Hell on Earth- the Complete Series Box Set

by Iain Rob Wright

  Richard ran, heading towards the sound of voices.

  Human voices.

  “Mass, watch out, man. You got one trying to grab a feel of your ass!”

  The sound of wood against bone.

  “Ooo, shit, dawg. Did you see his head go?”

  “Richard, over here!”

  Richard turned and saw Corporal Martin fighting over by the candyfloss booth. He wielded a wicked-looking machete that Richard hadn’t seen before. He used it to lop the head off a primate, and then beckoned to Richard urgently.

  Richard raced through the fairground, dodging demons and debris. When he reached the solider, he collapsed into the man’s arms. “Dillon! I need to help Dillon.”

  “There’s too many. We can’t fight them.”

  “Speak for yourself,” said a voice Richard didn’t recognise. When he looked over, he saw an Arabic gentleman and two younger men—one black, one barrel-chested and white. The black man held a sword that was… on fire!

  “W-who are you?”

  “The cavalry!” said the obvious weight lifter, swinging a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire.

  “We are friends,” said the Arab. “Brothers.”

  “I met them on the road,” explained Corporal Martin. “I told them what happened, and they insisted on coming to help. They... hunt demons.”

  Richard looked at the three men. “That’s stupid.”

  The black kid held up his flaming sword and swung it at a demon leaping towards him. It ended up as a charred lump on the ground. “Name’s Vamps. These are my bros, Mass and Aymun. Brothers in a non-biological sense,” he added. “We’re fighting back against these things, and G. I. Joe here tells me you were part of a group doing the same. Sorry there’s only you left.”

  “And the children!” Richard pointed back towards the Ferris Wheel. “We have to help them.”

  Vamps nodded. “Alright. Nobody gets left behind. We'll go get ‘em.”

  Before he could thank them, the three men took off—fearless or stupid, he didn't know.

  Corporal Martin handed Richard a second machete secured to his belt. “Our new friends came well-armed.”

  Richard appraised the blade but didn’t take it. Instead, his trembling hand moved up to the slick hole where his right eye had been. One more thing Skullface had taken from him.

  No more.

  He snatched the blade and turned back towards battle. A demon was already upon him, so he thrust the machete through its guts and tossed its corpse into the grass. Dillon and Alice still stood in the field by the Ferris Wheel, and that was where he headed.

  Beedle and Molok?

  No, Dillon and Alice. It can’t be too late.

  The blade in Richard's hand felt good—more empowering than a gun—and he swung it left and right, an explorer hacking vines. Only, instead of plant life, he sliced the flesh of monsters. But for every one he killed, Vamps’ flaming sword scored three. The weapon was a living thing in his hands, wielding the kid as much as the kid wielded it. The air turned black and singed demon flesh reduced to ash. His buddy, Mass, picked off stragglers with that vicious baseball bat of his.

  Yet the demons were endless. They were always endless.

  Legion.

  Richard made it within a few feet of the children. They looked at him without recognition. “Dillon, Alice! Come to me!”

  They did not move.

  A demon leapt at Richard, and he ducked just in time. If he had come from the other side—the side where he had no eyeball—he wouldn’t have seen it coming. As it was, he sprung sideways and buried the machete in the demon's neck. The dying creature spun, which yanked the machete from Richard's hand. He reached to his son.

  “Dillon! Come with me, please!”

  More demons attacked. He had nothing to defend himself with. Dodging one demon, he was soundly struck by another. His legs gave out, and he found himself on the ground, scurrying to get up.

  “Get off him!” Corporal Martin arrived. He sliced open a demon and locked up with another.

  The demons closed in, surrounding them.

  Corporal Martin fell as a demon tackled his legs. He ended up in a heap beside Richard, panting and grinning.

  “Why are you laughing?” asked Richard, certain the two of them were about to die.

  “Because you were right, Richard. The best way to die is like this—after killing as many of these fuckers as we were able.”

  Richard smiled too. “Was good knowing you, Corporal.”

  “You too, Sergeant.”

