Hell On Earth Box Set | Books 1-6

by Wright, Iain Rob

  Lord Amon would be among the enemy for sure, and would be unstoppable unless Guy and Rick came through closing the gate. All she could do was try to keep her people alive until then. Was it an impossible task? She would find out.

  Climbing the ladder, she reached the original crows nest and grabbed hold of the stepladder that would take her up to the roof deck. The steel rungs vibrated in her hands, and worryingly, the whole ladder wobbled when she assailed the first step.

  “It’s tied with rope,” someone called down from the shadows. “It gives, but it won’t fall. Hold on tight, and you’ll be fine.”

  Wickstaff tried to see who was up there, but had to look away when rain started filling her eyes. She hadn’t even noticed the downpour. The voice sounded familiar. “M-Maddy? Is that you? What on earth are you doing up here?”

  “Wanted to pull my weight, so I've been bringing refreshments to the sentries. Arrived just in time to catch the show.”

  Wickstaff trotted up the ladder and heaved herself onto the cramped deck. With Maddy stood a grizzled old sergeant with binoculars in his hands. A monstrous sniper rifle lay propped up against the wooden boards by his legs. “Welcome to the eagle’s nest, ma’am,” the man said in a voice thick with manliness. The unmistakable tone of Carl Martinhal, an active SAS soldier who had been on leave when the gates opened. He was about as tough a man as she had at her disposal, but his skill with a rifle made him a real asset.

  “Thanks for having me, Sergeant Martinhal. I hear we have guests?”

  “Don’t we fuckin’ just,” He handed over the binoculars, as casually as if they were at the opera. “Get your peepers on those.”

  Wickstaff looked through the binoculars and scanned the horizon. It didn't take her long to react. “Bonk my giddy aunt. Looks like they came to do more than just visit.”

  The city at large was poorly lit, the floodlights and petrol generators being centred on the naval base, but it wasn't difficult to understand the situation. The shifting shadows of an endless horde filled the horizon like raving highlanders. A legion of the damned.

  “Get me a radio,” ordered Wickstaff. “Time we teach these dirty buggers a lesson. That, when it comes to making war, mankind has no equal.”

  Martinhal smirked. “Yes, ma’am.”

  A radio was shoved into her hand, and she gave a dozen orders to a dozen different sub-leaders in less than a minute. Then she waited. The rain pitter-pattered against the deck.

  The screaming began one second before the first chattering gunfire. Muzzle flashes lit up the city like fireworks. Every gloomy alleyway now flashed like a rave was taking place. The city's darkness lifted, replaced by a radiant orange glow and white smoke. Grenades boomed. Windows shattered. Soldiers bellowed to one another, fighting together—dying together. Men wailed as terrible fates befell them, and demons screeched with delight. The demons had drawn first blood.

  The battle might be lost already.

  Wickstaff snatched the sniper rifle from the boards and propped it up on the railing. The weapon sported a night vision scope, which meant she got a better look at the nightmare coming their way.

  It was an unwelcome sight.

  Through the scope, a luminous green mass swarmed through Portsmouth's ancient streets. Frightened soldiers crouched behind cover, mostly unaware they were being surrounded. But no man or woman ran. No one threw down their weapon and surrendered.

  They were ready to fight.

  Wickstaff lined up the rifle's cross hairs and yanked the trigger. She took the head off a burnt man just as it was about to fall upon a stumbling soldier yet to find cover. The man dropped to the ground in surprise when his unseen attacker’s skull turned to mist right in front of him. He took advantage of the rescue and got himself behind a bulky Range Rover, where a machine gunner had already entrenched himself inside the sunroof. Wickstaff took another shot and kneecapped a leaping primate and spun it like a leaf in a storm. As the creature squirmed on the ground, the machine gunner finished it off, making its corpse dance. Wickstaff wasn’t quick enough to line up her next shot, and a burnt man waylaid the machine gunner and the unlucky soldier beside him. The machine gunner took care of it with a handgun, but the distraction delayed both men long enough that a squad of demons were able to blindside them. Wickstaff heard their screams a half-mile away.

