Winter Smith (Book 1): London's Burning

by Strange, J. S.

  “Girls, wha’ are they good for?” Gerry swigged his beer and received a look off Helena that told him to be careful what he was saying. Gerry winked back at her.

  “So where are they now?”

  Winter hadn’t told Connor about saving the kids. She thought it was something she should tell him when they were alone, not in front of the others.

  “Violet escaped when me and Zach were fighting off the zombies,” Winter said. “Then Zach ran and left me.”

  “Why didn’t you follow them?” Oliver quizzed.

  “I had been hit to the floor. I was dazed. I hardly remember getting here. By the time I got out onto the main road Violet was gone and Zach was following.”

  Oliver just lifted his head, with the air of someone who wasn’t interested and didn’t believe a word she said. Winter decided she did not like him. He seemed rude and unfriendly. She had had enough of people like that when her life had been with the rich.

  “Do you like drink, Winter?” Helena asked, sensing that the conversation had taken an odd turn.

  “What kind of drink?”

  William rustled one bag that clinked. He smiled at Winter as she looked at the bag, which was full and lumpy.

  “Is that bag full of alcohol?” Winter gasped.

  “Yep,” William said proudly. “We took it all from behind the counter. Thought nobody would want that now.”

  “I’m sure a lot of people would want that now.” Connor laughed.

  “We had another bag but we drank it,” Laura said. “Literally.”

  Winter laughed. “And what drink do you have?”

  “Ah, that’s the game!” William smiled. “It’s a lucky dip. Whatever you pick out, you have to drink.”

  “That sounds exciting.”

  “You can forget stuff just for that little bit,” Connor said.

  “First, we need to get more firewood so we can start making breakfast,” Oliver said, breaking the happy family moment. “Connor, I believe it was your round.”

  “Ah yes,” Connor sighed, sitting up in his chair.

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Winter asked. Again, William and Gerry wolf whistled.

  “You’ve got nothing on your feet!” Connor said. “You’re going to injure them even more. Why don’t you stay here and relax?”

  “Are you sure?” Winter felt slightly deflated. She thought Connor wanted to see her more now that they had been reunited after so long.

  “I’m sure.” Connor smiled, standing up. He picked up a bag that went around his chest, with a pouch across his stomach allowing him to store any wood he found. “Relax. You need it.”

  She watched him leave across the park, climb the wall and disappear out of sight. She sat in the chair alone while the others talked about breakfast and plans they had for leaving soon.

  “We can’t go with the government.” Gerry urged. “Don’t trust ‘em.”

  “Why not?” Winter asked, before she could stop herself.

  “I just think if they really wanted this to end, they would put more people on evacuation teams.” Gerry shrugged. He stubbed out his cigarette and drank the rest of his beer. “Especially those big evacuation ships. There’s no way we’ll all get out on those small boats they run every hour.”

  Winter nodded. He did have a point. However, she thought it must be hard for such official people to deal with such a big outbreak, when they were just people in the same boat as everyone else. Nobody knew this was coming. Nobody had really been prepared.

  Winter looked down at her feet, only now realising that she had cut them pretty badly in those woods. She felt them stinging as she looked at dried blood covering almost half of her foot, the rest covered in mud.

  “You haven’t got any spare shoes, have you?”

  Oliver looked at her and grinned, one that wasn’t friendly but was somewhat malicious, almost as if he enjoyed her being so vulnerable. He seemed to be x-raying her, spotting her weak spots and sizing her up. Winter stared at him until he looked away, still grinning. She even thought she saw him chuckle.

  “I do,” Helena said, standing up. “Come with me to the tent.”

  Winter did as she was told. She walked past Gerry and William who smiled at her, but glancing back she saw them admiring the way she walked. Winter felt slightly flattered. Even when she felt so disgusting she was still eye catching, at least to two young men.

