Hell on Earth- the Complete Series Box Set

by Iain Rob Wright

  “What is it ladies? Can’t you see I’ve got a war on?”

  Maddy tittered, but none of the fear left her eyes. “It’s the stone in the parade square.”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s opening a gate.”

  Wickstaff cleared her throat and spat. The chance to take a breath would not come today, or maybe not ever. She had known the stone would open at the worst possible moment—why wouldn't it? Its entire purpose was to fuck Portsmouth up right when it looked like there was a chance. She’d taken preparations, of course—placed mines around the gate and set up machine gun nests on every roof. She’d intended to erect a mesh cage around the stone, to trap whatever came out, but the battle started too soon. Now Portsmouth was invested upfront, with a threat at its back. The worst thing that could happen in a battle. The effect on morale would be devastating.

  She had to take charge and deal with the situation.

  She had to show her men they could win any battle, and surpass all odds, just so long as they remained calm and focused.

  Maddy stepped up in front of her, regaining her attention. “General, there's another problem.”

  “What else?”

  “I think you better come.”

  Wickstaff found herself running after a civilian, eager to find out what the problem was. This Maddy was a calm mind, and obviously meant a great deal to Rick. She was beginning to see why.

  Maddy took them to the parade square—and the imminently opening gate.

  “Fuck me sideways,” said Wickstaff.

  This gate was three times the size of the ones Wickstaff had seen in reports and media snippets, and twice as big as the one she had seen first hand from the deck of an Apache helicopter. That gate had been the one Rick and Guy were hopefully on their way to destroy. Weeks back, Wickstaff had led an assault on the gate herself, from the air—launching live goats through it to see if it would implode the same way other gates had when humans entered. But when they had swung a goat into the gate from a winch, a torrent of bloody giblets spat right back out. The gate had remained open, and they had learned a lesson that day about closing gates.

  Only a human life would do.

  Or Rick Bastion’s power.

  Christ, does that washed up rock star really have the power of an angel inside of him? The world has flipped its lid. She reminded herself that she was at war with Hell, then Rick didn't seem such an oddity anymore.

  The massive gate in front of Wickstaff was four-stories high, and it shimmered and rippled like a rain-spattered pond. It resembled a hungry mouth, ready to lurch forward and devour the world itself. Any attempt she made to see inside left her confused and sickened, with strange thoughts that urged her to kill herself. It led somewhere unfathomable, a place where only ever-lasting torment and horror existed. A place she hoped never to know.

  She'd hoped to contain this. But it was too big. Looking at it now, she knew that hanging around and fighting on two fronts was impossible. But it was the only chance they had. This was their last stand.

  Too late now to do anything else but fight.

  Prime Minister Windsor appeared, racing across the square and yelling commands. “Fall back. Evacuate right now. By air or by sea, we are leaving Portsmouth. The fight is lost, so let's live for tomorrow.”

  For a moment, Wickstaff stood there, bewildered, but once she got a hold of herself, she went and grabbed the wretch by the back of his collar. “What the hell do you think you are doing, Windsor?”

  The man shrugged her away and snarled, his teeth like tiny pegs between his thin lips. “What do you think I am doing, woman? This gate is about to open any minute. I am trying to save us all while there's still time.”

  “If we leave now, we'll always be running, and the enemy will pick us off one by one until there’s no one left. They've been wiping us out that way since the beginning. This is the first time we’ve held our own; the only time we’ve had a line of fortifications between them and us. I realise that having a gate behind our lines is unfortunate, but I have prepared for it.”

  “Prepared for it? Prepared for it? What the hell is there to prepare for? The enemy will stream right through our middle.” The Prime Minister dismissed her with a petulant wave of his hand and resumed barking orders at anxious soldiers. Send them the wrong messages now and they would break. She needed to get ahold of the situation.

  Wickstaff grabbed Windsor by the throat and shoved him away from her. He rubbed at his windpipe and stared daggers at her, but before he managed to berate her, she cut him off.

