Ghostland (Book 3): Ghostland 3

by Whittington, Shaun

  “Something wrong?” Yoler asked him.

  “Not sure yet.” Dicko put his boots on and said, “Going outside for a chat.”

  Yoler looked out of the front window and announced that she was going with him.

  The two stepped outdoors, machetes in hand, and approached the men that noticed them seconds after they had left.

  “Can we help you, gentlemen?” Dicko asked them.

  “Alright, mate?” The one on the left was the first to speak up and pointed to the van. “Is that yours?”

  “Sure is.”

  “Oh, sorry man.” The man on the left was dressed in black clothes. “We were wondering who it belonged to.”

  “We’re gonna be on our way soon.”

  The man on the right had a full grey beard, was tall, and looked menacing, yet his manner was kind when he opened his mouth.

  “We live in this street,” he said. “We’re just making sure that everything is okay. We went to bed last night and woke up to find two vans in the street, so we’re a little concerned.”

  “So you didn’t happen to hear a woman scream, any of the vans pull up, or any kind of shooting?”

  The two men looked at each other and looked embarrassed.

  The man on the left spoke and said, “We were out on a run last night. Didn’t get back till late.”

  “A bit risky,” Yoler spoke up.

  “It was. Took longer than we thought, but we ran into a bit of trouble.”

  “So you don’t know about the woman from over there?” Dicko pointed over at the house. It was number thirty four.

  “Brenda?” the man with the grey beard said. “What happened to her?”

  “Know her?” Dicko asked the men.

  They both nodded and the man on the left took over. “There’s a few of us left. We’re all looking after one another.”

  The man with the grey beard left them and went over to Brenda’s house and knocked on the door. The woman opened it and the two began to converse.

  “Most of us died,” the man continued. “Including my wife. But we stuck together, buried the dead, and have been going on runs and growing our own produce since this shit began.”

  The man with the grey beard walked back over and Brenda remained by the door, waving at Dicko. He smiled and waved back.

  The grey bearded man stood next to his companion and said with a smile, “These guys saved Brenda’s life. Three people turned up and threw her in the back of that other van.” The man pointed to the Transit van that was parked yards down from Dicko and Yoler’s van. “They killed the three and let Brenda go.”

  “Where are these ... people?” The man on the left, dressed in black, asked.

  Dicko answered, “In the back of that van. Ever heard of the meat wagons?”

  Both men nodded.

  “There’s three people in the back of that van less to worry about.” Dicko tossed a set of keys at the grey bearded man, which he caught, and added, “The van’s in the red, but it could go for a fair few miles before it conks out.”

  Dicko turned and walked away from the two men, and Yoler followed.

  “Thanks.”

  Dicko waved at the men and continued walking.

  He and Yoler had to be somewhere.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Donald Brownstone exited the cabin and was carrying an empty bucket. Grace and Gavin were preparing the soup with the little water and veg they had left, and Grace’s mother was going through the two times table with little David. Helen was sitting on the steps of the cabin and smiled as she watched her son and the woman talking and laughing. She could see Donald was about to go through the wooded area and head to the pond, so she asked if she could tag along.

  “Sure,” he said, and couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll be glad of the company, you dig what I’m sayin’?”

  Helen Willis told her son that she was going to the pond with Donald. He acknowledged her with a nod, almost annoyed that she had interrupted his chatter with Grace’s mum, and continued to talk with the fun woman.

  Helen laughed and walked over to Donald and the pair of them walked through the plantation. A couple of minutes later and their short walk led them to the pond.

  “Let’s milk it for a bit,” Helen said to Donald. “Being stuck in that place can be detrimental to your mental health.”

  “Tell me about it,” Donald chuckled. “Any time I get a chance to go, I do.”

  “I’ve noticed.” Helen pointed over to the other side of the pond and said, “Let’s get the water from over there.”

  “Okay. Is that your way of killing time?”

  “Kind of, but to be honest I wanted to have a look at the farm, just for old time’s sake.”

  “I’ll get the water first.” Donald smiled at the woman.

  He took his boots and socks off, and walked into the pond, careful where he was treading, and dipped the bucket until it was full. He headed back to land and put his socks back on his wet feet and the boots were next. He looked over to Helen and left the bucket where it was.

  “Come on then.” Donald used his head to motion Helen to follow him. They walked through the cluster of trees and stepped out onto familiar territory. They stopped when they were at the overgrown field, and looked across and up the hill where the farmhouse was. It didn’t look too damaged, but Helen was aware that inside it was unliveable. She released a thin smile and thought of Simon and Imelda Washington. She wasn’t a religious person, but she hoped that the pair of them were together, somewhere, and Simon was reunited with his wife and his son, Tyler.

  “You okay?” Donald could see the sadness in her face and was unsure whether to comfort her or not. She didn’t have tears, but he pitied the woman all the same.

  “You want to go up there?” he asked Helen. “Have a look around?”

  She shook her head. “No. I think I’d break down if I went up.”

  Donald bit the bullet and put his arm around the woman that he secretly loved. “You liked Simon, didn’t you?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “It was good to meet somebody new, of similar age. I think, in time, we could have become an item.”

