Nigel pulled his own blanket up around his shoulders; it made him look like a floating head beside the fire.
“Yeah, it’s getting a little too nippy for my liking. Do we have any more wood for the fire?”
Steph nodded and headed off towards the bar, but before she got there the sound of screaming made her turn back around.
“What in the blue hell was that?” said Nigel
“Sounded like screaming,” Steph answered.
Harry agreed. He got up from the sofa quickly and placed his beer bottle down on one of the nearby tables. “It was screaming; someone outside.”
Steph stepped away from the bar. “Harry, where are you going?”
“Outside. Someone needs help.”
“I’d advise against that, Harry Boy.” Lucas was returning from the toilets. “You go out in that weather and you might not come back.”
“We can’t just do nothing,” said Harry.
Lucas walked over to him by the pub’s exit and pointed to the frost-covered window. “Look out there, fella. You’ll be blinded the second you step outside, and trying to make it in a straight line for ten steps will leave you a disorientated sot. You’d probably struggle to walk ten steps in a straight line on a normal night.”
Harry scowled. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
Damien stood laughing by the fire. “He means you’re a worthless drunk, Harry, and everybody knows it.”
The hackles on Harry’s neck tightened. “What did you just say to me?”
Damien stepped towards Harry, but was still a good nine feet away. “I said that you’re a no-good fucking drunk, and that if someone is hurt out there, screaming for help, the worst person that could turn up to help them would be you. Probably just puke on ‘em and pass out. They’d end up having to get an ambulance for your sorry ass.”
Harry wanted to use words to retaliate – he was a civilised man after all – but none came to mind. The only thing that entered his head was a blind, boiling rage. He leapt at Damien’s smug, laughing face, crossing the nine feet before his heart could even beat once. His first punch landed square and no more blows were required. Damien’s nose scrunched up, spreading across his cheeks, until both nostrils were gushing blood. The young thug didn’t go down though and instead just staggered backwards, holding his nose in stunned bewilderment.
After a few moments of confusion, Damien grabbed a hold of himself, dropping his hands out to his sides and straightening up his body. His nose dripped a viscous meld of blood and mucous; it ran down the light-blue shirt inside his puffer jacket.
“You just shot yourself in the head, mate,” said Damien. “If I were you, I’d go in those toilets, take off that cheap-ass belt around your cock-less waist, tie it round your alcoholic neck, and hang yourself. Cus I’m going to kill you. I’m going to slide a knife in your belly and laugh in your face while you die. I’ll be the last person you see and I’ll be laughing my ass off.”
Harry’s soul deflated as he realised the seriousness of his actions. What had made him act so violently? That wasn’t him at all. Was it? Either way, he’d chosen a course of action and he would stick to it – there was no other choice.
Harry spat defiantly. “Try it, you little fuckweed!”
Damien nodded and started towards him, taking each step casually as if he had all the time in the world. Harry tried to swallow but found a lump of coal blocking his throat. He raised his fists and prepared for his first ever bar fight.
Lucas jumped between the two of them and placed a hand across Damien’s chest. “Calm down there, fellas. Thought we had an agreement? We’re all going to play nice tonight.”
Damien sneered. “Try telling that to your man here; wrecked a perfectly good designer shirt. He’ll pay for it though, so don’t worry.”
Lucas sighed. “You gentlemen can settle up another night. There’s no time for it now. There’s some lass screaming out there and our Harry was about to do the noble thing and go offer assistance. You should do the noble thing and let him.”
Damien shook his head. “You were the one telling him not to go out there two minutes ago.”
“Well,” said Lucas, “that was before he was in as much danger here as he will be out there. Besides, there’s a chance he might freeze to death so you should be all for it.”
Damien backed off slightly, waving an arm towards the door. “We’ll finish this later. That is, if you don’t freeze your tiny balls off out there first. Good luck!”
Harry was unsure what to do, not wanting to lower his fighting stance until he knew the situation was defused. He looked at Lucas who nodded at him reassuringly. Harry lowered his arms and moved back towards the pub’s exit.
“Wait!” It was Steph. She sounded worried. “Let me find you a torch or something.”
“Yeah,” Old Graham agreed from under his blanket by the fire. “At least take a blanket with you.”
Nigel added the final voice of concern. “Or maybe you should try calling out the door before you go trekking off. See if anyone shouts back and gives you directions.”
Harry waved a hand dismissively. “I’m sure someone’s just slipped over. I’ll be straight back.”
Damien sniggered from the back of the room. “Then you and me can pick up where we left off.”
Harry’s stomach churned. He decided to put Damien out of his mind for the moment; there were other things to worry about. Whatever was going to happen would happen. Life had taught him that a long time ago. Harry stepped towards the door…
Clonk!
