Kill em all, Damien thought. This guy is taking to murder a little too easy. What am I unleashing here?
Frankie stood up from the bunk and walked over to the cell door, looking out through an imaginary window. He seemed like a new man, strong and lithe; mentally prepared. “They’ll learn to respect me whether they like it or not. I’m Frankie, fucking, Walker.”
Damien stared at the lad from behind and smiled. “Pleased to meet you, Frankie.”
Also by Iain Rob Wright
THE FINAL WINTER
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CHAPTER ONE
Harry sipped his latest beer while yet another news update flashed across the pub’s dusty television. A female reporter appeared onscreen, enveloped by an over-sized pink ski-jacket and covered in snow. “Good evening,” she said politely, a slight shiver in her voice. “I’m Jane Hamilton with Midland-UK News. As you can clearly see, the nineteen-inches of snow Britain has witnessed during the previous 24-hours has left the nation’s transportation network in disarray.” The camera panned to overlook a deserted motorway. A sky-blue transit van lay overturned and abandoned in its centre; its mystery cargo strewn across – and half-buried by – the snow.
The reporter let out a breath that steamed the air and then continued. “Major roads have now been closed off and the nation’s rail links have been terminated until further notice. Schools are closed, along with nonessential businesses, while hospitals are doing their best to remain open. The current death toll of weather-related fatalities is now at twenty-seven and feared to rise. Emergency services have set up a helpline in order to assist anyone in serious need and to offer advice on how best to survive the current freezing temperatures. That number is being displayed at the bottom of the screen now.”
Harry shook his head. How long they going to keep this up? We get it, the weather’s bad! No need to tell us every ten minutes. Life’s depressing enough!
“Even more concerning,” the television reporter continued, much to Harry’s displeasure, “is the fact that it is currently snowing throughout every nation of the world.” A multi-coloured map of the earth superimposed itself at the top right of the screen, then slowly turned white to represent the recent snowfall. “From barren deserts to areas of dense rainforest, all have been subjected to unprecedented snowfall, some for the first time in centuries. Never before in recorded history has such an event been known to occur. Certain religious leaders are calling this-”
“Rubbish!” Old Graham, the most elderly regular of The Trumpet pub and lounge, threw his hands up in disgust and shouted in Harry’s direction. “Bloody fear mongers; that’s what they are. A little snow and the country trembles at the knees.”
Harry lifted his head away from his half-finished pint and glanced over at the old man. He was pointing to the ancient, dust-covered television set mounted to the back wall by a pair of rusted brackets. Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, what?”
Old Graham huffed. “More nonsense about a few snowflakes bringing the country to a standstill. Your generation can’t cope with anything unless there’s a video on that yourtube or myface to tell you about it!”
Harry glanced at the television again. The weather was starting to affect the signal and the picture flickered and hissed constantly. The endless evening-news updates had shown locations from around the globe, half-buried by blankets of slush and snow: The Pyramids of Giza ice-capped like Himalayan Mountains, the canals of Venice frozen over like elaborate ice rinks, and Big Ben rising above a snow-covered Westminster like a giant stalagmite.