Winter Smith (Book 1): London's Burning (38 page)
They landed on the floor, Winter’s bushy hair managing to cushion some of the impact when she hit her head on the ground. She heard guns firing and saw the zombie buckle and roll off her.
She looked up, the world spinning, to see Zach running after Violet and the kids following him, too scared to approach Winter who lay next to a zombie who may or may not be dead.
Winter tried to shout to them. She could see they were about to round the corner, and if they rounded the corner they would be out of sight. That frightened Winter. Then she would be alone.
She began to sit up, but she was aware that the beast next to her was also moving. She clambered across the ground. Her gun was a few feet away and the journal even further. She reached for the gun just as she heard the screech of the last remaining zombie. She grabbed the gun, lifted it through the air and lay on her back just as the zombie towered above her.
She shot, watched the blood splatter as its head exploded, shielded her eyes as she was covered in disgusting, foul smelling blood.
She didn’t open her eyes until she heard it fall. When she looked through her slightly unfocused eyes, she saw she was in a car park splattered with the dead.
She stood up, and with her aching ankle she began to stumble towards the exit of the car park, where she had watched Violet, Zach and the kids flee.
How could Violet leave them? She had just left all of them, including Zach. She had watched Winter fight off the number of zombies, and she had waited for the right moment when Zach was busy with something else. She had made a break for it. If Zach, blinded by love, hadn’t seen her motives then he was an idiot.
Winter felt her naked feet touch leather binding, and looking down she saw the journal she had dropped. She picked it up, tucking it away in her jeans. She lifted her gun a little higher and picked up her pace, hurrying towards the exit.
She cast a look back at the building she had just escaped, and saw the figures of the dead in the hallways. She stopped and watched them for just a few seconds, and remarked on how lucky they had been. It had been safe inside, but as soon as they had gotten in it had proved near impossible to escape.
She rounded the corner of the building, checking that there weren’t any zombies on the other side before casting her eyes around her. When they had arrived, it had been dark, windy and raining, and zombies had also chased them. She hadn’t had time to take in her surroundings.
Now, however, she saw their building was situated away from the main road. Opposite her was a stone, white house with a stone court outside, equipped with flags that were lying against the pole without any wind to hold them in the air. She thought it looked too formal to be anything business. To her left stood a lane, and at the end of the lane was a mass of dark trees. To her right was road, and as she watched she saw Zach running towards the main road with the kids still following him. Violet was nowhere to be seen.
Winter thought she should wait for Zach, but as he got to the main road and crossed, she thought it was no use. Her suspicions were confirmed when, without looking back, Zach headed away down the main road and out of sight.
Winter shook her head. She suddenly felt like something was stuck in her chest, seeping fear into her blood stream. She breathed in and heard her breath shake with nerves.
She was alone.
She turned away from the main road and headed towards the mass of trees. She passed a glass building that looked untouched and wondered if anybody was inside. She hovered in place for a moment, wondering if she should find new people, but thought better of it.
Instead, she carried on walking, trying to ignore the stone that cut at the soles of her feet. She passed a garage, where cars were parked up, some bonnets left open from a job left undone.
She peered around the nearest car and into the garage and spotted three zombies, their back turned, pulling out the insides of a man who lay on the ground.
Feeling sick, Winter crept away and into the trees.
Out of sight of the main road, Winter suddenly realised just how daring this was. She couldn’t see ten feet in front of her such was the density of the trees.
Winter leant against one of the trees and gathered herself for a moment or two. What had happened just moments ago had happened so fast. Winter had gone from one emotion to the other, none of which were nice and some of which she didn’t know a person could feel.
Fear had propelled her through that building, but another level of fear had almost made her stop and give up. Survival had made her keep going, and had helped her get out of the building and clear the area, but now survival was telling her to keep going, even though another emotion, anxiety, told her this wasn’t right. Then she had been outraged that Violet had left so easily, sad that she had been left without a second thought, and scared once more because she was alone.
So she began her way through the thick trees, over cold, penetrable floor that hadn’t dried from the storm a few nights ago, and winced as twigs, stones and other natural substances attacked her feet. She jumped when she saw a rat scurry past and feared the sound of a bird’s flight above her.
She began to hurry, suddenly aware she had been walking awhile and yet she wasn’t seeing anything but trees. She had been stupid to come this way. She had tried to turn back, only to find she was going in another direction. She looked left and right, listened out for footsteps, for people, for cars, anything that would get her out of here, but the woods were even quieter than the early hours of the night.
She was lost.
She tried telling herself that if she kept walking in one direction she would get out, but after awhile of doing so she started to lose faith in her words.
She wanted to just collapse and cry until somebody found her. She felt like giving up now. She had nowhere else to go. How was she supposed to find safety when she knew London wasn’t safe at all?