…before falling to the ground clutching his head. The door had swung inwards, clubbing him in the forehead. The world was cast into darkness as the wind swept in from outside and extinguished all the candles on the bars. Harry moaned in pain.
“Shit! Are you okay?” asked Steph from somewhere in the darkness.
“What’s going on?” asked Nigel, who was just about visible beside the flickering fireplace. The flames fought back against the darkness but failed to light more than a small semi-circle at their base.
Harry ceased his moaning and tried to get up. He could feel the pressure building in his skull as a swelling began to form above his left eye. Reaching forward onto his hands, he planted his knees on the floor and prepared to get back to his feet. It was then that he realised someone stood in front of him in the darkness.
“Who’s there?” he called out.
For a few moments everyone stood still and listened for an answer. Eventually one came: “My name’s Kath. I’m the manageress of the supermarket across the road.”
A collective sigh of relief filled the room, more so from Harry than anyone else. “Try knocking next time. You almost had my head off.”
Kath laughed nervously. “I’m so sorry. I guess the weather has put me in a bit of a panic.”
“Were you the one screaming?” Steph asked as she started relighting the candles on the bar.
Kath moved away from the doorway and towards the light. “Oh, that’s better. I was starting to forget what it was like to be able to see properly.” She offered her hand to Steph.
Steph shook it. “Pleased to meet you, I’m Steph. So, was it you that was screaming?”
“Huh? Screaming? No, that wasn’t me. It would no doubt be that silly girl.”
“Silly girl?” Harry moved over to the bar to join the woman. The others in the bar started moving too. “What silly girl?”
“Jessica. She’s just some ditsy teenager that works for me. She went wondering off into the snow when the power went off.”
“We should go look for her then,” Harry insisted.
Kath sighed. “Don’t bother wasting your time. Peter Pole went after her, so she’ll be fine. I’m sure they bumped into each other out there and that’s what startled her.”
“You sure she’ll be okay?” Steph asked. “We should check to make sure.”
Kath’s response was abrupt. “If she needed help there would have been mo
re than one scream, wouldn’t there?”
“Guess that makes sense,” said Lucas, taking the top off a newly defrosted beer with his back teeth. “I say we top that fire up and get ourselves warm under the blankets. It’s cold enough to freeze beer in here after all.”
“Good idea,” said Old Graham, already making his way back to the fire. The rest of them took suit and gathered around him. They spread their blankets into a line and got under them side by side, tucked in like sardines.
Steph brought over a crate of bottled beer and placed it by the fire to keep it from freezing. Harry passed a recently thawed one to their new arrival, Kath, and she took it gladly. “My saviour,” she said, sipping the beer. “After the day I’ve had I could see myself becoming quite the alcoholic just to cope.” The comment brought a stiff silence and Harry wondered if it was because of the comments that Damien had made about him ten minutes earlier. “Did I say something wrong?” Kath asked. “It was just a joke.”
Despite Harry being certain that Damien would have used the opportunity to revisit their earlier animosity, nobody said anything. For some reason the lad stayed quiet and drank his beer.
“So,” Steph asked, “what exactly have you been through tonight then, Kath?”
“God, if only you knew. The whole world has gone crazy tonight. The electricity went out, my phone stopped working, and at one point I was worried I was going to freeze to death. Thank heavens you’re still open, because I don’t know how on earth I would have gotten home.”
“Your phone isn’t working?” said Damien.
Kath shook her head. “No, it doesn’t work at all. The landline either.”
“Mine stopped working too. Weird.”
“Guess the power affects the towers, or whatever you call ‘em,” said Old Graham.
“Maybe,” said Nigel, “but don’t the landlines work even when the powers out?”
Harry nodded in the dark and rubbed at the smooth lump growing on his forehead. “I think you’re right. Don’t they work off static signals?”
Lucas laughed. “Any telephone technicians in the house? Anybody?”
“What’s your point?” Harry asked.
“My point is that none of us really know how the phone lines work and maybe they do rely on power the same way everything else does.”
“That’s right,” said Nigel. “Didn’t they go digital or something a time back?”
From the middle of the group, Steph cracked open another beer. Her words were beginning to slur slightly as she spoke. “Don’t suppose it matters. Stuck here not knowing all the same. This is the worst weather I think this country’s ever had, so it doesn’t surprise me that everything’s gone down the shitter. Not like we have a Government that actually knows its arse from its earlobe, is it?”
Kath chuckled. “Tell me about it!”
“Now, now, Ladies,” Lucas put both hands up. “A pub is no place for politics. You can go to a stuffy wine bar for the likes of that. A good old-fashioned boozer like this is meant for people to forget their troubles in the world, inept Governments included.”
Steph laughed. “Aha! So you think the government is inept as well.”
