The World's Last Breaths: Final Winter, Animal Kingdom, and The Peeling

by Iain Rob Wright

  Danny got there ahead of Joe and flung open the rear door, leaping across the back seats. Joe caught up to him and closed it, then ran around to the driver’s side and got in behind the wheel.

  The smell of the vehicle’s interior was sublime. It reminded Joe of boredom. Commutes to work and trips to the supermarket. Nice, normal boredom. It was so calming, in fact, that he sat there for several moments, just listening to the drumbeats of the rain on the bonnet.

  After indulging himself for long enough, Joe put the key in the ignition and twisted. The engine grumbled momentarily and then roared to life. It was the greatest sound Joe had ever heard. “Time to get out of here, Dan--”

  The windscreen shattered, cracks spider-webbing in every direction. Danny screamed in the backseat and Joe found that he was doing the exact same thing. The shock hit him hard and fast. Once again his heart was beating like a rapid-fire cannon.

  What the hell?

  Joe sat still for a moment, listening and trying to sense what was going on. Something had hit the windscreen, but what?

  All of a sudden, he knew.

  It was Nero.

  Chapter 40

  The silverback gorilla beat at the roof like the car was a toy drum, denting it deeper with each mighty blow. Joe and Danny’s ceiling caved in on them, eating away at the already-limited space they had inside.

  “It’s the big monkey,” said Danny, cowering on the back seat.

  “I know. Just keep down low.”

  Joe engaged first-gear and pulled up the clutch. When he was sure he had the biting point he released the handbrake.

  The engine stalled just as a blow took out the back window.

  “Shit!” After the week of chaos he had been through, Joe almost couldn’t remember how to drive. He restarted the engine and kept the car in first gear. He lifted the clutch again but this time stamped down on the accelerator. The car roared like one of the beasts inside the zoo and shot forward.

  The handling was heavy and Joe realised it was due to the huge weight on the roof and the wet puddles on the road. The silverback was still above them but had ceased its attack, obviously surprised by its platform suddenly becoming mobile. Joe avoided some nearby parked cars and shifted into second. The engine went quieter as it began to climb the new gear. The vehicle gained speed, hitting thirty in only a couple of seconds. The silverback remained on the roof.

  “He’s still up there, Dad.”

  “I know, just stay down.”

  Joe pulled into third-gear and steered the vehicle toward the car park exit. It was only a few hundred yards away, but Joe struggled to see it through the broken windscreen and the thick sheets of rain beyond it. He picked up more speed despite all of his senses telling him to slow down. By fourth gear he was already doing sixty and weaving between the wrecks of abandoned cars.

  The silverback smashed its fists down on the car again, hitting the windscreen dead-centre. The glass fell away in clumps, covering the bonnet and the car’s interior.

  With the windscreen suddenly gone, Joe could see the road clearly.

  He saw the brick wall coming up at seventy miles an hour.

  Joe stamped on the brakes so hard his entire skeleton rattled as he was thrown forward in his seat. The car’s tires bit the road, screeching in protest as they slid. Joe closed his eyes and clutched the steering wheel, hard enough that his knuckles went white.

  The car continued its skid.

  The brick wall got closer.

  With a violent lurch the rubber tires finally found a grip and brought the car to a sudden stop. The whole vehicle rocked forward on its suspension. Joe’s face hit the steering wheel and sent stars through his vision. He pulled himself away, dazed and bleeding. It felt as though his already-damaged nose had been pushed to the back of his skull.

  The engine petered out and Joe looked out at the road. He saw the silverback lying against the brick wall several feet away, a spattering of blood and matted fur mingling with the gushing rainwater on the road. The creature was stunned, but still conscious. Joe’s vision swirled as he tried to stay awake himself.

  His hand shook as he reached for the key to the ignition. Shook as he turned on the engine. Shook even harder as he engaged the reverse gear.

  Joe stepped down hard on the accelerator.

  The car shot backward.

  After twenty metres, he jammed on the brake. The tires screeched. The car stopped moving.

  Into first gear and moving forward.

  Second gear.

  The car reached thirty.

  Joe pulled into third.

  “Danny, get down on the floor!”

  He stamped on the brakes.

  Tyres skidded on the wet road.

  The car hit the wall like a missile.

  Joe was out cold for several seconds. When he eventually came to, all he saw was pure white. He quickly realised that it was just the airbag deployed from the steering wheel. He pulled and pushed at it until it began to hiss and deflate. When it was finally out of the way, Joe screamed.

  “It’s alright, Dad,” said Danny climbing forward into the passenger seat beside him. “He’s dead.”

  Joe looked through the windscreen at the silverback’s face, staring back at him from the end of the bonnet. Any spark of life had left the magnificent beast’s eyes. Crushed between the wall and the vehicle, the mighty Nero, oldest inhabitant of the zoo, had died instantly. Somehow Joe found that comforting.

  He turned to his son. “You okay?”

  Danny nodded and smiled. “That was cool!”

  Joe laughed and then threw his head back against the seat rest. “It certainly was something.”

  “Can we get out of here now? I haven’t watched wrestling in ages.”

