The Final Winter: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel(13)
“What? You saw those fuses! The lights ain’t coming on any time soon. You should just call your dad so we can get out of here.”
Ben fumbled his way through the dark from the office back to the shop floor, bumping into various shelving units along the way. “I tried already! My phone’s playing up. The display is all screwed.”
“No shit? My phone is like that too.”
Ben paused. What were the odds that both their phones would be playing up? “Really? You think it’s the weather or something?”
“I dunno,” Jerry said. “Can the weather do stuff like that?”
“Something’s responsible, not just for the phones but the power blowing out as well.”
Ben crossed the shop floor over to the thick glass door at the front of the shop. It was still snowing outside; heavy round flakes that seemed to sizzle as they hit the ground – or rather the top layer of snow two feet above the ground. He and Jerry had been clearing the entranceway throughout the day, keeping the place as accessible as possible. Of course, in such bad weather there had barely been a single customer all day anyway, especially in the last few hours – but Ben’s father never closed if he had the choice to open (especially on a day where everyone was stuck at home with nothing to do but maybe watch a rented DVD). Ben hadn’t complained. He’d known his father long enough not to expect the day off – even on a day where all other businesses had closed – so he’d decided to do a stock count, which had been perfect except for two missing copies of The Pianist (and a copy of Brain Dead that Ben knew was currently stashed in Jerry’s bedroom courtesy of ‘a favour’).
It was dark outside, only the dim glint of the moonlight providing any chance to see. The street lights were out and had obviously died when the power failed. The two of them needed to get home soon, but that wasn’t going to be easy. Ben turned around to face the gloom of the shop floor and a thought crossed his mind. “Hey, Jerry, when did you go the supermarket last?”
Jerry’s response came from over by the cash register. Ben hoped he wasn’t messing around with anything. “Couple hours ago, why?”
“Did they say what time they were closing?”
“Nah, the bitch-monster was serving me. I just brought a magazine and left.”
“You mean the manageress? Yeah, she’s always rude to me too.”
“I hope she gets eaten alive by zombies. And not the slow kind – the crazy-ass running kind from Dawn of the Dead 2004.”
Ben sighed at yet another film reference. “Maybe we should go across and see how they’re getting home. Might be safer if we all go together.”
“Dude!” Jerry cried out triumphantly. “There’s this girl over there that’s totally hot. This could be the opening I’ve been waiting for.”
Ben laughed, just happy that his friend was for once being cooperative. “Well, I’m sure she’ll appreciate you getting her home safely. Just let me lock-”
Before Ben could finish his sentence something hit the door.
Chapter Eight
By 10pm everyone had moved over to the sofa by the fireplace. The temperature had swan-dived so low that Harry and the others shivered constantly. Steph’s teeth had also begun to chatter, leading everyone to giggle at her, which she didn’t seem to appreciate. The atmosphere by the fire was just about comfortable, but Harry was certain it was getting colder still.
How much colder can it get before we all freeze to death?
“I’m starting to worry,” said Steph, as if she’d read Harry’s mind. She was sitting on a thread-bare footstool beside the fire and hugging herself tightly. “The snow really doesn’t look like stopping anytime soon, and it’s damn nippy.”
Harry looked over at the pub’s front window and found himself agreeing. The snow was falling as heavily as ever and the large sheet of plate glass was starting to frost over, with icy spider webs creeping from the corners. He nestled into the sofa cushions to seek out their warmth, but found none.
“What’s your drama?” said Damien from his standing place at the left side of the fire’s mantelpiece. In his thick puffer jacket he looked warmer than the rest of them. “A bit of a chill won’t kill you, woman.”
“Won’t it?” she asked.
“Course not, you dopey cow. The power will be on again soon and the heating will kick on with it, so stop f*cking menstruating.”
Harry snapped, not quite sure why. He wasn’t usually quick-tempered at all. “Let’s have less of the bad language. Didn’t your father ever teach you to treat women with respect?”
Damien was instantly enraged by the comment. “You don’t talk about my father, you hear me? You’re beneath him. What you going do, anyway? Teach me some manners?”
“Maybe I will,” Harry replied, still wondering what he was getting himself into and why.
Damien stepped forwards, but was halted by Steph who placed a hand on his chest. “Behave!” she said. “Harry’s right, you should treat women with respect – especially when they happen to be in charge of the only place with an open fire for miles. You’re welcome to go freeze somewhere else, if you’d like, but if not then I don’t expect another peep out of you.”
Damien sniggered. “Why don’t you two just shag each other and get it over with.”