Ghostland 3 by Shaun Whittington

Author:Shaun Whittington [Whittington, Shaun]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Post-Apocalyptic | Infected
Publisher: Severed Press
Published: 2019-09-06T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Five

Next Day

Donald Brownstone woke up and immediately got to his feet. He stretched his back and groaned with the pain. Sleeping on the floor was killing him. He decided that the best way to get rid of the smarting was to move. He crept through the dusky cabin and gently opened the door, then stepped out and winced when the daylight assaulted his sensitive eyes. Once his vision was restored, he could see young Grace, with her back to the cabin, building a fire with wood she had collected.

“Morning,” Donald called over.

She turned around and smiled.

“Bit early for that, isn’t it?” Donald grinned and added, “We’re not doing breakfast anymore. Just lunch and dinner, you dig what I’m sayin’?”

“I know.” Grace shrugged her shoulders. “I was bored. I couldn’t sleep.”

Donald stepped down to the ground and had a look at what she had built. He looked at the woman and gave off a thin smile. The poor thing had gone through so much. She had lost her dad, her younger sister had been killed, and her mother had been raped by a gang of mercenaries. At least they eventually found each other again.

“Be back in a bit,” he said to the girl.

Before he took one step forwards, she spoke up. “Where are you going?”

“I set out some snares, six in all, so I’m going to check what we’ve caught.”

“Rabbit?”

“Well ... hopefully,” Donald laughed. “But it might be grey squirrel soup for lunch and dinner.”

“Never tried squirrel,” Grace said.

“The meat’s tough, but it’s edible.”

Grace folded her arms and seemed unsure what to say to the big man she barely knew. Donald wasn’t a man that normally engaged in small talk.

“Yoler and Paul aren’t back yet,” she said.

“I know.” Donald smiled. “I don’t think he likes being called Paul. Best to call him Dicko.”

“You don’t seem too bothered.”

“I’m not. They can handle themselves. Hopefully this will be the last time, for a while, that we’ll be missing breakfast. Depends on what they bring back.”

“If they come back.” Grace didn’t share Donald’s confidence.

“Oh, they’ll be back.” Donald clapped his hands together and huffed, “Right. I better go and check those snares.”

“Can I come with you?” There was almost pleading in her voice. They were alive, but the boredom was contaminating their minds.

Selfishly, Donald wanted to be on his own. He knew he had a whole day with the group, and that thought alone depressed him.

“I’d be better on my own,” he said. He felt terrible for the young girl, but alone time was needed for Brownstone. “Anyway, if your mum wakes up and sees that you’re not here, she’ll freak.”

“Okay.”

“Laters, kiddo.”

Donald walked into the trees and had a rough idea where the four snares were. If Yoler and Dicko came back empty handed, the whole area of the woods would have to be littered with snares. The pond near the camp was a Godsend, but they still needed to eat.

Donald reached the first snare and sighed that it hadn’t been touched. He released another groan and went to snare number two.

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