Ghostland (Book 3): Ghostland 3

by Whittington, Shaun

  GHOSTLAND: PART III

  Shaun Whittington

  www.severedpress.com

  First Edition

  Copyright 2019

  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

  GHOSTLAND: PART III

  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

  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 the 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 something he had been face to face with 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 was 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 yawn.

  “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.

&n
bsp; 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 the 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 in 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 become 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 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. The sooner 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.”