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

by Iain Rob Wright

  Harry willed his legs to take him forward. After several false starts, he got going. The monsters remained in place but watched him with great interest. He felt like a lowly ant beneath their stares. A low growl emanated from the hounds but they made no attempts to attack, held at heel by their robed masters.

  Did Lucas really expect to take on this army with only a broom and a salt shaker? 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, kicking and screaming.

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

  Harry glanced back at Kath. “Ready with the salt?”

  Her face was as white as the snow, but she nodded.

  “Bring it on,” said Lucas. He grabbed a handful of salt from Kath’s shaker and flung it into the air. The granules caught on the wind and dispersed in a thousand directions, disappearing into the blizzard.

  Nothing happened.

  Then the hell hounds squealed. Their skin smoked and burned, sloughing off into the snow. They hustled backwards, colliding with their robed masters, before fleeing completely into the night.

  “Your turn, Harry,” said Lucas. “You need to take on the big fellas.”

  Harry raised the broom like a pike. Images of naked men and women fluttered in his eye line, making him think again about how absurd this was.

  The robed figure stood like giant monoliths. When one of them finally made a move, Harry’s bowels almost loosed. The very air itself seemed to shake.

  The tallest of the robed figures – almost ten feet tall – approached Harry and held out a hand. Curiously, Harry noted the creature’s outstretched arm was human, yet twisted and bird-like. It pointed a finger at Lucas and hissed. “WORMWOOD.”

  Lucas was grinning ear-to-ear, but not out of good nature. The expression was more of a malignant grimace. “How you doing there, Mickey? Been a while?”

  Kath’s eyes went unnaturally wide. “Y-You know this…this thing?”

  “Aye. We go back a ways. It’s complicated.”

  “It always is with you,” said Harry.

  “Now would be a good time to sweep up the trash, if you get my meaning.”

  Harry looked at the broom in his hands and took a gulp of air. Here goes nothing. He stabbed the broom forwards like a lance, aiming for the robed figure’s torso. The blow got nowhere near and that seemed impossible. Harry’s target had dodged aside with an unearthly blur of speed; a glowing wisp of light that didn’t actually seem to move so much as simply disappear and reappear somewhere else.

  Harry cursed out loud. “Damn it! I missed.”

  “No, you didn’t,” said Lucas. “Get your bloody arse moving!”

  Harry realised that his attack had left a gap in the wall of bodies. The three of them hurried, stumbling through the deep snow, clawing themselves along. Before leaving, Harry had filled his pockets with lumps of coal, and he wished he could toss them aside, but he could not.

  Despite their earlier lack of movement, the robed figures gave chase. They screeched and wailed as they drifted through the snow. Harry swung out with his broom as one drew closer. Like its friend, it blinked out of existence and reappeared somewhere else.

  “What the hell are they, Lucas?”

  Lucas looked back at Harry and smiled. “They’re angels, Harry Boy.”

  “Angels?”

  “Aye, Angels, with great feathery wings, but now’s not the time. Keep on moving.”

  The three of them continued making their way through the snow. The ‘Angels’ continued to screech and wail but they kept a distance. They seemed in little hurry to catch up.

  “Something’s up ahead,” said Kath.

  Harry saw the shadow looming ahead. “Ready with the salt?”

  “Yes. Ready with the broom?”

  They slowed down as the shadow became clearer. It was a person, heading towards them quickly.

  Kath stated the obvious. “It’s coming right at us.”

  “I think it’s…a person.”

  “Nigel!” Kath shouted the word gleefully. “Are we glad to see you!”

  Nigel staggered through the snow, huffing and puffing and wheezing. The man had dried blood on his clothes and terrible burns on the left side of his face.

  “Are you okay?” Harry asked him. “You’re hurt.”

  Nigel acted feral, like an injured fox. His words were erratic and slurred. “Fwine! I’m fwine. Jush hash an asshident.”

  Lucas stepped forward and placed a hand on Nigel’s shoulder. “You don’t look fine to me, fella. In fact, you look and sound worse than a chorus of drunks. What have you been up to, lad?”