  Joe turned the key in the ignition and was astonished when the engine came back to life yet again. After such a collision it was almost a miracle that the vehicle was still willing to keep going. Joe didn’t think about it too much as he reversed away from the wall and pulled out onto the main road. He was thankful for his blessings. From the chaos all around him, it seemed most others were not so lucky. Battered cars lay mangled and twisted against one another in a never-ending pile-up of ruined steel, while torn bodies littered the crimson streets like confetti. The world as they knew it was over now, the natural order forever skewed by the events of the last few days. Joe and Danny were entering a new world now, one where they were at the bottom of the food chain and wild animals roamed the lands.

  But there was one thing that gave Joe hope that perhaps humanity was not quite ready to go meekly into that good night. For almost every human corpse that lay dead amongst the ruins, there was also that of a dead animal. The mutilated dogs, cats, and various other domesticated animals that littered the sidewalks told Joe one thing was for certain: people were fighting back.

  There were still blessings to be found in this world, and Joe’s biggest one was sitting in the seat right beside him. Joe couldn’t help but smile as he and his son started their journey into the unknown, their journey into the Animal Kingdom.

  Epilogue

  Randall could hardly breathe amidst the cloying black smoke. It burnt at his eyes and dried out his throat. He didn’t know what had started the fire, but he had a feeling that Victor had rigged some kind of explosive in case of his death.

  And I witnessed that he is very much dead, indeed.

  Randall placed his fingers against his temples and tried to think. He would have to leave this room soon, but then what? The animals were probably waiting for him, ready to rip him apart as soon as he stepped outside the room, and even if they were not they would most likely be waiting for him outside the building.

  But I have to leave. Either that or stay and burn.

  Randall stood up from the desk and hissed as he accidentally placed his broken ankle down on the floor. He pulled it back up and hopped over to the door. The smoke was hot and blinding, coming from under the door in thick, velvety waves. He closed his
eyes and fumbled in his pocket for the key to the room’s lock. When he found it, he wasted no time in unlocking the door.

  Outside was a disorientating mixture of bright-orange flame and jet-black smoke. Randall looked left and right and saw no animals, but also saw no exit. The corridor was aflame at both ends. In front of him was the seminar room. It was no doubt where the fire had started and the books and wooden shelves would have provided all the fuel the fire needed, but now it was simply a smouldering black husk and no longer in flames.

  Randall hopped through the charred doorway and instantly felt some relief from the heat of the corridor. Wind rushed in from the far side of the room and, where there had once been a wall with a window, there was now only a hole. The entire side of the building had come away. Randall hopped forward again and fell onto his hands and knees as the floor beneath him gave way.

  The floor was brittle and blackened. He would have to be careful where he put his weight lest he fall right through it. He had no plan in his mind other than to remain in this room while the rest of the building burned around him. Perhaps the fire would finally attract help and bring someone to his aid.

  About time the army got here.

  Randall crawled forward and encountered the grizzly sight of Victor’s corpse. The man’s body was crisped right down to the bone and his skeleton was blackened and exposed in several places. One of the body’s arms was completely missing, but Randall assumed that it was ripped off by the animals before the fire had begun.

  Over at the far end of the room, Randall reached the floor end. On his chest he pushed forward until his arms and head were hanging over the edge. The air was fresher here and Randall took the opportunity to take in a series of deep breaths.

  Beneath him the animals went wild as they spotted him. Hooting, barking, screeching and making an all manner of inhuman noises, they glared up at him with hunger in their eyes.

  Whilst the animal army had thinned, it was still approaching a hundred in its number, mostly smaller creatures, now, like warthogs and llamas. They surrounded the building and never once took their eyes off Randall.

  Randall pushed himself back up onto his knees and then slowly up onto his one good leg. He looked down at the animals and spat. The globule of spit was lost in the billowing smoke and he did not know if it hit a target. He bellowed with laughter.

  “You will not have me! A leader chooses his own death.” Randall placed a hand over his heart as if he were addressing the nation from some great palatial balcony. “And as any great leader would do, I choose to go down with my ship.”

  Randall stretched his arms out wide on either side of him and looked up at the grey sky. At that exact moment the gentle drizzle burst into a full-grown downpour. Randall took it as a sign. “Deliver me, Lord, from my enemies. They shall not have me.” He looked down at the baying animals below. “You hear that, you fuckers? You shall not have me.”

  Randall leapt, expecting to feel the wind through his hair as he plummeted towards salvation, towards the next life.

  All he felt was the floor as his entire body splintered upon impact. Not a single muscle in his entire body would answer him as he lay there, still – but he was not dead. He knew that much. As he lay there, he saw an ant scuttle towards him and into his ear. The feeling was intense and vivid. Somehow the fall had not dulled his senses. As the animals surrounded his body, he knew that it was going to be the worst and final agony of his life. They began to eat him alive.

  The pain was a hundred times worse than anything he ever imagined.

  And it went on forever.

  The Final Winter

  An Apocalyptic Horror Novel

  Dedicated to my wife

  for all that she goes through.

  Now this was the sin of Sodom: She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed and unconcerned; they did not help the poor and needy. They were haughty and did detestable things before me. Therefore I did away with them as you have seen.