  The enemy moved closer.

  Wickstaff turned to Sergeant Martinhal and snatched the radio again. “All units in Zone 2, fall back to inner perimeter. Artillery Groups 2 and 4, reduce Zone 2 to dust. I want to see Australia through the craters you leave.”

  “Roger that.”

  She kept hold of the radio, but handed the sniper rifle to the sergeant who would put it to better use than her.

  “Are you okay?” Maddy asked, suddenly reminding the general of her presence. A civilian.

  Wickstaff nodded. “The whole humanity in peril thing is old hat now, my love.”

  “What can I do to help, General?”

  “Keep a clear head for me. Giving orders is a lonely business. I need someone I can curse at if the need arises. Sorry, Maddy, but you’ve got that job.”

  “It’s an honour. Mind if I swear back at you?”

  “Fire away.”

  “Send those fuckers straight back to Hell, General.”

  Wickstaff chuckled. Maddy was exactly what she needed right now—an anchor to keep her feet on the ground while she made decisions that could end the human race.

  Or save it.

  Somehow that was the prospect that scared her more.

  “By the time I’m through with these bastards, Maddy, Hell will look pretty goddamn inviting. Speaking of which, I think I hear the gods whistling.”

  Maddy frowned, but then tilted her head as she too caught the sound. Overhead, the starry sky lit up as a dozen fireflies sliced gracefully through the air. Fireflies that whistled as they fell.

  “Cover your ears,” barked Sergeant Martinhal.

  The gods roared.

  A massive wall of fire leapt up from the heart of the city. Buildings tore apart like matchstick models and abandoned cars cartwheeled twenty feet through the air. The massive heat and ensuing concussion vaporised the demons so quickly that they didn't even have time to scream. They were simply gone, replaced by a flaming crater.

  The guard tower wobbled, and the stepladder swung to-and-fro on the rope it was secured with. Wickstaff and the others hung on for dear life and almost fell to their deaths by the time the second barrage was through. Wickstaff had to blink several times just to work out which way she was facing. Once she reoriented herself, she turned the air blue with cursing.

  A dozen infernos lit the night brighter than day now, and the full enemy force revealed itself.

  Thousands.

  Tens of thousands of the wretched monsters.

  Wickstaff knew she had sentenced soldiers to death with the artillery barrages, as not all would have escaped the blast radius, but she understood now it had been the right decision. The massive bombardment devastated the enemy vanguard and tore apart several-hundred demons at least, but it had done something even more important: bombed-out buildings crumpled and fell across the roads. Massive piles of masonry blocked the enemy approach and bought Portsmouth more time.

  Wickstaff studied the battlefield and felt a mixture of hope and despair. The first round had gone to mankind, but their real foe was only now approaching. Lord Amon stomped towards his front lines, demons parting before him like butter on each side of a hot knife. Once he reached the ruined outskirts of Portsmouth, he stopped and stared. Wickstaff was certain he was staring right at her.

  Then the angel took another giant step forward and grabbed hold of an upended camper van. With terrifying strength, Lord Amon plucked the van up off the ground and held it over his head, before launching it like a javelin. The boxy vehicle struck the roof of a nearby office building and shattered a vast chunk of it. Wickstaff covered her mouth as three soldiers plummeted to their deat
hs from their hiding places. The angel's message was clear:

  “You can’t hide. You can’t run.”

  Before Wickstaff looked away in total horror, she watched Lord Amon pluck a fourth soldier from a hiding place inside a shop doorway. In one giant hand, he clutched the woman by her ankles and bellowed with laughter as he tore her torso in two. He tossed the pieces into the air like bread for the birds.

  You can't hide.

  You can't run.

  Richard Honeywell

  Corporal Martin had been trying his radio for the last two hours, but Portsmouth didn't respond. Richard wanted to say something encouraging to the soldier, but there was nothing that would be believable. He grew more and more desperate by the minute.

  Their one hope was fading.

