Ghostland (Book 3): Ghostland 3

by Whittington, Shaun

  She lay motionless and Donald Brownstone walked his large frame over to the moaning man that was ten yards away, still bleeding over the road because of his facial wound. The man was moving from side to side, but he wasn’t moving anywhere. He hadn’t gained a yard since he hit the floor. Donald knelt down next to the man and could see the fear in his face. He begged for his life, but Donald shushed him like a baby.

  “I’m going to ask you a few questions,” Donald began. “If you don’t answer them or if I think you’re lying... Well, you know what’s gonna happen, you dig what I’m sayin’?”

  The man nodded, his hand on the wound to his cheek, and said in defeat, “You’re gonna kill me anyway. Doesn’t matter what I say.”

  Donald shook his head. “I promise that you’ll be spared if you answer a couple of simple questions.”

  The bleeding man looked at Brownstone and believed what he was saying. “Okay.” He nodded. “Ask me anything.”

  “How many of you are there?” Donald asked with a snarl, clutching the knife with his right hand.

  “There used to be eight of us.”

  “And you ... eat people?”

  The man nodded and gulped. “We’ve only been doing this for a few months. We’re starving. We need to eat.”

  “By grabbing people off the road and taking them back to your place, wherever that may be, and carving them up?”

  “It’s not something we enjoy. It’s a must.” The man was unrecognisable as eighty percent of his face was covered in his own blood.

  “You said there were eight of you,” said Donald, his eyes never leaving the man’s face. “What happened?”

  “Two of our guys were killed a week or so ago. We tried to snatch this bald guy, but we underestimated him. He killed two of our guys with his own hands. I had to drive away and managed to escape, but this guy ran after the van. He didn’t give up so easy.”

  Donald smiled and guessed that the guy the wounded man was talking about could well be Hando.

  “Three others went out with the other van yesterday,” the wounded man spoke up. “We haven’t seen them since.”

  “I think I know what happened to them.” Donald produced a smile, but his eyes squinted when a sharp pain ran across his head. He was convinced he had concussion. “A couple of friends of mine went out on a run and told me they had killed three people. They had a van and they had snatched a woman that was in the back.”

  The wounded man’s face developed into an angry one. “My wife was in that van.”

  “No sympathy.” Donald stood up straight. “You choose to eat people, then you don’t deserve to live.”

  The wounded man glared at Donald and would have attacked the man if he wasn’t so seriously injured.

  Donald said, “So you guys are the last. I thought the people in the meat wagons would have been scarier than this. I thought you’d have a fleet of vans, a base in the middle of nowhere, with an army of people.”

  “The more people, the more mouths to feed.”

  “True.” Donald nodded. He looked over to the woman who had attacked him with the hammer and walked over to her. She was beginning to moan and move. The wounded man watched helplessly as Donald rained two blows to the back of her head, killing her. Donald put the hammer into his belt and went over to the first person he had killed and pulled the steak knife out of his throat. He wiped the blade on the dead man’s clothes and walked back over to the wounded man.

  “I’m a man of my word,” Donald said, and staggered to the side of the road and sat down. “You’re free to go.”

  The wounded man seemed to take an age to get to his feet.

  Still holding his face, he peered over to a sitting Donald Brownstone, and then bent over to pick up the keys that the woman had dropped when Donald put her down. He then shuffled his damaged body to the van and took a few minutes before the engine was started.

  Donald gazed at the vehicle as it slowly moved away. He then looked at the two dead bodies and then dropped his head in his hands. His head was banging and he decided that it was going to be a while before he was going to move.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Hando and young Benny crept through the woods and had spent their time collecting wood for a fire outside. They had scavenged earlier and had managed to find two tins of lentil soup. The tins were out of date but it wasn’t going to stop Hando and the youngster from having the soup once it was warm enough. Benny was carrying the wood and Hando searched the ground for mushrooms or berries. He could see that they were approaching the edge of the woods, as the trees were beginning to thin out. Hando was leading the way and could see a person on the road. He held his hand up, stopping Benny from walking. He turned and told Benny to drop the wood and crouch next to him. Benny thought it was an odd request, but did what he was told. Once he crouched next to Hando, he asked what was the matter.

  “See that man walking along the road?” Hando pointed.

  Benny could see the man. He had his back to them, walking along the road unsteadily, and could see he was a big fellow.

  “Is that the same guy we saw the other day?” Benny asked.

  Hando nodded.

  “Is he dangerous?”

  “Kind of.” Hando bit his bottom lip and was angered just at the sight of the man. “He and some others killed a friend of mine.” Hando decided not to tell Benny the whole truth and that he killed Wazza for disobeying him, and had also killed a man in cold blood, which turned out to be Simon Washington, then burned the farmhouse down as the people inside slept.

  The truth was that Hando’s pride had been severely damaged. The man that was walking away had the nerve to square up to him, and the people from the farmhouse with supplies had refused to take him and his pals in.

  “Where’s he going?” Benny asked. “Do you think he’s going back to his camp?”

  Hando smiled and turned to Benny. “I think that’s exactly where he’s going. Come on. Let’s follow him.”