  “Oh?” Donald was hurt by Helen’s confession. Was he invisible? Maybe she just saw him as a friend. Maybe not even that. Just a camp companion?

  Feeling ridiculous, Donald removed his arm from around Helen’s shoulder as she continued to speak.

  “Simon and I had a lot in common,” she said. “We had both lost our partners, we have a child each...”

  “Don’t forget that he was a cheater,” Donald snapped.

  “What?” Helen looked confused and took a look to her side, at Donald.

  “Remember?” Donald looked flustered and added, “He told us as Imelda lay dead. He told us that he was a shitty husband and that he cheated on his wife, and—”

  “Why are you bringing that up?” Helen took a step away from Donald and scrunched her face. “I don’t get it. Why are you slagging off the dead?”

  Donald Brownstone bit his bottom lip and looked annoyed. He stepped away from Helen and rubbed his head. He shook it and turned around, glaring at the woman he had fallen for months ago.

  “Donald?”

  “What’s wrong with me?” Donald clenched his fists together and couldn’t help himself. “I worship the ground you walk on, love David to bits, and you ignore me.”

  “Donald? What are you talking about?”

  “I love you, you stupid woman! You go on about how you could have been with Simon, how you’re lonely ... and yet you ignore me.”

  “I don’t ignore you.” Helen shook her head, baffled at Donald’s behaviour. “Donald, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t you be with me?”

  “Donald, I don’t know what to say.” The penny had finally dropped with Helen. “I’m sorry. I don’t see you in that way.”

  “Why not?” Donald stepped towards Helen and grabbed her
arms with each of his hands. “I love you and David. I’d be good to you. I’d make you happy.”

  “Happy?” Helen shook her head and laughed. “I’ll never be happy again. Nobody and nothing is going to make me happy again. Have you seen where we live? What kind of world we live in now?”

  “We’re better off than most folk. Give me a try.” Donald kept a hold of Helen. “You won’t regret it.”

  “You don’t love me, Donald. This is about your cock, isn’t it?”

  “It’s deeper than that.”

  “Donald,” Helen groaned. “You’re starting to hurt me. Let me go.”

  “Just fucking listen to what I have to say!” the man snarled.

  “Donald, you’re scaring me.” There were tears in Helen’s eyes and she was frightened. “Let me go.”

  “You need to understand.” Donald gripped tighter, making Helen wince with pain. “I’d take care of you. Both of you.”

  “Donald. I...”

  “You need to understand—”

  “Let me go, Donald.”

  “Listen to me.”

  Helen kicked Donald as hard as she could in the shin, and the big man cried out and let the woman go. She turned around and ran away from Brownstone, into the trees, heading back to the camp.

  Donald bent over and rubbed his shin. He then looked up and saw the back of her disappearing through the trees. “Helen! Helen!”

  Donald refused to run after her. She looked frightened as it was and he didn’t want to make anything worse, if that at all was possible.

  “Fuck!”

  With his adrenaline waning, he slowly realised that his behaviour was unacceptable. He smacked the palms of his hands off his head in frustration, and began to cuss and call himself names whilst pacing back and forth.

  He couldn’t go back to the camp how. Not yet. It was too soon. After the way he had behaved, Helen probably wouldn’t want him in the same room, so sleeping in the cabin was out of the question. The people of the camp would pick up on the negative vibes between Helen and Donald and would ask questions, especially Yoler.

  “Donald, you fucking idiot.”

  He walked through the cluster of trees and reached the pond. Helen was nowhere to be seen and the bucket of water was still sitting on the ground. He patted his pocket to make sure his knife was still there, puffed out a breath, and went back through the trees and into the overgrown field.

  Donald was walking with angry steps and was heading to the hill, to the farmhouse. He had some stress to walk off. He didn’t know where his walk was going to take him, but he couldn’t go back to the camp. He would rather be out in the open with the Canavars than be in the presence of Helen Willis and the rest of the group.

  He couldn’t face her. Not yet.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The delivery van turned onto a narrow country road and minutes later the vehicle entered the car park of the wholesalers. The van parked up and Dicko switched the engine off and put the keys into his pocket. He and Yoler looked around the car park and could see seven vehicles parked up.

  “We may have guests,” Yoler said.

  “Dead ones.” Dicko grabbed his machete off Yoler’s lap. “Those cars have probably been here since the ninth of June last year.”

  “The ninth of June?”

  “The day it started,” said Dicko. “Well, the day it was officially announced.”

  “Not sure what the date was, Dicky Boy.”

  “It was the last time I saw my wife and daughter. I’ll never forget it.”

  He opened the driver’s door and jumped out, with Yoler following suit at the other side. Both approached the main door of the wholesalers, and could see that the once automatic doors were opened.

  Dicko stopped by the doors and, using the bottom handle part of the machete, he banged on the doors eight times. The two of them waited a minute, but nothing approached the doors from the inside.

  They both looked at one another and entered the establishment.

  “Stick together,” Dicko said. “Be careful with every corner we approach.”

  “I have done this kind of thing before,” Yoler whispered. “On my own.”

