Hell on Earth Trilogy: The Complete Apocalyptic Saga

by Iain Rob Wright

  Riaz nodded. “I know, it’s hard to imagine.”

  “What did Command want us to do?”

  Riaz waved an arm towards the church and the people gathered around it. “This. They want us to keep a police presence in the town centre. Everyone else has been called in to man a task force headed for London.”

  “So we’re on our own,” said Richard. He ran a hand through his hair and realised he was sweating.

  “Hopefully, the other guys will turn up to help, but I’m guessing they might have panicked along with everyone else. Michaels has only been on the job a few months. I’ll have his nutsack if he’s done a runner.”

  “Let’s not count them out yet. We need to wait for the dust to settle.”

  Riaz rolled his eyes and turned away.

  Richard went over to the vicar. “Any tea left for a shaken police officer?”

  The holy man smiled. A subtle smear of blood stained his chin. “Of course. Let me grab you a cup. Here you go. Thank you for all your help today, officer. It’s times like these when strong men have duty.”

  Richard took a sip of piping-hot tea and chuckled.

  The vicar seemed bemused. “Did I say something funny?”

  “No, it’s just that I was saying something very similar not so long ago.”

  “Then you agree? Those of of us who can must do what is needed. We all saw the scenes from London. We understand what is coming.”

  “And what is that, Vicar?”

  “The end. Perhaps not of everything, but certainly of what we know. Hell itself came through that gate today—it could have been nothing else.”

  Richard said nothing.

  “You’re sceptical, Officer? Many are these days, I’m afraid. I don’t begrudge you for it, but whatever you believe—something evil has arrived, and this is just beginning.”

  Richard put his teacup on the wall. “Well, we’re in agreement there, Vicar. I hear the Army is going into the city. People won’t know what to do. They won’t cope with fighting in the streets.”

  “They will cope, Officer. You may trust in that.”

  Richard sighed. “These people are lucky to receive your help, Vicar.”

  “Please, call me Miles. And my help is but a drop in the ocean. As I said, we all must do what we can.”

  Richard nodded. “Yes. If you’d excuse me.”

  The vicar nodded and went back to making tea.

  Hell, as a metaphor, was something Richard could grasp well enough, but as a real place…? Believing that demons, or something else malevolent, had come to earth…? It was a struggle for him to accept such ideas, but then what did he make of what he had seen? Camera tricks? A conspiracy? Maybe the media had been hijacked, and what everyone saw was mere trickery? That was more plausible than Hell falling upon them.

  But the stones were real. Richard knew because he had colleagues who had encountered them first hand. An old lady had died beside one in the village of Crapstone, and Michael Bray, the local coroner, used to play squash with Richard before moving south. Michael Bray had described the stone that had killed the woman.

  Unmovable, and unknown.

  One stone of several thousand.

  If not an invasion from Hell, then what? Aliens?

  Richard wobbled and again had to steady himself against the nearest wall. It was too much to process.

  “You okay?” asked Riaz.

  “No, Riaz, I am not okay, but that’s not my main concern.”

  “What is then?”

  “My family. I need to go check on them, but I can’t leave you—”

  “No, you can’t.”

  Richard looked at the man. “What?”

  “Everybody here is afraid, and they are relying on our presence to keep them safe. You can’t leave.”

  “Riaz, you do not give me orders…”

  “No, but I know that your orders will be to remain here.”

  That he was being told what to do by a subordinate made him even more determined to do as he pleased. “Riaz, I will be gone thirty minutes at most.”

  “Thirty minutes when anything could happen.”

  “I need to check on my family.”

  “And so do others.”

  Richard clenched his fists. “I’m going. You hold the fort while I’m gone.”

  Riaz rolled his eyes. “Fine. Just get back as quickly as you can.”

  Richard took one last look at the mess he was leaving his colleagues in—maybe fifty people sat on the floor outside the church, or on whatever perch they could find. Children crying. Moms sobbing. Fathers sombrely staring into space. He would need to come back. The vicar was right about him having a duty, but his biggest and most important duty was to Jen and Dillon. How could he protect others before he protected them? He needed to know they were safe.

