Ghostland_A Zombie apocalypse Novel Page 2

  “Dad!”

  Imelda had brought Simon out of his daydreaming of yesteryear, and he turned to his daughter to see what she wanted. They were walking side by side and it looked like they were heading towards a small cluster of trees.

  “What is it, babe?” he finally spoke up.

  “How come those trees look okay?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remember the last time we tried to go to the woods and all the trees were bare and burnt?”

  “I think they were affected by Stage Two,” Simon said. “And anyway, that’s not exactly the woods, is it?” He pointed over to the trees. “We need to walk through and see what’s on the other side. We’re running out of water, so we need to fill up our jars once we find a pond or a stream … or something.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “Hold onto my hand.” He held out his hand and his daughter took it.

  “We haven’t seen people for days,” Imelda sighed and moaned further, “And when we do, we run or hide from them.”

  Simon never responded and it only took them a minute to get out of the trees. He looked down at his worn boots and Imelda’s dirty white trainers. Thankfully there was another pair for her in his rucksack.

  In front of them were miles of fields, nothing else apart from a farmhouse in the distance.

  “Now what, daddy?” she asked with a little attitude in her tone.

  Simon pointed ahead of him and said, “We’re going to that farmhouse, but first...” He sat down, placed the bag on the floor and pulled out the tin from his pocket. “I’m gonna have something to eat.”

  Chapter Three

  After finishing his beans, Simon and Imelda Washington trudged with weary feet through the long grass. He held his daughter’s hand for a few minutes, but once their palms became sticky they both agreed to release their grip. There were fields all around, but a small group of trees were in front of them and they went round them to reach a picket fence. He climbed the fence first and then helped his daughter over. The pair of them were now standing on a grassy bank, and a country road stretched by them. They needed to cross the road to reach a small iron gate. They crossed the road and Simon opened the noiseless gate. The pair of them stepped carefully down the garden path and headed for the front door of the farmhouse. Imelda tried to speak, but Simon shushed her and tried to see if there was a way of opening the door without breaking it down.

  Simon looked at the concerned face of his daughter. “Let’s try round the back.”

  They both went to the right hand side of the house where a drive stretched from the front and passed the house, stopping at the back of the place. It took just over ten minutes to check out the outside area of the farm.

  “Now what, daddy?” Imelda asked once the back door gave way.

  “I don’t know.” Simon gently waggled his head.

  “Does that mean there’re people inside?”

  “I don’t know.”

  They stepped inside to be greeted with a basic kitchen and cupboards that looked like they had been around since the eighties. He closed the back door, once they were both inside, and could also see that the now defunct oven was archaic, something that Simon’s granny used to use. Maybe old people used to stay here, he thought.

  He told Imelda to stand in the corner of the kitchen, by the sink, and not to move. He placed his rucksack by her feet, told her to be brave, and then took a quick look around the house.

  He stepped into the empty living room and went over to open the curtains slightly, letting some light spill in. He then opened a door and was now at the front door that they couldn’t get in. He had his back to the front door and was looking at the stairs in front of him.

  He went to the first floor and checked the bedrooms. Each door was closed; so opening each one was a scary task. The final room to check was the bathroom, and once that was achieved, Simon smiled and was pleased that the house was clear.

  He descended back to the ground floor and could see the main/front door. He noticed that the door had a bolt, like the back door in the kitchen, so at least it could be locked from the inside.

  Simon wasn’t surprised that there were no supplies, but at least it was safe and clear inside the farmhouse itself. It had a barn but was empty, and no farm vehicle was present, no tractor, combine harvester … nothing. What did surprise him was that the back door that they went in was unlocked, which delighted and concerned him.

  He had always wanted to try a farm, but was scared that the owner would shoot him or his daughter once they were spotted. He didn’t live in a country where they were blessed with guns, but you could guarantee that a farmer would have a shotgun stored somewhere.

  He entered the living room and told Imelda to come in and join him. He sat down in the living room area in a dusty chair, and was going to check out the place more thoroughly once he found the energy to get back on his feet. Imelda came in from the kitchen, placed the rucksack by her daddy’s feet and sat on the couch, opposite her dad, and leaned her head back. Both were hungry, tired, despite the day being so young.

  “Is the place safe?” she asked him.

  Simon nodded timidly. “Appears so.”

  His eyes looked around and couldn’t understand why others hadn’t snapped up such a place. And why did the owners leave?

  “I’m tired, daddy,” she moaned.

  Simon smiled. “Tired or just dehydrated?”

  “Tired and … both.” She rubbed her throat. “Could I have the rest of that water?”

  “I thought you said it tasted horrible,” he gently teased with a thin smile. She never responded and he could see she wasn’t in the mood.

  He reached into his bag and pulled out the rest of the filtered water in the jar and passed it to her. There wasn’t much left, maybe four or five gulps, but he urged her to hold her nose and finish it. She did as she was told, twisted her face in revulsion, and then passed the jar back to her father.

