Winter Smith (Book 1): London's Burning (43 page)

              They must have spent two hours stood in those woods, listening to birds flying overhead and water running nearby into a viciously turning river. Winter remarked that nature had been left untouched in some ways. In fact, the survival for birds had increased. Gerry had told her they had watched birds pecking at the dead even when they were walking from one place to the other. It seemed birds enjoyed the taste of rotting flesh.

              Winter felt slightly uneasy stood here. The trees around them were spaced, so there was enough room to see anything or anyone approaching. This would give them enough time to escape, if they needed to. Yet Winter also knew how close she was to the scene where her dead and gone granddad lay. She almost expected to see him again.

              But after her encounter with him in the woods, weak and decaying, Winter thought things had changed. He had failed to hurt her like he had done before. He had appeared weak and slow, something he wasn’t when he was alive. Her previous memories had been of the man who got off abusing his granddaughter. Now, a new memory fresh in her mind was a dead, decaying man that wasn’t strong enough to infect her.

              “Winter, are you alright?” Laura asked.

              Winter looked up. All eyes were on her. Connor was putting something into his pocket, watching her silently.

              “I’m fine.”

              And for a brief second Winter believed that. With those words, her trapped, fourteen year old soul left her. That weighed grief she had lived with all those years began to whither and die. Now she knew he was well and truly dead, she could move on with her life. She could leave it all behind.

              “It’s getting dark. We should head back.”

              Winter looked up. Had the day really gone that fast? Winter knew the consequences of not being back at their camp by nightfall. It was a big risk, coming this far.

              As they all began to exit the clearing in the woods, Connor came up by the side of Winter and placed a hand at the bottom of her back.

              “Come with me,” he whispered.

              Winter looked at him. He was looking at her oddly, as if something was just hiding away from her. He seemed somewhat troubled.

              Winter allowed Connor to escort her away from the group. She spotted Oliver watching them, but under his gaze she felt more confident. If anything were to happen, Oliver would know whom Winter had been with. Yet she felt like they would be safe. If Connor were with her, she would always be safe.

              “How are you, are you alright?” Connor said, asking two questions at once.

              “I’m fine.” Winter shrugged. “I don’t think anyone can be happy in this situation, really, can they?”

              Connor shook his head. “There’s too much going on. You don’t know who to trust or what to believe.”

              Winter bit her lip and nodded. Her thoughts drifted back to Violet. Was she still alive?

              “I saw you looking a little bit…distant back then.”

              “Yes, yes I was thinking about something.”

              “Your granddad?”

              Winter looked at him. He wasn’t judging her. He looked a little embarrassed that he asked. But why should he be? Everyone had heard the story. It had taken up the year of 2009 so much; Winter had gotten sick of seeing her own face plastered everywhere.

              “I saw him in those woods, and I just felt so scared.” Winter broke down. She felt tears begin to fall and so she sat down on the mossy ground, unable to carry on walking. Connor stood above her looking slightly awkward. His hand strayed to his pocket. “He was there, stood right in front of me. I couldn’t believe it. I killed him.
I killed him.
I killed someone. Then I watched him get buried. I saw the shame on my parent’s faces. I watched them deal with the outfall. I heard what they said about their murdering, disappointing daughter. And for three years I had to deal with the guilt, the fear, the scars. He was never really dead. He was always there, weighing me down, ruining everything for me. I could never forget it. Nobody would let me forget it.”

              Winter shook her head. The sound of a walkie-talkie being pressed sounded. She looked up and saw Connor stood there watching her, a look of sorrow on his face.

              “What was that?”

              “A bird or something.” Connor shrugged.

              Winter accepted it. She shook her head once more.

              “And then, you know, he was there. And he was staring at me. I didn’t think the zombies recognised anyone once they were dead. Why else would they attack someone they had known for years? But he recognised me, Connor. He
recognised
me.”

              Connor moved towards her, his hand in his pocket, and sat down next to Winter.

              “But he wasn’t the man I was afraid of. I had seen scarier zombies than him already. He was just one of
them.
I had killed zombies before. I had killed
him
before. If I had killed him, well, I could kill him again, couldn’t I?”

              Winter looked at Connor for confirmation. He nodded quickly.

              “He looked weak. He had barely any flesh on him. He was dying. Can they die, Connor? Can the zombies even die?”

              “Why did you feel guilty, Winter?” Connor asked quietly. “I don’t mean to pry, or make you live those things again. But I remember reading about that story in the papers. I think it was the only time you got the press on your side, even if it was in a twisted way.”

              “All of their reports were tinged with hatred towards me.” Winter sighed. She wiped the tears away from her face. “Even when all of that happened, the truth began to seep out, and my parents had to take legal action to hush things up. That only made it worse. Then as soon as that year was over, it was back to writing shit reports about me and making out that I was like that because of what happened. I could never forget it.”

              “So why did you feel guilty?” Connor asked again.

              “I killed him.” Winter shrugged. “I took someone’s life for the first time. I let him poison and drug my grandmother and I hated her because I thought she let it happen. I can never forgive myself for costing those two their lives. I can never forgive myself for being so weak.”

              “You were fourteen, Winter. You were just a girl.”

