Ghostland_A Zombie apocalypse Novel

by Shaun Whittington

  “Enough!” snapped the thin man that was clean shaven. “We’re not here to hurt you. Despite what you did to our friend, we’re just here to claim compensation.”

  “Compensation?” Yoler scoffed. “What the piss are you on about, compensation?”

  A thin man with dark hair shaven stood holding a knife, and pointed over to Imelda who was cowering behind her father.

  He said, “Right, cutie, you come over here and stand next to me.”

  “She’s going nowhere,” Simon snarled with his teeth clenched together. “You need to get through me first.”

  “Very touching,” the man giggled and looked up at his two friends, Clare and the grey haired man with the thick beard.

  “Tie these fuckers up,” the man with the shaved head commanded to the other guy and the female.

  “You can fuck off!” Yoler snapped and raised her fists.

  “We’re not going to harm you,” Clare, the female, said. “We need to empty your supplies into your car that we’re going to take. And that’ll take a while with the three of us.”

  “We need you guys to be on your best behaviour when we do this,” said Clean Shaven. “Tying you up is the only way. Now, where are the car keys for that Mazda?”

  Yoler and Dicko remained tight-lipped.

  “Come on.” Grey Beard put his machete away, and tapped the machete handle and nodded over in Simon and Imelda’s direction. “Do you really want me to harm the little girl to get a fucking answer?”

  Dicko sighed in defeat and said, “They’re in the kitchen. By the sink.”

  Clare went in to look for them and returned to the living room seconds later, shaking the keys. “Got them.”

  “Good.” Grey Beard nodded.

  “We could always lock them in one of the bedrooms,” Clare suggested, looking at her two male companions.

  “Nah, fuck that.” Grey Beard shook his head. “They’re staying here.”

  Grey Beard pulled out four black tie tags out of his pocket and began conversing with his other two colleagues.

  Yoler turned to Dicko and Simon overheard her say, “We can’t let them take everything, just like that.”

  Dicko nodded and whispered, “I know.”

  Once the three had finished talking, Grey Beard walked over with his hand on the machete handle and went over to Yoler first. He asked her to stand up. She did as she was told and held out her hands in front of her. Simon noticed that Yoler gave Dicko a glare, but had no idea what it was about. What were these two planning?

  “Put your arms behind,” Grey Beard snarled at Yoler.

  She moved her arms behind her and Grey Beard moved to the side of her and bent over. Yoler was making it difficult for him to tie her up.

  “Fuck’s sake.” Clean Shaven laughed. He had his arms folded and was standing next to Clare. “Let’s hurry this up.”

  Grey Beard huffed, “Fuck off, Clare!”

  “You’re taking ages.”

  “I wouldn’t mind a hand over here.”

  Grey Beard grabbed the standing Yoler’s wrists and bent over, struggling with the tie tag. Dicko glared at the machete handle and shifted a few inches nearer to Grey Beard. Dicko could see that Grey Beard was still bent over, struggling with the tie tag, and was becoming exasperated, cussing under his breath.

  Dicko and Yoler glared at each other one more time and Simon held his breath, knowing that something was going to happen.

  Dicko reached for Grey Beard’s machete handle and Yoler leaned to her left and took a bite out of the man’s arm. Dicko punched the man in the throat and then pulled out the machete and stood up before Clare and Clean Shaven had a chance to pull out their own large blades.

  Clare panicked and left the house, leaving a very confused Clean Shaven to ask where the fuck she was going. He never got an answer and decided to flee himself, running through the kitchen and out of the back door, the same way Clare had left.

  Dicko ran after the pair of them, and Yoler turned to Simon and pointed at the bleeding Grey Beard who was lying on his front, injured and moaning on the floor.

  Yoler screamed at Simon, “Kneel on his arm and whatever you do, don’t let that bearded cunt get up!”

  She then followed Dicko, picking up her knife on the way out. Simon told a confused and petrified Imelda to go upstairs, but she refused. She was quiet, stunned, and looked like she was in shock.

