“I’m staying put too,” said Steven.
Diane flipped her hair behind her ears and said, “I’m not leaving unless everybody else is. We’re fine here, and we have Internet. We should learn as much as we can before we try to escape.”
Rick and Maddy looked at one another in desperation. Maddy seemed to have lost her fight and broke eye contact with him. “I’ll stay one more day,” she muttered, “but after that I’m going home. You people can stay here if you like, but you’ll regret it, I promise you.”
“I won’t regret it,” said Rick, “because I’m leaving today.”
“You are not,” said Keith in a voice cold as ice.
Rick huffed. “Keith, take a hike, okay? This is my house, and I’ll bloody well leave if I like. In fact, you can have the place; it’s yours. Just stop being a twat.”
Keith went red in the face. “Rick, you’re—”
“What the hell are you people fighting about?” asked Daniel, wandering into the kitchen. “I could hear you from all the way upstairs.”
“What were you doing upstairs?” asked Rick.
“Sleeping, until you sods woke me up. What’s the problem here?”
“Rick wants to leave,” said Keith.
Daniel shrugged. “So let him.”
“If he goes outside he’ll die.”
“His place, his rules. If he wants to leave, who can stop him?”
Keith clenched his fists. “I can. And I will.”
Rick felt his own face growing red now. He realised, in that moment, that one of the main driving forces of him wanting to leave was to get away from his brother. What was Keith’s problem? Whether he was arguing out of genuine concern or just plain stubbornness, it pissed Rick off royally. He had made up his mind and wasn’t backing down. The more and more the argument went on, the more claustrophobic he felt, and the more he was certain he wanted to leave.
“Look, Keith. I can’t stay in here knowing that those things are right outside the gate. I’d rather take my chances on the road.”
Keith shook his head and was actually trembling. “Please, Rick. Don’t do something you’ll regret.”
“You’re not the boss of me.” Rick went to push past his brother, and to his relief, Keith stood aside.
“I understand, Rick.”
Keith grabbed one of the empty beer bottles off the counter and swung it at Rick’s head. Rick tried to duck, but ended up on the floor bleeding as Keith stood over him with a look of pity on his face. “The problem with you, little brother, is that you never help yourself. No backbone, just like dad always said.”
Before the others in the kitchen had chance to stop him, Keith lifted his foot and kicked Rick in the face, sending him right back to sleep.
~Tony Cross~
7 miles north of the Euphrates, Syria
“There’ll be no one left to save by the time we get there,” said Tony as he and Aymun led their men across the desert at a sprint. The gate was less than half a mile away, but they could all see the civilian militia was taking heavy losses. The clawed creatures poured out of the gate and cut through men, women, and children too young to wield a rifle. Blood stained the ground as if gallons of red paint had been spilled onto the dirt.
“If we save only one man or woman then we have done our duty,” said Aymun.
The Syrian and British soldiers were all now armed with L85s, AK47s, grenades, and a PKM machine gun that Harris, the strongest of them, lugged over his shoulder. The civilians in front of the gate wielded a mixture of reclaimed assault rifles and pistols, but they were not trained proficiently enough to form a firing line. As they missed shots, or were forced to reload, they were set upon by the demons. In the last five minutes alone, dozens of them had died.
Aymun and his two men reached firing distance first, as they were less encumbered than the British soldiers clad in full battle armour and carrying the heavier L85s. Aymun dropped to one knee and let off a barrage from his AK47. He hit several of the creatures, even at two hundred metres. His men then overtook him and fired from their knees ten metres ahead. Tony’s men caught up and set themselves down a further ten metres before firing. Aymun got up and ran past them all and once again took a knee and fired from the front. They continued this series of firing overlaps until they were only fifty metres away from the battlefield. The civilians saw their arrival and cheered, even as they continued to be slaughtered. It was the first time Tony had ever seen civilians in this region show gratitude to see British soldiers.
