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

by Iain Rob Wright

  Harry felt silly, but worried at the same time. “I suppose it is just the radio, or the weather affecting things.”

  Lucas smiled as if he’d successfully explained algebra to a monkey. “There you go! No need to assume the wor-“

  Old Graham cried out. “Got something!”

  Harry and Lucas broke off their discussion and turned to the old man; so did Steph, Nigel, and Damien. Old Graham waved his hand at them all and ushered them closer. His left ear was half-an-inch from the radio’s speaker. At first, all Harry could make out was more hissing and crackling, but as he got closer…

  “What is that?”

  “I don’t know,” Old Graham said without turning his attention away from the radio. “I can’t make it out, but something’s definitely there.”

  Everyone gathered around and listened to the radio pop, hiss, and crackle, but behind those noises was something else. At first it sounded like horns blowing – trumpets even – but then there was…

  Voices.

  Garbled, disembodied speech that made sense to Harry for only mere seconds: …Pillars…Salt…Sin…

  Nigel straightened his back and stepped away from the radio, which quickly returned to giving out nothing but empty static again. “Did anyone else hear that? Could anyone understand it?”

  Old Graham shook his head. “Not really. Something about salt?”

  Nigel shook his head. “Pillars. It was pillars.”

  “Pillars of salt,” Steph added helpfully.

  Damien turned his back on the group, walked back over to the other side of the fire, and then turned back to face them. “Pillars, Salt, Sin, that’s what it said.” He pulled at his earlobe. “Guess my hearing’s better than you old farts.”

  Harry felt like screaming ‘shut up’ at the top of his lungs, but refrained. “Damien’s right. It said: Pillars. Salt. Sin.”

  Lucas sat back down on the perch of the armrest. “What in heaven does that mean then? Sounds downright biblical.”

  Harry didn’t disagree and thought about it for a moment, wondering who was broadcasting it. “Does anybody know what Pillars of Salt and Sin actually means?” He asked the question earnestly because he had no idea.

  Steph was the first to offer an opinion. “Isn’t it from a Coldplay song?”

  Harry raised his eyebrows. “You think we just caught part of a song playing?”

  Steph shook her head and seemed to doubt her own answer. “It didn’t sound like singing, and the line in the song goes quite quickly. The words on the radio were drawn out and slow.”

  “Plus, that song doesn’t contain the word, sin,” Damien added.

  “No, it doesn’t.” Steph agreed.

  “Okay,” Harry said. “Anybody else got ideas?” He looked around and raised his eyebrows. “What about you, Lucas?”

  “Can’t help you there, fella. It’s probably nothing but Prayer Time with Father Bob for all I know. You can find all kinds of religious mumbo jumbo if you fiddle about enough. Either way, I need to go and visit the latrine again, so I’ll leave you folks to ponder.” Lucas got up from the sofa’s armrest and headed towards the toilets again, while the rest of them continued their conversation.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” said Old Graham wrapping a wool blanket around himself and pulling it tight around his shoulders. His words still fluttered slightly as the cold strangled his central nervous system. “No point worrying about it now. I’ll put the radio on the bar if anyone wants to have another go. I need to get warm.”

  Nigel nodded and pulled up his own blanket. “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 the hell was that?” said Nigel

  Harry leapt up from the sofa and placed his beer bottle down on one of the nearby tables. “Someone’s outside.”

  Steph stepped away from the bar. “Harry, where are you going?”

  “To help them.”

  “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. “Someone is screaming.”

  Lucas walked over to him by the pub’s exit and pointed to the frost-covered window. “Look out there, fella. You’ll be blind 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. “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 of Harry’s neck rose. “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, stinking 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.”

  Harry wanted to use words to retaliate, as that was the man he was – but none came to mind. The only thing that filled his head was a blind, boiling rage. He leapt across the room, landing a punch square on Damien’s nose, spreading his cheeks and scrunching up his face. Both nostrils gushed blood immediately.

  Damien didn’t go down. He staggered backwards, clutching his nose in stunned bewilderment.

  Everyone else in the room stood frozen and silent, their mouths open, their eyes wide.

  Damien regained control of himself, dropping his hands so the blood and mucous ran down the light-blue shirt inside his puffer jacket. “You just made a big fucking mistake,” he snarled. “Cus I’m going to kill you.”

  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 would have to stick to it.

  Harry clenched his fists and spat defiantly. “Try it, you little fuckweed!”

  Damien 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 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.”

  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 Boy was about to do the noble thing and go offer assistance. You should do the right thing and let him.”

  Damien shook his head in disbelief. “You were the one telling him not to go out there.”

  “Well,” said Lucas, “that was before he was in as much danger inside as he is out. Besides, there’s a chance he might freeze to death, so you should be all for it.”

  Damien backed off slightly, but pointed a finger at Harry. “We’ll finish this later.”

  Harry was unsure what to do, not wanting to lower his fighting stance until he knew the situation was truly defused. He looked at Lucas who nodded at him reassuringly. He slowly 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.”

  Harry waved a hand dismissively. “I’m sure someone’s just slipped over. I’ll be straight back. It’s just a bit of bloody snow.”

  “I’ll be waiting when you get back,” said Damien.

  Harry sighed. He stepped towards the pub’s exit…

  Clonk!

  …before
falling to the ground clutching his head as the door swung inwards and clubbed him in the forehead.

  The world cast into darkness as a gale rushed in from outside and extinguished all the candles on the bars.

  Harry moaned in pain.

