Hell on Earth Trilogy: The Complete Apocalyptic Saga

by Iain Rob Wright

  Sully stepped forwards. “Are things that bad?”

  The officer shook his head wearily. “You have no idea. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear a million have died in the city during the last forty-eight hours. Then enemy swarmed over Manhattan before were even had chance to respond. We blew the bridges and have most of them contained for the most part, but it’s only a matter of time before things spill into the other boroughs, and we can do nothing to stop the enemy heading north or the packs that already moved through here.”

  “So what should we do?” asked Mitch. “Can we nuke them? Or perform a big exorcism. Give us a little hope here, man.”

  The officer shrugged. “We’re on our way to Roosevelt Park to regroup with some other units. You’re welcome to tag along. Tell you the truth, my men are pretty stricken. Having a couple of jokers in our pack might do a bit of good. You still seem to still have your sense of humours, Lord knows how.”

  Jim huffed. “It’s all we have. Take away our jokes and Mitch would be a blubbering mess.”

  “We’d like to join you,” said Sully. “We’ll help if we can.”

  The officer nodded to the truck. “Then get in back, boys. It’s going to be a long ride.”

  They entered the truck to a warm welcome, the soldiers all spouting off their favourite skits or quoted catch phrases. Despite the many wounds and injuries the men sported, they all laughed heartely. Maybe laughter really was of value right now, and the live audience certainly felt good.

  The vehicles resumed their journey out of the city, the back of the trucks filled with chuckles. The Cheese Burgers had joined the Army.

  Damien Banks

  Birmingham, United Kingdom

  Harry pointed his rifle down from the window of the office block they were stationed at. The lower levels housed a massive Waterstones, but the top two floors were unused. It had been converted into a makeshift base of operations for a small section of the Army. Harry was currently acting as a scout, watching the quiet city below.

  Damien was standing behind him. “Still quiet down there?”

  “Yeah, the enemy seem to be laying low. We had some reports of them capturing people and taking them to the gate, but we don’t know why.”

  “I thought they were here to kill us all. Why take captives?”

  Harry kept his eye against his scope. “Don’t know. Did you need something, civilian?”

  “No, I’m just trying to understand what’s going on, so I can help.”

  “You can’t help.”

  Damien bristled. “Tell that to Steph. She’s alive because of me.”

  Harry finally moved away from the window. “That was a stupid thing you did saving her. It was brave, but stupid. I can’t have stupid people doing stupid things. Just lay low with the other civilians. Leave this to the professionals.”

  Damien rolled his eyes. “This involves everyone. I won’t sit back and do nothing.”

  “Fine. Then grab those binoculars on the window ledge and help me keep watch. We need to keep this block secure, so look out for any approaching forces.”

  Damien nodded, grabbed the binoculars and looked out the window. Military issue, the lenses were very strong, and he had to adjust the zoom several times to get his bearings. The street below was a section of high street with fast food restaurants and clothes shops making up the most part. It was currently quiet. No enemy in sight. While the Army’s forces in the area were moderate, it had been the police officers who had done the most good. Damien had seen them disperse massive flocks of the enemy with tear gas and flash bangs. It had not taken them out of commission for long, but it had allowed civilians to escape in the confusion and bought the Army an opportunity to strike. Damien had played impotent witness to most of the fighting in the last forty-eight hours, but he had at least done enough to save a young woman named Steph. She had followed him around ever since. It felt good to be a hero.

  For ten minutes, he watched the street below but still didn’t feel like he was doing enough. He was about to take a breather when a massive headache struck. He stumbled away from the window, clutching his skull.

  Steph raced up behind him, catching him as he fell. “Damien, are you all right?”

  “What is it?” Harry demanded irritably.

  “My… my head. Argh!” He clutched himself with both hands.

  And he saw something.

  It was if he were blind, but still seeing. He couldn’t see the world, only the images playing behind his closed eyelids.

  He saw the enemy. “They’re coming.”

  “Who?” asked Harry. “Who?”

  “The demons from the gate. They know we’re here and they’re sending a group to take us out.”

  “You saw something through the binoculars?”

  Damien moaned, doubled over and tried not to vomit. “No! Im seeing it now. They’ll be here soon. There’re coming from inside a warehouse. L…L… Latifs!”

  “I know Latifs,” said Steph. “It’s on New Canal Street about twenty minutes walk away.”

  Damien opened his eyes and saw Harry frowning at him. The soldier said nothing as he plucked his radio and gave a command. “Get on to Area HQ and tell them to hit New Canal with everything we have available.” He put back his radio and glared at Damien. “I like you, kid, but you best not have just wasted a whole lot of people’s time.”

  The visions had gone, but Damien was sure of what he had seen. It was like watching a CCTV monitor. It was happening right now.”

  They waited in silence.

  Steph rubbed Damien’s back. “Are you okay?”

  Damien rubbed at his head, but the pain was totally gone, not even a residual ache. “Yeah, it was so… surreal. I’ve never felt anything like it. I’m used to bad dreams, but not while I’m awake.”

  “Huh, you have bad dreams a lot?”

