Hell on Earth Trilogy: The Complete Apocalyptic Saga

by Iain Rob Wright

  Vamps moaned, tried to get up, but had his arm booted out from under him.

  Another kick to the ribs.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Barry marched into the warehouse, still clutching the Browning.

  Pusher backed away, his hands out in front of him. “Hey, this guy is causing trouble again. It’s all him.”

  “I… I need help,” said Vamps from on the floor. “I need to tell the Prime Minister something. Just get me out of here and put me in another cage, and I’ll tell you everything. This guy is going to kill me.”

  The suited man frowned, seeming to assess the situation before acting. “What do you know?”

  “W-what don’t I know?” said Vamps, spitting blood. “I know where there are people hiding out all over Brixton. I know where to get guns, drugs, money. You can have it all. Just get me somewhere safe, and I’ll tell you.”

  “You’re a fucking disgrace,” said Mass. “I thought I knew you, Vamps.”

  Barry pointed the gun at Mass. “Quiet, you.”

  Then he unlocked the cage and stepped inside, keeping the Browning out in front of him the whole time. He knelt and patted Vamps with his free hand. “Okay, up! We’re leaving, just you and me. You’re going to snitch about everything you know.”

  Vamps scrambled to his feet. “Yeah, man. I swear. I’ll tell you everything. One of the people in this cage has a weapon.”

  Barry backed up, raised the Browning in front of him. “Who?”

  “Me!” Vamps shoved the fountain pen right into the bastard’s jugular. The bleeding didn’t start until he pulled it out again. Then, like a geyser, it exploded in great rhythmic bursts that covered everything. Barry grabbed his punctured neck and sprawled against the cage wall. Even as he was dying, he raised his arm to point the Browning at Vamps.

  Pusher backhanded the man in the face and broke his nose. He dropped the gun, and he used the hand to cover his face as blood continued pouring out of him. Then his legs gave way, and he collapsed onto his knees.

  Mass leapt forward and booted the piece of shit in the chest, knocking him onto his back where he went still. “It’s just politics, bitch!”

  Vamps examined the bloody fountain pen in his hand and grimaced with disgust. He had just killed his second man in as many days. He tossed the pen to the ground, yet somehow he knew the killing wasn’t done. With that in mind, he knelt to pick up his grandfather’s Browning. Pusher attempted to do the same, and they ended up face-to-face with both their hands hovering over the antique pistol.

  The next two seconds seemed to last forever. The air went out of the room. Nobody spoke.

  Pusher backed away, grinning. “Hey, man. I was just picking it up for you.”

  Vamps gathered the Browning and straightened up. “I believe you. Let’s just get out of here.”

  Pusher nodded to his boys. “Come on.”

  They filtered out of the cage, but Vamps noticed that many of the prisoners remained—too scared to move? Vamps turned, unable to abandon them without thought. “You stay in there you’ll die. Take five minutes, think things through, then decide how you want to spend what’s left of your lives.”

  Mass helped Ginge up off the floor, and together with Vamps, they got moving. Ahead, Pusher and his boys looked for weapons amongst the warehouse props. As long as Vamps was the only one with a gun, things might just turn out okay.

  Mass readjusted his grip on Ginge. “Ginge, man, move your bloody legs. I ain’t carrying you across London.”

  Vamps shot Mass a worried looked. “Maybe some fresh air will wake him up.”

  “Epping Forest it is then. Hey, you remember that time we went there to smoke weed and ended up getting lost?”

  Vamps chuckled. “Yeah, man. Ravy went full-castaway after ten minutes. He was trying to make a fire and contemplating the rest of his life in the wild.”

  “He was high as fuck.”

  “We all were.”

  “Vamps?”

  “Yeah, man?”

  “What do you think we’ll find out there?”

  Vamps could think of only one answer. “More reasons to fight.”

  Commander Hernandez

  Dawn was fast arriving, which made the other ship all the more a ghostly visage. It had appeared from nowhere—from the shadows themselves—but it had brought the light with it.

  Salvation.

