Donald flashed Dicko a hard look, but it didn’t stop Dicko from continuing.
He said, “It’s obvious you have a soft spot for her and the boy.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Dicko could see the anger on Donald’s face. He couldn’t be bothered with a confrontation, so he shook his head and sighed. “Just forget it.”
“No,” Donald snapped and grabbed him by the shoulder. “I want to know what you mean. Have you lot been talking about me? Laughing at me?”
“Er ... no,” Dicko laughed at Donald’s paranoia, squinting his eyes in confusion.
“You all think I have this obsession with Helen, but all I’m doing is looking out for her and her lad. I’ve known them for a while and they’re like ... they’re like ... family to me.”
“If you say so.” Dicko looked down at Donald’s hand that still had a hold of his shoulder. “So, are you going to let me go, or should we get a room.”
Donald gritted his teeth and clenched his clasp on Dicko tighter.
“Don’t do this,” Dicko said.
Donald growled, “I’m sick of you cunts looking down on me. When I had my camp, I was the number one guy.”
“You’re alive,” Dicko said. “What’re you complaining about? Now let me go in ten seconds or...”
“Or what?”
Donald staggered back when Dicko delivered his right hook to the side of his face. Donald released his grip and looked at Dicko with surprise, now rubbing his face.
Donald then shook his head quickly, gazed up at Dicko and ran at him. Both men grabbed onto one another and fell to the floor and began rolling about.
Dicko was clearly struggling with the weight advantage that Donald had on him, and took a tame punch in the face from Brownstone.
Brownstone screamed out as he could feel the tip of his knife in his pocket sinking into his thigh. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled the blade out, but this was misinterpreted by Dicko that he was going to be attacked. Dicko grabbed the back of Donald’s head with both hands, pulled him down and bit into his left ear.
Donald released a scream as Dicko’s teeth sank further in and tried to grab at the knife that Donald was holding.
Yoler and Simon came running out of the front door. Simon tried to drag Dicko away, whilst Yoler was behind Donald and had her arm around his throat, trying to pull him off.
Dicko’s teeth released their grip and he fell backwards. Yoler, who had a grip of Donald, also fell backwards with Donald landing on top of her, left ear bleeding.
“Get off me, you stupid bitch!” Donald yelled.
“He was gonna stab me!” Dicko bellowed, pointing at Donald who was now standing up, holding the knife in his right hand.
“What are you talking about?” Donald put his blade back into his pocket and touched his ear to see how heavy it was bleeding.
“You pulled out your knife,” said Dicko. “That’s why I bit you.”
“I pulled out my knife because it was sticking into my thigh, you stupid bastard, not because I wanted to stab you with it.”
“Oh.” Dicko scratched his head. He somehow knew that Donald was telling the truth and began to feel a little guilty for biting into his ear.
Simon put his arm around Dicko and said, “Come on. Let’s go inside and calm down.”
Simon and Dicko were the first to go into the house, leaving Yoler and Donald alone.
“It doesn’t look too bad,” Yoler told Donald, inspecting his ear. “It might be sore for a few days, but if we go inside and clean it...”
“Okay, okay.” Donald shook his head, thinking about the dirty move Dicko had made. “Can’t believe that prick tried to take my ear off.”
“Well, by the sounds of things he did think that you were going to knife him.”
“This isn’t finished,” he snapped.
“Yes it is,” Yoler said.
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Yoler nodded, staring at the big brute. “That’s if you want to keep a roof over your head.”
Donald opened his mouth and looked like he was about to say something, but then changed his mind and closed it. Common sense had prevailed with Brownstone, and he walked to the front door of the farmhouse with Yoler following behind.
“Honestly, you men,” Yoler huffed as Donald stepped inside. “Born with dicks, but most of you act like cunts.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lisa Newton’s feet were aching so much that once she spotted a house she decided to try it, regardless whether somebody stayed there or not. She was on the country lane and hadn’t heard or seen a vehicle since she had been on it.
