Lucas put his hand on the bar; it was swollen and red in the candle light. “Don’t suppose you could get me some ice, luv?”
Steph sighed and nodded. “Sure.”
Damien suddenly slammed down his own fist on the bar and made the rest of them jump. Like Lucas, his hand was also swollen. “Yeah, I think I could do with some too.”
There was a brief silence before Damien began laughing. It was the least hostile Harry had ever seen the lad and, before long, the entire bar was sipping their drinks and laughing right along with him. The tension seemed to float away.
But Harry had a feeling it wouldn’t last.
Chapter Seven
“Dude, I’m starting to get totally frost-bitten. It’s like The Day After Tomorrow in here.”
Ben sighed. For some reason, Jerry had to speak almost entirely in film references. The fact that Ben’s father owned a video store didn’t help matters at all. Yet, despite his annoyance, Ben had to agree. It was getting uncomfortably cold.
“Can you hear me, B-dog?” Jerry shouted from the shop floor. “I said it’s like The Day aft-“
“Yes, I heard you. Hopefully the power will come back on soon, but there’s not a lot I can do about it in the meantime.”
“What? You saw those fuses! The lights ain’t coming on any time soon. You should just call your dad so we can get out of here.”
Ben fumbled his way through the dark from the office back to the shop floor, bumping into various shelving units along the way. “I tried already! My phone’s playing up. The display is all screwed.”
“No shit? My phone is like that too.”
Ben paused. What were the odds that both their phones would be playing up? “Really? You think it’s the weather or something?”
“I dunno,” Jerry said. “Can the weather do stuff like that?”
“Something’s responsible, not just for the phones but the power blowing out as well.”
Ben crossed the shop floor over to the thick glass door at the front of the shop. It was still snowing outside; heavy round flakes that seemed to sizzle as they hit the ground – or rather the top layer of snow two feet above the ground. He and Jerry had been clearing the entranceway throughout the day, keeping the place as accessible as possible. Of course, in such bad weather there had barely been a single customer all day anyway, especially in the last few hours – but Ben’s father never closed if he had the choice to open (especially on a day where everyone was stuck at home with nothing to do but maybe watch a rented DVD). Ben hadn’t complained. He’d known his father long enough not to expect the day off – even on a day where all other businesses had closed – so he’d decided to do a stock count, which had been perfect except for two missing copies of The Pianist (and a copy of Brain Dead that Ben knew was currently stashed in Jerry’s bedroom courtesy of ‘a favour’).
It was dark outside, only the dim glint of the moonlight providing any chance to see. The street lights were out and had obviously died when the power failed. The two of them needed to get home soon, but that wasn’t going to be easy. Ben turned around to face the gloom of the shop floor and a thought crossed his mind. “Hey, Jerry, when did you go the supermarket last?”
Jerry’s response came from over by the cash register. Ben hoped he wasn’t messing around with anything. “Couple hours ago, why?”
“Did they say what time they were closing?”
“Nah, the bitch-monster was serving me. I just brought a magazine and left.”
“You mean the manageress? Yeah, she’s always rude to me too.”
“I hope she gets eaten alive by zombies. And not the slow kind – the crazy-ass running kind from Dawn of the Dead 2004.”
Ben sighed at yet another film reference. “Maybe we should go across and see how they’re getting home. Might be safer if we all go together.”
“Dude!” Jerry cried out triumphantly. “There’s this girl over there that’s totally hot. This could be the opening I’ve been waiting for.”
Ben laughed, just happy that his friend was for once being cooperative. “Well, I’m sure she’ll appreciate you getting her home safely. Just let me lock-”
Before Ben could finish his sentence something hit the door.
Chapter Eight
By 10pm everyone had moved over to the sofa by the fireplace. The temperature had swan-dived so low that Harry and the others shivered constantly. Steph’s teeth had also begun to chatter, leading everyone to giggle at her, which she didn’t seem to appreciate. The atmosphere by the fire was just about comfortable, but Harry was certain it was getting colder still.
How much colder can it get before we all freeze to death?
“I’m starting to worry,” said Steph, as if she’d read Harry’s mind. She was sitting on a thread-bare footstool beside the fire and hugging herself tightly. “The snow really doesn’t look like stopping anytime soon, and it’s damn nippy.”
Harry looked over at the pub’s front window and found himself agreeing. The snow was falling as heavily as ever and the large sheet of plate glass was starting to frost over, with icy spider webs creeping from the corners. He nestled into the sofa cushions to seek out their warmth, but found none.
“What’s your drama?” said Damien from his standing place at the left side of the fire’s mantelpiece. In his thick puffer jacket he looked warmer than the rest of them. “A bit of a chill won’t kill you, woman.”
“Won’t it?” she asked.
“Course not, you dopey cow. The power will be on again soon and the heating will kick on with it, so stop fucking menstruating.”
