Dead Winter: A gripping crime thriller full of suspense

by Jack Parker

  I leaned back in my chair, resting my free hand against the side of my head for a moment before sitting up perfectly straight again.

  "So I have a question for you, from one of my friends." I sighed, remembering the words that John had whispered in my ear only minutes ago.

  "Oh, let me guess. Is it from the man in the funny hat!?" Lucas exclaimed, clapping his hands together for some reason.

  "Yes, it is. Did you or did you not kill his brother, Alexander Walther?" I shot at him, staying brief and to the point.

  The serial killer before me raised his hand to his chin, running it against his barely noticeable stubble, clearly jogging his memory. I glanced past him for a moment, looking out of the window; you could see the whole street out there, a couple of infected stragglers were visible, wandering across the tarmac.

  "No. That was the work of my predecessor!" he said finally, clapping his hands together once more.

  "Your... predecessor?" I asked, questioning him to elaborate further. This man was annoyingly vague and mysterious, he reminded me too much of John, who stood waiting downstairs.

  "Yes! You think I was the first 'Executioner' and that I moved down here just for you? That's funny." he said, leaning forwards in his chair, running a finger across the hilt of his sword. "I came after, inspired by his work."

  "How does one be inspired by murder?" I pressed, searching for answers, something to make sense of it all.

  "Because they're art! The methods, the execution, the style!" he sang, standing up suddenly, my arm jerked forwards to point the gun at him, waiting for him to even think about touching that sword.

  "So, why am I here? Are you going to kill me?" I found myself asking.

  "Kill you? Well, my dear boy. I'm here to propose something, an ultimatum if you will." exclaimed Lucas, his hand hovering dangerously close to the hilt of his sword, the sheath laid beside it.

  "An ultimatum? Go on.." I sighed, wondering what I had gotten myself into this time; first the zombie apocalypse, now I was talking with a serial killer?

  "Yes! You can try to kill me and walk out of here alive, or you can be the lesser man and just save me the trouble. But that would be no fun now, would it?" he chimed, his hand making strange motions as he spoke, a bird flew past the window as I glanced at it again.

  It was a relatively small manager's office to be honest, a rather pathetic looking desk, a few chairs and a potted plant in the corner were all that caught my eye in the room; it must have been a small business.

  "Why are you giving me a choice? Couldn't you have just killed me and be done with it, why the games?" I found myself asking, even though I should have been grateful that he hadn't killed me on the spot.

  Could I even kill a person?

  I pondered that question for a few seconds. I mean, sure, I'd killed people; but they were infected and barely human, it was more of a mercy killing. But this was different, it was a living human being, despite how fucked up they seemed.

  "Because you're special! And I'm not going to tell you why, just that we have more in common than you might think." the Executioner said, snickering quietly at the end of his sentence. I wonder what that could possibly mean. "So what will it be? Fight or flight?"

  How could I possibly decide? I didn't want to die, but I also didn't want to kill a perfectly sentient human being. But he'd kill me if I didn't, so it would be self-defence, right?

  He stood there, hands apart as though he were mimicking a scale with life on one end and death on the other. I made up my mind pretty quickly; I wanted to fight for my life, I wasn't going to lose it to some copycat serial killer.

  So I raised the gun once more, pointing it directly at Lucas' head and went to pull the trigger; but he moved so quickly to grab his sword that by the time the bullet left the chamber, he was already swinging for me and the bullet had soared straight through the window, shattering it instantaneously; bits of glass hurtled out over the ledge and could be heard hitting a car on the road below.

  Ducking down, I barely avoided being decapitated as I reached for my cleaver, swinging back at him. I thought I hit flesh for a moment, but Lucas merely stepped back a step to dodge my slash.

  "So that's how it is, eh?" he called, seemingly thoroughly enjoying himself; it must not be often that his prey fights back. He must be loving the thrill of the hunt.

  I jumped back to avoid another slash, slamming my back into the corner of the desk. Falling to my knees in pain, I had dodged another slash by sheer luck. There had to be some way to disarm him, and that's when a neat little idea crept into my mind.

  I quickly kicked out with my right leg, catching his ankles. Lucas opened his eyes wide in shock as he fell backwards, the sword leaving his hand and landed near the desk. With one swift and fluid motion I stood up and aimed my waiting handgun to his head.

  "Checkmate." he sang, furrowing his eyebrows in pain, that fall must have hurt on such a hard surface.

  "Any last words?" I asked coldly, my hands barely shook at all.

  "Yeah, can you really do it? Can you finish me off, or is it all just too much?" he sneered, mocking me.

  And then I hesitated, doubting myself yet again. Could I do it? I wondered if my resolve to survive was strong enough and realised: it was kill or be killed in this world.