The demons outnumbered the militia five to one, but now their flanks were under attack by Aymun and Tony’s men. Tony unclipped a grenade from his vest and lobbed it into the air. His men followed suit. Unlike the ones they had tossed at Aymun’s convoy, these grenades fell perfectly amongst the enemy and exploded with venom. Mangled demon parts littered the ground along with great clods of displaced earth. The resulting mess was enough to ignite hope. Tony saw the confidence creep onto his men’s faces as they advanced further, unloading round upon round into the enemy.
Demons fell in their dozens.
Now that the enemy were split wide open, the militia gained a foothold. They formed up in a group behind their battered vehicles and fired all at once, cutting down another two dozen of their foe in seconds. The battle was turning.
Tony and his men released another volley of grenades, opening up more craters in the enemy’s ranks. Any human army would have turned tail after such sudden and devastating losses, but the clawed creatures continued their attack, more than willing to die.
Harris set down the PKM on its bipod and opened her up as soon as it was steady. Its roaring teeth ripped the creatures apart like razor wire, dissecting limbs, torsos, and heads with the precision of a surgeon’s buzz saw.
“Send their wee dirty arses to Hell,” Corporal Rose yelled triumphantly as more demons fell.
But their advantage waned when Harris’s PKM jammed. The decades-old machine gun had been stashed in a cave for God knew how long, and they suffered the consequences. The second thing to go wrong was when one of Aymun’s men threw a soviet F1 grenade at the enemy, but didn’t bother to cook it first. One of the creatures was proactive enough to scoop it up in its claw and launch it right back again. It exploded mid-air over the original thrower, and Aymun’s man hit the ground, clutching his burst eyeballs and trying to pull out the shrapnel. Aymun had no choice but to leave the man where he lay.
The creatures were unbroken, and kept on coming, even as they continued falling to fresh onslaughts of gunfire. Reinforcements came through the gate every second to join the fray.
Harris hadn’t thought to bring his rifle with him when he’d picked up the bulky PKM, so he had no way to defend himself when one demon broke away and headed right for him. It fell upon him like a rabid beast and ripped shreds out of his stomach with its claws. At first, only clothing and armour split apart, tatters twirling in the air, but then a spray of blood jetted upwards and covered the demon’s snarling face. Tony was too far away to help his man, but Harris wasn’t done for yet. The private reached around to his webbing and slid his combat knife from its sheath. He rammed it into the demon’s side with such force that it sounded like somebody had hit a bass drum. He twisted and turned the knife until the creature stopped moving and fell to the ground.
Tony finally made it over to Harris and dragged his injured private back to his feet. It was hard to assess the man’s wound while hidden beneath several layers of clothing and torn armour, nor was there time to try, so Tony pulled his Glock 17 pistol from its holster and shoved it into Harris’s hand. “You should have brought a backup, Private.”
Harris held up his blood soaked knife and gave an ugly grin. “I did.”
The civilians screamed as the demons made it through the parked vehicles and attacked the back lines—mostly children and women. There must have been a hundred dead villagers scattered in the desert now, and the militia was down to its last remnants.
“The v
illagers are falling,” shouted Aymun. “We must go to them.”
Tony nodded and ordered his men to skirt the edges of battle to where they could form up alongside the militia. They covered each other in turn as they made an overlap toward their ailing allies.
Tony and Aymun reached the villagers just in time. There were perhaps twenty of them remaining, but half were out of ammo, and the other half were wavering. The creatures had pushed them all back to the rearmost vehicles, which meant that they had nowhere further to retreat. A small group of children cowered behind them.
“They just keep on feckin’ coming,” Corporal Rose shouted, aiming his rifle in a dozen different places and taking well-aimed pop shots. One demon made it through, but he kept his calm and took a leaf from Private Harris’s book and stabbed it in the face with his knife.
Tony watched the glowing gate and cringed every time another demon leapt through. It was like they formed out of vapour, coming into existence one droplet at a time, before dumping down into the desert. Were they lined up somewhere on the other side, leaping through the gate one after the other, like lemmings off a cliff?
They would not stop coming.
