Winter Smith: The Secrets of France
a sequel to
Winter Smith: London’s Burning
Praise for Winter Smith: London’s Burning
‘The zombies in this installation are excellent, they’re fast and brutal but also quite stupid so the human characters have the ability to outwit them and escape which makes them scary but not invincible. Strange has a talent for suspense.’ Dragons Bookcase
‘This novel is a real page-turner. Somehow, the author manages to handle in-depth characterisation and scene-paint without resorting to heavy description, while taking the reader on a journey at the speed of an express train. I was so breathless with excitement.’ Sarah Potter, author of Desiccation.
‘I was definitely blown away by this book. I went into this novel with the expectation that it was just another zombie novel. I was pleasantly surprised. I truly enjoyed the author’s portrayal of human survival on the brink of extinction. This book was incredibly raw, emotional, and even tough to read during some of the scenes, but it was all fantastic.’ Toya, Goodreads Reviewer
‘As far as debut novels go, this is pretty darn good. This book restored my love of Zombie goodness! This series shall be quite interesting because it brings us back to what Zombies truly should be, a looking glass through which we can take a lens to society and study it.’ Heidi Angell, author.
‘Thrilling, exciting, tense, emotional roller coaster of a read. Couldn't wait to get home from work to read the next chapter. All the characters bring their own unique and complicated lives to what is one of the BEST zombie stories I have ever had the pleasure to read. Highly recommended to every zombie fan.’ Amazon reviewer.
About The Author
J.S. Strange is an author from the United Kingdom, South Wales. His previous work includes the first in the Winter Smith series, Winter Smith: London’s Burning. When Strange isn’t writing, he’s excessively tweeting or listening to Britney Spears. Strange also runs a videography company called Brother Hipster Productions LTD, and has recently started his own clothing brand, Strange. Strange lives with his boyfriend, James, and his three cats: Lara, Herbie and Oscar.
Winter Smith: The Secrets of France
J.S. Strange
First published in the United Kingdom in 2017. Winter Smith: The Secrets of France belongs to the author, J.S. Strange.
Copyright © J.S. Strange 2017.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
ISBN: 978-1546369424
www.brotherhipster.co.uk
www.jackschapter.wordpress.com
www.wearstrange.com
To James, Mum, Dad, Emma, Becky, Lara, Herbie,
Oscar, Sebastian, Sammy, Carlos and Britney Spears
Prologue
London’s skyline burnt brightly. The flames had rippled through the streets where life had functioned so easily a few weeks previously. Some survivors had been too late to get to the Thames, where government were evacuating people to safety in France; a shelter so many people desperately needed.
Regent Street, once bustling, now lay desolate. Burning bears wearing red coats spilled from smashed Hamley windows. Packaged iPhones were trampled and splattered in blood. The dead that walked here wore Armani Exchange and Barker shoes. They walked past oyster bars, ignoring the decaying smell of rotting fish, and instead longed for the taste of human flesh, the sour delicacy of blood.
Screen advertisements that had once shone brightly on Piccadilly Circus were now dim, some of the lights out. They advertised boutique brands that no longer existed, and illuminated the hoard of the burning dead that stumbled beneath it.
The sound of trains in the underground was replaced with the guttural sounds of the dead. The underground was blocked with bodies, almost as if there were a constant rush hour. Trains lay disregarded, some doors open, others shut but with windows smashed. Bodies lay strewn on the carriage floors, entrails twisting around them like a blanket of dyed rope. Flies buzzed over bodies, laying eggs, watching as maggots laced their way through empty eye sockets and exposed and broken ribcages.
A bike without a tyre burnt in the middle of Hyde Park. The dead grouped around it, watching in awe, warming their bodies up as if they were homeless men underneath a dirty bridge.
The water in Trafalgar Square had begun to change colour. Stained with blood and algae, you could no longer see the bottom of the fountain. A currency of money gathered at the bottom, people’s wishes as dead as they were. The lions, usually clambered upon by children, were now supporting the dead, who stood on it as if waiting for a living person to walk into the midst.
The giraffes in London zoo were starving. The dead watched them. The tigers circled their small enclosure with a need to escape. Their eyes roved over the walking meat outside.
The Shard had collapsed. The business capitol of London was nothing more than charred cars and spilt blood. The dead roved through the street in suits, as if heading to another meeting, as if life had never stopped. Even in death, they were still chained to the mundane.
Waxwork figures lay across the floors of Madame Tussauds. Some had melted due to small fires, others had been damaged, their wax arms used as useless weapons.
Magnificent London had broken. There was nothing to be proud of anymore.
London had fallen.
And so had the rest of the world.
Chapter One
The alarms from the boat’s passageways rang out, deafening Winter even though she was behind a steel door. She had only just managed to drop off to sleep, bad dreams of Cedric French following her through her thoughts. The man had threatened her. The man was dangerous.
