“A farmhouse. It has to be the only place they went. They had been there before and that was the direction they headed, towards the pond, when we were attacked.”
“Pond?” Grace giggled and added, “You’re talking like I know this place, like I’ve been to this place before.”
“Sorry.” The stranger smiled and gazed at the young girl and said, “You can come with me, if you want.”
“Um...” Grace wasn’t sure about his offer. She didn’t know him, but she thought that she’d be better off with a companion.
“Aw, come on,” the man snickered. “I roughly know where this farmhouse is. The more I retrace my steps, the more familiar the area becomes.”
“I’m not sure.”
“Unless...” He gazed around the barren street and said with a pinch of sarcasm, “you have plans for this place?”
She tried to joke, “You could be a serial killer, for all I know.”
“So could you,” he chuckled. “Anyway, if that was the case, I would have done you in by now, wouldn’t I?”
“I suppose.”
“So what do you say? It could turn out great. And not only that, I could do with the company.”
Grace’s eyes began to fill. On seeing this, the man never hesitated and put his arm around her shoulder to comfort the girl. The thought of leaving her mum and younger sister with those thugs broke her heart, but she had no choice. She had to flee! Didn’t she? What could she have done? There was nothing she could have done. Nothing!
“Okay.” She nodded. “I’ll come with you.”
“Brilliant.”
“Are we going now? I’ve got a drink and some snacks inside that house I’m staying at if you...” She never finished her sentence. She didn’t need to. The stranger knew that she was offering him something to eat before embarking on their short journey.
“That’d be good,” he said, and the pair of them headed towards the house and he continued to speak before going inside. “I’m more thirsty than anything else.”
“The water doesn’t taste the best.”
“Never does these days, does it?” The man then stopped walking and realised something. They didn’t know each other by name.
“How ignorant of me,” he said and shook his head.
“What is it?”
“You don’t know my name. I never introduced myself.”
“Neither did I,” she giggled.
He held out his hand and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss...”
“My name’s Grace.” She smiled and stroked her dark hair. “Grace Newton. And you?”
The pair of them shook hands.
“And I’m Gavin,” he said. “Gavin Bertrand.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The evening was drawing in, and the group at the farmhouse were getting settled after having something to eat and drink.
Simon, Yoler and Dicko were downstairs in the living room, whereas Helen was upstairs with David. David was upset that Donald had left, and Helen was upstairs trying to explain to the youngster why he had to go.
Dicko was sitting next to Yoler on the sofa and Simon was where he usually sat, in the armchair.
Donald left twenty minutes ago and there was calmness now that he’d gone, more relief than anything. They were going to see him again. He had only gone back to the camp, which was a fifteen to twenty minute walk away. They knew he was going to turn up to see David now and then, so they weren’t completely rid of the cantankerous man. It wouldn’t be fair if the youngster never saw Donald again.
“Any regrets about kicking Donnie out?” Yoler piped up. “Simes? Dicky boy?”
“None at all,” Dicko said, putting his hands behind the back of his head. “I wouldn’t want any harm coming to the man, but he’s an impossible housemate to live with, that’s all.”
“I feel for little David,” Simon began, and scratched at his hairy cheek. “But Donald was too much of a loose cannon.”
“I think the fact that he has a thing for Helen doesn’t help,” Yoler said, “Especially as she has the hots for you, Simes.”
“It’s not like that between me and Helen.” Simon flushed a rose colour and added, “We’re just good friends, that’s all. The other night I was drunk, and—”
“If you say so.”
“There’s no doubt that Donald adds muscle to the group,” Dicko began. “But he’s too much of a liability. The cons outweigh the pros.”
Simon nodded his head in agreement. “The way he behaved with that stranger was way over the top. I don’t think we’ll be seeing that guy again. Poor bastard.”
Dicko yawned and put his arms behind his head and began to stretch. “Anyway, me and Yoler are going to have a game of poker. We found a pack of cards in one of the cupboards. Fancy joining us?”
“No, thanks, mate. I’ll leave you two to it.” Simon laughed and nodded over at Yoler. “Knowing her it’ll be strip poker.”
“Cheeky twat, Simes.” She feigned hurt on her face and said, “What are you trying to say?”
“Forget it.” Still laughing, Simon stood up and headed for the kitchen.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going outside for some air, and then I’m going to bed.”
Simon stepped inside the kitchen and looked through the window. The evening was upon them and the night hung like a beaten convict, stretched over black and blue. It was a beautiful sight to behold and it raised a small and rare smile from the forty-four–year-old. It wasn’t quite dark yet, but another hour or so and it’d be pitch black.
He unbolted the door and stepped outside to take in the early night air. He gazed around the area and savoured every second of being alive. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the calm and the occasional brush of wind that whispered in his ears and ruffled his already scruffy hair. If the world wasn’t so dangerous, he thought, he would have liked to have stayed outside for one night.