  — Ezekiel 16:49-50

  The first fall of snow is not only an event, it is a magical event

  — J. B. Priestley

  What He really hates is the shit that gets carried out in his name. Wars. Bigotry. Televangelism

  —Rufus, Dogma; View Askew Productions, 1999

  1

  Harry sipped his latest beer as more news updates flashed up on the pub’s dusty television. A female reporter, enveloped by a bulbous pink ski-jacket and covered in snow, began her report. “Good evening,” she said, a shiver in her voice. “I’m Jane Hamilton with Midland-UK News. As you can clearly see, the nineteen-inches of snow Britain has witnessed in the last forty-eight hours has left the nation’s transportation networks in disarray.”

  The camera panned to overlook a deserted motorway. A sky-blue transit van lay overturned and abandoned in its centre; its mystery cargo strewn across, and half-buried by, the snow.

  The reporter let out a breath, which steamed in the air, and then continued. “Major roads are closed and rail services have been terminated until further notice. Schools and many business are temporarily suspended, while hospitals and other vital services are doing their best to remain open. The current death toll has reached twenty-seven and is feared to rise. Emergency services have set up a helpline in order to assist those in most need, and to offer advice on how best to survive the current freezing temperatures. That number is being displayed at the bottom of the screen now.”

  Harry shook his head. He was never one for fretting about bad weather. The freeze had come suddenly and would leave the same way.

  “Even more concerning,” the reporter continued, “is the fact that it is currently snowing throughout numerous other areas of the world.” A multi-coloured map of the earth superimposed itself at the top-right of the screen and then slowly turned white, representing the recent snowfall. “From barren deserts to areas of dense rainforest, all have been subjected to unprecedented cold spikes. Never before in recorded history has such a wide-spread cold weather system been known to become so widespread. Certain religious leaders are calling this-”

  “Rubbish!” Old Graham, the oldest regular of The Trumpet and resident of the one-bedroom flat above the pub, threw his hands up in disgust. “A little snow and the country falls apart. Every time. It’s a shambles.”

  Harry lifted his head away from his half-finished pint and glanced over at Old Graham. The grumbling pensioner was pointing to the television screen.

  Harry shrugged his shoulders. “No need to get wound up about it.”

  Old Graham huffed and pouted toothlessly. “Your generation can’t cope with anything unless there’s a video on that Your Tube or My Face to tell you about it.”

  Harry glanced at the television. Scenes of heavy snowfall. Locations from around the globe had become half-buried in blankets of slush and snow. The Pyramids of Giza, ice-capped like Himalayan Mountains; the canals of Venice frozen over like elaborate ice rinks; and Big Ben rising above a snow-covered Westminster like a giant stalagmite.

  The television began flickering with interference.

  Harry returned his gaze to Old Graham. “I agree it’s much ado about nothing. People just enjoy a good panic from time to time. No point in letting it bother you.”

  The old man huffed again, the sound was wet and wheezy. “You think Canada, Norway, Switzerland are panicking about the snow? This is a heat wave to a bloody Eskimo! All this climate-change, ozone-layer hogwash they’re harping on about is just to scare us, you mark my words, lad.”

  Harry thought about it. According to the news, it was categorically denied that climate-change could cause such unprecedented weather. The various meteorologists and talking heads all maintained that the snow was being caused by something else.

  Harry swallowed another mouthful of crisp lager and kept his attention on the flickering television screen. Old Graham continued to gawp at him. Eventually the pensioner’s persistent staring irked Harry into speaking again. “Bet everything will be back to
normal this time next week, huh, Graham?”

  “You bet your balls it will.” He slid along the bar towards Harry, arthritic knees clicking with every step. “I’ve lived through worse times than this, lad!”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I used to be married.” With that, Old Graham howled with laughter, until his worn vocal cords seized up in complaint and caused him to hack yellow-green phlegm bubbles over the bar. “Best go shift the crap off me chest, lad,” were his parting words before he tottered off toward the pub’s toilets.

  Harry shook his head and turned to face the opposite side of the bar. Steph, the pub’s only barmaid, was smiling at him while clutching a cardboard box of Malt ‘N’ Salt crisps against her chest. She placed the box down on the bar and pulled an old dishrag from the waistband of her jeans. She wiped down the area where Old Graham had coughed. “He bothering you again, Harry?”

  Harry ran a hand through his hair, threading his fingers through the knots and trying to neaten the scruffiness. He sighed. “Graham’s okay. Just had too much to drink.”

  Steph snorted. “You’re one to talk. What time did you get here today?”

  “Noon.”

  “Exactly, and it’s now…” She glanced at her watch. “Nine in the evening.”

  Harry blushed. “At least I have the decency to pass out when I’m drunk, instead of talking people’s heads off like Old Graham.”

  Steph rolled her eyes and smirked. “I’ll give you that, but I’d like to remind you that you left a puke stain on my knee-highs on Sunday. I had to throw them out”

  Harry stared down at the hissing liquid in his glass and, for a split-second, felt ashamed enough that he contemplated not drinking it and going home instead. Instead, he downed what was left of it, dregs and all. “I must have been a pathetic sight,” he admitted.