  “I don’t want to leave you, daddy,” she groaned.

  “Just go,” Simon snapped, panting. “Get in the room and hide in the cupboard. I’ll come up for you once we’re ... done.”

  Imelda took the stairs and made progress to the room her and her dad had been staying in for days.

  Simon was kneeling on the man’s outstretched arm and could hear him gasping. He had been punched in the throat and Simon looked down and could see the blood pouring out of the man’s right arm, in the triceps area. It was a hell of a bite from Yoler, a desperate bite. It was the similar kind of bite an individual would take out of an apple.

  Simon twisted his neck, making it crack, and looked in the direction of the kitchen when he heard the sounds of a man screaming from outside. He had no idea what happened to the Clare character, but was convinced that Yoler and Dicko were attacking Clean Shaven.

  Simon was praying under his breath. He was scared and was trying to block out the pleading from the man that was underneath him.

  “Please, man,” pleaded Grey Beard. “You’re hurting me.”

  “Hurting?” Simon scoffed. “And what would you three scumbags have done to us after you’d emptied the house?”

  “We would have let you go.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “It’s true. That was the plan. Orson told us not to kill you guys, unless it was absolutely necessary.”

  Orson! There was that name again.

  Yoler and Dicko returned to the living room. Dicko’s machete was stained with blood and so was Yoler’s knife.

  “We lost that Clare character,” Dicko panted, “but the other one won’t be giving us any bother.”

  Simon turned and asked, “Where did she go?”

  “She was heading for the pond. She was too far away to chase. She must be going into the woods.”

  “This piece of shit mentioned that name again … Orson. If that Clare character gets back to, wherever she came from, she’ll tell that Orson guy where we stay.”

  “Well, let’s hope she doesn’t make it,” Dicko sighed.

  “Maybe she’s heading towards Helen’s camp,” Simon wondered. “Maybe if...”

  Simon never finished his sentence. He felt a dull ache in his stomach and fell backwards. Grey Beard had escaped and was now scrambling upstairs. Simon rolled around on the floor, winded, whilst Yoler and Dicko ran towards the door that led upstairs, after Grey Beard.

  Simon quickly got to his feet, gasping for breath, and tried to warn his two friends that Imelda was in the usual bedroom upstairs.

  Simon headed upstairs, for his room, and could see that Yoler and Dicko were already standing by the frame of the opened door. Simon stood behind them and looked in. Grey Beard had Imelda around the throat and was standing behind the little girl.

  “I’m sorry daddy,” she cried, once she clocked Simon’s face. “I thought it was you coming in and I came out.”

  “Fucking shut up!” Grey Beard snarled at her.

  “Don’t you fucking touch her!” Simon screamed. He took a step forward, but he was being held back by his two other housemates.

  Grey Beard revealed a devilish grin, “I swear, I’ll snap her fucking neck.”

  “Don’t you touch her!”

  “Right.” Dicko held his hand up to the assailant and added, “Let’s not do anything stupid now. What do you want?”

  “What?” Grey Beard looked perplexed.

  “What do you want? You want to be allowed to leave?”

  Grey Beard had lost all his confidence and swagger, and looked like a frightened and de
sperate man, which he was.

  He nodded. “Yes, I want to leave.”

  “Then let the girl go.”

  “No.” Grey Beard shook his head and looked to be close to tears.

  “No?”

  “As soon as I let her go, you’ll kill me. I know where you live. You’re not going to risk letting me go.”

  “Maybe that would be true if you were the last survivor of the three. But you’re not. That woman knows where we live and she’s gone, she’s escaped. So what’d be the point of killing you? With that woman now on the run, we know we have to leave here now.”

  “I could talk to Clare, if she returns to our camp,” Grey Beard said desperately. “I’ll keep my mouth shut and I’ll make sure she does the same. I’ll make sure she doesn’t tell Orson a thing. But I’ll need to go now, try and get back before she does.”