  She lay down and curled up on the sofa.

  It was still the morning, but sometimes the pair of them did this. They would sometimes have a couple of short naps a day. It was rare that they ever got seven to nine hours a sleep a night, so they just slept whenever their body told them that they needed to, providing it was safe.

  He gazed over at his little girl and then stood to his feet. He quite fancied a nap himself, but he needed to open a window to let some air circulate and wanted to close the dusty curtains of the living room window, despite only opening them a few minutes ago.

  He shut the curtains and looked over at the silhouette of Imelda once more and strained to see her face in the dusky room. It didn’t seem that long ago she was born. Like her old man, she had beautiful thick red lips and blue eyes. The eyes were from her mother’s side of the family. Simon had dark brown eyes and they were narrow, like Clint Eastwood’s in his spaghetti western movies, and his eyebrows were dark and quite thick, like his beard. Imelda’s eyebrows were quite thick for her age, and Simon knew that as she got older she wasn’t going to thank him for giving her the thick eyebrow gene.

  Maybe that didn’t matter now.

  He was certain that when she reached puberty, boys would be the last thing on her mind; especially the way things were now.

  Simon was dreading that day. The day she would become a young woman. Not only would he be looking for food, water and medical supplies, but he’d also be looking for sanitary towels, maybe even bras for the young girl. They hadn’t had ‘the talk’ yet, but he was sure she was aware that the time of young womanhood would come.

  He could hear Imelda lightly snoring and although a little tired, he didn’t feel the need to sleep. He closed his stinging eyes and decided to relax and lose himself for a while.

  His thoughts didn’t go back to the days when his world turned to shit; his thoughts went further back. He thought about their last holiday together as a family. They decided to stay in Britain and went to a place called Flamingoland. It was a great holida
y and they were blessed with good weather for the week. Tyler had made some friends and claimed that a ‘fat boy’ had been picking on him. That was the only negative part of the holiday.

  The routine of the caravan holiday was the same every day. The whole family would get up between seven and eight. Whilst Diana would be rushing around, making the kids their breakfast and getting them dressed, Simon would escape from the madness for an hour and take the five-minute walk to the complex’s gym. He would use the treadmill for an hour then return to the caravan, shower, get dressed and head to the amusement park and zoo that was right next to their caravan with the rest of the family. They would spend all day in there, and the only ride that Simon didn’t like the look of was the high swings.

  Tyler and Diana freaked about every ride apart from the pirate ship and the water rides. Imelda had no fear of any of them, despite being the youngest, and she especially liked the Mumbo Jumbo, a roller coaster that wasn’t for the faint-hearted. Then they would go back to the caravan, eat, and then get dressed for the nighttime.

  The club on the complex wasn’t the best entertainment, so Simon and Diana would sometimes let the kids play in the park that was opposite the caravan, whilst the parents sat on the decking of the caravan, talking, and drinking red wine.

  Simon sat with a smile on his face.

  The memories of Flamingoland were so vivid that it felt like there was a projector showing the highlights of the holiday in his mind.

  He gazed back over to his daughter and lost his smile.

  He knew that his holidays with his family had happened, but it didn’t feel real now. He felt like it had happened to someone else.

  There were many things that he was concerned about, apart from overall survival. He began to worry about dying and leaving Imelda all alone, like he did every day. Even though he had taught her everything he knew about survival skills, which wasn’t a great deal, he wasn’t sure she would cope. She was only eight years old.

  The other thing that scared him was killing another man. He had only killed two Canavars so far, but there were very few of them left now, or so he thought. Whenever he or Imelda had heard the sounds of footsteps or vehicles, they would always hide. They had managed to avoid humans, but their luck was going to run out one day.

  Could he kill another man if his daughter was in danger? Of course he could. He didn’t want to, but his only goal was to get his daughter through this. It was the only reason why he was still alive. Could he kill another man for his supplies, if it meant those supplies would keep him and his daughter alive for a few more day or weeks?

  He wasn’t sure.

  His daughter began to toss and turn, and Simon stood up, fearing that she would fall off the sofa and hurt herself. Her movement was reducing, but now she was beginning to mumble.

  “The ... coming ... hide and pray. If you don’t believe me you’re ... today.”

  She suddenly stopped talking. To a stranger, her words would have been confusing and nonsensical, but Simon knew exactly what she was talking about. It was a poem—well, kind of a poem. It was more of a song that Tyler had made up many months ago.

  When Stage One was in its infancy, ten-year-old Tyler used to taunt his little sister, as big brothers do, and used to frighten her to death about what was happening in the outside world. He had made up a poem and used to mumble it to Imelda to scare her. He never used to do it in front of his parents, although he had been caught a couple of times and had been told off.

  Obviously, in this early stage, Tyler, as well as Imelda, had no idea how bad things were, and were going to be. They did nothing but moan about the lack of food and not being able to see their friends. Then when the power went, things became worse.

