The Final Winter: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel

by Iain Rob Wright

  It took several moments for Thomas to wake up and realise what was happening. The last thing he would have seen, through the clear plastic smothering his face, was Harry’s dark, grinning expression as he suffocated the life out of him.

  When it was all over, Harry had vomited in the en-suite toilet, before hurrying out of the room and snagging the back of his hand on the sharp edge of an unused gurney in the corridor. The blood had gone everywhere and a nurse in a nearby ward had sat him down and stitched the wound, remarking on how much it resembled the shape of a star. Harry had been silent the entire time the nurse looked after him, staring into space like a zombie until she was done. Somehow he had walked out of the hospital that night without incident. He’d just killed a man and no one noticed a thing.

  Harry had then gone home immediately and drank for seven days straight. Later he sold his successful furniture business, as well as his house and car. The sales left him with just over half-a-million-pounds to drink himself to death with. He had hoped it wouldn’t take long. A year later, here he was, responsible for the death of mankind.

  “Bullshit!” he said finally.

  Lucas put his hands up. “Hey, I don’t disagree. I don’t want the world to end any more than you do – I’d miss Manchester United playing, for one – but it is what it is.”

  “And there’s nothing we can do?” Kath pleaded.

  Lucas shook his head. “Unless you can convince the big man to change his mind – but I don’t think he’s listening. You can hold the choir off temporarily with objects of depravity like the porno mags. Same reason they can’t enter the pub: it’s a den of inequity and they can’t step their holy toes in it.”

  “How do you know so much?” Harry demanded. The snow was sapping his strength and he needed answers before he was too tired to ask for them anymore. “How do you know so much about Angels?

  “Because I used to be one, laddie. Long time ago.”

  Harry understood. It came to him in a flash of inspiration. “They called you wormwood.”

  “That they did, but I prefer you to use my rightful name; the name given to me by my lord.”

  “And what’s that?” Kath asked, obviously not yet understanding what Harry did.

  Lucas turned to the woman and grinned, pointy teeth shining. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Lucifer, the Prince of Hell. Pleased to meet you.”

  Harry frowned. He should have been shouting ‘bullshit’, but somehow he knew it was true. Somehow the reality of the situation just could not be denied. He was trudging through the snow with the Devil, pursued by murderous angels. There was just one more thing that didn’t make sense. “Why the whole Irish jig then, Lucas Fergus?”

  “Would you prefer I had horns and a red suit? Let’s just say that Ireland is close to my heart. Good, fun-loving, people that love a good time. Although I can take many forms, and appear however I wish, Irish is my favourite. Plus the chicks dig the accent.”

  Harry laughed. What a head fuck. “Why are you here? Are you helping the Angels?”

  Lucas shook his head vehemently, snow falling from his hair. “Those righteous do-gooders? Hell no. They may be my brothers, but we parted ways a long time ago for good reason. Any of the choir that were any fun joined me in Hell. It’s the place to be, as long as you haven’t been sent there for, you know…treatment, as it were.”

  “So, we’re all going to Heaven or Hell after this?” Kath sounded hopeful. She obviously thought she was destined for Heaven.

  “Afraid not, luv. After the final sin was committed, God forsook you all. You’re all coming downstairs with me to whichever level you deserve.”

  “Level we deserve?” Kath sounded worried.

  Lucas nodded. He seemed to be getting a bit impatient now as they continued through the snow. “The levels dish out appropriate punishment. A murderer gets murdered. Over and over. Forever. A rapist gets raped. A bully gets beaten. You get the general theme here, right?”

  “Yeah, I get it.” Kath shut up and stayed that way, seemingly lost in disturbing thought.

  “That just leaves you,” said Harry. “You still haven’t told us what part you have to play in all this. You’re the Devil, which means you’re evil and can’t be trusted…doesn’t it?”

  Before Lucas had chance to reply, Harry realised that, once again, they were surrounded.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “They’re not going to give up are they?”

  “No,” Lucas confirmed. “Not until they have you.”

  Harry raised the broom in front of him, hoping it would work as well as last time. “What will they do to me?”

  “Send you to Hell.”

  Harry nodded. “Thought so.” He eyed up the line of Angels, wondering which one he should go for first. He decided to do as he did last time and aim for the middle, but before he had chance, a pillar of fire zigzagged towards him, sending him into a sideways dive. The snow cushioned his fall but was still jarring enough to knock the smut-handled broom from his grasp.

  Harry looked up just in time to see another wall of flames arcing in his direction. He rolled over, barely managing to dodge the burning death, but found himself even further away from his only weapon. “Lucas,” he shouted. “The broom.”

  Lucas nodded, searched the snow, located the broom, and then went for it. He was too slow though and Kath got to it first.

  “Great,” said Harry. “Throw it here.”

  Kath drew her arm back and looked as though she was going to hurl the broom in his direction, but then she didn’t release it. Instead she held it in front of herself and started to examine it. “Without this, you have no way of defending yourself, right?”

