Let's hope it makes a dent.
“Prime 1 is down. Repeat Prime 1 is roasting on an open fire.”
Wickstaff felt her eyelids stretch wide, and she stared at Maddy as she spoke into the radio. “Can you repeat that one more time for me, please?”
“Happily. The big bastard is on the ground and bleeding. He’s dead. Lord Amon is dead. I fired a hellfire into his smug face myself.”
Wickstaff was beaming. “Roger that, and God bless you!”
Wickstaff ended the call. For a few moments, she just stood there in dumb silence. Maddy and Diane did the same. Eventually she lifted the radio and gave a new order. “Men and women of Portsmouth, on ship or on land, Prime 1 is eliminated. Pick up your weapons and fight. Find the nearest enemy, and kill it. Today is the day we earn our survival. Today is the day we prove humanity deserves custody of the earth. We will win this day, and through victory we shall renew our future. We have come together from many places, and speak several tongues, but fight now beneath a new banner. Fight for humanity.”
Wickstaff gave more orders in quick succession, the last being to her naval artillery. “Flatten the city, chaps. I want nothing left beyond the docks.”
And so, the night sky lit with fireworks and shooting stars, plummeting towards the city that had kept humanity safe for so long. Buildings toppled, petrol stations exploded, and on the docks of Portsmouth, men and women spilled back off the boats to reengage the enemy. Wickstaff stood amongst it all, firing a pistol with a dodgy hip, a smile on her face because, live or die, humanity was standing up for itself. And she was the woman in charge.
Vamps
As the sun rose, bringing with it dawn, the dirty white van snaked through the ruins of an ancient city. Portsmouth was gone, a flaming crater blighting the land.
“This shit is bad,” said Vamps, sitting up front with Mass and Corporal Martin, the driver. The others huddled in the back, a mixture of wounded and shell-shocked. Aymun was tending to them as best he could, but he was no doctor. Their victory at the gate had been costly, but it paled in comparison to what they saw now. A large, spiny tower deep in the city rose out of the ruins, but its top had been lopped off by the fighting. A thousand fires blazed, and the roads choked up with bricks and blood. Several times they had to stop to clear a path, and when they finally made it to the gates outside the docks, a pile of corpses met them.
Vamps felt sick and knew Mass felt the same because he covered his mouth. The two of them looked at each other and then embraced with tears in their eyes. Was it all over? Had anything survived?
“Hold on,” said Corporal Martin at the wheel. “It’s going to get bumpy.”
And bumpy it got as the van’s large tyres crushed human and demon viscera like they were off-roading through Hell. Vamp’s sword lay across the dashboard, and it rattled and sparked now as if woken from sleep. Sickening crunches accompanied every second of their harrowing journey, and it seemed to go on forever. Then, just when it appeared the van might die on them and maroon them amongst the death, the vehicle lurched forward and found solid earth again. They picked up speed and headed for the docks. Here, the various buildings were still intact and nothing was burning.
Corporal Martin stopped the van outside the Port Authority building, which itself lay next to a large open space. He turned off the engine, and the three of them up front disembarked. The air felt hot—the heat of so many fires blazing behind them. The water beyond the docks laid still, a hundred hulking vessels unmoving. Where were all the people?
A middle-aged woman appeared, flanked by two younger ladies.
“Who are you?” said the older woman in a plummy accent that Vamps would've hated in a past life. Now, such things didn't matter.
Corporal Martin stepped forward. “Are you… Are you General Wickstaff?”
“I am.”
“It's so good to put a face to the name. I’m Corporal Martin.”
The woman beamed and rushed forward. She gave Corporal Martin a great big hug and then winced in pain. “Forgive me, I’m a tad sore. It’s wonderful to meet you at last. You must have survived an awful lot getting here?”
“We have others with us,” he said, ignoring the question that would take too long to answer.
One of the younger women, a brunette, lit up at the mention of that. “Is Rick with you?”
“Yes. Let me take you to him,” said Corporal Martin, a smile on his face.
And so they moved to the back of the banged-up van. Mass grabbed the door latch and yanked it open. Rick was already on his feet, and when he saw the brunette, he leapt out and hugged her. “Told you I’d be back.”
“Rick! You… you look…”
“Great, I know! It’s just a reprieve, but it's good to feel good.”
“I never thought I'd see you again.”
“I’m glad you’re okay,” said the third lady, the youngest of the three, and blonde. Still a girl, really.
Rick smiled and gathered the blonde into a three-way hug with the brunette. Vamps chuckled—a real lady's man.
“You closed the gate,” said Wickstaff to Rick. “Amazing.”
Rick broke away from his group hug and shook his head. “No, it was my brother, Keith. These guys took down an angel though. May I introduce Vamps, Mass, and Aymun.”
“Taking down the angel was all him,” said Vamps, pointing to Mass who immediately blushed.
Wickstaff folded her arms and whistled. “I took one down, too, but it took eight attack helicopters to do it. Well done, you.”
Mass tried to make eye contact, but ended up staring sheepishly at the floor. “Thank you, General. It was my pleasure.”