Frantic yelps of desperation carried down the passageway, knocking on the door that separated her from the people outside. The ship was slowing down. Winter stumbled across her narrow room and peered through the door, looking at Violet and Zach framed in their doorway.
People ran past in a stampede. They had come from below deck, running to the top, heading outside, all hoping they could escape the ship’s fate. Winter tried her door, but it was locked. She yanked it, panicking, only to find that she hadn’t turned the handle. With all of her strength – there wasn’t much – she pulled it open.
The alarms were louder. The sound rushed at her, and she momentarily covered her ears.
“Winter!” William called, coming out of his own room. “What’s happening?” People barged past Winter and she stumbled back into her room. Violet and Zach were watching her, looking pale and stricken.
“Winter.” William was in front of her now, blocking the doorway, refusing anyone access. “We have to get off the ship!”
“Why?”
William took Winter’s hand and led her away from the room, out into the passageway, and into the throng of the crowd. Winter reached out and, after fighting through a group next to her, took hold of Violet’s hand. She didn’t let go until both Violet and Zach were behind her.
The people in front didn’t move fast enough. They were walking slowly, awkwardly, like cattle heading to slaughter.
Winter tried not to focus on the spilt blood trailing the floor, towards the door above them, which led out onto the top deck, and into the storming night.
“The dead are on board!” Someone was crying. “They’re below us! They’re below us!”
“She has to be lying.” Zach muttered. “They can’t have got on board.”
“Someone must have been infected.” Violet said, her hand below a cotton wool ball taped to Winter’s arm, where she had been injected earlier. “We rushed on, it was easily missed.”
It was their turn to climb the ladders. The people behind se
emed to sense air was close, that their escape was imminent. They pushed, surging forwards, and Winter slipped. She fell with a thud to the metal ladders, hitting her chin. She cried out, but the people around her kept moving, stamping over her. Her mouth was dry, and her throat seemed to be constricting. Under the weight of feet she began to sweat, afraid that she would never gasp air again. She had lost Violet, she couldn’t see Zach, and William had disappeared.
She tried to move, her hand touching spilt blood. Then she heard them.
The groans seemed to echo above the blaring alarms. They were of different pitches, some low and deep, others high. A high-pitched squeal made people scream. Then from the bottom of the passageway came chaos.
People surged forwards, hitting over more people, trampling more bodies. A boot hit Winter’s cheek. She was kicked and winded. She knew she was going to die here, either by suffocation or by the dead.
Hands gripped her. She couldn’t tell if they were alive or dead. Then she was being pulled to her feet. She swayed, almost falling backwards, into the crowd behind her.
The person who had pulled her up steadied her. He grabbed her hand and eyed her, almost afraid of her reaction.
Connor Getty turned, keeping a firm grip of Winter, and pulled her up the ladders. They squeezed through the door, Winter’s cotton ball bandage ripping off, and fell out into the night.
The rain was light, but in seconds both Winter and Connor were soaked. Floodlights illuminated the deck. The alarms didn’t ring here, but were still loud from behind them.
People ran to the railings, jumping over into the choppy sea.
Thunder rumbled above them, before a flash of lightening lit up Le Havre in the distance.
“Winter!”
Winter looked to her right to see Violet, Zach and William stood together. Connor, still keeping a firm grip on Winter, pulled her away from the doorway, where people crammed to get through, and towards her friends.
“Connor.” Violet gasped. “How did you get up here?”
“Cedric locked me out of the office,” Connor said. “Him and Ruby had another escape route.”
“So much for loyalty,” Winter commented.
“Winter…”
“This isn’t the time.” William snapped. His eyes were on the bow of the ship, where people were gathered, contemplating jumping into the black mass beneath them.
“Are we going to jump?” Winter asked.
“We have to,” Violet said. “If we are to get off this ship, we have to jump.”
Winter followed as William ran up the deck, away from the door where the dead were getting ever closer to escaping into the night. Another flash of thunder illuminated Le Havre and France, and Winter thought the horizon looked odd. She didn’t have much time to think about it. The ship hit the side of a rock, wobbling slightly. Many people fell, Winter included. She looked up to see Zach being helped up by William. Ignoring Connor’s hand, Winter got to her feet.
Peering over the edge of the railings was a mistake. The waves were fierce, hitting the side of the ship and pulling weaker swimmers to watery graves. Someone dived across from them, and after a few seconds emerged again, swimming towards land.
“Is anyone a confident enough swimmer?” William asked.
“We have to be.” Connor said, gripping the railing.
“I’m not going to make it.” Zach held the railing for support. “I’m not going to do this.”
Violet turned. “Zach! This is not the time to be a chicken. Think of what we survived in London. Think of how far you’ve come. France is only over there. You can’t let the dead get you now.”
Zach shivered, his eyes on the sea. Winter touched his shoulder. He flinched.
“We’ll jump together, okay?”
After a moment’s hesitation, and with fear in his eyes Zach nodded.
