Simon released a breath out and was about to pick the dog up, but then paused. He was paranoid about his little girl waking up, alone, in a strange room. He made a decision to run upstairs and move Imelda back to the sofa before moving the dog.
And so he did.
*
After gathering some branches and making a spit for the fire he had just lit at the back of the farm, Simon filtered some water, ready to boil once the dog was cooked. They sat waiting patiently, both salivating. They had eaten cats before, a fox, squirrels … but never a dog. Simon had gutted and skinned the animal before placing it over the fire. Making a fire was dangerous, especially on a night, but they needed to eat.
“Your beard’s going grey, daddy,” Imelda remarked with a smile, trying to kill time. Both sat next to one another and gazed at the dead canine, willing it to hurry up and cook.
“I know, babe.” Simon smiled. “It’s only grey at the sides of my chin. Anyway, I’m not getting any younger.”
She looked at her father strangely. “Neither am I.”
“It’s just a saying,” Simon snickered. “It’s just something adults say. You don’t have to take it literally.”
“Adults are strange.”
Simon smiled thinly and wondered about the future of his daughter. He thought about her going into womanhood once more, and wondered what to do when she needed to wear a bra or when she started her menstrual cycle. He had years to play with before this scenario occurred, but if they were going to survive, it was going to happen.
“Once this thing’s cooked,” Simon nodded to the animal on the spit, “then we’ll get back inside. Maybe go for a cheeky nap.”
“What about the rest of it?” Imelda asked her father. “We’ll never eat it all.”
“I can carve the rest up and put the meat on a plate for later.”
“Can we eat the meat cold?”
“I think so.” Simon hunched his shoulders. “You can eat chicken cold, so why not? Remember that time we ate a cat for the first time?”
Imelda nodded. “I wouldn’t touch it.”
“That’s right. You hadn’t eaten for two days and I was getting mad.”
“I did in the end,” Imelda said with a smile “Only because you told me it tasted like chicken. It looked and tasted nothing like chicken.”
“I know, but at least you ate some of it.”
She nodded and looked up and seemed lost in thought. Before her father could ask her what was wrong, she said, “I keep on thinking about that song that Tyler used to tease me with.”
“Song?” Simon ran the nail of his thumb across his left eyebrow, trying to understand what Imelda meant.
“Yeah. The song.”
“Oh yes. Funny you should say that,” said Simon. “You were mumbling it in your sleep when you were lying on the couch.”
“Was I?”
Simon nodded.
He gazed at Imelda and could see her beautiful features, and began to lose himself. She was sitting next to the fire as the flames licked the air.
“What’s wrong, daddy? You’re staring.”
Simon shook his head, shaking himself out of his hypnotic state and apologised to his daughter. “There’s nothing wrong.”
“Are you sure?”
Simon nodded. “It’s just that…” Simon gulped and allowed his sentence to trail.
“What?” Imelda queried her daddy further.
“Sometimes…” Simon began, but paused. “Sometimes I look at you and feel like bursting into tears.”
Imelda’s forehead tightened and she said, “I don’t understand.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he laughed timidly. “You’re not a parent, so it’s hard to explain.”
“Okay.” She glared at the cooking canine and salivated as the smell tormented her senses. “Do you think it’ll be ready soon?”
“Shouldn’t be long.” He reached to the side of him and picked up two plates he had taken from the kitchen. He leaned over and gave his daughter one and then took a fork from his pocket and passed it to her.
“After we’ve finished, we’ll go straight back inside, okay?” he asked her.
She nodded.
“Okay. A couple more minutes and we’ll carve this baby up.”
Chapter Five
Since killing the dog, the rest of the day had passed by with little excitement. The rest of the animal was carved up and placed on a plate from the kitchen cupboard, although there wasn’t much. Simon and Imelda had stuffed their faces and gave themselves a protein overdose.
Simon had put the plate on the side of the sofa and he and Imelda spoke about their old life, in the afternoon, whilst picking at the meat.
The evening was maturing and Simon had made sure both doors of the house were locked before heading upstairs with his daughter, bag in hand. Simon picked the room that had the double bed, dumped the rucksack, and both of them kicked off their footwear before lying on the bed, on top of the black and white duvet.
Both of them were fully clothed when they lay on the bed, their heads resting on the soft pillows that were dressed in black covers, and Imelda laid her head on her father’s chest. He stroked her hair and then kissed her forehead.
“I want to dream about mum and Tyler tonight,” she groaned.
“Do you, babe?”
“Uh-huh. Do you?”
Simon thought for a few seconds and pulled a face. “Well ... I don’t need to dream about them. They’re in my head.”
“But dreaming is different.”
“Is it?” He continued to stroke her hair.
“Yeah. In your dreams you can touch them, smell them. You do things that we never did when they were alive.”
“Your dreams must be a lot more vivid than mine.” Simon smirked and continued to stroke her head.
“What does vivid mean?”
“Clear.” Simon cleared his throat and added, “Anyway, I don’t like to dream about mum and Tyler, because when I wake up I then realise that they’re not here anymore.”
