The Final Winter: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel

by Iain Rob Wright

  “Why me?” Harry asked, trying to keep his focus on what mattered.

  “B’Jaysus, we’re going around in circles. Because you’re the sinner.”

  Kath shook her head. “Why is Harry ‘the sinner’?”

  Harry would tell her why. It was time to own up. “Because I murdered a man.”

  Lucas acted as though he knew this all along, but Kath recoiled in horror, stepping away from Harry and towards the door.

  “Calm down, woman,” said Lucas. “He’s not intending to kill you.” He looked at Harry. “Are you?”

  “No, of course not! The man I killed destroyed my life. It was revenge. So why is this all because of me? There’re far worse people in the world,”

  “I agree,” said Lucas. “In the grand scale of things, you’re pretty low down on the Sin scale, but murder is murder.”

  “But why did my sin cause all this? If that’s what you’re suggesting?” Harry felt dizzy. This morning he’d woken up expecting the day to end in a drunken stupor just like the 365 days before it. He never expected it to end like this.

  Lucas stared at Harry intensely. The man’s blue eyes seemed to light the darkness around him. “Because yours was the last. The sin that finally tipped the scales.”

  Harry was about to demand what the hell that meant, but, before he could grab Lucas around the throat and force him to speak sense, the doors blew inwards. Not a gust of wind swinging them open, but an actual concussive force that ripped them from their hinges and flung them across the room. The wind and snow flew in through the gap like the breath from a dragon.

  Harry ran to Lucas and grabbed the man by the arm. “What the hell is happening?”

  Lucas had to shout to be heard above the howling wind. “They’re coming to get you.”

  Harry shook his head. “But inside the pub we were safe, they left us alone. Why are they coming inside now?”

  “They couldn’t enter the pub, but they can enter here. That’s all I can tell you, right now, but I can help you get out.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Lucas raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Go and get all of the porno magazines.”

  “What?” Kath joined them over at the cash desk. The wind had blown her dark hair into a freakish mess of tangles. She looked like a homeless witch. “This is no time for self-gratification.

  “Just go and get me all the smutty magazines,” Lucas reiterated. “You’ll see why.”

  Harry lacked the energy to ask more questions. The monsters outside would be inside any minute, led by the insidious dog beasts that had shredded poor, stupid Jerry to pieces. He turned, ran, and then sprinted over to the magazine aisle. It was closest to where the fire doors had been and the nearest racks were shedding their contents under the harsh wind attacking them. Harry almost slipped on a Gardening Annual as he made his way over to the far end, where the shining images of bikini clad women lay three deep. Why on earth Lucas wanted all the lad mags, he could not fathom, but it seemed as though the man know what was going on a lot better than anyone else. Harry saw little choice but to do what Lucas asked.

  He picked up a copy of Nipples and then quickly gathered up several more publications of ill-repute. He clutched the pile to his chest and turned back in the opposite direction, making sure not to slip on the Gardening Annual as he ran back to Lucas. When Harry got there, the Irishman was accepting what looked like cello tape from Kath, who’d obviously been sent on her own errand.

  Harry stood in front of Lucas and waited. “Well?”

  “Set the pornos down on the counter, fella, and pass me that broom behind the counter.”

  Harry played along, leaning over the service desk to grab the wooden handle. “Okay, got it. Now what?”

  Lucas took the broom and placed it on the counter with the magazines. Then he began to tear out the pages featuring naked women (as well as a few men).

  “What are you doing?” Kath asked him. “We need to hurry. I can hear them growling out there.”

  Lucas ignored her and carried on tearing the pages. Once a modest pile of immodest pictures had accrued, he grabbed the cello tape. What he did next was the most bizarre. Lucas began to wrap the broom head up in the naked pictures, fastening them with the tape. He wrapped the handle too in the same way.

  Harry couldn’t take it anymore, the growling from outside was too close. “Okay, Lucas. I’m all for arts and crafts, but what is this helping?”

  Lucas shoved the porno broom into Harry arms. “You’ll see. Right, that sorts out the choir; now something for the hounds.”

  Harry raised an eyebrow. “The choir?”

  Lucas ignored him and disappeared into one of the aisles. When he came back he was holding something in each hand.

  “Salt?” said Kath.

  “Aye,” said Lucas. “It’ll deal with the growly fellas, trust me.” He handed one of the tubs of salt to Kath and kept one for himself. Apparently, the broom was going to be Harry’s weapon.

  “Fine,” Harry sighed. “Let’s just get out of here before those things get in here.”

  “Too late.” Lucas pointed over to the doorway at one of the ‘hounds’. It sat watching them all, ears pricked up like an over-sized spaniel.

  Except spaniels don’t have so many teeth.

  When the beast saw that it had caught their attention, it began to snarl; a low, buzzing sound that increased to a full-blown rumbling.

  “What should I do?” asked Kath, holding the salt tub out in front of her with a shaking hand.

