He called out his son’s name, but received no answer. Paul and Karen both stepped inside. Paul, holding the shotgun loosely in his right hand, constantly called out Kyle’s name, but there was no response. He wasn’t by the urinals, and Karen began checking under the cubicles, but nothing was there. Paul and Karen both had their t-shirts over their noses as they walked into the shower area, and Karen peered her head round to look in. She suddenly released a scream.
Paul barged past Karen, and felt his knees buckle once his eyes clocked the macabre and surreal sight of one of the dead, sitting down on the shower floor and stuffing entrails from a body into its mouth. His knees began to buckle and his face drained. The thing was aware that other entities were in the room, but the ‘meal’ he was enjoying appeared to be too good to be dragged away from.
It hadn’t sunk in just yet for Paul Dickson, but as soon as the sitting beast put its hands inside the torso of the little body once more, he dropped the shotgun and his whole body shuddered. Karen held him back and gently pushed him out of the shower area. He fought back, and re-entered the area to help his boy, despite him being beyond help, and clocked the awful sight of little Kyle’s body and his bloody face, his hazel eyes wide open.
Karen picked up the shotgun off the floor, went over, and front-kicked the creature off the body. She walked around and grabbed the snarling beast by its hand and pulled it across the floor with her left, whilst holding the shotgun with her right. It grabbed her ankle as it writhed on the floor, still chewing parts of Kyle, and she gave it a smack in the face with the butt of the gun, turned it around, and emptied a shell into its face.
Its face exploded; the contents were spread over the floor. The noise was deafening; both Paul and Karen’s ears were ringing, and she dropped the gun to the floor next to the mushy brains that had been forced out of the creature’s head. She took a quick peep at the remains of young Kyle Dickson, his belly had almost been emptied, and sobbed as she went back over to the shell-shocked father who was still standing at the end of the shower area, unsure what to do.
Paul walked backwards until his back was against the tiled wall of the changing room. Tears streamed down at a furious rate and his face wobbled. He slowly slid down, sobbing uncontrollably because he had lost his son. His strawberry blonde hair would never be sniffed again by his father. Paul would never get the chance to look into Kyle’s hazel eyes, or wake up next to him anymore. And Paul’s elbow would never be pinched and twisted again by his little man, the way Kyle used to whenever he was nervous.
After that, Dicko had lost his mind for a while. Sandy Lane was then attacked by the dead, and the surviving residents left to go to a place in Little Haywood, to a street called Colwyn Place, where another community had been set up.
*
A scream filled his ears, but this time it wasn’t something from his dream. His eyes suddenly widened and he remained lying on the floor, almost paralysed.
Another scream pierced the night, coming from a female, and Dicko quickly got to his feet and stood up in the darkness. More screams and scared voices filled the cabin, and the sound of Donald’s tone was heard, telling everyone to back up into a corner.
A pair of hands grabbed Dicko by the throat and from the coldness of the hands, the snarling, and the stench, he knew straightaway it was a Canavar.
“Canavar!” he cried.
He grabbed it by its shoulders and pushed it back. A small light appeared from the corner of the cabin that lit up the place. Dicko turned around to see Donald holding a match and he lit a candle. Three of the dead were inside, a body was on the floor, and Dicko reached for his knife whilst Yoler appeared from nowhere and lashed out at the first one with her own large blade. Her blade embedded into its skull as voices and cries of panic filled the cabin, and Dicko used his foot to push the other two out of the cabin, both Canavars falling over and tumbling down the steps.
Dicko stood in the doorway and waited for them to climb back up. Yoler emerged by his side, and with what little light they had, they could see four of them.
“Fuck this!” Yoler cussed and trotted down the steps with her stained blade at the ready.
She swung at the nearest one and Dicko had now reached ground level and put down one of the dead. Two left and simultaneously they pulled their blades behind their heads and brought them down at the top of the skulls of the remaining two. Yoler’s ‘victim’ stood motionless and eventually slumped to the ground in a heap, whereas Dicko front kicked the Canavar he had just destroyed, pushing it backwards and freeing the blade.
They turned around and could see Donald dragging out the Canavar from inside the cabin and angrily throwing it onto the ground. Cries continued from inside the cabin and Dicko told Donald that the rest inside had to be quiet in case any more turned up. They had killed five, but they were surrounded by darkness and unaware if any other dangers were lurking about.
“Keep them quiet?” Donald huffed. “Easier said than done. If we knew what was happening, we could have used the side door to escape, like I did a few weeks ago, remember?”
Dicko sighed, “I know they’re scared—”
“Scared?” Donald almost released a laugh. “You haven’t seen what’s happened, have you? Helen wouldn’t even let me go near David. They’re all in shock in there.”
Dicko and Yoler both looked perplexed and never responded verbally.
“Go and take a look inside. I’ll stay here.”
Dicko and Yoler put their blades away, into their belts, and went inside the cabin, whilst Donald remained outside with his knife out and in his right hand.
