Hell On Earth Box Set | Books 1-6

by Wright, Iain Rob

  “What the bleedin’ ‘ell you doin’ mate? Get out of here.”

  “I want to help,” he said, realising how stupid he sounded now. What place did he have being amongst the soldiers?

  The group’s sergeant stepped forward, a dark haired man with stubble and a flushed complexion—looked like a drinker. His nameplate read: Jobson. “People are dying out here, kid. I don’t know if you’ve noticed that.”

  “I have. That’s why I’m here. I want to help.”

  “You can’t help. You can only help yourself by getting out of here.”

  “Yeah, okay. This was stupid. I just feel wrong standing around doing nothing. People need help.”

  The soldier put out his hand. “My name is Harry. You are?”

  “Damien. Damien Banks.”

  “Well, Damien, I appreciate your courage. My advice would be to join the service. You obviously have the nut sack for it. Right now, though, you’re a civvie, and I can’t allow you to place yourself in danger. So get your arse in gear and get back to the safe zone. The train station is still holding, yes?”

  Damien nodded. “It’s fine.”

  “Good, then get mov-”

  “Help me!”

  The soldiers, and Damien, spun around to see a young woman sprinting towards them. She had a bloody-streaked face and her brown hair had been torn out in a clump. Right behind her was a vile creature that was worse even than Damien’s nightmares.

  “Help her!” he shouted.

  The soldier, Harry, brought up his rifle, and his men did the same. None of them fired though.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  “We can’t get a sight on it. The girl is in the way.”

  Damien looked at the young woman and realised that the monster was right on her heels. It was too risky for the soldiers to take a shot. He realised then why he was there.

  He took off in the direction of the terrified woman, running as fast as he could. The soldiers shouted after him, but there was no way he was being talked out of it.

  The closer he got to the demon, the uglier it was. It was more ape than man, with talons like swords on its arms. It was only a few steps behind the girl now. It was going to get her.

  The demon launched itself into the air and came down right on top of the woman. She yelled out, but her screams were cut short when her chin hit the pavement.

  The soldiers were still shouting, but as the woman tried to rise back up, she again blocked any clear shot on her attacker.

  The creature pinned her down with one of its claws and raised the other in the air. Then it slashed downwards at the woman’s neck.

  Damien launched himself at the creature just in time to stop it decapitating the defenceless woman. The thing was crazily strong, and it was like trying to ride a bull. He grabbed it around the neck and squeezed, but it continued to thrash. Breaking necks seemed so easy in the movies. Eventually it got free of his grip and got itself loose. Damien was left on his back while the thing spun to face him.

  “Oh bollocks.”

  The monster leapt at Damien.

  Damien lifted both legs and kicked out, catching his attacker in the stomach and holding him at bay. He gritted his teeth and kicked out with everything he had. It was enough to send the creature reeling backwards.

  And into enough space that the soldiers could open fire.

  Clatter clatter clatter.

  The demon spun and twisted, dancing the dance of death. It was all over in a few seconds. The demon lay dead on the floor. The young woman was safe. Damien was trying not to piss his pants.

  Harry came running up, scanning the area with his rifle. When he was satisfied that it was safe, he helped the woman to her feet. She was in bad shape, but nothing vital seemed to be injured. She was sobbing, but was also gushing with gratitude. When Damien got up off the floor, she went over and hugged him. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “No problem,” he said. “Glad I was here to help.”

  “You did good, kid,” said Harry. “I really do hope you join the service. You got the biggest balls I ever seen. You took that son-of-a-bitch on hand to hand.”

  “I had no choice,” he said.

  “Yes, you did,” said the girl. “You could have done nothing. Who are you?”

  “My name is Damien.”

  She hugged him again. “Thank you, Damien. My name is Steph.”

  “Steph, Damien. I know you both want to have your moment, but I think it’s time to leave.” Harry pointed towards the City Hall, to where more of the demons were coming around the corner. It was time to leave.

