"I know. We can handle ourselves, Yoler, but that guy's a maniac. Do me a favour."

"What?"

"Don't tell anyone about this," he said. "I don't think he'll be a threat, so no point making the camp paranoid. With these meat wagon stories, as well as the dead, it'd be just too much for some to take."

"If you say so."

"Trust your Uncle Dicko," he laughed.

"God, don't say things like that."

"Why not?"

"Because it's weird. We've slept together, remember?"

"Fair point."
Chapter Seventeen

Helen Willis groaned as she stood to her feet and decided to go into the cabin and see if her son was okay. Lisa and Grace Newton had had a tearful heart to heart, and Gavin was sat up against a tree, exhausted by the ditch incident.

Helen left the door open as she stepped inside the cabin, to allow what little light there was outside to creep in, and could see that her little boy had dozed off in the bed.

"Bless him," she said with sadness in her words.

This wasn't right. Living in this hellish world was too much for a small child, especially a sensitive soul like David.

She sat at the side of the bed and looked at her special man. She stroked his forehead and her eyes dampened as he began to moan in his sleep. Was he having a bad dream? She could protect him in the outside world, but she was helpless when he was sleeping.

He threw his head to the side and Helen wondered if she should wake him up. David moaned, "No, no, no."

That was enough for Helen. She shook her little boy until his eyes opened. He looked confused, and began to look around the cabin. The disappointment on his face was clear, and for a while he must have thought that he was back in the old world, back in his old bedroom.

Looking around the cabin had made him realise that the reality was that he was living in a world where his friends were no more. His school days would never come back, there was no Xbox anymore, no football practice and no TV.

He sat up and said nothing to his mum, who was still stroking his head, and then burst into tears.

Mother and son hugged and Helen's heart broke for the umpteenth time for this little man that she had brought into the world, and she stayed where she was until he was finished. She loved David. He was everything to her, in fact he was all that she had left, but if she could get the time back she never would have had him. This was no place for a child, let alone an adult. This was hell on earth.

David had soaked his mum's shoulder and had finally stopped crying. They broke away from their embrace and Helen wiped his tears away with her thumb and kissed him on the head.

"My poor boy," she cried. "My poor sweet boy."

There was a knock on the cabin door and Helen and David looked over to see Donald standing just outside, on the top step.

He asked, "Everything okay?"

Helen and David nodded.

Despite not being invited in, Donald stepped inside and produced a wide smile when David looked at him.

"Alright, champ?" Donald bellowed and could see he was upset. "What's up?"

Helen stood up and Donald flashed her a wink, as if to say: 'I've got this.'

Helen walked by Donald and whispered to him that her boy had had a bad dream. She left the cabin with no protest from the wee man, and Donald took her place, sitting on the side of the bed.

"I hate nightmares, don't you?" Donald rubbed the top of David's head and began to have thoughts about his own son.

David nodded and wiped his eyes.

"The good thing about nightmares is that you can escape them and they sometimes don't come back."

David looked baffled by Donald's ramblings, but never said anything.

Donald could see David's confusion and explained in short, "What I mean is that you eventually wake up."

"Oh." David took in a deep breath and asked, "Donald?"

"What is it?"

"Where do they come from, the nightmares?"

"Jeez. Now _there's_ a question." Donald was lost in thought and had no definitive answer. "I think most nightmares occur during the night, but you only had a nap. I suppose being anxious can make you have nightmares. And let's be honest, we're all anxious."

"Anxious?"

"It means when you're scared."

"Oh."

Donald put his arm around the boy that he had grown fond of over time, and gave him a kiss on the top of his head. He had never said anything to David, or Helen for that matter, but he loved the little fellow. He felt sorry for him, and from being a father himself he felt protective towards him.

"My worst dreams are not really the nightmares, although I do get my fair share." Donald cleared his throat and added, "Do you dig what I'm sayin'?"

David shook his head, making Donald chuckle.

"Nightmares are pretty bad," Donald began to explain. "But it's the nice dreams that I hate."

"What do you mean?" David was still confused.

"A few weeks ago, I had a dream that I was in the park with my son. He was about four years old in the dream, and we went on the swings, the slide, and some climbing web that was made of rope. Anyway, after that we went for ice cream and went home and watched a movie together."

"I would love a day like that," David said with sadness. "Just one."

"Well, this was a dream, and it was very realistic," said Donald. "But when you wake up and you're in this cabin with seven others, it hits you like a sledgehammer that life will never be the same again."

David's bottom lip was pushed out and he dropped his head.

"I'm sorry," Donald began to snicker. "I'm hardly cheering you up, am I? I'm just telling you like it is."

David reached out and placed his soft warm palm on top of Donald's hand, making the middle aged man feel emotional.

"I'm glad you're here, Donald." The little boy spoke with a quiver in his voice. "I feel safe when you're here."

Donald grunted, trying to remove the hardness in his throat and rubbed the boy's hair. "I'll see you outside," he said. "I'll be going to the pond after, if you wanna come."

"No, thanks." David swung his legs to the side and got off the bed. "I wanna stay near mum today."

"Okay, little man." Donald headed for the door and said, "'See you out there."
Chapter Eighteen

He looked up to the perfect sky and cursed the sun that beat down on his exposed head. The only way of getting away with being burnt was to go into the woods, but he hated being in there. He had always preferred to be out in the open, walking the streets.

Hando had reached a small village and could see that this little place called Burnside had only six houses, three on either side of the main road. If he continued to walk he would have been out of the place in five minutes. It was probably the smallest place he had ever been to. There was just the six houses, no pub, school or shop. He was starving, so checking out the places was a must. He had had no luck in the last few houses he had been in, but had to try. He couldn't remember the last time he had food. Four days ago? Maybe it was longer.

Hando could see that all the main doors of the houses were closed. There were no vehicles on the drives of the houses, and he guessed that the people had either fled or the vehicles were stolen over the months.

He approached the first house on the left and tried the main door. He was surprised when it opened and looked to see that it had been forced open. This made his heart sink, as he was convinced that the house had nothing of interest for him. He checked anyway.

He went through the kitchen and didn't even try the defunct fridge. The smell coming from it convinced him that there was nothing edible inside it. He decided to try the kitchen cupboards on his way out and now walked through the living room and went upstairs. The place smelt stale and desperately needed a window open, some fresh air.

He reached the landing and could see all the doors to the bedroom were open. There was no presence in any of them. The house was empty.

He released a sigh and went downstairs, ready to check the next place. He checked the kitchen cupboards but they were predictably bare. He slammed the last cupboard shut in anger and left the house. He stood outside the main door and closed his eyes, letting the wind caress his face. He had five more to check.

He went to the next one and the main door had also been forced open. Hando was beginning to think that this was the scenario for all the houses and that maybe a gang had come here a while back and checked out the places.

He went in, not expecting much, and the layout of the house was the same as the first one. As soon as Hando walked into the house he was in the kitchen. Like before, he left the cupboards alone for the time being and checked out upstairs. It wasn't just food and drink he was after; he was hoping for some kind of sports bag or rucksack. He didn't have anything to put in the bag, but it was only a matter of time.

Before his feet reached the landing, his nose screwed and his stomach twisted when he could smell death. He pulled his T-shirt up and over his nose, and went into the bedroom where he could hear the sound of flies buzzing.

He stepped inside and could see a man and a woman lying on the carpet, near their beds. They were both fully clothed, the corpses weren't that old. Their features were still visible and Hando guessed that the bodies were a few months old. It looked like that the pair of them had been stabbed to death. Their bellies were covered in old blood and there were defensive marks on the hands of the woman.

Somebody had come in and killed them. The only reason the couple had been killed was for the supplies that they had left. It must have been, Hando thought. Why else would you kill two people months into the apocalypse?

He went downstairs and checked the kitchen cupboards before exiting the main door. They were also bare.

Hando shook his head and went to the next house. Any excitement that he had had now evaporated after what he had witnessed in the last two houses.

He tried the main door of the house, expecting this one to be open as well. It was, but this door hadn't been forced open. There wasn't a mark on the door, or at the side of it where the lock was.

Hando kept his blades on his back, but had a funny feeling about this house. He stepped into the kitchen and could see that the place was immaculate. There wasn't a sign of any dust or a left out dirty plate or cup.

He went into the living room and had a quick scan before taking the stairs to the next floor. His boots reached the landing and the man checked the bedrooms one by one. Hando's eyes clocked something in the corner of the room, and could see a small bin that had an empty packet of crisps in it.

The bathroom was the last room to check and the malnourished man was going to check the kitchen cupboards before leaving the premises. He had three more houses to check after this one.

Something made him pause. He had no idea what it was, as he hadn't heard anything, but he remained where he was and looked up to see the hatch of an attic.

A small smile developed on his face and the man made his way downstairs with heavy feet, shut the door loudly as he went into the living room and then opened the main door and closed it again, but remained in the house. Hando then crept through the kitchen and into the living room and sat down on the sofa. His back was straight so that the blades didn't dig into him, and he rested his hands on his thighs and waited patiently.

A few minutes had passed and the man could hear gentle sounds, feet walking, above him. It sounded like the individual in the house, who must have been hiding in the attic, was now in the main bedroom.

Minutes had passed and gentle noises could be heard making their way down the stairs, to the ground floor.

Hando took in a breath and waited for the door to open. Once it did, a young and fresh face clocked Hando and gasped. The young man was a teenager. He was six feet in height, extremely thin with prominent cheekbones, and had short dark hair. There was very little facial hair present, and Hando put this down to his age.

"Don't worry, young brother," Hando laughed. "I'm not here to hurt you."

The young man, only seventeen, was reluctant to step inside.

"Let me ask you something, brother."

"What is it?" the nervous young man queried.

"Why leave your door open?" Hando asked the boy.

"To make strangers think that there's nothing and nobody here," the boy said.

"Clever." Hando nodded and managed a thin smile. "I like that."

"Obviously not clever enough."

"Hando." The bald man smiled and offered the boy his hand.

The boy stepped inside and walked over to Hando. He stared at his hand and shook it. "I'm Benny."

Benny sat in the chair, opposite Hando, and looked to be nervous. He didn't seem to be carrying a weapon, which Hando thought was very brave or very stupid. He couldn't make up his mind.

"Tell me your story, young man." Hando smiled and waited patiently for a response from Benny.

"Well..." The teenager struggled to respond. He didn't know where to start.

Hando told Benny to relax and take his time.

"I suppose the day started the same as it did with everybody else," Benny began. "We heard the news and stayed indoors. In fact, we managed to stay indoors for months before my dad decided to go out for supplies. He never came back."

"I've noticed there're no cars on the drives."

"The people in four of the houses packed up their cars and left within the month."

"And your next door neighbours?"

Benny shifted in his seat uncomfortably, and his body language suggested to Hando that the boy might have known about the murdered couple in the other house.

"When it was just me and my mother, the man from next door came round and asked if we had anything for them. They had run out of food. We had a little left, but he became aggressive and they had a fight. He knocked my mum out with a single punch and took what we had left. He was too big and I was too scared to do anything."

"What a scumbag." Hando shook his head and added, "And that was your neighbour?"

Benny nodded. "We didn't really know them that well. All I know is that their two sons were living in London."

"So where's your mum now?"

Benny dropped his head, and Hando knew immediately that his answer was going to be a sad one. He said, predictably, "Dead."

"How?"

"That punch I was talking about..." Benny looked up and added, "She never got back up. He must have killed her, or the fall did."

"I'm sorry, brother."

Then Benny said something that Hando was not expecting. "After I buried my mum in the back garden," young Benny began. "I snuck round to their house with a knife and a crowbar. I forced the door open and was ready for them to come storming down the stairs, but nothing happened. They had slept through it."

"So you killed them both?"

Benny nodded. "I hit them over the head with the crowbar, stabbed them to death after it. They put up a bit of a fight and both were screaming and out of the bed, trying to grab me. I managed to put them down with a few more strikes and then stabbed them a few more times."

"Wow. That's pretty heavy shit for a young lad."

"Maybe." Benny hunched his shoulders. "Fuck 'em. That man killed my mum and stole our food, which I took back."

"Wow." Hando was still smiling and said, "Maybe you should go on the road and join me."

"I've been here since the first days," Benny said. "Not too sure about me going out."

"The shelter here is fantastic," Hando admitted. "But it's no good if you're starving to death. You have to earn your food these days. You have to find it, steal it, and sleep wherever you can."

"I'm okay." Benny felt a little patronised. "I've put the dead down before. I have been out there when looking for food."

"Let me ask you a question."

"What?"

"How much food have you got left?"

"I have plenty of water," Benny spoke defensively.

"Any fool can filter a jar of water from a stream or a pond. I'm talking about food."

"Not much." It took a while for Benny to answer, but when he did he seemed embarrassed about the honest words that came out of his mouth. "Enough for another few days ... maybe." He rolled his eyes and then hunched his shoulders.

"I've got a proposition for you," said Hando.

"Oh?"

"You killed those two next door, so I know you'd survive out there. How old are you? Seventeen? You're mighty fearless for a seventeen-year-old."

"You're waffling, Hando," Benny said, and Hando admired the teenager's balls for the way he spoke to him. Wazza, Dirty Ian and Q would never had spoken to him in that way. "What is this proposal?"

"Let's go for a walk. Get some air."
Chapter Nineteen

A large pan was sitting on the stove with the fire underneath. Grace was boiling water for hot beverages and the rest of it was going to be used as drinking water. Yoler, Dicko and Gavin were sitting around the small fire, whilst Helen, David and Lisa Newton were in the cabin. Donald was at the pond, getting more water to be brought back and filtered. They had soup earlier, but Gavin could have eaten another bowl. The stomachs of all four were grumbling and their lunch earlier just hadn't been enough.

Yoler looked around at the three faces and could see that they all looked glum and despondent. Nobody had spoken a word in minutes.

"We're gonna have to do something about this," Dicko moaned.

Yoler looked up. She didn't know what he was talking about, and going by the faces of Gavin and Grace, neither did they.

"About what?" Yoler asked him.

"I know we're alive, and I know we have it better than most that are still breathing, but we can do better than this."

Dicko had paused, but Yoler remained quiet. She knew he had more to say.

"Hiding in the woods, eating soup, and living next to a pond is great, but we're gonna have to take risks eventually."

"Um..." Gavin cleared his throat. "What do you mean?"

"Once the vegetables have run out, then what are we gonna do?"

Gavin hunched his shoulders. "Hunt deer?"

"When was the last time you saw a deer in these woods?" Dicko laughed. "And what would we hunt them with? Spears?"

Gavin couldn't give Dicko an answer.

"We need to find an abandoned supermarket or wholesalers, or something. But we'd also need wheels."

"So what are you proposing?" Grace asked.

"Well, I haven't said anything to Yoler yet." Dicko looked over to his female companion and gave her a thin smile. "But the thought I had was to go out there, on foot, and try and find somewhere like what I had described."

"Impossible." Gavin shook his head. "After nearly a year, they'll be nothing left."

"You'll be surprised. Don't forget that most of the people that have died, probably got killed in the first month."

"You don't know that for sure."

"Anyway," Dicko ignored Gavin's comment. "Yoler and I will walk out there, but we could be away for a few days. This is not something that we could do in a day. If we find somewhere, there're two options. Yoler and I could try and get a set of wheels and transport the food, bit by bit, here, and then carry the stuff a mile or so to our camp. Or ... we can simply move into a new place. We have enough people to guard it from others and we have to think about the winter, when nothing grows."

"Winter is ages away."

"It'll soon come round," Yoler chipped in. "They'll be no berries to pick, no vegetables to grow, and we'd be staying near a frozen pond for a good while, possibly."

"That's what I was thinking." Dicko nodded.

"I'm up for it, Dicky Boy. When are we going?"

"Tomorrow morning. First thing."

The water was now boiling in the pan and Gavin got to his feet. "Who's up for coffee? Still got some left from that warehouse I went to."

Everyone apart from Grace nodded.

Grace puffed out a breath and moaned, "I miss chocolate."

Yoler started to snigger and nodded. "So do I. I would love to have my iPhone for a week, get the internet back, listen to music. It's ironic. This situation we're in is perfect for those things, because of the boredom."

"What about missing family members?" Gavin asked.

"Well, that goes without saying," said Yoler. "I'm talking about materialistic and other things. Anyway," she looked over at Gavin. "Let's get this coffee."

*

Donald Brownstone took his boots and socks off and walked into the water, careful not to stand on anything that would hurt or injure the soles of his feet. Carrying a yellow bucket in his left hand, he waded through the water for a few more yards and dipped the bucket once the water reached just underneath his knees.

Once the bucket was full, Donald turned and made his way back to the water's edge. He plonked the bucket down on the ground and sat on the floor. He picked his socks up and pulled them over his soaked feet and then reached for his boots. He stood up and looked over at the cluster of trees. For old times sake he decided to go to the farm, to see how the old place was and to relive some times from last month. He didn't care too much for Simon Washington, but he was upset by his daughter's death that had occurred around two months ago.

Donald left the bucket where he was and walked around the pond. He went into the cluster of trees and was out on the field. He looked up the hill from a distance and could see the burnt out farmhouse. He managed a smile and then his face dropped once a figure could be seen emerging from the side of the place, where the burnt out Mazda sat.

Donald couldn't quite make out if the figure was male or female and began to slowly walk across the field. He didn't want to bring another mouth to feed for the camp, but he was intrigued to see who it was. With the individual checking out the farmhouse, Donald came to the assumption that the person was looking for a place to stay, possibly food as well. The individual didn't look like they were carrying a bag.

Donald's eyes narrowed as he walked and could see that the figure was a man, but not just any man. The man in the distance turned and had spotted Donald. Donald recognised the man, despite the beard on his face, and could feel his blood boiling.

He felt his pocket to make sure it was there and could see the man laughing. Hando had recognised Donald and began to taunt the man by waving at him. Donald was in two minds whether to go up there or not. He took a few steps forwards, but stopped when another figure appeared.

A younger man showed up and stood next to Hando. The two males began to talk, looking in Donald's direction, and Brownstone decided that taking on two men was too risky. Way too risky.

He backtracked and disappeared through the cluster of trees. He hid behind one of the trees and gazed at the two figures. Donald was paranoid that the pair of them would try to follow him.

He didn't want Hando and his partner coming across the cabin. That would be a disaster. He looked for a few minutes and released a relieved sigh when the two males disappeared and had decided to leave the area.

Donald looked out for a few more minutes and was satisfied that they had no intention of following him, so he began to make his way back to the cabin, looking over his shoulder every few seconds.
Chapter Twenty

Donald Brownstone returned to the area where he and the rest were staying. He was greeted by smiles from Grace, Gavin, Yoler and Dicko, and assumed correctly that the rest of them were in the cabin.

He placed the bucket of water on the floor and Yoler could see by his face that something was wrong.

"Sit down," she said to him. "Something's up. Tell us what's wrong."

Donald seemed reluctant and looked agitated. He looked over at the cabin and scratched his head.

"Helen and David are inside with Lisa," Yoler said. "Is there something you wanna share with all of us?"

"I don't know." He shook his head and sat down by the small fire, inbetween Yoler and Dicko.

"Come on, Donnie Boy." Yoler nudged him playfully and said, "Spit it out."

"Okay." He released a breath out and began. "I went to the pond and, for whatever reason, I went to take a look at the farm. I looked at it from afar and saw Hando." He turned to Dicko and said, "He's back."

Dicko gulped and had a quick peep at Yoler, which was noticed by Donald straightaway.

"Shit," he snapped under his breath with his teeth clenched, aware that Helen and the boy weren't far away. "You two fucking knew?"

Dicko looked over at the cabin and then quietly told Donald that he and Yoler had seen and briefly spoken to him when they were out searching for more of the dead.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he snapped.

"The same reason you don't want Helen and David to know. We didn't want to upset the camp."

"He was with another person," said Donald.

"Another?" Dicko flashed Yoler a quick look. This was news to them. "He was on his own when we saw him."

"Yeah, well he has a little friend with him now." Donald sighed and added, "Better hope he doesn't come this way. I'll kill the fucker with my bare hands."

"Let's be cool," Yoler advised. "But I think we should let Helen and Lisa know."

Grace nodded in agreement. "That guy and his pals raped my mum and killed my sister. I don't think I could keep this information from her."

"Just make sure David doesn't know." Donald spoke in a hushed tone. "When Helen and David first got here I lost count how many times that poor guy had wet himself during the night."

The cabin door slowly opened and Helen and Lisa Newton stepped out. Lisa was the first to walk down the steps and sat with the group. Helen's face looked glum and Donald asked about David. Helen told him that he was napping. She shut the cabin door behind her and went over to sit next to Lisa.

"You guys look very secretive," Helen said. She looked at Donald and asked him what was wrong.

Most of them dropped their heads, including Yoler and Dicko, leaving Donald to be the speaker.

"Come on," Lisa Newton huffed. "Out with it. Something's wrong. I know it."

Grace looked up and said to Donald Brownstone. "Just tell them, before David wakes up."

"Okay." Donald ran his fingers over his face. The anxiety was clear on his face. "But you're not gonna like it."

"Maybe that's true." Lisa folded her arms, waiting for Donald to speak further. "But speak anyway."
Chapter Twenty-One

They had a rucksack each on their backs, but all that was in them were two jars of water each. Yoler and Dicko said their farewells to the group and made their way onto the main road. They decided to visit the village once again, check out the houses, and then go elsewhere to find something that could benefit the group.