She regretted the way she had left things with Violet and Zach. They hadn’t really cared about her even when zombies invading that newspaper building threatened them. They wouldn’t have cared if she had died, and Winter was sure that even now they probably hadn’t noticed she was no longer with them.
Then she heard the sound of a stream; the unmistakable sound of water running over stones and the dull hum of a stronger river running somewhere else.
She began to run. If she could follow the stream, she could find a town, or a street. Was it possible that this stream ran into the river Thames? If it did, could she follow it with safety and get out of London alive?
With that idea in her head, she felt like she was running on air. She didn’t even register the searing pain of a fresh cut on the side of her foot, made by a jagged stone she had just stepped on. She didn’t acknowledge the dirty mud that wrapped itself in between her toes. But she did notice the figure stood across from her, staring at her with recognisably dead eyes, the only thing separating her from his touch again was a seven-foot stretch of water.
Her granddad, dead and decaying, hissed at her. Winter stood where she had stopped, unable to move, the only sound she heard was her heart beating. The intensity of her fear took her back to that night when she was fourteen. She was back in that mind set, unable to help herself, unable to think straight or escape his clutches.
How could he be here? She had killed him years before the outbreak. She had watched him die. She had watched him lowered into the ground. She had watched the earth piled back on top of him. She had seen it with her very own eyes. How could the already deceased of years before walk the earth again?
She watched as he walked through the shallow water so easily and unperturbed, as if he was a normal human being again, dressed up for Halloween.
Winter held up her hands as he approached, closing the gap between them. He was walking. He wasn’t running. It was almost as if he knew this was Winter Smith, his grandchild, who he had so lovingly abused.
“Please, please, leave me alone, Granddad,” Winter sobbed. “It’s me, Winter Smith.
Your
Winter Smith. You don’t want to hurt me.”
Her zombie granddad, wrapped up in his best suit that he had been buried in, cocked his damaged head. He hissed at her, drool pouring from his limp mouth. Then, without warning, he went for her.
Winter screamed, and as she did so she abolished her fourteen-year-old self and replaced it with her seventeen-year-old survivor.
She dodged out of his way, gripping the tree trunk next to her to manoeuvre herself. She found herself staring at the back of her granddad, his ribs visible through a gaping hole in his back; one that she had made with his own axe. Feeling nauseas, Winter lifted her gun and shot. The bullet lodged into his stomach, but he turned around and headed towards her again, the bullet feeding his temper.
She narrowly avoided being grabbed. She was determined not to feel his touch again. As she dropped to the floor she scooped up a stone and threw it at his head. She heard the dull thud, and she even though she saw part of his skull sink in.
She tried to run, but then suddenly her jumper caught on one of the trees. In an instant her granddad was upon her. She tried pushing him away, but he spat and screamed at her with his teeth bared, ready to infect her with a bite.
She heard her jumper rip; she fell to the floor and knew that her luck had finally run out.
“Help!” She screamed, but her voice didn’t even echo. There was no one to hear her. “Help!”
Her tears fell as he lifted her up and his dead hands gripped her skin. He seemed to smell her once more, like he did before he went on to other things.
Then there was a gunshot. Her granddad had been hit. A second gunshot released his grasp, and a third shot him to the ground.
There was silence. Winter stood where she was, shivering, remembering everything she had tried to forget. There was nothing but the sound of her whimpering. She peeked around her and saw her granddad was gone. He could never come back. Not now. He was well and truly dead.
Footsteps crunched over twigs. They were heavy footsteps, as if the person were wearing boots. She suddenly felt hopeful. Had the government found her at last?
But as she turned, she saw two people walking towards her, a young man, maybe in his twenties, looking wild with a bushy brown beard and tangled hair. A young woman, who seemed to be the same age, accompanied him. Her hair was tied back and she looked up tight and worried. They were eying Winter suspiciously, and when Winter took in the rest of their appearance she saw she was being held at gunpoint.
Now she truly felt scared.
Chapter Nineteen
“Who are you?” The man asked through his beard.
“M-my name is Winter Smith,” Winter sniffed. “I came from Watford.”
“She’s talking…” The woman whispered, loud enough for Winter to hear.
“Yes, I’m talking.”
The man and woman glanced at each other; similar to the way Violet and Zach had done before they had left her. She began to cry again.
“Are you bitten?” The man asked. He seemed slightly worried that she was crying. “ARE YOU BITTEN?”
“No!” Winter hugged herself, wishing she could just lay down somewhere.
“Check her,” the man said to the woman.
The woman edged forwards cautiously, craning her neck to get a better look at Winter.
“Did that thing touch you?”
Winter shivered again.
“Y-Yes. Too many times.”
The woman looked at her like she was mad. She had missed the true meaning of the words.
“Are you bitten?”
“No, I’m not bitten.”
Winter displayed her arms, her hands, her legs and her neck, all of which were bruised and cut but not bitten.
“She’s human.” The woman confirmed.