Harry snapped, not quite sure why. He wasn’t usually quick-tempered at all. “Let’s have less of the bad language. Didn’t your father ever teach you to treat women with respect?”
Damien was instantly enraged by the comment. “You don’t talk about my father, you hear me? You’re beneath him. What you going do, anyway? Teach me some manners?”
“Maybe I will,” Harry replied, still wondering what he was getting himself into and why.
Damien stepped forwards, but was halted by Steph who placed a hand on his chest. “Behave!” she said. “Harry’s right, you should treat women with respect – especially when they happen to be in charge of the only place with an open fire for miles. You’re welcome to go freeze somewhere else, if you’d like, but if not then I don’t expect another peep out of you.”
Damien sniggered. “Why don’t you two just shag each other and get it over with.”
Harry blushed at the remark, turned the emotion into anger, and then went to get up out of his seat, but Lucas, sat beside him, placed a hand on his arm and stopped him. The Irishman shook his head and eased Harry back down onto the sofa. Harry yielded, but couldn’t help but eyeball Damien. The little prick had a smug grin on his face and obviously thought he had won some small victory.
Probably thinks I’m chicken. Maybe I am? Or maybe I’m just frightened of what I’ll do…
“Anyway,” said Lucas, changing the subject. “Besides young Stephanie here – who I know is the world’s finest barmaid – what do the rest of you call an excuse for a living?”
Stephanie laughed. “You cheeky git! I’m more than a mere barmaid. I plan on starting up a pet grooming business when I’ve saved enough money. Say about another year and I’ll be there.”
Harry had known Steph since she’d started at the pub, but he’d never learned that about her. It seemed important and he wished he’d shown more interest in her life, instead of always relying upon her to show interest in his. An air-bubble of guilt rose up from his gullet and stuck in his throat.
Beside the fireplace, Damien was rubbing at his sore hand and laughing to himself, apparently lacking appreciation for Stephanie’s ambitions. Lucas, however, seemed more interested. “Pet grooming?” he said, stroking at his chin thoughtfully. “Now does that mean you’ll spend your time giving rats haircuts and squirrels baths?”
Steph giggled. “I was thinking more dogs and c
ats, but hey whatever. I love animals and they all smell better after a bath.”
Damien’s laughter erupted in a mean-spirited snicker that made Harry want to spit at him. “What you want to spend your time washing shit off Rottweilers for?” He winked at Stephanie. “I’ve got ways you can earn some real money, darlin’.”
Harry’s ‘thuggish-little-prick-tolerance’ was met once again, and if it wasn’t for the fact that the comment seemed to roll off Stephanie’s back, he may have gotten into another verbal bout of sparring with Damien. He was beginning to lose patience.
Stay calm, Harry told himself. This kid would knife you so much as look at you. Don’t let him bring you down to his level. You made that mistake once before…
“So then,” Lucas addressed Damien. “What is it that you do with yourself then, lad?”
“Don’t ask,” said Nigel from his space on the floor beside the fire.
“Because if he told you; he’d have to kill you,” added Old Graham beside him.
“Is that true?” Lucas enquired, eyeing Damien up curiously. “Are you a man of mystery?”
Damien smirked. “Guess I am. I do a bit of this and a bit of that. Provide certain services to people that they may not find elsewhere.”
“Interesting; so how did you get into that type of thing?”
“Family business, innit? Learned from the best – my old man.”
Lucas nodded agreeably. “Sounds like a generous chap to pass on so much to his boy. Best thing a man can do is see his young ones right in a profession.”
Damien beamed. “Straight up. Dad taught me everything I know.”
“So where is this great man now?” asked Lucas, a knowing smile on his face that made it seem as though he knew the answer already. “I bet he’s some great success, yeah? Sat back in Luxury, watching his boy carry on the family trade? Am I right?”
Damien’s face turned sour – not angry, but defensive and dangerous – like a cornered feline. “Not exactly,” he said. “He’s…away at the moment.”
“Vacation?”
Harry watched with a disturbing amount of pleasure as he watched Damien squirm against the wall, trying to merge with the peeling paintwork. He was rubbing his injured hand rapidly with rhythmic strokes. “Yeah,” he finally said. “He’s on a fucking cruise, innit. What’s it to do with you?”
“Some cruise.” Old Graham piped up from his space by the fire, but quickly turned his gaze to the floor when he was met by Damien’s warning stare.
Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted Lucas to shut up or carry on. It was enjoyable to see the drug-dealing weasel so uncomfortable, but Harry didn’t know himself what had happened to the boy’s father; he was unsure if it was a conversation the group of them should be having. Lucas seemed to have a tendency of asking too many personal questions.
Lucas stood up unexpectedly. “A vacation, you say? Well, I hope he returns soon. Anyone for a beer?”