  “This thing has just got started, hasn’t it?” Damien asked the sergeant.

  Harry nodded his head. “Think this might just be our final Summer. Let’s make it one to remember.”

  The soldiers opened fire.

  “Mankind must put an end to war before war puts and end to mankind.”

  – John F. Kennedy

  “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”

  – William Shakespeare

  “For God’s sake, how do you stop it?

  – Ash, Evil Dead II, Renaissance Pictures/DEG

  Tony Cross

  Turkey-Syrian Border

  Choppers buzzed overhead like a flock of giant birds—ones made of metal and armed with heat-seeking missiles. The air was so disturbed that walking through it was like navigating the centre of a whirlwind. Tony had to stop several times to wipe mud and grass from his eyes, and either side of him men and women from all nations did the same. German flag patches joined French, Turkish, Syrian, Iranian, Israeli, and dozens more. All of the armed forces stationed in Turkey had rallied, and now marched upon mankind’s first universal foe. No longer would men fight amongst themselves over things so trivial as religion or pride. The hour to pull together as a species had arrived, and Tony was proud to be a part of the movement.

  He and some other British soldiers had worked with a captured group of Syrian rebels—terrorists—and succeeded in closing one of the infernal gates in the desert. Enemies had become allies, and together they had found enough strength to strike a blow to their adversary.

  Ahead, lay mankind’s new enemy.

  The shimmering gate towered twenty feet above the ground eighty miles from Istanbul. Monsters poured out of it like bile, tearing apart the landscape and littering it with human corpses. The enemy’s attacks had taken the world by surprise, as no one could have expected a worldwide, simultaneous attack from an alien force. It had been a bloodbath beyond comprehension. The monsters had gotten things all their own way so far, but that was about to change.

  Mankind was not about to lie down.

  The first line of choppers unleashed hellfire upon the enemy. The roaring impact shook the earth, sending dark clouds across the land. Rocks and dirt rained down from the heavens. And blood too. The end of the world or just plain old war? It was impossible to see the enemy death toll at the moment of impact, but once the smoke began to clear, a mountain of limbs and guts piled up before the gate. Blood and intestines slid down into newly-formed craters. Those enemies left alive staggered about in shock. To see a monster scared was empowering.

  The allied soldiers released a triumphant cry and threw themselves into battle.

  Tony loosed round after round at twisted, burnt monsters spilling out of Hell itself. His aim was honed, and his bullets took apart skulls and rib cages with lethal rhythm. He was fury at the end of a high powered rifle, and would see his enemy bleed long into the night. Beside him, brothers and sisters did the same. The chance to fight back, even when things seemed hopelessly lost, was enough to keep the human spirit aflame. The wanton slaughter had evolved into a war. The victims had become soldiers. The only question now was if enough people realised they were fighters now whether they liked it or not.

  Tony lobbed a grenade at a pack of monsters and grinned as they disappeared in a sudden cloud of black and grey. No longer afraid, he got close enough to i
mpale a demon on the end of his bayonet. He used his foot to kick the wretched bastard away.

  A group of Russian Spetnaz entered the fray with hulking shotguns, splitting enemy bodies in two with explosive buckshot. The soldiers’ red bandanas flapped behind their heads as they spun with brutal efficiency.

  A French lady, donning a sky-blue UN beret, fired at the gate with twin pistols, more like a courageous videogame character than a trained soldier. Tony was sad to see her fall when an abomination tore out her stomach.

  More soldiers quickly fell, but nobody fell back. It was too late for retreat. Now or never. Tony threw another grenade and kept pace with his roaring comrades. Istanbul was on fire, filled with horrors, but they were facing it together. This was war.

  The last war mankind would ever see.

  John Windsor

  2 weeks earlier

  The room stank of death. A syrupy sweet odour melding with a brown, noxious rot. Sweat, blood, piss, and filth. It was all there. The blanket stench of the infirm.