  “Watch and learn,” said Lucas, who walked forward slowly, almost casually, towards the beast. As he got nearer, the creature bunched up, muscles tensing as it prepared to attack. Lucas was unconcerned and met the hound head on.

  Harry swallowed in anticipation. Insane. The man’s insane.

  Lucas looked back at them and nodded, as if to say ‘watch this’, then flicked the salt container back and forth, spilling out a long stream of granules through the air. Instantly, the beast began to howl, its whimpers no different to a beaten puppy, weak and subservient. Harry soon smelt burning and realised it was the animal’s flesh. Like sausages grilling on a barbeque, but with a hint of something else.

  Eggs? No, something else. I remember it from school…

  The smell was sulphur.

  The hound bolted; turning and running back through the doorway and into the night, leaving behind a cloying puddle of dissolving flesh that made Harry want to retch.

  “Now we can go,” said Lucas.

  “What about the ‘choir’?” Harry asked.

  “That’s what the broom’s for. Make sure you use it when the time is right.”

  “And how do I know when that is?”

  “It’ll be when something starts trying to kill you.”

  Right, thought Harry. I’ll just use my broom kung fu on them. Fuck sake, when we get back to the pub Lucas better have some goddamn answers.

  Unless he stabs me in the back before we even get there.

  “Okay,” said Harry, looking out into the freezing dark night. “Let’s do this.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Jess held Peter in her arms, amazed that he was actually awake. Nearby, Steph was looking after Damien, who was doing okay despite having been stabbed. As things turned out, the blade had lodged between his ribs and hadn’t gone in more than an inch or so. Damien said it hurt like hell but he’d be okay, despite the heavy bleeding. She’d wanted to have a look at the wound but Damien was too macho to allow it.

  When Jess untied Steph, she’d had to wake her up and coax her from unconsciousness. Once she’d snapped back to reality, though, Steph was visibly horrified by what Nigel had done. She’d started weeping. Damien had then sent her away to tend to her wounds. Jess had a feeling that he’d only suggested it to give her something to concentrate on other than the attack.

  Nigel was out cold in the middle of the floor. They would have to tie him up soon, but, for now, everyone would have one eye on
him, ready to beat him down if he dared make the slightest move. Damien stood over him now, poker in hand.

  After saving her, and losing consciousness, Peter had slowly stirred back awake, semi-lucid again. Lay across Jess’s lap, his body-warmth pulsed through her clothing. He was burning up badly and she worried about his temperature being so high. She looked down at him now with more concern than she’d ever felt for a person.

  “Did the nasty man…hurt you…Jessica?”

  “No, Peter. You saved me. You’re my hero.”

  Peter smiled a grim, broken-toothed smile. “I am…sorry I let you go out alone. I…looked for you.”

  Jess smiled down at him. “I know you did. It wasn’t your fault. No one could know what was going to happen tonight. I think it’s the end of the world or something.”

  Peter closed his eyes for a few seconds and Jess worried that he would not open them again. The boy’s breathing was uneven and shallow. She shook him gently. “Peter, are you okay?”

  He opened his eyes again. “I am…fine. The world is not ending, Jessica.”

  “No?”

  “No. As long as there are still beautiful things, we will be…okay.” He was looking at Jess and she realised that he meant her. “Can I…ask you…something?”

  “Yes,” said Jess. “Of course you can. What is it?”

  “Can I…kiss you?”

  Jess was taken aback. After all Peter had been through tonight, the only thing he wanted was a kiss. And from me? Did he have feelings for her before all of this? Or was he just delirious? Of all the times Jess had thought about kissing Peter, the whole time he had perhaps been thinking the same. It hurt her soul to a point where she felt like she couldn’t go on, that she was ready to just lie down and wait for death. First though, she had a question from a dear friend to answer.

  “Yes, Peter,” she said, “you can kiss me. Peter…”

  Jess looked down at her friend and realised that he was dead. The only thing stopping Jess from screaming was how peaceful he looked. She was glad that his pain was finally over and smiled down at him one last, final time. “Yes, Peter, you can kiss me.” She leant down and placed her lips against the soft, delicate mouth of her friend, sad and angry that he would never get to be anything more. “Goodbye,” she said, finally, placing him down on the floor. Jess was surprised to find an empty, hollow place inside of herself. Part of her had just died.

  Jess stood up and Damien noticed her. He asked if she was alright.

  Then Steph came back from wherever she’d been and immediately noticed Peter lying dead on the floor. She looked at Jess and shook her head solemnly. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Jess nodded, feeling numb. “It’s okay. At least I got to say goodbye…in a way.”

  Steph nodded. “Can we do anything?”

  Jess was about to answer when movement from the corner of her eye startled her. “Shit, Nigel’s up.”

  The three of them grouped together as Nigel staggered about like a wounded animal, his skin blackened and weeping pus. Jess waited for him to run at them, wailing and screeching like a demon, but thankfully he hurried away instead, bumping into tables in an effort to escape.

