Ghostland (Book 2): Ghostland 2

by Whittington, Shaun

  Helen, with tears in her eyes, dropped her screaming son and, true to her word, Yoler Sanders caught the boy, although she received an accidental kick in the face for her troubles. Helen then climbed out of the bedroom window with zero hesitation and slid down the unsteady drainpipe. As soon as she reached the bottom, as her feet touched the floor, the young boy ran at his mother and they both hugged.

  At this point, Dicko had appeared from around the corner and asked if everyone was okay.

  He took a step back and looked at the house, then shook his head as he saw the burning vehicle. “Bastards. The car’s fucked as well.”

  “Dicko.” Yoler slapped the man’s arm and pointed behind her. Helen gasped and David released a terrified scream once the pair of them looked. Thanks to the raging fire, they could see three Canavars on the road, and they were approaching the four of them.

  Dicko yelled, “We can take them!”

  Yoler agreed and raised her large blade.

  “There’s three of them, but with this fire there’ll be more,” Helen cried. “Just look at the fire.”

  Yoler ran at the three and kicked the first one over with a front kick.

  She smashed the nearest one in the face with the machete handle, forcing it to stumble backwards, and then swiped her blade to the side and saw the machete sink into the side of the ghoul’s head. The one on the floor had managed to get to its feet and now the two remaining ones approached her, stumbling side by side, from the other side of the road. She pulled out her blade from the Canavar’s head and waited for the other two to come. Dicko was now by her side.

  The one on the left was female; the one to the right was an obese male that was severely rotten, and Dicko tightened his grip on his trench knife, Trevor, and rammed the blade into the forehead of the male before it could grab him, whilst Yoler had used her machete like a spear and stabbed at her female attacker with one blow to its forehead.

  “Look.” Dicko pointed down the road and, thanks to the fire providing a little light, they could see a crowd of them heading towards the farmhouse. Dicko guessed that he could see at least twenty, and God knows how many were behind?

  “So what do we do now?” Yoler cried, and had a rare look of panic on her features.

  “Helen’s camp,” Dicko said without an ounce of hesitation. He looked over to Helen and she remained standing, hugging her son. She nodded at Dicko, agreeing with his suggestion.

  “Where we sent Donald?” Yoler, however, wasn’t sure.

  “Yeah, so what if we all turn up? He can’t turn us away. He doesn’t own the fucking woods.”

  “I’m up for that,” said Helen, hugging onto her son. “Let’s go back to my old camp before more turn up. Donald won’t turn us away. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Too right he won’t,” Dicko snapped. “I’m not gonna give him a choice.”

  “It’s a bit dangerous, Dicky Boy,” said Yoler. “Travelling to that camp in this dark.”

  “Can’t be any more dangerous than the situation we’re in right now,” Dicko said. “We don’t have any other option.”

  “Fine,” Yoler huffed. “Ready when you are.”

  All four ran around to the back of the house. Helen stopped and placed her free hand over her mouth when she could see the wrapped up body of Simon Washington.

  “Simon,” she gasped.

  “We’ll sort him when it’s daylight,” Dicko said. “I’ll come back and take care of him. Now move it.”

  He grabbed Helen and urged her and David to follow him and Yoler to the field. They ran, and the further they ran, the less they could see ahead of them, as the burning house grew smaller and smaller the more they moved.

  “Get to the pond!” Dicko yelled. “Then we all stop and walk the rest. I’ll lead the way.”

  “And why are you leading the way?” The perplexity could be heard in Yoler’s tone.

  “We don’t know what could confront us,” Dicko began to explain. “And you guys are more important than me. That’s why!”

  “Well, that’s true.” Yoler managed a cackle. “Whatever you say, Dicky Boy.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “I can hear a noise,” said Lisa Newton, once she had managed to wake Donald up.