  After leaving Captain Johnson on the helicopter deck, Hernandez fought his way to the ship’s bow. It would have been impossible if not for the covering fire of the other ship. Several times, demons had set upon him only to explode into pieces under machine gunfire.

  The men he had positioned atop the conning tower were still alive, and so was the group led by Lieutenant Danza. The other officer gave Hernandez a hearty salute. Things hadn’t looked like they would end well for a moment there.

  Hernandez staggered into the bridge, where Ensign Connelly had already patched him through to the Coast Guard frigate sitting at port-side. The other vessel’s captain introduced himself as Captain Guy Granger.

  Hernandez picked up the receiver. “Thank the Lord for you, Captain Granger. Thank the Lord. You saved our bacon. Once those things were onboard we couldn’t stop them coming. It was you cutting them to ribbons on the water that turned the tide. Your men are heroes. Over.”

  “That they are, Captain. Over.”

  Hernandez sighed. “Not the captain. Commander Johnson died in the attack, a stray bullet from one of your men, I believe. I’m Lieutenant Hernandez. Over.”

  “I’m sorry about your commander,” said the other captain. “My crew did the best they could. Over.”

  “I understand. Our decks were swamped with monsters. We would’ve lost far more men if you hadn’t been here to help. Over.”

  “Do you know where those creatures came from, Lieutenant Hernandez? Over.”

  “Affirmative. Our radar picked up an anomaly on the seabed in this area. The things must have swum right up out of the depths. They were so bloated and malformed that they must have been sunk right down low. Over.”

  After a moment of silence, Captain Granger: “Then it appears these hell gates are beneath the oceans and on land. We should all keep an eye on the radar and steer a clear course. Over.”

  “Copy that, Captain. We fled Norfolk hoping to regroup, but ran right into another battle. Over.”

  “You were at Norfolk? So were we. Did you see how things ended there? Over.”

  Hernandez rubbed the back of his hand holding the receiver against his sweaty forehead, then put it to his mouth. “There’s nothing left. The USS New Hampshire went under and took a thousand men with her, but several vessels got away. We count our blessings. Over.”

  A sad reply came back, yet not one seemingly ready to quit. “At least some of us got out alive. We’re not beaten yet. Over.”

  Hernandez nodded, despite the other man not being able to see him. “Copy that, Captain. Gives us a chance to regroup and head back to coast. Now that you saved us, we’ll be able to fight another day. Naval Command is operating out of Florida now, and all ships are to make their way to Jacksonville. It’ll be a pleasure to have the Hatchet along for the ride. Over.”

  “Negative. The Hatchet is crossing the Atlantic. Over.”

  Hernandez frowned. Was there something he didn’t know? “Why? Over.”

  “I have a personal matter to attend to. Over.”

  A personal matter, at a time like this, when the whole of the United States was under attack? Was the man off his meds? “We have orders to assemble at Jacksonville,” Hernandez said plainly. “Disobey and you’ll be considered a deserter. Over.”

  “Call it what you want,” came Captain Granger. “I’m going to the UK to get my kids. Over.”

  “I can’t allow you to do that, Captain Granger. The Hatchet is United States property, and your men have a duty to protect their country. You need to return to coast, or relinquish command to someone who will. Over.”

  He
rnandez took a moment to inspect his crew—for they were now his—and saw they were bloody, panting, and badly shell-shocked. They needed a show of strength to rally behind. Danza stood nearby and was staring at Hernandez. Hard to read what the man was thinking.

  “With all due respect, Lieutenant Hernandez, I don’t take orders from you. Over.”

  Hernandez squeezed the handset and placed it right up against his mouth. This was a battle of authority, and if he had any chance of maintaining his integrity, he needed to show he was not a commander to be trifled with. Captain Granger had gone rogue, and that would not do. “The US Coast Guard has been ordered to relinquish command to the Navy. I am the senior naval officer in this region, and I am taking authority of your vessel. I will have one of my junior officers take command of your crew. Prepare to be boarded. Over and out.”