Their walk to the village was quiet and were in two minds whether to go at all because of Hando now being spotted twice, but Donald insisted that he could handle Hando on his own, if he really had to.

They reached the village and could see the pub that they were trapped in only the day before. They looked around and were thankful that there were no dead about, and began to walk by the pub and down the main road.

Dicko and Yoler had passed the small primary school and looked to the houses that were on their left.

"Maybe we should check out these places on the way back," Yoler suggested.

Dicko nodded. "We could do."

"I don't want to walk too far. We could end up getting lost."

"Well, if this takes longer than we think, then we'll have plenty of places to sleep." Dicko pointed at the houses to their left.

"And how do you know people aren't in there?"

"After nearly a year?" Dicko widened his eyes and asked Yoler, "Can you see a single car in this street?"

Yoler shook her head.

"So what does that tell you?"

"You don't have to be patronising, Dicky Boy." Yoler began to laugh and rested her left hand on top of the handle of her machete. "They could still be people inside ... or the dead that are trapped in their rooms."

They gazed at the houses as they continued their stroll. Predictably, the front lawns were overgrown, weeds covered the drives, and some windows were smashed, doors broken open, but a couple of houses looked to be untouched.

"Can't see a single body," Yoler murmured.

"Maybe somebody cleared up," Dicko said. "In my old camp, we used to have a habit of dragging bodies to the side of the road so that that it didn't block our way, as well as others, whenever we needed to go out on runs."

"That was very thoughtful of you," Yoler mocked. "I bet you used to put the toilet seat down when you was with your wife, didn't you?"

"Cheeky bitch," Dicko laughed. "Anyway, you don't really see many vehicles these days, do you?"

"The petrol has to run out sooner or later."

They walked for a further ten minutes and were now out of the village and on another country road, but there were no trees to either side of them this time. Overgrown and neglected fields was at either side of them and they could see an abandoned tractor at the side of the road, further up.

"Ever been this way before?" Yoler asked her male companion.

Dicko shook his head and pointed up ahead, in the direction of the tractor. "Wanna check it out?"

"Why? Even if it was working, those things are too bloody slow anyway, and the noise... You'd end up with a herd of Canavars behind you if you drove that thing."

"I'll take that as a no then."

The country road bended to the left and once it was cleared, it straightened up and declined and they could see another small village in the distance. But what caught their eye was a white delivery van that looked to be abandoned.

"There won't be anything inside, Yoler said before Dicko could get his hopes up.

"You never know."

"I bet you a handjob there's nothing inside."

Dicko looked at Yoler and smiled. He held out his hand and she shook it. "Done."

They approached the van and could see it was a food delivery van from a big supermarket chain. The doors were shut, it was parked properly, and there was no sign of damage to the van.

Dicko went to the driver's side and had a look in. He gazed to the side and said to his female companion, "Take a look."

Yoler stood next to Dicko and looked into the vehicle. There were two Canavars in the van. Both driver and passenger still had their seatbelts on and Dicko couldn't work out what had happened. Had they both been bitten all those months ago and tried to flee in the van, only to pull over because they were both feeling unwell? It was hard to work out, but they were there and they must have turned in the early days as they were badly decomposed, but still moving.

Yoler left Dicko's side and tried to open the back of the van.

"It's locked," she said.

"And I know where the keys are." Dicko flashed Yoler a smile and pointed inside the van.

"Where?" She returned at Dicko's side and looked in.

The keys to the van were still in the ignition and they were both convinced that the key to the back of the van was attached to the chain.

"Even if there's nothing in the back," Dicko began and added, "We can still take it back to the camp, if there's fuel still left. Just need to get rid of those freaks first."

"Ready when you are." Yoler pulled out her machete and tried the door handle, expecting it to be locked, but both were surprised when it opened.

The door being opened alerted both rotten Canavars who wriggled and squirmed in their seats, reaching out to grab Yoler Sanders and tear her to bloody pieces. Dicko went round the other side and opened the passenger door, sticking his knife into the skull of the thing straightaway. Yoler rammed her large blade under the chin of the former driver, the blade going in deeply, and removed it, wiping the dark congealed blood on its worn work attire. Dicko leaned over his kill and unbuckled the seatbelt, and dragged the body out by its boots. Yoler did the same, then leaned in again and took the keys that were dangling from the ignition.

She shook the keys and looked across at Dicko, who was standing by the opened passenger door, trying to get his breath back, and said, "Gonna see if one of these keys are for the back. But first..." He studied the key twice and smiled when it was clear on the dial that the tank was half full. "Perfect. We have gas."

Dicko went round the back of the van to meet Yoler. She took the keys off Dicko and looked at the that had five different keys on it and tried the lock. Two keys and two tries later, the van's doors clicked open and the two stared at one another, reluctant to open the doors.

"You want me...?" Dicko grabbed the handles and Yoler stood back with her machete drawn.

He pulled the doors open and jumped back half a yard, but his defensive behaviour wasn't needed.

The two looked on open mouthed and it took a few seconds for either of them to speak.

"This must be a dream," Dicko spoke with amazement in his tone.

"How is that actually possible?" said Yoler. "After all this time, how is it possible?"

"Who gives a fuck?" Dicko pulled his T-shirt over his face. The stench was from the rotten fruit and meat, but it was the sight of the tins that had made the pair of them smile. There were twelve pre-packed open boxes of groceries and other accessories, and tins could be seen in some of them.

"I'm gonna do a stock count," Dicko said. "Yoler remained where she was as Dicko grabbed a few made up empty boxes that were sitting in the corner of the van.

Dicko put out four empty boxes and began taking tins out of the twelve boxes, leaving the rotten fruit where it was. It wasn't just tins, there was also bottles of soda and a smiled stretched over Dicko's face when his eyes clocked a bottle of Jamesons' whisky.

"I don't think we'll need to stay overnight," Dicko said. "I'm guessing that it's early afternoon, but I think we should anyway."

"Why?" Yoler scoffed. "Because you want that handjob where there's nobody about?"

"Well, that as well," he began to snigger and held up the bottle of whiskey. "But I want to neck this, alone, in a place that is more secure than some cabin."

"Okay. We'll drive the van to one of the houses in that first village we passed, and stay there. Be nice to have a night away from the camp and stay in an actual bed. I don't know why we can't just stay in one of the houses anyway."

"Because Donald is paranoid about the dead and other humans." Dicko cleared his throat and added, "I suppose what happened at the farmhouse kind of confirms that he has a point, but those woods are doing my head in."

"So what's the plan?" Yoler asked.

We're taking these tins and bottles with us, throw out the boxes with the rotten stuff, get a house for the night, and enjoy ourselves for once. We'll just tell them that we had to search for a while before coming across the van."

"I can live with telling them that, Dicky Boy. Ready when you are."
Chapter Twenty-Two

The van entered the village and Dicko informed Yoler that they were going to try and find a decent place to stay. When he said decent, he meant a place where there was no carnage. Just thinking about sleeping on a mattress for the first time in a while made the man smile, and told Yoler that when they headed back the next day, they were going to throw a few mattresses in the back for the cabin.

They pulled along the desolate road and Dicko pointed at a house four doors down that he wanted to try. He didn't want to park the vehicle outside the house where they were staying, just in case they came across unwanted visitors.

"I'll check the house out," Dicko said. "If it's fine, we'll leave the van where it is and move the food inside in case someone breaks into it while we're asleep."

"Okay," was all that Yoler managed and threw her head back. She was getting tired.

He stepped out of the vehicle and went over to the second house from the end. He tried the door but it was closed, and then ran at it with his shoulder, easily forcing it open.

He rubbed his shoulder and smiled. "Well, that was easy enough."

He looked over at the van and waved at Yoler, pointing in the direction of the doorway, telling her that he was going in. He didn't get a response from the woman and just went in.

As soon as he walked in, he could see that the stairs to the first floor was in front of him. There was an alcove to his left and he could see it was the living room. It was an open plan ground floor, and he could see that the room was clear before stepping in. He stepped in with his trench knife in his hand and knew that there was a kitchen somewhere. The room smelt fusty and his nose twitched when a small hint of rotten fish could be detected. He was convinced the smell was coming from the kitchen, possibly the fridge, and made slow careful steps to the dining table that was at the end of the room.

He popped his head around the right corner of the room and could see a small kitchen and a side door that led outside.

The smell seemed to have dissipated and Dicko opened the fridge to find nothing inside apart from garnishes like mint sauce, English mustard, and a jar of jalapenos. He shut the door and checked the cupboards. There were tins of peaches, beans, and soup. There were thirteen tins altogether. It wasn't a lot, but the tins were going in the back of the van on their way back to the camp.

It was time to check the upstairs.

The man in his forties made his way back through the living room and reached the first floor in seconds. He looked around the landing and could see that the doors were all closed, making the area very dusky and difficult to see, despite it being during the day. The smell he had detected earlier also seemed to have grown stronger since he arrived on the first floor, and Dicko was sure that it was death that he could smell. It was something he had smelt many times before.

He opened the furthest door to his left and could see it was a spare room. The bed was still made and there were no personal touches to the room. He only looked around for a minute and then checked the next room. He heard the sound of the buzzing flies before the door was opened and pinched his nose as he stepped inside.

Just by the wallpaper alone, it was clear that it was a child's room, and Dicko gasped when he clocked the cot in the far right corner of the wall. A small limb, an arm, was lying in the middle of the carpet and was covered in blue bottles and excited maggots. He took a few steps towards the cot and some flies dispersed at his presence, but most remained on the rest of the little corpse.

Dicko decided not to look in. He didn't see the point. He knew that a child had been devoured, and went through possibly a few seconds or even minutes of pain that no child should go through.

Killed in its own bedroom, Dicko thought.

He was convinced that the baby had been killed by its own parents, a scene he had seen many times when scavenging for food. He went to the next bedroom with his knife out, convinced that the baby's murderer or murderers was in there. Back on the landing, Dicko placed his ear against the door of the next room and could hear nothing. He pushed down the handle and pushed the door open. His face twisted as the smell of death hit him, and he looked down to see a dead man on the floor.

The man was covered in the usual foul insects and appeared to have no eyes, probably eaten away. His head had received some trauma and his cracked skull revealed some brain tissue. He had turned. He was convinced of it. The man had turned and had his head caved in and was put down. By the side of the man was a claw hammer and Dicko was certain that _that_ was what put the man down. But who put him down?

The bathroom was next. It was the final room on the first floor to check.

Dicko took in a deep breath, convinced there was going to be something in there that wouldn't be pleasing on the eye. The child had been killed, the man of the house, he presumed, had probably turned and had his head bashed in, but who killed him? Because he had been in these scenarios before, Dicko guessed that the man had turned, attacked the child and then was executed by his partner, the mother of the child. He opened the door and looked in. It appeared he was right, and it looked like the mother couldn't live without her little boy.

Dicko's eyes began to soak and he released a depressing breath out.

The woman was in clothes, her face blue, and she lay with her head to the side, in dark brown water that was her own blood once upon a time. There was a Stanley blade on the side of the sink where she had cut herself, and her arms were in the dark water. Dicko didn't need to check if the woman had lacerations on her wrists. He knew she had cut herself, and was certain that the cuts were deep.

This woman was in control in her last few minutes. She knew what she was doing, and didn't want to be in this world anymore. The knife hadn't been dropped to the floor, it had been carefully placed on the sink which was impossible to reach if sitting in the bath.

Dicko had an image of the woman, standing up in the hot bath, cutting her wrists and then calmly placing the bloody blade on the side of the sink. She then must have simply lay down and went to sleep, never to wake up again.

He had seen enough. He closed the door behind him and made his way downstairs. He took his empty rucksack off of his shoulder and put the thirteen tins from the cupboard into his bag, then left the premises.

He walked over to the van and opened up the driver's side and placed his bag on the seat."

"Well?" Yoler asked.

"Yes, fine. You?"

"Har-de-fucking-har." She smiled and shook her head at her male companion. "Is the place liveable?"

"No," Dicko sighed. "There's a family in there. Been dead for months."

"Oh."

"There're thirteen tins in that bag. Gonna try the house at the end and then I'll let you know if it's clear."

"Well, hurry the piss up," she spoke with impatience. "I'm bored out of my tits sitting here."

"Back in a bit."
Chapter Twenty-Three

After the house was checked and the food moved into the place once it was established that it was clear, Yoler and Dicko sat on the dusty couch and groaned. Their feet were sore from all the walking and they sat in silence for a while, looking at the dusty fireplace and the mirror that hung above it.

"I wonder who used to live here," Yoler said whilst yawning, making the sentence almost unrecognisable to the human ears.

Dicko understood what she meant and said, "Probably an elderly couple."

"What makes you say that?"

Dicko hunched his shoulders. "The mirror has an antique look about it, the couch we're sitting on isn't that modern, and who has a working fireplace these days? Also, in the bedrooms there are no toys or posters on the wall—"

"Alright, alright," Yoler laughed. "Jesus Christ on a cross, Dicko. You're boring the piss out of me."

"You asked," he said with a smile.

Yoler rubbed her eyes and released another yawn. She looked to the side of her, on the floor, where her machete lay, and began to kick her boots off.

"Did you check the attic?" She asked the man slouched next to her.

He shook his head. "That's the only place I didn't check."

"What if there're bodies up there?"

"You'd probably be able to smell it. Anyway, even if there are dead bodies up there, it won't affect us. We're only here for the night."

Yoler leaned to the side and rested her head on Dicko's shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he asked her.

"I'm tired. Thought I'd have a nap. Any objections?"

"Well..." Dicko began to move, forcing Yoler to sit back up straight. He got to his feet. "Before we do anything, we need to barricade that front door."

"Right, well you do that and I'll go for a sleep on one of the beds upstairs, and your handjob will have to wait."

"A bit early, ain't it?"

Yoler hunched her shoulders and also stood. "Trust me. I'll sleep right through to the morning. Haven't slept on a mattress for a while."

"You do that."

Yoler was on her way to the first floor and left Dicko alone.

Dicko looked around and decided to move the armchair against the main door. He looked around for something else, but couldn't see anything worth using. He looked at the armchair and then up at the front door. "Fuck it. That'll do."

He took the short walk to the kitchen and looked in the cupboards to see the tins he had put away. When he first checked the kitchen, the cupboards were bare. He opened a tin of beans, using the ring pull, and checked the drawers for cutlery. He pulled out a spoon and ate the cold beans from the tin. He threw the dirty spoon in the empty sink and put the tin into the pedal bin.

He began to think about the attic and the dead family he had seen in the other house. Was it the same situation in this place, he thought. Or had the family fled. There were no vehicles present in the street, apart from the van they had arrived in, and guessed, like most streets he had been to over the years, that over the months people had fled and vehicles may have also been stolen. Dicko had done it himself, months back.

A month after he had been taken away from Colwyn Place in Little Haywood, he spent three weeks on foot, scavenging.

He wasn't asked to leave, like he had told the group. The story was a little more complicated than that.

Dicko, real name Paul Dickson, has been staying at a camp and had become a loose cannon. People were complaining that his behaviour was becoming erratic and that he made most people feel uncomfortable, especially when he just disappeared and went for walks.

However, he wasn't asked to leave. He was taken away.

On one of his walks, Dicko had killed a few men when the street was attacked. One of the men was related to Drake, and when the man and his gang arrived at Colwyn to chat with a man called Pickle, Drake told the street that the street would never be attacked again. But in exchange for the street to be left alone, Drake wanted Paul Dickson. He wanted to take him back and kill him, as revenge for the people he had killed.

A few people didn't want to give Paul up, but everybody agreed it was for the best. Paul Dickson was making people uncomfortable and his departure would also make the street safer, so it was decided that Paul had to go away.

Paul, at the time, understood the decision and thanks to his friend Karen, he managed to escape when Drake and his men whisked him away. Dicko was given a strong laxative by Karen and messed himself in the back of Drake's car. He went out into the woods, under guard, and managed to free himself with a razor that had also been slipped into his pocket by Karen, when they hugged, and managed to run away to Drake's annoyance.

A small smile emerged on Dicko's lips as he thought about his old friends and suddenly snapped out of his daydreaming when he heard the rare sound of a vehicle approaching. He hoped that the vehicle would pass by, hopefully ignore the van that was parked up. He went over to the window and peered out. The vehicle soon appeared. It was a large white Transit van and it stopped adjacent to the van that Dicko and Yoler had been travelling in.

"Shit."

Dicko continued to watch as two males and a female got out of the van and began to inspect the stationary vehicle. All three walked around the place. Two were carrying knives and one of the males had a shotgun in his hands.

Dicko wasn't sure who these people were. Were they individuals that were loyal to Orson, a name they had heard over the past few months, or were they just three people out on their own?

The three began a discussion in the middle of the road. It was clear on their faces that they thought that the owner of the vehicle was staying in the street.

The three men began to approach the house that the van was opposite. Dicko wasn't sure what they wanted. Did they want the keys to the van so they could take it for themselves? He wasn't sure.

Dicko didn't know how long he had been standing at the window. He continued to watch and could see the three leaving the premises. They went to the next house and it appeared they were slowly making their way down to where he and Yoler were staying. He guessed, judging by the time it had taken them to check the first house, that they were around ten minutes away. Three more houses and they'd be under the same roof as him and Yoler.

A scream was heard and Dicko looked on with his heart beating faster and could see one of the men dragging out a woman. She tried to fight back, but was given a kick in her stomach for her troubles. Then the other male picked up her legs and instructed their female colleague to open up the back. She did as she was told and the female was thrown into the back like a piece of meat, and the doors were quickly closed and locked.

"Why the fuck are they taking her?" Dicko couldn't understand it. " _Where_ are they taking her?"

The penny had dropped and Dicko shook his head. It was a meat wagon. It must be.

"Oh, fuck. This is not Orson's men. It's a meat wagon."

Dicko removed the armchair from the door. If they tried the house and the chair was in the way, then that would highlight that people were inside. He then ran upstairs and went to alert Yoler. In a few minutes, they were going to have visitors, whether they liked it or not.

Dicko crept upstairs and began to check the bedrooms. The first one he checked had Yoler in it and she was about to get her head down for some shuteye. Dicko had startled her. She was about to scold the man for frightening her, but he held up his hand, stopping her from speaking.

"Before you say _Jesus Christ on a cross, you scared the piss out of me_ ," he said in a hushed tone. "You better come with me. We need to hide somewhere."

" _Hide?" Yoler rubbed her eyes and was perplexed by Dicko's ramblings. "What the piss are you talking about?"_

"There are people outside," he began to explain, "that are minutes away from getting inside."

"Who?" She swung her legs to the side of the bed and looked for her boots. She remembered she had kicked them off downstairs. "Orson's men? That Hando guy?"

"I think it might be worse than that."

"Worse? How?"

"I think it might be one of those meat wagons we keep hearing about."

"I thought they came out on a night."

"It's the evening now, and I saw them throw a woman into the back of the van. Why would they do that?"

"Shit. Okay." Yoler stood up and told her male companion to wait whilst she ran downstairs to get her boots.

When she returned, she had them on, but the laces were untied. She bent down to tie the laces and asked him what the plan was.

"To hide." He hunched his shoulders. "There's three of them, but one has a shotgun. It's not worth risking our necks."

"But what about the woman in the back of their van? Was she alive when they threw her in?"

Dicko nodded.

"We can't just leave her there."

"We can and we will." Dicko said. "We're going into the attic."

Yoler seemed to be taking forever to tie her laces, prompting Dicko to whistle sharply at her, telling her to hurry up.

"Don't you fucking whistle at me," she snapped. "I'm not a fucking sheepdog."

Yoler followed Dicko onto the landing and watched as he pulled the cord that was hanging down. It was pulled and the hatch opened. Dicko turned and could see Yoler shaking her head.

"What is it?" he asked her.

"If we go in there," she pointed up into the attic, "we're kind of trapped."

Dicko sighed. She was right. "Don't know what else to do."

"What's the first thing you do when you search a house?" she asked him.

"Um..."

Yoler decided to answer her own question. "You go to the kitchen and check the cupboards. We've put those tins in the cupboards. As soon as those guys check the downstairs out, they're gonna know that people are here."

They both gasped when they heard the door being tried.

Dicko quickly put the ladders back in the attic and both agreed to hide. Yoler went into the walk-in cupboard, in the very same bedroom she was about to have a nap in, and Dicko went into one of the spare rooms.

He spotted a clothes cupboard in the corner of the room. He went over to the cupboard and dragged it out of the corner. He could hear individuals on the ground floor and went into the corner, behind the cupboard, and grabbed the sides and 'walked it' backwards, almost back to its original position.

Dicko took in a deep breath. He had been in dangerous situations before, but he was still nervous.
Chapter Twenty-Four

Dicko tried to control his breathing as the sound of feet began to make their way to the first floor. He heard voices and it sounded like all three were in the house.

"Fucking hell," he murmured.

If action had to be taken, the ideal scenario would be to disarm the gun bearer first, but it was hard to see who that was when stuck behind a cupboard. More voices were heard and he could hear the female telling the two males that she was going to check the bedrooms. It sounded like one male was having a piss and the other had pulled down the steps to the attic. Dicko could hear a presence in the room and held his breath. A few seconds later, it sounded like the presence had left.

A minute had passed and Dicko could hear more scuffling on the first floor, and hoped that Yoler was well hidden.

"Hey, you two, come here!" the female yelled at her colleagues.

As soon as those words were heard by Dicko's ears, he knew Yoler had been found.

"Oh, shit."

A couple of bangs were heard and Dicko gasped, wondering if they were roughing her up.

