Hell on Earth Trilogy: The Complete Apocalyptic Saga

by Iain Rob Wright

  Rick shook his head. “No, I am one of us. But an angel passed some of his power to me—to help us. Each day I get stronger. The demons can no longer harm me, and more importantly, I can close the gates.”

  “You can close them at a distance?” asked Guy, remembering what Wickstaff said earlier.

  Rick turned and lowered himself back onto the bed. He sat like a stiff eighty-year-old. “At first, I had to get right up and touch them, but before stumbling into Portsmouth, I closed one while standing on top of a nearby hill. The demons never even saw me. The explosion took out hundreds of them. They seem to go down if the blast catches them.”

  “It greatly cemented our position here,” said Wickstaff. “The Rick-closed gate was less than a mile away from the city's outskirts—we were fighting constant skirmishes and losing men every day. When Rick closed it, it gave us the breathing room we needed to dig in and get our heads together.”

  “He’s closed five gates,” said Maddy, gazing at Rick with pride. Guy wondered if something was going on there.

  “But I need to close more,” Rick let out a whistling sigh and rubbed at his sides. “I came here because I thought it would be safe for the people I care about. Now I need to get back out there. If you're heading out, Guy, I want to come with you. You’re heading to Slough, right? There’s a very important gate between here and there. South Downs.”

  Guy was sweating, and still short of breath since the soul-itching vision Rick forced into him. What had he seen? Walls of bleeding flesh... Legions of foul creatures... And beyond it all, something malevolent—something ancient.

  “Why is this gate important?” asked Tosco, always one to focus on parameters over emotion. “There are thousands across the world, so what makes this one more important than the rest?”

  Wickstaff answered. “It’s a nexus.”

  “A what?”

  “A nexus,” said Rick. “Some gates are larger and more powerful. They draw power from Hell itself and pass it on to other smaller gates. Almost like an exchange on a power grid. I never knew this until I closed the first gate. When I touched it, I felt connected to all the others on the same network. I saw the nexus gate. It’s about fifty miles from here—on the way to Slough.”

  “So… so…” Guy rubbed at his forehead, trying to remove the cobwebs. “If you close this gate, what happens?”

  “About two-dozen more in the South of England get closed right along with it,” said Wickstaff. “And any angels that came through it will be rendered vulnerable.”

  “You’ll be able to hurt the angels?” Guy nodded. It was making sense.

  Wickstaff nodded. “We’ve already seen it. Someone closed a gate in London, and an angel got hurt. We have survivors from London here on base who claim they saw an angel come out of that same gate during the first days of the invasion.”

  Rick wiped a smidgen of blood on his lip. “Similar reports claim another angel came out of a gate in Haslemere. Lord Amon.”

  Guy huffed. “Who the hell is Lord Amon?”

  “A leader,” said Wickstaff. “At least of the army that threatens us here in Portsmouth. We take out that gate; we get our chance to take out Lord Amon too. The demons are congregating at his command, and if he were removed, they might lose direction—one can only hope.”

  “Look, I don’t care about any of that. I just want to find my daughter. You’ve already said you won’t help me, General, so I will take a crew from the Hatchet and go myself.”

  “No,” said Tosco. “The men have done as you asked, Captain—they got you here—but now they should do as they wish. You said you would relinquish command of the Hatchet once we arrived in England. The crew and I want to travel back to the United States. This is not our fight.”

  Wickstaff turned on the Lieutenant. “Wake up, Tosco, you fool. This isn’t about national identity anymore. We’re fighting as a species. You travel back home and it will take you weeks. The fighting is happening right now. Here. Stand beside your fellow man.”

  Tosco stood unconvinced. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head, “but my crew members have homes… families…”

  Guy folded his arms. “It’s still my crew, Lieutenant.”

  “Not if you ask them to do this, Captain. You don’t own their lives. Not anymore.”

  “He’s right, Guy,” said Skip of all people.

  Guy raised an eyebrow. “You agree with the Lieutenant?”