  Nigel lashed out, shrugging free of Lucas’s grasp. “Get sh’fuck offsh me.”

  Harry didn’t like the way Nigel was acting. “What happened to you? Is Steph okay?” Nigel’s face scrunched up in a snarl at the very mention of her name. Harry spotted the bloody knife in the man’s hand. “What did you do? Did you hurt her?”

  Nigel raised the knife towards Harry.

  Lucas made a gesture for calm “Whoa, whoa, there, fella. We just want to know the lass is safe. Is Steph okay?”

  Nigel spat blood into the snow. “You tell that bitch I’ll be back to finish what I started. I’ll slice her fucking fingers off one by one and add them to my collection. I’ll hang them from the rear view mirror of my lorry. You think she’s the first bitch to fight back. I’ve killed a hundred whores just like her.”

  Harry snarled. He made a move towards Nigel, but Lucas stopped him. “No need, Harry Boy. Look!”

  Beyond Nigel, the shadows seemed to come alive and cut through the snow. Nigel backed away, unaware that he was heading directly towards them. The shadows enveloped him, coming at him from both sides. He flinched at the sight of the hell hounds and tried to move away, but by then it was too late.

  Nigel swiped impotently with his bloody flick knife. He took a chunk of flesh from one hound, but failed to keep away the other dozen that fell upon him.

  It was hard to see past the writhing mass of matted fur, but Harry saw Nigel’s intestines being fought over in a macabre tug of war. Once the grim satisfaction of seeing Nigel get what he deserved faded, he felt only sick.

  Harry turned away and continued on into the snow, back towards The Trumpet.

  Back towards Steph.

  33

  Jess felt no warmer. Damien had managed to get the cellar fire going again, but it wouldn’t burn for long. Steph was confident that Harry would return soon, but the truth was there was no way of knowing. Now the three of them lay shivering beneath a dozen sheets and blankets, trying to hold on to as much warmth as possible.

  “Poor Old Graham,” said Steph, still upset but past the worse of it now that she’d had time to calm down. She’d wailed for almost twenty minutes and Jess knew that Steph felt responsible for leaving the old guy alone. The truth was that Nigel was the one to blame.

  Pervert. Hope he’s frozen to death out there or being eaten alive by one of those monsters.

  Jess thought about the things she’d seen with Jerry and found it hard to imagine them clearly now. With the hours that had passed, it all felt like some weird hallucination. Monsters in the snow surely did not exist, but she couldn’t deny the death and bloodshed she’d witnessed. Ben. Peter. Old Graham. They were all good guys. She prayed that the others would make it back safely. She’d do anything, right now, to sit and listen to Jerry’s inane film references.

  She decided to turn her mind to the present. “How long have you known Old Graham?” she asked Steph.

  Steph let out a huff that was almost a laugh. “Whole time I’ve worked here. Eighteen months, I guess. He could bore you to death something awful, but he didn’t have a bad bone in his body. Complained a lot, but never about anyone or anything in particular. I think he was lonely. He just wanted to be
around people.”

  “Least he lived a long life,” Damien chimed in, his voice jittery from the chill that affected everyone’s lungs.

  “He didn’t deserve to go like this though. He survived a war and this is how he dies?”

  “I think he went the way he would have liked,” Jess pondered. “Drunk as a skunk and the centre of attention.”

  Steph and Damien both chuckled. The sound was jittery as they fought to control their shivering. Jess too was beginning to shake.

  “S-so, Damien,” Jess moved on, “are you really as much of a b-bastard as you like to make people think?”

  Damien was silent for a moment, but eventually answered. “Who says I want people to think that?”

  “J-Just the impression you give off. It confuses me though because, after tonight, I’m starting to think you’re not s-s-so bad.”

  Damien cleared his throat. “You reckon?”

  “I actually think you might be a nice guy under the hard man act. You just don’t want people to know it.”

  “I agree,” said Steph. “I’ve seen a different side of you tonight.”

