GHOSTLAND: PART II
by
Shaun Whittington
Copyright 2018
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 2 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: PART II
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
The walk to the shop had been made with no problems, and Lisa Newton took a gander at the small place that was situated by the defunct nursery. She and her two daughters had been staying in an abandoned caravan and had no idea what was around. She decided to check out the area, alone, leaving her daughters in the caravan, and wanted to see if there were scraps of food … anything.
She wasn’t from this village.
Originally, Lisa Newton was from Alrewas, and had fled the place months ago when the dead began to breach her house. She and her two daughters, who all literally left their home with just the clothes on their backs, had been going from one place to the next since then.
She approached the door of the shop and was surprised when she tried the handle. It was open.
She pulled out her knife from her pocket and pushed the door open. She released a deflated sigh when she could see that the place had already been ransacked.
Of course it had!
It had been a year since the apocalypse had kicked off. There was nothing left anymore. She stepped inside and could see that all the shelves were empty.
Cussing quietly, the dark haired woman walked through the dusky place, empty rucksack on her back, and headed for the door at the back. She knew that the door would lead upstairs, to where the owners of the shop lived, or used to live, but was apprehensive going up. If the shop was bare, then surely there wouldn’t be anything upstairs.
Lisa Newton had been scavenging, going from one place to the next, for the last eight months, ever since leaving her home. She lost her husband in the first month. He had gone out on a supply run and had never returned. She assumed he had been killed by the dead. Four months later, Lisa and her two daughters left their home on foot to go to a pub, near Fradley. Staying there was a short affair, and the three of them left and found an abandoned house that had a cupboard full of supplies.
They had been at the caravan park for nearly a month. When they first arrived, they searched the other fourteen caravans and found that, surprisingly, no one else was staying in the area. There were also bits and drabs of food and water in the other fourteen caravans, and this was collected by Lisa and her two daughters, Jemma and Grace.
She crept up the stairs, still clasping the knife, and reached the landing. She checked the bedrooms and already knew that there was no one in. Once she had checked the final room, she stood and thought for a moment.
Would it be better if her and her daughters moved from the caravan and stayed here instead? She shook her head, telling herself no. If she entered this place, thinking that there could be something to eat, then others, passing survivors, could do the same. At least in the caravan park, where all fifteen caravans looked the same, they were kind of well hidden and not exposed.
She came to her senses and headed back to the ground floor. She exited the defunct establishment and stepped outside. It had been a wasted journey, but at least the walk was only half a mile.
She placed both straps of the empty rucksack over her shoulders and walked briskly, her head twisting from side to side, checking the abandoned houses on either side for danger. She thought about her husband John, and her throat began to harden. The only positive of his disappearance was that they both kissed and said that they loved each other before he left. That was the last memory she had of him.
She descended the hill and could see the caravan park to the left. She raised a smile when she could see one of her daughters—she couldn’t make out which one—in the kitchen window. It looked like her eldest, Grace.
She quickened her pace and lost her smile when she realised that she had returned empty-handed. They had enough food for a couple of days, but that was it. She was going to have to think of something. There was an allotment up the road, but it was a place she had already checked. Most of the vegetables had been taken when she arrived, and the produce that was left was taken by Lisa and her daughters. She couldn’t think of anywhere else she could go. It wasn’t an area she knew well.
She entered the caravan and could see her two girls at the table, playing with the deck of cards that was found in one of the drawers.
“Hi, mum.” Jemma, Lisa’s fourteen-year-old, flashed her mother a smile. Grace, her eldest, never flinched. Both girls had dark hair, like their mother’s, but it had been a while since their hair had been washed.
Lisa dropped the empty bag on the floor and sat down, puffing out an exasperated breath.
“No luck?” Grace looked over at her mother and could see the disappointment on her face.
Lisa said no words. She simply looked over to her two daughters and shook her head, with disappointment scrawled over her features.
“We’ll go out tomorrow,” said Grace. “All three of us. We’ll find something.”
“Where’re we gonna go?” Lisa looked annoyed and her head pounded from the dehydration. “We don’t even know this town.”
“Well, maybe we should get to know the place.”
“It’s dangerous out there,” Lisa snapped.
“We don’t really have much of a choice, mum,” Grace said with a snarl. “If we don’t go out, we stay in here and starve.”
“I need to keep you girls safe!” Lisa snapped. “Don’t you get it?”
“Stop arguing, guys,” Jemma piped up and looked close to tears. “I hate it when—”
“We’re not arguing,” Grace huffed and folded her arms. “We’re having a discussion.”