  Seeing that his daughter was beginning to settle again, Simon sat back down and leaned his head back. This time he thought about the two weeks they had in Benalmadena from two years ago.

  He closed his eyes, smiling from ear to ear, and began to daydream about the best holiday he ever had.

  Chapter Four

  A noise made Simon jump up out of his chair. He stood up, confused, and had a quick look around. His daughter was still sleeping and he realised that he must have dosed off as well.

  He remained still, too scared to move, still standing, and trying to listen out for any further sounds. Over a minute had passed and the sound of scratching could be heard. It was coming from the back of the house, from the back door.

  Unsure whether to wake his daughter or not, Simon was smothered in confusion; he remained standing and had no idea what was the right thing to do. He made slow steps in the dim quarters and stopped once he was in the kitchen, where the back door was. The scratching grew louder and he had realised that it was coming from behind the door that was situated in the kitchen.

  He took two steps closer and then went onto his knees. He made the rest of the small journey to the back door by crawling, and once he reached the door he placed his ear against it. Simon had just realised that he hadn’t checked if this door was unlocked or not. He looked to see the door was bolted. He supposed that it didn’t matter in this situation anyway, as he was sure that whatever was behind the door was an animal of some kind and was unable to open doors.

  He kept his ear against the door, held his breath, and seconds later the clawing had stopped. Now snarling came from the animal that Simon was now certain was a wild dog.

  Weren’t most surviving dogs wild these days?

  The dog could smell him, he was sure of it. And now the scratching began once more, but this time more frantic. The dog must have been starving. It was so hungry that it was prepared to claw its way through a wooden door to get to its next potential meal.

  He was unsure what to do next. Should he kill the dog, or let it continue to scratch its way through and hope it became tired, gave up, and went elsewhere?

  He stood up and left the kitchen on his tiptoes, like a drunk coming home late and hoping not to wake his wife. He went over to his daughter, bent down and put his hands under Imelda’s back. She moaned a little as he picked her up, and he made the arduous walk up the stairs. He then reached the landing and picked a bedroom to put his daughter in. He placed her on top of the bed and shut the door behind him as he left. He knew if she woke up she’d freak, but he was hoping that that wasn’t going to happen.

  He went downstairs, returned to the kitchen and unbolted the door. He then entered the living room and reached into his bag. He took out a steak knife and a claw hammer from his bag, and headed for the front door. He put the hammer and knife in a pocket each, and then took off his blue fleece and wrapped it tightly around his left arm. He kept the hammer into his deep pocket and took out the steak knife as he slid the bolt back.

  He took in a deep breath as he stepped out and closed the door. He had a look around the desolate fields that stretched around him and checked if the blue fleece was tight enough around his left arm, then headed for the back of the farmhouse, where the scratching had been coming from. He was certain that the dog wouldn’t give up and felt he had no choice. He didn’t want to kill a dog. He didn’t want to kill anything. But the safety of Imelda was his main goal.

  The other concern he had was that he had no idea what type of dog waited for him. Alsatian? Rottweiler? Pit Bull? He hoped that it was only a Schitzu or a Pug, but it didn’t sound like a small dog.

  He held his breath as he reached the corner of the farmhouse that was at the back, and peered his head around to see a black and white Collie scratching at the door. He puffed out a breath of relief and wondered if he had anything in his bag the dog could devour.

  Simon smiled and bent down. He clicked his fingers to get the dog’s attention and said, “Hello there. And what do you think you’re doing?”

  The dog glared at Simon, cocked its head to one side and began to whimper.

  Bless it. Poor thing’s probably starving.

  “Come on.” He continued to click his fingers, trying to beckon the dog. “Come he
re.”

  The dog took a step forward and then began to growl, showing its teeth.

  Simon was saddened by this and hoped that maybe he and Imelda had gained a companion. In hindsight, he should have gone through his bag and taken some food round with him, but there was no going back now.

  He stood up, knowing that walking or running away would make the dog run for him, and raised his knife. He stayed motionless as the canine stepped closer towards him. It looked hesitant, but at the same time it didn’t want the ‘meal’ to get away.

  Simon took one step backwards and the dog galloped towards him.

  With his heart in his mouth, Simon raised his arm, waiting for the dog to pounce, and gripped the knife handle tight. The black and white Collie jumped at Simon once it was just a metre away, and predictably sank its teeth into the blue fleece wrapped around his arm. It growled and shook its head from side to side, trying to rip the man apart, almost pulling Simon’s shoulder out of its socket. He waited a few more seconds, heart beating out of his chest, and then drove the knife into the side of the dog’s neck, quickly pulling the blade out. It released a short yelp and let go of his arm immediately.

  It took a step backwards, its legs wobbled, and Simon watched as the blood poured out of the mutt’s neck. He looked down at his knife and could see the blood running off the steel, then turned his attention back to the dog that had now fallen and lay on its side. He watched as the animal’s middle went up and down as it breathed, but then it stopped.