FOREWORD Hi there and thanks for buying my book. I hope you like it! Before you begin I just wanted to tell you a little bit about what to expect and why I wrote The Final Winter. I guess the idea came to me at Christmas time. Britain was suffering under another record snowfall and people were acting crazy. Cars lay crumpled against lampposts and each other, whilst businesses closed all over. The country was completely unprepared, which led to me wondering how Britain would cope if we had the type of snowfall that some countries have, like Canada or Switzerland. From there I got to thinking what would happen if it snowed heavily all over the world simultaneously. The idea excited me and I had to write it. So here you have it, my prediction of the events that would occur in the event of a worldwide snowstorm of supernatural origins. Oh yeah, and I set it in a working class pub just for some added fun! Really hope you enjoy reading The Final Winter as much as I enjoyed writing it, and as an added bonus, I have included the short story, The Peeling of Samuel Lloyd Collins, for you at the end of this book. Hope to see you again soon. Iain Rob Wright AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY Iain Rob Wright was born in 1984 and lives in the West Midlands with his dog, Daisy, his cat, Jess, his tropical fish, and the love of his life, Sally. Writing is the passion that fills his life during the small periods of time where he isn‟t cleaning up after his pets. You can speak to him at [email protected] His next project will be a regular short story collection called „Thrillobytes‟. Check it out soon! For Sally, because she means everything. Thanks to all the folks at ReviewFuse for keeping my bad habits in check! THE FINAL WINTER BY IAIN ROB WRIGHT CHAPTER ONE Harry sipped his latest beer as the tenth news update of the night came on the pub‟s television. A female reporter appeared on screen, enveloped by an over-sized pink ski-jacket and covered in snow. “Good evening,” she said. “I‟m Jane Hamilton with Midland-UK News, and as you can clearly see, the nineteen inches of snow Britain has seen in the last 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 at its centre, its mystery cargo strewn across the snow. “Major roads are now being closed off and rail links have been terminated until further notice. Schools are shut, 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 expected 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 right now.” Harry shook his head. How long are they going to keep this up? We get it, the weather‟s bad! No need to come on and 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-” “Don‟t they just love a panic!” Old Graham, an elderly regular of The Trumpet pub and lounge, threw his hands up in disgust and shouted over to Harry. “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 looked at the man. Old Graham was pointing to the ancient, dust-covered television mounted against the back wall by a pair of rusted brackets. Harry shrugged. “Sorry, what?” The old man 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 affecting the signal and the picture flickered constantly. The endless news updates showed 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. Harry switched his gaze back to the old man. “I agree that it‟s a bit much, but the fact it‟s snowing everywhere is at least a little odd, don‟t you think?” Old Graham huffed again, the sound wet and wheezy. “You think Canada or Switzerland is panicking about the weather? This is a heat wave to an Eskimo! All this climate-change, ozone-layer hogwash they‟re harping on about is just to scare us, you mark my words.” Harry thought about it for a moment. According to the news segments throughout the day it had been categorically denied that climate-change could cause such unprecedented weather. Whatever was causing the snow was something else entirely, said the scientists, if only a random occurrence. Whatever the cause, Harry wasn‟t about to let himself get caught up in the media frenzy and speculation. The freakish weather didn‟t concern him – nothing concerns me anymore – and he knew that if he got into a conversation with Old Graham about it he‟d be stuck having to listen to the wrinkled coot‟s piss-n-vinegar all night. It had happened enough times previously for Harry to learn that lesson. He swallowed another mouthful of lager and kept his attention on the flickering television screen, but when he looked over again Old Graham was still gawping at him. Harry sighed and decided to give in. “Bet everything will be back to normal this time next week, huh, Graham?” “You bet your balls it will.” The old man sidled along the bar towards Harry, arthritic knees clicking with every step. “I‟ve lived through worse times than this, lad!” Harry rolled his tired eyes. “Really?” “Yeah,” he said. “I used to be married.” With that, the old codger howled with laughter, until his worn vocal cords seized up in complaint, causing him to cough and hack yellow-green phlegm bubbles across the bar. “Best go shift the crap off me chest, lad,” were Old Graham‟s parting words before tottering off toward the pub‟s toilets. Harry shook his head and turned to face the opposite side of the bar. Steph, the pub‟s only barmaid, was smiling at him, while clutching a cardboard box full of MALT „N‟ SALT crisps against her chest. She placed it down on the bar and pulled an old dishrag from the waistband of her jeans. She wiped down the area where Old Graham had coughed. “He bothering you again, Harry?” Harry ran a hand through his hair, trying to neaten the scruffiness, and sighed. “He‟s okay. Just had too much to drink.” Steph snorted. “You‟re one to talk. What time did you get here today?” “Noon.” “Exactly, and it‟s now…” She glanced at her watch. “Nine in the evening.” Harry smirked. “Yeah, but at least I have the decency to pass out when I‟m drunk, instead of talking people‟s heads off like Old Graham.” “I‟ll give you that. Although, I‟d like to remind you that you puked on my knee-highs last Sunday. I had to throw them out, and they were my favourite pair!” Harry stared down at the foamy liquid hissing away in his glass and, for a split- second, felt embarrassed enough that he contemplated not drinking it and going home instead. He quickly let the guilt go and downed the last of the beer, dregs and all. He had enough regret in his life without adding to it. “I must have been a pathetic sight,” he admitted. Steph frowned. “You‟re not pathetic, Harry, just unlucky. Things will look up for you one day. You only turned thirty a couple months ago, right? Plenty of time to get back on your feet.” She stopped and looked out of the far window across the room. “As long as this dreadful snow doesn‟t freeze us all to death first, you‟ll be fine. Time heals all wounds.” Harry sighed. Steph knew about his problems and sometimes it made him uncomfortable. “You really think so?” “You better hope so, matey, because I‟m not putting up with you puking on me every week. Doesn‟t matter how handsome you are!” They both chuckled and Harry felt his mood lighten. It wasn‟t often that he heard such things from a woman. Not when he looked about ten years older than his actual age (he hadn‟t been able to face a mirror in months so maybe now he looked even worse). He pushed his empty pint towards Steph and she refilled it diligently.