Winter Smith (Book 1): London's Burning

by Strange, J. S.

  The shop wasn’t busy. There were only a few people dotted around here and there, but everyone turned to look at her as she walked in. Some eyed her dress with fear, but when Winter walked to the counter calmly they seemed to realise there wasn’t much of a problem to fear just yet and went back to their own things.

  Winter ordered a caramel macchiato and took a seat on a sofa chair, picking up a book that had been left behind. It was one of little interest to her: some lovely tale of a girl who was pursuing a man who turned out to be her husband in a past life. Predictable, corny, boring.

  The waitress, a girl only just older than Winter, handed over her coffee. She smiled at Winter, her eyes lingering for a second or two longer than they should have.

  The coffee shop was open plan, with wooden panels on the floor and ceiling. Unlike the one back home in Watford, the walls were bare, lacking any sort of fair trade coffee beans photos. The sofas were all black and brown, some soft and some leather. Winter noticed that everyone here seemed to be mellow, thinking things through, possibly waiting to be evacuated themselves.

  The waitress who had served Winter was talking to a man sat on a tall stool in the middle of the room. He held a paper in one hand, a coffee cup in the other. He had facial hair that was styled, and wore black-rimmed glasses. Winter thought he would be attractive, if he weren’t so spiteful.

  The man hopped off his seat and strode over to Winter slowly, pretending to be interested in other things. He took the seat opposite Winter, setting down his coffee and leaning back in the chair. The newspaper he held, Herald News, was folded in his lap.

  He smiled at Winter. “Fancy seeing you here of all places.”

  “David,”

  David Herald smiled at her, evidently pleased she remembered him. How could she forget? He had helped ruin her life.

  “What brings you all the way out here? Surely you, of all people, would have been saved first? That waitress over there was so excited she had served Winter Smith, she just had to tell me!” David smiled. He was pretending to be kind, something Winter saw through.

  “Well, when your home is invaded with blood seeking beasts, you try and escape them,” Winter picked up the book she had scanned earlier and flipped to a random page, looking down and pretending to read.

  “Ah, I heard about all of that. Such a shame. Although, the photos were fantastic!”

  Winter looked at him, his eyes sparkling behind glass lenses.

  “It looked like it was a good party, before anything happened. Do you know who survived and who didn’t?”

  Winter clicked her tongue. She was not in the mood to talk to this man.

  “You’re not going to get anything news worthy from me, David,” Winter said with politeness. “You’ll just have to find somewhere else free of zombies to go.”

  “Is there such a place?”

  “France. Why don’t you bugger off there?”

  “Now, Winter, is that the way to treat a reporter? A pretty damn important one, too?” David grinned.

  Winter slapped the book shut. She glared at the man in front of her.

  “Listen, David, there are far more important things right now than reporting on someone nobody really cares about. Do you think people are going to care about getting a daily report on celebrity gossip in that paper of yours and your dad’s when their families are under threat?”

  “My dad is proud of this paper,” David Herald said, looking at the copy of Herald News in his lap. “He will keep printing it until he can’t any more.”

  “Then why not print something useful? Some tips on how to evacuate? Tips on survival, even.” Winter snapped.

  “Have you ever read this paper, Winter?” David asked, his voice cold.

  “Of course I have,” Winter was trying to keep her voice at an even level, trying to ignore the gaze of the female waitress who was drying a cup. “I read it when I was fourteen, when I turned fifteen and tried to forget the past. That paper never let me.”

  “Then you will have seen that this paper does report on news, factual or not. If you were not so self obsessed, you would have seen that.”

  “Me self obsessed?” Winter asked. “You really think I give a damn about how I live and what is wrote about me? You really think all I care about is myself?”

  “No, I don’t,” David said. “In fact, that was rude of me to say that. There’s a lot more to you than meets the eye, Winter, which makes you a great source of news when it’s a slow news day.”

  “Then it must have been a slow news day often,”

  “What happened when you were fourteen was news, Winter. It would have been if you were mildly famous or not. It just happened to be that it was dragged out throughout the next year, because there were so many outfalls from it. It did the paper well.”

  “It didn’t do me well, did it?”

  David looked genuinely pitiful. “No, Winter, it did not. But that part of your life is gone now. Finished.”

  “Is it?”

  “Aren’t you tired of always being made to be the bad girl?” David asked. “Reports of you rebelling against your family, arguments, drugs, drink…it’s not nice to have that printed about you, is it?”

  Winter said nothing. She just wanted David to go away. She wanted to scream at the waitress staring over that the cup she was still drying was now probably dry, move on to another one.

  “This is your chance to get people on your side,” David leaned forward now. “People need someone to look up to, Winter. They need someone they can trust. A role model, of sorts. Wouldn’t it be great if that role model were you? Oh, how the tables would turn! How proud would your parents be?”

  “How old are you, David?” Winter asked.

  David looked slightly taken aback. “I’m twenty six.”

  “Then why not get out of this job? I’m sure you’re a decent man. Why not do some good for the world? Why don’t you go and help people, instead of ruin people?”

