Dead Winter: A gripping crime thriller full of suspense (4 page)

"Is there any other option, really? I mean, I can't think of anything else that doesn't involve us sitting here and waiting for death." I replied in a calm and collected tone, gripping my steel pipe.

It was my only weapon, but I didn't really want to kill anything, or anyone for that matter. Despite my calm exterior, I wasn't so calm on the inside, my mind span as it filled itself with ways in which the plan could go wrong.

There's no other way, it's do or die.

Dave nodded in response and motioned over to the door. We walked towards it and he busied himself with unlocking the door. With one final click, the door swung open as the bitter winter wind greeted us with is harsh embrace; stepping out onto the street again, nearly slipping on some compacted as I did.

Devoid of any activity yet far from silent, the street lay deserted; sounds of screams and shouts called out from over the rooftops into the streets ahead.

The breaking of glass could be heard every now and then. We trudged through the snow, passing the smouldering fuel tanker that had exploded earlier; the car that had collided with it was a mass of charred metal, the disgusting smell of burnt flesh hung in the air in the vicinity.

As we stepped over the debris and turned around the corner, the sight of bodies lying on the floor caught my eye. People were shuffling along the pavement, heading towards some unknown destination in the distance, they all wore the same scared expression on their faces.

"Are you going crazy, kid? You can't go that way, it'd be dangerous travelling in such a group by foot!" Dave sternly stated as I had attempted to make my way towards the people. "We'll go around."

Walking away from the exodus, our eyes fell upon a narrow side-passage that we proceeded to enter. My eyes scanned the passage, looking for any potential threat.

My time remaining in this city felt as though it were in an hourglass, quickly slipping away. But I had no time to finish that thought as a sickening sight staggered into view.

My nightmares are real, and they're walking towards me.

Further down the passageway, a man had stood up and coughed, sending a small spray of blood and mucus into the air in front of him.

He groaned and shouted incomprehensible words as his limbs jerked uncontrollably; we quickly turned away to avoid getting any of the disgusting cocktail in our mouths or eyes. A frightful concept.

A mass of black clothing swept into view as Dave stepped forwards and raised his chef's knife. He bit his lip anxiously and was about to speak when I nudged him aside.

I raised the steel pipe in my hand. Preparing to swing, the man broke out into a mad dash across the snow-laden alleyway, arms flailing. He was ducked down low for some reason, so I quickly raised my left foot and kicked out at the man, slamming him backwards into a bin; he fell over along with it, causing a mass of old newspapers and take-out containers to spew onto the snow.

I jumped forward and let loose with the pipe, slamming his head into the pavement which cause the man to let out a disturbing and distorted cry of pain as he writhed around on the floor.

Standing up once more, he motioned towards me; too late however, for I had swung again. The momentum of the swing sent him back into the wall to my right with a sickening crash as his skull broke. I staggered back from the force of my own swing, vibrations running through the pipe into my arms.

A thick lump formed in the back of my throat as I stared at the bloody mess I had created. Leaning against a wall, I proceeded to be violently sick and coughed painfully as my eyes streamed. I felt a heavy thud on my back as Dave patted me, he looked equally as sick as I turned to face him.

We stepped carefully over the body, staying completely silent as we approached the end of the long series of alleyways which had seemed like a labyrinth. Turning the corner, the two of us stepped out onto a large square courtyard where police officers were easily distinguishable from the rabble of people.

Salvation?

There was a long queue of people, desperate to seek shelter from the lunacy that had plagued our city, spreading through the streets like wildfire.

As we joined the line, I finally began to absorb the reality of the situation we had been thrown into. Beyond the check-in at the gates, I could make out small children, huddled up in groups. I couldn't help but think they might be lost, separated from their parents in all the confusion.

"Where's daddy?" a child cried to his mother a little further ahead in the queue. The mother shook her head in worry, clearly having absolutely no clue at all. I felt intolerably sorry for them.

Biting down on my lip through a force of habit, watching the officers taking names at the makeshift gate of chain-link fencing. Time ticked away; creeping along as we, the troubled masses trudged along the snow of days free of worry.

Chapter Four

First Day (21st December – 5:13PM)

Shutting down.

Beginning to feel rather drowsy, I blinked up at the seven-floor high hotel where the police were 'storing' people. Lights flickered in the dirt-stained windows. According to the small digital clock on the makeshift watchtower, it was 5:13PM.

We'd been waiting in this queue for six hours?

Dave and I had finally reached the last few people in the growing queue and had both long since abandoned any hope that the shelter would hold for long, though the alternative seemed a lot less inviting.

