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

by Iain Rob Wright

  “Asleep. As you should be. It is getting late.”

  “A whole day has passed?”

  She nodded with a little grin. “The sun went down just before you awoke. I shall check on you in the night, but you must sleep again until morning.”

  Manius tried to agree, but his throat was thick and sore. His body shook harder and his fingertips itched like they were being bitten by ants. His head pounded like a drumbeat.

  “Be still,” the woman said, a mixture of worry and pity on her pretty face.

  Manius coughed, spluttered. His mind whirled with horrifying images. His vision turned red. “The… the… the wolves!”

  She frowned at him. “Wolves? Where wolves?”

  “The wolves. The wolves.”

  “Where? Where wolves?”

  The itching in his fingertips turned to pain and he felt the nails split open. A tingling in his mouth alerted him to teeth lengthening and his jaw widening. Something was happening to him. He was changing.

  He was a changer.

  Chest burning, Manius fought for breath. Bolt upright in bed, he turned to the woman and threw out an arm. When he saw the prickly hairs popping up along his forearm he almost gagged. The woman saw them too and her mouth fell open. “L-l-leave,” he roared. “Get your boy and run. RUN!”

  Eyes still wide, the woman nodded, and, thank Jupiter, she turned and fled. Manius held himself in place as long as he could until he heard her gather her crying child and flee into the night.

  The night. It calls to me.

  What am I now?

  A beast in the night.

  A Roman by day.

  His body continued changing, but he kept his mind. He knew to show himself as a monster would mean death. Rome did not abide monsters. Yet, he could not abandon his life. He had a home, a wife, a daughter.

  Tarentia!

  Manius spilled from the homestead and entered the freezing air of the Gallic night. He smelt everything around him and sensed the heartbeat of every creature within a mile. The hunger inside of him was primal, and the strength he felt…

  The change in him was glorious. He was more than a mere man now.

  Yet he kept his mind. The only way he would ever see his daughter was by being smart. He would travel by day and hunt by night. The enemies of Rome would become his prey as he made his way back to the civilised world.

  As he made his way back to his life in Rome. He would live a life of secrecy and shadow, as all of the most powerful men in Rome did. Sulla had had his perversions. Caesar too. This would be his.

  Yes, he would make this work. The Lacuscii were primitive Gauls, but he was a Roman. He would use this curse as the gift it was. By day he would live as a man and by night he would be something great and powerful. Nothing would hold him back. Nothing would stop him.

  And once he was home, he would pass on this great gift to his wife and child, and future grandchildren. Their bloodline would last until the end of time, purer than the purest patrician. Wolves in sheep's clothing. It was all so clear to him in his animalistic mind. He was a predator now. Smart and strong. Devious and sly. A wolf.

  And his only place now was home. Back to his wolfpack.

  Back to Rome.

  Every night, the streets of the great city would fill with frightened whispers. “Where's the wolf? Where's the wolf?”

  5. CHICKEN BOY

  Author’s Note: Chicken Boy

  So this is for you, my readers, a glimpse into the chaos that is my life. Obviously, the characters in this story are caricatures and the plot almost nonsensical, but some of the dynamics and interplay between the fictional Wright family are truthful and intimate. A piece of ourselves that we give to you in gratitude for all that you give us.

  I willingly give this candid glimpse of my life, and poke fun at myself, because I love and trust my readers, you Patrons most of all. I also love—nay adore—my family, and I truly hope that comes through in the story you just read. I hope my wife forgives me for allocating her mildly nagging tendencies, because the truth is that she is perfect. If anyone has flaws, it is me. The beauty of our relationship is that she does such a good job of making my good points overwhelm the bad. Jack and Molly, I also love with all my heart and in a way I never understood before I was a parent. Just looking at them can give me butterflies and the thought of them being in pain reduces me to tears.

  I would also like to make it clear that I love my mother-in-law, but nonetheless, sometimes I find Grandma a bit scary. Her wraith like presence in the story is just me having fun. Honest. Grandma, if you are reading this then I am sorry.

