Ghostland_A Zombie apocalypse Novel

by Shaun Whittington

“I’m fine,” she cried and said with a quiver, tears in her eyes, “Daddy?”

  “Yes, babe? What is it?”

  Imelda’s eyes filled with water and couldn’t get the words out.

  “We really don’t have time for this, right now.”

  Imelda looked at her father with wet eyes and cried, “You told me that they were all gone.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Simon. “We’ll talk about that later.”

  Dicko said to Helen, “Let’s not take any more chances. Get the kids upstairs. Go to Simon’s room, the lot of you. Imelda will show you where to go. Just don’t use the back bedroom.”

  “What’s in there?” Helen asked.

  “I’ll explain later. Just don’t go in.”

  “Daddy?” Imelda cried.

  Simon, holding the machete with both hands, said, “It’s okay, babe. Just go with Helen. I’ll be up in a bit.”

  Helen took the kids into the house and shut the back door behind her.

  “How do we do this?” Simon asked, his words drenched in panic.

  “How many have you killed before?” Donald asked him, staring at the dead that were a matter of yards away.

  “Just the two.”

  “Jesus wept,” Donald moaned.

  “Spread out!” Yoler yelled. “I don’t want to be catching you men when me and Simon are swinging our machetes about.”

  “Are we all ready?” Dicko asked the other three. He could see that the dead gang had almost finished climbing the hill and were nearly on flat ground.

  Simon, Yoler and Donald nodded in unison.

  “I’m a bit out of practice,” Dicko said with a smile, “but here goes.”

  Dicko took a couple of steps forward and rammed his blade into the forehead of the nearest one. Yoler also attacked them and, Simon could see Donald take out his first, a female, with a stab to the temple.

  Simon could see the three individuals take the dead down with ease, and felt guilty for hesitating. He pulled his blade behind his head and embedded it into a creature that had its back to him. The machete blade went into the top of the skull by a few inches, and this made the creature fall to the ground with the machete still stuck, but it wasn’t finished, and Donald had to step in and finish the creature off.

  Simon pulled the blade out of the head and could see one of them coming over, a teenage girl in its former life with a bloody dress on. Its face was ashen, its eyes pale, and it looked like it had fresh blood on its chin.

  Clare’s blood, possibly?

  He took in a deep breath and swiped at the female, but he missed. He swiped once more and this time the blade struck the side of its head, but it wasn’t enough to kill the ghoul. With the blade still stuck in the side of the creature’s head, the Canavar’s arms were outstretched and grabbed Simon by the shoulders.

  Simon tried to push the thing away, but it was freakishly strong.

  He grabbed the female ghoul by the throat to stop himself from being bitten, took a step backwards, lost his footing, and the pair of them fell to the ground.

  With the Canavar on top of Simon, he put his hands under its chin as it tried to bite, but it was a battle he was losing. His arms were weakening and the diseased mouth of the dead being was dropping closer to his face.

  He winced as the smell from the female hit him. He retched as he could see a handful of maggots fall out of its rotten mouth as it opened to take a chunk out of him. He turned his head to the side to avoid the maggots from hitting him in the face, then turned to face the dead thing and focused on more important matters: not getting infected. He cried out as his arms quivered, and the female Canavar snarled and managed to free itself from Simon’s weakening grip.

  Its head dropped and Simon screamed out, knowing that he had lost the fight and could feel the teeth of the Canavar touch his neck.

  He closed his eyes, winced, and waited for the inevitable bite.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Helen, David and Imelda hid in the room, listening to the commotion outside. Imelda was desperate to see if her daddy was okay. She attempted once to go over to the window and see how they were getting on, but Helen had pulled her back and they remained sitting in the corner of the bedroom, all shuddering like cats being cornered by a fox.

  It had gone quiet all of a sudden.

  Helen looked at her petrified son and then at the terrified face of Imelda Washington.

  “What’s happening?” Imelda asked Helen.

  “I don’t know,” was Helen’s response. “I really don’t know.”