  Vamps appeared in the space two demons had occupied a second earlier. Their corpses lay in smouldering piles. Mass stood a few feet away, obliterating the skull of a skulking primate about to pounce. Aymun completed the hat trick by hacking a demon’s throat wide open with a hatchet.

  “I'm beginning to love you boys,” said Corporal Martin.

  Richard clambered to his feet and made it over to Dillon. He almost felt a spark as he wrapped his arms around his boy, but Dillon gave no reaction.

  “Release my children!” Skullface bellowed, smashing aside his own minions to get at Richard.

  Richard grabbed Alice and pulled her next to Dillon. “Fuck you!”

  Skullface roared. “I shall hang you by your own intestines.”

  “Fuck you!” repeated Richard, calmly, coolly.

  Skullface strode towards him furiously, but Vamps stepped into his path. “Homie? Take those kids and get out of here. Me and the big man are going to work things out in private.”

  The towering demon looked at Vamps as if he were an ant, but something caused him to take pause.

  “Where did you get that sword?”

  Vamps shrugged. “Some Irish dude. Told me to find freaks like you and make you sit on it. You ready?”

  Skullface sneered. “Lucifer Primus. He will pay for helping you maggots. I shall see to his eternal torment myself. The Red Lord will enjoy the offering when he becomes King Reality.”

  “Didn’t you hear?” Vamps raised the sword. “Our Royal family is just for show. Only one who bends the knee around here is your cock sucking mother.”

  “Shit, man,” said Mass, moving up beside him. “Let’s leave mothers out of this, yeah?”

  Vamps nodded. “My bad. You get out of here, bro. I got this. All of you should get gone.”

  Skullface peered past Vamps at Richard. “You shall not get far.”

  “We’ll see.” Richard grabbed the children and fled. Corporal Martin hacked at any demons that got in their way, but most were distracted by the brave lunatic facing down their leader.

  Richard glanced back one time on his way out of the fairground and saw Mass and Aymun were not part of the retreat. The three brothers remained together.

  Crazy idiots, thought Richard as he got his son to safety behind the grassy hill.

  Thank you.

  General Wickstaff

  Wickstaff grabbed a young soldier shoving to get himself onto the docks and punched him square in the mouth. “Next person you shove will get you a bullet in your head.”

  The young soldier clambered and nodded his head over and over. “Sorry, sir, I mean miss, I mean ma’am.”

  “Just get out of my sight.”

  Maddy was on the radio beside Wickstaff. Diane, too. Both women were helping coordinate the mass retreat to the docklands. There were squads marooned all over Portsmouth, and the gate on the parade square continued vomiting Hell upon them. The scales were tipping away from humanity’s favour. The rain beat harder, like it was leading up to some great finish.

  Maddy ended a call and gave a report. “We have teams coming in from everywhere. I think we got the word out to everyone.”

  “Excellent. Thank you. You and Diane should get yourselves on board a ship now. The enemy will break through any moment.”

  “I think we’d both prefer to stay by your side.”

  Wickstaff raised an eyebrow and surprised herself by smiling. “Women united, huh?”

/>   “Something like that,” said Diane in a voice far meeker than the steely look in her eye suggested she was. “We don’t fancy living on a ship with a bunch of sweaty men.”

  “Let the men take cover,” said Maddy. “While the women organise what needs to be done.”

  Wickstaff grabbed both women and pulled them in for a three-way head bump. “Glad to have you, ladies. Now, let’s save some lives.”

  The docks were the most heavily defended of all locations, backed by water and a massive flotilla of warships. The Port Administration buildings helped shore up one of the two vulnerable sides, and a tall mesh fence reinforced with concrete pillars spanned the other side that butted up against the city. In weeks past, Wickstaff had ordered additional steel fences be erected in weaker areas of the perimeter, and the docks’ one main entrance was defended by a pair of Challenger 2 tanks returned to the UK for a weapons system upgrade. Their presence had been a gift from the gods. Fully armed, and ready to vaporise anything they deemed a threat. To complement security, several guard towers housed snipers and grenadiers. Wickstaff congratulated herself on keeping her heaviest assets guarding the rear. It meant they had half a chance of escaping.