  “I don’t ruin people,” David shrugged. “I like my job. I can prove myself with everything that’s going on here, can’t I? I can discover things. I can print the truth. I can become an infamous journalist with your help, Winter.”

  Winter leant in, so her face was inches from his.

  “David,” she whispered. “You’re not going to get anything from me, so why don’t you go and find someone else to bother?”

  David leant back, breathing in. Winter did the same, staring at him, trying to read his thoughts.

  “You know what you’re doing, Winter, don’t you?” He asked. “You’re alienating me. I’m going to find something, Winter. I could prove very useful. Are you sure you don’t want me on your side?”

  Before Winter could answer, David Herald spoke again.

  “I can ruin you, Winter. I did it before, I can do it again.”

  Winter kept the smile on her face, her heart rate quickening.

  “You can’t ruin me, David, not the way you used to.” She spoke, her eyes still staring into David’s. “You see the news of celebrities is no more. Go and be a perfect journalist and report on some useful things, and we can talk then. I wish you all the luck.”

  Winter opened the book she had been gripping once more. She glared over at the waitress who quickly busied herself with the pile of dirty cups besides her. David Herald was standing up, ruffling the paper in his hand.

  “If you want to get out of London, head towards the river Thames, and get a boat to Le Havre. Where you go from there, I don’t know. I’ll see you in France, Winter.”

  “Sure,” Winter said, making a note never to seek David Herald again.

  He strode out of the coffee shop, possibly in anger or frustration. Winter couldn’t tell. She did know, however, that David Herald had always been born into the journalism role. His dad, Jason Herald had set up the paper with his wife, Judy Herald, and when David came along he had wrote many stories for the paper before becoming head of celebrity culture. She knew he was just trying to do a job
, but she couldn’t help him. She would never help him.

  She finished her coffee, feeling her anger subside. She could almost imagine that David Herald would be waiting for her outside, but when she walked out into the chilling air he was no where to be seen.

  She wondered why he was here. She had never known David Herald’s exact location. She didn’t know where the Herald News offices were. Thinking about it now, she didn’t know how recent the paper David had was. It could have already gone under, or it could have relocated to France and David was on the job.

  Winter passed the steps where she had had her encounter with the group of boys. They were gone now; all that was left were empty packets of crisps and energy drinks.

  Winter felt slightly uneasy on the streets of Borehamwood. She spotted a clock ticking away in a dark shop front and saw that the time was five to nine. It was only an hour until Ashley and the boys were evacuated.

  She cut down an alleyway; sure it would take her to Violet’s quicker.

  There was steam billowing from a vent on the corner of the street, bins stacked high with black bin bags. Winter walked quickly over stones and smashed glass, suddenly regretting her choice of route.

  Just then, a metal door banged open and a man was pushed through it. Winter hid behind the nearest bin, looking under it to see what was going on. The dirty floor stained her designer dress even more, but Winter didn’t care.

  A second man strode through the door, brandishing a kitchen knife. He was in chef wear, probably the highest chef of them all, and looked incredibly angry. The man on the floor was weedy, thinning hair and a sweaty complexion. He was in a suit too big for him, and was now whimpering.

  “Don’t you ever fucking dare come to my fucking work place again, mate, do you understand?” The chef shouted. His voice echoed around the alleyway.

  The man on the floor got to his feet, his eyes on the knife the chef held. Blood dripped from the knife, and Winter prayed to God above that it was blood from an animal, not from a human.

  “I have every right to come here and…and humiliate you!” The man in the suit squeaked, failing to match the intimidation of the chef. “You slept with my wife!”

  “She fucking loved it!” The chef belly laughed. “She got a lot more fun from me than she did with a fucking scrote like you.”

  “You raped her!” The man in the suit shouted. His voice was wavering with emotion. Winter wanted to help this man. “She never wanted you! You forced her!”

  The chef moved in a flash. He had the man in the suit pinned against the wall in an instant.

  “She didn’t say that when she was fucking me,” the man snarled. “She wanted every bit of me like I wanted her. It all went on under your spotty nose, mate. She wanted a man. She got a man.”

  “A man would never take another man’s wife!”

  The chef kicked the man in the stomach and he hunched over. Winter could see him tightening his grip on the knife, getting ready for the blow.

  “You ain’t a man.” The chef laughed. “Look at you. You’re pathetic.”

  The chef aimed a kick at the man in the suit and Winter heard the sickening crunch of a bone breaking. The man in the suit screamed, falling to the ground. He rolled over, and Winter saw wet blood running from a broken nose.

  “You’re useless to everyone,” The chef put one foot on either side of the man in the suit, keeping him in one place. “She’d do better with you dead.”

  The chef began to stamp on the man repeatedly, ignoring his shouts and screams of protest. Winter was frozen. She was watching a man being killed. How was she supposed to act?

  She hurried from behind the bin, screaming wildly, knowing full well this was a bad idea.

  The chef paused at the girl’s voice, possibly thinking it was the wife of the man he had been having an affair with. When he saw it was just some girl, her dress covered in blood, he resumed his kicking.

  Winter ran forwards and jumped at the chef, pushing him to the ground. She fell on top of him in a heap, unable to find level ground so she could stand up. She grabbed the hand with the knife and wrestled it from his grasp. It slid across the floor and she hurried forwards, grabbing it and pointing it at the chef.