He spent another minute outside and then turned around and decided to retire to his bedroom, and read a few pages of Peter Benchley’s Jaws that he had since the day he left the house with his family. The last page he had read was page 219. Hooper, Brody and Quint were out hunting the shark, and Brody had asked his two mates if they both wanted a beer. After that, Simon’s eyes grew tired and he put the book down.
*
It had been a slow walk back, but Donald Brownstone had returned to the camp he had stayed in for many months with a heavy heart. He was only a mile or so from the farmhouse and would still see Helen and David, but he knew he was going to miss them terribly. The position he was in was all his own doing. He was aware of that.
Even in the old days, his temper had dragged him into trouble.
Thirteen years ago, he had an argument with a man in a pub over a trivial subject. They were discussing, or arguing, about the state of English football and how overpriced the players were. Donald’s argument was that the players got too much money from a supposed working class sport and were living in a fantasy world. The other man argued that if the players didn’t get a slice of the pie, then the Chairman would pocket most of the cash. His friend also stated that Hollywood stars commanded millions before they started making a film, so why shouldn’t footballers get the same rewards?
Donald was clearly losing the argument and was laughed at by the man who then disappeared into the toilets for a piss. An irate Donald followed the man in and smacked his head off the tiled wall whilst the man was in mid flow.
Once the man hit the floor, pissing all over his trousers, Donald began to boot the man in the torso and had to be dragged off by two customers who had just walked into the toilets.
He received 120 hours community service and was told by the judge that if it happened again, he could be looking at a six to twelve month prison sentence.
He sighed as he looked around the place. The homemade huts were still present, but he was more pleased that the solid looking cabin was still standing. Why wouldn’t it be? The pla
ce was in a mess, but there were no bodies or signs of carnage. The people that had been attacked must have fled and reanimated in a different location, and the rest of the survivors, like himself, Helen and David, went elsewhere.
He stepped into the cabin, dropped his bag on the floor, and had a look around. The cabin was the main place where they kept the supplies. After the attack, the supplies were taken to the farmhouse and now the place looked empty, apart from the little furniture that was present, including the bed in the corner.
It was better than nothing, and at least they allowed him to take some supplies with him.
Simon and the rest weren’t heartless, and did not wish any harm against the man; they just couldn’t live with him. Donald had calmed down now and agreed that he wasn’t the easiest person to live with. It didn’t help matters that he was in love with Helen, but it was clear that she had eyes for someone else.
After all he had done for her and her boy, it just wasn’t enough. They were friends. And that’s the way it was always going to be. Nothing more.
He looked at the bed in the cabin, pleased that there was some kind of bedding there, but there was something he needed to do. He didn’t want to rely on the farmhouse for handouts. He needed to look after himself, and the supplies in his bag were only going to last him a week if he rationed the stuff. The woods that surrounded the camp had hardly been ventured in when the camp was thriving with its ten residents, so he wasn’t aware if there was a nearby orchard, mushrooms or bushes of berries anywhere.
He stepped outside and took a look on the ground. He could see the remains of some mouldy soup that Hayley Bertrand had been warming up before they were attacked. There were also a few items of clothing on the floor, a trainer, and a cup.
He went into the small huts and could see some of the clothes thrown into a corner. He didn’t know why he checked the huts. He had checked them before when he came for the supplies a month ago.
There was nothing here.
He then remembered that he had simply dropped his bag of goodies on the floor of the cabin and decided to return to the cabin and hide the bag. It would just be his rotten luck if he disappeared for an hour to look for edible stuff, only to return and find the bag gone.
He returned to the cabin and put the bag under the bed, then stepped back outside and wondered if he should wait until the morning to look for additional supplies. The evening was drawing in, and at least tomorrow he would have all day to look.
“Ah, fuck it,” he mumbled. “A quick look won’t do any harm. An hour ... tops.”
Patting his pockets, making sure he was carrying, Donald Brownstone then walked further into the woods with his senses on high alert.
It was going to be dark soon.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Lisa Newton’s feet were aching for rest. The forty-one-year-old had returned to the house and was carrying two jars she had found in the kitchen of the house she was staying at, and was carrying them in a carrier bag. Once she had filled the jars, she was going to go straight back to the house and begin filtering the liquid from the stream that she had drunk from earlier.
Her mind went to the guy she had shot. She did feel some regret for shooting the man, as it turned out that even in his remaining seconds on this earth, he was thinking about Lisa and not himself. He shot himself so that she’d be unable to go looking for the man that was called Hando. The man knew that with the gun unloaded, she wouldn’t be dumb enough to go looking for revenge with just a blade.
She had never pulled the trigger of a shotgun before, any gun for that matter, and her right shoulder was beginning to feel painful from the kickback.
She had managed to retrace her steps back to the stream. She dropped to her knees and began filling the jars with the ice cold water. Once they were full, she screwed the lids and was about to stand up, but a snap of a twig from behind her made her freeze.
“Hey, there!” a male voice called out from behind.
Lisa stood up straight and slowly turned around to see a dishevelled looking man. His clothes looked tattered; he was small in stature, looked unsteady on his feet, and had a grey beard plastered over his face.