Vamps nudged his embarrassed friend and laughed.
“We have casualties,” said Corporal Martin, turning serious. “Do we have anyone left to see to them?”
“Yeah,” said Vamps. “Where all the people at?”
“Back at the old naval base,” came Wickstaff. “I came from there when I saw you folks entering the city. It’s good you’re still alive, Rick, because we have one more problem for you to deal with.”
Thirty minutes later, the survivors from the van were being triaged. A few soldiers had lived through the battle at the gate, but far too few. Vamps was glad to see the two children were still okay. Though, after being possessed, neither seemed to have any memory of it. What concerned them most was that both their fathers were wounded, shot by the same man. A man nobody could identify. He had just appeared out of nowhere and started shooting people. Richard had taken a bullet shielding Guy from a second blast. Corporal Martin had seen the whole thing and had been the one to put the stranger down.
Now both men laid out on the ground while a pair of medics saw to them. The brunette Vamps met outside the Port Authority building was a medic, too—apparently—and she lent a hand too. Alice and Dillon rested on their knees, holding their hands out to their respective fathers.
Richard was awake. A medic had attached an IV of morphine, which meant he was drowsy, but he gazed at his boy and repeated over and over that everything would be alright. The medic concluded the bullet had struck his collarbone and gone through his shoulder tissue. Barring infection, Richard should recover.
Guy, on the other hand, had taken a shot right to the stomach. The round was still buried somewhere in his intestines. Vamps overheard the medics appraising Wickstaff of his condition, and it hadn't sounded good. “Best I can do is wake him up,” one medic had said. “I’m not a surgeon, and neither are Chris and Samantha. We can’t dig the bullet out of him, and it’s probably blocking something important, considering where it is. He’s already lost too much blood, and I think he’s getting septic.”
Wickstaff sighed and looked over at the little girl bent over her daddy. “Wake him up. Let him see his daughter. I owe him that.”
Vamps took Mass by the arm and moved him away from the scene. When Mass saw Vamps was about to break down in tears, he pulled him into a hug. It was something he never
would have done back in the old days.
“It’s okay, man. It's okay.”
“It’s not okay, man. I can’t take any more death. It’s the kids. When I look at those two kids, I think about how many millions are lost. How many of them died in terror, or starved to death waiting for mummy to wake up. I can’t get it out of my head, Mass. It's like ants in my mind. What do I do?”
Mass rubbed his back. “You go on living. We keep fighting so that tomorrow’s children live. Those two kids are the reason we stay strong. They're alive because of something we were a part of.”
“I wish I hadn't failed Max.”
“I wish we hadn't failed him, as well. But it's done. Let's do better tomorrow.”
Guy was suddenly awake. Vamps heard him moan and cry out, “Alice!” He blinked several times when his daughter leant over and smiled at him as if he struggled to believe what he was seeing. “A-Alice?”
“Yes, daddy. It’s me.”
“You found me?”
“I got tired of waiting for you to come.” She kissed his forehead. “You promised me we’d see each other again, and that I would be okay. You were right. It’s safe here.”
Vamps wondered if she truly believed that.
Guy was smiling dozily. “You look just like your mother. Getting so... grown… up.”
“Daddy. Daddy, please stay awake.”
But Guy couldn’t. He closed his eyes and didn’t open them again. The only thing he left behind was the smile on his face.
Alice slumped over his dead body and wept. After a few moments, Dillon left his own father to cradle her in his arms. They were siblings now—brother and sister in a new world—like Mass and Vamps were now brothers in more than just street terms. Family wasn't about blood anymore—or maybe it was more about blood than ever.
The blood of battle.
The reason everyone gathered in the ruined naval base was because the biggest gate of all still towered into the sky there. Nothing was coming through, but that could change at any moment. A thousand soldiers encircled it, ready to rip apart anything that dared step foot on the parade square. Vamps dreaded, all over again, that they had only won a single battle, and that the war would rage on. That was why he held his sword at the ready—the gift given him by a strange Irish man in an abandoned Pizza Hut.
Life had gotten screwed up somewhere along the line.
“Can you close it?” Wickstaff asked Rick.
Rick shook his head. “My power is gone. It'll be awhile before I can close gates—maybe weeks.”
“We don’t have that time. The enemy scattered after we beat them, but we can’t stop them from regrouping if we have to worry about this thing in our midst. Can you at least try?”
Rick raised both arms towards the massive gate, but ended up looking like a confused mime. He let his arms drop with a sigh. “I’m sorry. Daniel’s powers took weeks to grow inside me. They withdrew when I got healed by the blast.”
“There is one way to close it,” said Aymun. “One we are all aware of. I shall pass into the gate as I did the one in Syria. I lived through Hell and returned. What lies beyond this gate does not scare me.”
“I sensed something before I left,” said Rick. “This gate is the largest of them all. It leads somewhere far worse than wherever the gate in Syria did. I wouldn’t recommend anyone steps through.”
“Yet, this thing must be done,” said Aymun, “and I would be honoured to share the burden.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Rick.