With as much speed as they thought necessary, they climbed over the railings. Without decking beneath her feet, Winter began to regret her choice. She gripped the railing behind her, and held hands with Zach. Violet stood holding Zach’s hand on the other side. William gripped her other hand, which held the railing.
Connor stood next to Winter. He took her hand and used his other hand to hold on.
“When we hit the water, swim to land.” Connor said to her, his hair dripping. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Despite her anger at Connor, she agreed.
Behind them, the dead emerged onto the deck. A flash of lightening brightened their rotting skin, their exposed muscles, and their sunken eyes. Survivors nearest them were grabbed and bitten, some left to turn, others bitten and nipped until they fainted.
“Three, two…” William counted.
But nobody waited for one. Together, holding hands, linked by their determination to survive, they jumped.
Chapter Two
The water sped towards them, and they fell through it, their heads submerging. Winter felt Zach jerk away from her. She gripped Connor tighter, but the current of the water ripped her away from him.
She felt herself turning under the waves, and soon she had lost all sense of direction. She needed air, her chest burning, her head becoming light. She swam, hoping to get upwards, but her hands touched rocky bottom. She kicked off the ground, the water weighing down on her ears, and she willed herself to get to the air, to be able to breathe again.
She broke through the surface, taking a lungful of air. She coughed, but savoured the ability to breathe again. The pouring rain, the rumbling thunder, the plunges of bodies and the groans of the dead came soaring back to her. She wiped the water from her eyes and looked forwards.
Land was close. She could make it. The waves battled against her as she swam, but she kicked and pushed with everything she had.
Soon her arms ached. Her legs slowed down, but she needed to survive.
She ignored the biting cold of the water against her skin. She ignored the pouring rain. She disregarded the people around her. She needed to get solid ground beneath her again.
A wave propelled her forwards, and when her knees hit ground she rolled.
She lay face down in the permeable sand. Her body was exhausted. She barely moved as the water rushed past her.
She began to crawl, slowly at first, but gaining speed as she realised where she was. She needed to find somebody, anybody that would be willing to help her.
She looked up and gasped. France was not how she had expected it to be.
Around them, circling the whole shore was a breezeblock wall. It stood twenty feet tall, reinforced at the back with steel beams, which dug into the ground and leaned against the blocks. At the top of the walls, which towered above homes, was barbed wire.
Winter was sickened to see the odd body tangled amongst the wire, dead and left to rot.
Winter knelt in the sand, looking at the wall. She could see France behind it through iron gates, but they were closed and locked shut. She was on the outside, with survivors, with no sign of being able to get access. France was on lockdown.
“Winter.” Winter turned to see Violet running towards her. “Come on. Get up!”
Another wave came crashing in, and Winter fell forwards. She stopped herself with her hand, and screamed as a dead body washed up next to her. The body didn’t move. Evidently, a survivor had drowned.
Winter stood, and ran to Violet. “William has found a way in, but it seems like we’re going to have some trouble.”
“Why?”
“France isn’t safe, Wint. It never has been.”
Winter watched Violet run back towards where she had come from, stunned. ‘France isn’t safe. It never has been.’ Had this all been some cruel, sick joke?
Winter followed, her feet aching as it hit the sand, until she came to another iron gate that was lit up. Stood behind it were three girls, wearing plastic coats that protected their camouflage clothing from getting wet. On Winter’s side of the gate, Violet, Zach, William and Connor stood pleading with the girls.
“You’ve got to let us in,” Winter heard William say. “This isn’t right. We were promised safety.”
“By who?”
“By government!”
The girl in the middle, a narrow faced twenty-something, with short brown hair, smirked. “The government. They’ve been lying to you this whole time.”
“I don’t care. Let us in right now.” Violet hissed.
The girls looked past Violet and stared at Winter. One girl, a short, slim blonde, gasped. Winter felt scrutinised.
“Winter Smith,” The narrow faced girl said. She
turned to the girl on her right, a chubby, pixie haired girl. “It’s Winter Smith.”
“I know.” The girl breathed.
“Open the gate,” The blonde said.
William looked at Winter with confusion. Connor looked pleased, and stepped back to allow the gate to open.
The narrow faced girl pushed the gate forwards a few inches, and looked at them with apprehension.
“Well? Come on, then. You wanted in.”
Without hesitating, they headed through the gate, and set foot in an enclosed France. The gate clanged shut behind them, and the narrow faced girl quickly locked it back up with a key she held. She slipped it into her pocket and turned to face them.
“We need to get away from here, otherwise other people will be asking me to let them in, and I’ll feel guilty and I’ll have to do it, even though I shouldn’t.”
Winter looked around her. The houses here were all fitted with iron bars outside the window, at least twenty inches away from the glass. The roofs were equipped with barbed wire. The streets were filthy, rubbish pouring and littering the ground.
“What’s happened here?” Zach asked.
“There’s no time,” The narrow faced girl said. “Are you going to follow us, or are you going to stand around here?”
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