  Damien was embarrassed, worried he sounded like a child. “Yeah, I’m a bit messed up. I dream about demons in the snow and all sorts of nonsense.”

  Steph recoiled.

  “What?” he said. “What is it?”

  “I have the same dream. You dream about flames in the snow and dogs and… demons?”

  Damien nodded. “Yes! How could you…”

  Steph took another step back, freaked out. “I don’t know.”

  Before Damien had chance to think about things, Harry’s radio screeched—at the exact same time that distant gunfire erupted.

  “What is it?” Harry barked into his handset.

  “We found the enemy. A shit load of them coming out of a warehouse.”

  “Report. Give me a report.”

  “We… we’re handling it. They never saw us coming. We just dropped a third before we even engaged. I…”

  Gunfire increased in the city, a hundred soldiers unleashing at once.

  “We… we’ve beaten them back. They’re running. Hey… they have people with them. He have civilians.”

  Harry looked up at Damien, his eyes wide. Back into his handset, he spoke evenly. “Are the civilians okay?”

  “Erm… yes, I think so. There’s about thirty people here and they all seem okay. I estimate the number of enemy casualties at north of fifty. We… we really kicked their arses. Where did you get the Intel?”

  Harry sighed. “I’m not quite sure. Keep me posted.”

  “Will do.”

  Harry ended the call and kept his eyes on Damien. “How the Hell did you know?”

  He shook his head. “Honestly, I have no idea.”

  Everyone in the room was looking at him, soldiers and civilians—all strangers. They looked at him with fear.

  “Can you see the future?” Steph asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “Then how?”

  “You better start giving me some answers, lad,” said Harry. “You expect me to believe you just took a lucky guess?”

  “It wasn’t a guess, I knew. But I don’t know how I knew. I did a good thing. I helped. So stop staring at me
like I’m dangerous.”

  Harry took a step towards him, keeping their eyes locked. “Anything I don’t understand is dangerous, do you understand?”

  Damien frowned, went to speak but didn’t.

  “What is it?” Harry demanded.

  “I… I was sure we had met before for a moment there. That we were friends.”

  Harry grabbed his collar. “Are you playing games with me?”

  “No!” Damien shoved the soldier away from him. “Fuck you! I’m just trying to help.”

  “Then give some bloody answers I can understand.”

  “He doesn’t have the answers,” said a new voice in the room with a faint Irish twang. “Lad doesn’t even know who he is.”

  The whole room spun to see a disheveled man at the edge of the room. He had messy brown hair and a smile on his face. The soldier pointed their weapons. The civilians muttered in confusion.

  “Who the Hell are you?” Harry demanded, pointing his own rifle.

  The stranger stepped forward, both hands out in front of him. “The name’s Lucas, and you have my boy there. None of you have any idea quite how important he is.”

  “Are you talking about me?” asked Damien.

  Lucas smiled. “Yes, you and all the other Damien Banks’.”

  Damien cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Lucas just smiled.

  “I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.”

  Albert Einstein

  “Death is not extinction. Neither the soul nor the body is extinguished or put out of existence.”

  Oliver Joseph Lodge

  “I ain’t heard no fat lady!”

  Captain Hiller, Independence Day (1996),

  20th Century Fox

  Marcy

  “Max, come back here! It’s not safe.”

  “There’s food, mummy.”

  Marcy crouched beside the flat-tyred Volkswagen and waved at her son. At four years old, Max hadn't yet developed an adequate danger-radar, which meant he ran off wildly at every opportunity, and trying to control him during the apocalypse was no easier than it had been before. The key difference was the severe shortage of alcohol to help recover mummy's senses once evening came.

  Christ, I'd kill for a G & T.

  Marcy’s bond with her enthusiastic son had only galvanised since a demon invasion had driven them from their home. There were no more rushed shopping trips or stress-filled play dates with bitchy mum-friends. Now, she and Max gave each other their absolute attention and had become inseparable—an apocalyptic team, scrounging through bins and hiding out in burnt buildings. It was a simpler life, having only to worry about food and shelter, instead of mortgage payments and cheating husbands, yet being terrified constantly did eventually take its toll. Marcy's hands shook endlessly, and she started most mornings by anxiously vomiting. Damn her husband for not being here with them.

  “Max, be careful,” she snapped. “We don’t know if we’re alone out here.”

  Max peered at her from behind the wheelie bin he leant against and frowned in the way only inquisitive four-year-olds can. “I don’t like the monsters.”

  Marcy looked left and right, and then scurried from her hiding spot. She crossed the road and made it over to the bins. “We haven’t seen any today, but we still have to be careful.”

  “Okay, mummy.” He gave her a hug, and she winced as she felt his ribs poking her. “Look though.”

  She eased her son away. “What have you got there?”

  Max yanked a crumpled pizza box from the bin and held it out like a prize. He lifted the lid with an excited smile, but his expression turned to a frown when all that greeted him was an unravelled condom—Max had taken to calling them 'wet worms'. Now he groaned.

  “I want pizza.”

  “I know, honey, but I think all the pizza is gone. I still have a couple of chocolate bars in the backpack. You want one?”

  He shook his head and pouted. “I want pizza.”

  “One day, there’ll be pizza again, sweetheart, I promise.”