  Climbing into the tent, Winter saw just how much these people had. There were more bags inside, propped up against the back of the tent. Winter thought they must have been used as pillows. Girl’s perfume lay scattered on the ground and make up stains had been left on the side of the walls. Helena caught her looking and grinned.

  “Put two girls in a tent and you’ll get a beauty salon.” Helena laughed. Winter smiled. Neither Helena nor Laura struck her as glamour girls. But she supposed being in the company of boys, all of which were not the least bit ugly, she couldn’t fault the girls for trying.

  “He really likes you, you know,” Helena said as she rummaged through a bag. “Connor. He’s been speaking about you since I met him.”

  “Has he?” Winter asked, trying to come across as casual.

  “Don’t be so coy.” Helena winked. “You clearly like him, too.”

  “He’s an attractive lad.” Winter shrugged.

  “And you’re an attractive young lady.” Helena smiled. She handed over a pair of slightly worn trainers. “They’re nothing special, but they’ll do, I hope.”

  Helena again turned to the bag and extracted a rolled up pair of socks, so clean Winter wouldn’t have been surprised if they announced they had washing machine facilities with them. “Don’t want to catch athletes foot, do you?”

  “Lovely.” Winter grinned.

  “You’ll be staying in here with us. Apparently this is a four man tent, but we’re women and we like our space. There’s enough room for you, though.”

  “Thank you,” Winter smiled. “I don’t mean to intrude.”

  “Don’t be so silly. Connor most certainly doesn’t see you as an intruder.” Helena grinned.

  Once again, Winter blushed, and she thought about how safe she would feel if she managed to stay with these people until Paris. When one door closes, another opens, as they said.

  * * *

  Connor climbed a steep incline of hill, no longer covered with grass but instead covered with burnt trees, burnt out tents and the odd spill of blood. They hadn’t been around to witness it, but had arrived to see it smoking. Gerry had said it would have been a campsite for people who were attacked by the dead, and thought the only way to escape infection was to burn everything, including themselves.

  Connor came to a stop next to a pile of wood, which he had been using as his source. He placed a foot on a log and drew out a walkie-talkie from his pocket. Casting his eyes around, he made sure there was no one around. The coast was clear. As clear as it would be.

  Tracing a hand over a triangular carving in the bark of a tree in front of him, he pressed in the button and began to talk.

  “I’ve got her. She’s arrived. Alone.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The door slammed shut at number fifteen, Mouscallous Street, just outside Shepherd’s Bush Green. The young woman behind the door rested her head against the black paint, feeling the cold of a long, dreaded hallway that was made of tile and stone. Light seemed to struggle to penetrate the grubby dark that hung inside it.

  Her bare feet padded over the tiled floor. The tiles were old fashioned, with swirling diamond patterns. They were dusty and cold, and to her they needed to be cleaned.

  There was a door on her left. A grand, wooden door that looked like it would leave you with multiple splinters if you were to touch it. She pushed it open with the tip of her fingers, listening to the unwelcoming screech of its hinges, and found herself in a wide drawing room, full of leather sofas, a dark green carpet, and bookcases piled high with hard backed books. The smell of old seeped through
her nostrils.

  She could hear the boy upstairs, consoling two children who had somehow followed them here. She cursed it all. It was unfair that they were burdened with them. Everything was just so unfair.

  Turning out of the drawing room, she walked down the hallway and past an umbrella stand that was empty, except for discarded papers. She considered them with interest, wondering what these papers could possibly offer her, before walking to a cupboard under the stairs. She looked around the hallway with its tall ceilings and tiled walls and its empty feeling. She felt like she was trespassing, as though someone or something had a hold over their rightful property. Pulling open the squealing door, she saw the room was empty except for a lone, wooden chair and a few drawings and carvings etched into the walls. It was a fearsome sight. It seemed foreboding. Wooden panels on one side of the wall looked damp, and they were beginning to rot. She shivered, blamed it on the chill in the air, and shut the door, promising to never open it again.