"Get off me!" Yoler screamed out. "Why have you got me pinned to the floor? I was doing no harm."

Dicko scrunched his face in thought and wondered if Yoler was shouting out that kind of information, telling Dicko what the situation was. She was being pinned down. Was this her telling Dicko to attack them? If she was being pinned down, then at least two of them were on their knees, holding down the woman. The group asked Yoler a few questions, but it didn't sound like they were beating her.

"Fuck it."

He grabbed the wardrobe and tried to walk the heavy furniture out about a foot so he could squeeze through the gap, and by the time he had managed that, he could hear movement on the landing.

"Let's get her in the back of the van," a male said. "We're gonna have to tie this feisty one up."

"Are we gonna go?" the female asked.

"No," the same male voice replied. "We have more houses to check and I'm not going back until we had at least five bodies. It'd be a waste of petrol."

"Right," a different male spoke up. "Let's get her downstairs."

Dicko crept along the bedroom and could see that two males had a hold of Yoler, one on each arm, and they were dragging her downstairs, with the female with curly ginger hair in front of them. The female looked to be holding Yoler's machete in one hand and the shotgun in the other, and was laughing as Yoler called the woman names as she was being held in a shoulder lock by the two men.

Dicko crept across the landing and went downstairs, following them. He was aware that the woman had the shotgun, but she had it in one hand and it would take a few seconds to drop the machete, aim, and then fire. With the female leading the way, they were almost at the bottom of the stairs, and Dicko drew his knife back and embedded it into the skull of the man to Yoler's left. He kicked the man's back, freeing the blade, and the dead man fell over and on top of the woman before anybody knew what was going on.

The man on the right was punched in the throat with Yoler's now free hand, and before she could do anything else, Dicko rammed the machete, like a spear, through the back of the man's neck. He removed the blade as the panic stricken woman dropped Yoler's blade and struggled to get the shotgun ready, and then Dicko threw his knife at the woman as the other man tumbled to the bottom of the stairs. The blade caught her in the face. She released a cry, dropping the shotgun, and escaped through the front door with just a superficial cut to the left side of her face.

She ran out into the road and fell over. She struggled to get back up, and once she did, she headed for the van she arrived in.

Yoler picked up the shotgun from the bottom of the stairs and went outside. She was in no hurry. She strolled along the road, holding the shotgun with two hands, and could see the woman trying the doors to the van and then checking her pockets. Yoler smiled as it seemed apparent that the keys to the van was in the pockets of one of the dead men.

Once it was clear that the woman wasn't getting in the van, Yoler raised the gun at the woman's legs and pulled the trigger. The ginger woman fell to the floor. She screamed out and placed the palms of her hands on her thighs, and called Yoler a fucking bitch.

Confident that the woman was going nowhere, Yoler could see Dicko exiting the house and asked him to get the keys to the van.

He held his hand and shook the keys. "Already got 'em."

Before Yoler could ask him to open the back to let the captured woman out, he began to unlock the van. He opened the shutter door and the short scream of a woman was heard.

"It's okay," Dicko said to the woman. He held out his hand. "Come on."

Now Yoler was standing next to him, but this didn't make the woman relax. Both could see that the interior of the van had old bloodstains on the floor and up the sides, and it stunk terribly.

"We saw those people throw you in the back of here," Yoler said. "Come on. Go back to your home."

The woman seemed less hesitant and thanked the pair of them as she climbed down. She then looked over to her house and ran over to the main door. Dicko peered at the injured woman by the passenger side. She was writhing on the floor, both legs bleeding, and Dicko felt no sympathy for the woman with the curly ginger hair.

"What about her?" Dicko asked.

Still holding the gun with both hands," Yoler said, "I've got some questions that need answering."

"Fine."

Dicko went to the driver's side and opened the door. He placed the key in the ignition and gave it a gentle twist. He stared at the fuel gauge and could see the vehicle was in the red.

He took the key out, went around the front of the vehicle, and met up with Yoler. The injured woman was a foot away, still moaning, and Yoler had the gun pointing at her head.

"The van's in the red," Dicko announced to his female companion. "So it's not worth taking."

"Okay." Yoler nodded. "I've got a few questions to ask Ginge here."

"Well, hurry up," said Dicko and began to yawn. "I wanna go to sleep soon."

Yoler opened up the old style shotgun and could see there were two barrels and one cartridge left. She snapped the gun shut and asked the injured woman her first question.

"What was you going to do to that woman? Why take her?"

The ginger hair woman laughed and spat on Yoler's boots. Dicko could see she was an individual in her forties, ugly, and her teeth needed serious work.

Yoler persisted, "Where are you based? Where's your camp?"

"Not far from here," she said, and then looked Yoler up and down. "Wanna join? I'd love to find out what your thighs taste like."

Yoler swallowed her anger and asked another question. "Is this a meat wagon?"

"I don't know what that means."

"Are you cannibals? Are you—?"

"We're not animals, love. We're just trying to survive." The ginger haired woman winced with pain and said with gritted teeth, "Once upon a time you and I probably had a family, passed each other on the street. I may have stolen your car parking space, ran on a treadmill next to you at the gym. Shit, I may even served you at the restaurant my husband and I used to own, but times are different now. My kids are dead, my husband and friends are dead, and—"

Dicko jumped when Yoler pulled the trigger and the gun went off. The ginger haired woman's chest took the hit and she died immediately.

Dicko turned and looked at Yoler, holding the smoking gun, as if she was in trouble, and said, "I was actually quite interested in what she had to say."

"I wasn't. She was boring me." Yoler huffed. "Let's get her in the back of the van. I'll give you a hand with Laurel and Hardy in the house." Yoler looked at the shotgun. "May as well put this in with them."

"Okay." Dicko nodded in agreement. "Once we've done that, I'll drive the van to the end of the road and into the field, just in case more come looking and spot it."

"Okay." Yoler blew out her cheeks and said, "Let's get it done. And then tomorrow we go to the wholesalers, before going back to Donnie and the rest of the crew."
Chapter Twenty-Five

Next Day

Donald Brownstone woke up and immediately got to his feet. He stretched his back and groaned with the pain. Sleeping on the floor was killing him. He decided that the best way to get rid of the smarting was to move. He crept through the dusky cabin and gently opened the door, then stepped out and winced when the daylight assaulted his sensitive eyes. Once his vision was restored, he could see young Grace, with her back to the cabin, building a fire with wood she had collected.

"Morning," Donald called over.

She turned around and smiled.

"Bit early for that, isn't it?" Donald grinned and added, "We're not doing breakfast anymore. Just lunch and dinner, you dig what I'm sayin'?"

"I know." Grace shrugged her shoulders. "I was bored. I couldn't sleep."

Donald stepped down to the ground and had a look at what she had built. He looked at the woman and gave off a thin smile. The poor thing had gone through so much. She had lost her dad, her younger sister had been killed, and her mother had been raped by a gang of mercenaries. At least they eventually found each other again.

"Be back in a bit," he said to the girl.

Before he took one step forwards, she spoke up. "Where are you going?"

"I set out some snares, six in all, so I'm going to check what we've caught."

"Rabbit?"

"Well ... hopefully," Donald laughed. "But it might be grey squirrel soup for lunch and dinner."

"Never tried squirrel," Grace said.

"The meat's tough, but it's edible."

Grace folded her arms and seemed unsure what to say to the big man she barely knew. Donald wasn't a man that normally engaged in small talk.

"Yoler and Paul aren't back yet," she said.

"I know." Donald smiled. "I don't think he likes being called Paul. Best to call him Dicko."

"You don't seem too bothered."

"I'm not. They can handle themselves. Hopefully this will be the last time, for a while, that we'll be missing breakfast. Depends on what they bring back."

" _If_ they come back." Grace didn't share Donald's confidence.

"Oh, they'll be back." Donald clapped his hands together and huffed, "Right. I better go and check those snares."

" _Can I come with you?" There was almost pleading in her voice. They were alive, but the boredom was contaminating their minds._

Selfishly, Donald wanted to be on his own. He knew he had a whole day with the group, and that thought alone depressed him.

"I'd be better on my own," he said. He felt terrible for the young girl, but alone time was needed for Brownstone. "Anyway, if your mum wakes up and sees that you're not here, she'll freak."

"Okay."

"Laters, kiddo."

Donald walked into the trees and had a rough idea where the four snares were. If Yoler and Dicko came back empty handed, the whole area of the woods would have to be littered with snares. The pond near the camp was a Godsend, but they still needed to eat.

Donald reached the first snare and sighed that it hadn't been touched. He released another groan and went to snare number two.

Snare number two delivered better results. A dead hare had been caught, albeit a skinny one. Donald untied the dead animal and reset the trap. He held it up and shook his head. The hare alone wasn't enough to fill him up. He pulled out a carrier bag from his pocket and placed the animal in. He walked a few yards north and then stopped. He had forgotten where he had placed snare number three.

He snickered at himself and groaned, "Donald, you fucking idiot."

He then looked ahead and saw a bush.

"Ten yards left of the bush," he murmured. "Of course."

He finally found the third snare and placed his hands on his hips like a petulant child. "Give me a break."

There had been no luck with the third snare and Donald wasn't confident as he headed for the fourth and final one.

"If it's like this now, fuck knows what the winter's gonna be like."

The man could hear a noise and became more stealthier with his feet, picking them up as he progressed through the bracken.

He could see the tail of an animal, near where he had set up the snare, and moved a few more steps to see a Golden Retriever digging in to Donald's catch. He couldn't make out what the animal used to be. He guessed a squirrel, but with its guts out and the dog devouring half of it anyway, the animal was beyond salvaging.

The Golden Retriever turned and snarled. It was very unlike a Golden Retriever's nature to be so aggressive, but things were different. This dog was starving, and nobody was going to take it off of him.

Donald shook his head and decided to allow the dog to eat his catch. There was nothing more he could do now. He walked backwards, keeping an eye on the canine. He guessed that it was probably a domestic pet a year ago, judging by the collar it was wearing, and he was surprised as it continued to gnash and snarl and slowly progressed forwards, following Donald.

"Don't make me do this, Fido." Donald pulled out his blade. "I had a dog like you when I was a boy. This ain't gonna be easy."

The dog continued to go forwards and a few steps later Donald's heel caught an exposed tree root. He tumbled over and the dog attacked Donald, seeing his predicament as a sign to attack.

The dog went for Donald and the burly man held out his forearm horizontally to protect himself. The dog's teeth were felt through Donald's fabric, but before the Golden Retriever could sink its teeth into Donald's flesh, he rammed his blade into the side of canine's neck and twisted the knife as the animal yelled and whimpered.

He threw the dog off of him before it bled out onto his clothes, and quickly got to his feet. Donald brushed himself down and looked at the animal he had destroyed. He didn't blame the dog. It wanted to survive and saw Donald as a threat to its meal that it was devouring, or even Donald as a meal himself. Attacking a large man like Donald was an ambitious attempt on the canine's part, but starvation led to desperation.

"Sorry, pooch," Donald releases a sad sigh and looked at the dead dog on the floor and the rabbit in his bag.

"Fuck it. Looks like it's Retriever soup today."

Donald bent down, pulled the dog's head back by its ears, and dragged his blade across its throat. He crouched for a couple of minutes and watched as its throat bled all over the grass.

He then lifted the dog, and carried it as its throat bled out onto the ground, but not as profusely as before. He made his way back to the camp. The dog was going to have to get stripped and gutted before young David woke up. The little man was never going to touch lunch and dinner if he found out that dog meat was in it.
Chapter Twenty-Six

Dicko was the first to wake and sat up immediately, making his back cry out in pain. He rubbed his lower back, on the left, and swung his legs around so his feet were now touching the floor. He had spent the night on the couch and Yoler was in one of the bedrooms.

He stood up straight and stretched like he used to when he used to attend the gym.

The gym. He smiled.

It seemed like a lifetime ago now.

When the apocalypse was in its infancy, Dicko was trapped in his home with his son and couldn't go anywhere because of two reasons. His wife had taken the family car on the Saturday, the day the disaster was officially announced, to go shopping with their daughter.

The other quandary that Paul Dickson had was that they could have left, but his fear was that his wife and daughter might have returned to an empty house. They never came back.

He sat down on the couch and leaned back, thinking about the days when he used to work, go to the gym, and be with his family. He would give his life up for one more simple day like that.

He thought back to when he had to return to the gym, to get water. His neighbour looked after his son, Kyle, while he went out and he turned up at his regular place and had to break in. He remembered going into the dark reception area and being frightened to death. He entered the gym and saw a regular that he recognised had turned into a Canavar, or as some people called them from his area, a Moaner, Lurker or Snatcher. Some of the Colwyn Place residents from Little Haywood called them Creepers. He was taken by surprise by two of the dead in the gym. Back in the normal world they were fitness instructors, and Dicko had to remove them. They were his first kills.

His reminiscing was interrupted when he heard the sound of footsteps coming from above him in one of the bedrooms.

"Jesus, Yoler," he sniggered to himself. "You're like a rhino."

The feet of Yoler Sanders made their way to the ground floor, and Dicko greeted her with a smile when she walked through the door to the living room.

They both greeted each other with a 'good morning' and the female sat next to her male companion and released a breath out, resting her large blade on her lap.

"Christ." Dicko put his hand over his mouth and nose. "Your breath stinks."

"Cheeky bastard." Yoler took a peep at Dicko and added, "Yours ain't so good either. Smells like a cat has shat in your mouth."

"Alright." Dicko smiled at her predictable defensive response. "Calm down, woman."

"There's toothbrushes upstairs. We can use them."

The two of them sat in silence and gazed at the clock on the fireplace. It had stopped working, and the hands stated that it had ceased working at 2.34. Whether it was am or pm, neither knew.

"I wonder how many survivors are left," Yoler mumbled to herself.

"That's funny," Dicko responded. "I was just wondering how many Canavars were left."

"Do you think there're more Canavars than people left in the UK?"

"I have no idea."

"It's a funny name, isn't it?" Yoler said.

"What? Canavars?" Paul rubbed his hairy chin and queried, "I heard it was some professor that coined the phrase?"

"He mentioned it on some of his interviews when he was on the news, while this thing had just started."

"I don't remember seeing him. I must have had a different channel on."

Yoler nodded. "He was Turkish, I think. He was an expert in biological sciences from Edinburgh University. Canavars is Turkish for monsters."

"Speaking of which." Dicko pointed at the curtains of the living room. There was a foot gap between the curtains and he saw a body walking by. He was convinced it was a Canavar and went over to the window to have a look. He saw it stumble away, but it wasn't the lone Canavar that concerned him, it was the two men that were checking out their van.

He continued to watch and saw the two men, both carrying bats, put the dead creature down. They dragged it to the side of the road and then continued to check out the delivery van, checking the doors.

Dicko went over to the arm of the chair and picked up his machete.

"Something wrong?" Yoler asked him.

"Not sure yet." Dicko put his boots on and said, "Going outside for a chat."

Yoler looked out of the front window and announced that she was coming with him.

The two stepped outdoors, machetes in hand, and approached the men that noticed them seconds after they had left.

"Can we help you, gentlemen?" Dicko asked them.

"Alright, mate?" The one on the left was the first to speak up and pointed to the van. "Is that yours?"

"Sure is."

"Oh, sorry man." The man on the left was dressed in black clothes. "We were wondering who it belonged to."

"We're gonna be on our way soon."

The man on the right had a full grey beard, was tall, and looked menacing, yet his manner was kind when he opened his mouth.

"We live in this street," he said. "We're just making sure that everything is okay. We went to bed last night and woke up to find two vans in the street, so we're a little concerned."

"So you didn't happen to hear a woman scream, any of the vans pull up, or any kind of shooting?"

The two men looked at each other and looked embarrassed.

The man on the left spoke and said, "We were out on a run last night. Didn't get back till late."

"A bit risky," Yoler spoke up.

"It was. Took longer than we thought, but we ran into a bit of trouble."

"So you don't know about the woman from over there." Dicko pointed over at the house. It was number thirty four.

"Brenda?" the man with the grey beard said. "What happened to her?"

"Know her?" Dicko asked the men.

They both nodded and the man on the left took over. "There's a few of us left. We're all looking after one another."

The man with the grey beard left them and went over to Brenda's house and knocked on the door. The woman opened it and the two began to converse.

"Most of us died," the man continued. "Including my wife. But we stuck together, buried the dead, and have been going on runs and growing our own produce since this shit began."

The man with the grey beard walked back over and Brenda remained by the door, waving at Dicko. He smiled and waved back.

The grey bearded man stood next to his companion and said with a smile, "These guys saved Brenda's life. Three people turned up and threw her in the back of that other van." The man pointed to the Transit van that was parked yards down from Dicko and Yoler's van. "They killed the three and let Brenda go."

"Where are these ... people?" The man on the left, dressed in black asked.

Dicko answered, "In the back of that van. Ever heard of the meat wagons?"

Both men nodded.

"There's three people in the back of that van less to worry about." Dicko tossed a set of keys at the grey bearded man, which he caught, and added, "The van's in the red, but it could go for a fair few miles before it conks out."

Dicko turned and walked away from the two men, and Yoler followed.

"Thanks.

Dicko waved at the men and continued walking.

He and Yoler had to be somewhere.
Chapter Twenty-Seven

Donald Brownstone exited the cabin and was carrying an empty bucket. Grace and Gavin were preparing the soup with the little water and veg they had left, and Grace's mother was going through the two times tables with little David. Helen was sitting on the steps of the cabin and smiled as she watched her son and the woman talking and laughing with the little man. She could see Donald was about to go through the wooded area and head to the pond, so she asked if she could tag along.

"Sure," he said, and couldn't help but smile. "I'll be glad of the company, you dig what I'm sayin'?"

Helen Willis told her son that she was going to the pond with Donald. He acknowledged her with a nod, almost annoyed that she had interrupted his chatter with Grace's mum, and continued to talk with the fun woman.

Helen laughed and walked over to Donald and the pair of them walked through the plantation. A couple of minutes later and their short walk led them to the pond.

"Let's milk it for a bit," Helen said to Donald. "Being stuck in that place can be detrimental to your mental health."

"Tell me about it," Donald chuckled. "Any time I get a chance to go, I do."

"I've noticed." Helen pointed over to the other side of the pond and said, "Let's get the water from over there."

"Okay. Is that your way of killing time?"

"Kind of, but to be honest I wanted to have a look at the farm, just for old time's sake."

"I'll get the water first. Donald smiled at the woman.

He took his boots and socks off, and walked into the pond, careful where he was treading, and dipped the bucket until it was full. He headed back to land and put his socks back on his wet feet and the boots were next. He looked over to Helen and left the bucket where it was.

"Come on then." Donald used his head to motion Helen to follow him. They walked through the cluster of trees and stepped out onto familiar territory. They stopped when they were at the overgrown field, and looked up across and up the hill where the farmhouse was. It didn't look too damaged, but Helen was aware that inside it was unliveable. She released a thin smile and thought of Simon and Imelda Washington. She wasn't a religious person, but she hoped that the pair of them were together, somewhere, and Simon was reunited with his wife and his son, Tyler.

"You okay?" Donald could see the sadness in her face and was unsure whether to comfort her or not. She didn't have tears, but he pitied the woman all the same.

"You want to go up there?" he asked Helen. "Have a look around?"

She shook her head. "No. I think I'd breakdown if I went up."

Donald bit the bullet and put his arm around the woman that he secretly loved. "You like Simon, didn't you?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "It was good to meet somebody new, of similar age. I think, in time, we could have become an item."

"Oh?" Donald was hurt by Helen's confession. Was he invisible? Maybe she just saw him as a friend. Maybe not even that. Just a camp companion?

Feeling ridiculous, Donald removed his arm from around Helen's shoulder as she continued to speak.

"Simon and I had a lot in common," she said. "We had both lost our partners, we have a child each..."

"Don't forget that he was a cheater," Donald snapped.

"What?" Helen looked confused and took a look to her side, at Donald.

"Remember?" Donald looked flustered and added, "He told us as Imelda lay dead. He told us that he was a shitty husband and that he cheated on his wife, and—"

"Why are you bringing that up?" Helen took a step away from Donald and scrunched her face. "I don't get it. Why are you slagging off the dead?"

Donald Brownstone bit his bottom lip and looked annoyed. He stepped away from Helen and rubbed his head. He shook it and turned around, glaring at the woman he had fallen for months ago.

"Donald?"

"What's wrong with me?" Donald clenched his fists together and couldn't help himself. "I worship the ground you walk on, love David to bits, and you ignore me."

"Donald? What are you talking about?"

"I love you, you stupid woman! You go on about how you could have been with Simon, how you're lonely ... and yet you ignore me."

" _I don't ignore you." Helen shook her head, baffled at Donald's behaviour. "Donald, I don't know what you're talking about."_

"What's wrong with me? Why can't you be with _me_?"

"Donald, I don't know what to say." The penny had finally dropped with Helen. "I'm sorry. I don't see you in that way."

"Why not?" Donald stepped towards Helen and grabbed her arms with each of his hand. "I love you and David. I'd be good to you. I'd make you happy."

"Happy?" Helen shook her head and laughed. "I'll never be happy again. Nobody and nothing is going to make me happy again. Have you seen where we live? What kind of world we live in now?"

"We're better off than most folk. Give me a try." Donald kept a hold of Helen. "You won't regret it."

"You don't love me, Donald. This is about your cock, isn't it?"

"It's deeper than that."

"Donald," Helen groaned. "You're starting to hurt me. Let me go."

"Just fucking listen to what I have to say!" the man snarled.