“Oh.”
“Do you like dreaming of mummy and Tyler because you miss them and want to be with them, or because your dreams take you back to how the world was before...?”
Simon never finished his sentence. He didn’t need to. If he had finished his sentence, how would it have ended? Before... Before... their world turned to shit? Before... mummy and Tyler were killed in front of their eyes? Before ... the Canavars came and started ripping people to pieces. Before ... what?
“I just like dreaming about them,” Imelda said, her sentence was in a tone to suggest she was a little bit angry with her dad. “That’s all.”
“Try and get some sleep.”
“I’ll try, but that nap before might keep me awake.”
“I know. In that case, we’ll just lie here and see what happens. It’s still quite early, isn’t it?”
“Okay, daddy.”
A silence enveloped the pair of them and Simon closed his eyes, but Imelda disturbed his short-lived peace. He could hear her sighing, fidgeting and groaning. He bit his bottom lip and tried to remind himself that she was staying in a room for the first time and that she was only eight years old.
She said, “Daddy?”
Simon sighed, “Yes, what is it?”
“Remember our guinea pigs?”
“Of course I do.” Simon released a short chortle. “They were a bloody pain, weren’t they?”
“I miss them.” Imelda released a long sigh.
“I know you do, but we couldn’t take them with us. We had to let them go in the garden when me, you, mummy and Tyler left the house.”
“Do you think they’re still alive?”
“Probably not.” Simon didn’t think there was any point lying to her. They probably didn’t get as far as half a mile before a cat or a fox took them into their mouths and carried them away.
The guinea pigs that Imelda was referring to had been bought months before things had turned for
the worse. He remembered the day Diana had bought the guinea pigs very well.
The guinea pigs were bought whilst Diana was out shopping with Imelda. She had texted Simon and asked if they could get a hamster. He said yes, but she had returned with two thirteen-week-old guinea pigs instead. Imelda and Tyler had one each. Imelda called hers Alvin and Tyler called his guinea pig Ham Sandwich. It was either Ham Sandwich or Nibbles. He was going to call it Nibbles because it had bitten Diana when she first held it, but Tyler stuck with Ham Sandwich. Amusingly, Tyler had said to his dad, “I don’t know where I got the name from, dad. It just came to me.”
When the family had to leave their home, Alvin and Ham Sandwich couldn’t go with them and were let out in the wild. Simon knew that they wouldn’t last a week, but after Stage One and Two, his only concern was for his wife and two kids.
They also had an old cat called Beckham, which Diana and Simon had bought when they moved into their house, years before the kids came along.
When the kids were under the age of four they bought a black Labrador puppy. They called it Buddy, but it died after just five days. It had some kind of bladder problem and had to be put down. A year later they bought another black Labrador, and called this one Buddy as well. ‘Buddy Mark Two’ was a nightmare from the beginning. It was totally disobedient, hyperactive and did its own thing. They both thought that it was to do with it being young. Simon took it to six weeks of puppy training, but it never did any good. After the sixth week of training, Diana and Simon were watching the TV and Simon looked over to see Buddy chewing one of his slippers. “Well, that was money well spent,” he remarked. Then a week later they gave the dog to a friend.
After the two Buddys, Diana wanted another cat. They bought one and called it Azrael. It was eventually given to the neighbours as it managed to get fleas and had passed it on to Tyler’s room. Tyler had to sleep in his parent’s room for a week until the problem was removed. His back had been bitten on a number of occasions, and a mixture of Rentokil and fumigating the room themselves and a lot of hoovering finally removed the pests.
To Simon’s dismay, this incident hadn’t put Diana off getting another cat. She bought another black one, just like Beckham, but after a year it had disappeared and was never seen again. So the reluctance from Simon about getting more pets was justified. Their history with animals wasn’t great. Their two goldfish, Bruce and Nemo, had lasted longer than most of their domestic pets.
Simon looked over at the bedroom door and realised he hadn’t put anything against it. Both doors were bolted downstairs and he was a light sleeper; even in the old world he never slept great, so he wasn’t too worried. He decided to move the chest of drawers against the door anyway.
“Babe, I’m just going to get up and block the door.”
There was no response from Imelda.
“Imelda?”
He smiled as he could hear her lightly snoring. He decided to leave the door.
He stroked her face with his forefinger and planted a gentle peck on her plump cheek. “Love you.”
Chapter Six
Next Day
The bedroom was slowly filled with daylight. Simon was the first to wake up and could see that he had forgotten to pull the curtains together before they went to bed.
He yawned and could see that Imelda was stirring to the side of him. The pair of them had slept most of the night on their sides with their backs to each other. He was facing the window, where the light was spilling in, whereas Imelda had her back to it, which explained why she was still asleep.
He turned onto his other side and kissed his daughter on her hot cheek. He stroked her hair and leaned in for another kiss, but he released a gasp instead. A noise from underneath them could be heard, and all Simon could do was stay still in shock.
Who was it? How the fuck did they get in?
He began to gently shake his daughter awake. She moaned and wriggled and once her eyes opened, her dad had something to tell her.