  Dawn broke, but the rain remained a downpour. Puddles formed sucking quagmires in the mud, sapping the group's strength and making walking a chore. The group's mood had been sullen since the grisly scene in the barn, and necessity had forced them to spend the night there inside the house. Everyone had been eager to depart the exact moment the first bird chirped. Now the farm lay several hours in the group's rear mirror, but still their spirits remained low.

  Richard put an arm across Dillon’s shoulders, trying to keep him dry. With his other hand, he shielded his eyes. “We should find more shelter or go back to the farm. This rain will be the death of us.”

  “Portsmouth is only a half-day away,” argued Corporal Martin. “We can’t afford to stop now.”

  “But they haven’t responded since last night. We don’t know Portsmouth is safe anymore.”

  “It’s the only destination we have, Richard. We won't be safe anyplace else. We’ve endured worse than a little rain.”

  Richard sighed. True, a bit of rain seemed silly to complain about considering what they had survived, but his instincts were to keep Dillon warm, dry, and fed. Difficult to override fatherly instincts, and he looked at his son now, he found it hard to consider enduring anymore of this weather.

  “Dillon, are you okay?”

  His son glanced across at him and nodded. His thin blonde hair was plastered to his scalp with rainwater. “I want to go somewhere with more people. I want to keep on going.”

  “See!” said Corporal Martin. “It’s only you being soft, Richard.”

  Richard grunted. “Like with the chickens, you mean?”

  “Let’s just get to Portsmouth, okay?”

  The march continued in silence, the only person talking was Carol. The old editor regaled Alice of her time in Africa as an aid worker. Alice responded that her father helped people too, and that they would get along when they met. Richard admired the American girl’s defiance, still believing she would get her happy ending. Meeting her father was a matter of when, not if.

  The countryside ceased and they entered a built-up area leading to the South Coast. The first things they scouted were a Ford dealership and a set of train tracks. Blocking their view further was a massive plot of half-built houses. Ironic, as there would now be far more houses than there were people living. It would be a long, long time before people ran out of living space again—and that was only if humanity survived.

  “Think we can grab ourselves some motors?” asked David. “I’ve always fancied one of those big Ford pickups. They seemed built for banging up and getting dirty.”

  “Ranger,” said Richard.

  “Huh?”

  “The pickup that Ford makes is called a Ranger. I impounded one a few months ago on a drugs bust. Proceeds of crime seizure.”

  “Well, maybe we can rustle up a few Rangers then and drive the last stretch to Portsmouth.”

  “We’ll check things out,” said Corporal Martin. “Might not be a bad idea.”

  Talk of procuring a fleet of cars lifted the group’s spirits, and people started nattering again, sharing stories of vehicles they had once owned themselves, as well as cars they would have liked to own. The apocalypse wasn't all bad. You could take whatever you found, and a car dealership became a playground.

  The group reached the dealership's cement forecourt and spread out, searching. Men and women both stopped to glide appreciative hands over shining bonnets and boots.

  Richard wasn’t much of a car guy, but he allowed Dillon to run off with Alice to climb and play. It seemed safe enough. David ran off too and gave a triumphant cheer when he found a brand-new Ranger in white. The paintwork was filthy from dust, but the placard's exorbitant price betrayed its unused condition. David leapt up into the rear bed and bounced like a clown. Dillon and Alice saw him and quickly climbed up to join. The three of them laughed like idiots.

  Richard smiled.

  “David always did like his toys,” said Carol conspiratorially. “He used to be a right pain in my arse, always moaning about his pay, like he was bloody Louis Theroux or something.”

  Richard nodded, eyes still on the two children and childish adult. “I forgot you two go way back.”

  “Way, way back. I still remember hiring the arrogant sod. Wet-behind the ears graduate who thought he knew it all, he was, but I always knew he would make a good journalist. Contrary to what one might believe, the best reporters are the ones with the biggest moral compasses. David lost his way for a while, let his ego rule him, but I’m proud of how much he’s risen to this challenge. After Mina died…”

  “I never met her, but I’ve heard about her.”

