Winter Smith (Book 1): London's Burning

by Strange, J. S.

  Just then Zach climbed out of his bed on the floor. He had his bare back turned to the two girls at the window as he stretched. He ran a hand over his messy hair, which stuck up at odd angles and turned around to survey the room. Looking at Violet, in nothing but her underwear, he stopped dead. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked embarrassed.

  “Put some clothes on,” Violet said, with the hint of a grin. “Me and you are going across to that shop. We need weapons.”

  Zach did as he was told, quickly pulling on a t-shirt and buckling up his jeans. Violet was less speedy getting dressed, but when she was ready she looked disgusted.

  “I can’t wear this anymore,” Violet said, surveying her hooker dress, her fishnet tights and her plastic heels. “I really do look like a whore.”

  Zach was trying not to admire her lean legs. Instead, he stared at the wall opposite him.

  “Are there any clothes shops around here?” Violet fired at Zach.

  “Y-yes,” Zach squeaked. “Yes, around the corner.”

  “Do you want anything?” Violet asked Winter, looking at her stained designer dress.

  “Get me something designer, darling,” Winter mimicked a posh voice, something she had learnt to be good at in the past.

  “Of course, my lady.” Violet bowed. She clapped her hands and looked at Zach. “Come on.”

  She led the way down the stairs and Zach trailed after her, looking slightly out of place. When Winter heard their footsteps fade, she walked to the window to watch them walk across the courtyard.

  Zach was a few steps behind Violet, as if he was afraid being too close to her would offend her. Winter was pleased to see that Violet was talking to him, but she had no idea if the words were cold and cruel or encouraging and kind.

  Winter turned away from the window and ran a hand over her skin. She picked at a scab on her arm; a cut that she hadn’t noticed she had got. She desperately wanted a shower. Her whole body felt dirty and tired. She needed refreshing.

  She hobbled across the room, not wanting to sit down but needing to. Her dress tugged at her thighs and she couldn’t wait just to get out of it.

  Winter thought that maybe this was a new chapter for her. Maybe, with her parents gone, she could look at starting afresh. After all, there were no more socialite parties to attend. There would be no more reporters trying to create a dramatic story about her. There would be no more pretending to be pleased about her parent’s new deals with celebrities, or about their new boat, or about their successful day clinching a deal.

  That part of her life was gone, and as soon as this dress was off, it would be finalised.

  Yet Winter couldn’t help feeling slightly lost without the presence of Nathan and Olivia Smith. They had always been there; regardless if most of the times weren’t happy. She tried to remember any good things they had ever done together.

  There was the time Olivia had shown up at one of Winter’s sporting events in school. It had been the final in a summer tournament, and Winter’s team were points ahead in netball against another rival private school. When Winter scored the winning goal, her mother had jumped for joy. Winter had felt like her mother was there for her, until photographers swarmed out and Olivia Smith gave a speech about funding she was giving to the sports department of the school.

  Nathan had proudly displayed Winter on his arm at a charity ball once in the father/daughter dance. The pair had had a good few weeks learning ballroom dancing, while both enjoyed spending time together. But when the dance was over, Nathan was more concerned about where his next pay cheque would be coming from.

  They had never really had enough time for their only child, and they didn’t really seem to care. All Winter had been to them, really, was a fashion statement. When Winter had turned out different than expected, her parents desperately tried to back track on bringing her into the public eye.

  Winter felt her foot seethe with pain and sat on the sofa, leaning backwards and resting her eyes.

  Life with Nathan and Olivia hadn’t been cruel, far from it. Winter always got the care she needed, and her parents presented her with things they thought she might like, albeit away from public eyes. But she had been emotionally neglected, especially when she was fourteen and fifteen. The aftermath of what had happened had upset her parents, naturally, but they were more concerned about keeping the business alive and separating themselves from that horrible time. If that meant they had to separate themselves from their own daughter, so be it.

  She heard a noise downstairs and thought it might be Violet and Zach. She waited to hear their footsteps but there was nothing. She felt a little on edge, and listened intently for any other sound that could possibly prove threatening.

  All that could be heard was chatter from the square below; doors shutting, cars driving, birds singing. Being here, you’d be forgiven if you mistakenly took London to be a safe city.

  This time, the noise from downstairs was the arrival of Violet and Zach.

  “Carry that through, idiot,” Violet was heard snapping from downstairs.

  There was the sound of a scuffle, probably wrestling of an item through the small hatch they climbed through. Violet sighed loudly before stomping to the steps. Winter heard Violet by the heavy footsteps before she saw her.

  She was carrying two bags, one full of food and the other clothes. Tucked under her arm was a newspaper. Zach followed after her, carrying three bags of bottles, which looked too heavy for him. Strapped to his back were guns.

  “I bet you were a sight walking across the square like that,” Winter grinned.

  Her joke floated in the air, but nobody rose to it. Violet put down her bags, looking worried. Winter sat up, aware that something wasn’t right.

  “What is it?” She asked.

  “It’s Connor,” Violet said, unfolding the newspaper. “There’s a picture of him in the newspaper.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Winter tried standing up, but the pain in her ankle shot up her leg, prompting her to stop. Violet and Zach approached her looking worried.