  The events in the story are in no way truthful, but they do emulate the absolute nightmare we had with illness during our 2017 trip to Portugal. Sal and I had terrible colds, which in my case developed into sinusitis that I am still suffering with today, 3 weeks later. Jack got over his Chicken Pox as if they were nothing, a real trooper as he always is. Many of you have watched him grow up, and I feel like you went through his ordeal with us. Thank you.

  Molly, however, currently asleep in her room beside my office, is taking her turn with the Chicken Pox now. Compared to Jack’s outbreak, it’s scary. She is suffering far worse, and her porcelain skin seems ill equipped to deal with the blisters currently ravishing her beautiful little body. Although Chicken Pox isn’t serious, I got a little teary today seeing her suffer. Again, that’s what being a parent does to you.

  I’ll end this note with a quick FYI to my American, Australian, and Canadian fans. The UK does not vaccinate for Chicken Pox, and that’s cool. I do not know a single person who caught it as an adult, and most of us only know that we even had it as kids by asking our parents. If Jack is anything to go by, it’s good to just catch it young and be done with it. You may not agree, but ultimately, it is merely a difference between our country’s health care decisions.

  And as always, thank you for giving me this life. It’s so much fun to do what I do.

  Love you.

  Iain

  Best selling author!

  Chapter 1

  “Iain, get out the queue, we don’t have time.”

  “But I want to get a burger. They have a McWhopbanger XXXXL, look! It has bacon, beef, shrimp, and gummy bears on it.”

  Sally glanced up at the menu board and groaned. “You eat that and you’ll die. Remember what happened when you ate that steak in Florida? The flight leaves in thirty minutes, babe, and we’re not even at the gate. You can eat on the plane.”

  Iain huffed, but he stepped out of line, banging an elderly lady with his backpack. “Probably for the best,” he admitted, “they charge twenty-eight quid for fries.”

  Sally tugged at his arm. “Come on, we have to go. Portugal awaits.”

  They hurried out of the burger joint and rejoined Grandma and the kids. Jack was tugging at Molly’s arm, making her laugh even as her little tendons stretched to their limits.

  Sal pointed her finger. “Jack, don’t pull on your sister!”

  “Sorry, mommy.”

  Iain watched as a few more hairs on his wife’s head turned grey. If she got any tenser, she would spin away like a top. He patted her on the back. “We’ll make it.”

  “Only if we run.”

  Grandma stared at them both, clutching her pearls and perspiring slightly as she shouldered an oversized carry-on.

  “I know I know, mum,” said Sal. “We're heading to the gate now.”

  Grandma turned and got going.

  The rest of them hurried after her. Little Jack’s feet rotated like pinwheels keeping up with the adults, but he seemed to enjoy the urgency. The more stressed mommy and daddy were, the more fun things would usually be. Sal clutched Molly to her hip, who chuckled with each bumping stride. Halfway to the gate, Iain decided to keep shit real by leaping up onto a strip of empty seats and running across the top of them.

  “Iain, get down!” Sal shouted.

  Jack laughed and redirected his run, heading over to the chairs
where he climbed up after his daddy. Smoke erupted from Sal’s ears as he tried to corral them onwards. Grandma kept going, leaving them to their fates.

  Iain saw his wife's glare and winced. He stopped messing around before he got in real trouble. Grabbing Jack, he chased after Grandma at full speed. Sod’s law had meant their gate was at the very end of the terminal, so by the time they got there, the airline staff looked royally pissed off. A few people in wheelchairs were still yet to be boarded, but all the fully mobile people were all onboard.

  “Passports, please?”

  Sally had all of their passports in a wallet and handed them over to the scowling woman.

  “Real airplane,” said Jack to the woman, dropping down from his father’s arms. “Swimming pool. Airplane.” It had been Jack's mantra for the last three weeks since they told him about the holiday. He was going on an airplane to a real swimming pool, he would tell all who would listen.

  The passport-checking-scowly woman ignored Jack’s cuteness and got on with her taxing job. She did, however, stare in Iain’s direction. After a few moments, he smiled at her. “Trying to work out where you know me from?”

  The woman blushed. “Yes, I… I was just looking at your passport. Are you Iain Rob Wright, the famous author?”