  “Running will not work. We have to turn the tide now while we still have something resembling a Resistance. If I hear you try to evacuate any more of my men, I will shoot you dead right here.”

  Windsor sneered, not taking her threat seriously.

  So, she yanked the sidearm from her holster and pulled the trigger.

  The bullet struck the concrete next to Windsor's foot and sent him leaping into the air like a flea. He yelled defiantly, yet his tone lacked his earlier arrogant authority. The man was a coward at heart—as Wickstaff suspected a great deal of career politicians were. Men and women far happier sending kids to war than going themselves. She, however, was most certainly no coward. Her threats were not idle.

  “Do not test me, Windsor. Our nation is in ruins, and all that exists is Portsmouth,” she waved an arm, motioning to the rushing soldiers and zooming Jeeps, “and Portsmouth is my fucking kingdom until I say otherwise. Get out of my sight!”

  Hot air blasted from the gate and threw Wickstaff sideways. She stayed on her feet but needed several steps to regain her balance. When she looked back at the gate, it was shimmering madly. Something was about to come through. The Prime Minister was laughing.

  “What are you laughing at, you halfwit?”

  “You’re finished, General. Your kingdom is about to burn.”

  “What are you talking about?” Wickstaff kept one eye on the gate. Soldiers rushed to form a perimeter around it, rifles at the ready.

  The Prime Minister was still smiling. He was insane. No point wasting time with a mad man, so she hurried away from the gate and re-joined her squads. There was fear in her men's eyes but determination too. They would all love nothing more than to run, she knew, but each of them understood there was no longer anywhere to go. This was it—their last bastion. Hers too. Wickstaff raised her sidearm and pointed it at the gate.

  A charred corpse spewed onto the parade square. Then that corpse rose to its feet and snarled at them.

  Wickstaff pulled her trigger and placed a bullet right inside its mouth. The back of its neck exploded, and it slumped to the ground like a good corpse should.

  Then all Hell broke loose.

  Wickstaff’s men made her proud. Not a single one turned and fled, even as a surge of demons spilled forth into their reality. They picked their shots with deadly aim. Demons spun and collided with one another. Dark red blood filled the air, mingling with the rain. The loud report of sniper rifles and machine guns soon joined the cacophony of rifle fire, and a full-scale battle commenced.

  Wickstaff's men held their own, cutting down demons as soon as they landed on the concrete.

  The problem, as always, was ammunition.

  Each magazine held thirty-rounds. Each soldier had between two and five spare mags. Picking their shots at around one per second, it would take half a minute before the firing lines were forced to stop and reload.

  The demons kept coming.

  Unable to reload quickly enough, several soldiers pulled out bayonets and screwed them onto their barrels. They formed up like Roman legionaries, shoulder to shoulder, stabbing with their blades rhythmically. But the demons were fearless, and ploughed into the wall of soldiers like an avalanche, driving them back and impeding their balance. As soon as one soldier stumbled, a domino effect started and men were dragged down on either side. The demons shredded them like slow-cooked beef.

  Maddy appeared at Wickstaff’s s
ide and grabbed her arm. Diane grabbed the other. “We have to get everyone out of here.”

  “Fall back!” Wickstaff screamed, holstering her empty handgun and using both hands to amplify her voice. “Get your fucking arses to the docks. Fall back. Full retreat.”

  The men turned and fled, some throwing their rifles to the ground in an act that was anathema to most soldiers—the same as throwing down their pride. Wickstaff did not blame them.

  “Come on,” said Maddy. “We can’t lose you, General.”

  “I have to make sure everyone gets out.”

  The men turning their backs presented easy prey to the demons, which leapt upon them with glee.

  “My men!”

  “General!” Maddy shoved Wickstaff hard in the chest, hurting both of her tits. Enough to snap some sense into her. She allowed Maddy and Diane to pull at her again, and the three of them ran for it.

  Prime Minister Windsor blocked their way. He was still smiling, not concerned at all about the demons surrounding him.

  Wickstaff shouted at him. “Run, you damn fool!”