  “Go and have a look, mummy,” David whined. “I want to know if the Canavars are all gone.”

  “Okay, son.” Helen nodded and took a quick glance at Imelda. She asked Simon’s daughter, “You okay, love? You look very pale.”

  Said Imelda, unconvincingly, “I’m alright.”

  “You sure? You’re sweating as well.”

  “Yes,” Imelda snapped.

  Helen told the kids to stay where they were and slowly stood to her feet. She shuffled over to the window and reluctantly took a peep out, looking down. She could see dead bodies scattered across the back yard, and gasped when she saw Simon lying on the floor, on his back.

  “What is it?” Imelda asked. She had heard Helen’s gasp and could tell by her face that she had seen something upsetting.

  “It’s nothing,” Helen lied.

  “Is it daddy?” Imelda stood up and was about to walk over.

  “Stay where you are.” Helen pointed at Imelda and added, “I’m not gonna let you see this.”

  Imelda sat back down, next to David, and both children shook with fear, wondering what was and what had been going on outside.

  Helen took another look outside and looked down where Simon lay.

  A smile stretched across her face.

  *

  He opened his eyes and looked up to the grey skies. He raised his hand and felt his neck, then inspected his fingers.

  There was no blood.

  The faces of Yoler, Dicko and Donald Brownstone could now be seen in his vision, and the three of them were looking down on Simon Washington.

  “You okay?” Dicko asked him.

  Simon looked unsure. “I ... think so.”

  Dicko knelt down and gave Simon his hand and pulled him up until he was sitting. Simon scratched his head and looked to the side of him and could see his female attacker was lying defunct, stab wound to the back of the head.

  “One more second and you would have been Canavar meat,” Dicko laughed gently, wiping his blade on the tattered clothes of the deceased.

  “Thanks,” said Simon, still dazed.

  “Don’t mention it.” He patted the holster where the trench knife was and said, “All thanks to Trevor once more.”

  Simon rubbed his head and decided that it was time to stand on his feet. He put his hands on his head and had a look around, staring at the dead bodies.

  “The two that went for Helen and the kids...” Simon began. “They came from the front; from the main road.”

  Dicko nodded and said, “I’ll check it out. See if there’re more.”

  Once Dicko disappeared, Yoler asked Simon how he was feeling, whilst Donald stood near Simon, staring at the man with contempt.

  “How’s he feeling?” Donald scoffed. “You’re asking how’s he feeling? Embarrassed ... that’s probably how he’s feeling. I had to help him with the first one. Overall, he only killed one of them in the end, and that was from behind. I saw it with my own eyes.” He then widened his eyes at Simon, and growled, “Your performance was fucking pish. You’re about as much use as a stitched up cunt.”

  “Alright, alright,” Yoler barged past Brownstone and stood next to Simon. “Leave him alone, you bald prick.”

  “No wonder. He was about as much use as a condom machine in a fucking nunnery.”

  “Simon was the first to come here,” Yoler said, “so he has overall say who stays and who doesn’t.”

  “So?”


  “So, slap head, watch your mouth.”

  “You’ve got a big mouth for a little slag,” Donald Brownstone took a menacing step forward, but Yoler wasn’t for budging.

  “I may not be able to take you on,” she said, “but what I can do is cut your ball sack open while you sleep.”

  Donald opened his mouth to react to Yoler’s threat, but the presence of Dicko returning stopped him.

  “It’s clear at the front,” Dicko announced. “Must have been a couple of strays from the main road.”

  “The screaming didn’t help,” said Donald.

  “That was my fault,” Simon confessed. “I told her that the dead weren’t around anymore, so she must have had quite a fright.”

  “Yeah, well, if that little bitch screams like that again...”

  Donald never had chance to finish his sentence and staggered backwards, slowly realising that Simon had punched him in the jaw.

  “You bastard.” Donald rubbed his jaw and ran over to Simon, but Dicko went over and took out Donald with a left hook, making the burly man stagger and fall onto his backside.

