Ghostland_A Zombie apocalypse Novel

by Shaun Whittington

  GHOSTLAND

  By

  Shaun Whittington

  First Edition

  www.severedpress.com

  Copyright 2018 by Shaun Whittington

  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 is a work of fiction, and many of the events in the book occur in real places. However, in these areas I have taken the liberty of exaggerating certain things that suited the book. Other places that are mentioned may not be real at all, so if you are from the area that I have written about, try not to be too upset that I have twisted a few things.

  This is a book about after the apocalypse, so it does contain tension, gore, and scenes that could upset individuals, especially scenes involving children. It needs to be as real as possible, and in reality nobody would be exempt from such an unforgiving world.

  Thanks,

  Shaun.

  GHOSTLAND

  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

  He released a long moan and put his head back, staring into the darkness. His daughter had finally fallen asleep, and as soon as Simon Washington could hear the eight-year-old girl snoring gently as she laid her head on his lap, he leaned over and blew the candle out. He had no idea what time it was. Ten? Eleven?

  She wasn’t a big fan of the dark. She was not exactly terrified of it, which was a near-miracle considering what they had been through, but if the candlelight helped her go to sleep then her father was happy to use up some of the wax.

  He ran his fingers from his right hand through his bushy beard whilst stroking his daughter’s head with his left, and closed his eyes. He was sleepy, his eyes were stinging, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins was making sleep a hard task to achieve.

  He was getting that feeling again.

  He hadn’t experienced it in days, but it was happening. He sat up, straightened his back, and tried to ride it out. He stopped stroking his daughter’s head and put the two fingers of his left hand on his neck, feeling for the carotid artery.

  His pulse felt normal, kind of, so where was the surge of adrenaline coming from? And why was he finding it difficult to breathe? Was it all in his mind?

  He tried a few breathing exercises, like he normally did in this situation. He took in a deep breath and held it for eight seconds, then slowly released for another eight. He continued to do this, and after a few minutes the episode had come to a close, like it normally did. He had no idea why this was happening. Yes, he and his daughter, Imelda, were in a dire situation, but these panic attacks had only started a couple of months ago.

  Why didn’t it start straight away? Why didn’t it start a year ago when the country, and possibly the world, went into chaos? He didn’t know what it really was. Was it really a panic attack? Did he have high blood pressure? Something else?

  When it first happened he thought he was having a heart attack. Just the thought of dying frightened him, so his panic grew and it seemed to make the situation worse. The fear of leaving his daughter alone was petrifying for Simon. Leaving his daughter to fend for herself was what frightened him the most. He had taught her things. He had shown her how to catch game by setting traps, how to skin rabbits, filtering water, but being eight years old with no parents, walking these barren lands alone, was something that broke his heart just thinking about it.

  He closed his eyes and felt tiredness creep up on him. He nodded off for no longer than ten seconds and suddenly gasped, getting a fright, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention. Was there something outside?

  He unzipped his blue fleece jacket, careful not to wake his daughter, and left the jacket opened; it wasn’t so cold. He was sure that it was around springtime; maybe April or May, he wasn’t exactly sure.

  The winter seemed like a lifetime ago now, and he and his daughter had been on the road for a few months; he guessed three. They had stayed in their house for nearly nine months before they had to leave. When they were at their house and had run out of food, they had to spend their time raiding neighbours’ houses. Most of the houses were empty, because in the beginning, when the Canavars were in their droves and most people fled to a different place, going elsewhere seemed a better option for most folk. Since the bombs had fallen, people, as well as the Canavars, had been depleted. Simon hadn’t seen one in months, and his daughter hadn’t seen any since that day. The day she lost her mummy and her brother; the day Simon lost his wife and his son.

  He had no idea where to go next once morning had arrived, and knew that staying in the wooden hut for another night was not an option.

  For months the pair of them roamed from one house to the next, picking up scraps here and there, and he knew that this couldn’t go on forever. Food was going to dry up eventually. Water was fine, for the time being. He knew how to filter water, although the process wasn’t entirely perfect. They had a few jars with them that also had lids, and a couple of old soda bottles that Simon kept in his rucksack. The soda bottles were cut in half, and had, at the top of the bottle, small pebbles. Underneath the pebbles was sand. A cloth was below the sand, tied with an elastic band.

  Once the water had been filtered Simon would filter it again, boil it for a minute, and then let it cool down. The water had to be filtered to remove waterborne cysts that could harbour and protect bacteria from chemical treatment or even boiling, but he was aware that the cysts were capable of withstanding high temperatures.

  The filtering process would remove some cysts along with pesticides, herbicides, sediment, insects and other debris. It was a lengthy process, and was quite frustrating that it took up a lot of their time.

  In the beginning, the Canavars were the problem, but after the bombs fell, other humans were now a danger. He knew that not every individual was a danger to him and his daughter, but he had to be wary of any stranger, male or female. Times were different, and people were resorting to any methods in order to survive. He had seen it with his own eyes.

