Just two more steps though and it would be done. He could make it.
They hoisted the bin once more. Damien began to slide it up onto the next step, but as he did so, the bottom edge of the dustbin struck against the outer lip of the step. Harry pushed his side up, trying to clear the centimetre needed to get the dustbin up onto the step, but he couldn’t manage it. He strained harder and willed his biceps to contract, but instead his arms lowered against his control. Harry grip failed, then gave out completely.
Damien cursed as the weight in his hands suddenly doubled. Harry watched helplessly as the lad tried to keep the dustbin under control by attempting to trap it with his leg. But it was futile. The hunk of steel twisted sideways and fell away from them both.
Harry stumbled forwards onto the step above as the dustbin struck his shin before beginning a spiralling journey down the old stone staircase. All of the hard work getting the dustbin to the top had been wasted, and it was Harry’s fault. But as he watched the rusty steel careen towards the bottom of the stairs, he felt a hundred times worse. Old Graham was bending over, gathering up all the cardboard just like he’d been asked. The old man was oblivious to the danger hurtling towards him.
The dustbin flew through the air.
A moment later, so did Old Graham.
Chapter Nineteen
Jess couldn’t stop worrying about Peter. She worried too about her mum and dad. They would be fretting. Usually they would stay awake until she return home from a late shift, finishing off a bottle of wine and arguing before finally retiring to bed. Jess hoped they were too drunk tonight to notice that she wasn’t home yet. With a bit of luck they would have had one of their rare nights of fondness and gone to bed early for a bit of nooky. What better way was there to stay warm on a night like this? Jess knew that probably wasn’t the way of things though. Their parents were more likely to throw things at one another than show affection. They hadn’t always been like that.
Jess convinced herself that her parents would be fine. Peter was a much bigger concern than her parent’s marriage problems. She looked down at her sleeping friend, surprised to find that his injuries still had the ability to shock her. Beneath the bandages, Peter’s left eye was caked with foul-smelling custardy puss, but that wasn’t what disturbed her most. It was the deep carvings sliced into the pale flesh of his chest. SEnD Out ThE SiNNeR.
Whatever it meant, it was the work of a sicko. Peter never did anything to anyone. He was a quiet boy, sweet and gentle. Not like the usual, football-obsessed, dickheads that lived in the area, or a thug like Damien. Despite the blood on Peter’s face, Jess could still make out his gentle features, his soft lips. She suddenly wondered what it would be like to kiss him. She wondered if he’d ever thought about kissing her.
Bloody hell, Jess, she thought. Peter’s lying here, dying, and you’re thinking about making out with him. Jeez!
At that moment, Peter opened his good eye. Jess didn’t notice at first, but when he started to moan it startled her. He continued moaning until the strangled noises eventually began to form words. “Jess…ica.”
Jess nodded and smiled, tears gushing down her cheeks. “Yes, yes, it’s me. I was so worried about you, Peter. What on Earth happened to you?”
Peter focused intensely on her for a moment, lips puckering as if preparing for some great speech. She hoped it wasn’t going to be a final one. “Jessica…” he grimaced, “listen…to me.”
She put a hand against his cheek. It throbbed heat like a radiator. “I am, Peter. I’m here.”
“Get away,” he said, “out of here.”
Jess blinked. “What do you mean?”
A hiss of air whistled in Peter’s nostrils as though forcing its way past a blockage. He repeated himself, but more weakly, like he was going to lose consciousness again at any moment. “Get away. They are…coming.”
Peter’s good eye rolled back in his head, disappearing behind his drooping eyelid. Before Jess had time to consider what he’d been trying to tell her, she was alerted by a crash. Followed by cries of pain and screams of agony.
What the hell’s happening now? I don’t think I can take any more.
Making her way over to the bar area, Jess saw commotion taking place. Lucas, Steph, and Nigel were standing around, looking concerned.
“What’s going on?” she asked Lucas.