  But she had meant what she'd told that weasel, Windsor—that running would be the end of their Resistance, and that once they turned their backs to flee there would be no way back. But what choice did she have anymore? As much as she'd love to go down in a defiant blaze of glory, she could not condemn tens of thousands to death. There were too many civilians. Maybe a life at sea would be the new future of mankind. As she looked upon the water, she knew living space wasn't an issue. The carrier alone was enough to house a thousand in cramped confines.

  But for how long?

  They couldn’t live on fish and rainwater forever.

  So much gunfire filled the air that both the smell and sound had become part of the background—like traffic fumes had once been. The rain puddles everywhere were slick with mud and motor oil. Wickstaff made herself focus on the realities of war. “There’s nothing we can do now but join the fight. The men know they need to retreat. The ships know they need to leave as soon as the enemy breaches our last lines.” She turned to Maddy and Diane. “I will join my men at the front. This is your last chance to leave. Following me will get you killed.”

  Both women folded their arms and said nothing.

  “Very well then.”

  The three women moved away from the waterfront and headed for the perimeter fence. The first shots from the Challenger 2’s main cannons caused them to cover their ears.

  “Wow!” Diane blinked as though she was seeing stars. “Do those things have a volume control?”

  “I think they’re stuck at eleven,” said Wickstaff. She ran up a steel ramp onto a firing platform perpendicular to the mesh fence. Already, she could see the demons slaughtering their way to the docks, hacking down men and women fleeing for safety. A pair of shotguns lay stacked against the shelter's wall, and Diane and Maddy picked them up. For herself, Wickstaff pulled her Glock from its holster. “Know how to use those things, ladies?”

  Maddy thumbed in a shell. “You don’t survive an apocalypse without firing a shotgun or two.”

  The three women lined up at the rail. What they saw was not good: demons swarmed everywhere, filling the gaps between buildings and vehicles. Men and woman screamed. The Challenger 2’s massive shells put craters in the enemy advance, and grenades exploded constantly as heavy gunners and their squads defended the perimeter fence.

  The demons approached en mass. Wickstaff took one out with a well-aimed shot from her Glock. Maddy and Diane took out another with combined blasts from their shotguns. The recoil rocked Diane's small frame away from the rail, but she hurried back to take her next shot. Wickstaff gave the girl a nod.

  The three women fired in time, picking off demons one after the other. Gunfire lit up the fence for a mile, soldiers mounted all along it.

  This was their final stand. They had to hold the line long enough for the boats to fill up.

  Something struck the fence. Wickstaff’s hip struck the rail. Before she knew what was happening, she fell. The ground rose up and hit her with an almighty smack and rattled her entire skeleton. She lay on her back, staring up at Maddy and Diane twelve feet above. They had fear in their eyes.

  Wickstaff turned her head—glad she still could after such a fall—and saw the front end of a bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle sticking out of the fence. A decal of a swan decorated the rear bumper. One of the fence's concrete pillars had snapped, and a massive section was now sagging. Maddy and Diane fired their shotguns. Wickstaff rolled onto her side, wincing as her hip roared, and stared back towards Portsmouth. Lord Amon had another car clutched in his long fingers and hurled it through the air like he had the Volkswagen Beetle.

  Another section of fence collapsed as the vehicle crashed into it. A pair of soldiers spilled from their perch and tumbled into a writhing mass of demons.

  Wickstaff’s time was also at an end. Monsters surrounded her—foul flesh stinking. When she craned her neck, she saw a wall of demons, enough to tear every scrap of skin from her bones while she lay paralysed on the ground.

  Would she feel it?

  Good luck humanity. Sorry I won’t be there to see the final score.

  Despite her best, she hadn’t been the leader Portsmouth needed.

  The demons closed in. Their shadows engulfed her.

  “Send them back to Hell, boys!”

  An American accent?