  “You sure about this?” asked Danza, quietly enough that no one else heard it.

  Hernandez realised he had a lump in his throat and struggled to remove it before speaking. “We have a duty. The United States needs every one of its assets to help in its time of need. We cannot allow a rogue Coast Guard captain to steal a ship and crew right in front of us.”

  Danza nodded and seemed to agree. “You’re right, but that Coast Guard captain just saved our lives.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “That if we fire on them and kill them, our own men will be conflicted. If a fight breaks out, you’ll be asking them to kill the people to whom they owe their lives. Americans.”

  “My crew owe their loyalty to the US Navy, nothing and no one else.”

  Danza nodded. “I don’t think Captain Granger will lie down and let us board. He’ll fight, which means we’ll lose more men. Men we need right now.”

  “What exactly are you getting at, Danza?” Hernandez snapped.

  “I feel it’s my duty to play devil’s advocate. Just tread carefully is all I’m saying. Sometimes you have to lose a few battles to win a war.”

  Hernandez disliked having to argue his case, but he hesitated a moment to consider Danza’s words. Was the officer right? Had he committed to a winless action?

  It was too late to change course. To back down would ruin any chance of gaining the crew’s respect.

  Hernandez gave his orders. The Augusta drifted in close enough that the hulls of the two ships almost touched. The remaining crew lined up along the railings, but they did not point their rifles—yet. Hernandez preferred the situation be concluded without gunfire, but would use whatever force necessary. Even after their losses, his crew still possessed two rifles for every one of the Hatchet’s, and the Augusta itself had three times the armaments. They could sink the Hatchet if it came to it, but to do so would defeat the purpose of this whole action. Hernandez wanted command of the other ship—the beginning of his very own fleet that would sail back to the mainland and begin a quest of heroism and bravery.

  Hernandez approached the railing, wondering if it put him at risk of a bullet, but knowing that he needed to show confidence. “Tell your men to stand aside, Captain Granger. I hereby seize this vessel in the name of the United States Navy.”

  Captain Granger stood at the opposite railing, also without a weapon—two generals meeting across the battlefield. “Your access is denied, Lieutenant Hernandez. I am the captain of this ship, and my word is law. Be grateful for your rescue, and take your men wherever you choose, but they will not come aboard this ship.”

  Hernandez narrowed his eyes, and spotted then that there were several civilians on board the Hatchet, besides the servicemen. “You have American citizens on board. Do you plan on kidnapping them?”

  “No man or woman is here against their will. In fact, any who wish to join you now may do so.” Granger turned around to look at his civilians, but not one of them stepped forward to leave.

  “You have them scared,” Hernandez remarked.

  Granger smiled so widely that it was easy to see even at distance. “Considering you were all but dead in the water when we arrived, I think maybe it’s you they are afraid of. The men on this ship survived the attack on New York, the attack on Norfolk, and now the attack on the USS Augusta. They are safer with me than anywhere else. They are survivors and—as my own Lieutenant called them earlier—warriors. We came to aid you in your time of need when running away would’ve been easier. My crew is fearless and ferocious. Come aboard if you dare, Lieutenant.”

  Hernandez laughed like a hyena. “You really think you will win a fight against my ship, Captain? You don’t stand a chance.”

  “Perhaps, but are you willing to lose the men it will take to put us down? I promise that for every one of us you take, we’ll take three of yours. We have two machineguns and my ship’s main gun aimed at you, not to mention about a hundred rifles. I’m over-manned, you see. That’s what happens when you win fights—you get stronger. I look at your crew, Lieutenant, and all I see is fear and exhaustion. They have lost their commander and inherited you. How long do you think they will tolerate your command if you force them to kill fellow Americans? Fellow Americans who just saved their lives. Or perhaps they won’t have to tolerate you much longer. Maybe the very first shot fired will be right at your forehead. You’re a pretty good shot, aren’t you, Lieutenant Tosco?”

  Another officer on board the Hatched raised his riflescope to his eye and grinned. “Aye, aye, Captain. I can shoot the nut-sack off a navy officer from a hundred metres. In fact, I’m ready to pull the trigger right now.”