Lisa opened her mouth to say something, but she paused. She held her hand up and placed her finger on her lips, shushing the girls, even though they weren’t talking, and quickly stood to her feet.
Both sisters gaped at one another and then turned their attention back to their mother.
“What is it?” Grace whispered.
Lisa Newton turned her head to one side and announced, “I thought I heard something.” She went over to the living room window and peered from behind the netting. Nothing. “Probably nothing.”
Grace stood to her feet and headed to the bedroom.
“Where’re you going?” her mother asked her.
“Going for a lie down,” she responded. “My head’s pounding.”
“You should drink some water,” Lisa called back.
“That stuff you filtered yesterday tastes like piss.”
Grace shut the bedroom door and left Jemma and her mother alone in the living room.
Lisa shook her head. “Now there’s gratitude for you.”
Jemma moved away from the table and went over to give her mum a hug. She knew she was trying her best and could see that she was getting upset with frustration.
Both mother and daughter hugged and Lisa released tears. Jemma pulled away and told her that everything was going to be okay. Lisa smiled. Her fourteen-year-old daughter was telling her that everything was going to be okay? Shouldn’t she be saying that to her?
“We appreciate everything you’ve done for us, mum,” Jemma began. “We really do. Maybe me and Grace should help out a bit more.”
“You’re my girls.” Lisa touched Jemma’s cheek and kissed her on the forehead. “It’s me that should be looking after you. I’m just running out of options. The longer it goes on for, the less food there is out there.”
“We need to grow our own,” suggested Jemma.
“I know, but we need to get the seeds first, and I don’t even know where to go to get them. It’s hopeless. The situation is hopeless.”
“Like Grace said,” Jemma began and cleared her throat before adding, “we’ll all go out together. Sitting on our arses, while you go out isn’t fair on you.”
“You’re my girls.”
“I know, but we’re not babies anymore. We have to do more. We’re going to do more.”
“Okay.” Lisa nodded and wiped her wet face. The strength in her youngest daughter made her so proud. “We’ll go out together.”
Jemma’s eyes widened and she took a step back. Lisa narrowed her eyes in confusion and asked her daughter what was wrong. She was looking over her mother’s shoulder, at something that was behind Lisa.
Jemma gulped and said, “Look.”
Lisa slowly turned around, dreading what she was about to see, and gasped when she could see four men through the window, approaching the caravan. Lisa had been spotted.
“Mum,” Jemma said. “I’m scared.”
“It’s okay.” Lisa put her hand in her pocket, feeling for her knife. “Just stay calm.”
“Shall we get Grace?”
Lisa shook her head. “Just stay with me. Don’t move.”
Lisa sat down and Jemma did the same, sitting next to her mum.
Only seconds passed and the door to their caravan was kicked in, making both females jump.
*
The menacing bald male strode in silence with quick steps. He had three accomplices walking behind him, and he gazed around the area with his striking blue eyes. They were all silent. All four had stayed the night at an abandoned farm, but with the place having no provisions, moving was essential. The leader was called Hando, and he had aspirations of staying alive for as long as possible.
In the beginning, people wanted to avoid the cities because of the dead and the bombs that fell out of the sky, but living in the countryside was difficult, as it was harder to find food. Most of the males in the small group had been together since the beginning and had had to steal and kill to still be breathing now.
Hando and his three other pals walked by a pub to their left and headed along the main road. They walked in the middle of it, ignoring the fields to their left and the neglected golf course to their right. The road ascended and Hando wanted to see what was over that hill. He hoped for a place to stay for the night, maybe a place that had scraps of food. That’s all there were these days … scraps.
The fit and lean six-foot frame of Hando continued to make large scissor-like strides. Behind him, from left to right were his accomplices, Dirty Ian, Wazza and a man simply called Q.
Dirty Ian’s real name was Ian Robinson. He was a skinny fellow, had dark grey hair, wearing a long grey cardigan, black jogging bottoms and blue trainers. He was forty-one years old, three years younger than Hando.
Next to him was Wazza, real name Wayne Jennings. Wazza was thirty-four, had ginger receding hair, brown eyes, and was quite a muscular guy. He was wearing black jeans and a Chelsea football shirt that hadn’t been washed in months. John McHugh, simply known as Q, wasn’t as aggressive as his three comrades. He was a softly spoken fellow, thirty-nine years old, had almost jet-black hair and green eyes. He was wearing nice black shoes, trousers, and a smart black shirt with buttons down the middle, no collar. He looked smart, he always looked smart, but it was clear that the shirt hadn’t been near an iron for a while.