  Damien was silent again. Jess could feel him rustling beneath the duvet. When he finally spoke up, he sounded as tired as he did cold. “M-Maybe the reason I’m not a nice guy is because p-people think bad of me no matter w-what I do.”

  Jess frowned. “But you make people think like that. You choose to make people think you’re a t-t-thug.”

  Damien laughed. “You think I…made people see me this…this way? I h-had no chance of ever being anything other than a t-thug.”

  Jess sighed. “Is this the part where you say your daddy never hugged you enough?”

  “No. This is the p-part where I tell you my dad had me selling drugs for him at e-eight years old. No one would ever expect a kid, huh? Or how about how my dad put a lad in a coma a couple years b-back and m-m-made me take credit for it around the…the local estate. You’re right, my dad never hugged me, because that’s not what monsters like him do.”

  “Are you s-s-shitting me?” Steph asked.

  “No, Steph. I’m not shitting you. Truth is, the day he was sent down I was glad. Thought it would s-set me f-free from his fu-fu-fucked-up demands. B-B-But I was just wishing on a fucking star. He calls me at least once a day, making sure I’m running his empire for him till he g-gets back.”

  “You can’t blame everything on your dad,” Jess told him. “I s-saw you cause enough trouble to see that you enjoyed being the big man.”

  “Of course I did. The only l-love and respect I got was from the boys I hung with. If people on t-the estate don’t f-fear me then I’m nothing. I’m alone with nothing.”

  “Why didn’t you get out?” asked Steph. “You could have done something, I’m s-sure.”

  Damien was quiet once more, but the sound of his breathing was heavy and distinct, laboured. “I was getting out tonight. I had a bunch of m-money stashed and I was going to st-stay with an old girlfriend in Edinburgh. I just had one last thing to do tonight and then I was out of here.”

  “One last thing?” asked Steph.

  “Warn someone.”

  “Who?”

  “The guy who gave evidence on my old man and sent him down. Took over a year but the boys finally managed to find out who it was. I was supposed to kill the guy tonight; take him outside and stick a knife in him. Guess my dad was beginning t-to d-d-doubt my loyalty.”

  “Jesus,” said Jess, not believing her ears. “You weren’t going to do it though, w-were you?”

  “That’s what I’m telling you.” Damien raised his voice and it seemed to cause him pain. “I was…going to warn him…tell him to get the hell out of…town. Soon as the snow stopped…I was going to get on a train and never come back. Maybe even do something with my life.”

  No one spoke for a while. It was a revelation, and not one Jess had expected. She felt sad that Damien might not get the chance to fulfil his plans for atonement. She closed her eyes, feeling more tired than she’d ever felt in her life. The cold was no longer bothering her as much as it had. In fact, she was starting to feel numb. Maybe she could finally rest for a while.

  So tired...

  Harry wasn’t sure how much further his aching legs would take him. He didn’t know whether the pub was two yards away or two thousand. All he could see was snow. His feet were like blocks of ice and it felt like he was walking on nerveless stumps. Kath was suffering too. She hadn’t spoken since they’d watched Nigel die. Lucas, however, seemed perfectly fine and entirely unaffected by the cold.

  Was the man any more human than the robed figures?

  Harry needed to know more. “If those giants are Angels, what are the dogs with them?”

  Lucas continued looking forward as he walked, but answered the question promptly. “Hell Hounds.”

  Harry scratched his chin. “But don’t Angels come from Heaven?”

  “Aye, they do, Harry Boy, but Angels have dominion over Heaven and Earth, and also Hell in certain circumstances.”

  Harry felt himself confused already. “Circumstances such as what?”

  “You know, family reunions, birthdays, The Apocalypse.”

  Harry spluttered. “The Apocalypse?”

  “Aye, you know, Armageddon and all that, but it’s not as dramatic as you might think. There’re no horsemen, none of that fire and brimstone nonsense. The old man upstairs likes to do things a bit more efficiently. Biblical floods and such are more His style.”

  “Or biblical snow storms,” Kath added glumly.