Yoler and Dicko stopped once they were in the middle of the cabin and could see Helen and David cuddling one another in one corner, crying. In the other corner of the place they could see a hysterical Grace consoling her mother. Lisa Newton had been bitten on the neck. Blood poured out of the woman and she had minutes left to live if she was lucky. By their feet was Gavin Bertrand. He was dead. He was the first to be attacked and died from neck wounds, similar to what was happening to Lisa.
“Oh, shit.” Yoler groaned and rubbed her forehead. She had experience, like Dicko, of witnessing carnage of people she knew and cared about, but it was still heartbreaking to witness.
Dicko remembered his dream and saw a crying David being consoled by Helen. He went over to the corner to see if they were okay, but Helen screamed at Dicko to leave her alone. Dicko was baffled by her outburst and grabbed the candle, and took a step closer to mother and child. He could see the fright on both of their faces and felt for them. Then he saw something that twisted his guts.
He could feel his throat harden and placed the candle back where he had picked it up. He walked over to Yoler’s side and whispered in her ear, making the female’s eyes widen with shock.
Young David had been bitten on the arm.
Chapter Forty
Donald nervously looked around and could see nothing but darkness. He had an idea who could have been responsible for this, but the people inside the cabin were the primary focus at the moment.
He shook his head and could hear a snap to his left. It was faint, but it was the unmistakeable snap of a twig he had heard.
Another faint noise could be heard and Donald ran into the woods, where the noise had come from and could just about see the silhouette of a man that he was convinced was Hando. Both men were holding a blade and both swiped at one another once they were in close proximity, but both missed. Donald grabbed Hando by the shoulders, dropping his knife and both men fell to the ground. After a minute of wrestling, Hando had managed to overpower Donald and was on top of the man. He rammed his blade into Donald’s shoulder, forcing the man to scream out, and took a left hook as he pulled out the blade.
Donald hit Hando again and the dazed man fell back and dropped his knife. Donald scrambled to his feet and could see the silhouette of Hando trying to get up. Donald took a run at the man and kicked him in the stomach and could now hear the voices of Yoler and
Dicko calling him from behind. Donald kicked Hando again and yelled, “Over here!”
Donald’s ankles were grabbed and he was pulled to the ground. He felt dazed once his head hit the floor and felt the presence of his assailant standing over him.
“Fuck,” he muttered. He was convinced he was done for.
The sounds of disturbed plantation could be heard ahead of Donald and it had also been heard by Hando as well. The man pulled out a lighter and the flame lit up a small part of the woods. Two Canavars could be seen making their way in their direction, and Hando grinned.
Donald could hear the voices of Yoler and Dicko still calling out to him, but couldn’t respond.
“Why did you do this?” Donald called out. “For the food? For revenge after turning you away at the farmhouse? And then killing your friend?”
“I did it to survive, brother.” Hando was struggling to speak between his hard breaths. “If killing you lot … hell … if killing a dozen people is what is needed to help me survive longer, then that’s what needs to be done. Children are no exception. It’s never stopped me before.”
“You raped Grace’s mother and killed her younger sister!”
“I didn’t say I was perfect, brother, did I?” Hando, still holding the lighter, took a peek behind him and could see the two dead were around ten yards away.
Hando placed his lighter back into his pocket and picked up a large boulder that was sitting in the bracken to the right of him. “Now, brother, I’m going to smash your fucking brains in.” He walked towards the lying Donald and lifted the rock above his head. “I won’t leave you for the dead. That would be too cruel.”
Hando bent over and grinned at the injured Brownstone. Donald didn’t cower. He gulped and brought his foot back once Hando was closer and pushed out into Hando’s midriff, a second before the boulder was due to be released, and gave every ounce of energy he had left in that one kick. Hando dropped the boulder and staggered backwards a few yards, finding it difficult to stay still, and the silhouette of the man suddenly disappeared from Donald’s eyes.
“What the...?”
A light appeared from behind Donald and Yoler and Dicko arrived. Dicko was holding a candle in his left hand with his machete in his right, and all three could see the two Canavars, but Hando was nowhere to be seen.
Yoler pulled Donald up to his feet and told him not to move, as she and Dicko were about to take care of the two dead that were seconds away from the three of them.
Donald looked around the woods and a thought entered his head. “No, wait!” he called out. Donald rubbed his head and went over to the two dead. He pushed them both over, giving them three seconds of respite as the Canavars tried to get back to their feet, and told Dicko to follow him. Donald moved a few yards and now recognised the area. The candlelight revealed a section of the ground, trees ahead of them, but also a large square hole in the ground. It was the trap they had covered, and Donald moved forwards a few more yards to take a look in, and already knew that Hando was gong to be at the bottom of it.
Donald, Dicko and Yoler all peered down and could see a groaning Hando. His left ankle was broken and he had been stabbed in his right thigh by the knife in his pocket after his awkward fall.
The two Canavars approached the three by the edge of the ditch and Yoler and Dicko took a quick peek at Donald. Feeling their look, he told them that the man in the ditch deserved the death he was about to get.
Dicko gave Donald the candle and told him to step to the side as the pair of them put their weapons away and grabbed the two advancing Canavars and threw them into the ditch.
