The Final Winter: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel(37)

“You okay?” he asked her.

“Fine,” she replied, stroking Peter’s forehead with a damp cloth she had 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 call bell. Good idea. Not a single man whose ears don’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 is Graham doing? His leg seems painful.”

Painful wasn’t a good enough word to describe the result of Harry’s stupidity. He smiled to reassure her. “Luckily, there’s no bleeding. 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,” she said. “I hope he’s okay.”

Harry nodded. “Me too.”

He thought Jess was going to carry on the conversation a little longer, but instead of replying he caught her looking over his shoulder. Her eyes went wide as if something concerned her.

Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. Why is she staring like that? Is something behind me?

He spun around, and found Damien standing up against him. As usual the lad’s face was a thick, syrupy mixture of frowns and scowls, but there seemed to be something else in his expression too. Harry felt his wariness of the lad return. Had he really been thinking that Damien wasn’t dangerous? That he was a good person deep down?

Idiot, Harry. He’s probably looking to stamp your kneecaps in for dropping the barrel. God knows I deserve it.

Damien’s expression didn’t change as he pointed over his own shoulder with a thumb. “Come with me,” he said, walking off in the opposite direction and leaving Harry wondering what to do.

Should I follow? Or should I grab a weapon and prepare to fight for my freakin’ life? Harry didn’t know and decided that, until he did, it would be best to just play along.

Damien had headed over to the back exit corridor; the one leading outside or off to the toilets. It also led to the seldom-used dance floor at the back of the pub. Harry doubled his pace to catch up; managing to get there a second or two before Damien stopped and turned around.

“Take a look.” Damien pointed to the exit door. “Look through the window at the top.”

For a second Harry had visions of doing as he was told and having his head rammed through the glass. Wasn’t that the kind of thing gangsters do? Made you dig your own grave? Harry sighed. If something was going to happen, it was going to happen. He stepped toward the door, waiting for an attack.

“Look through,” Damien ordered again.

Harry moved up against the door and put his face against the glass. There was no prompting necessary on where to look or what to focus on. It was clear for him to see.

Damien spoke again from behind Harry. “We have big problems.”

Damn right we do!

Harry looked at the growing flames that seemed to rise from the snow in all directions – ten, twenty feet high. The fire formed a wall around the pub like a fiery prison.

But is it meant to keep us all in? Or to drive us out?

The fire was unnatural – Impossible! Ferocious infernos did not rise from the snow in any world that Harry knew of. What he was seeing could not be real.

But it was.

Either that or he was going insane.

What really terrified Harry, though, were the three crucifixes that sat within the flames, each with a struggling victim roasting alive. The screams had no sound, but Harry could see their agony as skin peeled and blackened on their bones, leaving charred husks of flesh that were once arms, legs, and faces. It didn’t take long for them to die.

Harry repeated Damien’s words in his head and then found himself restating them out loud. “Big, big problems…”

Chapter Twenty-One

“I don’t understand,” said Harry, turning to face Damien.

But Damien had gone.

Where the hell has he gone? Is the horror show outside not interesting enough?

Harry looked back out of the window. The fires were still burning high, whipping back and forth in the growing blizzard while sizzling snowflakes filling the air like locusts in a cornfield. It was bizarre and unsettling to see both unnatural flames and unnatural snow mingling in the same space, like two separate nightmares margining into one.

Harry started to feel like he was in a Salvador Dali painting. He needed to make sense of the situation, but should he tell the others? He wasn’t sure, but was astounded by the fact that he wanted Damien’s advice. Say what you wanted about the lad, he was calm under pressure.

But where has he gone?

Harry looked back out the window one last time before moving away. It seemed like a bad idea to take his eyes off the flames outside, but he couldn’t stay there all night. Next to the exit it was freezing, and an aggressive breeze snuck under the door and rattled the wood on its hinges. Harry left the corridor.

Back in the main pub area, the others were still milling around, seeking out fuel for the furnace they planned to build. Nigel was busy tearing cushions from the chairs and snapping the legs into pieces, gathering them up on the bar in piles of wood and foam. Kath was gathering up beer mats. She obviously didn’t realise that they would burn only for about three seconds apiece.