  “Yes,” said Harry. “That’s why I need it, now!”

  Kath walked away from him and, incredibly, started making her way over to the row of Angels. Specifically, she approached the one in the centre, the one that Harry had intended to attack. She held the weapon in front of herself, keeping the Angels at bay despite the fact that none of them moved an inch. “You just want Harry, right? What will you do for me if I give him to you?”

  She waited for an answer from the thing, but received none.

  Kath jabbed and wiggled the broom in the Angel’s face, not getting close enough to hit, but making her willingness to do so clear. “I asked you a question, so have some manners. Remove your hood and answer me!”

  Harry was in shock. Firstly, that the woman was betraying him, but secondly that she was addressing an Angel like an impolite five-year-old. It was surreal. Even more surreal was that the Angel did as it was told. It removed its hood.

  Beneath the old, grey cloth was something Harry had not expected. Maybe if he thought about what an angelic stereotype would look like it would have been less surprising, but seeing the beautiful face appear from beneath the tattered hood was not what Harry had expected. The Angel had shining yellow hair that fell in thin tresses across a flawless complexion. His eyes were a breath-taking cyan and the darkness seemed to light up around their gaze. The Angel’s piercing blue orbs were currently studying Kath.

  Kath was immediately mesmerised and Harry could see the same shock in her face that he no doubt had on his. She still held the broom out in front of her, but it was slowly lowering as though the weight of it was becoming too much.

  Lucas moved up beside Harry, “That would be Lord Michael himself.”

  Harry considered for a moment. “You mean from the bible?”

  “No, I mean from real life. That is God’s Field General himself, Archangel Michael. My brother, the Angel of death.”

  Harry looked at Lucas. “If he’s your brother can’t you make him stop?”

  “You really don’t understand family do you, Harry boy? One thing about Michael is that the only person he listens to is his Daddy. That’s why he was always favourite. Bloody eejit!”

  Harry didn’t have time to play agony aunt, something was happening up ahead. The Angel in front of Kath – The Archangel
Michael. Jeez! – was producing something from within his cloak. Something long and metal that ignited in flames as it was pulled free.

  “There she is,” said Lucas. “The beauty herself. You know that back in the day that sword belonged to me? Bastard took it from me during the Holy war. Still, I guess it looks better on him anyway.”

  Harry shook his head. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

  “The fiery sword of damnation. The very sword that turned Sodom and Gomorrah to ashes.”

  This is really it, isn’t it? The end of the world. God has finally called last orders and I’m stuck here facing down the Angel of Death with his flaming penis extension. If it wasn’t so goddamn insane, I think I’d be laughing my ass off.

  Harry watched as the Angel raised his sword, burning the cold air and changing it to a thick, acrid smoke. Kath was still mesmerised and Harry wondered if she was under some kind of thrall or if she had just gone into shock after finally realising the situation she was in. The answer was unimportant as Michael brought down his flaming sword in a vicious snap. It hissed and spat as Kath’s blood congealed on its shaft, turning to black powder and peppering the snow. Somehow Kath managed to turn around and face Harry, and for a moment he thought he had only imagined the sword going through her neck.

  Then her head started to tilt forward, independent of the rest of her body. Harry saw that the blade had indeed gone through her, so seamlessly that she obviously hadn’t felt a thing. Kath’s head fell to the snow, spewing it’s fluids into the air like a decorative garden feature. Her body remained standing however, gushing blood more heavily, spraying it into the air like a gory water cannon. The cracked end of her spine pocked from her neck, flapping its severed spinal cord like an agitated cobra. Harry winced when Kath’s lifeless body finally fell forward and buried itself in the snow and turning it red.

  Despite the fact Kath had clearly been a bitch, Harry suddenly felt very isolated by her loss; a lone man surrounded by callous Angels and a wisecracking Devil. He needed Steph more than ever. If this really was ‘the end’ then he wanted to be with her.

  Harry ran for it, leaving Lucas behind and not seeing any reason to ask him to follow. He ploughed through the snow with all his energy, kicking and clawing with one thing on his mind: Steph! He had no idea where he was going and only hoped that it was towards The Trumpet and not away from it. With the apocalyptic freeze, as well as an apocalyptic army of beautiful Angels trying to send him to Hell, Harry knew that the rest of his life was most likely measured in minutes rather than hours. For so long Harry had wanted nothing but to die, to leave the world and all of its pain behind, but right now staying alive long enough to get to Steph was the only thing on his mind.

  The snowfall seemed to increase every second. It was up to Harry’s waist and still rising. Before long, there would be no world left. No buildings, no roads, no rivers. Nothing. Just unending snow, rising. Rising. Rising.

  Harry struggled onwards, each step seizing up his calves and stabbing the tender muscle with icy daggers. If only he could go back and do the right thing. He knew back then that killing Thomas Morris was wrong, knew it hours before he had watched the glistening light of life leave the man’s eyes. He knew it was wrong even more when he saw the regret and the sorrow in the man’s eyes just before he died. Thomas Morris killed Harry’s family, but at the moment Harry started to murder him, he knew that the man was sorry. He knew because Thomas never struggled. He accepted the punishment for what he had done and even seemed happy about it.