              “But I killed someone. I disappointed my parents.”

              Winter rested her head on her knees. She stared at a tree in front of her through watery eyes. The group had disappeared and Winter didn’t care if they were waiting for them or not. Right now, she liked being with Connor.

              “I’ve done things I regret.” Connor spoke. “I’ve done things that would come back to haunt me…eventually.”

              He removed his hand from his pocket and again Winter heard that sound. She looked up and saw a bird flying overhead. She forgot about it.

              “Like what?” Winter asked.

              Connor sighed. He stopped and looked away towards the sound of the running water.

              “You can tell me, Connor. What you’ve done, I’ve probably done. I’m not going to judge you.”

              “No, believe me, I’ve done something worse.”

              He left it there. Nobody said anything for a while. Then Connor messed up his hair and looked at her.

              “I’ve sent messages with images of myself naked,” Connor said.

              Winter looked at him. She almost smiled, but he looked worried and hurt.

              “So have I.” She shrugged. Who hasn’t these days?

              “I’ve committed crimes like thievery, burglary, violence…” Connor shook his head. “I’m not proud of it but when I was younger, I fucking mugged this poor woman, and a few weeks later she fucking died, Winter. They tried making it out that she was so distraught by the mugging incident it petrified her to death, and I almost fucking got arrested for it, until they did an autopsy and found out she had cancer. She hadn’t told anyone because she had no friends and no family.”

              Winter could see him fighting back the tears. He was shaking his head and kicking at the ground. He looked so hurt Winter wanted to reach out for him, but she knew he would break down. If he broke down, so would she.

              “And, the things is, I’ve done something even worse than that.”

              Winter looked at him. She thought she already knew part of what he was going to say, but she waited. She knew it would be difficult for him to talk about.

              “I had a sister.”

              Winter noted the past tense. She waited more, but he didn’t reply. He seemed to be waiting for her.

              “What happened to her?”

              “I killed her.” Connor answered. It was so blunt and simple, Winter didn’t register it. She just looked at him, feeling nothing. Connor turned to her and had a strange smile on his face. “I killed her, and I got away with it, and I will always hate myself for that.”

              The smile faded and he seemed to be remembering something.

              “How did it happen?” Winter asked tentatively.

              “It was winter. We went out. I was ten. She was eight. We were staying on this estate. We had been there visiting when the snowstorm took place. Every young child was playing out on the grounds, so our parents let us go. I took my sister to the lake they had on the grounds. It was empty, and we had been warned not to go there. But I asked, I
forced
my sister to go on the ice. We had this ball. I kicked it, on purpose, to the middle of the ice. I knew it was impossible to get again. But I made her go and get it. A little, eight-year-old child. And she went. She went with her naive childhood ambition. And when she was close to the ball, I thought I would mess things up for her. I threw a stone, a big stone, right into the middle of the ice, just near to where she was. The ice cracked, and where she was stood cracked, and down she went.”

              Connor began to cry. It was a pained cry; one that seemed strangled and lost. It was full of grief, full of guilt, it made Winter feel uncomfortable.

              “And I watched her go under. I watched her try and get back up. She couldn’t swim, but somehow she still managed to call my name, and then there was silence, and she went under, and I just sat on the ground, watching the place where the ice had cracked, ignoring the biting cold, until suddenly it was dark and my parents found me, and they realised what had happened.”

              He was shivering. Despite the air being warm, he seemed to be feeling that cold from when he was ten.

              “And what happened?” Winter asked.

              Connor looked at her.

              “They believed me when I said she had gotten away from me. They believed me when I said I only just came over the hill when she fell through the ice. I let them believe that, and even when we spoke of her years later, even when the police questioned us, I never told.”

              “And you never told?”

              Connor shook his head.

              “I had to change myself. So I did. The reason I committed those crimes and acted up was because I was so ashamed of myself. But then I realised I needed to change. So I got a job at that coffee shop last year, and I began applying to college, and then this fucking happened.”

              He gestured around him at invisible bloodbaths and imaginary swarming dead.

              “And they never found out, Winter. I let them die while I escaped. It was like the last thing I did that was selfish, that was wrong.”

              Connor again was overcome by tears. This time Winter placed a hand on his back and began to rub his shoulders, consoling him.

              “How is it I get to survive, Winter?” He asked. “I don’t deserve to survive.”

              “Because you’re trying to better yourself, Connor. You’re trying to redeem everything bad you’ve ever done. None of this was really your fault. You’ve just mixed with the wrong crowds, allowed bad things to happen. Everybody makes mistakes.”

              “I killed my sister. I possibly killed my parents, and that poor old woman. Think of all of the other people I’ve hurt through violence, blackmail, burglary. I just ruin everything, Winter.”

              “No, you don’t.” Winter shook her head. “You were ten, Connor, when you let your sister go across that ice. You were young. You should have known better, but you were a boy, and boys play games, especially with their younger siblings. You didn’t know she would die. You didn’t know the consequences of falling through ice. You didn’t know how deep that water was. You just wanted to play a prank, and that prank went wrong.”

              “But I forced her across the ice, Winter. She was scared but I made her do it!” Connor cried. “And I never told my parents.”