Dead Winter: A gripping crime thriller full of suspense

by Jack Parker

  "Jesus, Ethan. That was.." John said, cutting himself off as I walked over to the two of them, freeing them of their bindings.

  "Unexpected." Dave said, finishing John's sentence for him. I dragged the body of the guard over to the corner of the stable we had been occupying and began tying his legs together.

  "Is he dead?" I asked, my breath coming through deep and thick. I felt my hands shaking slightly as I finished tying the knots. My body was betraying how I felt on the inside. Dave knelt down beside the man, checking his pulse and his breathing, which had started again.

  "No, he's just knocked out. He'll make a lot of noise when he wakes up though." Dave uttered, glancing up at me with a worried expression. Why were they so concerned about me? I'd only done what I had to.

  Looking around the stable for a minute or so, I spotted a rag in the other corner of the room and proceeded to stuff it in the open mouth of the guard. He wouldn't be making any noise for now.

  "I'll be taking that back now." John said sternly, pointing at the weapon in my hand. I almost hesitated for a moment in handing it over, staring at the weapon for a few seconds before passing it over to its rightful owner.

  I felt naked without a weapon.

  "So we're just going to leave him here to die?" Dave asked, his voice riddled with conflict. It was true, if we left him here he'd probably become a meal for the infected that were most likely lurking in the woods.

  "He'd only do the same to us." I spat, vengeance surging through my veins. My blood felt hot, a searing heat which spread throughout my entire body. I wasn't going to let these people get away with what they'd done.

  "Still.. it doesn't feel right." I heard Dave mutter under his breath.

  "It's not about right or wrong, it's about survival." I said, unsure as to what I was talking about, I was merely saying whatever came to my mind.

  "We need a plan, guys." John said, squatting down onto the ground, sitting cross-legged over the hay-strewn concrete. He was clearly concerned for Claire's safety, as he fidgeted constantly.

  "I think we should stick together until we find our weapons." I said, voicing my opinion. The two men in front of me nodded silently until Dave opened his mouth to speak.

  "But where are they? They wouldn't leave stuff like that unguarded." he sighed, looking frantically between myself and John for answers.

  "Didn't you hear? They said they were keeping them in a shed." John stated, referring to something the hunters had said while they had been marching us over to this stable.

  We all nodded in agreement and crept over to the doorway of the wooden stable, peering across the expanse of grass, trees and little buildings. The farmhouse itself was lit up like a beacon, it wasn't possible to miss it in this light.

  John took the lead, as he was the only one with a weapon. Crouching down low, we walked as quickly as we could without making any noise, making our way around the farmhouse, keeping as low as we could in case the hunters looked through the windows.

  Around the back of the house, John peered around a corner before walking back over to us to speak. I assumed that he'd located the shed or at least another hunter.

  "Right, there's a little building near the fences over there, but it's guarded by two people." John whispered to the two of us, brushing his hair back a bit as strands of it had begun to escape from his ponytail.

  "What are we going to do?" Dave asked nervously, looking over his shoulder every few seconds.

  "There's a load of trees and bushes leading up to it. I say we sneak through those, behind the shed and take out the fuckers at the front." breathed John. I had to admit, John had adapted spectacularly to this whole situation, it was like he'd been born for this sort of thing.

  John dashed out from behind the building and into the shrubbery. After peering over the hedge to check that the hunters weren't looking our way, he motioned Dave to come next. Dave moved as quickly as he could, clearing the distance in less than two seconds.

  This all felt like a game.

  Next, it was my turn to cross the divide separating the farmhouse and the foliage. After ten seconds, John gave me the sign and I ducked down low as I moved across the grass, making it over without a hitch.

  As we moved through the small trees and low hedges, the chatter of the two hunters in front of the shed became audible. We stopped for a minute to listen to them talk.

  "I'm freezing my nuts off here." one of the hunters groaned.

  "Quit your whining, Mike." said the other in a rather harsh tone of voice. It was at this point that we decided to start moving again, sifting through the bushes until the back of the shed was in sight.

  "Wonder what they're doing with the girl. How old do you think she is?" Mike asked, his speech still directed to the other hunter-guard. This reminded me of how quickly we had to act, lest something terrible happen to Claire.

  Time was running out.

  "Can't be any older than sixteen. Did you catch a look at the mop-head?" the other hunter said as I looked around for a weapon of some sort.

  "He had some serious evils. Those eyes, man." the hunter known as Mike said, the two of them were certainly not trying to be quiet as they talked about me.

  "It don't feel right, Mike. What if they escape?" sighed the unnamed hunter. Finally, my hands found a thick piece of wood. I turned it over in my hands and examined it, it looked like a piece of railing. John quietly told us to go around one side while he went around the other.

  "I'd like to see them get past us." Mike boasted, his vast overconfidence amused me as Dave and I crept around the left hand side of the shed.