Tony had an idea. He snatched the last grenade from his vest and coiled up like a spring as he prepared to throw it. When he finally let go, he aimed it right at the centre of the gate. It seemed to sail through the air forever, arcing over the heads of the writhing creatures in slow motion. Then it disappeared. The only proof the grenade had ever existed was a brief ripple in the gate’s translucent centres.
The explosion was muted, as though occurring underwater, but a great torrent of flames burst forth from the gate and immolated the demons closest to it. The creatures stopped advancing for the first time, and looked back to see what had happened.
“Attack the gate,” shouted Tony. “Attack the bloody gate.”
Everyone concentrated their fire on the gate at once, causing the translucent surface to plop and shimmer as bullets hit it like the pitter-patter of rain. The men launched the last of their grenades and cheered each time another muted explosion brought forth another torrent of fire.
But then they were forced to regroup.
While the men attacked the gate, the remaining demons charged. Aymun’s last remaining man went down as two creatures grabbed his arms and yanked them off, leaving him to spin around in panic, bleeding into the air like a sprinkler. Two of Tony’s men got isolated and gutted in quick succession. A handful of the remaining villagers went down in a haze of blood.
“There’s no more coming through the gate,” shouted Tony as he peppered the enemy. “Keep fighting, and we can end this.”
The men took heart and kept up the assault, even though the urge to run was in all of them. There were still several dozen creatures coming right at them, but as they spread their fire in a wide arc, they thinned the enemy out.
“We can do this,” Corporal Rose cried out. “Kick their lily arses.”
The enemy numbers were down to ten, outnumbered for the first time since the fighting began. Harris came up beside Tony with his Glock, popping off shots carefully and exploding heads off demonic shoulders. He emptied his last magazine into a leaping creature and knocked it right out of the sky like a clay pigeon. Aymun fired from twin AK47s now, like some kind of action hero, after picking up the weapon of his fallen comrade. The villagers emptied the last of their ammo and took down another handful of enemies.
Soon there was only one, single remaining demon left alive. It glared at them, and took a step back.
It was afraid.
Tony reached out and reclaimed his Glock from Harris. He crossed the battlefield with it until he was face-to-face with the demon. The oily skinned, coal-eyed abomination snarled at him like a cornered cat, spitting and hissing. Its breath stunk of rotting meat.
Tony raised the Glock and fired a bullet right through the bastard’s forehead. For a moment, it remained standing, staring at him through wide, almost-human eyes, but then it teetered and tipped over backwards, hitting the ground with a thump.
The men behind Tony were silent, but then, like a rising tide, their voices rose to a triumphant cry. He turned around to face them, too beat and too weary to smile. What he could do was raise the Glock above his head in victory—the weapon that had fired the final bullet. “We did it,” he croaked. “We sent those fuckers straight back to Hell.”
The men cheered even more, their voices strained with jubilation. The surviving villagers were crying with a mix of relief and shock. They had done it—they had fought back their deaths.
But then the cheering stopped.
More creatures poured through the gate.
~Guy Granger~
Cape Fear, North Carolina
Refuelled, resupplied, and re-manned, the Hatchet raised anchor and set off from the southeast coast. Guy planned to follow the shipping lanes across the Atlantic as much as possible and avoid the winds by having a senior ensign check the ship’s meteorological instrumentation every thirty minutes, but the weather so far was fair. The men were focused. Many had received word of their families and friends being lost in the attacks, but they were turning their anguish into motivation and concentrating on getting to England. Others were just glad to be aboard where it was safe.
“I’ve relayed a message to Command,” Frank told him. “Said we were no longer operational. You understand that if things ever get back to normal we’ll all end up in prison for dereliction of duty, and theft of a Coast Guard Vessel?”
Guy nodded. “If things go back to normal I will happily accept full punishment. Until then, I’m going to get my kids.”
Frank took his hand and clasped it in his own, an intimate gesture, but appreciated. “I’m sure they’re safe. The British Army is no pushover.”
“Nor is the United States Navy, but look what happened at Norfolk.”
“We’ll get them, Captain. I promise you.”
“I think the time for calling me ‘Captain’ has passed.”