She gazed at the small cottage and hoped that nobody was inside. The place was painted white on the walls and the roof looked like it needed re-thatching. There was a small steel gate that needed opening to make it possible to walk down the ten-yard path that led to the front door. Lisa decided to go for it, but instead of trying the door straightaway, she decided that the safer option was to check around the cottage and back garden before trying to enter. She couldn’t wait to get in. She desperately needed a drink and she also needed to take something as protection, a weapon of some sort.
She opened the gate, wincing as it cried, and stepped towards the door with hesitant feet. She looked around the simple garden with the overgrown lawn, rusty tools in the far corner, and made her way around the house, wary of every corner she approached.
Once she had checked the outside of the house and the basic garden that had little plants in it, it was time to go inside.
She took in a deep breath and tried the door. Predictably, it was locked or bolted from the inside. She went to the right side of the house and tried to look inside. She could just about see that it was a living room, and she tried to push the old looking window up. The frames were wooden, rotten looking, and she remembered that her mother had similar windows when she was a kid. She was certain that she could get it open if she could find something that would fit underneath and then yank it up.
She returned round the back, remembering that there were tools in the far corner of the garden. She went around to the back garden and used the weed infested garden path to get to the tools, rather than walking through the overgrown grass, and had the choice of a rusty spade, a rusty fork, or a rusty hoe.
She went for the hoe.
She took the tool and could see that the windows at the back of the house were the same design, so she tried the kitchen window. She placed the metal of the hoe under the window, so that the tool was now horizontal with it, and once a centimetre of the metal was pushed under where the window lifted, Lisa pushed down on the handle and was surprised that the window opened so easily, breaking the small lock.
She then placed the tool on the ground, and put both hands underneath the gap that had been created and pushed upwards.
“Oh, Lisa,” she muttered under her breath. “I hope you know what you’re doing, girl.”
She put her head through the gap and could see that the kitchen was empty. She was undecided if she should call out or not. If there were people inside, which she very much doubted, then at least she wouldn’t take the residents by surprise, which could give them a fright, and also result in Lisa being assaulted.
She yelled inside the kitchen, “Hello! Is there anybody in here?” She paused and thought about what to say next. “Listen, I’m coming in. I’m a good person, and I’m unarmed, so don’t harm me, please!”
She climbed inside and struggled to get herself across the sink’s draining board. She yelped as she scraped her leg trying to get in, then shut the window once she was inside and sitting on top of the sink.
Lisa jumped off the sink, landing on the linoleum floor, and went through the drawers. Fortunately, all the cutlery was present, and she decided to take a couple of knives from the wooden knife block. She put one into her pocket and held the other in her clammy right hand.
“Okay. Here goes.”
/> Now it was time to search the rest of the cottage. She stepped forwards, leaving the kitchen and headed for the living room.
*
Yoler took Donald into the kitchen and began to clean him up. Feeling the tension in the air, Helen decided to go upstairs, out of the way, taking David with her.
Dicko and Simon were left alone. Simon was sat in the armchair, but Dicko was still filled with adrenaline and paced the floor up and down.
“Just sit down and relax,” Simon urged his friend. “You pacing up and down is only gonna keep your heart elevated.”
“I can’t stand that prick,” Dicko huffed, knowing that Yoler and Donald were in the kitchen and could probably hear him.
“To be fair,” Simon said with a smirk. “You did have a nibble on his ear.”
“That’s because I thought he was going to stab me.”
“But he didn’t.”
“I didn’t know that, did I? We need to get rid of him.” Dicko looked over to Simon for a reaction. He had now lowered his voice. “It’s your call.”
“I know it is.” Simon ran his fingers through his beard that was littered with three different colours: ginger, grey, but mainly dark brown. “At first I didn’t like him, but he’s kind of grown on me.”
Dicko huffed, “I’m not so sure.”
“He’s a tough guy.”