Everything that they were wearing was from an abandoned and already-ransacked selection of clothes shops at an industrial estate a few miles away.
The four individuals continued to pace with long strides, and as soon as they went over the hill, Hando stopped walking. He held his hand up, stopping the three behind as well.
“What is it?” Dirty Ian was the first to speak up. “What’s up, Hando?”
Hando never opened his mouth. He simply pointed over at the caravan park to their right, then continued to walk, but at a slower pace. His three companions followed obediently behind.
Chapter Two
Simon Washington tossed and turned, moaning to himself, mumbling his son’s name as the nightmare he was having reached its climax. Once his son screamed: “Daddy, don’t leave me!” before being taken down by the dead, Simon woke up and glared at the ceiling with his wet eyes. He looked to his left and the realisation that Imelda was no longer with him twisted his guts.
He sat up and rubbed his face with both hands, and then gazed around the room. He swung his legs to the side of the bed and dropped his head in his hands.
It had been nearly a month since he had lost his little girl, but the nightmares kept on coming thick and fast. He was wearing just his underpants and picked up the clothes that were tossed in the corner of the room and put them back on. He put his black combats on first, followed by his old black T-shirt. He scanned the carpet for his boots, and then realised he had kicked them off near the door. He went over, slipped them on and tied the laces. He checked his breath and winced. The first thing he was going to do once he left the room was brush his teeth.
He looked over at the window, released a heavy breath out, and made small steps towards it. His walk was interrupted when he heard a knock at his door.
He turned around to face the door, and groaned, “Come in.”
“Are you decent?” he heard the unmistakeable female voice say from behind the door. It was Yoler Sanders.
“I am now.”
The door opened and Yoler stepped in, singing Come Together under her breath. From clothes she had taken from a run a few weeks back, Yoler was now wearing green combats and a black and yellow Nirvana T-shirt. She flicked her fringe from her eyes and asked Simon if he wanted breakfast.
“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Probably not yet. I’m just up.”
“We’ve still got some oats from that run the other week. I could rustle you something up later.”
Simon walked away from Yoler and headed for the window. “That’d be great.”
She walked in further and stood next to him by the window. Both were now looking out.
Simon looked down at the vegetable patch and could see that the produce was blooming. He looked at the large buckets of soil and could see that the potatoes were coming on a treat as well.
“They’re coming on.” Simon nodded down at the potatoes.
Yoler smiled and said, “Had some problems with the tomatoes, but the spuds seem to be doing okay.”
Simon smiled and had a light chuckle to himself.
“What?” Yoler placed her hand on his shoulder and asked further, “What is it?”
“You know what I would really like?”
“I’m not giving you a blowie,” Yoler sighed, shaking her head with a smirk.
“Not that.” Simon began to laugh.
“Then what?”
“Steak and chips,” Simon sighed. “I haven�
�t had a steak in ages.”
“I can’t help you with that.” Yoler said with a smile. “If I could magic a steak out of my arse, I would, Simes.”
Simon laughed and said, “You certainly have a way with words, Yoler.”
“I do.” She placed her arm around Simon and they were both now looking to their left, gazing at Imelda’s grave. A blanket of melancholy suffocated the two adults, and both of them could feel their eyes getting damp.
A silence fell on both individuals and no words needed to be spoken. After Imelda’s death, Simon became a recluse for a week. He drank, but he never ate a thing. His behaviour worried them all, especially Yoler and Helen, but as the weeks went by, he began to eat more and spend a little more time outside. He hadn’t left the farm in nearly a month, and most of the runs, even walks to the pond for water, had been done by Dicko, Yoler and Donald. But nobody complained about his lack of contribution to the group.
“We were thinking about checking out that industrial estate near Hansworth,” Yoler said.
“What’s there?” Simon asked her. He looked at her Beatle haircut. It appeared to be getting longer, and the fringe was almost covering her eyebrows.
“Donald’s friend used to work there ages ago. He said there was a café, buildings belonging to offices—”
“Sounds pointless.”
“There’s also gallons of petrol in a hut. A garden company used to be there.”
“Petrol.” Simon rubbed his chin in thought. “Now that’s more like it. Sounds good. When are you thinking about going?”
“Not sure.”
“I’d like to go. What do you reckon?”
Yoler hunched her shoulders and seemed unsure. Her coy behaviour made Simon a little angry. He had been engulfed with grief for many weeks, but with the pain diluting a little, he wanted to get out; he wanted to contribute. He got the impression that Yoler, maybe all of them, thought that he was too fragile to be leaving the farm just yet.
Ghostland (Book 2): Ghostland 2 Page 1