  “Another trick like that,” said Dicko, “and it’s curtains for you, Kojak.”

  “Are we gonna let this prick stay with us?” Yoler asked Simon. “Helen and little David are no bother, but this prick would make a priest kick his cunt in.”

  Simon looked down on Donald and watched as the large bald man rubbed his face where Dicko had struck him. He knew that he’d make a good warrior, be a great asset, but would living with someone with such a volatile temper be worth it?

  Simon said, “We’ll give him another chance. On one condition.”

  “And what’s that?” Donald mumbled, getting ready to stand on his two feet again.

  Simon went inside, and returned from the kitchen a few seconds later. He tossed a cigarette lighter over in Donald’s direction. “Drag the bodies into a pile at the side of the house and burn them.”

  “But there’s twelve of them, you dig what I’m sayin’?” moaned Donald.

  “Then you should make a start now,” said Dicko with a hard glare.

  Simon turned on his heels, heading for the house again, and Yoler asked him where he was going. “I’m gonna see how my daughter is.”

  By the time Simon reached the living room, Helen and David came through the door that led to the upstairs.

  “Where is she?” Simon began to panic.

  “It’s okay. Relax.” Helen smiled and brushed her fingers through her dark bobbed hair. “She said she wanted to be left alone. Is it safe now?”

  “Yes.” Simon nodded. “The others are outside. No one got hurt … not really.” Simon squeezed past Helen and her son, but she grabbed his sleeve and said, “Your daughter said she wanted to be left alone.”

  “It’s okay.” Simon gave Helen a strange and confused look. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m her dad.”

  He left the living room and trotted upstairs, approached the closed bedroom door where he and Imelda slept and gave it a gentle knock. “It’s daddy,” he announced, but opened the door before getting a reply.

  Imelda was sitting up on the bed, and had her knees up. She had sheets of white paper; almost the same colour as her face, by her feet and was writing-or drawing with her pencil.

  “You okay, babe?”

  “Uh-huh.” Imelda wasn’t crying, but her eyes looked wet. It looked like she was close.

  “Look,” Simon gulped and paused, “the reasons why I told you that—”

  “I know why you did it, daddy,” she said. She never looked up at Simon and continued to scribble.

  “You do?”

  “You did it to protect me.”

  “I’m sorry you had to see that ... them.” Simon took a step forward, but Imelda spoke and stopped him in his tracks.

  “Don’t come near me, daddy,” she said.

  “What?” Simon was mystified. “Are you angry with me?”

  She shook her head, still scribbling. “I want to be left alone for a few minutes, then we’ll talk. We’ll all talk.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Daddy, please.”

  “Okay.”

  Simon never asked any more questions. He did as he was told and left the bedroom, closing the door behind him ever so slowly. He trudged his frame back down to the ground floor, his mind polluted by confusion.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Minutes had passed and Simon, Yoler, Dicko, Helen and young David watched from outside as the bodies burned. It didn’t take long for Donald to drag the bodies in one spot, but trying to set the defunct creatures alight was far more difficult.

  Donald asked if he could wash his hands with the water that was available and promised to take a trip to the pond himself to get more the next morning. Because of the large supplies of bottled water and sodas anyway, they all agreed and he went inside to the kitchen. The remaining individuals looked up when they heard a window opening and could see Imelda’s face.

  “Can you all come up?” she said. “I have something to tell you.”

  They all looked up at her, and Simon was the first to enter the house and make his way up.

  Helen and David followed, and then Yoler and Dicko walked behind them.

  “What’s going on?” Donald asked Dicko.

  “Stay down here,” said Dicko, who was unable to answer Donald’s query. “Keep guard.”

  Simon was on the landing and entered the room and went over to his daughter; he was quickly followed by the others. Imelda was sitting up; her blonde hair tied back, and had her hands resting on her lap. She looked pale and was sweating.