“He’s a dick.”
“He’s an asset.”
“You really believe that?” Dicko asked.
Simon smiled thinly, almost apologetically, and said, “Yeah, I do.”
“Fine.” Dicko accepted Simon’s comment and was about to head upstairs.
“Where’re you going?” Simon’s eyes widened and looked panicky. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
“Of course not,” Dicko laughed gently. “I was gonna have a lie down ... somewhere. I wouldn’t leave here. I’d be mad to leave this place. This is the safest I’ve been for months.”
“It wouldn’t be the same without you. I mean...” Simon never finished his sentence. He scowled at the front window and took a step forwards. He continued to walk until he was right next to the window, and then Dicko asked him what was wrong.
“Those very same Canavars that we were talking about are out there.”
“What?” Donald’s voice bellowed from the kitchen.
It appeared that Simon’s voice wasn’t as low as he thought, and could be heard from the kitchen. Donald entered the living room, Yoler behind him, pulling his knife out.
Dicko stood next to Simon and looked out, watching the three dead stumble along the road, and said, “It’s okay, Donald. It’s alright. Looks like they’re going by.”
Donald ignored the words from Dicko and stormed towards the front door, opened it, and stepped outside, despite the protests from his three other housemates.
Donald pulled out his knife and walked briskly towards the three. The sound of his boots were picked up by the Canavars, and the three dead turned and headed in his direction. He released an angry cry and stabbed the first one in the forehead.
Struggling to get his blade out, he stood up straight as the remaining two advanced and front kicked the pair of them. The one to the left fell to the floor, but the other one only staggered a little. Donald head-butted the male ghoul, forcing it to the floor, and brought the heel of his boot down onto its head twice, the heel going through the skull on the second strike. He could hear groaning and looked to his right to see the remaining creature struggling to get to its feet.
Dicko was now outside and approached the ghoul, with his knife, Trevor, being gripped with his right hand, but Donald told him to leave it. Brownstone bent down and tried again to take the blade out of his first kill, and this time was successful. Donald jogged over to the last ghoul that was now on its feet, and released a cry before ramming the blade into the top of its skull. The Canavar grabbed onto Donald’s shirt, but then its rotten fingers loosened and it dropped into a heap.
Donald bent over, still clasping the bloody knife in his right hand, and was panting hard as if he had been sprinting. Aerobically, Donald wasn’t the fittest of individuals and he was more about strength and power than aerobic exercise.
“This is what should have been done earlier,” Donald turned around and snapped at Dicko and Simon who stood in silence.
“They were passing,” Simon said. “They weren’t even heading to the house.”
Donald was still panting and shook his head at Simon, unhappy with his response.
Dicko took a few steps over to the three rotten corpses and placed his hand over his nose. The smell of death was something he would never get used to. He bent down to grab one of the bodies, but Donald told him to leave it.
“Are you sure?” Dicko asked him.
Donald nodded. “It’s my mess. I’ll sort it.”
Chapter Fifteen
With Hando leading the way, the four tired men made their way through a desolate road called Hadley Street. The street had twelve detached houses, all on one side of the street, and on the other side of the road were trees and a swing park.
They checked out the houses, staring at the first one they came across, and found a few edible things that would keep them going for a few days. Each man, carrying a bag on their backs, continued to walk and hadn’t uttered a word to one another in the last twenty minutes. There was one more house to check and that one, it was decided, was going to be the one where the four men were going to lay their head.
All four were exhausted and decided to sit on the lawn to get a rest before ransacking the last house.
“One more to go, brothers,” Hando said, breaking the silence. “And then a deserved break. It’s been a cunt of a day.”
“So what’s the sleeping arrangements going to be?” Wazza asked, and took his disposable lighter out of his pocket and began playing with it. “The usual?”
“Yeah.” Hando nodded. “The usual. I’ll sleep downstairs on the sofa, and you guys take a bedroom each.”
