The Final Winter: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel(68)

Harry stopped in his tracks, falling into the snow and looking up at the figure that blocked his way. He thought about defending himself before realising he could not. There was nothing he could use, not even the porno-wrapped broom. Harry looked down at the snow, defeated and not wishing to witness the method of his execution. “Okay, you got me. Just get it over with.”

“Get what over with, Harry Boy?”

Harry looked up. “Lucas!”

“Aye,” Lucas offered out his hand. “I thought you were never going to get here, fella. Took your sweet time.”

Harry smiled, happy to see the Devil. He took Lucas’ hand and hoisted himself up, quickly pushing past and barging against the pub’s door. It was frozen shut. He was just about to cry out in defeat when Lucas strolled up to join him.

“Keep your hair on, lad.” Lucas placed a hand on the door making steam immediately appear. The frost on the metal was melting. After a couple of seconds, Lucas banged his fist once on the door and it swung open slowly. Lucas looked at him and grinned. “Three millennium in the Hellzone Boy Scouts.”

Harry nodded. “No shit?”

Harry made his way inside and headed for the bar, the sudden feeling of an even, solid floor disorientating his weary legs. The entire room was dark and no longer lit by multiple candles, but Harry had been there enough times to know where he was going. He made it to the bar in six blind steps and was shocked to find Peter’s dead body on the floor. Harry could only just make out the boy’s features as all but one of the bar’s candles had extinguished. It wasn’t something he had time to mull over now though. He’d pay his respects later.

Grabbing the remaining candle, Harry made his way behind the bar and into the corridor behind. Right away the freezing temperature told him something was wrong. Earlier the corridor had acted as a flume for the warm air of the fire in the cellar, but now it was cold. That meant the fire was out.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Harry took the steps two at a time, luckily making it down to the bottom without miss-stepping in the darkness. As his feet planted on the cellar floor, he moved the candle in a quick semi-circle in front of him. The room smelt heavily of smoke, but the barrel fire was unlit. Next to it was the unmoving form of Old Graham. Until tonight, Harry had never seen a recently dead body before – not even his wife and child as they had died in the hospital – but he now knew without inspection that the old man had perished. Harry felt his gorge rise, the fear and sickness taking a hold of him as his mind screamed out with grief. He span around, illuminating the dark corners of the cellar, searching desperately

He found Damien first and crouched down to feel the lad’s cheek. It was stone cold and Harry realised he was dead too. What concerned Harry most was that Damien’s mid-section was covered in blood and that, despite the cold, the boy did not have on his thick puffer jacket. Did somebody stab him?

The answer came to Harry quickly.

Nigel? Damn it. I can’t believe I knocked Damien out when he was the one who saved Steph all along. Now he’s dead and I’ll never get to say sorry for my mistake.

Beside Damien, beneath the same pile of duvets, was Jess. Dead as well, Harry immediately noticed. He felt numb at the sight of such a young and pretty girl frozen to death like a block of ice. He shone the candle to her face and saw that her lips were blue and starting to frost over.

Then Harry noticed a third body beneath the blankets. He was paralysed, not wanting to move because that meant he would have to acknowledge whatever he would find beneath the final blanket.

Steph lay, swaddled up to the eyeballs by a lasagne of sheets and blankets, half-a-dozen layers deep. She looked as delicate and as beautiful as Harry had ever seen her and he finally allowed himself to cry. He reached out and touched her face. Like the other’s it was ice cold. She was wearing Damien’s puffer jacket. Probably knew he was dying with or without it. He must have wanted her to have it instead. It wasn’t enough though.

Harry shook his head, a deep darkness spreading throughout his soul. There was nothing else left. “I’m sorry,” he said to Steph’s unmoving form. “I’m sorry that I caused all this and that I never got to say goodbye. I used to think I came here every night to get drunk and forget about the past, but tonight I realised that I kept coming back to see you. You were the only person that allowed me to see that there would be a tomorrow and that it would be easier than today. It was you that took away my pain, not the booze, but thanks to me there will be no more tomorrows.”

“…Harry?”

The word was soft, below even a whisper, but he heard it. A few moments passed and Harry started to think that his crippled mind was perhaps just playing tricks on him.

But then he heard it again.

“Harry,” Steph whispered again, louder this time.

She’s alive!

“Steph! Steph, can you hear me?”

It didn’t seem like she could, but she knew he was there. It was obvious by the look in her eyes. “Harry…I…missed you.”

“I missed you too, Steph.”

She smiled. “I knew you’d come back. I always knew you were a good man. That you…would end up being my hero…one day.”

Harry was stunned. “I wish that were true, Steph. I really do, but I let you down. I let everyone down.”

Steph shook her head, eyes still closed as though she were reciting a dream. “No, Harry. The only person you ever let down is yourself. You’re a good man, but you don’t…you don’t see it.”