Ghostland (Book 3): Ghostland 3 Read online

  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 he 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 was 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 about 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 to his feet 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 outside.

  *

  Gavin and Grace were talking about days of old, when mobile phones were working and when they had friends. Th
e 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. 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 away, 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 sped 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 dragging 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.