  "Watch me." were my last words to Lucas as I squeezed the trigger, firing one last round that shot straight through his head as he leaned upwards to grab me; he made one last little jerk with his arm before his whole body went limp and blood pooled out beneath him.

  I stepped back, dropping the gun and slumping against the wall for awhile, staring down at his corpse as if I were in a trance. I'd done it, ended a life that wasn't full of rage and infections. I found myself sliding down the wall into a sitting position.

  So I sat there for a few minutes, just thinking about what I had done; I snatched the gun up off of the floor and found my vision drawn to it, it wasn't just a bit of metal any more, it was a tool designed to end lives, to save lives.

  After another few minutes, I picked myself up from the floor and glanced at the sword before gently picking it up, grabbing the sheath from the desk. Putting the two together, I tucked it under my belt, tying the ribbon around it to stop it from slipping out as I made my way to the staircase once more.

  My hands are stained.

  Chapter Twelve

  Day Six (26th December – 3:45PM)

  Must be nearly there by now.

  Let me backtrack a little more.

  It had been awhile since the group and I had left the office complex, continuing our journey across the city. I had emerged from the main office a couple of minutes later, to the sight of raised guns and drawn weapons.

  They must have been expecting me not to come out alive, there had been a sigh of relief when I had started walking down the stairs towards them as they put away their guns and knives.

  We had stayed in the complex for nearly an hour, just talking and having a quick break from the world outside.

  "Where'd you get the sword?" John had asked me, pointing at the katana strapped to my waist. I was surprised it had taken them so long to point it out.

  "I took it.. from him." I had sighed, glancing towards the staircase leading up to the manager's office.

  "So what happened up there?" Claire asked before taking a bite of her sandwich.

  "Well, we talked, if you could call it talking. It was more he ranted at me and I questioned him. The guy was a nut-job." I'd stated, running my fingers along the hilt of my new weapon. It was a lovely piece of kit, well-balanced with a nice look to the eye.

  I had to try it out. I remember feeling a strange desire to cut something, anything.

  "So.. did he answer?" John asked, raising an eyebrow as I stared at my weapon.

  "Yes." I'd said briefly, thinking back to the conversation I'd had with Lucas.

  "And?" he continued, pressing for an answer.

  "It wasn't him, he said something about it being the
work of his 'predecessor'." I concluded. John had bit his lip and spat angrily for some reason upon my answer.

  So we sat there for a good half an hour more before finally deciding to venture out into the streets once more. We went through streets and little side-passages, climbing over cars, trucks and bits of debris that littered the streets until we found ourselves back at the small park we had started in.

  John was consulting his map again, pointing towards a street on the far right, the opposite direction we had ran in. Something seemed off about John at the time, he seemed somewhat depressed. Was my answer not enough for him?

  Back to the present.

  At last, we were nearing the edge of the city, still walking through a series of little roads and alleyways, avoiding the main roads as best we could. There had been a few infected along the way, but I had yet to try out my new weapon, John seemed reluctant to let me use it.

  "So, do you mind telling me what all of that was about?" I asked, curiosity overloading my sense of reason.

  "What?" John asked, making a sudden slashing movement with his hand as an infected leapt out of nowhere; it fell to the ground, slain in an instant.

  "Why did you have questions for a serial killer? Who was the guy you were asking about?" I demanded, growing tired of John's vagueness.

  "You really want to know?" he sighed, adjusting his hat as we walked, the others were nervously glancing around the area and behind themselves, expecting more infected.

  There was a bitter breeze running through the streets that chilled me to the bone, making me shiver slightly as I nodded, waiting for an explanation. It looked as though it might snow again at any moment, I prayed that it wouldn't, the last thing I wanted to do was walk through the zombie apocalypse in the snow.

  "Fine, I'll make it brief though." John uttered, glancing around the corner to the street beyond, which was apparently empty as he gave us the signal to continue.

  "Are you sure?" Claire whimpered, tugging on John's sleeve, to which he nodded, exclaiming that it had to come out sooner or later.

  "Well to tell you the truth, I'm not really a private eye. Well I am, sort of. But that wasn't my original job." he started as he fumbled with his ponytail.

  "And what was?" Dave asked, glancing at the cleaver in his hands.

  "You're not going to believe this, but I was a hit-man, a hired gun of sorts. Have been since I hit eighteen, it's kind of our family business." John continued, waving his arms around a little as he spoke, that was one of his habits.

  "I'm ready to believe anything at this point." I said, glancing back at the group.

  Paul's mouth hung agape as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing. It must have been quite a shock to be honest, having lived with them for several months.

  "I'm from Australia originally, as I may have said before. My whole family was until we got connections over here and moved. Then one day, my brother disappears. Then he shows up a day or two later, dead." John said, turning his head back a little as he glanced at me.

  "And you think that guy had killed him?" Dave enquired, no longer looking at his cleaver but instead, he had his gaze fixed on John.

