He retrieved his knife, shut the door behind him, and then went to the next bedroom. He placed his ear against the door and opened it once he was satisfied that no one was inside. He couldn’t have been more wrong.
He pushed it open and could see a female in her twenties, sitting up on a bed and cradling a boy no older than two years old. She wasn’t a Canavar. She was human. They both were.
She cried when she spotted Q, but he raised his hand and said to the woman, “It’s okay. I’m not going to harm you.”
She cried out again, but he shushed her, and told her to be quiet. He was fearful of her cries being overheard. God knows what they could do to the woman, child or no child. He had witnessed on a few occasions that they just didn’t give a fuck about anyone but themselves.
“What do you want?” she shrieked. She was a brunette, her hair hadn’t been washed in weeks and her sweaty skin was the same colour as milk. She didn’t look well at all.
“I was just checking the place out,” said Q, shushing the woman once more, and then winced when the toddler started to cry. Paranoid, because Hando and the other heartless two were hanging about outside, Q asked the woman to silence the child.
“I can’t,” she cried. “He’s distressed.”
“You’re gonna have to. I’ve got three guys outside who aren’t nice people, believe me.” Q noticed a mark on the woman’s arm and pointed over at the mark. “What happened?”
She wiped her eyes and sniffed, “I went outside to the orchard, over the road. I haven’t been back long.” She raised her arm and Q could now clearly see the bite.
“Just the one of them?” he asked.
She nodded. “I pushed it off, but it went for me. We both fell over.”
“How long ago?”
“Ten ... twenty minutes.” She sobbed and stroked her baby boy’s head, before adding. “I had to leave Dale on his own, like I normally do.”
“Jesus.” Q placed his hands on his head, unsure what to do. “I’m sorry.”
“And who’s the guy in the other room?”
“My husband,” she said. “I could never bring myself to kill him. He’s been in there for months.”
“Listen,” she began and nodded down to her dark haired boy. He was a handsome fellow, but his plump cheeks were stained with tears. “You need to take Dale with you.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.” It killed Q to say these words to the woman, but there wasn’t a chance in hell that Hando would allow a toddler to tag along with them. They were too needy, too noisy, and this particular one would be missing its mother and would never stop crying.
“You have to,” she cried. “And you have to take care of me. You know what I mean by that, don’t you?”
“I do.” Q nodded. “But as for your kid—”
“Dale,” she sobbed. “His name’s Dale.”
“As for Dale…” Q couldn’t find the words. “The guys that I’m with—”
“Promise me you’ll look after Dale,” she interjected.
“I...”
“Promise me!” Her eyes widened, and she was now threatening more than pleading.
Q knew that the alternatives were disastrous for the boy. If he left her alone with the boy for much longer, she’d turn and then devour her own child. The only way she could stop that would be to kill her own child before he turned, something he didn’t want to bring up.
“Promise me,” she said once more, now in a hushed voice.
“I promise,” Q gulped, and had no idea why he said that.
“Yeah, don’t worry,” a voice came from behind Q, making him and the woman both gasp. “We’ll take good care of the boy.”
It was Hando. His six-foot build leaned against the doorframe and gave off a smile, whilst he ran his fingers from his left hand over his bald head.
“Hando,” Q groaned. “I never heard you come in.”
“I was wondering what the hold up was, brother,” Hando remarked and then nodded over to the mother and child. “Now I know.”
“She’s been bitten,” Q began to explain.
“I know. I heard most of the conversation.”
Q looked at Hando and asked, “What do we do?”
“What the lady said. Take care of her, then take care of the boy.”
“Thank you.” She wiped her streaming eyes and said to Hando, “Let me say goodbye to my boy. And then when I fall into a coma...”
Hando smiled and nodded, “I’ll know what to do.” He then placed his hand on Q’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you in peace.”
Hando was about to go downstairs, and could see Q moving away from the door as well, as if he was about to follow Hando outside.
“Where’re you going?” Hando asked him.
Q stammered, “Um...”
“You stay with her. Let me know when she’s passed.”
Hando galloped down the stairs and exited the place. Looking over to Wazza and Ian, who were both sitting on the kerb of the pavement, he said, “Who wants to play spin the knife?”
Chapter Sixteen
Simon Washington scratched his head and screwed his face as he felt the pain in his mouth from his toothache. He had been in the kitchen for the last ten minutes whilst everybody else was in the living room. He placed his hands on the sink and gazed out of the window. It was a strange kind of day. It wasn’t sunny, but it wasn’t raining either. It was ... clammy, yet dull. It just looked ... strange.
Simon’s eyes looked to the left and his heart skipped when he saw Imelda’s grave. The wooden crucifix that he had made looked to be leaning and Lambie had also fallen over.
Simon had guessed that a gust of wind must have occurred, and left the kitchen to go outside, heading to the grave. He stepped out and created a thin smile as his feet trudged their way over. There was no headstone, no message, just a poorly made crucifix and Lambie.
Simon slowly dropped to his knees and began to fix the crucifix. Once he was satisfied that it was straight, he began to fix Lambie.
