Ghostland (Book 3): Ghostland 3

by Whittington, Shaun

  “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 thoughts 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 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 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 around 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 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 was 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 middle 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.