  Yoler didn’t believe him and was growing impatient with this standoff, and the frightened look on Imelda’s face made her heart go numb.

  Simon snarled. “Just ... let-her-go.”

  Grey Beard side stepped over to the bedroom window and opened it with his free hand.

  “What the piss are you doing?” Yoler asked.

  “I don’t believe you guys. I’m gonna let this girl go and jump out of this window. Don’t you fucking follow me.”

  “There’s no need for that,” Dicko tried to reassure the man. “We’ll let you out downstairs. We’ll keep our distance.”

  “Bollocks!” the man laughed. He opened the window wider and pushed Imelda towards Yoler and Dicko, and then jumped out.

  Simon and Imelda immediately hugged and Yoler was about to move downstairs after the man, but Dicko held her back. A cry from outside from the man was heard, and Dicko just assumed that he had landed awkwardly before fleeing.

  “Don’t bother,” Dicko said to her.

  “But I can catch him,” said Yoler. “I’m quick.”

  “You won’t catch him. It’s amazing how fast a person can run when they’re scared to death.”

  A male moan was heard again and Yoler and Dicko went to the bedroom window and looked out.

  Grey Beard was lying on the floor, trying to crawl away from the house, but his obvious broken left leg was preventing this.

  “Ouch,” Yoler said, and then winced.

  “Looks like our friend isn’t going anywhere for the time being,” snickered Dicko. “Let’s tie him up and put him in the spare bedroom. We might need him alive.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Clare had been running for over five minutes. She was so out of breath that she had to stop once she passed the pond and was near the woods. She bent over and tried to catch her breath. She looked around and knew her only option was the woods.

  She couldn’t go back.

  They’d be waiting for her. And to the side of her were just fields.

  She straightened her back, placed her hands on her hips, and waited a minute. She placed her right hand on her side and felt for the handle of her knife. It was still there. At least she had some kind of protection.

  She then pulled out the large blade and strolled into the woods, into the unknown. She had no idea how, but she wanted to find a road and try and get back to Orson and the rest of the crew. At the moment she was going the wrong way, but going back on herself and heading back where the farm was situated could be disastrous for the woman.

  She made her way through the bracken and constantly scanned all around her with paranoid eyes. The woods were condensed, but she could still see about ten to fifteen yards in front of her.

  She had been in the woodland for ... she didn’t know how long, but to her left she could hear noises, people chatting. She couldn’t see a fire, but she could see smoke billowing into the air from many yards away.

  A camp, she thought. But was it a friendly camp?

  She decided not to risk it, and crept around the camp. She made sure that she didn’t get too close and was aware that guards could be around.

  She held the knife with her shaking hands and relaxed a little when she was obviously moving away from the location. She looked behind her and could see the smoke in the distance and the chatter from people could not be heard anymore.

  She put her knife back into her pocket and ran her fingers over her greasy hair and tightened her ponytail. She licked her dry lips and rubbed her throat. Jesus, she needed a drink.

  The bracken seemed longer up ahead, and she hoped that there was some way out of the stifling woods real soon. She made a move, wiping her damp forehead with her sleeve, and sped up, hoping that she wasn’t far away from a road. She wanted to be out in the open. She needed to feel the cool wind temporarily cover her frame.

  Her feet continued to go through the bracken as her eyes looked around, and a sharp pain shot through her left leg. She released a scream and fell to the floor. She lay on the floor and cried out once more, feeling the white hot pain. She sat up and tried to lift her left leg, but it was no use. She searched through the bracken and could see that she had stood on an animal spring coil trap. She guessed that it had broken her ankle, and she tried to use her fingers to prise the metal jaws open, so she could release her foot, but she couldn’t do it.

  She cried out again and this time didn’t care whether the camp from a few hundred yards back had good or bad people in it. She needed help. She needed to be heard.

  She lay back down and put her hands on her head. The pain was intense and she cried out for help again.