  *

  Still dazed, Donald walked with weary steps. He had planned on spending the day away from Helen, but then again, he never thought he was going to be attacked. The forty-three-year-old passed the decrepit farmhouse and moved along the country road, the wind occasionally caressing his face. He decided to be on the road for no more than half an hour and then head back to the camp. He rubbed his face and used his fingers to massage his temples. It was a lie down that he needed. His lonely walk had no incidents, although he had turned around on a few occasions, thinking there was someone or something behind him.

  His mind wandered during his walk and, for whatever reason, his mind replayed what had occurred many years ago.

  Donald and his pregnant partner were fast asleep on a Sunday night and a noise was heard downstairs. Donald turned and could see his partner was dead to the world and decided not to wake her. He crept out of bed, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, and grabbed his dressing gown that was hanging on the door. He wrapped the gown around him as he walked along the dusky landing, and walked downstairs with hesitancy.

  He heard another noise that stopped his progression to the ground floor, and was unsure if the noise was coming from inside or outside. He didn’t want to call out. If there was somebody in his house, he wanted to catch the bastard.

  He moved again and reached the ground floor, and came face to face with the intruder. The red mist had come down on Donald Brownstone. He worked for a living and this piece of shit had broken into his house to take what Donald had worked for.

  A scuffle occurred between the men and the lone burglar pulled out a knife. Donald managed to prise the knife out of the man’s hand and the burglar escaped and ran out onto the street. What he didn’t predict was that Donald, now holding the knife, pursued the man down the dark streets. Fortunately for the burglar, he had managed to outrun the angry Brownstone.

  Donald shook his head and brought his mind back to an unwanted reality. He turned left, down a road, and knew the area reasonably we
ll. Once at the bottom of the road, he turned left again, and began walking through a field. Another half an hour and he’d be at the pond, not far away from the camp.

  His eyes had clocked something to his left. It was something rare these days. He could see a Canavar, lying on the grass from afar. He approached the dead being, careful where he was stepping in case any other surprises popped up, and pulled out his knife from his pocket. Donald stopped walking once he was near, and slowly crouched down to look at the thing. He was only a couple of yards away and could see that this was probably the most rotten Canavar he had seen. It was almost a skeleton, but was decorated with flesh and non-working organs that could be seen.

  Donald continued to look as the creature had now spotted him, trying to reach out and grab him. Even now, in the state it was in, it still wanted to devour flesh. Donald rammed his blade into its skull, stopping its movement, and stood up straight.

  Donald looked around, still with a heavy feeling that he was being watched, and walked on. Another twenty minutes or so and he’d be back at the camp.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Yoler and Dicko had decided to do what Gavin and Grace did an hour ago. They went for a walk in the woods. There was no plan for any kind of supply run until tomorrow. The tins had made them comfortable for a few days, although not complacent, and they told Helen, Lisa, Grace and Gavin that they’d be an hour at the most. Gavin gave off a smirk before the two left and, noticing this, Yoler told Gavin bluntly that they weren’t sneaking off for sex, making the man blush.

  Yoler and Dicko both carried their blades, not taking anything for granted, and both smiled at one another. It was good to be out. The camp provided a good place to sleep and dwell, but monotony came with it, and every now and again people needed to get away from the place during the day.

  “That ditch is up here somewhere.” Dicko pointed up ahead. “The one that Gavin fell in.”

  Yoler nodded and said, “We should block it off. Or fill it in.”

  “You think?”

  “Absolutely, Dicky Boy. Remember a few weeks ago when the cabin was surrounded and Donnie sneaked out the side, leading them away and into the darkness?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, what if he fell down that ditch that night? He would have been fucked. Something like that could happen again.”

  “I think we should keep it.” Dicko cleared his throat and explained his reason. “We should cover the hole up, turn it into a trap, but make some markings to let us know what it is. If a deer falls through the hole … that could feed us.”

  “You might be onto something there, Dicky Boy,” Yoler laughed. “You’re not as stupid as you look.”

  Dicko smiled and didn’t bite at Yoler’s cheeky remark.

  They reached the ditch and spent minutes picking up loose branches to put across. Bracken was pulled from the ground, some came out by their roots, and were scattered over the branches. There weren’t too many branches, as the design was for something to fall through it, but enough to hide the ditch. From a human perspective it was obvious what it was, as the square covering of bracken stuck out on the ground like a sore thumb, but they were confident it would fool an animal of some kind.

  “Probably won’t need to make a mark to tell people what it is,” Dicko said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his lower arm. “It’s obvious from here what it is.”

  “Now what?” Yoler looked at her male companion.

  “Now we go to the main road, into the open air. I’m sweating like a fat person in a cake shop.”

  “Lovely,” Yoler giggled. “You have such a way with words.”

  “That’s rich, coming from you.” Dicko laughed and turned to his companion. “You told me the other day that you’d rather be pumped by a Canavar than Donald.”

  “You’re still upset by that Ewok comment, aren’t you?”

  “You said a couple of days ago, being with me is like being boned by an Ewok, so yes, I am a little.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be an insult.”