  Dicko was the last to enter and shut the door behind him. Yoler, Dicko, Helen and David stood by the end of the bed, patiently waiting for what Imelda had to say, whilst Simon sat at the side and stroked his little girl’s hair.

  “So?” Yoler couldn’t bite her tongue any longer. “What is it? What’s happening?”

  The little girl remained silent; her pale face quivered with nerves, and Simon continued to sit next to her on the bed, stroking her clammy head with his thumb.

  “What is it, babe?” her father asked her. “What’s wrong? Is there something on your mind? Is it because I told you that the Canavars were all gone, is that it?”

  Again, there was no answer from the eight-year-old.

  “Tell me.”

  Imelda cleared her throat, lifted her hands from her lap, and turned her hands around and showed them her palms. The left hand had a sock wrapped around it. With her right hand, Imelda removed the sock.

  “It’s just a small one,” she said with sadness. “But it’s enough. We all know that it’s enough.”

  Helen gasped and Simon broke down when he saw the bite at the side of her left palm. It was small, and didn’t look like a full bite, but Imelda was correct. It was enough. They all knew in the room, even young David, that it was enough to get her infected. And she was. She was infected.

  Simon screwed his right hand into a fist and bit into it. He was sobbing quietly, but Imelda tried to remain calm.

  “When they came from the side of the house, the first one tried to attack me, but I pushed it away, and then we both fell over. That’s when it bit me, but I pulled my hand away as Dicko killed it.”

  “No, no, no.” Simon grabbed his little girl and kissed her head. “Not my baby. Not my sweet little baby.”

  “Don’t be sad, daddy,” she spoke with calm and added, “It’s okay.”

  “You can’t go,” Simon cried and hugged his little girl. “You can’t.”

  Helen released tears of her own and gave an upset David a hug as they watched the sad episode unfold in front of their eyes.

  “What do we do?” Yoler asked nobody in particular. “How do we handle this?”

  The adults in the room all stared at one another, and Simon broke away from his pale daughter.

  “I want to be buried in the back garden,” Imelda said openly, stunning the p
eople in the room. “I don’t feel too well and I think I’ve got minutes left, if I’m lucky. I don’t want to turn.” She looked at Yoler. “Once I fall asleep, I want you to do it.”

  Simon flashed Yoler a look. Simon said, “Do it? What do you mean by do it?”

  A silence fell on the room and all the adults knew what she wanted, but not Simon. What the hell was his daughter talking about? Do it? Do what?

  Imelda spoke with a croak in her voice. “I want Yoler to kill me, daddy.”

  “Oh God.” He placed his hands on his head and waggled his head from side to side. Please tell me this isn’t happening. Please tell me this is a dream.

  Imelda placed her cold hand on her daddy’s thigh and said, “I would never ask you to do it, daddy. That wouldn’t be fair.”

  “How?” Yoler asked the little girl. There was no emotion in Yoler’s voice, but her eyes were moist, despite trying to be strong for father and daughter.

  Imelda produced a thin smile and a tear fell from each eye. “A knife through the temple. Nothing too messy.”

  Simon fell to the side of the bed and now had his knees on the carpet, kneeling by the side of the bed and had his hands on his daughter’s leg.

  “Do you want a drink?” Dicko asked the little girl.

  She shook her head and moved down the bed and lay down. She released a sigh and said to Simon, “I’m tired, daddy.”

  He touched her clammy head and released more tears. She was getting colder. It wasn’t long now.

  She closed her eyes and groaned, “Don’t be sad, daddy.”

  “I can’t help it,” he sobbed. “You’re my baby girl. The only thing I have left.”

  “I’m not sad, daddy. I’m going to see mummy and Tyler.”

  He watched her chest rising up and down as she breathed, and leaned over and kissed her on her cold, damp forehead.

  He lowered his head and rested it on the bed, sobbing for the only thing he had left to love. He could hear whispering between Dicko and Yoler, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. He didn’t want to know what they were saying.

  “Simon? Simon?”

  Yoler’s voice could be heard, but Simon never lifted his head.