He could feel his throat swelling, almost choking him, and could feel his eyes becoming damp. He bent over and the palms of his hands were now on the soil of her grave. He was on all fours and began to sob. He didn’t know where it came from; he felt fine seconds ago, and suddenly a tidal wave of emotions took him by surprise and opened the emotional floodgates.
“I’m sorry,” he cried. “I’m so sorry.” Feeling the contents of his nose running down and about to escape, he took a long sniff, and then added, “If I could have done things differently...”
He closed his eyes and that fateful day projected in his mind, when he was fleeing the house, his family in the car. Simon had his wife, Diana, next to him in the passenger seat, and Tyler and Imelda were in the back. He didn’t know how quick he had turned the corner, but it felt like the horde had appeared from nowhere.
The vehicle went through the crowd, like a hot knife through butter, and all four family members screamed. The vehicle stopped, and dirty rotten faces surrounded the car, most slapping their hands to get in. All four escaped through the sunroof of the car, with Simon leading the way.
Once they were off, Simon and Imelda became separated from Diana and Tyler. Tyler was taken down by one of the Canavars and Diana went after him. Simon helplessly watched, and the last thing he saw was his wife holding onto her son whilst Tyler was reaching out and screaming, “Daddy, don’t leave me!”
He picked up Lambie with two hands and sobbed into the toy, repeating the words, “My baby girl” over and over again. He wiped his eyes with the old toy and placed it back where it was.
He removed his hands from the dirt and stood up straight, wiping his hands on his black combat trousers.
Stay strong and keep living, no matter what it takes.
“Simon?”
Simon Washington recognised the female voice, but took his time moving. He wiped his face with his hands, and cleared his throat before turning around and facing Helen Willis.
&n
bsp; “Oh, Simon.” She took one step forwards, unsure whether to give him a cuddle or not, so she didn’t move any further.
“My first breakdown in a few days,” he said with a small smile. “I’m getting better.”
“It’ll get easier, Simon,” she said, with her words shivering with emotion. “I know it will.”
“Come on.” Simon approached Helen and put his arm around her. “Let’s go inside.”
Chapter Seventeen
Hando, Dirty Ian and Wazza were standing on the garden path of the final house of the street, and all heads turned when Q stepped out of the front door, holding the distraught little boy in his arms.
“Has she gone?” asked Hando.
Q nodded.
“And didn’t you finish her?”
Q shook his head and said, “You said let me know when she’s passed. Anyway, I couldn’t do anything with this little fellow around.”
Hando sighed, pulled out his blade and entered the house, running upstairs. Half a minute later he exited the house and said, “Well, that’s taken care of.” He then turned to Q and asked, “Wasn’t there anything we could take from the ground floor?”
“No,” Q shook his head. “Nothing.” He held the boy a little tighter and could feel that the little guy had taken to him as he wrapped his arms around Q’s neck, but his sobbing continued.
Q guessed that the child was starving and more distressed about that than being in the company of four strange men.
“Are you going to tell him, or shall I?” Wazza asked Hando with an unnerving grin.
“Right.” Hando rubbed his head in thought and couldn’t think with the child’s crying. He put his hand on his head and shook it. He looked up at Q and said. “First of all, Q, I want you to shut that fucking cunt up while I try to talk.”
“Sure.” Q gulped and shushed the little fellow, kissing him on the head, which amazingly, seemed to work.
Now, all were on their feet and Q was concerned about what was about to be said.
Hando clapped his hands together and folded them against his blue Everlast T-shirt. He began, “We’ve seen and experienced some mental things. I’m not just talking about the beginning, where we all lost family members, but I’m also talking about the last few months. We’ve killed people for the food. Wazza even killed that kid for his two litre bottle of coke a few months back, but being cruel, and behaving the way we do, has helped us survive.”
“Hear, hear,” Dirty Ian chipped in.
“I don’t enjoy being a bastard,” said Hando. “But nice guys come last. And they certainly come last in this new world.”
“Where’re you going with this, Hando?” Q asked, impatience getting the better of him and holding the infant tighter. He was now beginning to fear for little Dale, and was nervous as Hando continued with his speech.
“Cast your mind back to the scenarios we’ve been in. Now, imagine those scenarios with a kid in tow, especially a whiny fucker. Remember when we stayed in the woods?”
Q nodded sadly and knew where Hando was going with this.
“We hid for an hour as a horde of over twenty Canavars passed us. And what do you think would have been the outcome with a screaming brat in tow?”
“It’s also an extra mouth to feed,” Wazza spoke up.
“The boy will he a hindrance if stealth is needed in a dangerous situation,” Dirty Ian chipped in.
“So what do you suggest?” Q held the boy tight. “We can’t leave him here. He’ll die.”
“You’re right.” Hando nodded.
“I could stay behind and look after him,” Q suggested. “I know leaving you guys will be a pain, and—”
“That’s not happening.” Hando shook his head. “We’re stronger as a four piece, not as a three. Even before you came along, there were four of us. But we lost Jim when we went into a house. We went to the back of someone’s house and a girl, a dead girl, with these incredible wide flying saucer eyes attacked him. I had to kill the girl and a wounded Jim.”
