Winter Smith (Book 1): London's Burning (10 page)

              “I want to go out tomorrow,” Winter said. “If I can. Maybe we shouldn’t block the front door.”

              “We’ll block it, and if it’s safe tomorrow you can quickly go out. But just be careful.”

              Winter helped move furniture against the windows where the zombies were pressed. She could only see their shadows behind the blinds, but that was scary enough.

              When every piece of furniture had been moved, the diner looked bigger than it had done before. Moving the furniture had revealed flooring that hadn’t quite frayed yet. There were patches of clean flooring and even bigger patches of dirty flooring.

              “I bet this place hardly passes its health tests.” Connor remarked.

              “Just all part of the authentic dining experience.” Winter grinned.

              Connor picked up two remaining barstools and pulled them through to the stairway. Winter opened the door leading upstairs and walked forwards. Connor followed and let the door shut behind them. Winter watched Connor use the two barstools block it.

              “That’s not going to hold them,” Winter said.

              “But by the time they get through that front door, we’ll have time to fucking run.” Connor laughed.

              Winter and Connor climbed the stairs and stopped outside the living room. Both of them seemed to be thinking the same thing.

              “Where are you sleeping?” Connor asked.

              “You can have the sofa if you like.”

              Connor walked into the living room and looked at the sofa.

              “You can have it, it looks lumpy.” Connor smiled.

              “Oh, thanks! What a kind gesture.”

              “I’ll go get blankets.”

              Connor left the room, and Winter, sat opposite the mirror, was left with her thoughts.

              She thought of her parents. Why hadn’t she seen them when everything had happened? Had they been outside at the time? She wondered if they had been the first victims, or if they had managed to escape on one of the helicopters? Winter tried to imagine her parents escaping. She tried to imagine one of them having the skill to survive. She couldn’t. They had always relied on others. They didn’t think for themselves, unless it was for their own career.

              Regardless of the feelings of resent and animosity she felt towards her parents, and their acrimonious behaviour towards her, Winter would never be able to forgive herself if she found out her parents had died tonight. She wished she had done something more for them. Someone had called her, but she had thought it was Missy, but what if it was her mother crying for help?

              Winter dismissed that thought before it could form, but the guilt of wanting to save Connor before her own parents made her feel like she hadn’t deserved to escape tonight.

              Then she thought of her past. How her parents, regardless of selling stories to the press, had supported her. Her mother had told her everything would be alright, that they would always feel guilty for leaving her in that home with no way of protection. Her father, who she had tried to tell just a week before, telling her how sorry he was that he hadn’t listened.

              Winter’s relationship with her parents had never been the best, yet there had been times when they had spent some good times together like real families should. Winter knew she would be lost without someone by her side. Nobody wanted to be alone, regardless of starting a new life somewhere. As long as you had your parents to always talk to, people would feel comfortable. But now, with everything beginning to fall apart, people needed family and familiarity more than ever.

              Winter could hear Connor rooting around in the bedroom trying to find blankets, possibly being quiet so he didn’t disturb Violet. Her guilt for losing her parents was mixed with guilt and pity for Violet and Connor. They had decided to stay with Winter, and Connor couldn’t go back to his family now. When Connor had left for Winter’s tonight, he hadn’t known it would probably be the last time he would see his family.

              Then there was Violet, who wanted to go back home, who wanted Winter and Connor to come with her, just so she could try and save her family, or at least give a proper goodbye. For all they knew, Borehamwood was just as infested as Watford.

              Sitting alone was dangerous. But it made Winter realise that things would never be the same from this moment onwards.

Chapter Five

              The next morning, Winter was the first to wake. The absence of curtains on the diner flat window permitted the sun above to shine directly into the living room. Winter stood up, wearing only her underwear. For a fraction of a second, she thought the whole night had been some dream, but catching her reflection in the dusty mirror propped up against the wall, she knew it wasn’t. She saw she was well, human. The cuts on her arm hadn’t become infected. She was safe for now.

              She glanced out of the top window. The flats opposite were level with hers, and they all appeared the same; curtains drawn, peeling paint on Jacobean timber. She looked down into the street and was relieved to see the zombies had gone, but for how long she wasn’t sure.

              People were filling the street, with some shops brave enough to open after the events of last night. Just down from them, Winter could see a newspaper stand. She noticed people gathered outside the diner, some of them in business suits, as if they were waiting for the place to open.

              A fat, greasy man sat in a wicker chair outside a sandwich shop caught Winter’s eye. He was grinning at her and licking his lips. Winter followed his eyesight to see he was staring at her breasts. She held up her middle finger at him and stepped away from the window, stumbling over a bottle on the floor.

              Steadying herself, she spun around and saw Connor, sound asleep. She quickly rummaged around for her white and gold dress, flecked with blood and pulled it on.

              She paused for a moment, watching Connor sleep. He breathed in and out slowly, his top lying in a heap next to him. She felt herself smile.

Her mouth was dry. She needed food and drink. She didn’t have any money on her, but she thought she would be able to take something from the bottom of Violet’s shoes, which she had noticed yesterday had money tucked away inside the heel. 