  She pushed open another wooden door at the end of the hallway, this time catching her skin. She looked at her fingers to see they had bled. She cursed under her breath and walked into a long kitchen. The blinds were drawn on a window and the door was boarded shut. Pots and pans were left in a lonely looking sink, and a table in the middle of the room held papers a few weeks old.

  “Violet!” The boy called from upstairs. She didn’t reply. She was just as angry with him as she was Winter Smith. “Violet, where are you?”

  Violet ignored his calls. She wanted him to know she was angry. As far as she was concerned, it was his entire fault they had ended up here, despite being pursued by numerous dead creatures.

  She pulled the blind away from the window and was greeted with a dark garden; very private due to the fact tall trees surrounded it. At the far end of the garden was a sorry looking swing. At one side of the garden was an empty chicken coop, and in the middle of the garden stood an old fashioned bonfire with sticks piled together to form a pyramid.

  “Violet! Come and look at this!”

  She rolled her eyes. He was going to be here whether she liked it or not. She had to talk to him. She had to let him know her ideas.

  She strode out of the kitchen, hoping they had clothes in this house. She had had to run through the streets of London, escaping the dead in nothing but her underwear. It had been so demeaning. It had been so cruel. It was an odd twist of fate that took her back to years on the street and in bedrooms of seedy old men.

  She climbed the steps. They were smooth and made of what she thought was marble. The banister was wooden, as was pretty much everything else in this house, and she noticed it had burn marks on the wood. She got to the landing, full of doors leading into rooms of wealthy sizes. The boy stood in the doorway of a room at the end of the hall, staring at her intently.

  “What?” She asked. She made her tone sound moody, false, annoyed.

  “Come and look at this room,” Zach said.

  He disappeared into the room, and Violet decided she would inspect it. As much as this house was empty and cold, it seemed to intrigue her. Who had lived in a house like this? Noticing the corner of the ceilings, Violet saw they were surrounded with damp. The house seemed to be dying around them. The floors upstairs were uneven, and she had to grip the banister for fear of stumbling.

  She walked into the end room and was thrown by how white everything was. The carpet was white, with sheepskin throws across the floor. The walls were white, except for one, which was plastered with black symbols and writing and drawings. The bed, a king size, sat in the middle of the room propped up by a black, metal frame. The pillows and the blankets were white; except for one corner which had a stain Violet thought looked like blood.

  “Where are the kids?” Violet asked, walking towards one of the two windows in front of her. From where she stood she could see the whole of London. In the distance she could make out the London Eye. It spun so slowly Violet had to stare at it to make sure it really was moving. It was so eerie she felt herself shivering again. Rooftops were ablaze and the odd flash of something else being set alight could be seen. She could also make out the odd street, but because streetlights had gone out not even the rising sun had penetrated the dark yet.

  “They’re in the next room. The rest of the rooms are pretty dark and damp,” Zach said. “And do you feel that chill?”

  Violet glanced at him. He was stood in his underwear and his shirt and looked stick thin and poor. Violet pitied him.

  “Where have we come to?”

  Zach walked to the second window across from Violet and looked down into the street below.

  “Those women look dodgy, don’t they?” Zach remarked.

  Violet knew whom he was talking about. Three women were gathered together outside a shop that was just as dark as everything else. Painted on wood were faded letters Violet could not read, and the door was cast in a shadow and obscured by the women. They were fussing over a book, and one lady held a clear bag full of odd-looking items. They cackled and laughed before they put up their hoods and swept through the street, old-fashioned dresses trailing across the ground.

  “I think they were buying bongs,” Zach said.

  Violet smirked. “I wouldn’t be surprised in this street.”

  It was winding and crooked, and it was full of terraced buildings that looked like both house and shop. Wicker baskets hung outside of each shop, but they were empty. However, Violet did notice one shop had a wicker basket that held red roses, and she could just make out a flower display in the front window. Every shop had the same appearance: dark colours painted on wood, and dark, thick windows to stop nosy eyes. It was clear the dead had been here. Despite seeing the women on the street, it seemed like the town was a ghost town, and it looked like death himself had left his touch. These people had evacuated a long time ago. The odd zombie ran down the street in search of a human victim, and blood leaked into the sewers below.