“On the contrary. Now more than ever you need to lead these sailors. The civilians especially will need direction. Give it a day or two, and we will see bouts of seasickness, panic, claustrophobia, and a lot of changed minds. You will have to keep a firm hand to maintain order.”
“Firm but fair,” Guy corrected.
“The former is more important.”
“Captain!”
Guy turned around to see Lieutenant Tosco hurrying up the ladder.
“What is it Lieutenant?”
“Switch to Naval Frequency 1.”
Guy frowned, but gave Frank a nod to do as requested. The ship’s main radio squawked to life with the panicked tones of a stranger. “USS Augusta requesting immediate rescue. We are under attack. Our coordinates are…”
Guy raised an eyebrow. “Those coordinates are sixteen miles off the coast.”
“We are under attack. All vessels in the vicinity, please respond with immediate aid.”
“We can reach them within the hour,” said Tosco firmly. “We have to help.”
Guy shook his head. “We have our mission, Lieutenant. You agreed to stay on board and cross the Atlantic.”
“I agreed to help you find your kids, yes, but I never said I would turn my back on Americans in need. You want to maintain my support, direct the ship towards the USS Augusta.”
Frank stepped in front of Guy and faced Tosco down. “How dare you give the Captain orders!”
“No, he’s right, Frank. I can’t ask the men to save my children if I’m not willing to save the men aboard the Augusta. Lieutenant Tosco, prepare the crew for a rescue operation and battle conditions.” He turned and got on the radio. “USS Augusta, this is the USCG Hatchet. Stand by. We’ll be with you within the hour.” He turned back to Tosco. “You have your orders, Lieutenant. Go.”
Tosco nodded, and saluted as respectfully as Guy had ever seen him. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
Once Tosco had left, Frank turned to Guy with concer
n on his face. “I thought you agreed you would be firm. You just let Tosco dictate our course.”
“I said I’d be firm but fair. Tosco was correct in his thinking. Do you disagree?”
“No. It’s the right call. I just wish it hadn’t come from Tosco. You give that guy’s ego a penny and he’ll take a pound.”
“He’s given me his support, Frank. I owe it to the man to trust him.”
Frank nodded as if he understood, but then he said, “I would rather trust a man because he earned it, than because I owe it to him.”
“Have I earned your trust, Frank?”
“Ten times over.”
“Then you’ll just have to hope I know what I’m doing. I can handle Tosco.”
Frank rubbed at his chin, a day’s stubble there for the first time since Guy had met him decades ago. “I worry more about whether Tosco can handle himself.”
“Your concerns are noted, Chief Petty. Now, full-steam ahead.”
When they reached the USS Augusta, they were all glad to see that it was still afloat. That didn’t mean it was in good shape though. A battle raged on its decks.
“They’re coming up right out of the water,” said Frank as he stared out of the pilothouse window. Sopping wet creatures with bloated stomachs and sagging skin were launching themselves out of the water, like dolphins, and landing on the deck of the Augusta. There, they were attacking the sailors as they did their best to stay together.
Guy turned to Tosco. “You know the drill, Lieutenant. Open up the MGs.”
Tosco nodded and went to give the orders. A minute later, the rapid fire sprayed across the water and hit several creatures before they had a chance to leap up out of the ocean. The Navy frigate Augusta had far more firepower than the Hatchet, but it looked like its captain had never gotten the chance to use it.
Guy got on the ship’s radio and ordered the crew to take to the rails and open fire from their assault rifles. The men—including some of the civilians—lined up along the ship’s boundaries and started picking their shots. Guy flinched when he saw some rounds go awry and hit the Augusta’s crew, but enough of the bloated, slippery demons went down to make them acceptable casualties. The remaining crew of the Augusta saw the Hatchet now and raised their hands excitedly. Fortunately, they were not distracted too long and could take advantage of the opening they’d been given. They steeled themselves against the enemy and fought for the upper hand. The Hatchet continued to lend support from its two machine guns.
Hell on Earth Trilogy: The Complete Apocalyptic Saga Page 19