“Is it worth trying this house?” Dirty Ian moaned, now with a white eye pad on his left eye and bandaged around his head. “There was fuck all in the last two. We have enough in our bags for a few days.”
“I’ll check it.” Q stood up and brushed himself down. “You guys hang back.”
“Yeah,” Ian mocked. “Let the new boy check.”
“New boy?” Q chuckled falsely, although deep down he was annoyed with Ian. He had been called the new boy for months and Ian wasn’t letting up. “I’ve been with you guys since January.”
“You’ll always be the new boy,” Dirty Ian laughed at Q, annoying the man. “If you don’t like it, you could always go back to that group you were with before.”
Q sighed and placed his hands on his hips. “I’ve already told you, many months ago, that I could never go back. Besides, I left that place six or seven months ago. They’re all probably dead now.”
“Why did you leave?” Wazza asked Q, picking the inside of his ear and trying to remove a piece of stubborn dead skin.
Q sighed, knowing that this was a story he had already told before. “I was staying at Stafford Hospital. I had a falling out with one of the new people, and was asked to leave.”
“Sounds a tad unfair, brother,” said Hando.
“I thought so.”
“You don’t get asked to leave for no reason,” Dirty Ian giggled. “What did you do? Be honest.”
Q cleared his throat and half hunched his shoulders. “Okay, so I was stealing food,” he admitted. “And this young girl, with a right mouth on her, caught me at it. I lost the plot and threatened her to keep her mouth shut. She refused, and so I gave her a slap. And then her male pal, some guy called Pickle, turned up and gave me a doing.”
“Didn’t you get him back, brother?” Hando folded his arms, gazing at Q as he was telling his tale.
“No offence, Hando,” said Q, “but you would have struggled against this guy.”
Hando took in a deep brea
th and seemed annoyed by Q’s remark.
“Anyway, I was asked to leave by Drake, the guy that ran the place, and so I did. I never looked back.”
Q puffed out a breath and headed for the front door, but Hando grabbed his shoulder, stopping Q in his tracks.
“What is it?” Q asked, now by the front door of the place.
“Not keen on any of my men going in a place on their own,” said Hando. “It’s too risky.”
“Let him go,” Dirty Ian scoffed. “He has more to prove than we do.”
“What are you trying to say?” Q stood patiently, waiting for an answer from Ian Robinson. “I do my bit.”
“You’re the softest out of the four of us,” Dirty Ian cackled, and now Wazza was joining in. Q had been with the guys for months, but sometimes he still felt like an outsider.
“Why am I the softest?” Q ground his teeth in anger. “Because I don’t rape women and kill little girls?”
“That’s enough!” Hando snapped, then turned and looked at Q. “Okay, you go in, but be quick about it.”
Q nodded at Hando and tried to ignore the giggling coming from Ian and Wazza as he headed for the main door of the house. He tried the door and was surprised that it opened. This was the only one in the street that was open.
Keeping his weapon where it was, he entered the musty reception area of the place and checked out the living room and kitchen. He opened the curtains to allow a little light to spill in, but the evening was approaching anyway and it didn’t make too much of a difference.
The ground floor was clear and it was time to go upstairs.
He crept to the next floor and pulled out his knife when he heard the sound of groaning coming from one of the bedrooms. He reached the dark landing, his heart trotting at a high speed, and crept towards the closed bedroom doors.
The first room appeared to have a Canavar inside it. Q recognised the sounds, and the smell hit his senses and made him retch. It was a smell he would never get used to. Had somebody locked it inside? A family member, perhaps?
Curiosity got the better of him and he placed his hand on the door and opened it. A rotten ghoul turned and stared at Q, flesh hanging off the right side of its cheek, and staggered over to the male. Q could have easily shut the door and left the creature, but stood his ground and slammed his blade through the forehead of the Canavar, something he had done many times before, and watched as it dropped to the floor.
Ghostland (Book 2): Ghostland 2 Page 6