  He gave her his best wink. Sally groaned. “Guilty as charged.”

  The passport-checking-scowly woman almost toppled as her knees buckled in an actual swoon. “Oh wow,” she gushed. “I’m such a huge fan. The Final Winter is the greatest horror novel of our time. You’re so handsome too. Would it be okay if-”

  “Iain!”

  He blinked, shook his head, and realised everyone was looking at him. The passport-checking-scowly woman glared at him. “Please board now, sir. You are holding up the other passengers.”

  Sal prodding her husband in the back. “Will you pay attention, Iain? You can daydream on the plane. Help Jack, please.”

  Iain located Jack lying on his belly pretending to swim. He scooped him up and entered the corridor quickly. Grandma was already at the lifts about to go down without them. When they stepped inside the claustrophobic vestibule, Sally handed Molly to Grandma and examined the floor-buttons. To save time, Iain reached out and jammed his palm against them all.

  The doors closed.

  Sal folded her arms and glared at him. “Babe! You don’t even know which floor we need.”

  “The plane is on the tarmac. We just need to go down.”

  And down they went. All the way to floor -1. The doors slid open and revealed an empty corridor.

  “This doesn’t look right,” said Sally.

  “Let’s just take a look.” Iain stepped out, leaving them no choice but to follow. The corridor snaked to the left, bringing them into some kind of storage area. Cages were stacked up on either side.

  “Jail,” shouted Jack, seeing the metal bars. “Naughty!”

  “Yeah,” said Iain. “Jail is where the naughty people go.”

  Sal turned back towards the lift. “This isn’t the right floor, Iain. We’re going to get bloody left behind.”

  Grandma was already heading back to the lift.

  “Just chill, Sal. We’ll make it in-”

  Jack screamed. When both parents spun around to see what had happened, Jack was stamping his feet in a dance of pain. He waved his hand in front of him. “Chicken hurt my hand.”

  Iain hurried forward. “What?”

  Sal shoved him aside and picked Jack up, holding him close. “Oh dear, did you hurt your hand?”

  “Chicken.”

  “A chicken? Oh dear.”

  Iain pointed, confused by what he was seeing. “Sal, he ain’t kidding. There’s a chicken in this cage.”

  “What?”

  He waited while Sal marched over to where he was standing. Sure enough, a bedraggled chicken pushed up against the bars of one of the cages like it was trying to get out. Its feathers were jet black and puffed up. The only colour was on its head—red.

  Sal's eyes bulged in her head. “Let me look at your hand, Jack.” A tiny scratch lined the space above his little thumb. Sal looked looked at Iain. “Can you catch anything from chickens?”

  “Only chicken AIDS.”

  “Not funny. I’m worried.”

  Iain put his arm around them both. “It’s just a scratch. Come on, Grandma is trying to leave without us.”

  They raced back to the lift just as the doors were closing again. Grandma could have kept them open, but she said nothing about it. This time, Sal kept Iain away from the buttons until she knew the right one. Floor 1 was marked as BOARDING, and when the door opened on that floor, the outside world met them along with a wide bodied bus that seemed to list to one side. A light drizzle fell on their heads, which caused Sal to snatch Molly from Grandma and shield the baby girl's strawberry blonde hair with her arm. Everyone was already on the bus and they stared out at the Wright family like vengeful ghosts. Even the people in wheelchairs were waiting.

  “Sorry,” said Iain, stepping up in the massed huddle. “Sorry, sorry. It’s okay, I’m an author. Sorry.”

  The bus took off the moment they were all aboard, almost throwing Sal and Molly right back off the step. Somehow, Grandma had found a seat at the back and was nattering to another woman.

  Sal was moist from the rain, but had kept Molly bone dry. The little, ginger haired baby was looking over her mother's shoulder at all the sweating strangers with fascination. An old woman waved at her and she giggled. Molly giggled at everything. Iain wished he was a baby.