  “No need.” Windsor pulled up his shirtsleeve, revealing a strange insignia scored into the flesh of his wrist. It meant nothing to Wickstaff, but then she saw the man stroll calmly towards the demon horde. The creatures dodged around him, acting as though he wasn’t even there.

  Windsor was one of them.

  How?

  Wickstaff spat at the weasely bastard, even though he was out of reach. “You son of a bitch!”

  Windsor said nothing. He raised one hand and wiggled his fingers in a mocking wave.

  Maddy shoved Wickstaff again, always there, it appeared, to keep her mind focused. Along with Diane, the two women chased the retreating soldiers towards the docks—the last place still under human control. Perhaps the last place they would get to see alive.

  The bellowing war cry of ten thousand demons ruptured the air.

  The ancient city of Portsmouth filled with blood.

  Guy Granger

  Guy was out of breath by the time he and the others made it to the tree line. The panic had caused them to scatter, which was why they now called out to each other, seeking one another out. The noise didn't matter—no demons would hear them, because the world was at war. Hell clashed with the forces of man and the ground shook for miles. Heaven must be weeping, for the rain fell in buckets. Smoke stained the sky black and blotted out the sun.

  Guy wiped moisture from his eyes and licked his lips.

  This is it. Our final moments.

  I have to find Alice.

  I have to be with her before it’s too late.

  But what about the gate? Would closing it really give Wickstaff a chance?

  Guy shook his head. Of course it wouldn’t. Things were too far gone. Even if Guy made it to the gate and Rick closed it, there was barely any chance the general could make use of the advantage.

  It was too late for Alice as well. The best Guy could hope for was a few moments with her before the darkness curled up around them. But it was something. A chance to make up for all the times he hadn’t been there. With all the disarray, and everyone being separated, he finally had a chance to break away and try to find her. He could just run for it right now and pray God would lead him to her.

  “Don’t go,” said a voice behind him. Guy turned around and saw Keith standing in the woods. Sweat and dirt stained his face. “Don’t abandon my brother.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re better off not knowing if your daughter is alive or dead. My Max and Marcy are out there somewhere, and I can tell myself they are alive. If I find them though… If I find them and they’re not alive. Well, that’s worse than the not knowing. Knowing for sure they're dead is worse.”

  “Alice is not dead.”

  “Exactly! But if you keep looking for her, she might be. Let her live by never knowing. Stay and help my brother. There are families at Portsmouth who need you more. Help them.”

  Of all the people to be hearing this from, Keith was the last one Guy expected. “It’s pointless,” he said. “Things are too far gone.”

  “Then let’s do one last thing that matters before we bite it. Let’s give Wickstaff a chance to kill that bastard, Lord Amon.”

  “Why do you care?”

  Keith wiped at his filthy cheeks, rivulets of rain dropping onto his collar. “My whole life, I’ve played things safe—taken the smart option. Spent my life chasing money, the big houses, the nice cars. Look at me now, as poor and as wet as anyone else. I wasted my life on the wrong priorities. Max and Marcy should have been everything to me, but I’ll never see them again. Why do we only realise who we are at the end of a long journey in the wrong direction?” He sighed. “Help my brother, Guy. Make your last act a good one.”

  Guy wiped rain from his face as he spoke. “Rick doesn’t need me.”

  “Rick can barely wipe his own arse. He’s dying. I don’t want him to go without doing what he was meant to do. He spent his whole life following his dreams, and all I ever did was criticise him. It's time for me to help him achieve his goals instead of resenting him for being the better man. My brother is a fucking rock star, and I can’t believe it took me so long to be a fan.”

  “You don’t think we will live through this, do you?”

  “Ha! Open your ears. That’s Armageddon.”

  “I don’t think we have a chance either. That’s why I want to find my daughter.”

  “You want to meet her after turning your back on those relying on you? Wouldn’t she want you to stay and fight, even if it meant not getting to her?”

