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.
She ran her hands over a jumper, feeling the material. She decided it felt too tough, that it would be itchy, and the June sun was beginning to creep on London’s ruined streets. Soon it would be too hot to wear a jumper.
She spotted shoes in a box at the side of the room, and thought maybe Violet could benefit from flat shoes instead of the high heels she had. Winter was beginning to think of their escape methods.
She was making her way over when an old woman walked from behind the rack and stopped in front of her.
Winter jumped, and she wasn’t sure if she had let out a scream. Judging by the look of amusement on the old woman’s face, Winter decided she had.
The old woman was wearing a knitted shawl over a flowery blouse, with beige sweatpants. Her bony fingers were full of rings, and she wore a pendant necklace around her neck. She smiled at Winter, with a toothy grin. The woman stepped forwards, invading Winter’s space, and she was forced to move backwards.
“Anything you like, dear?” The old woman asked, her voice scratchy and typically old. It was almost as if it didn’t want to work anymore. Winter wondered how this woman’s body was still working.
“No, no, I’m just looking.” Winter stepped back as far as she could go without being in the clothes rack. The distance she tried to make made no difference. “Lovely shop you’ve got here.”
The woman’s smile increased even wider and she looked around her tacky shop affectionately. Admiring two booths acting as changing rooms at the back of the shop, the counter opposite them. The walls were a fading white, and the small ground space full of racks of clothes.
“This was passed down through my family,” She adjusted the shawl on her bony shoulders. A huge, gold ring on one finger with a green jewel caught Winter’s eyes. It caught the light and flashed for a moment. “I always wanted this place. Ever since I was a little girl, I would help my mother and father as much as I could. Although
, I must admit, since I’ve had my hands on it, it hasn’t done that well.”
Winter had decided this woman was lonely and a little too over friendly. Winter would give her the benefit of listening.
“Oh, really?” She asked, trying to sound interested.
The woman nodded slightly, a look of seriousness on her old face.
“I don’t think my parents would be too proud to see the lack of business we get now.” The old woman shook her head. “You need a marketing ploy, and I’m too old for all of that.”
Winter didn’t say anything.
“This street ain’t what it used to be.” She sighed. “Used to be bustling with people, it did. Always comin’ and goin’ from this shop, they were. Ah, what are you going to do? The big cities took over, didn’t they? The rich families went there instead of coming to streets and towns like this. Ah, nonsense if you ask me. They should all be coming here, that’s what they should be doing! I mean, now with these zombie invasions I guess people will have to come to towns like this. The city was ruined, I heard. Read in the paper today, I did.”
Winter just nodded, not sure what she should say. She was a little blown away at the rant that had came from nowhere from the woman.
“Peculiar dress sense, darling,” the woman said, touching Winter’s blood splattered dress and rubbing her fingers over it. Her wrinkled fingers brushed Winter’s thigh. Winter felt uncomfortable but didn’t move, not wanting to offend the woman. “Not a street walker, are you, dear?”
“A street walker?” Winter asked, before realising what the woman meant. “Oh, no, no I’m not.”
“Hmm.” The woman peered at Winter for a moment longer than was necessary. “You see a lot of them around ‘ere, you do. Always looking for a man, they are. Always showing off their legs and their breasts. Disgusting behaviour. In my day, those girls would be locked up. Well, I guess they like that now, don’t they?”
The woman nudged Winter and winked. Winter faked a laugh as the wave of nausea she felt washed over her. An old woman like her couldn’t talk about sex! That was disgusting.
“You know, in my day, everyone had a bit more class. You seem like a lovely girl but your dress sense is much too revealing. You walked out like that in my day and your family would be shamed. Do you have a respectable family, dear?”
Winter held back a laugh and shrugged. “You could say that, yeah.”
“What do they do, dear?”
“Oh, they design jewellery. Just a small business, really.”
Winter refused to speak in the past tense, deciding it was best to think her parents were still alive.
“Oh, that’s nice!” The woman beamed. “Do you want to go into jewellery making? Or design work at all? Great job for a young woman like you. You could take your own style global. Between me and you, if you did do that, make sure it’s not so revealing. Girls need to respect themselves these days. Yes, they do.”
“I’ve never really thought about it, but sure.”
The woman smiled, as if she was proud she had assisted Winter’s career ambitions in some way. Winter tried to move again, but a coat hanger dug into her back.
“Did you see these zombies last night?” The woman looked around as if she expected a zombie to jump out from the dressing room. “They were in this street last night. A baker man was killed, you see. A few others have been hurt, too.”
“Hurt? You mean like bitten?”
The woman nodded. “Aye, bitten. Haven’t been seen all day, you see. I was out on the street when they came, coming back from my friend’s house. Oh, it was horrible.”
The woman beckoned for Winter to follow her and when the woman walked towards the window Winter was relieved that she had personal space once more.
The woman pointed to the window opposite the diners; the one Winter had looked out at this morning. “See up there. They’re always out, ringing bells and making sure everything is going good in this town and bringing in the business they so desperately need. Today, nothing.”
Winter nodded.
“And that diner, young girl, about your age, she hasn’t been seen and it hasn’t been open all day either.” The woman sighed. “Not good, no, not good at all.”