  “On this I do, aye. You can’t claim dominion over the men and women on board the Hatchet anymore. They’re not your own private army. They came here because they believed in you, not because they had to. You try to order them to come with you to Slough, now that they've found safety here, I’d say more than half would refuse, either to stay here and fight or return home with Tosco. They earned the right to choose.”

  Tosco nodded a silent thanks to the old chief, but Skip ignored it. He wasn’t siding with the Lieutenant, just speaking what he thought to be true.

  Guy sighed, took a look at the people standing around him. “Okay. Come with me by any means, Rick, but it looks like I might be travelling alone, so on your head be it.”

  Rick peered up from the bed. “You won’t be alone, Guy. General Wickstaff will give us an escort.”

  The general shook her head. “I can’t spare it.”

  “Yes, you can. Defending this place is priority number one, I get that, but you can spare a dozen men to get me to the nexus.”

  “We discussed this Rick. We will get you there by chopper. It’s safer.”

  “No, it’s not. The demons can use weapons. One of them gets something big enough to take out a helicopter and I’m at the mercy of fate. I don’t like fate. Least on my own two feet I can run if I have to. I want to go with Guy. I want to see him rescue his daughter while she’s alive.”

  Guy swallowed. “Do you know something?”

  “I know your daughter is alive until proven otherwise. What’s the point of going after her if not?”

  Guy chewed his lip for a moment, and then he looked at Wickstaff. “Help me get my daughter, and I promise I’ll get Rick to the gate.”

  Wickstaff unfolded her arms and let them fall to her side. “Fine! You can have a dozen men, plus whomever you can get from your own crew. Lieutenant, if you want supplies to get back to the States, I’ll give them to you, but you leave me the civilians. I need bodies.”

  “I won’t make anyone stay against their will,” said Tosco, “but I imagine most would be glad to stay.”

  Rick smiled. His eyes flashed with inky blackness. “Great, then we’ll leave in the morning. Until then, who’s in for Poker?”

  Guy turned around and headed back to his ship.

  Vamps

  “Shite!” Mass kicked a detached headlight against the curb. “Ain’t no way we’re getting across here.”

  Vamps stood at the edge of the broken road and stared into the rushing water below. Somehow, the entire bridge had crumbled into the river. The scorch marks on the far-side embankment, along with the various shards of metal jutting up out of the mud, made it look like an aircraft had come down on top of the road and taken the river crossing with it. It was not a wide expanse, but the river looked deep and powerful. Raging. The pitter-patter of rain on its surface only made it seem more alive.

  “We’ll have to go around,” said Marcy, arms laden with carrier bags. “There’s nowhere to cross.”

  “Nah,” said Vamps. “We just got to use our heads. I like a challenge.”

  “There’s no way,” said Mass. “I’m not a good swimmer.”

  “That’s ‘cus you’re so heavy you’d sink like a stone, bruv. We can do this. Look, over there—it’s narrower.”

  “I like swimming,” said Max. He picked up a stone and tossed it into the water. “I reckon we can get across easy.”

  Vamps gave Max a fist bump. “That’s my man!”

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” said Marcy. “Max we’ll find somewhere else to swim
, okay? The water is moving a bit fast.”

  Vamps knew they were just scared. He needed to be brave for them all, like always. He studied the narrow point in the river and became surer they could cross. All they needed was… “There. Right there is how we cross.”

  Mass frowned. “What?”

  “That lamppost over there with the banged-up Merc crashed against it.” The lamppost was bent and leaning at a forty-five-degree angle. It had ripped free of the ground, a chunk of concrete anchoring its base like a root bulb. “Together, we can lift that over the water where it’s narrowest. We’ll be able to walk right over.”

  Mass put his hands on his hips and licked his lip. “I dunno, man.”

  “Come on! After all we’ve been through, you’re going to shit your pants at this?”

  Mass winced and looked at Max who was giggling.

  Vamps waved a hand at Marcy. “Sorry. Look, we can cross here. We’re heading south and we’re making good time, but if we have to walk around this river until we find another bridge we could end up going backwards. It’s about to get dark and the village is that side of the river. Let’s just get this done and then find somewhere to bed down for the night. It will be fine, I swear down.”