Every now and then, a series of gunshots blared out across the expanse of concrete and steel. They echoed for a few seconds as people looked around to determine the source of the noise. The police officers on the perimeter carried small handguns; they seemed rather unequipped to say the least, considering that they were supposed to be guards.

"Trust me, if this were the army, they'd have machine guns and stuff instead of those pea shooters." Dave muttered, pointing sluggishly at one of the guards. The tiredness in his voice was unmissable.

It had been an insanely long day, even though only about eight or nine hours had passed since I had awoken. I'd already lost track of the time.

"Would patient number fourty-four please go to room seven, the doctor will see you now." I thought again, it was finally my turn to be processed.

Walking forwards, the police-woman at the entrance looked up at me and raised her clipboard, speaking in a rather harsh tone.

"Name?" she said blankly, with not a hint of kindness nor sympathy. She, like the rest of us had been stood out here for hours.

"Fletcher, Ethan Miles" I uttered quickly. As soon as I had finished, she shot another question at me without delay.

"Age? Any illnesses we should be aware of?" the police-woman enquired, raising an eyebrow as I hesitated to answer.

"Nineteen. And no, no illnesses." I replied.

The interview-like procedure of processing me continued for a couple more minutes, question after question being answered until finally.

"One last question. Is that guy in the suit there with you?" she asked, pointing back towards Dave. I nodded briefly, and the woman's hand motioned towards her pocket as she withdrew a thin ballpoint pen which she handed to me.

She folded her arms as I signed the piece of paper. Finally, I was handed a key with a small, flimsy plastic tag on it and was nudged through the gates by a disgruntled police officer.

After walking away from the gate, I turned around and waited for Dave to finish being processed as I just had. After a few minutes, he passed through the gates without a key. I lifted up my key and raised my eyebrows as if to say: "Where's yours?"

"Small groups have to share rooms." Dave said, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

Just ahead of us was a medium-sized crowd of about fifty people, stood whispering to each other. It all sounded like tongues to the drowsy wreck of a person that was me. I dragged my feet along the ground as we walked towards the hotel.

Raising the key to the light for a moment, I peered up at the combination of numbers and letters that had been hastily scrawled onto the plastic tag.

Fifth Floor, Room F.

After opening the metal doors, we passed door after door before heading up the stairs. The building hummed with the panicked ramblings of the other occupants.

Unlocking the door to our room I swung it open to reveal a rather small set of rooms painted in a bland cream colour. I closed the door behind us, throwing the key onto the table. I was suddenly reminded of my own apartment, which now lay in smouldering ruins.

Throwing myself on the couch, I turned to face Dave, who had sat down on an armchair opposite. Grabbing a television remote, I flicked the on switch, curious as to whether or not the channels were still functional.

To my surprise, the television burst into life, displaying what appeared to be an emergency news broadcast. Turning up the volume, I leant forwards in my seat and began to listen to the news-anchor.

"There have been reports of cases of infection in Manchester, York and Hull today as the unknown infections spreads." the news anchor said, with a look of concern on her face.

"Do you think all of this will blow over soon?" Dave asked, a look of apprehension painted on his face.

I hesitated for a moment, I'd seen enough zombie films to consider the possibility that this scenario would not just go away so easily.

"I'm not sure." I responded, shrugging my shoulders. It was clear that Dave wanted some form of comfort, but I didn't know what to say that wouldn't sound stupidly over-optimistic.

Deep down though, I had hope that the world would return to normal once the government took action. Though I couldn't help feeling like this was the calm before the storm.

"So, Ethan. Tell me a bit about yourself." Dave said, trying to change the subject.

"Not that much to say, really. I'm a uni student, studying games design. But that's out of the window right now. Came from a small town near York, you wouldn't have heard of it." I replied, pulling a couple of drinks from my bag, handing one to Dave.

"What about your family?" Dave continued, cracking open his can before taking a sip.

"S'just me and my dad, though I don't see much of him any more." I answered, cracking open my own can. Taking a sip, I placed it on the table and ran my fingers along the bandages on my head. "My mother died when I was a kid and my brother killed himself last year."

"Killed himself? Jesus.." Dave uttered, rubbing his chin.

"Yeah, not a nice thought. What about you?" I asked foolishly, realising my mistake almost immediately. I bit my lip nervously before taking another sip of my drink.

Mistake after mistake.

"I had a family...had. Wife and kid. Wife turned into one of them.. killed our son before I..Well, you can guess the rest." Dave said, stuttering slightly as he raised his hand to his face, clearly losing his composure again. "Anyhow, we should probably turn in for the night."

He was right, I felt strangely tired even though I'd only been awake for around twelve hours.

Flinging myself onto the misshapen sheets on the bed, I blocked out the sound of sobbing and panicked talking from the rooms nearby, slowly slipping into a haunted sleep plagued with sights not too unrealistic now.