Talk about taking it to the brink, Harry thought, relieved that the conversation had altered course just as it had neared an emotional minefield. It left Harry wondering what exactly had happened to make Damien so defensive about his father. He had a feeling Old Graham knew, but when Harry glanced over at the old man, the pensioner looked away.
Yeah, he knows alright.
Harry’s thinking was interrupted by Steph’s voice coming from behind the bar. She and Lucas she had moved away from the fireplace and entered into the flickering light of the bar’s candles. There was a phlegmy sound of concern in Steph’s voice as she spoke: “I think we have a problem, guys.”
“What?” They all asked in unison.
Steph walked back over to the group and re-entered the light of the fireplace. She had a bottle of beer in her right hand, the top already removed. She turned it upside down.
Nothing happened.
“Jesus, no!” Old Graham cried, throwing his hands up at the sky as he realised what he was seeing. “The bloody beer’s frozen.”
Harry eye’s widened.
Is it really that cold?
Chapter Nine
“Dude, what are you doing?”
Ben glanced over his shoulder – pointless as he couldn’t see Jerry in the dark anyway – and replied, “What you think I’m doing? I’m opening the door.”
“No way! It’s Night of the Living Dead out there. If someone starts hammering the door, trying to get in – you lock it, tight! Then you board it up with planks and nails.”
Ben didn’t have time for this. He let out a long sigh. “George Romero doesn’t direct your life, Jerry. He made a couple of decent movie’s thirty years ago. Get over it. Besides, do you have any planks and nails, because I don’t! Movies aren’t real!” He heard Jerry wince in the dark – if a wince could in fact produce a sound – and smiled. It was as though his comment had managed to manifest physically and punch his friend on the nose.
The banging continued on the door and a slinking silhouette flittered against the pure white backdrop of the snow outside. Ben reached out for the door handle when something occurred to him. He paused. “Hey, who’s there? Stop your banging, okay?”
Sure enough the banging stopped at his command.
“I said who’s there?”
From behind Ben, Jerry said nervously, “Dude, I swear to God if you let the Lost Boys in here to eat us, I’ll never forgive you. Just remember if it’s a vampire, don’t invite them in.”
Ben shook his head again, certain that his friend had smoked one of his ‘funny fags’ at some point during the last few hours. It was the only explanation for him being so annoying.
“My name’s Jess,” said the person outside. “I work at the supermarket down the path. Please let me in. Please.”
Jerry leapt up and punched the air. “Dude! That’s the girl I was just talking about. The fittie! I swear it must be fate.”
Ben grinned. “Pity we can’t let her in; just in case she’s a zombie or a vampire?”
“Dude, stop fooling. Let her in!”
Ben couldn’t help but laugh as he turned to the door. The girl’s silhouette continued to dance frantically against the snow outside. Ben wondered what on earth had gotten her so worked up.
“Jess,” he said through the glass, “you still there?”
“Yes, let me in.” She sounded frightened.
“The thing is, Jess. The door isn’t locked.”
There was silence, followed by: “Huh?”
“The door isn’t locked – but it opens outwards. You need to pull it towards yourself instead of banging on it.”
After a further moment of silence, the door started to open and cold air flowed in through the slowly widening gap. Illuminated by the crisp moonlight reflecting off the snow, a delicately-featured face appeared in the doorway. It looked embarrassed.
###
It took almost fifteen minutes for Ben to calm Jess down sufficiently that she managed to introduce herself. Once Ben had let her in and locked the door (she’d insisted on it), the girl had started to catch her breath. The three of them now stood by the entranceway where they could just about make each other out under the moon’s shimmering glow and the green pulse of the fire exit sign.
“You’re lucky,” Ben said, patting her on the back. Her entire body was trembling. Whether it was just the cold, or something else, Ben couldn’t tell. “We were just thinking about getting out of here,” he explained. “You just caught us in time.”
The girl glanced over her shoulder at the door behind her, as though she expected something might burst through at any moment. The wind was picking up outside and flakes of snow were whirling up and settling against the glass.
Ben raised an eyebrow. “What exactly happened to you out there?”
“Yeah,” Jerry added. “Something give you the heebie jeebies, or what?”
Jess giggled, but it was a nervous sound. “I guess you could say something like that, but I’m probably just being silly. Least I hope so.”
“Y
ou got us a bit freaked out too,” Ben said. “Banging on the door like that!”
“Sorry. I was just in a panic.”
“Why though?” Ben wanted to get to the point quickly, disconcertingly aware of the fact that they would all have to get out of there soon. It was getting far too cold to hang around any longer.
“Well, I left the supermarket to see if anybody knew why the power had gone off,” Jess told them, “and also to get away from my cow of a manager. She drives me insane, but I just act really happy around her because I know it makes her mad. I call her Kathleen and it drives her craaaaaazeee! With a capital Z.”
The Final Winter: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel Page 5