  “A nice girl. Real shame what happened to her. David took it hard. The anger inside him... When he took it out on the demon, we had tied up... I won't deny it frightened me. I think being around your son and Alice pulled him back from the brink.”

  “Andras…” Richard remembered what a mess David had made of the angel, disguised as a human. A real mess.

  Carol nodded, her voice a whisper. “We all lost something after Andras. It made us realise how evil those bastards are. Just look at what they did with your wife.”

  Richard grunted.

  “Sorry. I'm just saying, we owe it to all the people we've lost to make those bastards pay, but it's important to keep a hold of what makes us human. Or else what's the point?”

  Richard continued watching Dillon and Alice bouncing alongside David and saw the truth of it. The children kept everybody’s hope alive. They were a reminder of what they were all surviving for.

  Carol half-turned, her attention moving someplace else. “Now that is a thing of beauty.”

  Richard followed the woman's gaze until he saw what she was referring to. He let out a whistle. “It certainly is.”

  Sitting inside the glass-fronted showroom was a low-slung sports car in fire engine red. The modern blue Mustang parked beside it looked bulky and unsophisticated by comparison. Carol rushed inside; not even checking the front door was unlocked as she charged through it. Richard gave chase, worried for her safety, but also eager to see the beautiful piece of human engineering for himself. He wasn't a car guy, but he wasn't blind either. Some things were just indescribably flawless.

  Carol clapped her hands like an excited schoolgirl. “Ford GT 2016. This baby must have made it here just days before the world ended. Who knew it would be one of mankind’s final accomplishments? A beast hiding beneath a masterpiece.”

  “She sure is beautiful, Carol. I never pegged you as a petrol head.”

  She ran her hands over the curved bonnet. “Are you kidding? When I was a younger gal, I owned a Lotus Esprit. Payments cost more than my mortgage, but damn if it wasn't worth it. My old Lotus was nothing compared to this though. The original GT was a beauty itself, but somehow they improved on it.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Richard said again, not knowing what else he could add. If he had known anything about engines, he would have spat out some specifications, perhaps.

  “It’s mine,” said Carol with a grin. “Find me the keys.”

  Richard chuckled. “Erm, okay.”

  Luckily, the keys were hanging from an open lock box in the back office. When shi
t had gone down, the staff had obviously fled without giving a thought about locking up. It worked out well for Carol.

  Richard handed over the key ring with the car's registration number on it. “I think this is the key, but it’s weird.”

  Carol snatched it like Gollum grabbing his Precious. “It’s an e-key,” she explained. “You only need to have it on you to start the car.”

  “Neat.”

  She pulled open the driver’s door and pointed at the dashboard to a large red button that said START, then jabbed it with her finger. The engine roared to life, and she seemed to breathe it in for a moment, closing her eyes and smiling serenely. “Isn’t that the most beautiful sound you ever heard?”

  “Hey, hey!” Corporal Martin came striding in. “Turn that thing off. The noise will attract every demon for a hundred miles.”

  Sheepishly, Carol thumbed the START button again, and the dragon went back to sleep. “I suppose it is a little impractical.”

  “You think? Come on, we’ve found a couple of panel vans around back. Three should hold everyone, so we’ll divide into teams. Me, David, and you, Richard.”

  Richard raised an eyebrow. “You want me to lead a team?”

  “I just want you to drive a van full of people, but yes you should also lead. You’re a police officer.”

  “Was a police officer.”

  “Whatever. Just get away from that teenage wet dream and come help with something useful.”

  Richard and Carol exchanged chastised glances, and both fought emerging grins. Corporal Martin stormed off, leaving them alone a moment to get their giggling over with.

  “Suppose we should do as we’re told,” said Richard.

  Carol patted him on the back. “I think that lad fancies me, you know?”

  “Ha! I think you might be right. Come on.”

  They went outside and headed after Corporal Martin who was disappearing around the far side of the showroom. Most of the group were already out of sight, likely assembled near the aforementioned vans. David, however, was still in the back of the truck with the kids. They had stopped their jumping and were now just sitting and talking.