  The two of them decided that sleeping in the cabin was the safer option, rather than staying in the huts. Donald had told Lisa the story of his camp being attacked, and she insisted on staying in the solid looking cabin with Donald. The pair of them slept at either end of the cabin, on old mattresses that had been there since Donald and his crew had discovered the place.

  Donald Brownstone sat up quickly in the dark cabin, rubbed his eyes, and looked over to where the voice had come from. It was so black in the wooden place that he couldn’t see anything. He whispered to Lisa, “What kind of noise?”

  “Erm ... like ... movement. People walking.”

  There was no response from Donald Brownstone, making Lisa impatient. She asked him, “Shall I light a candle?”

  “A candle?” Donald gently snickered. “Can you see one?”

  “I put one next to the mattress before going to sleep, and that box of matches that was in here.”

  “You certainly don’t take any chances, you dig what I’m sayin’?”

  “I’ve had plenty of practice,” Lisa huffed, still waiting on an answer from her question before. She tried again. “Well? Do you want me to light a candle or not?”

  Donald shook his head, something that Lisa couldn’t see, and said, “No. Not yet. Let me go and check it out.”

  “I think you should stay here. I think it might just be an animal.”

  “Then there’s nothing to worry about,” Donald said, and now Lisa could hear the man getting to his feet.

  Lisa couldn’t believe the stupidity of the man. Check it out? Isn’t that what the dumb people do in the horror movies? There’s a noise outside, better check it out. There’s a scream coming from the cellar, better check it out. There’s a howling coming from the attic, better check it out.

  Although Lisa thought that it was a reckless and stupid thing to do, she kept her mouth shut and watched Donald’s shape moving around inside the cabin, and could hear him unbolting the cabin door. He then stepped out into the darkness. He turned around and told Lisa to shut and bolt the door once he was gone. She had no problem with that.

  She stood to her feet also, and felt her way around the cabin.

  “Have you got your knife?” she asked him.

  “Of course.”

  Donald stepped out, and a petrified Lisa shut and bolted the door before Donald had made it down to the bottom of the steps. His breathing was erratic, heart galloping, and he gazed into the darkness, unsure whether to call out or not. In the old days, before the camp was attacked, the place was surrounded by strings with cans attached. These were put into place to warn the residents in case danger appeared. Those strings had been snapped by the invading dead a month ago, as well as the fleeing survivors.

  He had only been back at the camp for a few hours and hadn’t had time to fix the ‘alarm’ system. If something, or someone, did enter the camp, he wasn’t going to know until they were a breath away, especially in this darkness.

  Oh, Donald. I hope you know what the fuck you’re doing.

  He could hear the noises of feet getting near and pulled out his blade. He was certain that this was the sound of humans. The steps were careful and not clumsy like the dead.

  And the noises certainly weren’t coming from an animal.

  But what kind of survivors in their right mind would be strolling through the woods at this time of night, in the dangerous world that they lived in now?

  Desperate ones? he thought. It could only be desperate ones.

  He could hear the feet getting closer, and the rustle of disturbed branches, but no words could be heard from these people heading towards him. Not even a whisper.

  He could now see the shapes of people coming towards him, once they reached the
spacious part of the woods where the camp was situated.

  The sets of feet stopped moving and a female called out, “Who’s there?”

  Donald smiled on hearing the voice. It was a voice he recognised.

  “It’s Donald.”

  *

  Lisa Newton sat against the cabin door, despite it being bolted, and held her knife in her right hand. She had her knees up and her arms wrapped around her shins. She practised some deep breathing to lower her pounding heart rate, and it seemed to be doing some good. Her mind then flashed to the scene where she had found her daughter stabbed to death by those thugs, shooting one of them, and watching him blow his own head off.

  She felt nothing for the piece of shit. She just wished it was the other guy that was killed, the leader. She thought back to when she was raped. When the guys were encouraging one another, they mentioned their names. The leader was called Hando. She would never forget that name.

  She then thought about sexually transmitted diseases. And what if she was pregnant? She tried to shake the thoughts from her mind and turned her head to one side and listened out. She could hear movement from outside, talking, and she held her breath to get a better listen.