  Gunfire erupted right above Wickstaff's head. She looked up again and saw the expressions on Diane and Maddy’s faces turn from fear to urgency. They fired their shotguns again and again. A demon dropped on top of Wickstaff, teeth against her throat, and she didn’t even realise it was dead until a strong hand tossed it off her.

  “We need to fall back,” said the American voice. “Firing retreat. Firing retreat. Someone help me get the general to safety.”

  Wickstaff felt herself lifted, and her saviour finally appeared in her view. The man was young and handsome, with a mildly arrogant smirk tickling the corners of his mouth. “Y-You?”

  “Lieutenant Tosco at your service, Ma’am. I believe you know me as a pain in the arse?”

  Wickstaff grinned. “Get me out of here, and I’ll kiss your arse.”

  “It’s a date. Glad I stuck around to lend a hand.”

  Wickstaff was dragged away in a fashion that had her womanly pride yelling, but she couldn’t deny how much she wanted to kiss every man there. They were literally pulling her arse out of the fire.

  But it was only a reprieve. The fence was falling, and Lord Amon was already picking up another car. An artillery shell struck the angel's chest, but didn’t even break its stride.

  Rick and Guy hadn't come through in time.

  Time had run out.

  Vamps

  Mass and Aymun were bogged down by demons, unable to dispatch them with as much haste as Vamps could. His flaming sword allowed him to cut through the enemy like butter, and he had successfully cut a path to the big bastard with a skull for a face. The scowling beast towered over all else, a full seven-feet tall.

  Vamps was unimpressed.

  He had a flaming sword.

  “You wield something of which you are unworthy,” Skullface mocked. “I shall take it from your corpse and use it to carve your friends.

  “You can try pulling it out of your arse once I shove it there.” Vamps dodged aside and avoided a swipe. “What you want with a couple kids, anyway? That your thing?”

  “Children are meat, same as adults. You shall all rot and fester in time. Lay down your weapon, and I will make your death quick.”

  Vamps dodged again, but kept his sword lowered, not wanting to strike until it was right. “Very merciful for a demon,” he said. “I think you're scared, bro.”

  “I fear nothing. Blood ran through my veins before humanity was even an idea. You are bacteria to me.”

 
; A demon appeared and slashed at Vamps. Its sharp talon tore open the flesh on his shoulder, making him cry out. Skullface took advantage of the situation, springing forward and attempting to grab Vamps by the throat. Vamps ducked, pivoted, and leapt aside, avoiding the large demon like a matador dodging a bull.

  He swung his sword.

  Skullface folded himself out of the way.

  Not quick enough.

  The flaming sword struck bone.

  Skullface roared. His disembodied left arm tumbled into the grass.

  Vamps chuckled. “Your ‘armless, mate.”

  Skullface staggered, the stump of his left arm smoking. Vamps swung his sword again—the flaming weapon raging in his hand, seeking more demon flesh. Skullface grabbed the sword with his remaining hand. His exposed jaws clamped together in agony. But he did not let go.

  The sword twisted in Vamps’s hands and wrenched free. It twirled in the air and buried itself in the mud, pommel pointed towards the sky like Excalibur. Skullface kicked Vamps and floored him with a devastating blow that knocked the wind out of his unprotected lungs. “Your eagerness to kill will be your downfall, worm. Patience is a virtue beyond humans. Your lives are short. Every second is an eternity to you, but fleeting to me. Your sins have not been undone. Your life is unpure. Dear little Max was only your latest misery shed upon the world. Hell awaits you, worm. Glorious suffering.”

  Vamps tried to catch his breath, writhing in the mud and clutching himself. “H-how do you know about Max?”

  “Sins decorate your soul. They will comfort you while you burn in hell.”

  Skullface moved over to the Ferris Wheel and ripped free a steel spoke as if the thing was made of matchsticks. Vamps tried to get to his feet, but his chest sucked inwards like a vacuum and dropped him back to the floor. He tried to call out to Mass and Aymun, but they were too far away—too surrounded.

  “Send my regards to the Red Lord.” Skullface raised the steel bar over his head and plunged it downward.