  “You let him go or I will call the police,” Winter said, her hand shaking, giving away how scared she was.

  “Who the fuck are you?” The chef asked. He didn’t seem scared. He was much bigger than Winter. She was nothing.

  “It doesn’t matter, does it? Get away from here.”

  “Why don’t you move along little girl and forget you saw anything?” The chef grinned.

  “Let him go,”

  “You’ll make me do something I don’t regret, little girl,” the chef said, edging closer to Winter. “If you don’t, move, along.”

  He was in front of her now. Winter was trapped between man and wall. She noticed the man in the suit was sitting up; she had to distract the chef.

  “Let me go,” Winter said calmly. “If you let me go, I will go.”

  “No, you smell divine,” the chef said, pressing himself against Winter. Effortlessly, he hit the knife from her hand. She could smell meat on him, blood of a dead animal. “Why don’t you and I have a little fun, girly?”

  Winter didn’t say anything, suddenly paralyzed with fear. She could feel his breath on her neck as he inspected her body, running a hand down her back, towards her bum.

  “So pert and tight,” the man commented.

  He pinned Winter’s arms to the wall and she felt one hand fumble with the zipper of his trousers. She screamed, loudly, until her throat hurt. The man began to laugh, then suddenly there was a deafening bang, the man juddered, his body falling against Winter’s before leaning backwards, falling to the floor.

  Something wet had sprayed over Winter and she realised it was blood. His blood dripped down the wall behind her. He lay with a wound in his neck, his eyes staring upwards.

  The man in the suit fled.

  Winter stayed where she was. Somebody has just saved her life, or had taken a bad aim. There was no one on either side of the alleyway, nobody in any windows. Yet someone was watching her, just out of sight.

  Winter picked up the knife she had dropped. For good measure she lifted it and stabbed the chef straight in the chest, leaving the handle sticking out.

  With shaking hands and a feeling of nausea, Winter hurried back to Violet’s, aware her dress was bloodier than before, aware she had just witnessed a man’s death in front of her eyes, aware that she was almost raped, aware that everything in the alleyway had brought up the images of when she was fourteen all over again.

  She found herself at Violet’s in no time. She leant against the wall, arranging her hair, wiping loose blood off her skin. She took in a few breaths until her nerves steadied and then knocked on the door.

  A different woman answered the door, plump and kind looking. She saw Winter’s appearance and looked a little startled, but said nothing.

  Winter headed for the steps, hurrying up them, pumping the blood in her system.

  She knocked on Violet’s door and waited a few seconds before it opened.

  “What the fuck happened to you?” Violet asked.

  Chapter Nine

  Winter explained everything to Violet as quickly as she could inside the little coatroom. Violet listened to everything, finding it interesting to say the least.

  “You do get some weirdoes here,” Violet said. “Although, I guess now people are a little frightened, aren’t they? They seem to think now they have to deal with all of their problems.”

  “Somebody shot him. And let me leave.”

  “Well be thankful someone saved your life!”

  “I just wish I knew who it was.” Winter said. She hadn’t mentioned that the chef had almost raped her. Instead she said that he had turned his back to beat up the man in the suit once more when she stabbed him. His blood was still on her hands.

  “I wish you had kept the fucking knife,” V
iolet laughed. “We could use every weapon we can get.”

  “Connor will be back tomorrow. It’ll all be okay.”

  “Thinking about that, do you think he’ll remember where I live? He was tired when we walked here. What if he’s forgotten?”

  Winter felt dread weigh inside her, mixing with all of her other emotions nobody every wanted.

  “Don’t say that,”

  Violet led Winter back into the main room. Ashley was sitting in a wheelchair, while the boys were all dressed up.

  “How are you?” Ashley asked Winter. To Violet, it would have sounded casual, but after the conversation Winter and Ashley had had today, Winter understood the question fully.

  “I’m fine,” Winter nodded, deciding it was best to lie.

  “How long until they arrive, Violet?” Ashley asked, biting her lip.

  “About twenty minutes, mum,” Violet said.

  “Are you coming with us, Violet?” Ben asked, jumping up with a teddy bear in his hand.

  “No, not on the same coach, but I’ll be right behind you.”

  Violet caught her mother’s eye and they looked at each other for a minute, both saying what they couldn’t say in front of the boys. Winter felt a little awkward, feeling as though she was interrupting what could be a loving family moment.

  “Violet,” Winter heard Ashley say. Her tone was low, and Winter realised this was supposed to be between mother and daughter. She strolled away from the area, towards the kitchen, but she could still hear every word. “You’ve been a fantastic daughter. You’ve been so helpful, and so kind.”

  “You’re going to be alright, mum,” Violet said. Her voice shook. Winter glanced over and saw Violet looked close to tears. “They’ll take care of you there.”

  “Now that I’m gone, don’t be afraid to go ahead and do what you want to do, Violet. Don’t give up. Get a better life for yourself.”

  “I can’t, mum,” Violet whispered. “When I get to Paris, I need to take care of you and the boys. I can’t leave them alone.”