“Hi,” Lisa said. She put her hand in her pocket, feeling for her knife.
The man chortled, “And what is a nice woman like you doing in a place like this, eh?”
Lisa gulped; her confidence was diluted after losing the shotgun, and she struggled to respond to the creepy individual. She did consider keeping the gun for effect. For example, if she had it with her now and the weapon was spotted by this stranger, he would probably be too nervous to approach her. However, she left the gun by the man’s body, blood and bits of brain were all over it, and she didn’t want to waste water cleaning the thing up.
“What’s up, honey?” He took a step forwards, making Lisa shudder with fright. “Cat got your tongue?”
“I’m … I’m s-s-sorry,” she stammered, unable to hide her nerves. “I … I need to get going.”
In truth, Lisa needed to get by the strange man to get back to the house she was staying at.
“Going where, exactly?” he asked. “I’d stay away from the road, if I were you.”
“Oh, yeah? And why’s that?”
“The meat wagon,” the man said with a straight face.
“The ... what?” Lisa was confused by the man’s ramblings, and now just wanted to get away from this creepy individual.
“You never heard of or saw the meat wagon?”
She never answered the man and began to walk away, unnerved by this strange individual, and could now hear movement behind her.
She turned around and could see him following her.
“What do you want?” she screamed at him.
He never responded verbally. He laughed devilishly at the woman as he stumbled through the long bracken after her. She had a knife on her, but she could see from the bulge in his pocket that he was also carrying. He just hadn’t revealed it yet.
Smothered in panic, Lisa turned and ran as fast as she could. With her legs noisily going through the bracken and her heavy breathing, she had no idea if the man was following her, but had convinced her mind that he was.
She entered a spacious part of the area, something she didn’t want to do, and because there were no trees for the next twenty yards to bump into, she took a look behind her.
There was now nobody behind her.
She smiled and began to laugh at herself. Was she being paranoid? Maybe the man wasn’t a threat at all. Maybe he was just like her: An individual that had lost people and was now out on his own, clinging onto survival, and had been starved of company.
“Lisa, you idiot.”
Still panting hard, Lisa Newton sat against a tree and was still amused about the way she reacted. She then thought about what he had mentioned earlier.
“Meat wagon.” She shook her head. “What was that mad bastard talking about?”
She closed her eyes and her breathing was returning back to normal as well as her heart rate, but it began to speed up again and gallop when a noise could be heard from behind.
What now?
Lisa pulled out her knife from her pocket and stood to her feet. A rare thing could be seen in her vision, some yards away. It was a lone Canavar. It had already spotted the woman and was trying to speed up its clumsy pace. She had done this before, many times, but it still made her panic whenever she was face to face with these things. If she ran, she knew it would follow her, albeit slowly. She may as well get rid of it so she could walk back to the house reasonably relaxed. She just hoped that the strange man had disappeared somewhere else.
The Canavar was a male, an elderly guy when he was human, and Lisa had taken it down with very little fuss. She buried her blade into its skull and took a step back as it fell to the floor. She gazed at the still being for a few seconds, lying motionless on the floor, and bent over to retrieve the blade. Before placing it back into her pocket, she wiped both sides of the bla
de on the dirty clothes of the Canavar and was about to walk away. She gasped when her eyes clocked the same strange man from earlier. He stood and glared at her with a wide grin from ten yards away.
Lisa gulped and snarled at the man, “What the fuck do you want?”
“You,” he began to laugh.
Lisa wasn’t sure if he meant sexually, or if he wanted to carve her up and eventually put her into his digestive system.
Whatever he meant, he wasn’t having her, she thought. No fucking way! She put her hand into her pocket and revealed the blade.
“Come on, you fucker,” she squealed. “Let’s ‘ave ya.”
To her horror, the man cackled and began to walk forwards. He had only made three paces when he suddenly stopped.
Lisa was baffled by this and then could hear the sound of rustling coming from behind her. She was reluctant to turn around because of the strange man in front of her. She took a quick glance over her shoulder and could see a man approaching.
The man behind was bald, thin, had blue eyes, and was wearing black jogging bottoms, and trainers that had seen better days. A blue T-shirt could also be seen under his black nylon jacket that he was wearing and was zipped down to his chest.
The strange man that had followed her turned and ran away on seeing the bald man getting closer. Lisa didn’t know what to do. She could see the back of her weird stalker disappearing into the greenery, and then turned to face the other male.
The bald guy held his hands up, clocking her knife, and said with a cackle in his sentence, “Relax. I’m not here to cause trouble.”
Lisa never responded. She continued to clutch her knife and glared at the man, unsure what to do.
“I came here looking for something edible,” he said. “I have a little camp back at my place, with some nibbles, but I thought it was probably best not to be complacent.”
She felt a little relaxed when he spoke, and lowered her knife.
“Where’re you based?” she asked him.
He smiled after finally hearing her voice and said, “I’m staying in the woods. I was at another place with some people, but we had a falling out.”
Ghostland (Book 2): Ghostland 2 Page 14