  Richard found his squad car and climbed in. He took off at speed—the street ahead eerily abandoned.

  The calm before the storm.

  Richard leapt out of his squad car and raced up his drive. His house was a semi-detached dormer, but the long hedges on either side of the driveway made it appear to stand alone. Jen stared out of the front window, almost as if she expected him.

  “Oh, Rich, I’ve been so worried,” she said when he passed through the door.

  “I should have called. I just wanted to get here.”

  “You’re here now.” She held him tightly—a strong woman with the extra pounds she’d put on over the last few years. He was so exhausted that her grasp knocked the wind out of him. “Are you okay?”

  “No. It’s been a tough morning. Did you see the news?”

  She eased away from him and looked him in the eye. “How could I not have? Every channel got interrupted. They cut into Dillon’s cartoons.”

  “What? Did he see?”

  She pushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and sighed. “He’s in the kitchen. I put a DVD on for him.”

  Richard pressed his forehead against hers, too tired to do anything else, and then headed into the kitchen. Sure enough, Dillon sat at the table watching a Disney film. From his fidgeting alone, Richard could tell he was agitated.

  “Hey, Dillon. Daddy’s home. What you doing?”

  “Watching Lion King.”

  Richard smiled and gave his son a hug. Dillon was always affectionate, but could be withdrawn if worried. That was why he returned the hug, but did not look at his father.

  “Is everything okay?”

  Dillon nodded, but still didn’t look away from the television. Despite being twenty-three, he was no less innocent than a eight year old.

  “Dillon? If you saw something frightening on the TV, that’s okay. Sometimes programmes can be upsetting, but you’re safe. Nothing is going to hurt you.”

  “Monsters,” Dillon muttered. “Monsters can hurt me.”

  “There are no monsters here, Dillon. Just me and your mum.”

  Dillon finally made eye contact. The Brushfield spots in his irises—a characteristic of his Down’s Syndrome—glistened beneath a film of tears. “Will you stay here, Daddy?”

  “I… I can’t Dillon. I have to go to work.”

  “Are you going to fight the monsters?”

  Richard leaned in and hugged his son, patting his back at the same time. “No, sweetheart. I just have to make sure everybody behaves. You know my job is important.”

  Dillon nodded. He normally idolised Richard for being a policeman, but today it seemed to bring him trepidation. Richard wondered if his son understood the danger his job now involved.

  “I don’t want you to go, Dad. I saw the monsters on the TV. They were hurting people. Don’t go out.” His bottom lip quivered.

  “Sweetheart, everything is fine. I’m not leaving for ten minutes, so watch your film while I go talk to Mummy.”

  “I don’t want to watch the Lion King,” he said. “I want you to stay here.”

  “Dillon…”

  “Maybe he’s right,” said Jen, entering the room a
nd looking like she needed a stiff drink. Pity they didn’t keep alcohol in the house.

  “I’m still on the job, Jen. I only snuck away to make sure you were both okay. I’ll be lucky to get away with this as it is.”

  “You never signed up for what I saw on the television just now, Rich. Will you have to go to London?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Jen blinked and tried to keep her tears at bay. She had to turn away as she spoke. “I’m not having you risk your life. Your job is to arrest abusive husbands and confiscate wacky backy. It’s just a stupid job.”

  Richard was taken aback. Never had he thought of his occupation as a ‘job’. A vocation perhaps, but really, he considered it his calling. He’d been doing it so long now that it was part of who he was. “It’s not a stupid job, Jen. I have a responsibility to protect the people. If I abandon my duties, what does that make me?”

  “A husband. A father.”

  He sighed. Some arguments could not be won. “Look, before I do anything, I need to see what’s happening. Things are all over the place right now. Is the news still running?”

  “It hasn’t stopped all morning.”