“Babe. I think there’s someone inside the house.”
“What?” she yawned, then suddenly sat up and gasped. “What, daddy?”
Simon shushed her and told her to stay where she was whilst he went over to the door. The only reason an individual would be inside would be for supplies. He looked over to his bag that sat at the side of the bed and went over to get a knife. He was unsure what to do.
Should he attack or scare off the intruder? After all, it only sounded like it was the one. Or, should he and Imelda hide?
Does he allow the man to see for himself that there’s not much here and wait for him to leave? But if they hid, there could be a chance they’d be found.
And then what? A fight? Someone getting hurt? Killed?
Imelda had left the bed now and tied her hair in a ponytail as she went over to her old man.
“Are we going to hide, daddy?”
He shook his head. “No, but you are.”
“What?” she gasped and widened her eyes. “I … I…”
“Get under the bed.”
Imelda began to panic and said with tears in her eyes, “But what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet.” Simon puffed out an anxious breath. “I’m staying here, but if he comes in, if it’s a he … I’ll ... I’ll talk to him. Well, I’ll try and talk to him.”
“Talk? He might hurt you, daddy.”
“Just...” He could feel his nerves making his body judder. He felt tense and Simon was trying to keep it together. He didn’t want to snap at his little girl. She was scared. “Just ... get under the bed, please. It’ll be okay.”
“Okay,” she whimpered. “If you say so.”
Simon gazed over and felt for the petrified Imelda as she went under the bed and lay there on her belly. He reminded her to be quiet and took an intake of breath as the person in the house began making their way upstairs.
“Oh shit,” Simon mumbled.
“Daddy, what is it?”
Simon shushed his little girl.
He could hear the footsteps growing louder as the individual progressed to the landing, to the first floor. Simon had tears in his eyes. Please don’t hurt us. Please don’t fucking hurt us.
He clasped onto the handle of the knife tightly as the footsteps continued. Simon placed his ear by the door and heard the man—he assumed it was a man—going through the bedroom next door to them. The bedroom door closed, as the individual exited, and opened the door of the smallest bedroom.
Simon turned and faced the window. Still clasping his knife, he placed his left hand on the door handle, waiting for the intruder to try it. He knew he was going to.
Then the moment came.
Simon heard three slow footsteps coming towards him, towards the door. He held the door handle tight and pushed it up so that it wouldn’t move once it was tried.
There was silence, hesitation from the person behind the door. And then Simon felt it. The handle was being tried and Simon managed to keep control of it. It moved maybe about half a centimetre, but Simon made sure that it never went down further.
An awful, terrifying silence engulfed the bedroom and Simon placed his ear to the door and couldn’t hear a thing, not even breathing. Had both men held their breaths?
“Is there anybody in there?” a male voice spoke up from behind the door.
The query made Simon’s heart giddy-up even more. Simon breathed in, gulped hard and replied, “Yes, there is.”
That was it.
No more words were exchanged between the two males, and the stranger in the house walked away from the room where Simon and Imelda were staying, and then Simon could hear fading footsteps which suggested that the man was making his way downstairs. But was he leaving the house altogether?
Silence was present in the room for a matter of minutes, both Simon and Imelda too scared to speak out.
Simon still had his hand on the handle and finally released it, but kept a hold of the knife in the other.
“
Daddy?” Imelda finally shattered the silence from under the bed, and added further in a soft voice, “Has the man gone away?”
“I don’t know, babe. I’m gonna check. Stay where you are.”
There was no protest from Imelda as her dad prepared to leave the room, to leave her alone. There was no response at all.
Simon finally built up the courage to open the door and stepped out onto the landing. He gently closed the door behind him and could see that the intruder had left all doors of the other rooms open, both bedrooms and the bathrooms. Simon was certain that the man was downstairs and that the fading steps wasn’t some kind of trick, but he gave the rooms a quick check anyway, and then sauntered to the top of the stairs.
He looked down and remained gazing for seconds, unsure whether going down was the correct thing to do. The right hand that was clasping the knife was clammy and shaking, so he swapped hands and wiped his right palm on his black combat trousers before putting the knife back in his grip.
He made the descent very slowly, pausing with each step he made. In order to survive in the long term, he knew that eventually killing another man was something that needed to be done to protect himself and his daughter. He just didn’t want that day to be today.
He finally reached the bottom of the stairs and then hesitantly peered into the living room, like someone would peer over their cushion during a horror movie, and could see that the room was empty. The kitchen was the last room in the house to check.
He made nine steps across the living room and reached the kitchen with his knife now raised. The door was still shut, but he could see that the intruder had forced open the window of the kitchen and that’s how he had managed to get in. Simon went over to the window and pushed it back down, wondering what the stranger had used to prise the window open. The weak lock had been busted. He was so obsessed with the two doors that he never thought about the downstairs windows of the house as another way that intruders could get in.
Although he was still shaken from the arrival of the intruder, Simon was relieved that the house was clear and that the individual, their brief uninvited guest, had decided to flee.
Ghostland_A Zombie apocalypse Novel Page 3