The Final Winter: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel(43)

It had turned out that what Old Graham wanted to speak with Harry about was a rather embarrassing matter. The old man had needed to piss bad, but couldn’t get up with his leg the way it was. Harry had understood the predicament, but at first didn’t know what to suggest. Then he’d spotted the half empty bottle of Famous Grouse that Lucas had brought down. He gave the bottle to Old Graham who immediately necked most of the contents. “For the pain,” he had said. Then Harry had given him the old man a few moments alone.

Now Harry was on his way to the urinals with a candle in one hand, and a whiskey bottle full of geriatric piss in the other, ready to empty the contents down one of the drains. He hadn’t expected to run into trouble again so soon after his last encounter, but something was definitely happing inside the toilets.

The room was partially lit by candlelight when Harry entered, but it was still too dark to see clearly what was happening at the far end by the window. There was a scuffle going on, and a soft wet thudding that he immediately recognised.

Someone’s getting a beating.

Candle in hand, along with the whiskey bottle full of urine, Harry ran forwards, lighting the room in a narrow sphere as he moved. At the end of the space, he found…Damien…and then he found…Nigel. Damien was beating the other man as though he were tenderising a piece of beef, hands covered by blood and ruptured skin. His knuckles made soft whapping sounds as they bounced off Nigel’s swollen face. What upset Harry the most was the sight of Steph also lying on the floor unconscious…with her jeans undone.

Finally, Damien looked up and noticed Harry – but it was too late for the lad to give any explanation. Snarling, Harry smashed the whiskey bottle of piss over the young thug’s head, so hard that he wondered if he’d killed him.

Part of Harry hoped so.

###
In front of the fireplace, Jess watched over Peter with Jerry. She watched her sleeping friend turn paler and paler, and could not tell whether it was due to the cold or loss of blood. Most of Peter’s wounds were bandaged, but they still wept constantly and had even begun to emit a sickly smell.

“You think he’s going to wake up?” Jerry asked, tugging Jess away from her thoughts. His usual child-like exuberance was absent from his voice now and it had been for a while.

Ever since he watched his best friend turn to blood and dust.

Jess shrugged. “He woke up once before, so who knows. How are you doing?”

“Me? I’m cushdy? It’s this one we need to look after.” He pointed at Peter. “He looks bad.”

Jess shrugged again. “I think he might have it easiest of all, being asleep. Right now, I want to know how you are. You know...about what happened to Ben.”

Jerry’s face crumbled like a moist sandcastle and, for a short moment, Jess thought he was going to cry. He didn’t. “It’s stupid,” he said, “but I miss him already.”

“That’s not stupid at all.”

“Feels like it. I just keep wishing it was me. I wish I were the one who’s dead and he were still alive.”

“Now that is stupid,” said Jess, shaking her head. “He wouldn’t have wanted you to be dead, would he?”

Jerry shrugged. “Wouldn’t surprise me. All I ever did was annoy him.”

“Then why did he always keep you around?”

Jerry looked away from her then and stared into the fire. “Fate I guess.”

Jess wasn’t sure she understood. “What do you mean, fate?”

Jerry rubbed at his eyes and somehow succeeded in making them look even more tired. “Ever seen the play, Blood Brothers?”

Jess shook her head.

Well,” Jerry explained. “It’s a film about these two brothers that get separated at birth. A mother has twins and can’t afford to keep them both, so she gives one away to a rich family that she works for.”

“Okay,” said Jess, still not following, but willing to listen.

“Somehow, the baby boy she gave away ends up making friends with the son that she kept – his twin. They have completely different upbringings, one rich, one poor, but somehow they become best friends. Despite everything, they’re really very much alike.” Jerry stared at Jess and this time she was certain he would cry, but still he did not. He smiled instead. “That’s like me and Ben. You get what I’m saying?”


Jess didn’t. But then she thought about it a little harder and ventured a surprised guess: “You and Ben were brothers?” Jerry didn’t answer her but Jess knew it was a hit and not a miss. It still didn’t quite make sense though. “Did Ben know?”

Jerry finally allowed a tear to escape his eye. He blinked it away and it crept down his cheek. “We…we had the same dad, but I never told him that. My mom only told me when I was ten. By then I’d already been friends with Ben for three years.”

Jess was shocked. She thought this type of scenario was meant for cheesy films and dodgy talk shows, not real life. “Why did you never tell him?”

Jerry wiped the tear from his face, but did nothing about the new ones that ran down to replace it. “Ashamed, I guess. My mom told me it was just a one-night stand and that it was whilst Ben’s dad was together with his mom.”

Jess understood and nodded. “You kept it to yourself because you didn’t want to hurt Ben or break up his family?”