  "I had thought that. I know who killed my brother, but at the same time I don't." stated John, who begun to stare at the ground for a few moments while we walked. "All I know is that someone called 'The Executioner' killed my brother, down south in Exeter."

  I sighed to myself, the memories of my brother coming back to me as I opened my mouth to speak. This sort of coincidence was eerie, what were the chances of meeting someone else who had suffered at the same hand as I.

  "My brother was killed too, he was a detective working the case of the Exeter Executioner. He ended up being one of the last victims, strapped to a chair and poisoned." I said with a grimace upon my face, biting my bottom lip as I finished speaking.

  "Huh.. What're the chances.." John muttered to himself, raising his head to examine the surrounding area.

  And then, over the rooftops which were now growing steadily shorter, a bridge came into sight; it was the point where the city met the motorway. We were nearly there, the evacuation point must only be minutes away. I could almost taste my escape.

  Turning the corner, my eyes were met with the sight of fences and sandbags piled high; this must be the evacuation point. We ran, waving our arms in the air as we made our way towards the gates. It was a small encampment set in the middle of an intersection.

  But nothing happened as we ran. There were no shouts, no greetings and no people to be seen. We slowed down to walking pace as we reached the gates, which hung ajar.

  Entering the encampment, I felt a daunting feeling wash over me. Was there really nobody here? My thoughts were cut short as I noticed a few people, staggering through the maze of sandbags and tents. I started walking towards them until I noticed the obvious.

  They were infected, coated in blood and dirt, torn clothing. Several of the infected wore military uniforms and berets. I felt my eyes twitch as anger took me over; I let out a loud shout, spewing profanities at the sky.

  The infected all suddenly turned to face me, beginning their mad dash around the obstacles that lay between them and us. In a moment of blind rage, I ripped my sword from its sheath and stepped forwards, slashing through the air as hard as I could.

  We have just lost cabin pressure.

  An infected soldier crumpled to the ground as his head went flying through the air, landing beside him. From the tents came more infected which ran towards us. We all pulled out our weapons and began the fight.

  Slashing at another infected, I felt my balance give way as I was tackled by a rather large man with gashes on his cheeks. I covered my face with the hand holding my sword as I reached for my gun, pumping a round up from his chin and through his head. I swore loudly and threw him aside, clambering to my feet.

  There was a shriek as an infected leapt from the fencing towards John, who side-stepped to avoid it. John wasn't about to fall for the same thing twice in the same day. Stepping forward, I lopped one of its legs off and shot it in the face as it turned its attention towards me.

  I wanted to breathe smoke and spit fire.

  Eventually, there were no more infected and I found myself falling into a slump against a pile of sandbags, gasping for air. Fighting was tiring work, to be honest.

  "There's nobody fucking here! Nobody! What the hell happened!?" I shouted at the others, who looked equally as dismayed.

  "Shit.. this place must have been overrun." sighed John, who patted me on the shoulder before glancing around at the many corpses that lay scattered across the small encampment. We'd just fought our way through what seemed like a small horde.

  I felt strangely satisfied with how my new weapon handled, and even more so that I hadn't missed a shot with my handgun. Was I finally becoming used to handling weapons and taking lives? It no longer felt as strange to 'deal' with an infected.

  The adaptability of the human race was staggering.

  "What... do we do now?" I asked desperately, gasping for breath. I wasn't used to such strenuous activity, I worked at my desk most of the time for God's sake.

  "I have.. no idea." Dave said, resting his hands against his knees as he also panted for breath.

  John was striding over to one of the vehicles that had belonged to the military, pulling out a rectangular object from the boot. It was a piece of radio equipment with which he began fiddling, turning dials and flicking switches. Nothing but static came from the radio.

  "It's just our luck.. Nobody here." I stammered, leaning against a fence-post before glancing down at Dave, who stood beside me with two cigarettes and a lighter in hand.

  Taking one, I pulled my own lighter and stared at the sky as I lit my cigarette, taking a long drag from it before I breathed smoke into the air, which hung there for a moment before dissipating.

  Chhkk-ome to Sanctuary.

  I glanced down at the sound of the voice, which seemed to come from the radio th
at John had been playing with. He'd lost the signal and began backtracking until he found it again, we all huddled around him and listened.

  "We are located just off of the motorway halfway betwee-CHHKK-nd Hull, we are a small safe zone. Anyone who can hear this, come to Sanctuary." the voice on the radio called to anyone who could listen.

  "Hello!? Can anyone hear us?" I shouted into the receiver desperately before noticing that the cord that connected it to the radio had been cut; I sword loudly, throwing it at the ground.

  "It's no good, Ethan. It's just a recorded message." John stated, jumping up onto his feet. "But now we know where to go next, at least."