  She sat up and once more tried to prise open the jaws of the trap. Her head was lowered and she cussed as she struggled to get her leg free. The sound of disturbed plantation could be heard in front of her, which was followed by a growling. She gulped and looked up to see an Alsatian, only yards away from her. More noises could be heard, and this time a black slavering Pit Bull appeared to her right and another canine, a Red Setter, appeared to her left.

  Clare never said a word. She didn’t want to antagonise the situation. Were they just being inquisitive because of the noise she was making? Or were they going to...?

  No. Surely not.

  The Alsatian took a step forward and began to sniff her. She shook with fear and the black Pit Bull was the first of the three dogs to attack her. It ran and grabbed her by the throat and the other two dogs also attacked. Clare’s screams never lasted long as the ravenous animals ripped her to bloody shreds. Once her head was torn from the rest of her body, the hungry canines bit into her torso and began to devour her insides, like pigs eating from a trough.

  Their snouts became bloodier as they dipped further into Clare’s cadaver. Not even the sound of a dozen moving bodies heading the dogs’ way, bothered them. They were too busy enjoying their raw, bloody and delicious meal.

  The twelve members of the dead, attracted by the screams of Clare, both whilst she had been trapped and whilst she was being devoured, headed in the direction of the culprit that started this mess: the spring coil animal trap.

  The first one approached the Pit Bull.

  The dogs were so engrossed in their feed that they were unaware of the dead that surrounded them. Until they were attacked.

  Squeals of pain from all three dogs emerged once the dead, some of them dropping to their knees, began to rip the canines to pieces. There were twelve of the dead, four to every dog, and the only animal to fight back was the black Pit Bull. It turned and tried to gnaw away at the rotten face of one of them, but soon stopped when one of the creatures took a generous bite out of its neck. The dog was still conscious when they opened up its stomach.

  The twelve ghouls made light work of the three dogs, and even one knelt and grabbed the decapitated head of Clare, forcing its arm in and scooping out her brains, then stuffing its face.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Helen had spent the last hour washing clothes. She and a male called Jason Martins had been at the pond and were now hanging the clothes on a line that had been tied to two trees. The wet clothes were washed in the
pond with soap and then dumped in a bucket and taken back to the camp.

  There was plenty of water filtered, but the food situation could have been healthier. Ten mouths to feed was a hard task to do on a daily basis, and the supplies were dwindling so much that Gavin and Donald had planned to go for a dangerous jaunt through the woods to see if there were any mushrooms, blackberries, chestnuts ... even an orchard.

  Once the clothes were hung up on the lines, Helen walked over to the main hut to grab herself a bottle of water. She opened the door to the main hut to see a half-dressed Donald Brownstone. He had his back to her and was putting on a fresh T-shirt. She could see the tattoo on Donald’s back. She had seen it before. It went from shoulder to shoulder and in old English the word “Charlie” was present. Helen had asked him about it weeks ago and he had told her that it was the name of a dog he had lost a while back. She didn’t believe him, but never felt it necessary to dig any deeper. Everybody had secrets; even Helen Willis.

  “Fuck’s sake!” he snapped, realising somebody had walked into the cabin. “Doesn’t anybody knock anymore?” He turned around and immediately apologised when he could see that it was Helen that had walked in on him.

  “That’s okay,” she said with a smile. “Now, don’t be hogging this place. Me and David have this place tonight.”

  Donald Brownstone snickered and said, “That’s right. It’s your turn tonight. It’s better in here, isn’t it?”

  “What a difference, staying in this place,” Helen laughed, and had a quick scan around in the cabin, making Donald reveal a rare smile. It was no secret amongst the others that he had a soft spot for Helen.

  “Tell me about it.”

  Helen placed her tongue in her cheek and said with a cheeky smirk, “Shame me and David couldn’t have it every night.”

  “You know the rules.” Donald playfully wagged his finger. “We share the cabin. One night for every person, or couple.”

  “I know.”

  When they first arrived at this area, it was the abandoned cabin that made them set up camp. The other four huts were made by the people themselves from loose logs and branches that had been collected from the area.