The Final Winter: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel(36)

“Hey,” said Harry quietly, taking her to one side. “I think he’s going to be okay for now. He’s tough as old boots.”

“Old Graham? Yeah, I could have told you that. Took a bullet in the Falklands and didn’t even realise till he was back on base a day later.”

Harry frowned. “He tell you that?”

“Yeah,” said Steph, keeping her voice down. “That’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, Harry?” she asked him.

He didn’t know what to say and felt sick as he tried to comprehend an answer to the question. 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 have some obsessed Clive Barker fan carve words into our chests.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Clive Barker? You read a lot?”

Another thing you never bothered to find out about her, Harry. Nice going.

Steph nodded, the tray of candles bobbing in time with her head. “Yeah, I love to read. Everything from Stephen King to John Grisham; anything I can get my hands on, really.”

“You don’t find that enough nowadays,” said Harry. “People treat reading like a taboo – television’s uncool relation.”

“Totally,” she agreed happily. “I take it you’re a big reader as well then?”

Harry shook his head. “No, not really.”

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.”

Harry considered that and decided he would like it very much. It was time to start living again, forgetting about the things he could not change.

“Anyway,” he said, starting a new subject, “got a plan on what to do next?”


Steph nodded. “Damien said the barrel is just too heavy to get up the stairs so we should all come down here to 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.”

“Good idea,” agreed Harry, immediately wondering why Damien hadn’t cried bloody murder over his earlier mistake. The lad knew it was Harry’s fault; that when the drum had been only one step away from the top he had dropped it. Yet, for some reason, Damien made out as though it had been an impossible task to begin with and nobody’s fault. Tonight had muddled Harry’s entire opinion of the lad. He wasn’t ready to trust Damien just yet, but had at least started 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.”

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 barrel. 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 indeed be warmer in the cellar once they got the fire going and Harry started to feel far more hopeful about their situation just thinking about it. Prior to now, he had been scared that they would all freeze to death. It seemed silly now.

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 big bottle of Famous Grouse whiskey into an empty crisp carton.

“Getting essentials, I see?” said Harry as he 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 pensioner 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 walked over to Jess at the fireplace. She flinched, as though he had startled her. It wasn’t surprising really; sounded as if the poor girl had been through worse than anyone tonight.