A/N - Sorry for the wait! The next chapters should be updated soon, since there's only one or two left to go.
I want to thank my editor, who helped a lot with this chapter.
The cow was off limits, but it wasn't what he really wanted, was it?
He wanted the milk.
Kenny took out the lid of the egg container and set it on the ground, then took out his knife and set a slab of ship's biscuit on the lid. Keeping the chicken in his peripheral vision, he proceeded to shave and chop pieces of the biscuit until he had demolished half of the slab. He then chopped those pieces into smaller pieces, while the chicken joyfully foraged for worms and bugs in the leaf mould on the forest floor. He hoped she would stay here for a time without any encouragement, but he would prefer to provide himself a little more insurance on this one.
Soon enough he had enough tiny bits of biscuit to fill his whole hand. He placed a small pile on the ground and made kissy noises at the chicken until she looked at him. He pointed at the pile and she came running, halting a few steps from the food. She cocked her head at the pile, slowly strutting forward. Kenny watched anxiously as she gave an experimental peck.
And then another, and another.
Kenny smiled and scattered the rest of his handful over the ground, spreading it reasonably wide so that the hen would be kept occupied for some time. Then he went to check on the whereabouts of the red-jacketed man.
Through the low-hanging tree canopy at the forest's edge, he saw the guy standing with his gun over his shoulder, his back to Kenny as he stared towards the house.
"What'd you say?" the red-jacketed guy yelled to someone out of Kenny's line of vision.
"... ... ... ... fucking everywhere," the answer from the yard came back to Kenny's ears. "... ... highway. Stay with the cow."
"Okay!"
Kenny grinned.
The chicken was happily occupied, so he took his flask from his pack and stuffed it into his pocket, making sure his gun was the only thing in his inside right pocket and easily accessible to his left hand. It took him a good five minutes to work his way through the forest until he was in his original spot by the chicken coup. There was not a chicken in sight nor was there anyone in the yard, but he heard faint shouts towards the highway. God bless those chickens! He could kiss every one of them, even the rooster.
It took him another five minutes to work his way to the back of the house, using the forest as cover for most of the way. A minute of watching showed no movement in the yard. He was about fifty yards from the steps leading up to the back door, and the pig pen was right in front of him. He heard a few more shouts and knew this was the moment; he went under the barbed wire and ran across the yard.
He made it to the pig pen and crouched below its perimeter, listening. There were no shouts. He edged his face past the side of the pen and peered at the house, looking for any signs of movement. He could see no-one through the windows and the red-jacketed man was on the other side of the house. He tensed his legs to spring forward and damn near shat himself when an angry roar erupted from above his head and something seized the shoulder of his coat.
Instinctively he pulled away and felt the pressure as his coat ripped. He scrambled away and got to his feet; looking back at the pen, he saw a massive black pig standing with its forelegs hooked over the top of the fence, staring at him with red, angry eyes.
Kenny stared at it in shock. One thing he understood, as he stared into those enraged eyes, was that this pig was not just angry, it was nasty, too. The pig gave a barking roar and Kenny couldn't help trying to shush it.
"Shut up, dumbass! Jesus Christ, shut up! Sshhhhhhhhhhh!" He waved his hands at the pig in what he imagined was a calming way, but it seemed to enrage the animal. The pig reared up even higher, shaking the fence as it threatened to climb over and come after him. It stretched its snout forward and bellowed at him, showing the yellowest teeth Kenny had ever seen.
Kenny gave up and dropped his hands, moving back a few steps. His submission seemed to work. The pig gave one more grunt and gave him a look that carried a promise of retribution if it ever saw him again before pushing its bulk off the fence and lowering itself back into the pen.
Kenny had no idea what he had done to upset the pig. The animal must be possessed or something. Damn it, he was a fisherman, not a farmer.
"You okay, man?" came a shout from the cow's field.
"Yeah! Stay with the cow!" he rasped, his voice unintentionally hoarse.
"Did you find the chickens?"
"Not yet!"
"Is Jack with you? Is that you, Jack?"
Kenny raised his hands towards the sky in frustration, and told the truth.
"No!"
There were no further questions. Kenny rolled his eyes and realised there was a reason this guy was set to guarding the cow when there was a crisis.
"Dumbass," he added, under his breath.
He let out a breath. Okay, the back door. He moved towards it, wondering about this fatalistic feeling that whatever happened was going to happen no matter what.
It seemed to take him forever to reach the door. Once he was there, he pressed his forehead against the flaking wood and gave himself a few seconds before trying the door handle. It gave easily under his hand and he eased the door open. It squeaked a little more than he liked.
Inside was a room they were currently using as a drying room, covered in wet weather gear. Beyond that was a darkened hallway. Kenny stood and listened but heard no sounds in the house. He edged along the hallway, checking around the door-frames before passing them, until he reached the kitchen near the other end of the house.
It was warm, very cosy and filled with morning light through the dirt-streaked windows. Dried herbs and masses braided onions and garlic hung from a long rack attached to one wall. A basket of eggs sat on a Formica counter, along with a Tupperware container holding a weird-looking loaf of yellow bread. Another container held butter. And there, on a smaller table to the side, sat a clean, bright and shiny bucket of milk under a muslin cloth.
Kenny had his flask out in a flash and filled it to the brim. His flask could hold over a pint, so it was more than enough for his purposes. He turned to leave and stopped, mentally slapping himself. He went to the rack on the wall and hung a rope-braid of onions around his neck, then broke off random sprigs of rosemary and other herbs and added them to his pockets. He had to sniff to identify them, not being a culinary expert.
There was no point in taking the butter; that would definitely be missed and his goal was to take what he needed and get out without being detected.
He looked around, knowing it was time to go. But his attention was caught by a wide, wooden pantry door. He still had room in his pockets, didn't he? He patted himself down. He did. Right. He opened the door and stood dumbfounded.
Pasta. Lots and lots of 500 gram packets of dried pasta. There must have been fifty packets in there. Kenny knew he couldn't turn this down. Easy to cook, high energy food that even a baby could wallow and digest - jackpot!
He had an inkling he knew where they had got it from. The small town he usually looted from had been almost tapped out, so it must be the next town on. The main supermarket there would already be squeezed dry, but from the foreign writing on the packet it looked like they'd found an Italian supermarket, or perhaps a delicatessen. Bastards! Why hadn't he gotten there first?
Because it would have meant a five-day absence from Clem and AJ, that's why.
That day was coming soon, but not quite yet. Kenny put one packet in each of his outer pockets, two packets in his inner right pocket, and after an internal debate, took out his gun and filled his right inner pocket with two more packets. His coat was bulging and the scent of crushed herbs arose around him. He crackled when he moved.
He slowly crept out of the house, gun in hand, closing the door as quietly as he could.
He listened. The men's voices were still shouting reassurance to one another, but they sounded closer and more triumphant. It was likely they were on their way back with the captured chickens and would be here within a minute or two. He had to be gone.
And the shortest way back into the forest was past the pig pen.
He had no time to worry about it. He planned to dash past the pen so fast, that bastard pig wouldn't know he'd been and gone.
He moved down the three steps and raced across the yard, feeling a surge of triumph as he made the distance to the far side of the pen. At that moment a man stepped around the back of the pen and levelled a shotgun at Kenny's head.
"Don't move, asshole."
A/N - The vote for my next story is still up (Read the A/N at the end of the last chapter). Thank you all for being here and continuing to read this story! You're all AWESOME!