  “There’s a report on the attack of our street, and he’s there, in the middle of the street.”

  Winter’s heart sunk. Had Connor been only feet away? Had he perhaps only been seconds behind Zach saving Winter and Violet?

  Violet handed over the newspaper, and without thinking of what the consequences might be she flipped through the pages.

  It wasn’t hard to miss. The street carnage was the biggest photo on the page. Looking at it now, Winter couldn’t believe how bad it had been. A telephone pole in the background was lit red, burning brightly, and stood feet away in the middle of the street was Connor. His clothes were bloody, but otherwise he looked fine. There was fear in his eyes, which told Winter he was not infected in this photo. Brief hope was given to her. The dead and the living, a car upturned to his side and a smashed glass window to his right, surrounded him. His eyes were looking straight at the camera, intentionally or not. It was almost as if he was looking straight at Winter.

  “He’s alive…” Winter whispered.

  “In that photo, yes.” Violet said, in a way that suggested she thought he wasn’t anymore.

  “He came back for us,” Winter sobbed. The tears were uncontrollable. They came from nowhere, and the grief she was feeling weighed down on her. She felt so scared and lonely all of a sudden. She felt weak. “We should have waited.”

  “I didn’t know there was someone else,” Zach said quietly.

  Winter looked at him. She saw how guilty he looked, as if he had been responsible for Connor’s potential death.

  “It’s not your fault,” Winter shut the newspaper and threw it away from her. “It’s no one’s fault. It’s the way things are.”

  “We’ll find him,” Violet said, looking at Winter intently. “We will find him, dead or alive.”

  Winter refused to believe he was dead. There was too much emotion in his eyes. He would survive, and he would survive for her.


  Winter breathed out, a long breath that dispelled her growing grief. She wiped the tears away from her eyes and tried to compose herself.

  “So what did you get?” She asked with a voice that was unstable.

  Zach unloaded the guns from his back. “Three assault rifles. I’ve got bullets in one of these bags. They’ll knock the zombies dead. If that is even possible.”

  “We also bought a dozen packs of first aid kits,” Violet spoke from the back of the room. “The first of which will be used on that foot of yours, Winter.”

  “Me and Violet agreed we need to go,” Zach said, inspecting his own gun. “We think we don’t have much time until this place is zombie infested.”

  “So we can call an evacuation squad tonight? Get out of here in a day or two?” Winter asked.

  “No, forget about that,” Violet said, coming in to view as she walked around the sofa. She sat next to Winter. “We’ve decided we’ll get to a place where we can lock ourselves in, pretty far away from an infected town for now, so we have time to sort ourselves. We think we’ll find a roof, preferably one that is accessible by helicopter, and then call to be evacuated.”

  “And will that work?”

  “Fuck knows,” Violet shrugged. “Can anything work? We’re out numbered.”

  “The human race is declining,” Zach added.

  The words hung in the air for just a moment before Violet spoke again.

  “We’ll also try and get in touch with Connor. I’m not sure how, but I was thinking we could possibly get ourselves featured in a newspaper or magazine, before they’re out of print.”

  “He’s not going to be reading newspapers or magazines,” Winter said.

  “We are.” Zach shrugged. “I’m sure a lot of people will want to know what’s happening around them, and they’ll definitely want to know if there are still boats taking us from London to Italy.”

  “France,” Violet corrected.

  “Whatever.”

  “And if the newspapers don’t work?” Winter asked.

  “They will work. You’re a celebrity, Winter, whether you like it or not. If you say you want to appeal, newspapers will make damn sure that your appeal is seen.”

  “I have to go through all of that again?”

  “Yep,” Violet said. “If you want to find Connor you will.”

  “How the hell is he going to get back in touch with us? After all, he isn’t a celebrity, is he? I have no photos of him, so no one is going to have a clue what he looks like!”

  “He might not,” Violet said, and this time her voice was serious. “We don’t even know if he’s alive, do we? But we’ve tried.”

  Winter didn’t think it would work. She didn’t want to be associating herself once more with reporters, especially now she was ready to leave all of that behind. Besides, if she was going to do it, shouldn’t she appeal to find her parents?

  But do you want to? A nagging voice sounded. Are you bothered in finding them?

  Of course I am. They’re my parents.

  Do you want that life again?

  Winter tried to stop thinking about it. She wasn’t prepared to argue with herself on something. She didn’t want to become a media public figure once again, especially now.

  “Listen, well done for coming up with the idea, but…”

  “No, we’re doing this, Winter,” Violet said. Her voice was stern. She was set on the idea, and that idea would go ahead.

  “No, we’re not.” Winter spoke quickly, desperate to get her point across. She could see Violet was about to answer back but refused to let her speak. “No one cares for newspapers or magazines, except for their reports on what is going on in London and the rest of the world. They only care for themselves and getting out of here. They won’t care about some celebrity who is supposedly on drugs using the media to find her boyfriend who she’s lost. Everyone has lost someone. I’m not the only one. They’ll hate me even more. They’ll just laugh at me. If I’m in trouble, they’d rather watch me die.”