  Lucas smiled. “Indeed, lass.”

  Harry was trying to follow, but things still didn’t add up in his mind. If this really was the end of the world, and God intended to simply freeze the world to death, then why did he need…?

  “The angels,” said Harry. “Why are they here?”

  “Call them overseers if you will. God can’t just make the snow fall unendingly without having a presence on Earth. He needs vessels to channel his power – conduits. That’s why the Angels have come down here, to exercise His will on Earth.”

  Harry nodded, an idea forming in his head. “So if we take out the angels, we can stop this?”

  Lucas laughed, loud and hearty. “Do you know how many of them there are? We’re talking tens of thousands, and they don’t play nice. You can’t kill an angel anyway.”

  Harry sagged. “I still don’t understand why they are doing this. It can’t be because of me?”

  “I already told you, Harry Boy, it’s not just because of you, strictly speaking. It’s because of everyone, really. God gave Noah a second chance, but that’s all the big man had in his pocket of goodwill. He vowed that if the human race threw it in His face again then there would be no more forgiveness. But that’s what you all went and did anyway, with your sinful ways and what not. Fucking, murdering, raping, stealing, cheating, Facebook. You name it, you people have over indulged in it. Over time, you all tipped the scales way past the point of no return.”

  “But not everyone is like that. And even if I believed what you’re saying, why doesn’t God just punish the bad?”

  Kath sighed. “Because there were probably too few to make it worthwhile.”

  Lucas nodded. “There are a few decent souls, admittedly, and He took that into consideration, which is why He allowed man to pass judgement on man.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, that He decided to judge mankind by its own values. Harry, after your wife and son were killed you made that choice for everyone, with your actions.”

  Harry ground his teeth. “I had no choice. The guy had already lost his license for drink driving, but got behind the wheel again anyway. He was a lousy, fucking drunk and could’ve mowed down a dozen more children before he killed my son. He was an alcoholic. No good to anyone.”

  “Sounds like you, Harry,” said Kath.

  Harry snarled, but what was the use in arguing? “Maybe it is like me,” he conceded. “But what w
ould you have done after losing your family to a man like me?”

  “That’s the point,” said Lucas. “You had a choice. Did you get on with your life and make the memory of your family proud, or did you give in to sin? Did you know that the reason Thomas was a drunk was because he also lost a son? Kid died in the first days of the Afghanistan mess. Thomas was just like you, Harry. Ironic, no? Have you really behaved any differently to him?”

  “No,” said Harry. “But I never drove drunk. I never let my problems endanger anybody else.”

  “No, you just got hammered one night and murdered the fella. Understandable, I guess, but definitely not the right path. God decided to judge humanity by your actions, and your choice was vengeance. Now vengeance has been reaped upon you all. You committed man’s final sin – the last one that counted anyway – and you picked a gem: Thou shall not kill.”

  Harry thought about the night he’d murdered Thomas Morris. The night he crept into the hospital ward where he’d been admitted for a simple hernia operation. Harry knew all about it thanks to the local newspaper: Birmingham car killer hospitalised on private ward.

  Getting past the lone prison guard turned out to be easy. It wasn’t as if they were going to place a highly-paid special detachment outside the door. It was just one guard, who obviously didn’t want to be stuck at a hospital at 3:00AM on a Friday night. Harry walked right by him and entered Thomas’s room as soon as the coast was clear.

  Thomas Morris had been in a deep sleep. Even after Harry shoved the plastic bag over his head.

  It took several moments for him to wake up and realise what was happening. The last thing the man saw through plastic smothering his face was Harry’s maniacal grin as he suffocated the life out of him.

  Once it had all been over, Harry vomited in the en suite, then hurried out of the room. As he fled down the corridor, he snagged the back of his hand on the sharp edge of an unused trolley bed in the corridor. Blood had gone everywhere. A nurse in a nearby ward had sat him down and stitched the wound for him, remarking on how much it resembled the shape of a star. Harry had been silent the entire time, staring into space like a zombie.