The Final Winter: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel(61)
“Yes,” said Jess. “Of course you can. What is it?”
“Can I…kiss you?”
Jess was taken aback. After all Peter had been through tonight, the only thing he wanted was a kiss. And from me? Did he have feelings for her before all of this? Or was he just delirious? Of all the times Jess had thought about kissing Peter, the whole time he had perhaps been thinking the same. It hurt her soul to a point where she felt like she couldn’t go on, that she was ready to just lie down and wait for death. First though, she had a question from a dear friend to answer.
“Yes, Peter,” she said, “you can kiss me. Peter…”
Jess looked down at her friend and realised that he was dead. The only thing stopping Jess from screaming was how peaceful he looked. She was glad that his pain was finally over and smiled down at him one last, final time. “Yes, Peter, you can kiss me.” She leant down and placed her lips against the soft, delicate mouth of her friend, sad and angry that he would never get to be anything more. “Goodbye,” she said, finally, placing him down on the floor. Jess was surprised to find an empty, hollow place inside of herself. Part of her had just died.
Jess stood up and Damien noticed her. He asked if she was alright.
Then Steph came back from wherever she’d been and immediately noticed Peter lying dead on the floor. She looked at Jess and shook her head solemnly. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Jess nodded, feeling numb. “It’s okay. At least I got to say goodbye…in a way.”
Steph nodded. “Can we do anything?”
Jess was about to answer when movement from the corner of her eye startled her. “Shit, Nigel’s up.”
The three of them grouped together as Nigel staggered about like a wounded animal, his skin blackened and weeping pus. Jess waited for him to run at them, wailing and screeching like a demon, but thankfully he hurried away instead, bumping into tables in an effort to escape.
“He’s trying to do one,” said Damien.
“Let him,” said Jess. “He can go and freeze out there.”
Nigel bumped into more furniture and fled towards the door. Jess wasn’t sure if he’d fully regained his senses from the blow to his head yet. He certainly seemed disorientated and unsettled, but somehow he managed to find his way to the door, flinging it open and staggering outside. Then he was gone, disappearing into the night. Jess prayed never to see him again.
“Good riddance!” she said.
Steph put an arm around Jess. “Come on, sweetheart. We should get ourselves downstairs in front of the barrel fire now that we don’t have to worry about him. The fire in here’s about to go out anyway and that broken window is going to freeze us to stone.”
Jess agreed. “Plus, Old Graham will be wondering what’s going on.”
Steph’s eyes suddenly widened. “Shite, I forgot all about Old Graham. Hopefully he’s drunk enough to not have heard any of this.”
“We best get down there,” Jess said, turning with Steph, towards the bar. She took two steps and then stopped. “Shit! Are you okay?” Damien was doubled up against the bar, taking in long, laboured breaths. “You’re still bleeding?”
He waved a hand dismissively and Jess saw that it was soaked with blood. “Just a flesh wound,” he said and then laughed. “I always wanted to say that.”
“It’s not a joke, Damien. Are you okay?”
“I’ll live. Just a bit sore. The blood is probably to be expected after getting stabbed and everything. Like I told you though, it isn’t deep.”
Steph didn’t seem convinced. Jess wasn’t either, but what could they do? Jess was thinking that maybe the wound was worse than he was letting on, but having never seen a stab wound before there was a chance she was just overreacting. If Damien said he was fine then all they could do was believe him. “Let’s go downstairs,” she said finally.
The three of them gathered candles from the bar and entered the rear corridor. The air seemed no warmer inside, which was strange as earlier it had been filled with a warm air current flowing up from the stairs. Now it felt as cold as the rest of the pub. Steph took the staircase first; Jess and Damien followed. When they reached the bottom together, darkness greeted them and Jess realised the fire had gone out.
“Oh no,” said Steph, lighting the room with her candle. The image of Old Graham shone into view, still lying on the floor where they’d left him. Even in the poor light, Jess could see the waxy blue tinge that travelled the lines of the old man’s face and, particularly, his lips. Old Graham was dead.
Steph leapt down onto her knees, dropping her candle on the cement floor where it quickly extinguished. In the darkness, Jess and Damien had no choice but to listen to her scream.
###
Outside it was as Harry had feared. They were surrounded. In all directions, the tall, hooded figures loomed over them, standing motionless, shoulder to shoulder, forming a wall of towering bodies. In front of them the hounds sat obediently.
“What do we do?” asked Harry.
Lucas shoved him forward. “Just swing for the first bugger that comes for you. Kath and I will handle the hounds.”
Harry willed his legs to take him forward and after several false starts got himself moving. The monsters remained in place but watched him with great interest. Harry felt like a lowly ant beneath their stares. A low growl emanated from the hounds but they made no attempts to attack, heeled to their hooded masters and waiting for commands.