  “I won’t be going out there,” Zach said.

  “You have to. We need clothes and we need food.” Violet snapped.

  “I’m not going out like this.” Zach protested, indicating his appearance.

  “Why not?” Violet grinned. “It’s fun.”

  “Maybe for you, but I don’t find any of this fun. It’s public indecency, that is what it is.”

  “There’s nobody around anyway.”

  “Good, you can go out then.”

  “Where’s the bathroom?”

  “The other end of the hallway,” Zach said.

  “Good. I’ll shower later.”

  Violet turned back to the window to watch the sun pour over the rooftops. “We’re close to the Thames now.”

  She thought she could see it, although she wasn’t sure. She hoped the black mass she could see was a ship waiting for survivors, but again she thought it was her nasty mind tricking her.

  “Don’t you think we should find Winter?” Zach sighed.

  Violet threw him a look she hoped would sting him. “Don’t talk to me about her.”

  “Violet, she didn’t do anything…”

  “She left me on a roof, Zach.” Violet strode back into the room and led down on the bed. “In the pouring rain she just left me there, and she didn’t come back when she saw me fall through.”

  Zach approached the bed and lay down next to her, wrapping his arms around her. Violet didn’t respond at first. She’d let him think she wasn’t interested. But as he began to tickle her stomach, she wrapped her arms around him, too, and placed her head across his chest.

  “She completely switched on me, and I don’t know why.”

  “She thought you pushed me.”

  “Well for her to even think that means she is untrustworthy.” Violet shrugged. “She may have been Winter Smith, celebrity socialite in another life, but in this one she is plain old and boring Winter Smith.”

  “She never was the socialite,” Zach said. “She hated that life.”

  “Are you defending
her?” Violet sternly asked.

  “No, of course I’m not. There’s nothing to defend. She did nothing wrong and neither did you. I’m just saying what was obvious.”

  “You could read her, could you?” Violet said, slightly envious.

  “Don’t be jealous, Vi. Winter was just a friend, and I’d like her to still be a friend.”

  “Well we probably won’t see her again. I wouldn’t be surprised if she is one of them now.”

  Zach broke away from Violet. He sat at the edge of the bed with his head down, clutching his hands together.

  Looking at him she saw he was just a lonely boy, who was worried and weighed down with the possibility of never leaving London.

  “What’s wrong?” Violet asked, propping herself up with her elbows. She had gone a bit far. She knew she had. She hoped Winter was okay. She didn’t wish death on anybody. Well, not if she could help it…

  “Don’t say stuff like that, Vi. I should have waited for her. I should have brought her with me. I was the one saying we should never split up. And then I just left her there.”

  “You made sure there was nothing there to harm her. She could have followed but she chose not to.”

  “I knew she wasn’t following. I just didn’t care. I wanted to find you. You just kept running. I couldn’t lose you, Violet.”

  “Oh, so this is my fault now, is it?” Violet said with a rising temper. “You think that because I ran, I made you leave Winter behind?”

  “No. No, of course I don’t. I knew you were going to run. I just thought you’d take me with you, and we’d let Winter come, too.”

  “Don’t give me that bullshit, Zach.” Violet stood up and paced the room. “You knew, you fucking knew that when I said I was going to escape I meant without her. I want to escape London, not mourn over the loss of a boyfriend she only went on one date with.”

  “I didn’t think you were serious.” Zach muttered. “I didn’t think you’d really want to leave her behind.”

  “I didn’t.” Violet shrugged. “But Zach, look at it this way. She was going to ruin this for us. She was holding us back. I mean, look how far we got without her. We’re in Shepherd’s Bush. We’re not far from the Thames. We’re so close to safety.”