Winter Smith (Book 1): London's Burning (19 page)

              “Must ‘ave been a pretty rough ‘un!” Another boy laughed.

              Winter stopped. She had seen these types of boys before: pathetic, lonely, insecure. The boy with the copper hair was neither laughing nor mocking. He looked merely bored.

              “Actually, I just killed a man,” Winter replied casually. She didn’t know why she was saying it. The boys just scoffed.

              “Was that ‘cause he didn’t satisfy you enough?” The ringleader asked. The other boys looked at him with awe, as if this was the best thing he had ever said.

              “Actually, yeah. His cock was only three inches. Then again, I guess he could satisfy me more than you could.”

              “Ooh,” the other boys said, laughing at the ringleader in the middle. His eyes were now narrowed, glaring at the girl in front of him.

              “Who would wanna sleep with you, babe?” He asked. “Looks like you got rats nesting in your hair.”

              “Does it?” Winter asked. “Fuck, gotta hide them better.”

              The copper haired boy smiled slightly.

              “Lippy one, ain’t ya?” The ringleader asked. “Why not turn them to good use?”

              He spread his legs and eyed his own crotch. Winter stepped closer.

              “Oh, am I supposed to be looking at something?” Winter asked, peering at his spread legs. “I can’t see anything. Where has it gone?”

              The other boys laughed, hiding it from the ringleader.

              He stood up, and grabbed Winter by the shoulders, his eyes glaring into hers with anger.

              “You better be careful what you say, babe,”

              Winter kneed him in his prized possessions and watched him crumble to the ground. The other boys were speechless.

              “See you around,” Winter said, giving the copper haired boy a smile.

              “You got owned,” Winter heard one of the boys say to their ringleader as she walked away.

              She spotted a coffee shop on the corner, cosy yellow lights reflecting off slightly dusty windows. She walked towards it, feeling slightly wary now that the boys would be following her for revenge. She pushed open the coffee shop door, wooden and heavy, and heard a bell ding above her.

              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!”