“Would you say they have been infected?”
The woman looked at Winter and eventually nodded.
“Not safe, this place. Need to keep our doors locked at night, we do.”
Winter began to edge her way to the door, trying to make it clear that she had seen enough but also not trying to offend the woman.
“Not going, are you dear?”
“I’m afraid so,” Winter said, taking her chance and opening the door slightly. “Nice ring, by the way.”
The woman looked down at her bony hand with affection and held it up.
“Another thing passed down my family.”
Winter nodded, pre-empting another life story she said, “Keep safe, ma’am.”
“You too, dear.”
As the door shut behind her, Winter looked up at the flat opposite the diner. She had seen the woman wave last night, was sure she was human. She hadn’t got a good look at the rest of the room, but the woman in the clothes shop had mentioned ‘them’. She wondered if someone inside was infected now, while someone else tried to make them better, unaware of what was to come.
As Winter walked towards the diner, she wondered if she should go over, make sure everything was alright.
She hovered by the diner door, holding the keys in her hand, her eyes on the flat opposite. She didn’t see any movement, no sign that there was a struggle.
She realised she needed to leave as soon as possible, before nightfall.
Winter fumbled with the lock of the door. When it opened, she pushed the door quickly and stepped inside. She locked the door behind her, feeling relieved to be back in safety.
If someone was infected, it wouldn’t take long for this town to go under. She needed to tell Violet and Connor that they had to leave today.
She turned around and saw Violet sat at the bar on one of the bar stools used to block the door. Violet looked at Winter in the reflection of the dirty mirror behind the bar. She was watching a news report on a TV monitor that Winter hadn’t noticed the night before.
Winter barricaded the door before standing next to Violet. Images of zombie attacks all over the world filled the screen, as the reporter talked over the images.
“A zombie-like epidemic has begun to sweep all over the globe, with recent events taking place in London.”
Events, Winter thought. It was like he was promoting the Olympics. She wondered if the over promoted event would actually take place. The images switched to burning buildings in London, and footage taken from mobile phones, depicting zombies cast in shadows launching themselves at people on the street.
“People are being urged to stay indoors and wait for evacuation squads to come to them,” the reporter said. “These beings are not to be challenged and must be avoided at all costs.”
Images then changed to America.
“States in America have seen the worst, with the president dead,” the reporter said. Winter gasped. “America has become a high priority to evacuate before it is too late.”
Footage of CCTV from the White House filled the screens. The posh halls were splattered with blood, and the walking dead stumbled around, looking for any human they had missed.
“Grim,” Violet muttered.
“As more countries become infested, more work is placed on evacuation squads, and less time is given to evacuate. Please find safety immediately. You can call these numbers to report your whereabouts.”
Numbers flashed up on the screen and Winter looked down at the booklet she had been given in the shop. She saw the same numbers printed.
“Well, looks like it’s all gotten out of hand,” Violet said, lifting up a vodka bottle. Winter stared at it in disbelief.
“How they hell are you still drinking?”
Violet was sat only i
n her underwear. Her hair was wet, so she had recently gotten out of the shower. A cup full of vodka sat to the side of her, and the bottle she held was half full. A half-eaten sandwich lay on the counter.
“The Violet hangover special,” she said, not taking her eyes off the images of destruction on the screen. “You party till the sun comes up. You wake when the sun goes down. You throw up and then you shower. You then get yourself a sandwich and you pour yourself another glass of vodka. You then wait until you’re drunk again and then sleep it off. And where have you been?”
“I went to look at what this street has to offer.”
“Anything?”
“Oh yes,” Winter said sarcastically. “Perverted men and dodgy people.”
Violet took a huge bite out of her sandwich, which was egg judging by the bit that was on the side of her mouth. Winter realised just how boyish Violet was, and how good her body was.
“So, that zombie invasion last night, crazy wasn’t it?” Violet said. “If I hadn’t watched the news, I would have assumed we were drunk. High, maybe. Do you remember much from last night?”
“I wasn’t drunk,” Winter laughed. “Not as much as you. Where’s Connor?”
“He’s in the shower if you wanted to hop in with him.” Violet grinned.
Winter pulled a face. “I think we need to leave.”
“Not tonight, I can’t be dealing with walking around when I feel this bad.” Violet moaned.
“I think people are infected on the street.”
“And why do you think that?”
“Well, think about how many people escaped the street last night and got back home. Some may have been bitten. Plus, I saw a woman in one of the shops and she said some shops that normally open haven’t been opened today. Don’t you think that’s odd?”
“Can you blame them after what happened last night? I wouldn’t open a shop.” Violet slid across the same booklet Winter was holding. “I read everything in there. Came through the door today. Evacuation squads being sent out to take us to Paris, which is the only safe place at the moment. No signs of any infection there, but signs in all other parts of the world, except for some remote islands. They say if the worst happens, people need to travel to the river Thames, where boats are coming and going to take people to Le Havre. They’re saying places are limited and boats will stop travelling soon, so to get there quickly if in a reasonable distance.”
Winter Smith (Book 1): London's Burning Page 8