  He felt a throbbing in the back of his mouth and placed his fingers in and touched one of his back teeth. He winced when his fingers made contact and knew it had to come out eventually.

  He had no tools to deal with the situation, but was sure he could wait a while. He had only felt the discomfort a few weeks ago, and although it was painful, he was certain he could hold on for another few days or so. It wasn’t exactly keeping him awake at night. Not yet.

  He stroked his daughter’s head once more, leaned over and kissed her. Her hair needed washing. The last time she had washed her hair was a couple of weeks ago when they came across an abandoned house that had no food available, but had bottles of lemonade and bars of soap.

  The days of old seemed like a lifetime ago now. His daughter went to gymnastics on a Friday evening, and back then all she worried about was her technique for her one handed cartwheel and what the new move was going to be. Now, she worried about other things. She worried about where the next meal was going to come from and if they were going to run into any trouble.

  They had been very careful.

  They had remained in the countryside since they had escaped f
rom their house, after her brother and mother were attacked, but Simon had told her that they needed to head to somewhere more residential—a place that was reasonably populated in the old world. He was hoping to come across more houses, shops, maybe even a friendly community that had been created by some locals, but he was aware that a place with numbers could also mean danger for him and his daughter.

  Most of the houses that they had checked recently had nothing left. The food had either been taken when the owners had packed up and left, when the Canavars had exploded on the scene, or other people had raided the house during that period, maybe even after.

  The arrival of the Canavars was bad enough and had depleted the nation severely, but when the country was attacked from the skies, mainly the cities, there didn’t seem to be anyone around. That, of course, wasn’t the case, but that’s what it felt like for Simon Washington and his eight-year-old daughter.

  Simon and Imelda felt like they were the last people left on this earth.

  How wrong they were.

  Chapter Two

  Next Day

  He woke up with a start, and at first was unsure where he was. He was still sitting up and his eyes scanned around the dusky area and immediately placed his hand on his daughter’s head. He smiled. She was still there, still with her head on his lap. He tried to sit up without disturbing his daughter. He had no idea how long they had both slept. Maybe they had had plenty of hours or maybe not enough, he wasn’t sure.

  He could see that it was light outside because there was light shining through the tiny cracks of the shed that they were in.

  He and his daughter had weeks of monotony, walking from one place to the next. To relieve the boredom they talked about how their lives were when things were normal. He openly talked about his wife and son, his daughter’s mother and brother, as he thought it was healthy to do this, rather than forgetting they ever existed.

  He had no idea how long it had been since their passing. A couple of months? Longer? It felt like years. He was sure they had died in January.

  Sometimes it felt like it had always been just him and his little girl, and the flashbacks that consisted of his wife and son were just his imagination. It sounded silly, but that’s how Simon felt sometimes. He had no photographs of his family, no video footage to remind him what life used to be like ... nothing! Everything he could remember about his past was in his head. He couldn’t remember it all, but a lot of the memories would come flooding back if his daughter would say or do something. Sometimes, however, the memories would sneak up on him like an assassin, without warning, and twang his heartstrings, forcing his throat to harden.

  His daughter began to moan and stir and this made him smile. He waited a minute and allowed his little girl to sit up in her own time. Eight-year-old Imelda Washington sat up and stretched her arms. Still sitting, she released a yawn and then looked at the outline of her dad who was sitting next to her.

  “Morning, babe,” said Simon in a soft voice.

  She never responded verbally and looked around, almost as if she was unsure where she was.

  “Sleep well?” He looked at the little scar that was on the right side of her forehead, just below her hairline.

  “Uh-huh.” She nodded and gazed around once more before adding, “Had a weird dream.”

  “Oh yeah?” Simon smirked and could hardly see his beautiful girl. The dusky shed hid her blonde hair, blue eyes and perfect skin. “What was it about?”

  “Erm...”

  She seemed reluctant to tell him and Simon decided not to push her. The dream could have been too silly to describe, or it could have been one about her mum and older brother.

  “You know what?” Simon gently touched Imelda’s cheek and said, “Why don’t you tell me once we’re on the road.”

  She nodded and groaned, “So we’re moving again?”

  Simon smiled and nodded. “We need to go where the food is.”

  “Nowhere then.”

  Simon decided to ignore her moaning, stood to his feet and stretched his arms. He then put his arms out straight in front of him and stretched his back. He smiled as he remembered that this was the type of stretch, as well as others, he used when he went to the gym.

  The gym, he thought. That seemed like a lifetime ago now.

  ‘You hungry, babe?” he asked her.

  “Not really.”

