He placed his hand on the handle of the door and opened it with his face scrunched up, just waiting for the door to creak, but it didn’t.
It was dark, but he could see the outline of Dicko sleeping in the armchair. He was sitting up, but his head was drooping. Yoler Sanders was on the couch, snoring like a man after he had had a few beers, and Donald smiled on hearing this. Jesus, I don’t know how you can sleep through that, Dicko.
He crept by the two sleeping adults in his bare feet and headed for the kitchen. He could see jars of water sitting in the corner of the room, near the sink, and took one. Instead of pouring it into a glass, he drank from the jar, some of it spilling down his chin and onto his T-shirt and his boxers that he had slept in. Once he was finished, he made an ahh noise and placed the jar back. He then looked outside and remembered Yoler stating that somebody being on watch was pointless and she claimed that her and Dicko would wake up if the house was broken into. With the way Yoler was snoring away, Donald wasn’t so sure, and wondered if they should introduce a night watch once more.
Hearing the snoring from the other room, Donald giggled to himself and then thought about Helen. He lost his smile and then broke down, sobbing like a child, but putting his fist into his mouth so he didn’t wake anybody.
Two minutes had almost passed and he felt better, and was certain that dropping off was achievable. So he headed back to his room and went back into bed. He lay on his side and threw the quilt over him, feeling the springs poking his ribs, and kept his eyes closed.
Fourteen minutes later he fell back to sleep.
*
Surprisingly, Donald was the first up. Helen was next and seemed to be dressed in the same clothes as the day before, and Yoler and Dicko also seemed to be stirring in the living room.
Donald and Helen were in the kitchen and greeted one another with smiles.
“David still asleep?” Donald asked her.
She nodded. “He had a rough night.”
“Oh?”
“He was tossing and turning all night.” Helen looked at Donald and added, “I heard someone getting up during the night. Was that you?”
Donald blushed and said, “Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.”
“I was gonna get up myself and get a drink, but I was scared that David would wake up and freak, especially if I was somewhere else.”
Donald had a horrendous vision of him sobbing and Helen walking in on him. It could have happened.
Helen went over to the sink and bent over to grab a drink. Once she was finished, she told Donald that she was going upstairs before David woke up, and Donald stared at the woman’s backside as she left the kitchen to go upstairs.
Behave yourself, Donald.
Dicko walked in, wearing nothing but a pair of worn pants, making Donald turn away.
“Fuck’s sake, Dicko,” Donald growled. “Put some fucking clothes on, will you?”
“Relax.” Dicko laughed and went for the door. He unbolted it and turned around to speak to Donald further. “I’m going out to get some air.”
“Going out there in your pants?” Donald scoffed. “Bloody idiot.”
“You can’t beat fresh air on the skin first thing in the morning, especially now you can’t have a shower.”
“What you’re doing isn’t normal, you dig what I’m sayin’?”
“This fucking world isn’t normal.” Dicko said, and then mocked, “You dig what I’m sayin’?”
“That’s it,” snickered Donald. “In the old world you wouldn’t be taking the piss out of me. In the old world I would have kicked your arse all over the place.”
“And after that you would have been arrested for assault.”
“But in the old world—”
“It’s not the old world anymore, Donald.”
“I know. And if I do give you a slap, you and Simon would have me kicked out.”
“And you’d never see Helen again,” Dicko snickered, and then winked at Donald.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing. Just making polite conversation.”
“In the old world you’d be on the floor...”
“But we’re in the new world now,” said Dicko with a smile. “A world where I can put a blade into your throat while you sleep and nothing would be done about it.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Nope.” Dicko opened the door and said before leaving, “It’s a fact.”
A fully dressed Yoler walked in and said, “Morning, Donnie. So what’s the plan today?”
Donald shrugged his shoulders. “No idea. Maybe we’ll wait until Simon gets up, and Dicko gets some clothes on, and have a chat then.”
“What time is it?” Yoler asked. “Maybe we should get him up.”
Donald turned to the side and clocked a piece of paper he never noticed before, sitting on the bread bin.
“No need,” said Donald, and nodded at the piece of paper, urging Yoler to take a look. She took a step forwards and read the note. It was from Simon. It said:
Gone for a walk. Back soon. Simon.
Chapter Nineteen
His left hand rested on the top of the machete as he strolled down the country lane, and took in a large gulp of breath. It was good to be out and away from the four walls of the farmhouse. He was lucky he had the place. He knew that. But with half a dozen people living there, it got claustrophobic for Simon, and he was sure that the petty squabbles between them was because of the cramped living arrangements.
The sound of a vehicle could be heard in the distance, which forced Simon to veer off the road and hide in the woods until it had passed. There were trees on either side of Simon, but he could see up ahead that the trees stopped on both sides, with houses on the right.
He was ten feet into the woods, not taking any chances, and waited as the sound of the engine grew louder. He kept his head down as it passed and didn’t even look to see what type of car it was. There could have been anyone inside that vehicle. A lone man who had lost everyone could have been driving, and now had no care in the world for human life apart from his own. Or the vehicle could have had a bunch of thugs inside, who had spent the last year taking from the weak and killing whoever got in their way. Or it could have been a family who were just lucky to be alive.