“Dunno, lass. The menfolk went downstairs to get us something to build a fire. Next thing I know there’s a load of caterwauling.” He moved into the doorway behind the bar and faded into the shadows. Before disappearing completely, he turned back. “Well, you coming or not, lass?”
Jess stood for a moment, then nodded. She followed after Lucas and they headed into an unlit corridor at the back of the bar. The sound of someone in pain became clearer, and so did the noise of people bickering.
Lucas sparked his lighter and gave them light. “I think they’re down there,” he said, referring to an open doorway on their left. It led to a narrow staircase, leading down. A breeze floated upwards from the cellar beneath. It tickled Jess’s cheeks and the inside of her nostrils.
Lucas placed his hands either side of his mouth and shouted down the staircase. “You fellas okay down there? We heard yelling.”
“We need help.” The voice was Harry’s. “Graham is hurt. I screwed up. I screwed up rea-”
“Just bring some blankets and whatever is left of the first aid kit.” The new voice was Damien’s and it cut Harry off mid-sentence. “Graham’s hurt, but he’s gunna be alright. No need for anybody to get their knickers in a twist.”
Jess couldn’t help but feel faint. Peter was at death’s door and now Old Graham was injured too.
Two down… How many more to go?
***
Kath almost felt bad.
Almost.
It’d been Peter’s decision to run off and look for Jess. Nobody made him do it. Ironically, it was Kath who eventually ended up finding Jess, and that had proven even more how idiotic Peter had been for not listening to her. Still, she couldn’t help but ruminate over what had happened to the boy. Someone had messed him up real nice.
Probably crossed the wrong people, Kath assumed. Polish Mafia or something. At least she hoped so. The alternative was that there really was a psychopath out there in the snow?
Not that being trapped inside The Trumpet with her current companions was any better. There was Lucas, prancing around like a drunken parody; Nigel, an ugly man who lacked any discernible personality; Steph, a low-class tramp; and that insufferable girl, Jess. Of all the people Kath could be trapped with, Jess would have been last on her list. Her little buddy from the video shop was no less irritating, backing up her absurd stories just so he could get into her filthy knickers. And that thug, Damien, was a walking billboard for dysfunctional youth if ever she saw one. To complete he agony, was Old Graham, a pensioner stinking of piss and beer, and Harry, a hopeless case from what she could ascertain. It was obvious Harry was a drunk because of the weathered look on his face. It was the same look her father used to have. Alcoholism was a slow, draining sickness which killed a man one drink at a time while making him neglect everything that was important. But no matter what anybody said, it was not a disease, it was a choice. A selfish, weak, and pitiful choice. Nobody ever forced a bottle to an alcoholic’s lips.
Maybe if Kath’s father hadn’t been such a deadbeat she would have finished her History degree and actually done something with her life. Instead she’d ended up supporting him all the time until she hit twenty-eight. The day she found the old drunk lying on the living room floor, rapidly fading from a severe heart attack, had been a godsend. The vision of him pleading with her to call for help, while she stood there shaking her head at him and watching him die, was a significant turning point in her life. It was the day she decided she would no longer let anyone take advantage of her. She would look out only for herself. Everybody else could go right to Hell.
All around Kath, the degenerates
inside the pub with her scuttled like ants, clutching blankets and bottles of water to their chests while taking them from one place to the next.
Something was going on, but Kath didn’t really care. She was only with these people for safety, and the last thing she wanted to do was get involved. She would remain at by the bar, warming her hands over the candle flames and waiting for the power to return.
Slowly, everyone filtered behind the bar and left the pub empty. Kath suddenly found herself alone in the flickering shadows. She cleared her throat. “Well,” she said out loud. “I’d best go see what those idiots have gotten themselves into.”
Kath stood up and headed for the darkness of the corridor behind the bar.
Chapter Twenty
“I’m so sorry, Graham.” Harry looked down at the old man’s twisted leg and felt the urge to punch himself in the face. How could he be so stupid, getting caught in a testosterone contest with a kid fifteen years his junior? He was pathetic and for the first time was finally realising it. He put his hand on Old Graham’s shallow chest and could feel the man’s ribs through tissue-paper skin. The scar below Harry’s knuckles reminded him that he had a habit of hurting people.