  Mass cleared his throat then exhaled. “Okay, let’s do it.”

  “You sure we'll be okay?” Marcy looked at the river like it was a fire-breathing dragon. “What if we slip?”

  “Nobody will slip,” said Vamps. “Trust me.”

  “I trust you,” said Max. “You’re a gangster.”

  “Damn straight, little man.” Vamps ruffled the kid's hair and got to work. Mass and Aymun followed him over to the skewed lamppost. It wobbled when they pushed on it, but the chunk of concrete was wedged beneath the bashed-up Merc.

  “Hold on,” said Vamps. He rattled the car’s door handle and yanked open the crumpled panel. Reaching inside, he released the handbrake, and the car rolled backwards, almost dragging Vamps along with it. He pulled himself away just in time to avoid the tyres crunching over his foot. There was a loud clatter as the car’s front bumper cracked and came away, hooked around the chunk of concrete at the base of the lamppost.

  Vamps kicked away the shattered remnants of the car’s front bumper and prodded the concrete with his toe. “There, it’s free. Come help me get this up Mass. You too, Aymun.”

  Together, the three men wrapped their arms around the lamppost and hoisted it toward their shoulders. There was a moment where they nearly dropped the weight and injured themselves, but Mass grunted like an angry bear and redoubled his efforts. Like an Olympic power-lifter, he raised the post almost on his own. Once settled across the three men’s shoulders, the weight became bearable.

  “You sure this is a good idea?” asked Mass, his jaw locking with exertion.

  “Yeah, bruv. It’ll be a piece of piss. Aymun, you’re at the front so you need to lower your end down into the mud at the edge of the river. Then me and Mass will shove the whole thing up and over.”

  Aymun consented to the plan, and once they reached the edge of the rushing water, he lowered the heavy pole to the ground. It was a struggle, which meant he more or less dropped it, but the swan neck with the broken bulb housing slid into the mud and wedged against the buried rocks.

  “Okay,” said Vamps. “Mass, heave this thing up.”

  Vamps was at the back, which meant he had to duck around the thick lump of concrete with the electrical wiring spilling out like worms as it rose. From the middle, Mass did most of the lifting, which was for the best as the final two feet were beyond Vamps’s reach, even on tiptoes. Mass roared as he shoved the lamppost through the apex of its arc and balanced it upright. Mass was a monster.

  The upside-down lamppost teetered for a moment, then tilted toward the river. Once it tipped, it fell fast, and smashed against the opposite bank with enough force to obliterate a skull. The lump of concrete embedded itself into the wet mud like a hook.

  They had themselves a bridge.

  “It worked,” said Aymun, wiping sweat and drizzling rain from his forehead.

  “You doubted me?” said Vamps.

  Aymun shrugged and spoke gently as always. “A wise man doubts everything.”

  “Well you should never doubt me, man. I’m the real deal.”

  “It would appear so. Will you be the first to cross?”

  Vamps considered what would be the smart thing to do. “I’ll go first, make sure it’s safe on the other bank, then Mass. Aymun you go last, make sure the kid gets across okay.”

  Aymun nodded.

  Max was jumping up and down excitedly, tugging his mother around by her arm. “This is like P.E. I miss school.”

  Marcy laughed. “You hate school.”

  “Not anymore. I miss my friends.”

  That brought silence to the group. They had lost so much—the world had lost so much—but the absence of children playing was something no one realised how much they missed until it was taken away.

  “Okay, I’m heading over.” Vamps trod down the muddy bank until he was at the lamppost. He explored its stability with his foot and was pleased when it barely moved an inch. He hopped up and started across, one foot placed in front of the other. The surface was narrow, and curved too, so progress was slow and careful. But it was easy enough.

  “Be careful,” shouted Marcy. “The water is really moving.”

  Vamps watched the river rushing inches below his feet. It lapped at the bottom of the lamppost, and the occasional tide rose up and over the top. The steel finish of the lamppost might become slippery if they took too long crossing. The feel of his sodden socks inside his trainers made him shudder. He picked up speed.

