The Final Winter: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel(58)
The bar loomed closer, lit by a number of dwindling candles. The struggling light shone on the liqueur bottles that lined the shelves, making them look like rows of crocodile teeth. The final few steps were nerve-wracking and she had to come to a halt before she reached the bar fully. Deep breaths, Jess. Nigel must be behind there, but you’re going to be ready for him. Armed and ready. She squeezed the poker in her right hand, anxiety forcing her to check it was still there even though she knew it was. Okay, here goes.
Jess took the final steps towards the bar area and quickly sidestepped to see behind it. As she suspected, Nigel was crouched and waiting for her. What she hadn’t expected was how quick the big man would be – and how much it would hurt having a vodka bottle smashed over her head.
Straight away, Jess felt the blood cascade from the top of her head. It ran into her eyes, blinding her, and then into her mouth. She could hardly believe she was lucid enough to even taste the coppery, metallic taste of it, and that somehow the blow had not knocked her out. It had certainly dazed her.
She teetered backwards, legs folding as she hit the floor. Her ears picked up the heavy clunk of the poker skittering across the floor. How many times is that thing going to get dropped? Despite everything, Jess found herself laughing at the thought. No need to lose her sense of humour now, not when she needed it more than ever. She collapsed onto her back, too dizzy to get back up. Not that it would have mattered because Nigel was on her like a shot, pinning her arms down with his knees and straddling her chest. Held to her throat was the broken remnants of the Vodka bottle.
Nigel sneered at her. “Time to die, bitch.”
Jess sneered right back, blood covering her teeth. “See you in hell, you small prick mummy’s boy!”
The comment seemed to hurt Nigel and Jess started to laugh again. Right now, the over-sized, sexual predator looked like an insecure little boy. She would take that satisfying image to her grave happily. Even as the jagged bottle descended towards her throat, Jess continued to cackle out loud, closing her eyes and waiting for it all to be over.
Jess had expected a sharp, ragged pain, but instead was jolted by a heavy force hitting her instead. She opened her eyes tentatively and at first could not understand what had happened. Then she realised that Nigel had collapsed forward, her face now buried in his stomach. What the hell? She punched and prodded at Nigel’s lumpy body, trying to move it, but when it didn’t budge, it became obvious that he was unconscious.
What the hell happened?
After several attempts at rolling the dead weight aside, Jess finally managed to slump Nigel over to one side and slide out from under him. She still didn’t understand what happened. At least not until she saw…
“Peter! You’re okay?”
Her friend was standing over her, gripping the poker that now dripped goblets of blood from its tip onto the floor. He smiled at her, although his ruined face made the expression look ghoulish and grim. He released the poker and dropped to his knees, letting out a long breath. He managed to speak. “Are you…okay…Jess?”
“Yes, yes. I’m fine, Peter. Thanks to you, that is.”
Peter nodded and his smile widened. Then he lost consciousness, pitching forward and hitting the floor face down. Jess felt like doing the same.
Chapter Thirty-Three
When Harry found a pile of children’s sledges he thought that things were looking up, but only slightly. Sure it would make getting the coal and other supplies back to the pub easier, but it didn’t change the fact the supermarket was surrounded by god-knows-what. To make matters even worse, Harry had just realised that Lucas was not who he said he was. Before Harry said anything, however, he’d decided to complete the task they’d come here for. Between the three of them, him, Lucas, and Kath had managed to pile up more than enough coal to keep the pub going till morning and beyond, along with a bag full of over-the-counter painkillers. They’d even found a couple of torches and two dozen packets of batteries. Now that they were done and ready to go, Harry was ready to confront Lucas about the secrets he was keeping.
“Hey, Lucas? How do you know my surname?”
Lucas turned to Harry, confusion on his face. “What’s that now?”
“I said how do you know my surname? I didn’t tell you.”
Kath huffed. “Do we really have time for this, Harry? We need to get going.”
Lucas shrugged. “I didn’t realise it was such a secret, fella.”
“It’s not,” Harry admitted, “but I never told it to you.”
“The demon monks outside said it, didn’t they? They said, HARRY JOBSON YOU ARE THE SINNER. Or something like that.”
Harry thought for a moment. “No, Lucas, you knew before that. You called me Major Jobson earlier at The Trumpet.”
Kath looked pissed off, but at the same time seemed a little interested also. It appeared she wanted to see what Lucas’s answer would be.
But he gave none.
Harry took a quick breath, trying to stay calm. “Lucas, I asked you a question.”
The Irishman scratched at his head before letting his arms loose to swing by his sides. “Do you really want to do this now, Harry Boy?”
Harry’s stomach churned as he wondered whether he really did want to do this now. He really had no idea who Lucas was, what he was planning, or what he was capable of. Harry swallowed. “Yeah, I want to do this right now. Who the hell are you and how do you know me?”