"Donald, you're scaring me." There were tears in Helen's eyes and she was frightened. "Let me go."

"You need to understand." Donald gripped tighter, making Helen wince with pain. "I'd take care of you. Both of you."

"Donald. I..."

"You need to understand—"

"Let me go, Donald."

"Listen to me."

Helen kicked Donald as hard as she could in the shin, and the big man cried out and let the woman go. She turned around and ran away from Brownstone, into the trees, heading back to the camp.

Donald bent over and rubbed his shin. He then looked up and saw the back of her disappearing through the trees. "Helen! Helen!"

Donald refused to run after her. She looked frightened as it was and he didn't want to make anything worse, if that at all was possible.

"Fuck!"

With his adrenaline waning, he slowly realised that his behaviour was unacceptable. He smacked the palms of his hands off his head in frustration, and began to cuss and call himself names whilst pacing back and forth.

He couldn't go back to the camp how. Not yet. It was too soon. After the way he had behaved, Helen probably wouldn't want him in the same room, so sleeping in the cabin was out of the question. The people of the camp would pick up on the negative vibes between Helen and Donald and would ask questions, especially Yoler.

"Donald, you fucking idiot."

He walked through the cluster of trees and reached the pond. Helen was nowhere to be seen and the bucket of water was still sitting on the ground. He patted his pocket to make sure his knife was still there, puffed out a breath, and went back through the trees and onto the overgrown field.

Donald was walking with angry steps and was heading to the hill, to the farmhouse. He had some stress to walk off. He didn't know where his walk was going to take him, but he couldn't go back to the camp. He would rather be out in the open with the Canavars than be in the presence of Helen Willis and the rest of the group.

He couldn't face her. Not yet.
Chapter Twenty-Eight

The delivery van turned onto a narrow country road and minutes later the vehicle entered the car park of the wholesalers. The van parked up and Dicko switched the engine off and put the keys into his pocket. He and Yoler looked around the car park and could see seven vehicles parked up.

"We may have guests," Yoler said.

"Dead ones." Dicko grabbed his machete off Yoler's lap. "Those cars have probably been here since the ninth of June last year."

"The ninth of June?"

"The day it started," said Dicko. "Well, the day it was officially announced."

"Not sure what the date was, Dicky Boy."

"It was the last time I saw my wife and daughter. I'll never forget it."

He opened the driver's door and jumped out, with Yoler following suit at the other side. Both approached the main door of the wholesalers, and could see that the once-automatic doors were opened.

Dicko stopped by the doors and, using the bottom handle part of the machete, he banged on the doors eight times. The two of them waited a minute, but nothing approached the doors from the inside.

They both looked at one another and entered the establishment.

"Stick together," Dicko said. "Be careful with every corner we approach."

"I have done this kind of thing before," Yoler whispered. "On my own."

They could see that the place had been raided many times. A lot of the shelves and areas in the floor were empty, but now useless household appliances like washing machines, hoovers, and dishwashers were still sitting where they had been placed a year ago and left untouched.

The aisles were low and they could see that the floor looked Canavar free. Dicko pointed at the far corner of the large place, where there was some produce. The two of them walked over to the area and could see that the produce was tins of food and bottles of sparkling and tonic water all wrapped up. The products were on pallets, and to their right was half a pallet of breakfast cereal bars.

"Too good to be true," Dicko said.

"I know." Yoler nodded in agreement. "This place doesn't have a single body or a smear of blood."

"And yet the doors are open."

"I know."

"Weird." Yoler scratched at her Beatle haircut and looked baffled. "Maybe someone cleaned up. Maybe it was a base for a group, but they had to leave."

"And leave that?" Dicko pointed at the two pallets.

Yoler hunched her shoulders and took a slow walk away from the pallets and Dicko, and took a look down the tall aisles.

"Right," Dicko called over to Yoler. "We better make a start and move this stuff. It may take a while, even using the trolleys."

"I have a better idea." Yoler beckoned Dicko over to her side. He did as he was told and stood next to his female companion and they looked down the gap, inbetween the two tall aisles. A Komatsu battery powered forklift truck sat in the middle of the aisle, and Yoler was the first to react and went over to it. She put her blade on her lap once she was sitting on the truck and could see two levers to her left. One to raise and lower the forks, and the final lever controlled the tilt of the forks.

"It probably doesn't work," Dicko said.

Yoler pressed her foot on the pedal and it moved forwards a few yards until she released her foot. She began to giggle.

"This is unbelievable," said Dicko. "Can you drive it? I can have a go, if you want."

"How difficult can it be?"

The truck moved and Dicko took a step to the side as Yoler drove over to the pallets and stopped. It took her a while to work it out, but she lowered the forks and moved forwards slowly, the forks going under the pallet. She raised the forks, lifting the pallet, then tilted them towards her.

"Go and open up the van, Dicky Boy," she said. "I'm just gonna load these two bad boys straight into it."

Minutes had passed and the back of the van was filled. The two of them had one walk around the place and then decided to leave. Unlike runs from the past, this had been unusually unproblematic and the two of them even had been given a massive slice of luck.

"We'll park this van at a picnic area. It'll be a few hundred yards walk to the camp, but to empty it, everyone is gonna have to muck in and help transport the food."

"How are we going to hide a van when we've parked it up?"

"We can't." Dicko slowed the vehicle down and turned left at a junction. "Thankfully, the picnic area is surrounded by trees, so you won't see the van by just driving along the road. You have to actually go into the area."

"Dicko." Yoler pointed up ahead and could see four of the dead in the middle of the road, with their backs to them.

The dead turned around once their ears picked up the sound of the engine, and Dicko floored the accelerator. The van struck all four and the bodies went under the wheels of the heavy vehicle, decapitating one of them.

Yoler looked to the driver and said, sounding unimpressed, "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

"A little." Dicko smiled.

"A stupid thing to do."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Dicko still had a smile on his face and was unashamed about his behaviour. He was an experienced survivor with a van full of food that could keep the group alive for another month, and instead of slowing down and driving around the dead, he chose to run the risk of running them down.

Just under ten minutes later and they parked up the van in the picnic area. It was time to move the produce.

*

Helen returned to the camp and Gavin was the first person to realise something was wrong. Helen Willis looked flustered, there was no bucket, and Donald Brownstone was nowhere to be seen.

Gavin was sitting with Grace and they both approached Helen.

"Where's David?" was the first words to come out of Helen's mouth. She looked around the spacious area and couldn't see her son or Lisa anywhere.

"It's okay." Gavin tried to appease the stressed woman. She looked shaken and jittery. "He's in the cabin with Lisa."

"Oh." As soon as Gavin had informed the woman of her son's whereabouts, she began to relax a little.

"Helen," Grace spoke up and placed her arm around the shaken woman. "What's wrong? Where's Donald?"

Helen shuddered, lowered her head, and began to sob. Grace and Gavin looked at one another, scared at the answer she was going to give them. Had he been attacked by a Canavar? Did he have an accident? Where was he?

"I don't know where he is," she finally answered Grace's question. "I don't care either."

Grace and Gavin took a concerned look at one another and Gavin asked Helen what had happened.

"It was stupid." Helen shook her head in disbelief. "It escalated out of nothing."

"What went on?" Grace asked.

Helen wiped tears from her eyes with her fingers and puffed out a breath. She looked over to the cabin, seeing that the door was closed, and pointed over to the area where they usually ate.

"Sit down," she said. "I'll tell you."
Chapter Twenty-Nine

Donald Brownstone was out of breath after reaching the top of the hill and looked at the place that used to be his home for a few weeks.

He looked at the short-lived vegetable patch that Yoler had tirelessly worked on, and he managed a shake of the head.

"This place could have been so special," he muttered under his breath. Despite being voted to leave by the residents before it burned down, he would have preferred Helen and David to live in a normal place, rather than some smelly cabin in the woods.

Donald released a depressed breath out when he turned, and his eyes clocked the two graves of father and daughter. He was never a big fan of Simon Washington, but Donald didn't want this for the man. To lose his daughter and then lose his own life weeks later was a punishment that Donald wouldn't have wished for his worst enemy.

Brownstone gazed at the two shallow graves and was pleased that they were still intact. Even the small cuddly toy that sat on Imelda's grave was still there. Lambie.

Donald's thoughts went back to his altercation with Helen. He was appalled by his behaviour. He had lost control. He loved the woman, but he feared that she would never trust him again. Simon was dead, and yet Donald still couldn't compete with him.

He walked by the burnt out farmhouse and passed the Mazda. Carrying his knife, Donald went to the front of the house and stopped when he reached the country road. He didn't want to leave his camp indefinitely, but he needed to walk somewhere without getting lost. He decided to turn left and walked along the country road. Despite the reason why he was on his own, it felt good to be out in the fresh air. The wind was more vociferous than it had been in weeks, and the cool air that glided over his frame felt glorious to his overheated body.

His boots felt heavy as the road ascended and once he reached flat ground, Donald decided to take a rest. He walked over to the side of the road and sat on the grass with nothing but fields behind him.

He lowered his head and stared at the tarmac, still thinking about his behaviour, and if Helen would ever speak to him again. He was exhausted. He put his blade into his pocket, brought his knees up, put his arms on his thighs, and rested his head on them. It wasn't planned, but stupidly Donald Brownstone fell asleep. It was only for a few minutes, a power nap, but he did something that any experienced survivor shouldn't have done. He soon woke up when the sound of dragging feet could be heard to his left. Donald looked and saw one lone Canavar stumbling along the road, heading Donald's way.

Donald patted his pockets and felt the knife. He took the blade out and stood up, waiting for the Canavar to approach him.

The dead was a female. It had on a torn dirty dress. Donald could see the polka dot pattern, but was unsure what its original colour was when the woman had put on the clothing many months ago. The dress was torn at the bottom and the neck area was also torn, exposing a rotten breast.

Donald winced looking at the being, and paused once it was only a matter of yards away. He put his knife back into his pocket and grabbed her arms as she was now inches away, and gazed into the dead face. Her eyes were almost black and she gnashed at the forty-three-year-old man, desperate to take a bite out of his face or neck. Donald wondered why he was trying to survive. What was the point? To go day to day, scavenging for a meal? He saw Helen and David as his family, and had managed to mess that up, so why continue? So he could be with people he had no feelings for? He hardly knew Grace and her mother Lisa. Gavin was a young man that he was civil to, but they had never been friends.

He had blown it with Helen, and as for Yoler and Dicko ... they were just people he put up with. All he had to do was let go of this dead female and it'd be all over for him. But would he really want to go through that pain? He was always frightened of being attacked and turning in the past, so why was he thinking this way?

"You don't want to die, Donald," he scolded himself. "You're just upset."

His ears twitched and could hear a noise over the sound of the dead woman growling. It sounded like engines. He threw the woman to the ground and pulled out his knife. The sound of the engines were growing and getting closer. The dead woman tried to get to her feet, but Donald ran and kicked her in the head, then brought his heel down, crushing her face. He dragged the body to the side of the road and looked around. Fields surrounded the man, so he opted to climb the small fence to his left and lie down in the long grass, waiting for the potential danger to pass.

He lay down in the grass, paranoid what surprises could be around him, and was still clutching his knife. He lifted his head slightly to get a look as the engines approached, and although it was a risky thing for him to do, his intrigue was strong.

Five bikers went by him and he gazed in awe as they followed the bend and disappeared from view. Donald was hopeless with bikes, but they looked like Harleys.

The five men that were on the iron beasts were dressed the same, denim cladded, and were riding bikes with high handle bars. Donald wasn't sure if they were good people or not, but they definitely looked like part of a gang. Whether it was just the five of them, or they were a part of something bigger, he had no idea, but it was something he hadn't seen before. He had come across stray people before, he had run ins with people that claimed to be a part of a community with someone called Orson, and he had heard of the meat wagons, but this was new for Donald Brownstone.

"That's something different." He stood up and brushed himself down. "Where to now, Donald?"

He looked around and began to walk to the country road. He had no idea where he was going.
Chapter Thirty

Lisa Newton rested her back against the wall of the cabin, sitting on the bed, and asked David if he wanted a break. It was dusky in the cabin, and the pair of them could hardly see a thing, but earlier David wanted to go inside, away from the sun.

"Okay," Lisa said. "Shall we do more sums or spelling words?"

"Um..." David paused and said, "Lisa?"

"Yes, buddy."

"Is there any point doing this?"

"I believe so," Lisa said.

"Why?"

"Because I believe that the world will eventually get back to normal. Anyway, it's still good to get some kind of education, but it might be a bit different to what you used to get at school."

David looked puzzled and asked Lisa what she meant by that comment.

"Well..." Lisa thought for a moment. "Eventually you'll be shown life skills."

"What's that?" David still had confusion scrawled over his face.

"Well, I suppose in the old days it was going to the shops by yourself, doing jobs around the house ... that kind of thing. Now it's learning how to filter water, making fires, setting up snares, gutting animals that you've caught, and..."

Lisa could see that David didn't understand half the stuff she was talking about and decided not to continue.

"Donald will probably teach you that kind of stuff," she said.

"Do I need to learn all that?"

Lisa placed her hand comfortingly on David's shoulder and said, "Yes, because one day you might be on your own."

David narrowed his eyes and looked at Lisa. "Why would I be on my own?"

Lisa Newton decided not to continue with her talk. David wasn't her son and it wasn't her place to inject some realism into the way that David thought. Obviously the little man knew he was living in a dire situation, but it appeared that his mother and some others had been protecting him from the horrors of this new world. Maybe that was the right thing to do. Maybe Lisa shouldn't say anything and just stick with spelling and times tables.

"Right." Lisa clapped her hands together. "I think it's time for a break, don't you?"

The young man nodded and said, "I need a drink of water."

"Me too."

Lisa got off the bed and held out her hand. David took it and the pair of them headed for outside.

*

Gavin and Grace were talking about days of old, when mobile phones were working and when they had friends. The conversation came to a sad conclusion when Gavin talked about Hayley and other camp members.

He had a few things in common with Grace, as far as music was concerned, but the two of them had also recently lost a sister.

Gavin stood up and looked around. "I wonder if Dicko and Yoler are okay."

"I'm sure they'll be fine." Grace also got to her feet and brushed down her bottoms. "They've been out overnight before."

"I wonder where Donald went."

"I dunno," Grace spoke in a whisper, "but Helen has been acting weird since she came back."

Gavin could see Lisa and little David leaving the cabin and looked over at Lisa who was preparing the soup.

"I was gonna go for a walk," Gavin said to Grace. "Fancy it?"

Grace bit her bottom lip and looked over to the three by the fire.

Gavin laughed, "They'll be fine. I just want to get away for ten minutes. Be in different surroundings."

"Okay then," she sighed.

Gavin walked over to the three sitting individuals and told them that he and Grace were going for a walk. Lisa gave her daughter a suspicious look and Grace explained to her mum that they were both bored.

"Don't be long," Lisa warned.

"Don't worry," Grace said. "We're both carrying knives."

"Don't worry? I've already lost one daughter, I don't want to lose another."

"I'll look after her, Mrs Newton," Gavin said with a smile.

The two walked into the plantation and looked behind him. Gavin smiled as he clocked Lisa staring at him, but her face soon disappeared as the pair of them walked further into the woods.

"Your mum was acting weird," he told Grace.

"She's just worried." Grace tucked her greasy brown hair behind her ears. "I'm all she's got left."

Gavin nodded. He understood. He didn't know what it was like to be a parent, but could understand why Lisa Newton was so concerned.

"That ditch is further up," Gavin spoke up.

"Shall we go and see if there's anything in there?"

"If you like." Gavin then pointed at a tree and told Grace that there was a snare near that area.

Grace held back and decided to walk alongside Gavin Bertrand, and they were soon near the ditch that Gavin had fallen in earlier. Gavin told Grace to be careful as they went by it and he felt Grace's hand on his waist as they passed it.

"Where are we actually going?" Grace asked.

"Just for a wander," he replied. "It's good to get out, don't you think?"

"Let's not go out the woods, though, Gavin. I don't want to be on the main road."

"You're joking?" Gavin turned and put his arm around Grace. "That's exactly where we're going. You get a great breeze on the country roads."

"You get a great breeze at the pond."

"But we go to the pond every day," Gavin groaned. "A few more minutes and we'll be there."

Their feet trudged through the bracken and Grace could see that the trees were beginning to thin out. The road was near.

They stepped out into the open air and Gavin opened his arms, airing his clammy body.

"You're all sweaty under your arms." Grace giggled and pointed at the sweat patches. "Another trip to the pond for a wash for you, I think."

Gavin playfully grabbed Grace's arm and called her a cheeky cow. She slapped him on his shoulder and their eyes met. Their giggling had ceased, their smiles were gone, and both leaned in and kissed. Before things could go further, if it was ever going to, a noise coming from the woods at the opposite side of the road could be heard. The two broke away and gazed in the direction of where the noise was coming from.

Gavin pulled out his knife, but Grace urged the man to go back into the woods and to the camp. He wasn't listening.

"Gavin." Grace tugged on his shirt. "Come on. Let's go."

Gavin lowered the knife and decided that Grace was right. The safer option was to go back, rather than stand and face what was about to exit the trees.

The two turned and headed back to the camp, but a voice, a familiar voice, had stopped them in their tracks.

"Wait up!" the voice yelled.

Grace and Gavin gasped and looked at one another.

"It's Donald," Grace spoke aloud.

Donald Brownstone could be seen in the distance, twenty feet way, and they waited for him to reach the road.

"Alright, guys?" Donald stepped onto the tarmac and raised his hand.

"Where have you been?" Gavin asked the man.

"Never mind that," Donald said. "Let's get to the camp. I'm bloody parched. My mouth is drier than a nun's gash, you dig what I'm sayin'?"
Chapter Thirty-One

"Shouldn't be long now," said Dicko.

He slowed the vehicle down and came to a crossroad. He went straight across and looked to his side. His passenger hadn't spoken for minutes and the driver asked if she was okay.

She nodded and revealed a smile, but it was a sad smile.

"What's wrong, Yoler?"

"Nothing, Dicky Boy," she groaned. "I was just thinking."

"Careful," Dicko chuckled. He looked at his passenger again and could see she wasn't in the mood for jokes.

The driver dropped the vehicle down to third as they reached a tight bend, and speeded up as the road straightened.

"I was thinking about Imelda," Yoler finally spoke. "And Simes, of course."

"It's shit." Dicko nodded. "But losing people is a part of this world now. I suppose it always has been, but even more so now."

"I know that." Yoler huffed, feeling a little patronised. "I stayed with an old woman briefly. I was out on foot and came across a place. The old woman was there. Her husband had been attacked in the first days. It was just her and her dead husband. He was wandering about in the back garden, while she was in the house."

"That's not a story I'm familiar with," Dicko said, checking his side mirror. "When was this?"

"A few months in." Yoler shrugged her shoulders. She wasn't entirely sure. "I stayed with her for a few weeks. Went out now and again and brought food back to her. Her name was Eileen. She was a lovely old woman."

"What happened?"

"Well..." Yoler released a depressed breath out and added, "I persuaded her to remove her husband. I didn't think it was healthy that he was meandering around the garden, but she told me that before I turned up, she used to speak to him through the glass."

"I suppose that's quite sad."

"It was heartbreaking."

"So ... did she agree to your suggestion?"

"Reluctantly." Yoler nodded. "I took care of him, and the pair of us buried him. It was quite an emotional moment, and Eileen was inconsolable. Even at that age, the two of them loved one another."

"What made you eventually leave?" Dicko turned into the country road, with the woods now to either side of them, and it was apparent that they were going to be parking up very soon.

"A few days after we had buried the man, I realised we needed more food." Yoler paused and cleared her throat. "Anyway, I went out on a run, and when I came back I couldn't find Eileen anywhere."

"Where was she?"

"I went upstairs and found her in her bed. She had taken an overdose. She had written me a letter, apologising for what she did, but she just couldn't live without her husband."

" _That's a shame."_

"It was the saddest experience of my life, until what happened to Imelda. And then there was the letter she had written for Simon."

" _Stay strong_." Dicko nodded. "I remember it."

He slowed the van down and pulled into a picnic area. He brought the vehicle to a stop and pulled up the handbrake.

"So this is the plan," Dicko began. "We fill the bags full of tins, go back to the camp, and get the others to help out."

"What about the van?"

"The van's hidden from the main road. It can only be spotted if someone walks into the picnic area."

"If you say so."

*

Over a period of an hour, everyone, even young David, had helped to transport the food and drink from the back of the van. Donald and Dicko were the last to visit the van. There was still food in there, but the evening was drawing in, making the journey through the woods to the cabin more dangerous, and both had decided to call it a day. The two exhausted men had returned to the van for the last time with an empty rucksack over their shoulder, and filled them. Dicko took a look in the van and could see that there was still a decent amount of supplies left.

"We'll get the rest tomorrow," Dicko said to Donald.

Donald laughed and patted Dicko on the back. "Well done. This is too good to be true, you dig what I'm sayin'? I still can't believe it."

"Not too sure it'll get us through the winter," said Dicko, locking up the van and putting the keys into his pocket. "But it's a great start."

The two men walked into the woods, with their heavy bags over their shoulders, and their tired feet dragged through the bracken.

Donald groaned, "When I get back, I'm gonna sleep for two days."

"That tired, eh?"

Donald nodded.

"What's up with Helen?" Dicko asked out of the blue, taking Donald by surprise. "You two were funny with each other when walking to the camp and back. You hardly spoke, if at all."