  Hospitals. If ever there was a place John Windsor loathed, it was the hospital. Prime Ministerial obligation was the only reason he inhabited one now, and the last time he had entered one voluntarily, his granny Margaret gave in to the smoker’s curse and let lung cancer take her. He’d been twenty years old, but he remembered it as being the very last time he had cried. His Law degree completed not long after, he had begun his journey to the courtrooms, where emotion was a hindrance. Now, twenty years later, he was the youngest Prime Minister of the 21st Century, the prospects of his own hospital stay still many years distant. Being faced with other people’s impending death was an unwelcome task, even if it was a necessary part of the job, and he was counting the minutes until he could leave.

  A sycophantic nurse waddled over, a proud grin on her chubby face. No doubt she felt important, getting the job of shaking the PM’s hand, but the truth was she would be forgotten the moment he turned his back. Some people held such small ambition, yet he did not deny her the small moment of victory. Leaning forward, he paired the hearty handshake with a peck on the cheek that sent the woman giddy. He fought the urge to wipe his mouth on his sleeve afterwards.

  The plump woman gushed. “We’re so glad to have you here, Prime Minister.”

  John smiled, certain he could taste the woman’s sweat on his lips. “It’s my pleasure, Joan.” Good spot on the name badge. Plebs love it when you use their names. “It’s a wonderful job you’re doing here.”

  “We do what we can. It’s a hard job, but so vital. We had our funding cut last—”

  “Shall we take the tour?” said John, waving a hand towards the ward. Cramped tent cubicles filled it, and likely housed various dying occupants. So much money just to park the nearly dead. So inefficient.

  “Oh yes, of course, the tour.” The nurse nodded. “This is the oncology ward where we care for stage 4 patients. I would introduce you to our guests, but most will be sleeping. Best not to disturb them.”

  John nodded gravely, although it was great news. He had held little desire to look upon the diseased. “Of course, Joan. You are an angel to these people.”

  “Me? Oh no, I’m just one woman doing what she—”

  “Shall we move on?”

  “Yes, Prime Minister, of course. There is lots to see.”

  And lots to see there was—a dreadful amount in fact. John endured over an hour of sweaty handshakes and prattling small talk. In the children’s ward, he had to go so far as to kiss a collection of clammy foreheads (his PR Secretary’s idea, not his). By the time John looped back around to where he had begun, exhaustion had set in. Two bodyguards accompanied him the entire time and looked just as bored as he was.

  It was time to go.

  John turned and gave the chubby nurse one last sweaty handshake. This time he was powerless not to wipe his palm on the pocket of his blazer. Thankfully, the woman didn’t seem to notice, although Barry—one of his bodyguards—had to stifle a laugh. John gave his man a wry smile as he spoke out the corner of his mouth. “Thank you so much for having me, Joan. I will check in and see how you are doing again very soon, you can count on it. Give my love to your husband, David.”

  The woman beamed. Simple tactic, asking about her family during the tour, and reciting it back to her now was enough to make her love him. People would eat shit with a smile if they thought you were feeding it only to them.

  John’s bodyguards opened the fire door at the side of the hospital and stepped out before him. Their hands rested in their blazers, fingers on their guns. Not that they had ever needed to wield them—this was England, not Baghdad. All the same, his two burly men of action broke into panic now.

  Something hit John in the chest, just over his heart, and when he looked down he saw a mess. Barry barrelled into him and covered him with his wide bulk. Meanwhile, Jeff launched himself forward at a stranger who John didn’t even realise was out there.

  The scowling stranger yelled. “You’re a disgrace!”

  John realised he was covered in egg just as another one hit him. This time it hit square in the face, hurting John’s ego more than his flesh. So incensed was he, that he released a bellowing war cry and threw himself at the egg-pitcher. Barry grabbed him and held him in place as if he were a twig—which wasn’t far from the truth. John’s strength came from his dark brown eyes, his precise words, and his booming voice, not his slender body and willowy limbs.

