Tar: An apocalyptic horror novella Read Online Free PDF Page A

rage overtook Finn. Fury ran through his veins and came out his fists.
    Finn was too focused on violence to see the kick coming at his face. The thick boot caught him under the chin and launched him backwards. For a second or two he saw only black and white spots, but he recovered quickly and sprang back to his feet. First thing you learned in a bar fight was not to stay on the ground.
    Finn faced off against a guy of similar size and strength. Like Finn, this guy looked useful with his hands, and much calmer than his rushing colleagues. Finn raised his fists. “You seen action, brother?”
    The other man nodded. “Afghanistan, twice.”
    “Thought so.”
    “You?”
    “You don't want to know.”
    Finn waited for the ex-soldier to attack, wanting an opportunity to size up his opponent before committing to an attack of his own, but it appeared the ex-soldier had the same idea and the two of them spent several moments circling one another.
    Finn could tell the guy wouldn’t go down easy.
    But neither would he.
    This could be the guy who killed my sister.
    The ex-soldier scored the first blow, catching Finn with a jab to the mouth that made his upper lip swell. Finn’s counter-attack missed, and he absorbed a second blow to the ribs from an angry right fist.
    Guy hits like a cannon.
    Finn feigned to his left, making as though he would throw a jab, but cancelled the blow before it came. It was convincing enough to make his opponent defend, so Finn danced to his right and let loose with an almighty haymaker from the opposite side. The ex-soldier was powerless to avoid the well-aimed blow to his temple, and his legs turned to jelly the moment it landed. He might have been an Afghan vet, but he dropped like a boy scout.
    The rest of the men still standing in the pub decided against getting involved then. They stood at the edges of the room and eyed Finn fearfully. The only man anywhere close to defiance was the bartender who glared at him from behind the safety of the bar.
    Finn approached the bar and leaned over. “Now, are you going to tell me where I can find Dominic, or not?”
    “Fuck y—”
    Finn reached out and grabbed the bartender by the neck and smashed his face down on the bar. He then proceeded to drag the man’s ugly face through the dirt before letting him crumple to a heap on the floor. Finn turned to face the remaining men. “Now,” he said. “Who the hell is going to tell me where I can find Dominic?”

3
    Fire
    N obody in the bar claimed to know where to find Dominic, and Finn was inclined to believe them. They were the ones who had been too afraid to fight, so it was unlikely they had the spine to lie to him now. The men brave enough to fight nursed their wounds, in no mood to try for round two. That might change if Finn hung around too long.
    I’m not leaving with nothing though.
    The most Finn got so far was an admission that Dominic owned the pub. What that really meant was that he’d moved in when the previous owners disappeared. For a while, Dominic pushed gear from behind the old oak bar and made a profit from whatever alcohol had been left behind. After supplies ran out, he’d used the place as a dosshouse, allowing people to hang out on the worn sofas and stools so long as they made themselves useful. The men in the Hobby Horse were Dominic’s friends and acquaintances, yet none of them had seen the man for two or three days.
    Probably since he killed Marie.
    Finn wasn’t satisfied to leave yet, so he told the fearful men he was going to take a look around. Nobody argued. After a cursory inspection of the bar, and a peek in the pub’s backroom, Finn went upstairs to check the flat that Dominic had been living in since the old owner left. The upper floor was cleaner and less stinking than the bar below but still a filthy den. Crushed beer cans and broken bottles cut into the threads of the worn, beige carpet, and someone had pissed up one wall. Finn shook his head. What had got into