"We had a falling out," Donald said with no hesitation. "I was an idiot." He could feel Dicko looking at him, waiting for more information, and Donald didn't feel annoyed. Donald looked at Dicko and smiled. "I'll tell you about it in the morning, after I've apologised to Helen."

Dicko's eyebrows lowered and he stopped walking, holding up his hand.

"What is it?" Donald asked him.

"I thought I heard a noise." Dicko turned around and looked behind him. "I feel like I'm being watched."

"Come on," Donald guffawed. "Let's go back. My stomach thinks my throat's been cut."

"What?" Dicko looked at his companion, hoping he would elaborate on a saying he was unfamiliar with.

Donald moaned, "I'm starving."
Chapter Thirty-Two

Next Day

The morning passed by nonchalantly and most people spent the hours getting the fire prepared, all salivating at the idea of opening the tins that had been discovered by Dicko and Yoler. All had missed breakfast, apart from young David, and Helen, her son, and Gavin had taken a trip to the pond for a quick wash and to collect a bucket of water.

After lunch, some had decided to retreat to the cabin. Donald, Dicko and Yoler still sat around the smouldering fire, Gavin and Grace had gone for a walk in the woods, and Helen, David and Lisa were in the cabin.

"I didn't want to mention this in front of David," Dicko began, his eyes looking at Yoler and Donald.

"But...?" Donald was annoyed by Dicko's pause and tried to hurry him along.

"But..." he sighed, "we saw one of those meat wagons on our travels."

Yoler decided to speak up. "The people got out and searched the street we were in. We killed them."

Donald's eyes widened and took a long slow breath out. "They were definitely cannibals? Not just survivors?"

"Definitely." Dicko produced a solitary and confident nod. "They tried to take someone from the street, and the back of the van was covered in ...well, you could imagine."

"The smell was pretty horrendous," Yoler chipped in.

Donald ran his hands over his face and queried, "And this was during the day?"

"Yes," said Dicko. "So next time you're on the road and you hear as much as a rumble of an engine..."

"I hide anyway," Donald interjected. "Being charitable these days can get you killed."

"The trouble is," Yoler began, "is that we don't know whether that was the only van of theirs. It could be just the one, or there could be a fleet of them and an army of people."

"They'll be gangs of survivors everywhere," Donald sighed. "Look at us. And then there was an incident that I witnessed yesterday when I was out."

"What incident?" asked Dicko.

"I heard engines, so I hid. Seconds later a biker gang went by. A few of them, you dig what I'm sayin'?"

"How can people still find petrol for vehicles after a year?"

"Dunno." Donald laughed and ran the tip of his tongue along the front of his teeth. They desperately needed brushed. "But I'm convinced in a year or so we'll all have to resort to horseback and bicycles."

Dicko leaned to the side and picked up a bottle of water that had been sitting there since last night. He took a swig from the bottle and winced as the liquid went down his throat. It didn't taste the best, but he had had worse.

"Look ... guys," Donald began. "I..."

Donald had paused but Yoler and Dicko waited for what he was going to say. They knew he had something on his mind and waited patiently for him to speak.

Donald gulped, lowered his head and puffed out an anxious breath before saying, "I kind of came onto Helen the other day."

Yoler and Dicko looked at one another.

"You ... _kind of_?" Yoler widened her eyes and elevated her eyebrows, waiting for a response.

"I don't know what came over me, I..."

"Were you aggressive?" Yoler asked. "I noticed that there was a bit of an atmosphere between you and her this morning."

"Maybe I came onto her too strong." Donald admitted and puffed out a depressed sigh and shook his head, still annoyed with himself. "It just got out of hand."

"Thinking with your dick," Yoler jumped in. "Typical man."

"I wasn't thinking with my dick. It's more than that."

"Is it?"

"I think I lover her."

"You don't lover her, Donnie Boy. You're just desperate to put your ding-a-ling inside her fairy cave."

Donald scowled at Yoler and shook his head. He couldn't be bothered to argue with the woman. Sometimes Donald would think that he and Yoler were quite similar. Both of them could start an argument in an empty room.

The door to the cabin opened and out stepped Helen Willis. She gave a smile to Dicko and Yoler, who returned the silent greeting, and walked towards the woods to their left.

"Where are you escaping to?" Yoler tried to joke.

"I need to get out of that cabin and out of this camp," Helen huffed.

"You want company?"

"No, thanks."

Helen walked through the cluster of trees, heading to the pond, and Donald turned and looked at Yoler, gesturing with his head to accompany her.

"You heard the woman," Yoler said. "She doesn't want any company."

"But what she's doing is dangerous."

"Sleeping in the cabin is dangerous, but we still do it."

Dicko stood up before an argument between Yoler and Donald took place, and brushed down his black jeans and checked his leather holster to make sure his six-inch blade with the D knuckle skullcrusher was still there. "I'll tell you what," he spoke up. "I'll go and check on her."

"Forget it." Donald now got to his feet. "I'll go. I need to apologise to her anyway."

Yoler shook her head and also stood up. "Not sure that's a good idea, Donnie Boy."

Donald walked away from the defunct campfire and his two camp mates, and walked with brisk strides, heading in the same direction as Helen.

Dicko took a step forwards, but Yoler told him to leave it.

*

Donald Brownstone exited the group of trees and was standing near the pond. Helen was at the other end, standing with her shoulders hunched. The field was behind her and the hill where the burnt out farmhouse sat. He stood still and looked at the farmhouse, revealing a thin but sad smile. He was never his biggest fan, but he thought about Simon Washington and his daughter, and then his mind wandered and he thought about his own son. He took a gulp and headed over to Helen. He had some humble pie to eat.

Helen looked up as he approached, and on her face it was clear that she didn't want to speak to him. He continued to approach her and she turned to walk away.

"Helen!" Donald called out. "Speak to me!"

She began to walk over the field and Donald began to jog over to her. He grabbed her arm and said, "Where the hell are you going?"

Helen turned and slapped the man across his face.

Donald, stunned, took a step back and was finding it hard to process what had just happened.

"Just..." Helen bit her bottom lip and paused before saying, "Just leave me alone."

"I wanted to say I'm sorry."

Helen was fighting back the tears and took in a long breath. She nodded gently and said, "Say what you have to say."

"What happened yesterday..." Donald gulped and struggled for words to finish off his sentence. "That wasn't me. I don't know what happened. We've known each other for a while now. You know I've never behaved like that before."

"You scared me yesterday." Helen wiped her eyes and her face quivered with emotion. "I don't think I can trust you again."

"Look, I'm really sorry. If there's anything I can do..."

Helen Willis put her hands on her hips and said, "Yes, actually, there is."

"What? I'll do anything."

"I'm going to go back to the camp. And I don't want to see your face for a while. And when you do come back, I want you to leave me the fuck alone."

It was a rare thing for Helen to swear and Donald was too shocked to react to Helen's scolding. Instead, he watched in silence as she stormed away from him, entering the trees, and making the short walk back to the camp. Donald tucked his lips in and rubbed the side of his face, still feeling the stinging sensation on his cheek.

He felt like striking out, but instead he made a fist with his right hand and punched the palm of his left. "Idiot."

He exhaled sharply and decided, despite Helen stating that she didn't want to see him anyway, to go for a walk. He needed to walk the stress off. He felt his pocket, to check that a knife was present, and began to walk across the field, through the long grass. He didn't want to go too far. The further he went, the more dangerous it would be for him. Donald decided to go to the farmhouse, have a look around the place, and then make a slow walk back to the camp.

Donald reached the hill and could feel the smarting in his thighs as he made the steep climb, his knees sometimes cracking as he made the slow arduous climb.

Once he got the top of the hill, he turned his back on the ruined farmhouse and sat his backside down and had to rest. He brought his knees up to his chest and dropped his head, resting it on his knees and trying to get his breath back.

Donald Brownstone quickly moved to tears as his mind cast back to years ago, when life was normal, when his son was still alive. He cleared his throat, wiped his eyes, and got to his feet. He turned to his left and saw the two graves of father and daughter, Simon and Imelda Washington. He went over to the two graves and stared at them with sadness. A minute later, he turned and headed for the back door of the house and wondered whether he should walk in.

He placed his hand on the door handle, but changed his mind and released his hand off the doorknob.

He walked around to the side of the house, where the damaged Mazda sat, and reached the front of the place. He walked out onto the main road and could see it was clear both ways.

He was so annoyed with himself and began to pace the road, going back and forth, muttering expletives. This occurred for minutes and once he looked up, he saw something that he didn't notice before. He stopped moving and could see a van in the distance. It was large, white, and before he could take a step forwards to investigate, he felt a blow to the back of his head.
Chapter Thirty-Three

Gavin and Grace strolled through the woods, talking about old times. Gavin told Grace that he missed watching football, whereas Grace said that she would give her left arm to spend a day listening to music on her iPhone. He turned and smiled at Grace. She noticed this and asked what was wrong.

"Nothing is wrong." He shook his head. "I just..."

"What?"

"I like you." Gavin could feel himself quiver with fright after saying those three words. "I mean ... I _really_ like you."

"Me too." Grace smiled and held out her hand. Gavin took it and their hands clasped together.

"Probably the last thing we should be thinking about or getting ourselves into," said Gavin. "We've both recently lost our sisters, we live in an apocalyptic world and could die any day. Shouldn't really be getting close to anyone really."

"The world may have changed," Grace began, "and people may have changed, but we still have feelings. You said that we live in an apocalyptic world and die any day, but that was still the case years ago. People could die any day back then. I had a friend at school who died in her sleep from heart failure. She was fourteen."

Gavin stopped walking and Grace did the same. They both looked at one another and went in for the kiss. A minute later, they pulled their faces away from one another and both beamed.

"We better go back," Grace said. "Before we do something stupid."

"I could live with that." Gavin leaned in for another kiss on her lips.

"I'm sure you could," Grace giggled. "But I don't think getting pregnant is a great idea in this world we're living in at the moment. I _certainly_ don't want to get pregnant, and my mum isn't quite ready to be a grandmother."

"We could do other things." Gavin quickly elevated his eyebrows and his smile grew wider.

Grace opened her mouth to say something, but a noise to their right alerted the pair of them. Both stared at where the noise was coming from, but neither spoke or moved. Gavin took Grace's hand and they slowly made their way, with gentle strides, back to the camp.

"Careful," Gavin warned softly. "Try not to stand on any twigs or make any other kind of noise."

"What do you think it is?" Grace asked in a whisper.

Gavin shook his head. "Dunno. Could be an animal, a Canavar... anything. I'd rather not find out."

"But it might come to the camp, whatever it is."

"I know. Need to tell the others." Gavin cleared his throat, still holding onto Grace's hand and moving through the bracken. "Let's hope that whatever it is ends up falling in that ditch."

Both gasped when more noises could be heard and a fox darted to their side. Grace gasped and then released a laugh.

"Fuck's sake." Gavin smiled and shook his head. "What a pair of idiots."

"Come on." Grace urged Gavin. "Let's go back anyway."

"Okay," Gavin sighed.

*

Yoler sat on the steps of the cabin and watched as Lisa Newton and Dicko were sitting down with young David, telling him watered down stories about their journey over their last year. David had asked the question and both adults were taking their turn on telling him. Not only was David learning about where they came from, but Lisa was learning about Dicko's background and vice versa. Occasionally the two adults would look up and smile at each other, making Yoler a little jealous. Lisa wasn't as good looking as Yoler, but she was still attractive and was of similar age to Dicko, and both had lost children, so they had a lot in common.

A noise could be heard to the left and Yoler took a peek and saw Helen coming through the trees, but there was no Donald.

Helen walked over to her son and kissed him on the top of his head, then made her way over to the cabin. Yoler shuffled over, giving Helen room to sit next to her, and the two gazed over at David and the two adults, still talking.

"No Donald?" Yoler asked Helen.

"He's gone for a walk." Helen sniffed and lifted her head.

"He said he was going to apologise."

"And he did, but I just can't look at him anymore. He gives me the creeps."

"Look," Yoler released a sigh. "You know me and Donnie Boy have hardly been bosom buddies, but he did really look cut up earlier on."

Helen never said a word.

Yoler continued, "You two not getting on is not good for the camp."

"I know."

"Maybe in time you guys can be friends again, in a couple of weeks or so."

"I doubt it."
Chapter Thirty-Four

Donald staggered forwards once he received the blow, but it wasn't enough to knock him out. He was dizzy, his head was smarting, but he was still conscious. He turned around to see a man of average height, no older than thirty, standing with a baseball bat in his hand, now looking very nervous.

Another man from a distance began to jog his way up and another individual, this time a female, appeared from the front of the van with a hammer in her right hand.

"So you're the cannibals people have been talking about," Donald snorted. There was no response from either of them. All simply remained silent as they hesitantly made slow steps towards Brownstone. He was almost surrounded.

Donald rubbed his head, winced, and casually put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a steak knife. The three continued to advance, but there was concern on the face on the man with the bat now that Donald had produced a blade.

Without warning, the man from behind him, who also had a knife, ran at Donald. Donald turned and swiped his blade, catching the man in the face. The man fell to the floor, screaming and clutching his face. His left cheek had been slashed open. The baseball bat wielding man brought the bat back and ran at Donald, screaming at the top of his voice. Donald jumped out of the way when the bat came crashing down and swiped at the man's face, but missed by inches. The female stood motionless and Donald could see that she was the driver of the vehicle as she had the keys in her left hand.

The bat swiped again at Donald, missing him by half a foot, and the third strike from the man produced cataclysmic results for himself. Donald stepped forwards and rammed his blade into the throat of his attacker. With the knife still embedded, the man staggered backwards and collapsed to the floor. Donald looked up coldly at the woman and began to advance as her two male colleagues were lying on the road, bleeding over the tarmac. One was injured; the other was dying and had seconds left to live.

She released a caterwaul and swung the hammer at the man, catching him on the shoulder. Donald brought the back of his left hand back and caught the woman in the face. She hit him again, this time in his side, taking the wind out of his lungs. Donald staggered back as his female assailant continued to lash out and took another blow to the side of his face. The world span and Donald's legs went to jelly as he stumbled to the floor. He put his hands in front of him as he fell and his vision was similar to a drunk. He looked up and could see the woman slowly approaching.

She had a hard face, tied back ginger hair, and her teeth had been neglected, like most folk. Donald winced and shut his eyes tight, then opened them again, trying to regain some kind of focus. She stood next to him and he swung his right leg, making the woman shriek and taking her legs away from her. She hit the ground and dropped the hammer, and Donald struggled to get to his feet. He stood up, like a man on a boat in turbulent waters, and could hardly focus because of the blows he had taken.

He swung his boot at the woman as she tried to get to her feet, and caught her in the stomach. She coughed and fell flat on the floor. Donald bent over and picked up the hammer from the ground, almost falling over with the dizziness, and brought it down, hitting the woman in the middle of her spine.

She lay motionless and Donald Brownstone walked his large frame over to the moaning man that was ten yards away, still bleeding over the road because of his facial wound. The man was moving from side to side, but he wasn't moving anywhere. He hadn't gained a yard since he hit the floor. Donald knelt down next to the man and could see the fear in his face. He begged for his life, but Donald shushed him like a baby.

"I'm going to ask you a few questions," Donald began. "If you don't answer them or if I think you're lying... Well, you know what's gonna happen, you dig what I'm sayin'?"

The man nodded, his hand on the wound to his cheek, and said in defeat, "You're gonna kill me anyway. Doesn't matter what I say."

Donald shook his head. "I promise that you'll be spared if you answer a couple of simple questions."

The bleeding man looked at Brownstone and believed what he was saying. "Okay." He nodded. "Ask me anything."

"How many of you are there?" Donald asked with a snarl, clutching the knife with his right hand.

"There used to be eight of us."

"And you ... ate people?"

The man nodded and gulped. "We've only been doing this for a few months. We're starving. We need to eat."

"By grabbing people off the road and taking them back to your place, wherever that may be, and carve them up?"

"It's not something we enjoy. It's a must." The man was unrecognisable as eighty percent of his face was covered in his own blood.

"You said there were eight of you," said Donald, his eyes never leaving the man's face. "What happened?"

"Two of our guys were killed a week or so ago. We tried to snatch this bald guy, but we underestimated him. He killed two of our guys with his own hands. I had to drive away and managed to escape, but this guy ran after the van. He didn't give up so easy."

Donald smiled and guessed that the guy that the wounded man was talking about could well be Hando.

"Three others went out with the other van yesterday," the wounded man spoke up. "We haven't seen them since."

"I think I know what happened to them." Donald produced a smile, but his eyes squinted when a sharp pain ran across his head. He was convinced he had concussion. "A couple of friends of mine went out on a run and told me they had killed three people. They had a van and they had snatched a woman that was in the back."

The wounded man's face developed into an angry one. "My wife was in that van."

"No sympathy." Donald stood up straight. "You choose to eat people, then you don't deserve to live."

The wounded man glared at Donald and would have attacked the man if he wasn't so seriously injured.

Donald said, "So you guys are the last. I thought the people in the meat wagons would have been scarier than this. I thought you'd have a fleet of vans, a base in the middle of nowhere, with an army of people."

"The more people, the more mouths to feed."

"True." Donald nodded. He looked over to the woman who had attacked him with the hammer and walked over to her. She was beginning to moan and move. The wounded man watched helplessly as Donald rained two blows to the back of her head, killing her. Donald put the hammer into his belt and went over to the first person he had killed and pulled the steak knife out of his throat. He wiped the blade on the dead man's clothes and walked back over to the wounded man.

"I'm a man of my word," Donald said, and staggered to the side of the road and sat down. "You're free to go."

The wounded man seemed to take an age to get to his feet.

Still holding his face, he peered over to a sitting Donald Brownstone, and then bent over to pick up the keys that the woman had dropped when Donald put her down. He then shuffled his damaged body to the van and took a few minutes before the engine was started.

Donald gazed at the vehicle as it slowly moved away. He then looked at the two dead bodies and then dropped his head in his hands. His head was banging and decided that it was going to be a while before he was going to move.
Chapter Thirty-Five

Hando and young Benny crept through the woods and had spent their time collecting wood for a fire outside. They had scavenged earlier and had managed to find two tins of lentil soup. The tins were out of date but it wasn't going to stop Hando and the youngster from having the soup once it was warm enough. Benny was carrying the wood and Hando searched the ground for mushrooms or berries. He could see that they were approaching the edge of the woods, as the trees were beginning to thin out. Hando was leading the way and could see a person on the road. He held his hand up, stopping Benny from walking. He turned and told Benny to drop the wood and crouch next to him. Benny thought it was an odd request, but did what he was told. Once he crouched next to Hando, he asked what was the matter.

"See that man walking along the road?" Hando pointed.

Benny could see the man. He had his back to them, walking along the road unsteadily, and could see he was a big fellow.

"Is that the same guy we saw the other day?" Benny asked.

Hando nodded.

"Is he dangerous?"

"Kind of." Hando bit his bottom lip and was angered just at the sight of the man. "He and some others killed a friend of mine." Hando decided not to tell Benny the whole truth and that he killed Wazza for disobeying him, and had also killed a man in cold blood, which turned out to be Simon Washington, then burned the farmhouse down as the people inside slept.

The truth was that Hando's pride had been severely damaged. The man that was walking away had the nerve to square up to him, and the people from the farmhouse with supplies had refused to take him and his pals in.

"Where's he going?" Benny asked. "Do you think he's going back to his camp?"

Hando smiled and turned to Benny. "I think that's exactly where he's going. Come on. Let's follow him."

*

Still dazed, Donald walked with weary steps. He had planned on spending the day away from Helen, but then again, he never thought he was going to be attacked. The forty-three-year-old passed the decrepit farmhouse and moved along the country road, the wind occasionally caressing his face. He decided to be on the road for no more than half an hour and then head back to the camp. He rubbed his face and used his fingers to massage his temples. It was a lie down that he needed. His lonely walk had no incidents, although he had turned around on a few occasions, thinking there was someone or something behind him.

His mind wandered during his walk and, for whatever reason, his mind replayed what had occurred many years ago.

Donald and his pregnant partner were fast asleep on a Sunday night and a noise was heard downstairs. Donald turned and could see his partner was dead to the world and decided not to wake her. He crept out of bed, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, and grabbed his dressing gown that was hanging on the door. He wrapped the gown around him as he walked along the dusky landing, and walked downstairs with hesitancy.

He heard another noise that stopped his progression to the ground floor, and was unsure if the noise was coming from inside or outside. He didn't want to call out. If there was somebody in his house, he wanted to catch the bastard.

He moved again and reached the ground floor, and came face to face with the intruder. The red mist had come down on Donald Brownstone. He worked for a living and this piece of shit had broken into his house to take what Donald had worked for.

A scuffle happened between the men and the lone burglar pulled out a knife. Donald managed to prise the knife out of the man's hand and the burglar escaped and ran out onto the street. What he didn't predict was that Donald, now holding the knife, pursued the man down the dark streets. Fortunately for the burglar, he had managed to outrun the angry Brownstone.

Donald shook his head and brought his mind back to an unwanted reality. He turned left, down a road, and knew the area reasonably well. Once at the bottom the road, he turned left again, and began walking through a field. Another half an hour and he'd be at the pond, not far away from the camp.

His eyes had clocked something to his left. It was something rare these days. He could see a Canavar, lying on the grass from afar. He approached the dead being, careful where he was stepping in case any other surprises popped up, and pulled out his knife from his pocket. Donald stopped walking once he was near, and slowly crouched down to look at the thing. He was only a couple of yards away and could see that this was probably the most rotten Canavar he had seen. It was almost a skeleton, but was decorated with flesh and non-working organs that could be seen.

