A Most Apocalyptic Christmas
Page 7
“From that lot?” I replied, picturing the eerie scene of Santas and helpers that we’d left behind. I’d thought I should’ve left them with some positive guidance, while I had their attention, but I hadn’t. Just abandoned the lot of the psychos to their confused fever of weirdness. Most of them were chanting and singing as we got into a car to drive away. They had not followed, nor looked ready to move anywhere ever again, seeming to have collectively snapped when their bubble of festive insanity had burst. I said, “Yeah. But it’s a long way to go and there could be others out to get us. Us, specifically,” I looked at Walter to drive this point home. He returned the gaze, clueless as to what I was suggesting.
“Auntie Lee,” I went on, “In Lakepointe. She invited you for Christmas, saying all was forgiven? And you, a tech from Beaver Hill? On your way to New Oak, to make cleaner energy for all?”
“Norm told you?” Walter said brightly, “The thing I gave him, it was supposed to-”
“You’re not going to Lakepointe,” I cut in, not giving a shit about his schemes.
He looked at the ladies in the back, fear returning. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I’ve just fucking well killed a thousand arseholes to keep you shits alive. I’m not going to hand you over to some Lakepointe pricks, where I know there’s barely an individual that doesn’t profit from Dirty Fuel. Not to your family who don’t even like you.”
Walter’s face was ash, mouth wide in confusion. I told him clearly, “Nuclear techs are a big upset to Dirty Fuel peddlers, especially ones with stolen techy parts. I can guarantee Auntie Lee doesn’t want to see you, Christmas or not. You sure as shit weren’t supposed to bring that present to New Oak. And you know it, don’t you?”
Walter held my gaze then. Yeah, he knew it. But what the hell. He was trying to make a difference. I told him, “I’ll get you to where you’re going. It’s just not there.”
As I hunted for fuel, the others got out to stretch their legs and headed off to the nearby buildings. The boy came back as I was coughing on a hose that spat up nothing but fumes, and he waved a hand for me to follow.
“I got places I need to be,” I said, like that wasn’t already obvious.
He insisted, though, shouting “I’ve found you an even better present!”
Fuck it, I dropped the hose. He led me through the lot between a couple of townhouses and gestured across the road. A bar, sign faded and window cracked, with its big green door open. The others were waiting around the entrance.
“The bar still has some stock!” Mouth Braces shouted across the road.
I couldn’t suppress my smile then. The greatest gift I could’ve asked for, then, was right there. A few people that weren’t utter pricks and a fine stash of stolen alcohol. And me, for that morning at least, a hero. Never mind that I’d shot people, and smashed Santa’s face in in front of a crowd. It was gonna be a good day.
As I walked by them all, into the bar, I ruffled the kid’s hair and said “Merry Fucking Christmas.”
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About the Author
Phil Williams is the author of the Estalia, Ordshaw and Faergrowe series. Living in Sussex, UK, with his wife, he also writes screenplays and spends a great deal of time walking his impossibly fluffy dog, Herbert. You can find him online at www.phil-williams.co.uk
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Copyright
Copyright © 2017 by Phil Williams
The moral right of Phil Williams to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Ebook first published in 2016 by Phil Williams
Edited by Phil Williams
Cover design by Bob Wright