  Richard went into the living room and picked up the television remote.

  “Keep the volume down,” said Jen, following him. “I don’t want Dillon upset again.”

  “Neither do I.” He switched on the television but did not need to change the channel. He could have been watching a disaster movie if not for the BBC News ticker running along the bottom of the screen.

  It was all over. That was the way it felt. The amount of death on screen, the amount of destruction…

  “Oh, God,” said Jen. “It’s even worse.”

  A helicopter recorded the video—obvious from the high elevation—but this time it was not a view of London. It was New York. Richard spotted the Empire State Building towering in the background. The Big Apple burned. Central Park teemed with fleeing bodies so small they might have been ants. It was hard to see from such height, but the denizens of Manhattan were under obvious attack. Richard could see the ants colliding and dancing—predators and prey coming together in mortal harmony.

  It soon became clear why the helicopter kept such altitude. Amongst the chaos, the flames, and debris, stood something massive and indescribable. A giant.

  The huge, naked man strode through the streets of Manhattan, a colossus leaving in its wake a trail of devastation. With ease, it plucked up a city bus and threw it into the air as if no more than a loaf of bread. A military helicopter zipped around behind it, peppering it with machine gun fire, but it did more damage to the surrounding skyscrapers than the giant. Glass windows exploded in a Mexican Wave along the side of a modern high rise. A studio reporter narrated the scenes they were seeing, but the man struggled to string together sentences, speaking in broken, garbled utterances.

  How did you report the unreportable?

  A loud bang—from outside the house—distant yet not miles away. Richard went to the window and looked out. The street was quiet. A nice area, yet it backed up against a more urban district that would be a prime centre of unrest when the inevitable unruliness began.

  Would the trouble spill over here? Was their home safe?

  “What’s happening, Rich?” Jen asked him.

  It pained him not to be able to answer. What was happening? A terrible dream? What had happened to the ordinary, mundane world of yesterday?

  “We need to prepare for the worst,” he said, wanting to hug Jen but feeling it was important that they stay emotionally detached right now. “If the rest of the world is watching this on TV, then there will be a panic the likes of which we’ve never seen.”

  Jen swallowed, but took a steadying breath and nodded. “So what do we do? Do we lock up tight and ride it out?”

  Richard thought about it. Considered boarding up the windows and arming themselves, but his gut told him it was a poor move. If the unrest spilled over into this street, they’d have no chance of escape. And could Richard, as a police officer, hole up and ignore what was happening?

  “I think we should all leave, Jen. It’s better if we stick together with other people than stay here by ourselves. Plus, if the government starts evacuating people, it will be better if we are somewhere visible.”

  Jen folded her arms and held herself. “Where should we go?”

  “The church in the town centre. Some of my colleagues are already there, along with a big group of people. It’ll be safer. If trouble starts, we’ll be less vulnerable in a group. It’s also my duty to look after everyone. At the church, I can do that while also having you and Dillon where I can see you.”

  Jen nodded. “Okay, then we’ll all go there.”

  Dillon came into the room. He looked pale, making his freckles stand out like bugs on his cheeks. “Go where?”

  Jen smiled at him. “We’re going to church, honey.”

  “Church is boring.”

  “It won’t be today,” said Richard.

  Lieutenant Hernandez

  The USS Augusta buzzed with excitement, and it was with great trepidation that Lieutenant Jose Hernandez disembarked alongside his commanding officer, Captain Adrian Johnson, who was the spitting image of Harrison Ford and twice as grumpy. With the strange stones all over the world suddenly coming to life and emitting ethereal nets of multi-coloured light, the entire east coast Navy had been recalled to Norfolk Naval Station for immediate briefing. Nobody knew what would happen, but no one could see how the stones represented anything good. They were alien.

  Hernandez had it in his head that the world was about to have its first alien contact. His mind conjured images of the strange lights turning into giant projectors for intergalactic communication. Maybe the aliens would be peaceful, reaching out in friendship—or maybe they planned to offer an opportunity for subjugation before they began their impending invasion. Every time he thought about it, his stomach flipped like a pancake.

