The Boy in the Sheriff Hat (Book 1)

Chapter 11 - BANG... BANG... BANG...

I awoke from a dreamless sleep the next morning in pain and I wondered how I'd once managed to survive without a mattress for all those months. 

The air today was humid as it usually was this time of year but made worse by the thick low cloud bank denying sufficient air flow to the world below them. I finished off my can of beans I'd opened last night, untied the knot around my waist and climbed down from the tree. 

I consulted my map before packing it, along with everything else, back into my rucksack and setting off.

It was difficult to tell what time of day it was without the help of the sun, but after several long hours of walking the clouds began to thin. It must have been early afternoon by the time the scenery began to look vaguely familiar. I kept off the roads as much as possible and always had my sheet of bones on hand to slip past any herds I came across.

By the time I reached the road to my uncle's house, my feet ached, and I was truly feeling the effects of sleeping in a tree. I shuffled up the road and stopped in front of my uncle's large double gates; the left gate was still attached to its post while the hinges of the right gate had been completely eaten away by rust. It lay pitifully on the weed-infested gravel driveway. The sun was low in the sky and turned the lawns beyond into a field of fire - each blade of overgrown grass ablaze with sunlight. 

I stepped over the fallen gate and began to make my way down the tree lined drive. The borders that had once neatly lined the path now overflowed with weeds and wildflowers. My uncle had employed three gardeners to take care of his land. I could see why now; a garden without human intervention is just the nursery of a forest.

At the end of the drive was the willow tree... I glanced briefly at the mound of dark soil by its roots – it was now covered in a cornucopia of greenery. The half-filled grave next to it had also begun to sprout an array of weeds and flowers and the shovel I'd used to dig it had fallen into the pit. My boots kicked up gravel as I quickened my pace; I couldn't quite bring myself to visit the grave, not just yet, not until I had something to offer.

As I rounded the house I listened for that noise, that banging and bumping of my cousins' body still walking aimlessly around his room. 

I heard nothing. 

I feared he may be long gone. Perhaps he'd gotten loose, fallen in with a herd or something. I cringed at the thought. If that had happened, I'd never get him back...

It suddenly occurred to me that there wasn't a single walker about trying to munch on my flesh; without any noise pollution to attract any, it was almost... peaceful. 

I thought of the quarry. How many hundreds must be in there for there to be so little out here?

I headed towards my cousin's window, following the pathways hugging the walls of the house. It was so very quiet... I peered my head around the frame of the window and squinted into the darkness.

I saw nothing...

Though I could see the door was unopened and the glass of the windows pane still intact, the room inside was empty with no sign of my cousin. There was a dressing room leading off from his bedroom and an en-Suite too... perhaps he was in there? Perhaps he'd gotten stuck or-or maybe someone had already put him down... 

I swallowed – I was beginning to lose hope of finding him.

I traipsed back around to the kitchen were the patio doors still sat wide open, leaving the room inside exposed to the elements. The ivy that had been growing up the house had started creeping inside and draping over half of the doorway. I pulled it aside and walked in.