  They could see that the place had been raided many times. A lot of the shelves and areas in the floor were empty, but now useless household appliances like washing machines, hoovers, and dishwashers were still sitting where they had been placed a year ago and left untouched.

  The aisles were low and they could see that the floor looked Canavar free. Dicko pointed at the far corner of the large place, where there was some produce. The two of them walked over to the area and could see that the produce was tins of food and bottles of sparkling and tonic water all wrapped up. The products were on pallets, and to their right was half a pallet of breakfast cereal bars.

  “Too good to be true,” Dicko said.

  “I know.” Yoler nodded in agreement. “This place doesn’t have a single body or a smear of blood.”

  “And yet the doors are open.”

  “I know.”

  “Weird.” Yoler scratched at her Beatle haircut and looked baffled. “Maybe someone cleaned up. Maybe it was a base for a group, but they had to leave.”

  “And leave that?” Dicko pointed at the two pallets.

  Yoler hunched her shoulders and took a slow walk away from the pallets and Dicko, and took a look down the tall aisles.

  “Right,” Dicko called over to Yoler. “We better make a start and move this stuff. It may take a while, even using the trolleys.”

  “I have a better idea.” Yoler beckoned Dicko over to her side. He did as he was told and stood next to his female companion and they looked down the gap, in-between the two tall aisles. A Komatsu battery powered forklift truck sat in the middle of the aisle, and Yoler was the first to react and went over to it. She put her blade on her lap once she was sitting on the truck and could see two levers to her left. One to raise and lower the forks, and the final lever controlled the tilt of the forks.

  “It probably doesn’t work,” Dicko said.

  Yoler pressed her foot on the pedal and it moved forwards a few yards until she released her foot. She began to giggle.

  “This is unbelievable,” said Dicko. “Can you drive it? I can have a go, if you want.”

  “How difficult can it be?”

  The truck moved and Dicko took a step to the side as Yoler drove over to the pallets and stopped. It took her a while to work it out, but she lowered the forks and moved forwards slowly, the forks going under the pallet. She raised the forks, lifting the pallet, then tilted them towards her.

  “Go and open up the van, Dicky Boy,” she said. “I’m just gonna load these two bad boys straight into it.”

  Minutes had passed and the back of the van was filled. The two of them had one walk around the place and then decided to leave. Unlike runs from the past, this had been unusually unproblematic and the two of them had even been given a massive slice of luck.

  “We’ll park this van at a picnic area. It’ll be a few hundred yards walk to the camp, but to empty it, everyone is gonna have to muck in and help transport the food.”

  “How are we going to hide a van when we’ve parked it up?”

  “We can’t.” Dicko slowed the vehicle down and turned left at a junction. “Thankfully, the picnic area is surrounded by trees, so you won’t see the van by just driving along the road. You have to actually go into the area.”

  “Dicko.” Yoler pointed up ahead and could see four of the dead in the middle of the road, with their backs to them.

  The dead turned around once their ears picked up the sound of the engine, and Dicko floored the accelerator. The van struck all four and the bodies went under the wheels of the heavy vehicle, decapitating one of them.

  Yoler looked to the driver and said, sounding unimpressed, “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

  “A little.” Dicko smiled.

  “A stupid thing to do.”

  “I know. I’m s
orry.”

  Dicko still had a smile on his face and was unashamed about his behaviour. He was an experienced survivor with a van full of food that could keep the group alive for another month, and instead of slowing down and driving around the dead, he chose to run the risk of running them down.

  Just under ten minutes later and they parked up the van in the picnic area. It was time to move the produce.

  *

  Helen returned to the camp and Gavin was the first person to realise something was wrong. Helen Willis looked flustered, there was no bucket, and Donald Brownstone was nowhere to be seen.

  Gavin was sitting with Grace and they both approached Helen.

  “Where’s David?” were the first words to come out of Helen’s mouth. She looked around the spacious area and couldn’t see her son or Lisa anywhere.

  “It’s okay.” Gavin tried to appease the stressed woman. She looked shaken and jittery. “He’s in the cabin with Lisa.”

  “Oh.” As soon as Gavin had informed the woman of her son’s whereabouts, she began to relax a little.

  “Helen,” Grace spoke up and placed her arm around the shaken woman. “What’s wrong? Where’s Donald?”

  Helen shuddered, lowered her head, and began to sob. Grace and Gavin looked at one another, scared at the answer she was going to give them. Had he been attacked by a Canavar? Did he have an accident? Where was he?

  “I don’t know where he is,” she finally answered Grace’s question. “I don’t care either.”

  Grace and Gavin took a concerned look at one another and Gavin asked Helen what had happened.

  “It was stupid.” Helen shook her head in disbelief. “It escalated out of nothing.”

  “What went on?” Grace asked.

  Helen wiped tears from her eyes with her fingers and puffed out a breath. She looked over to the cabin, seeing that the door was closed, and pointed over to the area where they usually ate.

  “Sit down,” she said. “I’ll tell you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Donald Brownstone was out of breath after reaching the top of the hill and looked at the place that used to be his home for a few weeks.