The Final Winter: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel

by Iain Rob Wright

  Jess slapped her palms against her forehead in dismay. “I watched Jerry’s best friend die. If you hadn’t been too busy abandoning me then you may have been there to see it too.”

  “How dare you! I did nothing of the sort. I shouted and looked everywhere for you, but you’d wandered off carelessly.”

  Jess sneered. “Bollocks!”

  “That is it, young lady!” Kath’s voice quivered with rage. “Don’t you bother coming in to work tomorrow because you are fired, young lady!”

  Jess laughed. “We’re in a pub, Kathleen, not at work. I can say what the hell I like to you. Don’t worry though because I quit anyway.”

  “Music to my ears. Now I can employ someone with half a brain.”

  “Actually, you need to hire someone without a brain, then they won’t mind working for a pathetic bully like you. I understand though, Kathleen, it must be difficult being a spinster.”

  “You spiteful little bitch! You know nothing about me.”

  Harry watched as Kath threw off her duvet and leapt to her feet. For a second, it seemed as though the older woman was going to go for Jess, but instead she turned away from the group and departed towards the toilet.

  “You two don’t get on then?” Lucas quipped from the edge of the group.

  “No shit,” Jess replied. “Got to tell you though, it felt really good saying that to her.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet,” said Harry. “Maybe you should just let things lie for now though. Who knows how long we’ll be stuck in this situation together.”

  “I know. I’ll leave her alone, so long as she doesn’t get in my face. I need to ask her where the warehouse guy went first though. She treats Peter like dirt and I need to make sure he’s alright.”

  Jess shoved herself up onto her feet and headed after Kath. Once she’d taken half-a-dozen steps, a body crashed through the window.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Peter!” Jess screamed.

  Harry watched the girl drop to her knees, scrambling over to the body now splayed across the pub’s wooden floor. The boy was barely conscious, covered in blood, and murmuring deliriously in a foreign language. Cold air flew in through the broken window and extinguished any minor warmth that had managed to remain inside the pub.

  Harry clambered across the room, skidded to his knees, and came to a stop beside Jess and the injured boy. Did she say his name was Peter?

  Jess looked at Harry; a hollow stare consumed her delicate features, while tears dripped from her grief-stricken blue eyes and stained her cheeks. “Help him, please.”

  Harry choked on his words. “I…I…What’s…What’s happened to him?”

  “I don’t know,” cried Jess. “Just please make him alright.”

  “I’ll tell you what happened,” said Jerry, rushing over to join them. The others in the pub – minus Kath who was still in the toilet – stood on the periphery, watching. “It’s those demon-fuckers outside,” Jerry continued. “The evil monk and his pet dog.”

  Harry blinked. “You’re speaking gibberish!”

  “You reckon?” Jerry contested. “Then why don’t you tell me what can chuck a guy through a pub window like a ragdoll, huh?”

  Harry had no answer and that worried him, but before he could send himself deeper into anxious musings, Jess shoved him hard on the arm. “You’re not helping.” She beat her fists against his arm again. “You need to help him.”

  “Okay,” said Harry, shaking himself into action and raising his voice. “Let’s get him someplace comfortable. I need someone to bring me blankets, bandages, anything like that. Is there a first aid kit here?”

  Steph stepped forward and nodded. “There’s one in the back. I’ll go get it.”

  Harry smiled, glad to have her help. When Steph rushed off, he turned to address the others. “Jess and I are going to carry Jerry over to the couch by the fire. While I’m doing that I need the rest of you to get that window covered up before we all freeze to death.”

  There was a mumbling of agreement and everyone got to work. Harry slid his right arm underneath Peter’s shoulders and instructed Jess to get his legs. She did so without argument. “We need to move slowly,” he told her. “We don’t know what kind of damage has been done, so easy does it.”

  Jess nodded agreement and the two of them shuffled their way across the bar, being careful to avoid twisting or jerking the patient in their care. In the corner of his eye Harry was aware that the others in the pub were upending a table and pushing it up against the broken glass. He was surprised to see that Damien was also amongst the group; in fact he seemed to be the one taking charge.

  Maybe he’s not as selfish as he tries to show people he is.

  “Okay, Jess,” said Harry, coming to a stop gradually besides the sofa, “you lower Peter’s legs and I’ll lower his body. Carefully does it.”

  The two of them lowered Peter down, an inch at a time, until finally, he was resting securely on the sofa. Amidst the glow of the fireplace, the severity of the boy’s wounds became evident. Shards of glass protruded from deep gashes all over his body, poking through his torn clothing like alligator teeth. Harry also noticed that one of the boy’s eyes had been mangled beyond repair. It looked like a squished cherry tomato and dripped blackish-red gunge down his cheek. Harry felt his stomach tighten.

  Who the hell did this? Who could make such a mess of another human being?

  “Peter, everything is going to be fine now.” Jess spoke soothingly, stroking a hand across the boy’s forehead. “You’re safe and I’m going to look after you.”