  “I don’t get it.” Dicko shook his head. “I haven’t shaved in months, my back’s hairy and I haven’t waxed my chest since the first days, so what do you expect? And as for Ewok... Why a small and hairy thing? Why didn’t you say it was like being boned by Chewbacca or a Yeti?”

  Yoler began to giggle, seeing Dicko so flustered, and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be so sensitive,” she said. “Let’s get some air and then go back.”

  Dicko sighed and trudged towards the main road with a smiling Yoler by his side.

  The two had reached the edge of the woods and stepped out onto the road. Dicko smiled immediately once a breeze closed over him, soothing and cooling his face. He stopped moving, lifted his head, and closed his eyes as the wind went by him.

  “I hate to spoil your fun,” Yoler spoke with a whisper.

  “But?” Dicko opened his eyes and turned to look at her.

  “Look for yourself.” She pointed to her left, down the road.

  Dicko’s eyes stared and couldn’t make out what he was seeing. It looked like a dead animal of some kind, but it was nearly thirty yards away and the two of them wordlessly made their way over. Yoler placed her hand over her mouth as her eyes clocked the half-eaten fawn. Its insides had been pulled away, a gaping bloody hole in its stomach was present, and its black eyes were like doll’s eyes.

  It was dead, but it hadn’t been dead for long.

  “What a way to go,” Yoler murmured.

  “I know.” Dicko sighed. “How on earth can these slow fuckers catch a fawn?”

  Yoler had no answer for him. It was obviously the work of the Canavars. Humans would have killed the animal and carried it away to be stripped and cooked. Most of the edible parts of the animal, organs and meat, weren’t there anymore.

  “Just proves that they’re still around,” Yoler said. “Not far from our own camp.”

  Dicko nodded. “I think that’s always been the case.”

  “I remember for a few months hardly seeing any. In fact, Simon was so sure their numbers had dwindled that he told Imelda they were all gone.”

  “They’re still around.” Dicko looked away from the carcass and looked into the woods, to his right. “I think there’s been an influx of these things recently because they go where the food is, like any other animal. Maybe these Canavars are from the city and towns, and there’s just nothing left for them anymore. So they’re beginning to ... migrate.”

  Yoler never responded to Dicko’s little speech.

  Dicko stepped away from the dead fawn and took steps towards the woods that were on the opposite side of the road where they had come from. He could see the backs of seven Canavars, all spread out, shambling away from him. They must have been the ones that had killed the animal, he thought. Seven Canavars!

  This was information he needed to tell the others, apart from young David, of course. The security of the camp would have to be improved.

  “Come and take a look at this,” he said to Yoler.

  She stood by his side and could see the seven dead creatures.

  “I was thinking about using some of that blue rope we have in the cabin,” he said. “We could then put up more tins to alert us, but further away.”

  “I suppose that would work.”

  “At least it will give us more time to retreat back to the cabin or away and to the pond.”

  “I think it’d come in handy for the night times,” Yoler began. “But during the day, we can hear one of those clumsy cocksuckers coming from a mile off. And not only that, you can see them through the trees.”

  Dicko laughed at Yoler’s little rant and she asked him what he was laughing at.

  “I was laughing at the fact you called them cocksuckers,” Dicko tried to explain to his confused companion. “You reminded me of someone I once knew when you said that.”

  “What about a guard on a night?” she queried, ignoring his remark that she reminded him of s
omeone from the past.

  Dicko shook his head. “No point. And too dangerous. The person doing guard duty would be dangerously exposed. What if the person on guard is attacked? It’s pitch black—”

  “Alright, alright.” Yoler held her hands up. “You don’t have to go off on one.”

  Dicko sat down on the grassy bank, at the side of the road, and Yoler did the same.

  “Anything wrong?” she asked him.

  He shrugged his shoulders and blew out an anxious breath. “Just thinking about the past.”

  “I know.” Yoler smiled and put her arm around the man in his forties. “It comes in waves, doesn’t it?”

  “Sometimes I forget what they look like.”

  “Who? Your family?”

  He nodded and dropped his head a few inches. “During the day, when we’re awake, I forget what they look like. When I dream about Kyle and Bell, I can see their faces. But when Julie is in the dream, I can’t. I know it’s her, but she’s always faceless.”

  Yoler had no response for her friend and occasional lover, so she remained quiet and allowed him to speak more, if that’s what he wanted. He didn’t speak for a minute, until he stood up and announced he was going back to the camp.

  Fifteen minutes later, they had both returned. Donald was back.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Hando and Benny had arrived at the pond. It was where Donald went before he took a right into the woodland. The two males crept around the pond and Benny couldn’t help himself and began to wash his face with the ice-cold water.

  “Come on,” Hando snarled at the youngster, eager to get into the woods.

  “You should try it.” Benny smiled and splashed his face once more. “It’s amazing.”

  Hando angrily gestured to Benny to hurry up and the young man jogged over to Hando’s side, not wanting to test his patience any further.

  “Now where?” Benny asked.

  “In there, brother.” Hando pointed into the woods. “But as soon as we see as much as a tent, cabin or individual, we stop walking, keep down and stay still.”