  She couldn’t make out the conversation, but it seemed friendly enough, and she almost raised a smile of relief as she continued to listen.

  The talking had stopped, and now she could hear the movement of feet getting nearer. She heard the sound of boots slowly making their way up the couple of wooden steps to the cabin and waited for the knock.

  It seemed to take an age, but then the cabin door was suddenly knocked, making Lisa jump, and she felt relaxed within a second when she heard Donald’s voice.

  “It’s me, Lisa,” he said. “Open up.”

  Lisa stood up and slid the bolt across. She opened the door and three people began to pile in.

  Lisa took a step backwards, unsure who the other people were, and Donald approached Lisa and put his lighter in her hand from his pocket and told her to light a candle.

  “Are you sure?” Lisa asked.

  “Yeah, fuck it. It’s safe out there.” Donald added, “But just light the one. That’ll do the trick.”

  Lisa lit a red stumpy candle and could see four individuals standing inside the cabin, by the door. Donald bolted the cabin shut and took a while to introduce the people to Lisa. It was clear that it was people he knew.

  The male on the far left was a skinny fellow, sporting a dark bushy beard, and had dark features with long hair that was similar to Ian Brown’s in the nineties. The individual next to him was a female. She was slim, pretty, and had her hair like Paul McCartney’s from the Beatles For Sale album, and wore green combats, boots and was wearing a creased brown plain T-shirt. A machete was tucked in her belt at her left side. Another woman was next to her. She was heavier than the other two adults. She was average in height, around five-five, had dark features and her haircut was like Corrine Drewery’s when she sang with Swing Out Sister in the eighties. It looked like she had cut it herself, which she probably had done not so long back. The little lad next to the woman, clasping tightly onto her hand, was cute as a button and was also dark like his mother, Lisa thought.

  Donald finally introduced the four individuals to Lisa, from left to right. They were, Dicko, Yoler, Helen, and a little boy called David.

  “Where’s Simon?” Donald had just realised that there was somebody missing. “And come to think of it, why are you lot here in the first place? You never answered me when we were outside.”

  The four guests all looked at one another and Donald urged them all to sit down on one of the mattresses.

  “Remember that guy that turned up earlier on in the evening?” Dicko asked Donald, and was the last person to sit and rest his aching feet.

  “The one that I had a go at?” Donald queried and remained standing, like Lisa. “The reason why I was asked to leave in the first place?”

  “Yeah ... well...” Dicko looked embarrassed and cleared his throat. “He came back with some guys. They...”

  Helen, clearly becoming upset, got up off the mattress and decided to move David away into the corner. He didn’t need to hear this.

  Seeing that Dicko was struggling, Yoler decided to take over and said, “To cut a long story short, they took Simes hostage, a fight broke out, and Simon was killed. One of the guys was killed as well, and the tall guy and the ginger one with the Chelsea top escaped, after he got his hand cut off.”

  Lisa recognised the descriptions of the men and could feel herself becoming nauseous. She gulped, looked over to Yoler Sanders and asked her, “Was the guy that got killed a skinny, scruffy guy?”

  Yoler nodded. “Yeah.”

  “And the leader was bald and wearing a blue Everlast T-shirt and black jogging bottoms?”

  Yoler nodded again. “Um ... yeah.”

  “You know these people?” Donald asked Lisa.

  Lisa lowered her head, paused for a moment, and never uttered a word. The three adults were whispering to one another in the far corner of the cabin, and Lisa decided to break her silence.

  “A few days ago,” she said with a gulp, “these guys turned up at a caravan I was staying at. Three of them abused me, while another sat in the living room. They then stabbed my fourteen-year-old daughter to death and my other daughter fled.”

  “Jesus Christ on a cross,” Yoler blurted out. “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

  “You said that three abused you and the other one sat in the living room?” Dicko spoke up. “Was there four of them initially?”