  “Shit! Harry, are you okay?” Steph asked from somewhere in the darkness.

  Harry ceased his moaning and tried to get up. Pressure mounted in his skull, a swelling 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 was standing in front of him in the darkness.

  “Who’s there?” he said.

  Everyone stood still in the darkness and waited for an answer.

  “My name is Kath. I’m the manageress of the supermarket across the road.”

  A collective sigh of relief filled the room. Steph quickly relit the candles on the bar.

  “Try coming in a little slower next time,” Harry said, rubbing his forehead. “You almost broke my skull.”

  Kath laughed nervously. “I’m so sorry. I guess the weather has put me in a bit of a panic.” The woman 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.”

  Kath offered her hand to Steph and Steph shook it.

  “Pleased to meet you, I’m Steph. Why were you screaming out there?”

  “No, that wasn’t me. It would no doubt be that silly girl.”

  Harry moved over to the bar. “Silly girl?”

  “Yes, Jessica. She’s just some ditsy teenager who works for me. She went wandering 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 went after her; 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 more than one scream, wouldn’t there?”

  “Guess that makes sense,” said Lucas, taking the top off a newly defrosted beer with his molars. “I say we top up that fire and get ourselves snug beneath those blankets.”

  “Good idea,” said Old Graham, already making his way back to the fire. The rest of them followed, spreading the blankets into a line, before tucking themselves in side by side like sardines.

  Steph brought over a crate of bottled beer and placed it by the fire to hopefully thaw out. Harry passed an already recently thawed bottle to their new arrival, Kath. “My saviour,” she said, supping the beer greedily. “After the day I’ve had I could see myself becoming quite the alcoholic just to cope.” The comment brought a stiff silence. “Did I say something wrong?” Kath asked. “It was just a joke.”

  Despite Harry expecting Damien to use the opportunity to revisit their earlier animosity, he declined to speak. Instead he stayed quiet and drank his beer.

  “So,” Steph asked, “what exactly have you been through tonight, Kath?”

  “God, if only you knew. The whole world has gone crazy. The electricity went out, my phone stopped working, and at one point I thought I was going to freeze to death. Thank heavens you’re still open, because I don’t know how on earth I would have made it home in this snow.”

  “Your phone isn’t working?” said Damien.

  Kath shook her head. “No, it doesn’t work at all. The landline didn’t either.”

  “Guess the power affects the towers, or whatever you call ‘em,” said Old Graham.

  “Maybe,” Kath agreed, “but don’t the landlines work even when the power’s out?”

  Harry nodded in the dark and rubbed at the throbbing lump 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.”

  “That’s right,” Nigel said. “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. We’re stuck here not knowing all the same. This is the worst weather I’ve ever seen, it doesn’t surprise me that everything’s gone down the pan. 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, inept governments included.”

  Steph laughed. “Aha! So you think the government is inept as well?”

  Lucas grinned. “Sweetheart, 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 discontent people content with their discontentedness.”

  Old Graham snorted. “Good one.”

  Kath turned to Lucas, disapproval on her face. “I take it you’re a nonbeliever 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.”

  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?” Lucas asked.

  Harry swigged his beer. “I’m just a realist.”

  “That’s just slang for being a moody sod,” Lucas quipped.

  “Why don’t you believe, Harry?” Kath asked.

  “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.”

  “Is that because you’re such a loser?” Damien asked.

  Harry wanted to get angry, but he was too tired. Maybe it was the beer, or 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 loved one…a child perhaps. 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 onetime friends and family had become consumed with since the accident. This pub was his place to come and be alone with his pain, to remember his son the way he wanted to.

  “I’m sorry,” said Damien. No one else spoke.

  Harry didn’t say anything either. He was consumed by a deep sadness. Not just for Toby or Julie – he always felt sadness for them – but sadness because he knew he could never come back here again. The Trumpet’s sanctuary of anonymity was gone.

  “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 stared into the fire.

  13

  Peter hadn’t seen Jess, or anybody else, for almost an hour, not since he’d parted ways with Kath. Earlier, the two of them had heard screaming and he was certain it was Jess. Kath had chosen to head for the nearby pub, caring only about herself, but Peter had decided to do the right thing and go to 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, not 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.

  Peter had been used to the freezing cold of his hometown, near Warsaw, but he’d never known conditions like this. It reminded him more of the Arctic Circle than Great Britain – the place he’d come to follow his dreams and earn money he could only dream of back in Poland. England had become as much a home to him as his own homeland, even if he wasn’t always made to feel welcome.

  But tonight, Peter would have given 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. He’d almost given up hope of finding Jess, but that didn’t stop him worrying about why he had heard a scream. Jess was a nice girl, attractive and funny. Most of the Polish people in the town stuck to their own and socialised with each other – 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 Peter often yearned to spend time with Jess, and thought about kissing her.

  Peter hoped she was okay.

  “Peter, is that you?”

  Peter stopped in his tracks. The snow crunched beneath his polished work shoes. “Jess, is that you?”

  “Peter, I’m over here. I need help.”

  Peter turned a full circle, unable to pinpoint where Jess’s voice was coming from. “Jess, I hear you, but I not see you. Jess?”

  The voice came closer. “Peter, I’m here. Help!”

  Peter turned another circle. He spotted something in the distance and trudged towards it. “Jess, I…I see you.”

  In the near distance, Peter could just about make out a grey shape in the howling blizzard. A sigh of relief whistled from his cold, blue lips and he began to head toward it.