Donald continued to look as the creature had now spotted him, trying to reach out and grab him. Even now, in the state it was in, it still wanted to devour flesh. Donald rammed his blade into its skull, stopping its movement, and stood up straight.

Donald looked around, still with a heavy feeling that he was being watched, and walked on. Another twenty minutes or so and he'd be back at the camp.
Chapter Thirty-Six

Yoler and Dicko had decided to do what Gavin and Grace did an hour ago. They went for a walk in the woods. There was no plan for any kind of supply run until tomorrow. The tins had made them comfortable for a few days, although not complacent, and they told Helen, Lisa, Grace and Gavin that they'd be an hour at the most. Gavin gave off a smirk before the two left and, noticing this, Yoler told Gavin bluntly that they weren't sneaking off for sex, making the man blush.

Yoler and Dicko both carried their blades, not taking anything for granted, and both smiled at one another. It was good to be out. The camp provided a good place to sleep and dwell, but monotony came with it, and every now and again people needed to get away from the place during the day.

"That ditch is up here somewhere." Dicko pointed up ahead. "The one that Gavin fell in."

Yoler nodded and said, "We should block it off. Or fill it in."

"You think?"

"Absolutely, Dicky Boy. Remember a few weeks ago when the cabin was surrounded and Donnie sneaked out the side, leading them away and into the darkness?"

"Of course."

"Well, what if he fell down that ditch that night? He would have been fucked. Something like that could happen again."

"I think we should keep it." Dicko cleared his throat and explained his reason. "We should cover the hole up, turn it into a trap, but make some markings to let us know what it is. If a deer falls through the hole ... _that_ could feed us."

"You might be onto something there, Dicky Boy," Yoler laughed. "You're not as stupid as you look."

Dicko smiled and never bit at Yoler's cheeky remark.

They reached the ditch and spent minutes picking up loose branches to put across. Bracken was pulled from the ground, some came out by their roots, and were scattered over the branches. There weren't too many branches, as the design was for something to fall through it, but enough to hide the ditch. From a human perspective it was obvious what it was, as the square covering of bracken stuck out on the ground like a sore thumb, but they were confident it would fool an animal of some kind.

"Probably won't need to make a mark to tell people what it is," Dicko said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his lower arm. "It's obvious from here what it is."

"Now what?" Yoler looked at her male companion.

"Now we all go to the main road, into the open air. I'm sweating like a fat person in a cake shop."

"Lovely," Yoler giggled. "You have such a way with words."

"That's rich, coming from you." Dicko laughed and turned to his companion. "You told me the other day that you'd rather be pumped by a Canavar than Donald."

"You're still upset by that Ewok comment, aren't you?"

"You said a couple of days ago being with me is like being boned by an Ewok, so yes, I am a little."

"It wasn't meant to be an insult."

"I don't get it." Dicko shook his head. "I haven't shaved in months, my back's hairy and I haven't waxed my chest since the first days, so what do you expect? And as for Ewok... Why a small and hairy thing? Why didn't you say it was like being boned by Chewbacca or a Yeti?"

Yoler began to giggle, seeing Dicko so flustered, and placed her hand on his shoulder. "Don't be so sensitive," she said. "Let's get some air and then go back."

Dicko sighed and trudged towards the main road with a smiling Yoler by his side.

The two had reached the edge of the woods and stepped out onto the road. Dicko smiled immediately once a breeze closed over him, soothing and cooling his face. He stopped moving, lifted his head, and closed his eyes as the wind went by him.

"I hate to spoil your fun," Yoler spoke with a whisper.

"But?" Dicko opened his eyes and turned to look at her.

"Look for yourself." She pointed to her left, down the road.

Dicko's eyes stared and couldn't make out what he was seeing. It looked like a dead animal of some kind, but it was nearly thirty yards away and the two of them wordlessly made their way over. Yoler placed her hand over her mouth as her eyes clocked the half-eaten fawn. Its insides had been pulled away, a gaping bloody hole in its stomach was present, and it black eyes were like doll's eyes.

It was dead, but it hadn't been dead for long.

"What a way to go," Yoler murmured.

"I know." Dicko sighed. "How on earth can these slow fuckers catch a fawn?"

Yoler had no answer for him. It was obviously the work of the Canavars. Humans would have killed the animal and carried it away to be stripped and cooked. Most of the edible part of the animal, organs and meat, wasn't there anymore.

"Just proves that they're still around," Yoler said. "Not far from our own camp."

Dicko nodded. "I think that's always been the case."

"I remember for a few months hardly seeing any. In fact, Simon was so sure their numbers had dwindled that he told Imelda they were all gone."

"They're still around." Dicko looked away from the carcass and looked into the woods, to his right. "I think there's been an influx of these things recently because they go where the food is, like any other animal. Maybe these Canavars are from the city and towns, and there's just nothing left for them anymore. So they're beginning to ... migrate."

Yoler never responded to Dicko's little speech.

Dicko stepped away from the dead fawn and took steps towards the woods that were on the opposite side of the road where they had come from. He could see the backs of seven Canavars, all spread out, shambling away from him. They must have been the ones that had killed the animal, he thought. Seven Canavars!

This was information he needed to tell the others, apart from young David, of course. The security of the camp would have to be improved.

"Come and take a look at this," he said to Yoler.

She stood by his side and could see the seven dead creatures.

"I was thinking about using some of that blue rope we have in the cabin," he said, "We could then put up more tins to alert us, but further away."

"I suppose that would work."

"At least it will give us more time to retreat back to the cabin or away and to the pond."

"I think it'd come in handy for the night times," Yoler began. "But during the day, we can hear one of those clumsy cocksuckers coming from a mile off. And not only that, you can see them through the trees."

Dicko laughed at Yoler's little rant and she asked him what he was laughing at.

"I was laughing at the fact you called them cocksuckers," Dicko tried to explain to his confused companion. "You reminded me of someone I once knew when you said that."

"What about a guard on a night?" she queried, ignoring his remark that she reminded him of someone from the past.

Dicko shook his head. "No point. And too dangerous. The person doing guard duty would be dangerously exposed. What if the person on guard is attacked? It's pitch black—"

"Alright, alright." Yoler held her hands up. "You don't have to go off on one."

Dicko sat down on the grassy bank, at the side of the road, and Yoler did the same.

"Anything wrong?" she asked him.

He shrugged his shoulders and blew out an anxious breath. "Just thinking about the past."

"I know." Yoler smiled and put her arm around the man in his forties. "It comes in waves, doesn't it?"

"Sometimes I forget what they look like?"

"Who? Your family?"

He nodded and dropped his head a few inches. "During the day, when we're awake, I forget what they look like. When I dream about Kyle and Bell, I can see their faces. But when Julie is in the dream, I can't. I know it's her, but she's always faceless."

Yoler had no response for her friend and occasional lover, so she remained quiet and allowed him to speak more, if that's what he wanted. He never spoke for a minute, until he stood up and announced he was going back to the camp.

Fifteen minutes later, they had both returned. Donald was back.
Chapter Thirty-Seven

Hando and Benny had arrived at the pond. It was where Donald went before he took a right into the woodland. The two males crept around the pond and Benny couldn't help himself and began to wash his face with the ice cold water.

"Come on," Hando snarled at the youngster, eager to get into the woods.

"You should try it." Benny smiled and splashed his face once more. "It's amazing."

Hando angrily gestured to Benny to hurry up and the young man jogged over to Hando's side, not wanting to test his patience any further.

"Now where?" Benny asked.

"In there, brother." Hando pointed into the woods. "But as soon as we see as much as a tent, cabin or individual, we stop walking, keep down and stay still."

"And after that?"

Hando hunched his shoulders. "I don't know yet."

The two men were motionless for many minutes. Then Hando began to move without saying a word to Benny. Both men could feel their knives pricking their thighs as they crept through the plantation with hunched backs. Immediately they could see a cabin and people outside of it. Hando shushed Benny and whispered to him that they would have to walk around so they wouldn't be seen. At the moment they were too close, and if they stayed where they were, it'd only be a matter of time before they would be spotted.

Once they had reached a suitable location, both men got to their knees and could see the cabin.

"There's the guy that we followed," Benny spoke with a whisper, pointing at the burly Donald Brownstone. There were three females sitting around a freshly lit fire and a male adding more wood to it. Then Dicko and Yoler appeared out of the cabin, raising a devilish smile from Hando. Yoler was holding the hand of a minor and this sent a rattle down Benny's vertebrae.

"So what's the plan?" Benny asked a question he didn't really want to ask, but he needed to know what was going through Hando's head. Hando never answered straightaway and watched as Gavin went into the cabin. He then exited the wooden place with four tins, two in each hand.

"There, brother." Hando pointed at Gavin. "These people have food and, I'm guessing, plenty of it."

"If they have so much food, where did they get it from and how did they move it?"

Hando hunched his shoulders, unsure of the answer. He had a few theories, but not a specific answer for his young protégé.

"Maybe they put so many tins in bags and walked back with them," Hando tried to explain to young Benny. "Or maybe they have a vehicle somewhere and they've hidden it."

"Shall we look for it?"

"What's the point?" Hando shook his head. "To sabotage it?"

"You wanted revenge, right?" Benny scratched his head, unsure what was going to happen. "

"What's the point of sabotaging it? If they have the keys, we would have the vehicle, the food. Fuck, even the cabin itself once the whole thing dies down."

"I'm not with you, Hando."

"We wait till the evening draws in." Hando put his hand in his back pocket and pulled out a lighter. "Just until it's enough for us to see."

"Shit, Hando. You can't burn the place down. There's a kid there."

"Relax, brother." Hando released a chuckle and could see the consternation on Benny's face. "We've seen the odd Canavar on our travel, haven't we?"

Benny nodded.

"So the plan is..." Hando paused and cleared his throat quietly. "We use the lighter to entice the dead."

"How?"

"We make a fire, hide, and once there's enough, we expose ourselves and they'll follow us. We'll walk to the camp, while they follow us, and bust that cabin door open. They'll pile in and a massacre should take place. If they fight back and a couple are left standing, we take them down. But one thing is for certain, I can't take them all down on my own."

Benny allowed Hando's plan to sink in and began to shiver with nerves. He was cool with killing the dead, even humans, if they deserved it, but there was a boy with the group. He couldn't be a part of that. He couldn't be responsible for the death of a minor. He had killed his neighbours, in desperation, for his own survival, but this was a minor as well as six other people.

And what for? A few tins from the cabin? The cabin itself? Both?

Hando obviously had some beef with one or two of the residents, but they had done no wrong to Benny

Benny kept his mouth shut and could see Hando looking up to the sky. The evening was drawing in.

He looked around the ground and picked up a small branch, four feet in length, and asked Benny for his shirt. Without querying Hando, Benny did as he was told. He took his thin jacket off, then his T-shirt, and passed it to Hando before putting his jacket back on and zipping it up.

Hando tightly wrapped the shirt around the branch and then pulled out some bracken and stuffed bits of the bracken into the wrapped cloth.

"We'll wait an hour or so," Hando said. "You get some rest, if you want. We'll wait till it gets darker before we make a move."

"And then what?"

"We'll go out of the woods and get this thing lit. The flame will entice the dead and they'll follow us as we walk back into the woods and into the camp."

"A bit risky." Benny's word's were soaked in doubt and Hando could pick up on the negativity of his younger compatriot.

"Even if we only attract three or four, brother," Hando continued, "it'll be enough to cause a bit of damage to their tiny community. They'll be weakened, and it'll make our job easier if we attack them and their numbers are fewer."

"Attack them? I'm not sure, Hando."

"You remind me of a guy I once knew," Hando said with a chuckle. "His name was Q. He was weak, like yourself, but I can teach you how to survive. I'm surprised you've lasted this long."

"I'm not weak." Benny was finding it hard to control his anger. "I told you about my neighbours, didn't I?"

"That was a bad thing that you did." Hando nodded the once after he finished the sentence. "However, you have to be consistently bad in order to survive long term. There is no karma, and there is no God to judge you. Be bad and you'll survive longer than most. Your conscience is your weakness."

"I can't do it, Hando."

"Brother, listen to me."

Benny was adamant. He snapped. "I _won't_ do it." Within seconds, Benny had gone from _can't_ to _won't_.

"Okay." Hando released a sigh. "Let's get out of these stifling woods and get some air. I think there may be a road up ahead."

Hando picked up the branch that had Benny's shirt wrapped around it, as well as bracken, and put the branch into the side of his belt.

The two men walked, bags still on their backs, and were out of the woods after a few minutes. Once upon a time the woods in the area were dense and stretched for miles with no interruptions, but that was thwarted when men knocked down a lot of trees to make roads. The woods still stretched for miles, but there were gaps where the roads were present.

Both men stepped out of the woods and onto the road. The carcass of an animal could be seen to their right, but they ignored it and tried to enjoy the cool wind that glided over them.

" _It's good to be alive," Hando sighed. "To feel the wind on your face is a blessing, yet people over a year ago took it for granted. You could experience more joys like this, brother, but you need to up your game."_

"I've told you." Benny was exasperated and huffed, "For the last time—"

"I know, I know." Hando held up his hand, gesturing to Benny to calm down. "When we first met and you told me you killed your neighbours to survive, I was impressed."

"This a step too far. Not with a kid there."

"I understand." Hando looked genuinely disappointed. He got closer to Benny and put his arm around the young man and added, "And you definitely won't change your mind?"

Benny shook his head.

"Fine."

Hando pulled out his knife from his right pocket and plunged the blade into Benny's chest, straight through the heart. Benny collapsed onto all fours and Hando flipped him over. Benny was now lying on his back. Hando reached and pulled out the blade, and then wiped the steel on Benny's clothes.

"Sorry, brother." Hando placed the knife back into his pocket, took the branch out of his belt, and took a seat on the grassy bank as Benny's corpse lay in the middle of the road. "I really am."
Chapter Thirty-Eight

Donald sat on the side of the bed where young David lay and smiled at the young man. The cabin was dark and he could just about see the boy. Helen had been in and tried to settle the boy, but he asked for Donald, a man that David had grown attached to over the months.

Donald went in after Helen made the announcement. It was the first time she had spoken to the man, but she did it only because she had to. Once Helen sat down with the rest of the group, all talking about stories from the past, Donald was inside and it was just him and David.

"How are you feeling, little man?" Donald asked the boy.

"Not bad." David took in a deep breath and released a heavy sigh for such a young boy. "I was just thinking..."

"What about?"

"About everything."

Donald could hear the emotion in the child's voice, but decided to keep quiet and allow David to speak further when he was ready.

"I was thinking about dad." The young fellow paused for a moment and then added, "I sometimes forget about him. I don't think about him everyday. Do you think about your son, Donald?"

The question took Donald by surprise and the burly man could feel his throat tighten. Donald gulped hard and replied, "Yeah. I think about my son every day, every hour of every day."

David lowered his head and wiped his eyes. "When mum was in here, I became a little upset."

"Did you, little man. Why?"

"I know you two aren't getting on. I can sense it."

"Oh." Donald lowered his head and patted David's legs. "To be fair to your mum, I'm not the easiest person to get on with."

"I know, Donald. I sometimes hear some of them out there talking about you, when you're not here, saying bad things about you."

Donald released a gentle laugh. "Is that right?"

"I was thinking about Imelda earlier and then the people that used to live here. Especially Hayley, Jamie and Gary."

"Well, hopefully something like that won't happen again. The trouble is, there's danger wherever you stay."

"What do you mean?" David began to sit up and leaned his back against the wall. "Are you talking about the Canavars and dangerous people?"

"I'm talking about locations." Donald cleared his throat and wiped his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "You see, it doesn't matter where you stay, there's always going to be hazards. If you stay in the country, there's less people and the dead, but also less places to go to for supplies. Kind of frustrating if you don't have the wheels. Thankfully, Yoler and Dicko brought back that van. If you live in the city, the amenities are better, but densely populated places means more of the dead and more desperate people. Being in the woods keeps us hidden, but it still has its dangers."

"Like when the Canavars came and we had to flee?"

"Exactly."

A silence enveloped the two and Donald stroked the boy's head.

"I hope you're feeling better," the boy moaned.

"Feeling better?" Donald stopped stroking the boy and narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"Yeah. That's how you got those bruises, right?"

Donald was unsure how David knew about his tussle with the three individuals, let alone the meat wagons, and opened his mouth to query the boy, but David began to explain before Donald could get the words out.

"I overheard Dicko and Yoler talking."

"What did you overhear?"

"I heard about the meat wagons, people who kill others for food."

"You overheard or you eavesdropped?"

David never answered, telling Donald that it was probably the latter.

"There were people out there that did those things," Donald began to explain to the minor. "But they're not around anymore."

"I know. You killed some and Yoler and Dicko killed some before."

"Oh. You know about that as well, eh?"

"Is that really how you got your bruises? You told me you'd fallen over."

"Yeah, well..." Donald didn't know how to respond to the boy and stayed silent for a bit before saying, "Get to sleep. I'm gonna join the rest outside."

Donald stood up and bent over to kiss the boy on his head. Once he did this, they both exchanged 'good nights' and Donald walked away, heading for the door.

"Donald?" The boy called out.

"Yes..." Donald nearly called David by his own son's name and had to bite his lip.

"I don't care what they say about you. I'll always like you."

"Thanks," Donald snickered.

He shut the door behind him and sat on the steps of the cabin once he was outside. He looked over to the group around the fire and clocked Dicko's face. Dicko used his head to beckon Donald over, but Donald smiled and shook his head. He was happy where he was.

He wanted to get Helen on her own. He wanted to apologise to her, but the last thing she wanted was to be alone with Donald Brownstone. She had her back to him and turned around. He smiled thinly at her, but her face remained hard and without emotion. She turned back around to converse with the rest of them and Donald continued to sit alone.

"Fuck it," he muttered under his breath.

He stood up and went back into the cabin. He was going to talk to young David for a while longer and then turn in for an early night. There was nothing else to do.

An hour later, everybody had turned in.

*

Hando has been whistling a tune on and off for the last twenty minutes, and could at last hear movement coming from the woods opposite where he was sitting. He stopped whistling and stood up. Taking his branch with him, he retreated to the woods behind him, crouched down behind a tree, and looked over the road to the woods on the other side. A Canavar staggered out from the trees and stumbled out onto the road. But it wasn't alone; two others were following behind.

Hando smiled on seeing this and decided to leave them be for now, hoping one or two more would appear for the feast. The first Canavar spotted the body of Benny, lying on the floor, and dropped to its knees once he was by the corpse and began to feast. The other two had now exited the woods and made their way over to Benny.

"Three." Hando grinned and released a light chuckle. "That should do. That should cause a bit of damage, and then I'll kill the rest myself." He patted his pocket where his knife was. "That's if there are any left."

Now all three were on their knees, pulling out Benny's insides and stuffing the bloody findings in their mouths. Two more emerged from the woods and copied the three before them. The first three that emerged from the woods were male, but these two were female. One had a torn and ripped yellow summer dress, but the other had lost her clothing and wore nothing but a dirty bra and pants.

Hando twisted his face when he clocked the discoloured body of the woman and got a waft from the rotten walking corpses. He would never get used to that smell.

He waited and waited, and could see that the sky was dimming, and if there were clouds in the atmosphere, it would have been darker. He had no idea of the time, but guessed it was probably around eight or nine

As the first Canavar stood up straight, looking like it was ready to leave, he pulled out his lighter and lit the branch that had the bracken and Benny's T-shirt tightly wrapped around it. It took a while before the head of the branch was on fire, and once Hando was confident the gentle wind that was present wouldn't blow out the flame, he stood up and began to wave the branch gently from side to side. One by one the flame was noticed, and almost a minute later all five Canavars were walking away from Benny's body and heading towards the flame, towards Hando.

"Come on, you smelly bastards. Follow your Uncle Hando."

He waved the branch and began to make small backward steps into the woods. Once the five ghouls were in, he turned and jogged his way through the trees and turned to see how close they were. They were ten yards behind him but were all trying to follow him. The five were making a sufficient amount of noise and he hoped that this wouldn't be heard by the people in the cabin. The security system had been removed by Hando earlier, by simply cutting the rope and allowing the tins to fall to the floor. It wasn't difficult.

He ran ahead and was near the spacious part of the woods where the cabin was based. It looked like every one had turned in. The five Canavars weren't far behind. Hando crept to the cabin and went up the steps. As soon as the five began to stagger their way to the cabin, Hando tried the door, but it was locked. He kicked the door in and grabbed the first Canavar and threw it inside and then did the same with the second.

He climbed to the roof of the place, two Canavars were inside the cabin and three were making their way up. Screams filled the place and a grinning Hando threw the branch away, jumped off the roof of the cabin, and began to make his way back into the woods. He hid in the darkness, behind one of the trees and watched the carnage unfold.
Chapter Thirty-Nine

Dicko's dreams were plagued from horrors of the past year. In his dream he was staying at Sandy Lane, a place where he had stayed for a month with people he had met after the apocalypse had broken out.

The dream wasn't fictional; it was a replay on an event that really happened some eight or nine months ago. At this point he had lost his daughter and wife, but still had his son. Dicko had a shotgun as the two of them had gone for a walk along the field in the large secure camp, and his son Kyle was bursting for the toilet. Dicko told him to go where they stood whilst no one was looking, but the little boy didn't want to.