Dicko took a hold of Donald and helped him back to the camp, with Yoler by their side. Behind them were the screams of Hando being ripped apart. It was a death that was beyond cruel, but all three were convinced it was something he deserved, despite not knowing the full extent of the man’s horrific wrongdoings over the past year.
Chapter Forty-One
A candle was placed on the ground near the cabin, and a dazed Donald fell to his knees. He was told that Lisa and Gavin had perished and that he couldn’t go inside because of the mess. Yoler told Donald that she would stay with him, in case there were more Canavars about, and Dicko went into the cabin to assess the situation. A red stumpy candle sat in the corner of the place and the room was filled with crying.
Dicko put his machete away and could see Grace still crying and holding her dead mother in one corner, and in the other, Helen Willis and her son were still.
Dicko walked over to Grace, stepping over Gavin’s body, trying not to get blood on the soles of his boots, and crouched down to Grace’s level.
“How did this happen?” she cried. “I don't understand.”
“It was the same man that killed your sister,” Dicko began to explain. “He also had a bit of beef with us in the past as well, especially Donald. He brought Canavars with him and kicked the door open. He wanted to hurt us.”
“Why?”
“Revenge?” Dicko hunched his shoulders. He wasn’t entirely sure himself. “Maybe he wanted the food that we’ve got stocked here. Maybe it was for both reasons. He’s dead now, thanks to Donald, so don’t worry.”
“Is Donald okay?”
“He’s fine. He’s outside.”
“How did that Hando know we were here?”
Dicko sighed and was unsure how to answer her query. He wasn’t sure, so he guessed and conjured up a few theories. “Maybe he went to the farm and came by us by accident. Maybe he had spotted Yoler and I when we were out and followed us back here, or he had spotted Donald… I’m not sure.”
Grace stroked her mum’s head and seemed unbothered that she was covered in her blood from her throat wound.
“I’m sorry about your mum,” Dicko said. “And Gavin. I know you two…”
“I know.”
“The only positive out of this whole mess is that because your mum died from her injuries, from massive blood loss, she won’t turn.” Dicko stood up and then turned his head to a frightened Helen and gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m going to move Gavin outside. I’ll be back in a bit.”
Dicko called Yoler in and they both removed Gavin and placed him at the side of the cabin, out of view. They checked on Donald again and could see the man was now sitting up, but still dazed from the blows he had taken during the fight with Hando.
“We need to remove Lisa as well,” Dicko said to Yoler. It was a conversation that Donald overheard. “We’ll put her next to Gavin.”
Donald staggered to his feet and was like a drunken man on a Saturday night. Dicko went over to the man, but Donald pushed him away.
“Leave me alone,” he snarled, still looking unsteady on his feet. “I want to see how Helen and David are.”
“They’re fine, Donnie Boy,” Yoler huffed. “Sit down before you fall down.”
Donald Brownstone ignored the advice from the female and entered the cabin. He quickly looked at Grace and Lisa’s body, but his main focus was Helen and David.
He approached the mother and son, but Helen screamed at Donald to keep away. Her words fell on deaf ears, and Donald crouched down and touched David’s head. Helen hugged the sobbing boy tighter and Donald stood up straight and staggered back after what he had just seen.
“Please,” Helen begged. “Leave us alone.”
Dicko entered the cabin and could see Donald was stumbling. He ushered the man outside and re-entered the place and told Grace that he wanted to move her mother outside. She agreed, and offered to help.
The body was placed next to Gavin at the side of the cabin, and Grace fell to her knees and cried. The two people she was closest to had died in the space of a few minutes. It was a hard one to take for the eighteen-year-old female.
Grace and Dicko walked by the cabin and stood outside and could see Donald sitting on the floor and Yoler on her knees, inspecting something on the ground.
“What is it?” Dicko asked her.
“The rope with the ti
ns has been cut,” she said. “That’s why we never heard anything approaching.”
“He’s been bitten,” Donald muttered behind them. “The youngster has been bitten.”
Dicko cleared his throat and groaned, “Yes, we know.”
“How do we handle this?”
“We’re gonna have to wait until the boy passes,” Yoler began. “Then we need to … take care of him.”
Grace continued to sit silently on the floor and stared into space, and Yoler and Dicko’s attention turned towards Donald once he did something that the pair of them had never seen before from the big man. He broke down and burst into tears.
Yoler and Dicko helplessly stood and stared at the broken man as he was doubled over with grief. They had no idea he was so close to the boy. But was it just that, or did it bring back the painful memories of when he lost his own son? Yoler took a step forwards, unsure whether to console the man or not. She decided not to. Instead, she watched him crumble and could feel her own emotions beginning to emerge.
A cry of pain from inside the cabin pierced the ears of the four individuals outside, and that cry alone forced Dicko to react first. He entered the cabin, leaving the three outside, and could see a heartbroken Helen Willis.
Dicko crouched down next to the woman, and placed his fingers on David’s carotid artery without any objections from Helen.
“He still has a pulse,” Dicko said with a hushed tone.
“But I can’t get him to wake up. Why?”
Dicko had no answer for the distraught woman and all he could do was shake his head.
Ghostland (Book 3): Ghostland 3 Page 16