  Eventually, they came to their plane, and it was concerning to see its left wing was a different colour to the rest of its body, like some banged up motor. Still, what could you expect from Big Budget Super Duper Airlines Direct Discounts Plus? It would at least get them to Portugal alive, right? Like, that was the minimum criteria for an airline. They weren't allowed to kill you.

  Yeah, it would definitely be fine.

  As last to board the bus, the Wright family were the first to disembark, much to the chagrin of the other travellers. A smiling air hostess-slash-steward-slash-whatever the most up-to-date PC term for an airplane waitress stood at the bottom of a staircase. Jack immediately ran to her, pointing and shouting. “Airplane swimming pool.”

  “Oh, okay,” said the woman, not understanding two-year-old. “That's lovely.”

  Iain nodded to the woman and wondering if the glint in her eye was because of the tight t-shirt he was wearing. Probably not. More likely she just recognised him from the back of his latest, semi-autobiographical book — Living with a giant penis: The real truth.

  Grandma was already halfway up the stairs.

  “Hold daddy’s hand, Jack,” said Sal.

  Daddy threw out a paw and initiated locking procedure with his son. Their hands came together, and they proceeded up the stairs. The cabin crew met them at the top, along with the pilot who he couldn’t help but notice was cross-eyed. Sure it’s fine, he told himself. You don’t need great eyesight to fly a plan nowadays, right?

  The cabin’s centre aisle was about the width of a baguette turned sideways, which meant Iain had to force his hips forward like he was shoving dough through a pair of tights. Sal was behind him and helped with a friendly shove between his shoulder blades.

  “Marmar,” said Jack, pointing to Grandma who was already in her seat and reading a magazine. He leapt up into the chair beside her, while Sal hustled her way into the end seat, holding Molly on her lap.

  “Where should I sit?” asked Iain.

  “Your seat is behind me,” said Sal.

  He stood for a moment, trying to understand what was happening. Was she saying that for the next three hours he could actually sit in peace, alone, with no kids or other so-called ‘loved-ones’ bugging him for anything?

  Sally shoved Molly back at him. “Can you take her, please?”

  The flame headed infant smiled so wide that a line of drool spilled out onto his shoe. “Sure… Come here, sweethea
rt. Are you beautiful? Yes, you are beautiful!”

  Molly belched. It smelt like Steak Tartar.

  He remained standing a while longer until the two people sharing his row had seated themselves. Once sat down himself, the hostess-slash-stewardess-slash-air warrior showed him how to strap a baby to his torso. “It’s so nice to see such a loving father,” she said to him. “I hope your wife appreciates you.”

  “Well, you know, it never hurts to hear it once in a while. I just do my best, you know? I want to be there for my family. Be a good man.”

  The smiling woman leant over his lap, lips touching his ear as she purred, “I wish all men were like you. Your wife probably worships you.”

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  Iain blinked and shook his head. “Huh?”

  The stewardess was staring at him with a thick, painted-on eyebrow raised. “Are you comfortable with what I’ve shown you? You seemed to drift off.”

  “Oh, er, yes. I can handle a seatbelt. I’m a best selling author.”

  She cleared her throat. “How nice. Enjoy your flight, sir.”

  “Thank you.” He eased back in his seat. Molly stretched out and kicked him in the crotch, but his ball sack had long ago turned to pink tree bark. He just absorbed that shit now. He had a headache, but that was normal. During the last three years, a low-level headache was the most he could hope for.

  “Chicken hurt my hand, Marmar,” said Jack from the row in front.

  Sal mentioned it too. “It looks bad, mom. What if he gets tetanus?”

  “I wouldn’t worry,” said Iain through the gap in the seats. “I’d imagine that tetanus vaccination he had when he was young should stop him getting tetanus.”

  “He hasn’t had tetanus jabs.”

  “Yes, he has. It was in that 5-in-1-with-no-added-autism jab he got. Molly had it too.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Iain shrugged. “Not completely.”

  “Great, thanks honey.”

  “You're welcs, babe.”

  The pilot came through the intercom, but spoke no words that made any sense. Whatever he was saying, it led the stewardesses-slash-cloud explorers to leap up and start enacting some sort of improv dance routine involving plastic gimp masks and disembodied seat belts.