“Harry,” Old Graham whispered, not to be quiet but because he was obviously winded by his ordeal. “Harry, don’t worry. I’m okay, it’s just me leg. Get it fixed up in the morning, good as new.”
Harry didn’t want to lie to the man. “I don’t think tomorrow’s going to be any better. I’m not sure if we can get you help soon enough.”
Old Graham snorted. “Then just put me in a bathtub full of whiskey. By the time I drink meself dry, the snow will have gone and the ambulances will be back on the road.”
Harry smiled. “I’m really so-“
“If you say you’re sorry one more time, son, I’ll break my other leg just to shut you up.”
For reasons he couldn’t quite understand Harry felt like crying. All the times he had labelled Old Graham a nuisance, and he’d never taken the time to see what a kind forgiving old soul he was. Harry had stopped taking the time to find out anyone after the crash that took his family. He was starting to realise how selfish that had been.
“Can I do anything for you?” Harry asked Old Graham.
“No, just get me a beer, and a snog off Steph, and we’ll call it quits.
Harry laughed. “I’ll do my best, but I’m thinking I’ll only be able to manage one of those.”
Old Graham opened his eyes wide like a startled rabbit. “What? You mean we’re out of beer!”
Harry stood up, wanting to laugh his ass off, but somehow finding it impossible. Laughter was a luxury he was all out of.
In the hallway above, a sphere of light began an ethereal descent down the shadowy staircase. By the time it got down to the last few steps, the source of the glow revealed itself. Steph was carrying a tray full of candles. She set them down on the floor.
“Hey,” said Harry, quietly taking her to one side. “I think he’s going to be okay for now. Tough as old boots, that one.”
Steph smiled. “Old Graham? Yeah, I could have told you that. Took a bullet in the Falklands. Didn’t even realise till he was back at base half a day later.”
Harry frowned. “He tell you that?”
“Yeah,” said Steph, keeping her voice down. “It’s one of his stories I like to believe; makes me think of him as a hero.”
Harry thought for a moment then nodded. “Yeah, I think it’s one I’d like to believe too.”
Steph stroked a hand against Harry’s shoulder and rubbed all the way from his elbow to his neck. The feeling made his stomach flutter and filled him with a mixture of excitement and remorse.
“How you holding up?” she asked him.
He didn’t know what to say. After a while, he said, “I really don’t know. With all that’s happened tonight, I’m starting to wonder if I’m losing my mind.”
“Me too. I feel like we’re the only people left in the world and we can’t go outside because we’ll either freeze to death or get eaten by monsters. Something isn’t right, but I keep telling myself that everything will be okay. I hope I’m not just being naïve.”
Harry reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. “We have to keep reminding ourselves that this is reality, not one of Jerry’s horror movies. Whatever is going on is really strange, maybe even dangerous, but as long as we stick together, we’ll come out the other end of this and find out what the hell has been going on all night.”
“I hope so, because this is starting to feel too much like a nightmare.”
“My whole life is a nightmare,” said Harry. “I’m getting pretty sick of it.”
“When this is all over, I’m gunna take a holiday.”
“Yeah,” said Harry. “Me too. Maybe I’ll go skiing.”
Steph stared at him for a moment looking confused, but then broke out in hysterical laughter. After a moment, Harry was surprised to find that he was joining her. Maybe laughter wasn’t a luxury he was completely out of just yet.
Or maybe Steph is just a master of getting blood out of a stone.
Or feelings from a torn heart.
“Oh Harry,” Steph patted him on the shoulder. “You do make me laugh! I’m really going to have to get to know you better when this is all over, but trust me it won’t be while we’re skiing. Give me sand and sun, so that I never have to see another flake of snow again.”
“Okay, deal. Anyway, do we have a plan on what to do next?”