  Jeff grabbed the stranger around the neck and dragged him away, but the crazed buffoon continued his tirade. “You’ll ruin this country,” he yelled. “The NHS will be in tatters by the time you finish stripping it for parts. My sister’s in there because she couldn’t get the help she needed a year ago. She’s dying because of you and your fucking government.”

  Barry barked into his radio, alerting Special Branch. John shouted over him, putting his powerful voice into action. “You pathetic creature. You think throwing eggs will change things for your sister? Maybe if you had done something worthwhile with your life, you might have earned enough money to pay for the operation yourself. Why should other people pay for it? Blame yourself.”

  “I blame you!”

  John regained a hold of himself and lowered his voice. Anger withdrew from his eyes. Just in time, too, as people had begun wandering into the backstreet to witness the kerfuffle. This would already be bad press, but him berating a member of the public in front of witnesses would be a disaster. He quickly grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away the egg on his lapel and face.

  Time for a little damage control.

  John looked upon the furious stranger and smiled compassionately. “I’m sorry for what you are going through, sir. My dear old grandmother died in hospital of cancer too. I vowed that very day, as a young man of twenty, that I would see an end to such a dreadful disease. You have my pledge that I will do everything within my power to have the NHS restored to its former glory. Your passion is to be admired, sir, and I understand your frustrations completely. Leave your details with my assistant, and we will talk later.”

  The egg thrower opened his mouth to speak, but was utterly confused. “Y-you’re a liar.”

  John chuckled. “You caught me quite by surprise, but your concerns matter greatly to me, sir. I wish to help.”

  “You can help my sister by—”

  “I really must be going,” said John. He moved towards the black Mercedes that had suddenly appeared. The black Range Rover behind would be full of Special Branch ready to break this idiot’s arms if John ordered it, but there were too many spectators now. The true pleasure anyway was in spinning this fool’s attack into good press. It would be on the news within the hour, spun to portray him as the calm, passionate man his party worked so hard to make him. Idiots.

  John waved quickly to the growing crowd of spectators, then allowed Barry to hustle him towards the car—as if it wasn’t his choice at all but something he fought against. The face he pulled suggested he would happily s
tay and greet people all day if he weren’t so frightfully busy.

  Inside the Mercedes, the air conditioning was running, and a glass of gin sat in the alcove beside the handle. John took the drink and waited for his bodyguards to get in beside him. Jeff slid in earnestly, but Barry let out a chuckle as soon as the doors were closed and they were on their way. “What a morning, aye boss?”

  John sipped his drink. “Just another day at the races. Bloody fools. What point did the idiot think he would make throwing eggs at me? At least do it somewhere there’s a crowd. Not a single person even saw him do it.”

  “They saw your recovery though. You deserve an Oscar.”

  “An Oscar?” He waved a hand. “Pah, anything American isn’t worth having.” He fiddled with his silver cufflinks as he expressed other concerns. “Hopefully there were no cameras on us that caught the whole thing. You never bloody know these days.”

  Barry eased back in the seat as if there was nothing to worry about. “I doubt it. Even if there were, they wouldn’t have sound. You got a bit red faced, but what man wouldn’t when pelted by eggs?”

  A beeping sound invaded the car’s interior, making them look at one another. Jeff pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen. “They have the egg-thrower in custody. Shall I tell them to let him go?”

  John gave his bodyguard a stare that made the bigger man shrink. “You must be joking. The man assaulted the leader of his country. You’d be shot for doing such a thing in some countries. No, I want the man charged to the full extent. Prison time if possible. Community service if not. The man believes things come for free, so let’s see how he likes giving his time away for nothing. You have to love irony.”

  Jeff frowned.

  “Is there a problem, Jeff?”

  “No, it’s just… the man was just upset about his sister. Maybe you could—”