The events of the day played back to me in dream form with dramatic emphasis. I watched myself as though from another person's eyes, falling in slow motion.

Unbeknownst to me, a panicked shout called out but was silenced in an instant.

My eyes curiously flicked open as the sound of laughter filled the corridor, a person walked past the door. Dragging myself from the uncomfortable bed, I looked up at the clock on the wall.

2:15AM. Only a few hours had passed.

I let out a loud yawn as the laughter and footsteps ceased, stretching my arms out. I walked towards the front door and unlocked it as quietly as I could, grabbing my bag and walking out into the dark corridor.

Why was it so dark? Just a few hours ago, the lights had been functional.

I fumbled across the wall for the light-switch, my blind eyes could not adjust to this light-less room. Eventually, after a minute of searching, my fingers found the switch. But as I flicked it on, the humming of the lights were drowned out by a loud bang that echoed through the corridors.

A gunshot from inside the building?

Dave, who had been sleeping on the sofa suddenly bolted upright with a stressed shout. "The FUCK was that!?"

We wandered down the corridor to where the laughter had come from. The wall there was stained with an oddly viscous, crimson substance. I approached the corner cautiously.

Blood.

As it turned the corner, a terrible sight fell upon my eyes. A body lay on the blood-stained ground, clad in a police uniform. Dave rushed over to the man, turning him onto his back to examine him; his throat was cut and his handgun was missing from its holster. Something was seriously wrong here.

As Dave examined the cut, my eyes fell upon the wall above him, and to the writing scrawled across it, in blood.

Revelation 6:17 – For the great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand?

Nausea swept over me once more, causing me to sway slightly on the spot. Dave stood up after finishing his examination on the man, he took one look at the writing before speaking.

"Who the hell did this?" Dave uttered, I silenced him quickly with a nudge to the ribs, pointing at the holster on his waist.

"Chhhk- Come in, Steve. Report." a voice issued from the walkie talkie radio on the man's belt.

"We need to go, NOW." I whispered as the lights overhead flickered.

My eyes narrowed to the right as I heard hurried footsteps coming from the staircase behind us. Jolting past the dead man as another call to report came through on the radio.

We started to walk silently instead of running, trying to avoid any unwanted attention. We hurried down a flight of stairs onto the fourth floor, I suddenly felt unusually dizzy for some reason.

Shouts carried through the hallway to where I was standing, but was quickly drowned out by an insanely loud sound. Someone was using an old-fashioned air-raid siren, the sound it made echoed through the streets beyond; it made my ears ring painfully.

Ladies and Gentlemen, we're experiencing some minor turbulence. Please fasten your seatbelts.

"Idiots!" Dave spat in vivid rage. "They're going to get us killed with all this noise!"

Shaking my head to dispel the dizziness that had ensued with the ringing, I slowly came to my senses. We made our way to another staircase, but stopped halfway down as the sound of voices echoed from below.

"You... What are you doing out of your room!?" was what we heard first, spoken in a harsh tone by a male officer who had a deep, cold voice. The corridor was silent for a moment, but a familiar laugh cut it short.

"H-Hey, listen to me. Put the gun dow-!" The voice was silenced before it could finish by a loud bang that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, another gunshot. There was a heavy thud a couple of seconds later, followed by footsteps that faded quickly as the other man left.

Rushing down the stairs, jumping two or three at a time; we stopped dead in our tracks by the horrific sight that lay before us. A police officer lay slumped against the blood-soaked wall, his chest cavity exposed to the night air. Blood spurted from the large wound and oozed down the man's uniform.

He had already left us.

There wasn't time to look around for as soon as we had stopped, gunshots blared out from outside. I gazed out of the window to see what was happening.

The police outside were shooting at a large group of people who were climbing the perimeter fences. It was in vain however, as the infected leapt from the fence, seemingly oblivious to the bullets.

Running down the corridor towards the next staircase, we heard the front doors get torn open as though they were paper. Manic sounds of footsteps came from the ground floor. Turning the corner and sprinting down the flight of stairs to the first-floor, the footsteps grew louder and louder in the direction we were about to run.

Seriously?

Trapped and outnumbered, trying to think of a way out in such a pessimistic situation was insanely hard, but it seemed as though there was no other way than to repeat my actions in the apartment complex.

Looking down out of the window, I noticed the open skip, filled to the brim with trash bag full of shredded paper. Fumbling with the latch, I swung the window open and leapt out towards the dumpster; Dave followed suit.

Leap of faith.

I clambered out of the sodden dumpster, shaking off bits of paper from my hair. I began to quickly walk away from the building, now alive with the screams of people being attacked by the merciless horde.