Free Winter Smith (Book 1): London's Burning by J.S. Strange Page A

hurried forwards, brandishing the table leg. The girl seemed stunned, but not fearful. She watched Winter approach with interest, as if this was normal.
                  The man laid still for a few seconds before screeching loudly, his eyes sunken in, the transformation from human to beast over.
                  Before he could get up, Winter lifted the table leg and battered the man over the head, once, twice, three times, the accompanying whack of metal on bone seeming to satisfy her. She stopped until the man moved no more.
                  “What the fuck?” The girl whispered. Connor hurried forwards and dragged the body with some difficulty underneath the expensive car.
                  Winter stepped away from the man, unable to believe what she had just done. Connor moved from behind the car and came forwards, looking at the bloody puddle on the floor.
                  Winter held out a hand to the girl. It shook slightly.
                  “I’m Winter Smith, nice to meet you.”
                  The girl stared at Winter for a few seconds, before grinning and taking her hand.
                  “Violet Black. What the hell happened there?”
                  “I’m not even sure myself.”
                  “Come on,” Connor said. “We need to get in somewhere.”
                  Connor led them to the diner. It was tucked away in the street, and blended in with the grimy stonewalls around it. It had the feel of a retro, American diner, but it had lost its appeal. The paint outside the shop had peeled, revealing wooden splintered panelling. The windows were dark with damp, and the neon sign that burned ‘open’ barely dented the dark night. As Winter watched, it flickered slightly as if it was giving up its fight. Before they went into the shop, Connor turned to Violet.
    “I’m Connor Getty.” He extended his hand.
    Violet just nodded. She pushed open the door and walked into the diner first.
    Red leather sofas sat around the corners of the shop, all of them battered and broken. The chequered black and white flooring was stained with various drinks and food that had been spilt and dropped over time.
    The girl at the counter seemed a little surprised to see people coming in. Behind her was a dusty old mirror and stacks upon stacks of different alcohol. The girl gathered her notepad and pen, stepped out from behind the counter and approached the odd looking group that had just walked in. She showed them to a table, and Winter sat somewhere where she could see the window. She wanted to make sure that she was the first to know if these creatures came this way.
                  The waitress, a young girl, wearing a baby blue apron took their orders – two diet cokes, a coffee for Connor and a burger – and left, but not before she eyed the bloody table leg Winter was holding.
                  “So, what the hell happened?” Violet asked as the waitress went through a door into the back kitchen. “I don’t mean just now. Why are you covered in blood and cuts? And what’s that weapon for?”
                  Winter looked at Connor and saw he didn’t know how to explain it any better than she did. So Winter took a breath and explained everything; the recent reports in the media, to rumours of an attack, to the trouble at her parent’s house and the town she lived in, and the man outside.
                  “So people have risen from the dead?” Violet asked, a little sceptical.
                  Winter felt herself blush.
                  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “But at my house, people were bitten and left for dead, and then I watched them die, as if it was all sped up, and then they just sat up and began attacking people like me.”
                  “Cool.” Violet