  Peter muttered something in reply but it made no sense, more of a gurgle than discernible speech. Harry continued to examine his body and was shocked to discover yet more wounds, more cuts, and more blood. Not to mention a broken ankle that seemed like it had been attached to the boy’s shinbone back to front, sticking out at a gruesome angle.

  Harry placed a hand against Peter’s clammy cheek and shook his head. “Who did this to you?”

  Peter opened his remaining good eye and seemed to concentrate. He tried focusing on Harry but his eyeball kept flicking left and right as if it had a mind of its own. His mouth formed the words, “Skrzdlaty Diabel.”

  Harry frowned. “Peter, can you tell me in English?”

  The boy took a wheezing breath. It seemed to take every ounce of strength for him to form another sentence, but he managed to utter one more word: “Winged…“

  “Winged what?” asked Jess, tears streaking her cheeks.

  Peter gazed at her and almost managed a smile, like he had only just realised she was there. “Winged…Demon.”

  Peter lost consciousness.

  Jess went to put her hands on him, perhaps to shake him back awake, but Harry prevented her. “Let him rest.”

  Jess leaned up against Harry. He could feel her shaking as she looked up at him. “What do you think he meant?”

  “I don’t know,” said Harry honestly. “Probably just shock.”

  Jess shook her head. “If it wasn’t for all the other things that have happened tonight I may have believed you.”

  Harry hated to admit it, but he was inclined to agree with the girl. Something most definitely was wrong tonight. The thing that worried him most, however, was when he tried to imagine what and why?

  “Harry?”

  Harry spun around to find Steph holding a green plastic box. A first aid kit. He took it and thanked her, but she didn’t hear it, too busy looking down at the bleeding casualty on the sofa.

  Eventually, her attention turned back to Harry. “Is he going to be okay?”

  Harry glanced down at his shoes, then straightened up and took Steph to one side. He didn’t want Jess to hear what he was about to say. “I don’t know. He’s been ripped to shreds and I think he’s blind in one eye. I honestly don’t know what could do this to a person….or why.”

  Steph’s expression grew dim, her skin becoming ashen even in the orange glow of the fire. “Are we in tro
uble here, Harry?”

  “I can’t answer that; but I can tell you one thing, I’ve never wanted out of this pub so bad.”

  Steph nodded. “I’ll go check on the others. Just do what you can for him, yeah?”

  Harry nodded and turned back to the sofa. Jess was perched on the armrest, looking sick to her stomach. He wondered how close she was to Peter. Obviously they were co-workers, but were they more than that?

  Isn’t Jerry her boyfriend?

  “How’s he doing?” Harry asked her.

  Jess shook her head and didn’t speak.

  Harry knelt down beside Peter. The heat of the fire pinched at the flesh of his back, making it itch. He placed the first aid box down on the ground and popped open the lid. Inside were the things one would expect to find: gauze, bandages, tape, alcohol wipes, and plasters. He also found an eye dressing which he plucked out of the contents first.

  After applying the dressing to Peter’s damaged, oozing eye and securing it around the back of the boy’s head, Harry moved on to the other wounds. He unbuttoned Peter’s supermarket work shirt to get a clearer look.

  Jess slapped a hand across her mouth.

  At first, Harry wasn’t sure what he was seeing. He unclasped the final button on Peter’s shirt and pulled the fabric away. A film of glistening blood covered the boy’s chest and stomach, flowing from deep channels scored into his flesh. As Harry took it all in, he realised that the gashes weren’t just random injuries.

  “Someone’s carved words into him.”

  Jess looked like she could throw up at any moment. “W-what does it say?”

  “Hold on.” Harry pulled a couple of alcohol wipes from the first aid kit and ripped them from their packets. He rubbed at Peter’s wounds, clearing away as much of the blood as he could, fighting away fresh tides that sought to replace it. Slowly, the words became clearer.

  SEnD…

  Out…

  ThE…

  S…i…N…N…e…R.

  “Send out the sinner?” Harry said the words out loud, hoping his brain would come up with some interpretation that made sense.

  “What does it mean?” Jess asked.

  “I have no idea,” Harry replied – and he didn’t. In fact, Harry had no understanding whatsoever about the kind of monster it would take to carve words into someone’s chest. He took a deep breath and let it out. “Maybe we should go get the others.”

  Jess agreed.

  They dressed as many of Peter’s wounds as they could and left him sleeping on the sofa, then joined up with the others who were still attending to the shattered window. They’d managed to stack two tables up against the broken glass and reinforce them with chairs. The long curtains had been pulled around the whole thing and the billowing gust had been reduced to a whistling breeze.

  “Good job,” said Harry, genuinely impressed.

  Those at the window turned around. Each of them looked shaken and out of breath, even Damien. Kath was the only one that didn’t appear to be bothered. Harry watched the woman, sat on a nearby chair, pick at her nails as though she had not a care in the world.