  "Watch us." I whispered quietly to the hunters, raising the piece of wood high into the air before bringing it down on one of their heads. He crumpled to the ground in less than a second.

  The other hunter opened his mouth to shout, but found himself silenced as a long blade appeared through his chest. He made a brief gagging sound as blood trickled from his mouth, dripping down onto the ground.

  "Find the keys.." John muttered to himself as he started rifling through the pockets of the dead hunter. After a few seconds, he stood up again with a menacing smirk on his face, raising a bundle of keys into the air.

  Examining the keys, John slid a rather small one into the padlock on the door of the shed, it unlocked with a quiet click before he threw it to the side, swinging the wooden door wide open.

  It was eerily dark inside the shed, but John seemed to know what he was looking for as he rifled through a few sports bags until he found the one containing our weapons.

  "We'll come back for the rest once we've got Claire. I'm going to kill them for this." John said, gritting his teeth together in anger. He pulled the bag into better light and began handing over weapons to each of us.

  "Your sword isn't in here, Ethan." John stated with a hint of surprise.

  "Seriously? That boss bastard must have it." I groaned, picturing the leader of the hunters gloating over his prize.

  "Okay, Dave will come with me through the back door. Can you manage the front by yourself?" said John, checking the magazine in his handgun. Seemingly content with its contents, he slid it back in and stood up.

  "You got it." I said confidently, trying to hide the smirk that I felt creeping across my face. Vengeance was making me strangely confident of my abilities.

  Armed with only a handgun and a knife, I made my way around the building as quietly as I could, gripping the gun in my right hand. I glanced over my shoulder as I stepped onto the front porch. For a moment, I thought I heard a brief shout from the back of the house. John was doing his job, it seemed.

  I was ready for anything.

  Placing my free hand on the doorknob, I gripped it tightly and turned it; the door didn't even creak as I pushed it open to reveal a large living room. And there he was, sat in a chair facing away from me, staring into the open fire.

  I walked one step at a time, approaching the man who I assumed was Randy, the 'leader' of the hunters. It had to
be him, I thought to myself as I examined the back of his head. The man was black-haired with gray streaks running through it, wearing his hair in a mullet. Either that, or Randy had a twin brother we didn't know about.

  The gun moved up until it was barely an inch away from the back of his head as I leaned in closer to utter a few choice words.

  "Surprise, motherfucker!" I shouted, pressing the gun firmly into the back of Randy's head. I felt a twitch run down the length of the gun as he tried to turn his head to face me in panic, but I pulled the trigger as quickly as I could.

  Blood spattered through the air as the bullet passed straight through his head, hitting a painting above the fireplace where it began to trickle down the surface of the canvas.

  "The fuck what tha-!?" called a voice from the next room, interrupted by a brief but heavy thud, followed by the sound of someone falling to the ground.

  I dashed over to the door and kicked it wide open. On the floor lay the hunter, George. The back of his head was caved in and there was blood all over the floor. There was a brief blur of colour as someone ran into me. Looking down, I saw Claire hugging me as tightly as she could, a hammer clenched inside one of her hands.

  "Don't.." she panted, her breathing was wild and deep as she dropped the hammer, which made a large clunk that resonated through the open room.

  "Don't what?" I asked, still adjusting to the fact that someone was touching me.

  "Don't tell them I did it.." Claire whispered as Dave and John appeared around the corner, having dashed down the stairs as the sound of voices.

  "Oh Jesus..." John sighed in relief, letting out a deep breath at the sight of Claire, who was seemingly unharmed.

  "I'm fine! Absolutely.. fine." Claire said, trying to assure John that nothing had happened to her. I'd arrived just in time, it seemed.

  "They didn't do anything to you?" John asked, kneeling down to face her as she finally let go of me.

  "Ethan got here just in time, honestly!" Claire exclaimed, running her fingers through her blonde hair, the roots of which were a different colour.

  "So the house is clear?" I asked, directing my question towards John, who nodded.

  "Must've just been.. seven of them?" he replied, still breathing rather heavily as I turned around and picked up a torch from the table, noticing a pair of keys next to it.

  Keys for the truck?

  And there it was, propped up on one of the other chairs. My sword had a seat of its own for this display of vengeance. I snatched it up and held it tightly in my free hand before turning to face the others.

  We stood there for several minutes, gaining a brief respite from the days action. Eventually, we made our way outside and began to pack our supplies into the truck while Dave rifled through the cabinets and drawers in the house.

  "They had a fair amount of meds in the kitchen." Dave said, after walking out of the house with a bag full of food, drinks and other miscellaneous items. He was also shouldering a hunting rifle, which he said he'd gotten from one of the other hunters.