  Zach was stood in front of Winter looking out of place. He had inspected his gun already, but was now looking at it again, trying to pretend he wasn’t listening.

  “There’s a chance Connor won’t even see it, and if he does, he could be hated, too. Nobody will save him. Plus, he has no way of getting back in touch with us. Zach said it himself. The printing business will be nothing in a few weeks. It’s pointless.”

  Violet stood up. She crossed her arms and towered above Winter, looking cross and irritated.

  “Look, I’m just trying to help, Winter. I know that you’re going to be moping about the place if we don’t find Connor, and I know the whole time spent in London will be you hoping to find him. We have to try, because he has to come with us. So put on your media persona and do this one last fucking time. For Connor.”

  Winter was slightly stunned. She hadn’t known Violet long, but they were speaking like old friends. Violet was very opinionated, and Winter could tell that when Violet had an idea, she would stick to it. In some senses, Violet was becoming a leader. Winter knew, from this moment, that Violet would be someone who shouldn’t be challenged. She was a good person to be around. She was sensible and street wise. But if you were on the wrong end of her, things could get nasty, and they simply couldn’t afford that happening. The last thing Winter wanted was for there to be nasty tension between the three of them, and for them to go their separate ways. If that happened, everything would soon be over.

  “Fine,” Winter said, resigned. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

  Violet nodded, looking pleased. “Contact that newspaper there, Zach. We’ve got an interview to arrange.”

  * * *

  The next morning proved to be one that would go down in history as the worst in Winter’s life.

  Zach had rung the newspaper they had gotten, along with a bunch of other newspapers and magazines, and as soon as the words “Winter Smith wants to find her boyfriend,” were uttered, things were set in stone.

  The interviews were due to be staggered all day, as they didn’t want a huge press conference. Violet had taken it upon herself to organise the times, excitedly deciding what Winter should appear like and the type of things she should say.

  “Like you said, you want to be liked,” Violet said, brushing a lose strand of hair from Winter’s face. “So don’t come across as me, me, me. Mention that you think more should be done to reunite people with their families, and praise the government for keeping France safe for survivors!”

  “I don’t want to do this,” Winter said to Zach when Violet was out buying them clothes. The first set of reporters was due to be here in fifteen minutes.

  “I know, but we’ll find him. It’ll be okay.”

  When Violet came back, she presented Zach with a suit and herself with a classic black dress. Winter was wearing her ruined designer dress, which Violet had ripped up a bit more.

  “You’ve got to appear like everyone else,” Violet said. “You’re in it with them.”

  “Have you considered a job as a media trainer or something?” Winter asked.

  Violet looked pleased.

  The first reporters arrived, grumbling at the way they had been let in through the small flap in the side of the building. The interview was pretty straightforward. They were from a respectable newspaper with a small, celebrity section where Winter would appear. When they left, Violet looked annoyed.

  “That was a let down. He’s not going to see a small article, and neither is anyone else. This better be better.”

  The other newspaper reporters arrived in the morning. Nobody seemed to be too concerned in keeping this story going for Winter. They asked her questions on who Connor was, how long they had been dating, and why she wanted to find him. All of them said it would appear in their newspaper for a day or two, on the celebrity page. It would not, however, be front-page news.

  As the day wore on, Winter was growing tired and bored of media attention. Photographs had been ta
ken of her sat in her blood stained designer dress, as this was probably what they were more interested in. Violet was snapping at reporters, thanking them for nothing, and Zach was always pushed to one side and completely ignored.

  The last newspaper reporters of the day arrived. Winter was not happy to see it was David Herald, here to report for his newspaper Herald News. However, she did know that he would please Violet. The man had reported on Winter too many times to let this story not be front-page news.

  He arrived with five photographers, six camera men, three sound recorders, two lighting operators and a second female reporter Winter had seen at red carpet events.

  They climbed in through the flap in the side of the building, grumbling about the less than glamorous entrance. They saw Winter, sat on the sofa with a bandaged foot in the middle of the room, and looked stunned.

  “Oh, you poor girl,” the woman said. She wore a dress that emphasised her boobs, and Winter couldn’t help think it was all for David. She smirked. She had heard David was gay. “Quick, set up the cameras.”

  As people buzzed around setting up lights, cameras and microphones, David Herald sat next to Winter and took out a note pad. He smiled at her like she was an old friend.

  “Now, I’m just going to ask you a few questions. Nothing damaging. Just enough for people to hook on to,” he said, and Winter had no doubt that this story would be enough for people to hook on to. “And don’t worry. I’ll make you come across well.”

  The camera’s started rolling. The sound started to record, the lights were set on Winter and David, and Violet and Zach were ushered to the back of the room.

  “This is such an odd turn of events, but I am here with Winter Smith, daughter to Olivia and Nathan Smith, who, of course, are the biggest jewellery designers this earth has ever seen.” David addressed the camera, and Winter looked towards Violet, who looked slightly wary. They hadn’t been told this was for TV. Winter thought the TV channels had lost transmission.

  David turned to her with a sorrowful expression, aware that a camera was set up on him to capture his emotions. They were just as important as Winter’s, supposedly.