  “He’s trying to do one,” said Damien.

  “Let him,” said Jess. “He can go and freeze out there.”

  Nigel bumped into more furniture and fled towards the door. Jess wasn’t sure if he’d fully regained his senses from the blow to his head yet. He certainly seemed disorientated and unsettled, but somehow he managed to find his way to the door, flinging it open and staggering outside. Then he was gone, disappearing into the night. Jess prayed never to see him again.

  “Good riddance!” she said.

  Steph put an arm around Jess. “Come on, sweetheart. We should get ourselves downstairs in front of the barrel fire now that we don’t have to worry about him. The fire in here’s about to go out anyway and that broken window is going to freeze us to stone.”

  Jess agreed. “Plus, Old Graham will be wondering what’s going on.”

  Steph’s eyes suddenly widened. “Shite, I forgot all about Old Graham. Hopefully he’s drunk enough to not have heard any of this.”

  “We best get down there,” Jess said, turning with Steph, towards the bar. She took two steps and then stopped. “Shit! Are you okay?” Damien was doubled up against the bar, taking in long, laboured breaths. “You’re still bleeding?”

  He waved a hand dismissively and Jess saw that it was soaked with blood. “Just a flesh wound,” he said and then laughed. “I always wanted to say that.”

  “It’s not a joke, Damien. Are you okay?”

  “I’ll live. Just a bit sore. The blood is probably to be expected after getting stabbed and everything. Like I told you though, it isn’t deep.”

  Steph didn’t seem convinced. Jess wasn’t either, but what could they do? Jess was thinking that maybe the wound was worse than he was letting on, but having never seen a stab wound before there was a chance she was just overreacting. If Damien said he was fine then all they could do was believe him. “Let’s go downstairs,” she said finally.

  The three of them gathered candles from the bar and entered the rear corridor. The air seemed no warmer inside, which was strange as earlier it had been filled with a warm air current flowing up from the stairs. Now it felt as cold as the rest of the pub. Steph took the staircase first; Jess and Damien followed. When they reached the bottom together, darkness greeted them and Jess realised the fire had gone out.

  “Oh no,” said Steph, lighting the room with her candle. The image of Old Graham shone into view, still lying on the floor where they’d left him. Even in the poor light, Jess could see the waxy blue tinge that travelled the lines of the old man’s face and, particularly, his lips. Old Graham was dead.

  Steph leapt down onto her knees, dropping her candle on the cement floor where it quickly extinguished. In the darkness, Jess and Damien had no choice but to listen to her scream.

  ###

  Outside it was as Harry had feared. They were surrounded. In all directions, the tall, hooded figures loomed over them, standing motionless, shoulder to shoulder, forming a wall of towering bodies. In front of them the hounds sat obediently.

  “What do we do?” asked Harry.

  Lucas shoved him forward. “Just swing for the first bugger that comes for you. Kath and I will handle the hounds.”

  Harry willed his legs to take him forward and after several false starts got himself moving. The monsters remained in place but watched him with great interest. Harry felt like a lowly ant beneath their stares. A low growl emanated from the hounds but they made no attempts to attack, heeled to their hooded masters and waiting for commands.

  Harry got closer and wondered what to do. Did Lucas really expect to take on this army with just a broom and some salt shakers? They were going to die; any other outcome seemed impossible. Still, Harry wasn’t going down without a fight. If they wanted him, they would have to take him down, biting and screaming.

  Once he was within a dozen metres of the hooded figures, the hounds at their feet became agitated, hackles rising as they paced back and forth.

  “Ready with the salt?” asked Harry.

  “Bring it on,” said Lucas, taking hold of Kath and bringing her forward. Together, the two of them hurled salt into the air. It caught on the wind and dispersed in a thousand directions, disappearing into the blizzard.

  Harry watched and waited as nothing happened. Then hounds began to squeal, their skin smoking and burning, dripping into the snow and turning it a dark, mottled brown. The beasts began to edge away, colliding with their masters who were still unmoving. After a few moments, the hounds managed to weave between the hooded figures and flee into the night.

  Satisfied, Harry looked at Lucas, who nodded at the broom he was holding. Really? Should he really be so willing to trust his survival on a domestics implement? Harry decided it was time to find out. The three of them lined up and marched forward, meeting their
attackers head on.

  Harry raised the broom like a pike, images of naked women fluttering in the wind. The hooded men remained motionless, their seven-foot frames like stone statues. When one of them finally moved, Harry thought he was going to soil himself.

  The tallest figure, at the centre of the wall, stepped forward and flung out a hand. Harry curiously noticed that the creature’s outstretched arm was human, yet twisted and talon-like. It pointed at Lucas as its owner hissed the word, ‘WORMWOOD’.

  Harry turned to Lucas who was grinning ear to ear, not out of good nature, but seemingly out of defiance. Lucas winked at the figure addressing him. “How you doing there, Mickey? Been keeping well?”