  “Keep up, Hernandez, you’re dawdling.”

  “Sorry, sir.” He doubled his steps and moved back alongside Commander Johnson.

  Norfolk Naval Station resembled a car park more than anything else from afar. Its paved shoreline housed a thousand cars on an ordinary day, but now it was crammed with twice that. As the world’s largest naval station, Norfolk could comfortably house over seventy ships alongside its fourteen piers and over a hundred aircraft in its eleven hangars. Today it seemed small.

  Navy personnel rushed everywhere, some in dress uniform, others in their patchy blue work fatigues. Hernandez himself wore his fatigues, but he now wished that—like Johnson—he had thought to change into his dress uniform. He would be lost in this crowd, indistinguishable from the lowliest sailor. A wasted opportunity. Times like these—times of crisis—reputations got forged.

  “Look at that beauty, Hernandez,” said Johnson as they hurried towards Hangar 4 where several dozen officers had assembled. He pointed to Pier 6, home to a floating monument, the USS New Hampshire.

  The USS New Hampshire was the flagship of the US Navy. The latest Gerald R. Ford-class supercarrier, it was due to officially enter service next month, but here it was now, ready for action. Nuclear powered and highly automated, it was the most advanced naval craft in the world. Hernandez licked his lips at the thought of one day serving aboard her.

  Not that Hernandez’s own ship, the USS Augusta, lacked prestige. A modern Burke-class destroyer, it was no duck in the water and could dominate most ships of equal size. Coincidentally, it had launched from this very naval station in 1993.

  As they neared the wide-open Hangar 4, where a massive group of officers assembled in rank and file, something happened. Hernandez sensed it more than realised it at first, but he caught movement in the corner of his eye—saw people rushing more frantically than moments before. A panic had taken hold and was spreading.

  “Something’s happened,” Hernandez muttered, slowing down and then stopping.

  Johnson stopped
too, but looked irritated. His intense green eyes were beds of concrete. “Keep your head in the game, Hernandez. I will not be late.”

  Hernandez looked around and became more certain that some kind of news had just broken. A young ensign sprinted towards the docks and Hernandez grabbed her. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  “New York is under attack. Orders are to offer support right now.”

  Hernandez glanced at Johnson, who had changed from being irritated to looking confused. The look he gave the young ensign could have boiled water. “What do you mean ‘under attack’?”

  The woman shrugged her arm free of his grasp. “I mean, those stones are exactly what we were all afraid of. They brought something here.”

  “What—”

  “I need to go.” The ensign sprinted away.

  “We need to get to that briefing,” said Johnson.

  With no counter-argument, Hernandez followed his commander towards Hangar 4. When they joined the other assembled officers, the panic had spread over the entire station—men and women cursed and cried. Some of them were from New York or had family there. Many fled, heading back to their ships or cars. Most remembered their duty and stayed, even as salty tears stained their cheeks.

  When Admiral Kirsch appeared at the front of the hangar dressed in full regalia, the vast space fell silent. The sixty-year old man looked forty, with a wide chest full of medals and thick brown arms hanging confidently by his sides. A lifetime at sea had hardened the man, and even a sedentary command role failed to soften him. When he scanned over the assembled audience, he seemed to look at each person individually. Hernandez felt a chill.

  Kirsch spoke slowly, making sure each word stood alone. “We. Are. At. War.”

  The air vibrated. No one dared let out the slightest whisper.

  Kirsch continued. “Ten minutes ago, New York City was attacked. Some of you may have seen the images already, but that shows nothing of the scale of what we face. Over six thousand black stones have been identified around the world in the last forty-eight hours, and as far as we can tell, every single one of them just opened up and spat out something alien. Our enemy: unknown. Their intentions: unknown. One thing we do know is that they are here to kill us. Man, woman, and child. The slaughter is going on right now, in New York, in nearly every other city you can name.”