The Final Winter: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel(22)

“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, but my only concern right now is keeping me bones from turning to ice.”

Nigel pulled his own blanket up around his shoulders; it made him look like a floating head beside the fire.

“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 in the blue hell was that?” said Nigel

“Sounded like screaming,” Steph answered.

Harry agreed. He got up from the sofa quickly and placed his beer bottle down on one of the nearby tables. “It was screaming; someone outside.”

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

“Outside. Someone needs help.”

“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.

Lucas walked over to him by the pub’s exit and pointed to the frost-covered window. “Look out there, fella. You’ll be blinded 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. “What the f*ck’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 on Harry’s neck tightened. “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 f*cking 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. Probably just puke on ‘em and pass out. They’d end up having to get an ambulance for your sorry ass.”

Harry wanted to use words to retaliate – he was a civilised man after all – but none came to mind. The only thing that entered his head was a blind, boiling rage. He leapt at Damien’s smug, laughing face, crossing the nine feet before his heart could even beat once. His first punch landed square and no more blows were required. Damien’s nose scrunched up, spreading across his cheeks, until both nostrils were gushing blood. The young thug didn’t go down though and instead just staggered backwards, holding his nose in stunned bewilderment.

After a few moments of confusion, Damien grabbed a hold of himself, dropping his hands out to his sides and straightening up his body. His nose dripped a viscous meld of blood and mucous; it ran down the light-blue shirt inside his puffer jacket.

“You just shot yourself in the head, mate,” said Damien. “If I were you, I’d go in those toilets, take off that cheap-ass belt around your cock-less waist, tie it round your alcoholic neck, and hang yourself. Cus I’m going to kill you. I’m going to slide a knife in your belly and laugh in your face while you die. I’ll be the last person you see and I’ll be laughing my ass off.”

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 he would stick to it – there was no other choice.

Harry spat defiantly. “Try it, you little f*ckweed!”

Damien nodded and 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 of coal 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, so don’t worry.”

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

Damien shook his head. “You were the one telling him not to go out there two minutes ago.”

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

Damien backed off slightly, waving an arm towards the door. “We’ll finish this later. That is, if you don’t freeze your tiny balls off out there first. Good luck!”

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