Simon laughed at himself and at his overactive imagination. He stood up and walked through the long grass and bracken to get back to the main road.
His feet hit the tarmac once more, and another five-minute walk had taken Simon away from the trees, and now there was a field to his left and houses to his right. He had no intention of breaking into the houses to see what was in there. He hadn’t even brought a rucksack with him. His goal was to get fresh air and to take himself away from the farm for the sake of his own sanity.
It may have sounded like madness to most, going for a walk the way the world was now, but Simon needed this. He needed to be alone.
He had to leave the way he did. Mentioning going out alone would have sparked questions from his housemates and they would have probably tried to stop him from going, which is the reason why he sneaked out in the first place.
Things didn’t matter now. Imelda was gone, so even if he did get attacked by a group of people or by a Canavar, he had no one to think about anymore. Him dying wasn’t going to be a big deal with Imelda now gone.
When Simon and Dicko took a trip to the orchard and the visitor centre a month ago, they were confronted by a group of people. Simon cowardly fled, leaving Dicko alone, and had done this mainly because he didn’t want Imelda to grow up without her daddy. Part of it was because Simon was a coward and had lost his nerve, but thinking about his daughter with no living family member left, played a big part in Simon’s cowardly behaviour.
He gazed at the houses to his right and had decided that once he reached the end of the street, he would turn around and go back to the farm. He wanted to walk alone, but he didn’t want them to worry, especially Helen, even though he had left a note. H
e reached the end of the street and could see that he was on the edge of a village he had never heard of. It was called Brackley.
He turned around and clocked the last place in this street and could see that it was an off-license. He thought about the arguments the group had, and that Donald was the cause of most of them. Maybe if he and the rest got to know the man better... There must have been a reason why Donald was the way he was. He never spoke about his old life, so maybe he had a history of tragedy that had polluted his personality. Dicko was another secretive individual, but Dicko wasn’t an aggressive and obnoxious person like Donald.
Simon rubbed his chin in thought and headed for the off-license store. He approached the closed door and tried the handle. It opened, and Simon pulled out the machete from his belt immediately. He entered the place and could see most of the shelves had been cleared. He wedged the door open to allow some light in, and slowly stepped around the area. He went through the back and could see a set of stairs leading to the first floor.
In most businesses, like pubs and off-licenses, the owners usually had a place upstairs, and this was no different. Simon decided that he wasn’t brave enough to go upstairs, and took a few steps back and went around the back of the cash register. He crouched down and could see bottles of Jack Daniels, forcing a smile to stretch across his face.
“Hello, Jack,” Simon said with a smirk. “It’s been a while.”
*
“He’ll be back,” Yoler appeased a nervous Helen Willis. “He’s just popped out for a walk.”
“A walk?” Helen shook her head. “You can’t just go out for a walk nowadays, that’s insane.”
“We live in an insane world.”
“Don’t patronise me, Yoler. We should be out there looking for him.”
“Why?” Yoler picked up the note and handed it to Helen. “Read it. Does that sound like a man who has lost it? He’ll be back. Don’t panic.”
Dicko entered the kitchen and could see that Helen was worried. Yoler walked out and went into the living room and sat next to David at the dining table, looking at what he was drawing. Donald had been outside, on watch.
Helen gazed at Dicko and asked him, “Am I making a big deal about this?”
“Possibly.” Dicko ran his hand over his hairy face and took steps forwards and placed his hands on Helen’s shoulders. “Simon’s been through a lot in the last month or so, we all have. Staying in this place is stifling, even without us lot being here. Simon needs some time to himself.”
“Why doesn’t he just sit on the grass outside?”
“We’re all different.” Dicko lowered his head by an inch to stare at Helen’s eyes. “Simon needs to be away from here once in a while, to be in different surroundings, away from us lot, including you.”
Helen looked up, opened her mouth, but no words fell out.
“You have feelings for him, don’t you?” he asked her.
She never answered. She didn’t need to answer. Everybody knew it.
“Look,” Dicko began and took his hands off of Helen’s shoulders and leaned back against the sideboard, folding his arms. “I know exactly why Simon is doing this. I used to do exactly the same when I was in a camp. It used to piss people off, but I used to just pop over the back garden fence and leave.”
“Where did you go?”
“I just walked,” Dicko hunched his shoulders. “Sometimes I would come across some trouble, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle. I just needed to be out of the area I was in, away from the people.”
“What was this place like?”
“It was a good place, a good set up.” Dicko smiled as he reminisced, and realised that he had told Helen more than he had told anyone. “Some of the people were good people, but I don’t know if they’re alive or dead now. I’d like to think that they’re still kicking about.”
“Why did you leave this place, if it was so good?”
“Haven’t I already told you this?”
Helen shook her head. “I don’t remember.”