Q sighed. He had heard this story before, and didn’t understand why he was being told it again.
“Not only that,” Dirty Ian chipped in. “But don’t you remember a couple of months ago, when we were trapped in that garage?”
“That’s right.” Hando nodded. “When we were cornered by that group of Canavars, we were lucky to get out alive. We only got out because we fought our arses off, all four of us. If it was just the three, we might have lost the battle, or at least had a couple of casualties.”
Q begged, “But Hando—”
“You’re staying with us. No arguments.”
“What about the boy?”
“Well,” Hando sighed, “while you were upstairs, playing Mother Teresa, we had a little game of spin the knife.”
Q looked confused, so Hando elaborated.
“Ian won ... or lost,” Hando snickered. “I suppose it depends which way you look at it, so he’s going to take care of the boy.”
“Take care?”
Hando smiled thinly and put on a regretful face.
Q gulped. They were going to kill the boy.
“No, Hando,” Q begged. “No.”
“It’s the only option,” Hando said. “It’s the kindest option. You can’t leave the poor lad out here to fend for himself, now that his mother’s gone. He’ll die of starvation.”
“There must be another way.”
“There isn’t.”
Q had two choices. He could allow them to take the boy, or he could fight for the toddler.
Q thought that if he fought for the boy, he’d be killed by Hando and then the boy would die anyway. There was no point fighting these guys. He placed the little boy on the ground. The little boy was holding Q’s hand and standing, all confused, wondering what was going on.
“Ian is going to take the boy upstairs,” Hando began. “And then put him to rest, then lay him next to his mother once he’s passed. It’s the best way. It’s the only way.”
“Hando, don’t do this.” Q’s eyes were filling, making Wazza and Dirty Ian shake their heads and giggle at the man, and begged Hando further, “I’m begging you, pal. Don’t do it.”
“Don’t make me lose my temper in front of the boy.”
Q had seen Hando lose his temper numerous times, and it was quite a powerful thing to behold.
Knowing that persuasion wasn’t going to work with his leader, Q crouched to the tearful and confused boy and said, “Are you okay?”
“No,” he cried, tears running down his plump cheeks. This had been the first time he had heard the toddler speak. “I want my mummy.”
Q wiped the boy’s tears away, pointed at Ian, and said, “This man is going to take you back inside. You’re going to be with your mum real soon. You understand?”
The boy nodded, but Q knew that he didn’t really understand, and Dirty Ian walked over to the little fellow and took his hand. Q was half-blocking the front door, forcing Hando to tell him to move, or else.
Q reluctantly moved away and watched as Dirty Ian and the little boy made their way upstairs.
Two minutes later, Ian exited the house and said to the men, “Right. Ready when you are.”
“All taken care of?” Hando asked.
Ian Robinson nodded and flashed Hando a confident smile. “All taken care off, done and dusted.”
Hando was the first to move, and Wazza was next to follow.
Dirty Ian slapped Q on the back and said, “Come on.”
Dirty Ian and Q were a few yards behind Hando and Wazza, all four carrying a rucksack each.
Q gazed to the side of him, and stared at Ian to see if there was any hint of regret or guilt on his face. He could see nothing.
“I can feel you staring.” Ian smiled. “It was for the best. Believe me.”
Q gulped and looked at Ian again, staring at the white eye patch that was bandaged around his head. “How’s the eye?”
“Stinging like a fucker,” he laughed. “Fucking
bitch.”
“I suppose it could have been worse.” Q stopped talking and said, “Ian?”
“Yes,” Dirty Ian sighed. “What is it?”
Q released one word, and it was a query: “How?”
“How?” Ian smiled and said further, “Do you mean … How did I do it? How did I kill the lad?”
Q nodded the once.
“Trust me.” Ian shook his head and put his arm around John McHugh. “You don’t wanna know.”
Chapter Eighteen
Next Day
Donald Brownstone’s dreams were bizarre and vivid, and the forty-three-year-old man had woken up with sweat around his neck and on his forehead. He got off the uncomfortable bed that was designed for a child, and stood to his feet, groaning as his back cried in pain.
He rubbed his lower back with both hands and could still feel the springs from the bed that had been digging into his back for most of the night and early morning. He began to pace the floor and hoped that some kind of movement would loosen him up. He had no idea what time it was. Two? Three in the morning? It was still dark outside, and he decided to make his way downstairs and have a drink of water.
He exited the room and peered at the door where Helen and David were sleeping. He wondered for a few seconds what she wore when she was in bed. Was she naked? Did she just wear her panties?
He shook his head at himself for thinking about Helen in such a way. Sometimes it was all he thought about. He loved the woman, or at least he thought he loved her, and thinking of having sex with the woman plagued his thoughts on many nights. It was the apocalypse, people had died, but Donald was still a man and still got turned on every now and then.
He then took a peep at the door where Simon and Imelda used to sleep. Now it was just Simon. Donald felt for the man, and crept his way downstairs, heading to the ground floor.
Ghostland (Book 2): Ghostland 2 Page 7