  Simon cupped his right hand, brought it up to his mouth and breathed into it, immediately sniffing his breath. He twisted his nose. He needed to brush his teeth. He hadn’t brushed them in days and his teeth were beginning to hurt. They had two worn toothbrushes in the bag that he had, but had little toothpaste. They had managed to acquire some toothpaste from the last house they were in, and it had also been days since Imelda had brushed her teeth.

  They had no plan. They simply wandered from one place to the next, from one town to the other. He just wanted the pair of them to survive. That was what his wife would have wanted. If he had lost his whole family on that terrible day he would have killed himself, but he had Imelda. She was the only thing that was keeping him going, keeping him sane. He had responsibilities, and the thought of him dying and leaving his little girl, alone, upset him. He saw what it did to her when she lost her mum and Tyler, her older brother.

  “Ready to go?” he asked her.

  She stood and straightened her back and nodded in the dim shed. He picked up the rucksack and went over to the door and pushed the door open. The pair of them squinted as the sun flooded the inside of the wooden hut, stinging their eyes. Both raised their hands to shield their eyes, and slowly stepped outside to a beautiful day, with Simon leading the way. He hadn’t eaten for a day and decided to rummage through his bag.

  Because of his daughter, he didn’t want to use the supplies, but he was no good to her dead. He looked around at the garden they were in and could see the long grass. The houses that stretched along were in ruins. Some were unrecognisable as houses anymore, and yet, bizarrely, the shed that they had stayed in stood untouched. Maybe the houses in front had shielded it from the bombs that had been dropped months ago. He wanted to keep away from the ruins, the areas that had been affected, but last night they had no choice.

  Noises from the previous night, coming from males, had forced father and daughter to flee, and the shed was the first thing they saw whilst their bodies were engulfed in panic.

  Simon put the bag on the floor, unzipped the rucksack and began to rummage through. Inside the bag he had:

  Two steak knives.

  One claw hammer.

  3 tins of beans.

  A tin of sardines.

  A packet of Frosties (out of date).

  3 bars of soap.

  3 carrier bags.

  Two jars and soda bottles to purify water.

  One empty plastic bottle.

  A hairbrush.

  An assortment of candles.

  A shaving mirror.

  Peter Benchley’s Jaws paperback (This book was in the bottom of his bag. It was his favourite film, and had read the book when he was a child).

  One pair of spare trainers for his daughter.

  Two pairs of knickers.

  An OMG black T-shirt. OMG was in pink lettering.

  One black V-neck T-shirt.

  Two worn yellow toothbrushes.

  Green disposable lighter.

  An adult blue T-shirt.

  He pulled out a tin of beans and shook it in front of Imelda. “You sure you’re not hungry?”

  “I’m sure.” She nodded, and scanned around where they were with fear scrawled on her face.

  “Okay. Maybe I’ll have a tin later.” Simon could see the concern on her face and pointed up ahead. “Let’s go this way.”

  Simon put the tin in his pocket, threw the bag over his shoulder and moved away from the ruins that was once a street full of life. He took a quick scan around the broken street and imagined brand new cars parked on the drives, children playing, and people out walking
their dogs. He had hardly seen any animals since he had been on the road. He didn’t know why. There must have been a lot of domestic pets, mainly cats and dogs that had lost their owners and had to fend for themselves.

  He placed his arm around his daughter’s shoulder and his mind went back to that day—not when they announced the first crisis, but weeks after, when the bombs fell.

  Before the bombs had fallen, Simon and his family had been hiding in their attic, away from those things, living off scraps, and occasionally going out and taking supplies from abandoned houses that had been left when the country was in stage one of this crisis.

  He hated going out. It frightened the life out of him when going out for the first time, but he couldn’t let his family starve. Thankfully, the neighbours to his left had decided to chance their luck elsewhere and had fled, but hadn’t taken all the food with them. He didn’t know why. His elderly neighbours to the right had decided to commit suicide. When he broke into the house, he found them on their bed, on their backs and holding hands. They had taken an overdose of painkillers. The positives from this was that they had left a house with cupboards full of food, and this told Simon that they must have killed themselves in the first week.

  Stage One was what Simon and Imelda called it. Stage One was when the dead began to attack. Stage Two was when the bombs fell.

  When Stage Two began, Simon had a feeling what was happening and relocated his family to the basement, to lower ground, to be safer. Getting to higher ground was better for Stage One, when the dead were out in their numbers, but going to lower ground was more beneficial when Stage Two began to happen, getting his family away from potential falling debris and shattered glass from the windows.

  When the bombs had stopped and he was brave enough to get to the roof of his house, a couple of weeks after, he could see that the area he was in looked unscathed. There was the usual smashed up cars from the Stage One era, as well as bodies and blood, but after the explosions had stopped, he could see that the streets near him looked untouched. He could see from afar that certain buildings like high-rise flats and churches, as well as a shopping centre, weren’t there anymore, but his area was fine. Whoever dropped the bombs, it appeared that there were specific targets, but his street, as well as dozens around him, hadn’t been damaged.