  “Harry Boy. How’s the nipper?” asked Lucas, appearing suddenly.

  Harry rubbed at his eyes and let out a sigh. “Not good. Someone’s made a real mess of him, blinded him, and cut words into his chest.”

  Damien overheard this and stepped away from the window. “Someone carved words into him? That’s harsh, man. What’s it say?”

  Harry shrugged. “Something about sin.”

  Steph slid another chair up against the barricade, reinforcing it further. She turned to face Harry. “Sin? I don’t understand. What exactly did it say?”

  “God knows,” Harry said. “Just the words of a psychopath.”

  Jess spoke up. “It said, send out the sinner.”

  “The fuck that mean?” Damien demanded. “Does someone in here know what’s going on out there?”

  Harry pointed his finger at Damien. “Calm down. It probably doesn’t mean anything. We just need to stick together and everything will be fine. No one needs to panic.”

  Damien snarled. “Point your finger at me and I’ll break it off. I ain’t panicking, I’m pissed off. It’s obvious that this is personal. Whoever’s running around out there, like Freddie-Krueger-on-acid, has a grudge against someone in here.”

  “Nonsense,” said Harry.

  “Maybe not,” Lucas chimed in. “You don’t use a human being as a meat-memo-pad and hurl them through a window unless you’re trying to send a wee message. Maybe what’s happening tonight is all down to one person.”

  A silence fell over the group as they scanned one another suspiciously, trying to work out who was ‘the sinner’.

  Harry wondered if it was him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nigel Sutcliffe had sat and watched the unfolding situation for the last half hour. He’d retreated to the outskirts of the group to try and gain some insight into what was happening. Things had started out strangely enough that evening, if only for the unnatural weather, but when the lights blinked out, things got even more bizarre (culminating with a body flying through the window like an extra in a Bruce Lee movie). None of that particularly bothered Nigel though. What did bother him was all this talk about the ‘sinner’.

  He sat, shivering, on a stool by the bar, listening and watching as the others argued incessantly about what the injured boy’s chest carvings meant. Who was the sinner, they demanded, and who was it outside? Nigel decided it was a conversation he was better off avoiding because he knew that he indeed was very much a sinner. In fact, sometimes, he felt as though he was born a sinner.

  But was he the sinner?

  Maybe it was worry over nothing. Nigel didn’t care what happened to his immortal soul. All that mattered to him was how much pleasure he could find in this life. The skinny bitch he’d fucked and murdered in Amsterdam last week had been a particular highlight. God how she’d screamed. Especially when I went in the back door. He smiled at the thought.

  His reminiscing was interrupted by the arrival of Steph at the bar beside him. She handed him a beer and said, “It just about defrosted in front of the fire.”

  Nigel thanked her. “Just what I needed. Things are a little crazy around here tonight, huh?”

  “Tell me about it!” Steph swigged from her own bottle. “I feel like I’m in a horror film. Still haven’t decided on an emotion yet, but I’m stuck somewhere between dazed and terrified.”

  Nigel put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed; his pinkie ring slid over the fabric of her delicate blouse and stirred deep emotions within him. The gold ring featured a dolphin insignia at its centre and was his most prized possession: a memento of his first victim, a twelve-year-old blonde, pretty, with chubby cheeks like a prepubescent Drew Barrymore. He’d bitten it off her finger as she wailed and squirmed in the back of his lorry. He’d worn the dolphin ring ever since, enjoying the way it felt on his penis as he masturbated over his dying victims.

  “I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,” he reassured Steph. “I think whatever’s going on tonight is personal.”

  “Personal? You mean ‘the sinner’?”

  The word made Nigel swallow a lump in his throat. “Whoever’s out there causing trouble obviously has it in for one of us; but you know what I think?”

  Steph shook her head.

  Nigel pulled his hand away from her shoulder, already missing the warm throb of her flesh. He picked up his beer and took a deep gulp before placing the near empty bottle down on the bar. “What I think is that this is a tiff over drugs. The only people I know sick enough to smash a kid to pieces and lob him through a window are smack-heads…and guess what? We just happen to have our very own aspiring drug lord right here with us.”

  Steph looked across the room at the others then looked back at Nigel. “You think this is all about Damien?”

  Nigel shrugged. “He’s the biggest sinner I know. Beat some kid into a coma last year
, didn’t he?”

  “I don’t know,” Steph admitted. “I heard that too, but whether or not it’s true…”

  “Well it’s certainly within his nature from what I’ve seen tonight. He’s been glaring at Harry all night, plus he threw a punch at the Irish fella.”

  Steph looked over at Lucas. “What do you make of him?”

  “Lucas? It’s strange how he turns up for the first time on a night like this. Maybe he’s the eyes and ears for whoever’s outside. Could be a drug lord looking to come into the area and put Damien out of business. Maybe they’re making their move tonight because they’re hoping the snow will keep the police away.”