“Sweetheart,” he said. “I think they’re all inept – and trust me, I’ve seen a few. I always say that Religion and Politics are just clever ways to make un-content people content with their un-contentedness.”
Old Graham snorted. “Good one.”
Kath turned to Lucas, disapproval on her face. “I take it you’re a none-believer of God then, erm…”
“Lucas, my dear woman. You can call me Lucas. To answer your question: yes, absolutely I believe in the Almighty Father. I never condemned Him now did I? I condemned the eejits that try to run things in his name.”
After a moment’s thought, Kath seemed to accept this. “Well, perhaps I can agree with you there.”
“Well,” Harry joined in. “What’s your Almighty Father’s plan for tonight? Besides freezing us all to death that is.”
“Do I detect a heathen?” asked Lucas sarcastically.
Harry swigged his beer. “That would be your opinion. I’d just say I’m realistic.”
“Why don’t you believe?” Steph asked him. She sounded genuinely interested.
“Because if I believed that there was someone responsible for all the things that have happened in my life then I would be so consumed with rage that I don’t think I’d be able to go on living.”
Damien laughed. “Is that because you’re a gay alcoholic?”
Harry wanted to get angry and shut Damien’s smart mouth altogether, but he suddenly felt very tired. Maybe it was the beer, or maybe it was something deeper inside of him that was just giving up. His heart felt weary.
“You’ve lost someone, haven’t you?” asked Lucas.
Harry turned in the Irishman’s direction. “What?”
“The only time a man gives up hope like you have is when they’ve lost a lover…or a child.” Lucas started nodding as if he’d found the answer to his own question. “Was it a boy or a girl?”
“It,” Harry spat, “was a boy. Toby.”
There was silence, thick enough that a snow plough would have blunted against it. Harry had never let anyone in The Trumpet know about Toby. It was his place to escape from all the pity and well-wishing that his once-friends and family had become consumed with since the accident. This was his place to come and be alone with his pain, and to remember his son the way he wanted to.
“I’m sorry,” said Damien, before swigging his beer bottle to the end. No one else spoke.
Harry didn’t say anything else either. He had been consumed by a deep sadness. Not just for Toby, or his wife, Julie – he always felt sadness for them – but sadness because he knew that he could never come back here again. The Trumpet’s sanctuary of anonymity was gone now.
“Okay,” said Lucas, raising a beer in the dim light of the fire. “We’ll change the subject, but first: Here’s to Toby, may his soul be somewhere safe and pleasant.”
The group raised their bottles and said Toby’s name. Harry said nothing. He just stared into the fire.
Chapter Fourteen
Peter hadn’t seen Jess, or anybody else, in almost an hour now, not since he’d parted ways with Kath. Earlier, the two of them had heard screaming and he was certain it was Jess. His selfish boss-lady had chosen to head for the nearby pub, caring only about herself, but he had decided to do the right thing and go find his friend. It had not gone as well as he’d hoped.
Peter wasn’t one to lose his cool easily. No one in Poland was after what their grandparents had lived through. It gave them a unique perspective on what really mattered in life. Yet, Peter had to admit to himself that he was starting to get anxious. He concentrated on keeping his breathing steady and emptied his mind of all thoughts. If a person did not think, they could not become afraid. If he just continued walking, he would find someone soon – or at least reach some houses. One thing was for certain: It could not go on like this much longer – pure white nothingness all around and in every direction. If it did…then he would certainly freeze to death. It was an absurd thought, but very real at that moment as the sub-zero temperatures swelled the pads on his fingertips that he could no longer form a fist.
Peter was used to the cold. It was regularly freezing in his hometown, just outside of Warsaw, but since his two year stay in England had begun, he’d not known conditions like this. It reminded him more of the Arctic Circle than Great Britain – the place he had come to follow his dreams and earn the money he could only dream of in Poland. He enjoyed being here to study also, and, despite the odd pockets of racism (you’re taking our jobs!), the local population had been very welcoming. England had become as much a home to him as his own country.
But today he would do anything to be back home with Momma and Poppa. He’d never felt as alone as he did right now.
“Jess,” he called out into the emptiness. “Jess, are you ok? It is Peter.”
>
There was no response, as there had not been for the last twenty minutes since he’d first split ways from Kath. He’d almost given up hope of finding Jess now, but that didn’t stop him worrying about why she had screamed. Jess was a nice girl, attractive and funny. Most of the Polish people in the town stuck to their own and socialised together – especially when it came to dating. It was easier that way and provoked less xenophobia than if the Polish men went around sleeping with the English women, but, if Peter was honest, he yearned to spend time with Jess, and thought about kissing her all the time.
I hope you are okay, my beautiful friend.
The Final Winter: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel Page 8