  Now the whole world was accepting punishment for what Harry had done. He imagined the billions of people that had frozen to death in their homes already or that had been callously reaped by the Angels. He wondered how many people were still alive also, trying to convince their children that the snow would stop soon and that everything would be okay, that it was just bad weather. Harry started to weep, but wiped the tears away. He had to keep going; didn’t deserve time to stop and cry. When the Angels finally sent him to Hell he would welcome it, because that was where he belonged, but not now. Not yet.

  Up ahead, Harry saw the dark rectangle of a building up on a hill. It had to be The Trumpet, looking down at him from its elevated resting place. With renewed vigour, Harry began to dive and leap through the snow, sinking and wobbling with every step. He was going at a snail’s pace, he knew, but gradually the building was coming into view and it did indeed turn out to be the pub.

  “Thank God,” said Harry, before considering the words he’d spoken. “Actually, screw that and fuck God.”

  He reached the bottom of the hill and looked up at the pub. It was dark, deserted and lifeless. A dead building in a condemned world, but inside could be the only person Harry cared about anymore. He started to wade through the snow and up the steps, feeling the broken brickwork beneath his feet. Inside his stomach, butterflies rioted.

  As he neared the top, Harry felt their presence. He felt the Angels. “Damn you,” he shouted, turning around to face them. They stood at the bottom of the hill, appearing from nowhere. Each had their hoods down now, exposing an endless row of beautiful faces and full heads of blonde and brown gossamer hair. They were flawless – angelic – but Harry knew that they brought only death and misery. “Damn you,” Harry shouted again. “Just let me see her.”

  He turned and ran, determined to make it back into the pub where he would be safe. Lucas had said the Angels could not set foot inside a den of inequity and that meant Steph must still be safe inside. Nearly there, just a few more feet.

  Harry stopped in his tracks, falling into the snow and looking up at the figure that blocked his way. He thought about defending himself before realising he could not. There was nothing he could use, not even the porno-wrapped broom. Harry looked down at the snow, defeated and not wishing to witness the method of his execution. “Okay, you got me. Just get it over with.”

  “Get what over with, Harry Boy?”

  Harry looked up. “Lucas!”

  “Aye,” Lucas offered out his hand. “I thought you were never going to get here, fella. Took your sweet time.”

  Harry smiled, happy to see the Devil. He took Lucas’ hand and hoisted himself up, quickly pushing past and barging against the pub’s door. It was frozen shut. He was just about to cry out in defeat when Lucas strolled up to join him.

  “Keep your hair on, lad.” Lucas placed a hand on the door making steam immediately appear. The frost on the metal was melting. After a couple of seconds, Lucas banged his fist once on the door and it swung open slowly. Lucas looked at him and grinned. “Three millennium in the Hellzone Boy Scouts.”

  Harry nodded. “No shit?”

  Harry made his way inside and headed for the bar, the sudden feeling of an even, solid floor disorientating his weary legs. The entire room was dark and no longer lit by multiple candles, but Harry had been there enough times to know where he was going. He made it to the bar in six blind steps and was shocked to find Peter’s dead body on the floor. Harry could only just make out the boy’s features as all but one of the bar’s candles had extinguished. It wasn’t something he had time to mull over now though. He’d pay his respects later.

  Grabbing the remaining candle, Harry made his way behind the bar and into the corridor behind. Right away the freezing temperature told him something was wrong. Earlier the corridor had acted as a flume for the warm air of the fire in the cellar, but now it was cold. That meant the fire was out.

  “Shit, shit, shit!” Harry took the steps two at a time, luckily making it down to the bottom without miss-stepping in the darkness. As his feet planted on the cellar floor, he moved the candle in a quick semi-circle in front of him. The room smelt heavily of smoke, but the barrel fire was unlit. Next to it was the unmoving form of Old Graham. Until tonight, Harry had never seen a recently dead body before – not even his wife and child as they had died in the hospital – but he now knew without inspection that the old man had perished. Harry felt his gorge rise, the
fear and sickness taking a hold of him as his mind screamed out with grief. He span around, illuminating the dark corners of the cellar, searching desperately

  He found Damien first and crouched down to feel the lad’s cheek. It was stone cold and Harry realised he was dead too. What concerned Harry most was that Damien’s mid-section was covered in blood and that, despite the cold, the boy did not have on his thick puffer jacket. Did somebody stab him?

  The answer came to Harry quickly.

  Nigel? Damn it. I can’t believe I knocked Damien out when he was the one who saved Steph all along. Now he’s dead and I’ll never get to say sorry for my mistake.

  Beside Damien, beneath the same pile of duvets, was Jess. Dead as well, Harry immediately noticed. He felt numb at the sight of such a young and pretty girl frozen to death like a block of ice. He shone the candle to her face and saw that her lips were blue and starting to frost over.