  Mass shouted. “Careful!”

  Vamps turned back. “I got this.”

  Then he slipped.

  Marcy and her son cried out. So did Vamps, although he snipped it short before it had chance to become a scream.

  Screaming was not gangster.

  His left trainer dipped into the river. His arms waved like tentacles.

  Then his body stilled. He was okay.

  His balance came back.

  “Shit! Almost took a swim there.”

  Another six steps and he successfully crossed the river, hopping onto the opposite bank, leaping in victory. On the opposite side, the others looked relieved, except for Marcy who still seemed anxious. Vamps considered what being a mother must be like: constant worrying.

  “Okay!” Mass pumped his fist against his palm. “I’m coming over, bro”

  “Be careful, man. You weigh ten times what I do.”

  Mass looked funny as he crept up onto the lamppost, like an elephant balancing on a stool. His big shoulders bunched up, and he shuffled his feet humorously. Every time he peered down at the river, he swallowed like a cartoon cat watching a dog. It amused Vamps to see his manly friend so afraid of water.

  Now was Marcy and Max’s turn to cross. Marcy stepped up to the post, clutching Max's hand. The little boy was beaming, even as he faced the tumultuous waters that could carry him away in a second—he had not yet reached sufficient age to appreciate danger, that was still his mother’s burden. Marcy visibly shook as she inched her way across the steel bridge. Max stayed close to her, obedient if nothing else.

  “You are doing well,” said Aymun, remaining on the bank. He held his palms together beneath his chin, engrossed by the situation. “That’s it. Slowly, slowly, monkey catching.”

  “This is easy,” yelled Max. “Easy peas-”

  The ground shook. The river leapt up like a tiger's paw.

  Marcy cried out, wobbling back and forth while trying to keep hold of her son.

  Vamps spotted something on the other bank behind Aymun. Something large slid out from behind a roadside billboard advertising BMW electric cars. It was the wounded angel, now horribly burnt. They thought they'd been hunting it, but today, it had been hunting them.

  The angel stomped towards Aymun, and Aymun must have sensed the vibr
ations from its footsteps because he spun around in horror.

  Marcy and Max half-turned to see what was happening. When they saw the angel, they screamed and froze in place in the middle of the bridge. Fright almost knocked them both into the river, but Marcy held on and kept her son out of the water.

  “Be gone!” Aymun shouted on the opposite bank. “I know why you are here, and you will fail, so be gone.”

  The angel said nothing. It always said nothing. It only scowled. A blackened scorch mark covered its upper chest where Vamps had burnt it, and weeping bullet holes riddled its torso. But there was no denying the ferocity of the creature.

  Aymun leapt aside as the angel stomped the mud as though aiming to squash a bug. Aymun wore a pistol on his hip, and aimed it now, pulling the trigger over and over again. The loud report of gunfire mingled with Marcy and Max’s screams.

  “Come on,” said Mass, budging Vamps into action. “We gotta do something.”

  Vamps pulled his MP5 from his belt and fired across the river. His shots went wild at such a distance, but he zeroed in on the angel trying to stamp on Aymun.

  Aymun, who ran around on the muddy bank like a yapping terrier, fired bullets and dodged instant death. Mass opened fire too, striking the target several times.

  The angel roared.

  “Help us,” shouted Marcy.

  Max cried in terror.

  Vamps was focused on the angel, bleeding from a host of new bullet wounds. He moved down the bank towards the edge of the river, yanking on his trigger three more times and landing two hits. “You better run, bitch, before we cook what’s left of you. We Brixton boys, you get me!?”

  Vamp's wet trainer slid in the mud. His leg buckled beneath him. The slip wasn’t catastrophic, but he had to struggle to keep from tumbling down the slope. As he fought to stay upright, his finger clenched around the trigger and expended the last of his rounds, making the MP5 click irritably once empty.

  Mass continued firing until his own weapon was empty too, but Aymun was able to reload and fire his pistol several more times, but he was growing tired. Eventually, the angel swiped out with a long left arm and clipped Aymun in the back, sending him tumbling into wet mud beside the river.