              She walked out of the living room and down the hallway, pushing open Violet’s door slowly in case she was awake.

              Winter peered around the door and saw that Violet was wrapped up in blankets, a bottle of vodka still in her hand and the remaining drink spilt on the bed sheets. For a moment, Winter wondered if Violet was alive. Moving closer, she heard Violet’s slow breathing. The room was small. A narrow, square window struggled to let in light, due to an ugly wall and pitiful trees outside.

              Spotting Violet’s plastic shoes on the floor, Winter picked them up and turned them over in her hand. She had never seen shoes like this, only in music videos and some films. She took the lid off the bottom of the shoe and turned the heel towards the floor so the money would fall out. She realised as she pulled out a ten-pound note from a wad of notes that this was almost like an adult version piggy bank.

              Sealing the shoe back up, she put it back in place and left the room. Violet clearly made good trade in her profession.

              Walking down the stairs, she moved the two barstools away from the door and walked out into the diner. None of the stools they had piled up last night had been moved, which was a relief. No one was inside. All was quiet.

              She hovered by the window, listening to the people gathered in the street who had taken the place of the zombies from the night before. She noticed a set of keys on the windowsill and picked them up, listening to the clink of metal on metal.

              “This place is always late opening.” Some man muttered.

              “Do they know we have places to be?”

              “It’s not like it’s worth the wait, either.”

              Winter moved the piled tables and chairs away from the door, turned the lock and opened it. Immediately, the people outside began moving forwards, as if they were the dead from the night before, but Winter quickly stepped out and shut the door behind her, locking it with the key she had found.

              People looked at her appearance; bandages on her arm and hand, blood all over her dress, her hair wild and messy. Winter just grinned.

              “It’s closed today, guys,” she said. “The waitress is dead.”

              The reaction was immediate. People turned away and began putting a distance between themselves and the strange girl with blood on her dress. Winter was sure half of them thought she was some smug murderer.

              She made her way towards the newsstand, taking in the atmosphere around her. All of the buildings on this street were rundown, gritty and ruined. Paint peeled away from doorways, the hinges worn down by excessive use. The ground was cobbled and broken, with chunks of stone missing from the pavements where cars had parked. The flats above all had the same washed out appearance, while the people on the street looked ill and bored.

              She walked past the greasy fat man who was wearing a white vest that revealed hairy arms that were blemished with moles. He grinned at her as she passed, revealing yellow teeth. The smell of alcohol on him was strong.

              She turned left and walked into the newsagents, picking up a newspaper from the stand as she passed. It seemed this was the busiest day the newsagents had ever seen. The woman behind the counter seemed stunned. People were buying what they could before it sold out, and Winter, gripped by anticipation, joined the rush and the fight to get things to survive. She took the last loaf of bread and heard someone curse her, so she threw a packet of rolls at them. She snatched up a few packets of crisps, took a pint of milk, three bottles of one litre water and some sweets to keep their energy going.

              She jumped in line of the queue, and while she waited she glanced at the newspaper, dreading what she might see.

              The front page was obscured with a photo of her own house. She saw humans fearing for their lives caught in one snap, while the hungry zombies leapt through the air, slightly blurred. In the background, a window was caught in mid-smash, and she remembered she had been the one to smash it. The image had caught only part of the chaos. She wondered if there would be any more photographs inside.

              She got to the counter and put her items on the table. The woman began scanning them.

              “It’s horrible, what happened, isn’t it?” The woman asked idly.

              Winter nodded. She didn’t want to say that she had come from the place where it had all happened. The woman hadn’t noticed her blood splattered dress yet, maybe thinking it was purposely designed that way.

              “I think the government should have confirmed this a long time ago!” A woman cursed from behind Winter. Winter turned to see she was short, thin and old before her time. “Load of bastards, leaving us here to wait.”

              Once the items Winter had managed to acquire had been scanned, the woman handed Winter a small booklet. Winter took it and looked at the woman.

              “Delivered today,” the woman said. “I have to hand them out to everyone. Information on what to do now that this country is threatened.”

              Winter nodded. She had been right to think action would be taken today. She wondered if Watford was completely destroyed, if people had survived.

              Hurrying back towards the diner, avoiding the man who still sat in his wicker chair, Winter wondered what they were going to do. She had seen the panic of the people in the newsagents; the realisation that what had been reported in the media had been true. The hopelessness that was already beginning to creep up on people, spread as easily as the virus the zombies carried.

              She had walked too far. She stopped and turned back, aware that the people in the shop opposite were observing her mistake. Deciding to make it look like it was intentional, Winter turned into the shop nearest her.

              She had walked into a clothes shop.

              She looked at the money in her hand, six pounds twenty, and decided to see if she could get anything cheap. As she was looking around, she wasn’t aware of anybody else in the shop. She did glance, worried that something, human or not, would jump out at her.

              The shop made her feel like she was breaking rules. She worried that she wasn’t supposed to be here. The noise of the street outside was muffled, and the room itself didn’t seem to have a sound of its own. It was just eerily quiet.