Kyle ran over to the changing rooms, at the other side of the field, and Dicko went looking for him once he realised his son had been away too long. He bumped into a fellow resident called Karen, told her the predicament, and the pair of them entered the changing rooms. He knew the changing room door was stiff, so Kyle may have unwittingly locked himself in and couldn't get out.

His mind produced vivid images of him pushing the door of the changing room open as wide as it could get, spilling daylight into parts of the room. Karen, the woman that was with him, quickly turned away from the door and felt sick from the smell that hit them both. The foul stench tortured Paul Dickson's nose, but his concern for his seven-year-old son was more of a worry for him. _Poor thing's probably frightened to death being alone in the dark, unable to find the door to get out_. His face then twitched as he took in a deeper breath. _Jesus, it stinks in here_.

He called out his son's name, but received no answer. Paul and Karen both stepped inside. Paul, holding the shotgun loosely in his right hand, constantly called out Kyle's name, but there was no response. He wasn't by the urinals, and Karen began checking under the cubicles, but nothing was there. Paul and Karen both had their T-shirts over their noses as they walked into the shower area, and Karen peered her head round to look in. She suddenly released a scream.

Paul barged past Karen, and felt his knees buckle once his eyes clocked the macabre and surreal sight of one of the dead, sitting down on the shower floor and stuffing entrails from a body into its mouth. His knees began to buckle and his face drained. The thing was aware that other entities were in the room, but the 'meal' he was enjoying appeared to be too good to be dragged away from.

It hadn't sunk in just yet for Paul Dickson, but as soon as the sitting beast put its hands inside the torso of the little body once more, he dropped the shotgun and his whole body shuddered. Karen held him back and gently pushed him out of the shower area. He fought back, and re-entered the area to help his boy, despite him being _beyond_ help, and clocked the awful sight of little Kyle's body and his bloody face, his hazel eyes wide open.

Karen picked up the shotgun off the floor, went over, and front-kicked the creature off the body. She walked around and grabbed the snarling beast by its hand and pulled it across the floor with her left, whilst holding the shotgun with her right. It grabbed her ankle as it writhed on the floor, still chewing parts of Kyle, and she gave it a smack in the face with the butt of the gun, turned it around, and emptied a shell into its face.

Its face exploded; the contents were spread over the floor. The noise was deafening, both Paul and Karen's ears were ringing, and she dropped the gun to the floor next to the mushy brains that had been forced out of the creature's head. She took a quick peep of the remains of young Kyle Dickson, his belly had almost been emptied, and sobbed as she went back over to the shell-shocked father who was still standing at the end of the shower area, unsure what to do.

Paul walked backwards until his back was against the tiled wall of the changing room. Tears streamed down at a furious rate and his face wobbled. He slowly slid down, sobbing uncontrollably because he had lost his son. His strawberry blonde hair would never be sniffed again by his father. Paul would never get the chance to look into Kyle's hazel eyes, or wake up next to him anymore. And Paul's elbow would never be pinched and twisted again by his little man, the way Kyle used to whenever he was nervous.

After that, Dicko had lost his mind for a while. Sandy Lane was then attacked by the dead, and the surviving residents left to go to a place in Little Haywood, to a street called Colwyn Place, where another community had been set up.

*

A scream filled his ears, but this time it wasn't something from his dream. His eyes suddenly widened and remained lying on the floor, almost paralysed.

Another scream pierced the night, coming from a female, and Dicko quickly got to his feet and stood up in the darkness. More screams and scared voices filled the cabin, and the sound of Donald's tone was heard, telling everyone to back up into a corner.

A pair of hands grabbed Dicko by the throat and from the coldness of the hands, the snarling, and the stench, he knew straightaway it was a Canavar.

"Canavar!" he cried.

He grabbed it by its shoulders and pushed it back. A small light appeared from the corner of the cabin that lit up the place. Dicko turned around to see Donald holding a match and lit a candle. Three of the dead were inside, a body was on the floor, and Dicko reached for his knife whilst Yoler appeared from nowhere and lashed out at the first one with her own large blade. Her blade embedded into its skull as voices and cries of panic filled the cabin, and Dicko used his foot to push the other two out of the cabin, both Canavars falling over and tumbling down the steps.

Dicko stood in the doorway and waited for them to climb back up. Yoler emerged by his side, and with what little light that they had they could see four of them.

"Fuck this!" Yoler cussed and trotted down the steps with her stained blade at the ready.

She swung at the nearest one and Dicko had now reached ground level and put down one of the dead. Two left and simultaneously they pulled their blades behind their head and brought them down at the top of the skulls of the remaining two. Yoler's 'victim' stood motionless and eventually slumped to the ground in a heap, whereas Dicko front kicked the Canavar he had just destroyed, pushing it backwards and freeing the blade.

They turned around and could see Donald dragging out the Canavar from inside the cabin and angrily throwing it onto the ground. Cries continued from inside the cabin and Dicko told Donald that the rest inside had to be quiet in case any more turned up. They had killed five, but they were surrounded by darkness and unaware if any other dangers were lurking about.

"Keep them quiet?" Donald huffed. "Easier said than done. If we knew what was happening, we could have used the side door to escape, like I did a few weeks ago, remember?"

Dicko sighed, "I know they're scared—"

"Scared?" Donald almost released a laugh. "You haven't seen what's happened, have you? Helen wouldn't even let me go near David. They're all in shock in there."

Dicko and Yoler both looked perplexed and never responded verbally.

"Go and take a look inside. I'll stay here."

Dicko and Yoler put their blades away, into their belts, and went inside the cabin, whilst Donald remained outside with his knife out and in his right hand.

Yoler and Dicko stopped once they were in the middle of the cabin and could see Helen and David cuddling one another in one corner, crying. In the other corner of the place they could see a hysterical Grace consoling her mother. Lisa Newton had been bitten on the neck. Blood poured out of the woman and she had minutes left to live if she was lucky. By their feet was Gavin Bertrand. He was dead. He was the first to be attacked and died from neck wounds, similar to what was happening to Lisa.

"Oh, shit." Yoler groaned and rubbed her forehead. She had experience, like Dicko, of witnessing carnage to people she knew and cared about, but it was still heartbreaking to witness.

Dicko remembered his dream and saw a crying David being consoled by Helen. He went over to the corner to see if they were okay, but Helen screamed at Dicko to leave her alone. Dicko was baffled by her outburst and grabbed the candle, and took a step closer to mother and child. He could see the fright on both of their faces and felt for them. Then he saw something that twisted his guts.

He could feel his throat harden and placed the candle back where he had picked it up. He walked over to Yoler's side and whispered in her ear, making the female's eyes widen with shock.

Young David had been bitten on the arm.
Chapter Forty

Donald nervously looked around and could see nothing but darkness. He had an idea who could have been responsible for this, but the people inside the cabin were the primary focus at the moment.

He shook his head and could hear a snap to his left. It was faint, but it was the unmistakeable snap of a twig he had heard.

Another faint noise could be heard and Donald ran into the woods, where the noise had come from and could just about see the silhouette of a man that he was convinced was Hando. Both men were holding a blade and both swiped at one another once they were in close proximity, but both missed. Donald grabbed Hando by the shoulders, dropping his knife and both men fell to the ground. After a minute of wrestling, Hando had managed to overpower Donald and was on top of the man. He rammed his blade into Donald's shoulder, forcing the man to scream out, and took a left hook as he pulled out the blade.

Donald hit Hando again and the dazed man fell back and dropped his knife. Donald scrambled to his feet and could see the silhouette of Hando trying to get up. Donald took a run at the man and kicked him in the stomach and could now hear the voices of Yoler and Dicko calling him from behind. Donald kicked Hando again and yelled, "Over here!"

Donald's ankles were grabbed and he was pulled to the ground. He felt dazed once his head hit the floor and felt the presence of his assailant standing over him.

"Fuck," he muttered. He was convinced he was done for.

The sounds of disturbed plantation could be heard ahead of Donald and it had also been heard by Hando as well. The man pulled out a lighter and the flame lit up a small part of the woods. Two Canavars could be seen making their way in their direction, and Hando grinned.

Donald could hear the voices of Yoler and Dicko still calling out to him, but couldn't respond.

"Why did you do this?" Donald called out. "For the food? For revenge after turning you away at the farmhouse? And then killing your friend?"

"I did it to survive, brother." Hando was struggling to speak between his hard breaths. "If killing you lot ... hell ... if killing a dozen people is what is needed to do to help me survive longer, then that's what needs to be done. Children are no exception. It's never stopped me before."

"You raped Grace's mother and killed her younger sister!"

"I didn't say I was perfect, brother, did I?" Hando, still holding the lighter, took a peek behind him and could see the two dead were around ten yards away.

Hando placed his lighter back into his pocket and picked up a large boulder that was sitting in the bracken to the right of him. "Now, brother, I'm going to smash your fucking brains in." He walked towards the lying Donald and lifted the rock above his head. "I won't leave you for the dead. That would be too cruel."

Hando bent over and grinned at the injured Brownstone. Donald didn't cower. He gulped and brought his foot back once Hando was closer and pushed out into Hando's midriff, a second before the boulder was due to be released, and gave every ounce of energy he had left in that one kick. Hando dropped the boulder and staggered backwards a few yards, finding it difficult to stay still, and the silhouette of the man suddenly disappeared from Donald's eyes.

"What the...?"

A light appeared from behind Donald and Yoler, and Dicko arrived. Dicko was holding a candle in his left hand with his machete in his right, and all three could see the two Canavars, but Hando was nowhere to be seen.

Yoler pulled Donald up to his feet and told him not to move, as she and Dicko were about to take care of the two dead that were seconds away from the three of them.

Donald looked around the woods and a thought entered his head. "No, wait!" he called out. Donald rubbed his head and went over to the two dead. He pushed them both over, giving them three seconds of respite as the Canavars tried to get back to their feet, and told Dicko to follow him. Donald moved a few yards and now recognised the area. The candlelight revealed a section of the ground, trees ahead of them, but also a large square hole in the ground. It was the trap they had covered, and Donald moved forwards a few more yards to take a look in, and already knew that Hando was gong to be at the bottom of it.

Donald, Dicko and Yoler all peered down and could see a groaning Hando. His left ankle was broken and he had been stabbed in his right thigh from the knife in his pocket after his awkward fall.

The two Canavars approached the three by the edge of the ditch and Yoler and Dicko took a quick peek at Donald. Feeling their look, he told them that the man in the ditch deserved the death he was about to get.

Dicko gave Donald the candle and told him to step to the side as the pair of them put their weapons away and grabbed the two advancing Canavars and threw them into the ditch.

Dicko took a hold of Donald and helped him back to the camp, with Yoler by their side. Behind them were the screams of Hando being ripped apart. It was a death that was beyond cruel, but all three were convinced it was something he deserved, despite not knowing the full extent of the man's horrific wrongdoings over the past year.
Chapter Forty-One

A candle was placed on the ground, near the cabin, and a dazed Donald fell to his knees. He was told that Lisa and Gavin had perished and that he couldn't go inside because of the mess. Yoler told Donald that she would stay with him, in case there were more Canavars about, and Dicko went into the cabin to assess the situation. A red stumpy candle sat in the corner of the place and the room was filled with crying.

Dicko put his machete away and could see Grace still crying and holding her dead mother in one corner, and in the other Helen Willis and her son was still.

Dicko walked over to Grace, stepping over Gavin's body, trying not to get blood on the soles of his boots, and crouched down to Grace's level.

"How did this happen?" she cried. "I don't understand."

"It was the same man that killed your sister," Dicko began to explain. "He also had a bit of beef with us in the past as well, especially Donald. He brought Canavars with him and kicked the door open. He wanted to hurt us."

"Why?"

"Revenge?" Dicko hunched his shoulders. He wasn't entirely sure himself. "Maybe he wanted the food that we've got stocked here. Maybe it was for both reasons. He's dead now, thanks to Donald, so don't worry."

"Is Donald okay?"

"He's fine. He's outside."

"How did that Hando know we were here?"

Dicko sighed and was unsure how to answer her query. He wasn't sure, so he guessed and conjured up a few theories. "Maybe he went to the farm and came by us by accident. Maybe he had spotted Yoler and I when we were out and followed us back here, or he had spotted Donald... I'm not sure."

Grace stroked her mum's head and seemed unbothered that she was covered in her blood from her throat wound.

"I'm sorry about your mum," Dicko said. "And Gavin. I know you two..."

"I know."

"The only positive out of this whole mess is that because your mum died from her injuries, from massive blood loss, she won't turn." Dicko stood up and then turned his head to a frightened Helen and gave her a reassuring smile. "I'm going to move Gavin outside. I'll be back in a bit."

Dicko called Yoler in and they both removed Gavin and placed him at the side of the cabin, out of view. They checked on Donald again and could see the man was now sitting up, but still dazed from the blows he had taken during the fight with Hando.

"We need to remove Lisa as well," Dicko said to Yoler. It was a conversation that Donald overheard. "We'll put her next to Gavin."

Donald staggered to his feet and was like a drunken man on a Saturday night. Dicko went over to the man, but Donald pushed him away.

"Leave me alone," he snarled, still looking unsteady on his feet. "I want to see how Helen and David are."

"They're fine, Donnie Boy," Yoler huffed. "Sit down before you fall down."

Donald Brownstone ignored the advice from the female and entered the cabin. He quickly looked at Grace and Lisa's body, but his main focus was Helen and David.

He approached the mother and son, but Helen screamed at Donald to keep away. Her words fell on deaf ears, and Donald crouched down and touched David's head. Helen hugged the sobbing boy tighter and Donald stood up straight and staggered back after what he had just seen.

"Please," Helen begged. "Leave us alone."

Dicko entered the cabin and could see Donald was stumbling. He ushered the man outside and re-entered the place and told Grace that he wanted to move her mother outside. She agreed, and offered to help.

The body was placed next to Gavin, at the side of the cabin, and Grace fell to her knees and cried. The two people she was closest to had died in the space of a few minutes. It was a hard one to take for the eighteen-year-old female.

Grace and Dicko walked by the cabin and stood outside and could see Donald sitting on the floor and Yoler on her knees, inspecting something on the ground.

"What is it?" Dicko asked her.

"The rope with the tins has been cut, she said. "That's why we never heard anything approaching."

"He's been bitten," Donald muttered behind them. "The youngster has been bitten."

Dicko cleared his throat and groaned, "Yes, we know."

"How do we handle this?"

"We're gonna have to wait once the boy passes," Yoler began. "Then we need to ... take care of him."

Grace continued to sit silently on the floor and stared into space, covered in shock, and Yoler and Dicko's attention turned towards Donald once he did something that the pair of them had never seen before from the big man. He broke down and burst into tears.

Yoler and Dicko helplessly stood and stared at the broken man as he was doubled over with grief. They had no idea he was so close to the boy. But was it just that, or did it bring back the painful memories of when he lost his own son? Yoler took a step forwards, unsure whether to console the man or not. She decided not to. Instead, she watched him crumble and could feel her own emotions beginning to emerge.

A cry of pain from inside the cabin pierced the ears of the four individuals outside, and that cry alone forced Dicko to react first. He entered the cabin, leaving the three outside, and could see a heartbroken Helen Willis.

Dicko crouched down, next to the woman, and placed his fingers on David's carotid artery without any objections from Helen.

"He still has a pulse," Dicko said with a hushed tone.

"But I can't get him to wake up. Why?"

Dicko had no answer for the distraught woman and all he could do was shake his head.

"Why?" she persisted. "Why doesn't he wake up?"

There was no point beating around the bush. Dicko had seen this many times before, so he decided to tell her straight. "He's slipped into a coma. He won't wake up now."

" _What do you mean?" she cried. "What are you saying?"_

"It's only a matter of time," Dicko groaned. "He's going to turn."

Helen shook her head and continually said the word _no_ over and over, but she knew that Dicko was right. She knew that the reality was that her baby boy was as good as dead. He was beyond help.

"Listen," Dicko began. "I know you don't wanna hear this right now, but he's gonna have to be taken care of. You know what I mean, don't you?"

She nodded as tears streamed down her face.

"You're gonna have to say your goodbyes pretty soon, because once his heart stops, he'll start to turn."

"How are we going to do this?"

"It's okay. I'll take care of him."

"No, you won't," a voice bellowed from behind, making Helen and Dicko gasp. It was Donald. "I'll do it."
Chapter Forty-Two

Next Day

It was two minutes after midnight, not that time mattered so much in this new world, and a new day was upon the group of survivors. The candle in the cabin was still alive and flickered, and the one outside that had been placed into the ground was still alive, although it had gone out on a couple of occasions and had to be re-lit.

Helen had spent many minutes clutching her son and kissing his head, refusing to let him go. The longer she stayed with him, the more likely he could turn in her arms. This was a something that had to be delicately explained to the woman, and although she understood, she begged for one more minute with her only child.

Donald, the volunteer to put David to rest properly, held his knife in his right clammy hand and crouched next to the distraught mother.

Helen Willis gave her son one last kiss, tears streaming down her cheeks, and reluctantly gave Donald a nod.

She stood up and her legs wobbled, then Yoler entered the cabin and hooked her arm with Helen's and the two females slowly exited the cabin.

Helen collapsed to the floor and broke down. Helen's fall had taken Yoler by surprise and couldn't hold her up in time as the distraught woman fell.

She was on the ground and being comforted by Grace. The sobbing coming from the mother made Yoler wince for a few reasons. Losing her child must have been the worst feeling in the world. And the selfish reason why Yoler was uncomfortable with Helen's breakdown was that her crying could entice more of the Canavars from afar.

She decided to hold her tongue.

What could she have said? I know you're hurting, but is there any chance you could keep the volume down?

Yoler and Dicko watched helplessly as the two females who had lost a family member consoled one another. Dicko's eyes then turned their attention to the cabin. He couldn't see anything. The door was open, and the candlelight revealed a part of the place, including the foot of the bed, but neither Donald or the deceased David could be seen. Donald was a tough man, and although he loved that boy like he was his own son, he was sure he could put the boy to rest. It wouldn't be easy, but it was the right thing to do.

A minute had passed and Yoler and Dicko hadn't exchanged a single word. Dicko puffed out a breath and headed for the cabin, leaving Yoler standing by herself and the two broken-hearted females on the floor.

Dicko climbed the few steps to the entrance of the cabin and peered inside. Donald was sitting in the corner of the wooden place and had embraced the boy, little David in his arms. Donald was crying and stroking the boy's head. The scene almost moved Paul Dickson to tears when the memories of his own son's death, nearly a year ago, were brought back to his attention.

Dicko was about to clear his throat to get Donald's attention. He wanted to tell the man to hurry up, as the boy could turn any second, but Dicko quickly spotted the bloody blade by Donald's feet.

The deed had been done.

Dicko left the place, giving Donald some peace, and made slow steps back to Yoler.

"Everything okay?" she asked him

Dicko nodded. "We need to dig three graves."

*

The three graves were dug at the right side of the cabin. There was only one shovel and the ground was tough, but Donald insisted on digging all three.

Dicko and Donald were the ones to lay the bodies in the shallow grave. Donald looked exhausted, and despite the trauma of the night, he looked like he needed to sleep. They all did.

Dicko offered to cover the bodies with the dug up dirt and Donald agreed and sat down. It seemed cruel that only David was wrapped in a sheet and Gavin and Lisa lay with nothing but the clothes on their back. To pile dirt on the their uncovered faces seemed cruel and unjust, and Donald insisted on using his own sheet to wrap David in.

The five remaining survivors stood around the three graves at the right side of the cabin, three of them in tears. Yoler and Dicko, the only ones that weren't in tears, looked at one another. They were both thinking the same thing. It sounded heartless. But the longer they stayed outside, with the sobbing and the light from the candle, the likelihood of more Canavars turning up.

Eventually, people decided to turn in, and both grieving females shared the bed, sobbed gently, and hugged one another. The candle from outside was blown out and all five went into the cabin and Dicko placed a small cabinet against the door because the lock had been broken when Hando had kicked it in.

This whole scenario brought it back to Dicko when he had to bury his own son. He remembered being at Sandy Lane, with his friends to either side of him. Kyle Dickson had been tightly wrapped up in sheets, and had already been placed into the shallow grave that was just over three feet in depth when Dicko had arrived.

He remembered most of the people's names that were there. There was Lee James, Rick Morgan, Bentley Drummle, a girl called Sheryl, Charles Washington, Henry Winter, Garth Bateman and Jon Talbot. Dicko remembered a woman called Rosemary who stood behind with a young sobbing girl called Lisa, and a woman called Gillian Hardcastle was standing next to a tearful young woman called Jasmine Kelly.

After the few words were spoken, a young girl called Lisa sang the opening lines to Stevie Wonder's _You are the Sunshine of My Life,_ a song that Dicko and his wife used to sing to Kyle, especially when he was a baby.

Yoler and Dicko, sat at the side of the cabin with the other three at the other end. Donald was lying on the floor, with his hands behind his head, and staring up at the ceiling. Helen and Grace held each other on the bed. The red stumpy candle was slowly diminishing the longer it burned, and Dicko asked the four of them if he could blow the candle out as they all needed to rest, despite the extremely difficult circumstances Grace and Helen were experiencing.

Nobody responded, so Dicko blew the candle out and lay on the floor, next to Yoler. He felt wide awake, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, and it seemed like he was staring into the darkness for hours.

*

Dicko's eyes opened when a chill shook his frame. The sound of the wind alerted him even more, and the man sat up and looked around the cabin. The door to the cabin was open by a few inches and the cabinet against it had moved. Either somebody or something tried to get in, or somebody had snuck out and tried to put the cabinet back.