  The situation was slipping from Hernandez’s grasp, and he knew it. Bile burned at the back of his throat. He tried to respond but tripped over his own words and ended up offering nothing but bluster. He shifted uncomfortably and retreated a step. The small act of moving away sent a shiver of unease among the crew and Hernandez saw them waver, uncertainty in their eyes. Captain Granger had used the same thinking that Danza had warned of, and now that the man had voiced it, it was in the men’s heads. Could they commit to a firefight after hearing the facts so plainly stated? Hernandez was being made to look like a petty bully.

  Captain Granger came back through the radio. “Look, Commander Hernandez, I see you’re a good man—a good American—but after Norfolk, it became every man for himself. We all need to do whatever we can in whatever way we can to make a difference. The Hatchet is crossing the Atlantic, and we will lend our help wherever it is needed, just like we did to save your ship, but we will make our own way and decide our own fate. It’s survival now, don’t you see? There’s not going to be any great war because we’ve already lost. There’s no more United States, there’s just us—people. All that is left is resistance, and no resistance ever worked by following empty orders. It will only work by doing what needs to be done when it needs doing. Take your ship, and do whatever you can to help, but if you try to fight us, you’re only helping the enemy.”

  That was it, the final nail. Hernandez saw the unease on the faces of his crew. They were waiting for an order they dreaded—to kill fellow Americans. Hernandez could no longer give that order, for it would end in disaster, but neither could he reverse course without losing face. He struggled in his own mind for several moments, a silence blanketing both ships. He needed to say something—something that the men could believe in. “I consider you a traitor to your country, Captain Granger, but I will not command my men to fire on fellow Americans. I disagree about the war being lost. It has only just begun. Your country requires your ship and your crew, but I can see that you have brainwashed them to abandon their beliefs—and even stand by while you deny the existence of the United States. I will not risk lives, but when America is victorious, men like you will be strung up for cowardice. If you have any honour at all, you will step down now, Captain Granger, but I don’t expect that you will.”

  “The last thing anybody aboard my ship is guilty of is cowardice. I wish you a safe journey, Commander Hernandez. Do try to keep your men alive. We won’t be there to rescue you next time.”

  Her
nandez closed his eyes, locked his jaw, then turned away and removed himself from the railings. “Let’s get the decks cleaned up. We depart for the mainland immediately.”

  Dead demons littered the decks, their exposed torsos like salt-encrusted jellyfish. The stench of death mixed with the briskness of the ocean. Engines rumbled, and they pulled away from the Hatchet. The sound of its crew cheering carried across the water, contrasting with the glum silence aboard the Augusta.

  Danza scratched at a bloodstain on his sleeve. “That was going to go badly whichever way you went about it.”

  “Are you trying to say that you warned me, Lieutenant?”

  “I think it’s pretty clear that I did, but you pulled it back at the end. The crew will recover eventually.”

  “Recover from what?” Hernandez glared at Danza. “They are sailors, not kittens. We have survived an attack, and will be ready for the next one. Johnson had no way of knowing what was coming, but I do.”

  “What exactly happened to Johnson? You were defending the rear of the ship with him, right?”

  “Like I said, when the Hatchet fired on us, he got hit. I was lucky I didn’t take a bullet too.”

  Danza sighed. “I suppose they couldn’t help it, but it still smarts that they killed our commander.”

  “It is in the past now. Let us forget it.”

  “The men won’t forget it. Granger defied us and sailed away scot free. That doesn’t sit easily with me, and it won’t sit easily with the men.”

  Hernandez stormed over to the railing and watched the now distant Hatchet. “What could I have done, Danza? What way out did I have?”

  “You had no way out, I admit.”

  The sight of the retreating Coast Guard ship made Hernandez’s blood boil. How he wished Granger stood beside him so he could knock the arrogant twerp—the traitorous twerp—on his ass.

  “Granger won’t be getting away scot-free,” he told Danza. “This isn’t over.”