  “There used to be four.” Lisa nodded, and not for the first time her thoughts were plagued with guilt for leaving her little girl’s body in that cold caravan. “Afterwards, after the caravan incident, I had bumped into one of them. He was on his own. He’s dead now.”

  “Well, the scruffy fellow is definitely dead,” Dicko said to Lisa. “The ginger guy had his hand cut off and the other was left unscathed. I’ve got a feeling the ginger guy won’t make it due to blood loss, but we’ll see.”

  “So it’s just Hando on his own?” Lisa said.

  “Hando?” Dicko queried. “Is that his name?”

  Lisa nodded.

  “Never heard of Hando. Keep on hearing the name Orson, though.”

  “Anyway,” Yoler turned to Donald. “They must have come back for revenge, because me and Dicko woke up to find the house on fire. Then a piss load of Canavars turned up. We had no choice but to flee.”

  “So you came here because of the fire or because of the dead?” asked Donald.

  “Both.”

  Donald scrunched his eyes, held up both of his hands, and told everyone to shush.

  “What is it?” Yoler asked, ignoring Donald’s command to be quiet.

  “I can hear noises.”

  Yoler, Dicko and Donald placed their ears against the door and nobody said a word. They all knew it was the dead. The fire had attracted a lot, and some must have tried to follow them from the farm.

  Donald waved his hand at Helen and told her to put the candle out. The cabin only had a small window, but he decided not to take the risk. He didn’t want to risk attracting the dead to any kind of light. She did as she was told and cuddled her frightened little boy, singing gently in his ear, trying to stop his sobbing.

  They could hear the stumbling feet in the bracken and the snapping of dead twigs on the ground.

  At one point, it sounded like a couple of them had fallen over. Hardly a surprise. It was pitch black and there were a lot of obstacles, like branches, thick exposed tree roots, and small holes in the ground.

  David then released a small yelp of terror when a loud thud was heard at the side of the cabin.

  Donald shushed into the darkness and now Helen had her hand over her son’s mouth, still holding him tight. However, the damage had already been done.

  For a moment there was silence. An eerie calmness suffocated the place, but then suddenly the sounds of hands sl
apping the outside of the cabin began, and all of the people inside now feared the worst.

  “Light the candle again,” Donald called out into the darkness.

  Helen tried to protest. “But Donald...”

  “They already know we’re in here now. Just do it.”

  Helen did as she was told, and over the noises of the rotten limbs slapping at the cabin, Yoler asked, “So what now?”

  “They won’t go away if they know that people are in here,” Dicko said, the clamour growing louder. “I’ve been in this situation before.”

  “Haven’t we all?” Donald scoffed, then scratched at his head. “I wonder how many are out there. It sounds like a lot.”

  “We saw at least twenty coming towards us before we left,” said Yoler. “There could be more out there. A lot more.”

  “Superb,” Donald huffed.

  “What do you think we should do?” Helen shivered in the corner and still had her hands over her petrified son’s ears.

  They all looked at Donald for an answer.

  “How come I’m the leader all of a sudden?” Nobody gave him an answer. “Well,” he began, “we can sit here for a couple of days and play charades.”

  “It’s not the time to be cracking jokes, Donnie,” Yoler snapped.

  “They won’t give up,” said Dicko.

  “I haven’t finished yet,” Donald said. “Or we can escape.”

  “Escape? How?”

  Donald patted his pocket to make sure he had his knife, then took another candle from the table, a thin cream one, and lit it before approaching a side door that nobody had noticed before.

  He nodded over to Dicko and Yoler, and told them to start banging on the main door and yell. The cabin was surrounded, and Donald hoped that this distraction would entice the dead behind and at the side of the cabin to the front. They did as they were told, and Lisa joined in, then Donald waited a minute and placed his ear against the side door. Once he was satisfied there was nothing behind it, he opened the door and told Helen to bolt it shut once he was gone.

  “See you in the morning,” he said with a smile. “Hopefully.”