The Final Winter: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel(63)

Nigel seemed dismayed by the suggestion and lashed out. “Get sh’f*ck offsh me.”

Harry didn’t like the way Nigel was acting. “What happened to you? Is Steph okay?”

Nigel’s face scrunched up in a snarl at the mention of her name. Harry tried to understand why. Then he saw the bloody knife in the man’s hand and wondered why he hadn’t spotted it sooner. Harry’s eyes widened. “Did you hurt her?” Harry went to approach Nigel, but the man raised the knife at him.

Lucas put his hands out in front of him placatingly. “Whoa, whoa, there, fella. We just want to know the lass is safe.”

Nigel spat blood into the snow and began backing away as he spoke. “You tell that bitch, I’ll be back to finish what I started. I’ll slice her f*cking fingers off and keep them in my truck with the other pathetic sluts I’ve killed.”

Harry’s entire body contorted with rage as he realised what the man’s words meant. He began to wonder whether that knife in Nigel’s hand had been used on Steph, and if Damien had been innocent all along. Harry found both questions too hard to think about. “I’m going to kill you.”

Nigel continued backing away, holding the knife out in front of him in defence. Harry went to get after him, but Lucas stopped him. “No need, Harry Boy. Look!”

Harry looked past Nigel and saw the shapes behind him. Gathering in the distance was a group of hounds. Nigel was walking directly at them. Harry relaxed and waited for the inevitable to happen.

It took about three minutes for Nigel to realise he’d been surrounded. The things attacked him as one, enveloping him as they had done Jerry. Harry watched with grim satisfaction as Nigel swiped impotently with his flick knife, managing to take a chunk or two of flesh from one hound, but failing to keep away the other dozen. Although it was hard to see past the writing bodies of fur, Harry could clearly make out Nigel’s intestines being fought over in a macabre tug of war. But once the grim satisfaction begun to wane, the scene merely made Harry feel sick. He turned away and continued on into the snow, back towards The Trumpet.

Back towards Steph.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Despite the three of them being huddled together, Jess felt no warmer. Damien managed to get the fire going again by setting fire to some of the surplus duvets. They wouldn’t burn for long, but they were better than nothing. Now the three of them lay shivering beneath a dozen sheets and blankets, trying to hold on to as much warmth as possible.

“Poor Old Graham,” said Steph, still upset but past the worse of it. She’d wailed for almost twenty minutes when she first discovered the old man had expired. Jess knew that Steph felt responsible for it, but the truth of it was that it was all because of Nigel.

Pervert. Hope he’s frozen to death out there or being eaten alive by one of those monsters.

Jess thought about the things she’d seen outside with Jerry and found it hard to imagine them clearly. With the hours that had passed it all seemed like some absurd hallucination. Monsters under the bed did not exist, she’d told herself, but she could not deny the death and bloodshed that she had occurred tonight. Ben. Peter. Old Graham. They were all good guys. She prayed that the others would make it back safely. She’d do anything, right now, to sit and listen to Jerry’s inane pop culture references.

“How long did you know Old Graham?” she asked Steph.

Steph let out a huff that was almost a laugh. “Whole time I worked here. Eighteen months, I guess. He could bore you to death something awful, but he didn’t have a bad bone in his body. Complained a lot; but never about anyone, or anything, in particular. I think he was a lonely old man that just wanted to be around people.”

“Least he lived a long life,” Damien chimed in, his voice jittery from the chill that affected everyone’s lungs.

“He didn’t deserve to go like this though. He survived a war and this is how he dies? It’s such a waste.”

Jess squeezed Steph’s hand under the blankets. “I think he went the way he would have liked. Drunk as a skunk and the centre of attention.”

Steph and Damien laughed.

“So, Damien,” Jess moved on, “are you really as much of a hard-knock as you like to make people think?”

Damien was silent for a moment, but eventually answered. “Who says I want people to think that?”

“Guess it’s just the impression you give off. It confuses me though because, after tonight, I’m starting to think it’s all bullshit.”

Jess didn’t know why she felt the need to goad Damien, but she wanted a serious conversation to keep her mind occupied. Plus, she was intrigued about the kind of person Damien actually was.

Damien cleared his throat. “You reckon?”

“Yeah,” said Jess. “I actually think you’re a nice guy. You just don’t want people to know it.”

“I agree,” said Steph.

Damien was silent again for a moment. Jess could feel him rustling beneath the sheets. When he finally spoke up, he sounded tired. “Maybe the only reason I’m not a nice guy is because people think bad of me no matter what I do.”

“But you make people think like that. You chose to make people think you’re a thug.”

Damien laughed. “You think I made people see me this way? I had no chance of ever being anything other than a thug.”