  “With dad? Dad likes pizza.”

  “We’ll find dad one day, Max. He’s safe with your uncle Rick.” It wasn’t easy lying to her son. Food was becoming an issue. The supermarkets were full of stray dogs and other scavengers. Anything not in a can was either spoiled or devoured. Searching through bins was becoming a waste of time. They survived the last couple of weeks by rummaging through cupboards in empty houses. Sometimes they found bodies. Max knew to close his eyes and call to her whenever that happened.

  Six weeks now since the gates had opened.

  Six weeks since those first horrifying reports on the news.

  Six weeks since Max had last seen his father.

  Marcy’s sweet little boy didn’t deserve this. No child did.

  But at least hers was still alive. I’m the luckiest mother in the world. Maybe the only mother…

  “Come on, Max. It’s getting dark. We should find somewhere to sleep tonight.”

  “Can we find somewhere with a boy’s bedroom? I want toys.”

  She smiled, buoyed that colourful trinkets could still distract her child. Max’s innocence protected him in ways she envied—he looked neither forward nor back, only at the reality of the moment. For Marcy, their inescapable fate created an endless maelstrom in her tummy. Humanity's future had become ticking seconds on a rusty clock. She couldn’t protect Max forever. Not in this world.

  A noise.

  Marcy pulled Max closer to keep him quiet, and then tilted her head, sure she had heard something.

  No, not heard—she had felt something. Vibrations beneath the worn soles of her shoes.

  Thwump.

  There it was again. Something distant. Something big. Big enough that the ground shook.

  “Oh no…” Marcy felt the ligature around her guts tighten. “Max, we need to get inside.”

  Max had learned his mother’s body language well enough that he didn’t argue. Sticking close together, the two of them took off across the road heading for a row of shops further along the pavement. Marcy had made a mental note of a ransacked charity shop with a broken door they had passed by earlier. That was where she headed now.

  Max’s short legs had to hop to keep up with his mother's frantic strides. “The monsters are coming, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, sweetheart. We need to get indoors.”

  The charity shop lay just ahead—a dead cat fouling the gutter marked its location. Funny, the methods she used to navigate this new, horrifying world. No more sat navs. No more directions. Just dead cats and burnt out cars.

  Marcy yanked Max into the broken doorway. The shop's interior smelt damp—rank and rotten. A pile of moulding paperbacks littered the entryway rug. Muddy footprints marked their pages. The broken door was irreparable, but the plate glass window still stood intact. Looters had put through the windows of most shops, but charity shops were not prize pickings.

  Max released his mother’s hand and went running deeper into the shop, picking through the detritus of abandoned knickknacks. The first thing he grabbed was a grungy bunny rabbit. He clutched it by his side. “I like it here.”

  She shushed him. “Just keep moving towards the back.”

  The demons acted more as roaming gangs than fastidious searchers, and if you kept off the streets, they usually passed right by. The early days of the apocalypse had seen mass slaughters, but human beings were now so rare that the demons seemed uninterested in picking off stragglers. Marcy assumed they were focused on something greater—perhaps murdering a last bastion of humanity somewhere. Maybe people were fighting back.

  She hoped.

  If there was someplace safe—truly safe—then Marcy had to get her son there. She couldn't protect him on her own. Not forever.

  “Mum, can I have this?”

  Marcy looked over and saw that her son had obtained a hobbyhorse. Its brown and black f
ur was still plush and upright, and both beady eyes were in place. Such a rudimentary toy would have held no interest to her son two months ago, but now, in the absence of electronic entertainment, it was what leapt out at him.

  “Sure, you can have it, but no more talking.”

  “No, you cannot have that!” someone shouted from the back. “How dare you come in here and take things that don’t belong to you? This is a charity. You are stealing from a charity!”

  Marcy stumbled in fright and collided with the cash register, which slid across the desk on rubber feet and made a screeching sound. “I-I-I was… we were... we are just looking for somewhere safe to hide. I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Don’t you sir me, you thief. Get out of here before I call the police!”

  “The police? Are you crazy?”

  “Mummy says the police have all gone away,” said Max gravely to the shadow at the back.

  An old man stepped out of the gloom and entered the dim shaft of sunlight filtering in from outside. His eyes were red and swollen, cheeks blotchy. A feral look about him—a crazed look.

  Marcy threw out her hand. “Come here, Max! We should leave this gentleman in peace.”

  “But the monsters, mummy. You said the monsters were coming.”

  She sighed. Max was right. Something was coming. But this old man made her feel more threatened than being exposed outside. “We’ll hide somewhere else," she said. “Let’s go.”

  Max moved towards her, but the old man struck like a snake and caught the boy by the wrist. “Hold it right there, sonny.”

  “Mum!”

  Marcy’s hands curled into fists. “Don’t touch him, you crazy old fuck!”

  The old man shot her a bug-eyed glance, while still clutching her son. Max struggled, the grungy bunny in his free hand flopping like it was having a seizure. “What did you call me, miss?”

  “Let my son go, right now. We’re leaving.”

  “He’s trying to steal this horse. This horse was donated to charity. Your boy is trying to steal from charity.”