He stood up and could see that dawn was breaking and could see that somebody was missing.

He crept around the cabin, trying not to wake anybody up, and heard the voice of Donald Brownstone.

"What are you doing, Dicko?" he snapped. "Fuck's sake, I'm lucky to have gotten two hours sleep, you dig what I'm sayin'?"

"Somebody's missing."

"What do you mean?" Donald took out his lighter and lit the candle that was on the floor. As soon as the flame lit the cabin up, Donald cried, "Where's Helen?"

"Shit."

The two men moved the cabinet from the door and left the cabin, leaving Grace and Yoler stirring and groaning from the noise. Dawn was breaking and thankfully there was some light to guide the men.

"Donald, wait up!" Dicko called out.

Donald ran through the cluster of trees to their left, heading to the pond, and Dicko tried to keep up with him. There was no one at the pond area and both men could see that the field, and the hill that led up to the burnt out farmhouse, didn't have a soul on it.

"Where could she be?" The panic was hard for Donald to hide and was getting more anxious by the minute.

"Maybe she's gone for a walk."

"No." Donald shook his head. "Let's try the woods."

They went through the group of trees again, went by the cabin, and entered the woods. Donald was running and Dicko was struggling to keep up. He yelled at Donald to slow down and warned him about the ditch that Hando had fallen in. The day gad begun, but in the woods it was still risky, as the trees hid the sun that was slowly rising. Donald had run ahead and was about then yards further than Dicko who was finding it difficult to keep up.

Dicko felt like his lungs were on fire and was about to give up running, where he saw Donald, from about twenty yards away, standing still, facing right, and looking upwards. Dicko walked in the direction of Donald and was baffled why he suddenly decided to stop running, and once the man dropped to his knees and placed the palms over his face, Dicko feared the worst.

Dicko could see the ditch a few yards on the left and decided to peer down. The two Canavars were still in there, but there was nothing left of Hando, except blood, bones and bits of his clothes. Dicko winced at the through for such a gruesome death, and made his way over to a distraught looking Donald, who was still on his knees, bent over, and crying so hard that Dicko thought his heart was going to break.

No words needed to be said.

Dicko looked to his right and could see that the thought of life without her son wasn't worth living. She had made a drastic decision, and it was something that broke Donald. The blue rope that she had taken from the cabin had been tied around the thick branch that was nine feet off the ground and a noose had been made and placed around her neck. She must have climbed the tree to get to the branch and then jumped off, but how long had she been swinging?

Dicko walked a few steps by Donald's side and placed his arm on the shoulder of the man that was still on his knees. "I'm sorry, Donald."

Donald shook his head and gazed at the lifeless body of the woman he loved. Her face was colourless and he couldn't imagine what the last minute of her life was like.

Donald gulped and sighed, "I'll cut her down."
Chapter Forty-Three

Donald climbed the tree and had cut Helen down. Instead of allowing the poor woman's body to drop in a heap to the ground, Dicko stood underneath her, ready to catch the falling corpse.

Once the rope was cut and the body caught, a sobbing Donald climbed down and took her from Dicko's arms.

The two men silently walked back to the camp, under a cloud of melancholy, and when they arrived at the cabin, Grace and Yoler were waiting for them by the steps. Both women placed their hands over their mouths once they clocked Helen in Donald's arms, and started to form tears.

Donald fell to his knees; still holding Helen, and kissed her on the top of her head as the other three helplessly watched.

"I'm sorry," he cried. "I tried everything to keep you and David safe, but ... I failed. I failed miserably."

"It's not your fault," Yoler decided to pipe up. "If anything, Dicko and I should have told you when we first saw Hando, we..."

Dicko placed his hand on Yoler's shoulder as she paused and both hugged. He looked over at Grace. The eighteen-year-old girl stood with her head bowed, sobbing. She had no one left in the world now. She had lost her sister, and now her mother and friend.

Dicko broke away from Yoler and went over to console Grace. This had been his saddest day since burying his son. Even the death of Isobel Washington wasn't as bad as this. They had lost four people in one night. One of them was a child.

Dicko broke away from Grace and knelt by Donald. He rubbed the man's back and told him he was sorry.

Donald nodded and said, "I can't believe this is happening."

"It's surreal," was all that Dicko could manage.

Donald cleared his throat and tried to compose himself. He stood up, prompting Dicko to ask where he was going.

"It's only right she's buried with her son," Donald said.

Dicko nodded. "Okay. I'll get the shovel."

*

It took half an hour to dig a grave and bury Helen, and after that Donald announced he needed to go for a walk. Yoler and Dicko were unsure about his idea, but decided not to talk him out of it. The man appeared mentally unstable and unpredictable. Maybe the walk would do him some good.

He told them that he had a knife with him and that he would be away for about an hour or so. Dicko asked Yoler and Grace if they were hungry. He knew what the answer would be, especially from Grace, but he asked anyway. All three decided to skip an early breakfast and sat on the steps of the cabin and watched the sunrise. No one said a word for minutes and Dicko was the first to break the silence.

"I'll take a walk to the pond soon," he said. "Need to grab a couple of buckets and scrub the inside of the cabin."

"You won't get the blood off with pond water and a tea towel," Yoler scoffed.

"I need to give it a try."

"Waste of time, Dicky Boy."

"Have you got any better suggestions?"

There was silence from Yoler Sanders, and she chose not to react to Dicko's snarling query. Everybody was upset, angry, and emotions were riding high after losing Gavin Bretrand, Lisa Newton, David Willis, and now his mother.

"Well, whatever his motives for doing this," Dicko spoke, referring to Hando, "he certainly did some damage."

"At least Hando suffered before he went."

Grace listened to what they were saying, but chose not to respond. She couldn't believe it. So this was done on purpose? By this Hando guy?"

Dicko stood up and Yoler asked where he was going.

"I'm going to the pond," he said.

"To wash the blood away?"

"No." He shook his head. "You're right about that. Pond water alone won't shift it. I'm just going for a walk. Need to splash my face."

The man in his forties walked through the trees and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand once he was at the water's edge.

He crouched down and dipped his hands in the glorious icy water and splashed his face. He groaned in delight and wet his face a few more times before standing up straight. He looked past the field and smiled as his eyes clocked the farmhouse. He had only stayed there for a short time, but he had good memories of the place. He liked Simon and Imelda, and when Yoler came along he had a lover that was his first since his wife. He had lost everyone during the beginning, and with Simon and Imelda no longer around, he feared that he would lose Yoler one day. He didn't love her, but he was aware that he liked her more than she liked him.

He crouched down and splashed his face once more and ran his wet hands through his hair and beard. He made his way back to the area where the cabin was based. Once he stepped out of the trees and was out in the spacious part where Grace and Yoler were sitting, he could see that Donald had returned.

Dicko stood near the girls and folded his arms, feeling the cold, and needed to get inside and grab his jacket.

The forlorn group, what was left of them, were tired and weary. Grace especially looked exhausted and had only managed to drop off for an hour before the Canavar intrusion that took the lives of Gavin, Lisa, David, and, indirectly, Helen Willis.

"I'm leaving," Donald suddenly blurted out. He looked up to see the reaction of the three, but there was no emotion on the faces of either of them.

"Where are you going?" Yoler was the first out of the three to speak.

Donald shrugged his shoulders. "No idea. Anywhere away from this cursed place." Donald looked around and suggested, "Why don't we just all go?" His query was greeted with silence, so he added, "We have a van. We have food. Let's start somewhere new."

"I don't mind," said Dicko. "I've been moving around since this shit has started. Another move won't bother me. Worst comes to the worst, we can sleep in the van."

"Isn't it dangerous to be out on the road, though?" Grace spoke up, unsure whether she liked the idea.

"Of course it is." Donald ran his fingers over his face. Tiredness was crippling his body. "But with the meat wagons out of the way, it won't be as bad. We'll be fine. We won't travel far."

"Where are we gonna go?" Grace asked. "Down south to London? Up north to Scotland?"

Donald groaned, "I don't know yet. Any suggestions?"

"Just drive and see what happens." Yoler smiled after her sentence. "Let's just get the hell out of here."

Grace nodded in agreement. Her mother's body was just yards from her, at the side of the cabin, but leaving her wasn't something that bothered her. She was gone. She wasn't coming back.

"Let's try and get some rest," said Dicko. "And then we'll move the tins into the van and fuck off somewhere ... anywhere. I'll take a walk to the van and see if it's okay, make sure it's still there," he joked.

All agreed with Dicko's suggestion, and Paul Dickson walked into the woods and told them that he'd be back in ten to twenty minutes. Yoler asked if he wanted some company, but he told her no and that they should all get some rest.

The van had turned out to be fine. It was still hidden, and Dicko returned to the cabin. He pushed the cabinet against the door once it was shut and was the last person to lay down his head.
Chapter Forty-Four

He had no idea of the time, but Donald was the first to wake, and within ten minutes everybody was up. A walk to the van was achieved and Dicko insisted on driving. Grace was nervous about being on the road, being out in the open, but Donald bluntly told her that being in the woods had hardly been a success.

They were all crammed in the front. Not one person wanted to be in the back of the van, and Dicko put this down to paranoia, in case an accident occurred or something else. He looked at the fuel gauge and although there was some gas, he didn't want to waste it by going too far. He wanted to find a place as soon as possible.

The van had been on the road for a good ten minutes and Dicko was struggling to recognise the countryside. He hadn't been this way before.

"Do you know where we're going?" Yoler asked him.

He shook his head as the vehicle hit a sharp bend. The road straightened up and all could see houses in the distance. It was a small place that they could see from half a mile away and it was exactly what they wanted. All they needed to do was find a house and transport the goods in the back of the vehicle to inside of a suitable place.

Dicko's eyes narrowed as they neared the entrance of the village, some two hundred yards away, and suddenly brought the van to a stop.

"What's wrong"? Donald asked.

"Take a look," was Dicko's response.

They all stared in confusion and unsure what to do next. There was a barrier at the entrance and vehicles were parked across the road. The vehicles that were creating the barrier slowly parted. And then another vehicle exited the place, inbetween the vehicles, and Yoler pointed out that a vehicle was approaching them.

They waited for the vehicle to draw near and it pulled up ten yards from their van. The Ford Sedan's engine was still running as the lone man stepped out of the vehicle. He was dressed in combat gear, appeared to have no weapon on him, and had blonde fuzzy hair, but was clean shaven. He was six feet in height and looked too thin.

Dicko switched the van's engine off and exited the van. The others followed and stood at the front of the van.

"Can I help you?" the driver of the Sedan asked the depleted group.

"I don't know," Yoler spoke up. " _Can_ you?"

"You're heading towards our village," the man said. "We tend to be wary of strangers. Especially ones driving vans."

" _We're nothing to do with the meat wagons," Dicko said. "If that's what you're implying._

"Heard of them then," the man laughed.

Dicko nodded. "We've heard of them, we've confronted them, and we've killed them. _All_ of them."

The thin man's eyes widened with surprise and scratched at his fuzzy hair. "That's something that'll cheer up the folk back in the village. Especially the ones that have to go out on runs."

"Rest assured. They're all dead."

The man nodded and gazed at the group. He looked to the side and began to chew his bottom lip. He seemed lost in thought. He then straightened his back and smiled at the small group.

"Follow me," he said.

"Why?" Donald asked.

"You need a place to stay. Maybe you could stay with us, but it won't be straightforward. You'll be questioned."

"What makes you think we need a place to stay?" Yoler asked him and folded her arms.

"Don't you?"

There was a silence and they all looked at one another.

"That's what I thought."

The man laughed and got into his car. He turned the engine on, and did a turn in the road and then slowly moved away.

Dicko told them to get back in the van and fired the engine as soon as he was in the driver's seat and pulled away.
Chapter Forty-Five

The car that Dicko was following was three car lengths away, with both vehicles going at a steady twenty miles per hour. Getting to the village didn't take long, and they could see two guys with a shotgun, by the entrance, one of many, of the village. It was a small place, a name Dicko had never been to and heard of, despite only being four miles from where they started off in the van. Donald became tetchy as they entered the village. They were told to pull the van up as they got inside, and the four people in the vehicle got out.

A man by the name of Ed asked the four to empty their pockets, drop their weapons, and asked if it was okay to pat them down. Ed was a big man, bald, and looked like a bodybuilder. He was polite with his instructions and neither Dicko, Yoler, Donald and Grace had a problem with them. They did as they were told and began to relax when a female, who introduced herself as Beth, asked them to follow her. They entered a place that used to be a pub and she explained that they used the pub as some kind of reception area for new arrivals.

She told them to stay where they were and they stood in the lounge area of the bar. Beth announced that she was going to get a guy called Derek, who was the second in command, and that they should relax and have nothing to worry about.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," Beth said. She was in her forties, dressed in a red dress, and had a very polite voice.

Dicko was the first to take a seat at one of the tables, and the rest did the same.

"This is a bit dramatic," Donald said. "A bit over the top, don't you think?"

"It's nothing to worry about," Dicko said confidently, folding his arms across his middle. "They can't just let anyone in. They need to check us out."

"Yeah, well, don't mention that we have all that food in the back, you dig what I'm sayin'? What happens if they don't let us in, but rob us?"

"They're gonna check it out eventually."

Donald decided not to respond.

Only a few minutes had passed and the door to the pub opened. A man of average height entered. He was holding a clipboard and seemed different to Beth. His face was deadpan, devoid of emotion, and sat down at the next table, glaring at the four of them.

He placed the clipboard flat on the table and crossed his legs, pulling out a biro. He asked for their full names, which was given. He wrote down the names on the clipboard and spent a few minutes writing down details such as the features of each one of them. He asked for their height, and then asked what family members they had lost since the announcement last summer, on June 9th.

Neither of them queried why he wanted the information. There were four of them, and just one man with a clipboard, so they didn't feel threatened.

Dicko was the only one that had a question, and wanted something clarified. "Why are these questions necessary, if you don't mind me asking?"

The man was scribbling with his head down, and answered without looking up, "It's kind of a database. After the questions, we will get you medically checked out and you can join us."

"Just like that?"

The man stopped scribbling and looked up. "Just like that. The more people there are, the stronger we become."

"But with food—"

"You don't have to worry about extra mouths to feed," the man sniggered. "When you're checked out, you'll be given a tour. On the other side of the village you'll see that we have acres of land, crops, cattle, poultry."

"Sounds too good to be true," Dicko laughed.

"This was no accident, Mr Dickson. We've all worked hard, and had to endure a bad winter to get here."

After another five minutes of questioning, Derek excused himself and left the pub, leaving the four in the lounge area.

A few minutes later, the door to the pub opened once again, and in stepped a thin man, late forties. He had grey hair and a grey beard over his face. From the skin that could be seen, the man looked badly scarred but they weren't recent ones.

He walked towards the four of them and his eyes were fixated on Dicko. They then narrowed and his mouth fell open.

"I don't fucking believe it." The man ran his fingers over his scarred face and a wide smile emerged under his nose. "When I saw your name on Derek's clipboard, I thought ... _no way_. I know there's hundreds of Paul Dicksons our there, but ones that are alive?"

Dicko could feel the eyes of Grace, Yoler and Donald staring at him, wondering what was happening.

"I'm sorry." Dicko was perplexed and his eyes narrowed. "Do I know you?"

"It wasn't that long ago, Paul," the man laughed. "We've both got beards now, but I recognise you."

Eyes were still looking at Dicko and he creased his forehead in thought. He had no idea who it was.

"I'm sorry," said Dicko. "I'm none the wiser."

The grey bearded man with the scars took a few more steps forwards and smiled. Last year, you and your boy were found in some wrecked car. You were brought back to a camp, a caravan park, called The Spode Cottage."

Dicko's eyes widened. The penny was finally dropping and he rose to his feet. "No way."

The scarred man knew that Dicko recognised him and said, "Good to see you're still alive, Paul."

Dicko went around the table and stood within a foot of the man and they both embraced, but broke away quickly.

"Can I sit down?" the man asked.

"Of course."

The grey bearded man pulled up a chair and sat at the table. Dicko sat back down and asked him, "How long have you been here? And where's—"

"I've been here a couple of months. And the rest of the crew are fine, last time I saw them."

"Why are you here?" Dicko asked. "I don't get it."

The man could see the other three were baffled and decided to explain in length. "Let me shed some light on what we're talking about."

"Please do." Yoler smiled.

"Paul and I go back a bit. He was with us for a few months before he was taken away from our camp by a guy called Drake. Paul was a bit of a mental case after he lost his son, but he helped out greatly when this Drake and his gang attacked our street. Anyway, our camp and Drake's camp made up and called a truce, but in exchange for Paul. He had killed people close to Drake and we had to give him up."

"So you betrayed Dicko?" Yoler said. It was a story she was already familiar with.

"Is that what you're calling him these days," the scarred man laughed. "Sounds like a porn star." The man cleared his throat and said, "I suppose we gave Paul up to stop further bloodshed. We had kids in our camp as well, you see. We couldn't take the risk."

"I escaped anyway," said Dicko, smiling, thinking back to days gone by.

"Yes, you did. Strangely we went to join Drake for a few months, but something happened and we went back to Colwyn Place at Little Haywood."

"So why are you here?" Donald asked the man.

"I went on a run a few months back." He looked at Dicko and added, "I went out with Terry Braithwaite and a girl called Stephanie. I think we were about ten miles away."

Dicko smiled as he heard the familiar names.

"To cut a long story short, we ran into trouble and they were both killed. I just about managed to escape and ran. A couple of days later, these guys picked me up. I was half dead when they found me."

"How far are we from Little Haywood?"

"About thirty or so miles. Too far." The man began to chew the inside of his mouth and said further, "They probably think I'm dead, like the others."

"Never thought of going back?" Dicko asked.

"I've mentioned it before, but the leader of this place doesn't quite like the idea of his people driving thirty miles to drop me off and then drive back another thirty to get back here. Too dangerous and a waste of petrol. One day I might go back one day, but I love it here."

"I still think about the old gang," Dicko sighed.

"I do miss the place, and I have been told that I could go, but it'd be on foot. Personally, I'd rather shit in my hands and clap."

"Sorry." Donald held his hands up and asked, "Who _are_ you?"

"My fault." Dicko snickered. "This is an old friend. This is Vince. Vince Kindl."

Vince held his hand up to the other three to say hi, and began to talk about the place that was about to be their home.

"You'll like it," Vince told them all. "And Orson is a good guy, although he has his moments."

Dicko looked at Yoler and this was noticed by Vince.

"What is it?" Vince asked.

The four remained silent and Dicko was reluctant to say anything, but Vince persisted with the queries.

"Come on, Paul," he groaned and then chuckled, "Spit it out. Your mother used to."

Dicko could feel Donald and Yoler's eyes glaring at him, with Yoler timidly shaking her head, telling Dicko to keep quiet.

"It's okay," Dicko said to them. "I trust him."

"Well?" Vince Kindl opened his arms to hurry the man up.

"We ran into a few people a couple of months ago, or at least I thought it was that long ago."

"And?"

"A woman called Clare and two other guys entered a place where we were staying and were threatening. They were from this camp. They mentioned Orson. We killed the two guys, and Clare, I think, was taken down by the dead. We had to do it."

A silence enveloped the people in the lounge area of the pub, and it looked like Vince was trying to process the information that had just been given to him.

"Okay." Vince nodded and was lost in thought. "Well, you look like good people to me, and I know you're a good guy, Paul, and I know what you've been through in the beginning of this. I can keep a secret if you lot can. I get it. At the time, you had to do what you had to do. We've all been there."

The four of them looked at one another and Dicko smiled.

"You can trust him," he said.

Vince Kindl stood up and picked the chair up, putting it back where it initially was.

"Once you're checked out, you'll be given a tour by yours truly," he said. "I'll see you guys in a while."

"Where are you going?" Dicko spoke up.

"Gotta be some place." Vince walked over to Dicko. Dicko stood up and both men hugged. "Good to see you're still alive."

Vince broke away from the embrace and exited the pub, leaving Grace, Donald, Yoler and Dicko alone and left in silence.

"I have a good feeling about this place," Dicko spoke and a smile stretched under his nose.

"He won't say anything, will he?" Yoler wasn't so sure and looked tetchy.

"Trust me." Dicko smiled confidently. "Vince is a good guy. He's not very politically correct, but he has a good heart. "

Donald said, "If he blabs about the three that came to that farmhouse, we could be in a heap full of trouble, you dig what I'm sayin'?"

"He won't." Dicko sat back down and look relaxed. "I think, ladies and gentlemen, we may have hit the jackpot."

The four continued to chatter, and a few minutes after two females turned up. One was an assistant, holding a clipboard, and the other had a small case with her. The woman with the case introduced herself as Dr Lynch and was there to check them out before they went for their tour and were shown their digs.

Grace was first up, and Donald was last to be examined. All four had to strip to their underwear and the men turned away when Yoler and Grace had to take their tops off. Apart from some issues with body odour, some slight malnourishment, dehydration, and Donald's long toenails, Dr Lynch was happy with their health.

"Right," she said. "I'll go and get Vince for your tour and then you can meet Orson. I'll see you around. Oh, and welcome to Uplawmoor Village."

The two disappeared and Grace, Donald, Yoler and Dicko were now buzzing. They were minutes away from becoming a part of a community again, a place that had amenities beyond their wildest dreams, and if they had a doctor on site, what else did they have?

Things were looking good for the four of them.

_Life_ was looking good.
THE END
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