“I had to leave. I didn’t have a choice,” said Dicko, and he could feel his throat hardening with emotion. It was time to wrap this story up. “So I walked and walked. I met many people; lost many people. Killed a few people; nearly got killed myself a few times. Months later, and many miles away from my old camp, I bumped into Simon and Imelda, and I have to say that this has been the happiest I’ve been for many months.”
Helen lowered her head and wiped her eyes, prompting Dicko to ask what was the matter.
“I can’t seem to stop thinking about my old camp, too,” she said. “The people that we lost, especially Gavin and Hayley. They helped out me and David a lot.”
“Did you see any of them die?”
She shook her head. “Jamie Monk was killed. I know that, because Gavin and Jamie checked out some noises, and Gavin came back telling us that Jamie was dead. Then the camp was attacked and all hell broke loose.”
Helen broke down and Dicko embraced the woman. Both individuals gasped when the kitchen door opened and Simon Washington stepped inside, making Dicko and Helen quickly break up their embrace.
“Morning, folks,” he said with a smile.
“Where the hell have you been?” Helen stepped away from Dicko and folded her arms, like some wife waiting up for her drunk husband to roll in.
Simon laughed and lifted up a carrier bag that clinked when he did so. “I’ve brought these for the party.”
“What party?” Dicko asked.
“The party we’re gonna have tonight. Well, more like a gathering, a get to know each other kind of thing.”
Dicko gazed at a confused Helen, then turned his attention back to Simon, asking him, “Have you finally lost it?”
“Probably,” laughed Simon. “I don’t know about you, but I fancy a drink.”
Chapter Twenty
Lisa Newton hoped that the house she was in was something that would be a long-term thing. There was still one problem. She had a missing daughter somewhere, and she was aware that trying to find Grace would be like trying to find a small needle in a very big haystack.
She decided to take a walk into the woods.
She went through the kitchen and exited the back door, knife in pocket. There were two reasons why she was doing this. The unrealistic reason was in case there was a minuscule chance that her walk could reunite her with her daughter. If Grace was frightened and hiding, and then saw her mother... There was also a danger that Lisa could bump into undesirables, like the men who came to her caravan, but she was willing to take the risk of going outdoors. The other reason for her walk was to see if she was near an orchard, or a place where there were bushes of blackberries or even mushrooms. A nearby stream would also be welcomed.
Her feet waded through the long grass and she raised a smile once she came across a dirt path. She took the path and constantly scanned to her side, both sides, paranoid that she could be attacked.
Lisa had been on the dirt path for a matter of minutes, and had to stop once a rustling noise could be picked up by her ears.
Lisa pulled her knife out of her pocket, certain that the noise was coming from a Canavar. Unable to see the dead being, Lisa took slow and careful steps along the path, almost crouching, trying to make as little noise as possible.
The groaning was becoming louder, indicating to Lisa that she was getting nearer. A few more yards were taken and now Lisa Newton could see the ghoul. It was on the floor, to her left, and was writhing around like a distressed snake.
Lisa took a few steps towards the Canavar and could now see why it wasn’t standing to its feet. Its ankle was caught in a snare, probably left by a poacher many moons ago, and Lisa was certain that it was going nowhere. She took another step forward and crouched down. The dead beast was a male, dressed in bloody dungarees, and Lisa guessed that maybe it used to be a farmer. Her theory was almost confirmed when her eyes clocked a shotgun lying a few yards away from the Canavar.
“Oh, shit
.” Lisa felt a little excitement on seeing the shotgun. She didn’t know why. It could have been empty, and even if it wasn’t, she had never used any kind of gun in her life.
She leaned over and picked up the gun. She stood up and wondered if she should put the dead being out of its misery. She had killed these things before, and pondered whether to use the butt of the gun to cave its head in. She decided to let it be, walked away from the ghoul, and never looked back, with the sound of the Canavar snarling behind her.
She had decided to abandon the idea of trying to get food and go back to the house, but she then wondered, especially now that the thing had seen a human, if it would get free anyway. They didn’t feel pain, so what if it got free, even if it meant losing its foot that was trapped? Lisa may have to roam these woods over the next few days or weeks, and having that thing out there, even if it was trapped like it was, would be a hindrance.
“Fuck it.”
She turned around and went back over to it, turned the shotgun around, so now the butt of the gun was pointing downwards, and brought it down onto its head with both hands holding onto the barrel. Three strikes to the head had stopped the thing from moving, and Lisa, satisfied with her work, walked away once more.
She decided to go back to the house and try another venture in a few hours. She had lost the stomach for it.
*
Helen had decided to get David upstairs.
The youngster didn’t protest too much, but did ask why he was being ushered away from the living room. Helen decided to be honest with her son, and told him that some of them were going to be drinking and some bad language could occur as well as stories that wouldn’t be fit for David’s ears.
“Are you going to be drinking, mum?” he asked her as they reached the top of the stairs and went to the middle bedroom door.
“Me?” Helen opened the door and shook her head. “God, no.”
“Why not?”
“Because, for a start, I don’t like bourbon, it’s a stupid idea anyway, and I don’t particularly want to wake up tomorrow morning with a bad head.”
Ghostland (Book 2): Ghostland 2 Page 8