  Guy thought of his daughter, imagined her spirit. She was a feisty little thing, unwilling to be dominated by her older brother. She had always been fearless, even as a toddler, yet she was kind too. While some kids had gone through phases of hitting and snatching from other children, Alice would always share. She followed Kyle around constantly, ready to lend a hand with whatever was going on.

  Alice was brave.

  So Guy had to be brave too.

  “Let’s go find your brother, Keith. We have a gate to close.”

  Richard Honeywell

  Inhuman arms dragged Richard to his feet, dragged him before his nemesis. Skullface lacked flesh on his face—and lips, yet he was undeniably grinning. Had this all been one last game to torment a beaten father? By trying to survive, Richard succeeded only in increasing his suffering.

  Richard’s head dangled, but he fought to raise it and look the bastard in the eye. “Just finish this. Get it over with.”

  Skullface’s lower jaw unhinged, and a voice spilled out from the dark space. “You demand nothing. You live only so long as it pleases me. Before I end you, I wish to witness my own majesty reflected in your pleading eye.” He rushed forward and grabbed Richard’s head with both hands and drove the pointed shard of his thumb bone into Richard’s left eyeball. Blood and ocular fluids flooded Richard's cheek, and he screamed.

  Screamed.

  Screamed.

  “Quiet! I left you sight enough to see your child die.”

  Richard lurched, arms still behind his back, and vomited in the grass. His head spun, and his eardrums pounded. Strangely, his mangled eye felt numb. He held his breath, bit down on the pain, and somehow managed to look up towards the Ferris Wheel. Dillon and Alice stared back at him, but their expressions had gone blank.

  Their eyes were lumps of coal.

  “What have you done to my son?” Richard found a reserve of strength and tried to fight free of his attackers, but a blow to the back of his head reignited the pain in his eye socket and stunned him.

  “Be still,” said Skullface. “Sit and watch your child get taken from you. An exquisite torture I know all too well.”

  A pair of demons unlocked the capsule and released Dillon and Alice. Both continued staring blankly. Something was wrong. The demons led the children gently to Skullface’s side, acting almost reverently. Affectionately, Skullfac
e placed a bony arm around each of them.

  Like a father.

  “Beedle and Molok,” said Skullface, peering at each child in turn. “Your souls will soon be tethered permanently, and I shall unleash you upon this world like a plague. Your first victim will be the pathetic father of the vessels you take. Make me proud. Show me your art.”

  Dillon and Alice grinned like hyenas. Something dark and primal dwelt inside them, something that chilled Richard to his core. For the first time ever, Richard wanted to be far, far away from his son. “D-Dillon?”

  In a raspy voice, his son answered. “Dillon is lost. He wanders Hell's hallways screaming your name and watching his mother please others on her knees.”

  Richard vomited again. “Just... Just finish it.”

  The thing inside Dillon cackled. “Not for hours.”

  “Shit, there’s a dude over there!”

  Richard was too weak to lift his head, but he strained his eye upwards. A commotion grew and some of Skullface’s minions were peeling away. Dillon and Alice stopped in their tracks, too, suddenly unsure. Skullface actually rose onto his tiptoes to see what was happening.

  The snap of a heavy blow echoed off the steel struts of the Ferris Wheel. A smoky stench filled Richard’s nostrils. What is happening?

  “Wow! You took out three in one swing,” said an unknown voice.

  “Yeah, man. Let me try to beat that shit.”

  “This is not a competition, my brothers. Do not let battle consume you.”

  Skullface threw out his fist and struck the ticket booth outside the Ferris Wheel. Its front window shattered, and the roof fell in. “Deal with them now!”

  “Richard! Richard, get out of there!”

  Richard blinked his one eye and looked around. Is that… is that Corporal Martin?

  The demons were distracted. The grip on Richard's arms faltered. Fighting the weakness in his legs, he pushed up and got standing. The sudden movement took his captors by surprise, and he was able to turn the tables on them. He grabbed one demon by the back of the neck and whipped him into his partner. The two collided together like pro-wrestlers in a ring. It was only enough to stun them, but it gave him what he needed.