  "Hm.." John muttered to himself as he picked up a shovel from the ground, walking over to the drivers side of the vehicle, climbing in. I wondered what he wanted to do with it as I climbed into the back, where we had been held prisoner before.

  Dave climbed into the front of the truck as it roared into life, casting light across the garden. Claire on the other hand jumped into the back with me, despite the fact that there was a spare seat in the front.

  In the back of the truck were numerous bags of supplies, our weapons and a few canisters of fuel, one of which must have been siphoned from our own vehicle, which was now abandoned back at the camp.

  "Are you alright?" I asked her, the car moving in reverse before we made our way along the dirt road we had come here on.

  "I think.. I'll be fine." she responded, her voice sounding a little monotonous as she rocked a little, the vehicle moving over a bump in the road.

  "You have just killed a man. I know how that feels." I said, placing my hand on her shoulder as I looked into her eyes.

  "I did what I had to do. I saw an opportunity and I took it.." she said, closing her eyes for a few seconds as she spoke, trying to collect herself.

  "And you're fine with that?" I asked, pressing for answers.

  Trees went by at a rather quick pace, we were travelling down the road at almost twice the speed we had on the way here, John seemed to know where he was going.

  "M'shaken up, naturally." she admitted, gazing down at the metal floor of the truck.

  That is the natural response. Textbook, almost.

  "Why don't you want the others to know?" I asked suddenly, reminded of her words only half an hour or so before.

  "I don't know, I just.. don't want them to worry. I've seen how they look at you ever since you.. killed." she said, hesitating with her last words.

  "In that case, your secret is safe with me. But if you ever want to talk about it, I'll listen." I said, removing my hand from her shoulder, making a motion with my hand as though I were zipping my mouth shut.

  "Thank you." she uttered, barely audible over the roar of the engine as the truck careened around a corner, sending me sliding a little further down the truck.

  Twenty or so cold minutes later, we slowed down as we approached our former camp and I was reminded of the shovel that John had taken from the farmhouse. I had a pretty good idea of what he was going to do with it now.

  "Pack up the tents, put them in the truck. I've got something to do." John said, pulling out a sleeping bag from Paul's tent as he walked over to his corpse, shovel in hand.

  "What are you doing?" Dave asked, raising an eyebrow at him as he looked around for the torches.

  "We bury our own." John stated firmly, stabbing the shovel into the ground as he began to dig a grave.

  Were we going to have a funeral?

  We busied ourselves with dismantling our tents, putting them into their respective bags and rolling up the sleeping bags. A couple of owls could be heard hooting at each other as we placed the backpacks into the back of the truck with the rest of the supplies.

  After we had finished, we all found ourselves huddled around the hole that John was digging, which was at least three-feet deep by now. Dave nudged John and pointed at the sleeping bag, to which John nodded. Dave then proceeded to gently pull the arrow out of Paul's shoulder and position him inside the sleeping bag, rolling it up around him.

  "I still can't believe he's gone.." Claire whispered, her voice wavering as tears began to form in her eyes. I wasn't the biggest fan of crying, so I turned away from the rest of the group, staring at the night sky.

  Ten more minutes of digging later, the grave was complete. We stood in silence as John dragged the wrapped body of Paul and gently lowered him down into the hole. He then talked about how he had met him, and the times they had shared together, before picking his hat from the ground and doffing it as a sign of respect.

  Even in times like these, we had to show respect to our dead.

  I climbed back into the truck as John piled the dirt back into the grave, and one-by-one, the others followed. Finished with the burial, John climbed into the drivers seat once more and revved the engine to life, leaving the camp behind for the motorway ahead.

  Times were changing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Day Nine (29th December – 8:07AM)

  Hours had passed, and the atmosphere in the truck was still tense, almost palpable to the point where you could nearly feel it. We hadn't slept that night, how could we after what had happened?

  I'd spent most of the day pushing abandoned cars out of the way, just like the days before. My muscles were burning, screaming out for rest; but I couldn't get a wink of sleep.

  The truck's engine roared continuously as we made our way down the dual-carriageway, approaching a junction. To our surprise, the road sign had been painted white; someone had spray-painted words across it with an arrow pointing to the turn-off.

&nb
sp; SANCTUARY THIS WAY.

  "Nearly there, folks!" John shouted at us, from out of the driver-side window. It was just me and Dave in the back of the truck at this point, Claire had moved into the front a few hours ago. We swerved to avoid an abandoned military truck as we turned onto the roundabout.

  The truck swung rather gracefully around the roundabout, turning sharply around a corner as we went through the indicated exit. We passed through a sleepy-looking village, the sort you'd see on a postcard. It seemed relatively untouched by all of this, and I wondered if there were actually people still living here.

  There were trees as far as the eye could see beyond the village, in fact we were surrounded by them, this area seemingly host to a large forest; the trees stood tall, most of them still bearing leaves, clearly evergreen.