Steph nodded. “Damien said the dustbin was just too heavy to get up the stairs, so we’ll have to come down here and start a fire. He said a small windowless room like this would be easier to heat anyway. We just need to leave the door at the top of the stairs open so we can breathe. He’s not as stupid as he looks, you know?”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed that,” agreed Harry, wondering why Damien hadn’t condemned him for dropping the dustbin from the top of the stairs. The lad knew it had been Harry’s fault, yet for some reason, he was making out as if it had been an impossible task to begin with. Tonight had muddled Harry’s entire opinion of the Damien. He wasn’t ready to trust the lad, but he was at least starting to consider it.
“Everyone’s upstairs,” said Steph, “gathering stuff to burn. We’re going to leave Peter in front of the fire. Jess said she’d stay with him, but there’s not enough room for anybody else.”
Harry nodded. “We’ll have to keep an eye on them both. It may not be safe for her to be alone. I’ll go see if she needs anything and then go help the others.”
“Okay, Harry. I’ll get Old Graham nice and comfy, then get this place lit up. See you in a bit. Mind yourself in the dark.”
Harry moved aside to let Steph past with her candles and then he started to climb the stairs. He was taken back to earlier when he’d tried to climb up with the dustbin. He had a lot of making up to do to Old Graham, that was for sure, but at least Damien had turned the disaster into a sustainable plan B. It would be warmer in the cellar once they got the fire going and Harry started to feel far more hopeful about their situation.
The corridor at the top of the stairs was pitch-black, but Harry could make out a dim, flickering light coming from the bar’s candles at the far end of the hallway. He felt his way towards them and found Lucas standing at the bar. The Irishman was busy gathering beers and a large bottle of Famous Grouse whisky into an empty crisp carton.
“Getting essentials, I see?” said Harry as he re-entered the bar.
Lucas held up an uncapped beer and swigged from it, letting out a lip-smacking sigh at the end. “Don’t ya know it! I asked the old fella what he needed and all he said was beer and plenty of it. Can’t deny an injured war hero now, can I? What kind of man would that make me?”
“Never thought of it like that.” Harry fired off a mock salute. “Keep up the good work, private.”
Lucas returned the salute. “Will do, Major Jobson, sir!”
Harry continued on from the bar and ov
er to Jess at the fireplace. She flinched, as though he’d startled her. It wasn’t surprising, really; sounded as if the poor girl had been through it worse than anyone else tonight. Other than Peter of course.
“You okay?” Harry asked her.
“Fine.” She stroked Peter’s forehead with a damp cloth she’d no doubt warmed in front of the fire. “I can’t leave him here alone, and I don’t think it would be right to move him either. Jerry has gone to find us some snacks. He’ll be back soon to keep me company. Anyway, I have this if I get into any real trouble.” Jess reached down beside the sofa and came up with a great shiny piece of metal.
Harry nodded. “The last call bell. Good idea. Not a single man whose ears won’t prick up at that sound. Just ring if you need help, okay?”
Jess seemed proud for a moment, but her sombre expression soon returned when she went back to nursing Peter. When she spoke again, she did so without looking Harry in the eye. “How’s Graham doing? I heard his leg’s pretty painful.”
Painful wasn’t a good enough word to describe the result of Harry’s stupidity. “Luckily, there’s no bleeding,” he said. “I think it’s broken, but he’s okay for now. Chipper as ever, long as he has us bringing him beer all night.”
“He seems like a nice old man. I hope he’s okay.”
Harry nodded. “Me too.”
He thought Jess was going to speak again, but instead of replying he caught her looking over his shoulder. Her eyes grew wide as if something concerned her.
Why is she staring like that? Harry wondered. Is something behind me?
Harry span around to find Damien standing close behind him. As usual the lad’s face was a syrupy mixture of frowns and scowls, but there seemed to be something else in his expression too.
“Come with me,” Damien said simply, before walking off in the opposite direction and leaving Harry wondering what to do.
Should Harry follow? Or should he grab a weapon and prepare to fight? It was hard to tell when it came to Damien. After the last few hours, Harry decided the lad had earned the benefit of the doubt, so he followed.
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