“No way,” said Maddy.
Wickstaff agreed. “We need you here, Rick.”
Rick spoke sternly, all his vitality returned. “For all we know, General, I could do more good on the other side of this gate, behind enemy lines. I’m dying anyway, so I can only help you for so long. If I still have my powers on the other side, maybe I can stop whatever caused all this in the first place.”
“I agree,” said Vamps. “But you’ll need more help than just Aymun. You need a badass from the streets. Maybe a guy with a flaming sword.”
Mass was already shaking his head. “I don’t want to go inside that thing, man. That’s crazy.”
Vamps turned to his brother—the little boy he had grown up with, now a man. They had fought for survival their entire lives in some form or fashion. They never imagined escaping Brixton, but things had changed.
They had changed.
Vamps most of all.
“Not us, just me, brother. I’m going. The things I’ve seen and done… I have to leave it all behind me. I need to do some real good to make it right. No more kids dying, right?” Mass nodded sadly. “You got things here, Mass, so let me take care of business on the other side. The hero today was you. You killed the angel when it was about to stomp me. It’s not me who got us this far, Mass, it was you. Stay here, and be a hero for these people. But I’m not a hero, I’m a killer. The best place for someone like me is amongst the enemy—somewhere I don’t have to worry about losing people I’m trying to protect.”
“Vamps, please don’t…”
“This feels like what I’m supposed to do, man.”
“Are you gents really serious about this?” Wickstaff asked, looking at Vamps, Aymun, and Rick.
All three men nodded.
“Then say your goodbyes. It needs doing sooner rather than later.”
“I’m ready now,” said Vamps, swinging his sword like he had been practising his whole life.
Rick looked at Maddy and swallowed, tears in both their eyes. “If I wait,” he said. “I'll lose my nerve. I’m ready now.”
“I too am ready,” said Aymun. “Hell awaits me for my sins. May I atone for each and every one.”
Vamps moved away from Mass, not sure if he was strong enough to stay the course if his friend tried to talk him out of it. The two of them nodded at each other and said their last goodbyes silently.
Rick took longer, holding Maddy and Diane in his arms and exchanging words for what seemed like an eternity.
Aymun stood beside the gate peacefully, hands clasped at his front, waiting to leave.
Ten minutes passed, and they were finally ready. They discussed taking weapons, but decided that restocking ammunition in Hell might be troublesome.
Vamps tried not to think as he looked at the flickering lens of the gate. Hell! Shit, am I really about to leap, willingly, into Hell?
Hell yes! Can't be any scarier than Brixton.
Wickstaff stood in front of them as they lined up in front of the gate. “You will have to pass through at the exact same moment because the gate will explode as soon as someone passes inside. We will take cover, if you don’t mind?”
“Of course not,” said Rick. “Good luck to you, General.”
“And you, gentlemen. If humanity survives, your sacrifice will be the foundation upon which our future is written. You are martyrs and heroes both, and I will ensure you are never forgotten.”
“Make sure they mention how handsome I am,” said Vamps. He flashed his gold fangs. “And don’t leave out the teeth.”
Wickstaff nodded.
Then everyone in the parade square departed to take cover. With such a large gate, they headed out a long, long way. The three martyrs were left standing utterly alone in front of the gate.
“You ready for this?” asked Rick.
“I’m shit scared,” said Vamps, realising he had regained the ability to fear. He looked up at the shimmering gate and imagined the horrors waiting to meet him. “I’m ready though.”
“I have done this before,” said Aymun. “Is okay. We hold hands now.”
Rick and Vamps looked at each other and exchanged frowns. Vamps shrugged. A little human contact wouldn't go amiss.
“Why not, I suppose. Might keep us together as we pass through.”
“Okay,” said Rick, shuffling up in front of the gate while the others joined him. “After three, okay? One… two… three!”
The three men linked hands, took a breath,
and stepped forward.
Mass
“Let ‘em have it, lads!” Mass threw a grenade far enough to impress an Olympic shot putter, and it landed right amongst a horde of demons besieging a small zoo where some survivors had taken refuge. One of Wickstaff’s helicopter scouts had spotted their SOS sign from the air two days ago. The survivors had used red paint atop the glass roof of the zoo’s atrium. Now Mass was here to rescue them—just in time by the looks of things.
He lifted his radio and asked for a favour. “Tosco, I need the ground to shake. Can you help a brother out?”
Tosco chuckled on the other end of the line. “For you, anything. Hold onto something, Mass.”
Mass ordered his lads down, and they took cover. Moments later, Commander Tosco rained fire from his fleet ten miles away on the coast. Two-hundred demons turned to ash in an instant. They still hadn’t learned not to huddle together, and since all the angels in the UK had gone, they had only gotten stupider.
Once Tosco had tilted the odds in their favour, Mass led the final assault. His soldiers had no military experience, but they were all survivors. Taken from the civilians of Portsmouth, Mass selected most of the remaining youth. Now, kids who had been thugs, criminals, students, slackers, or anything else in their past lives, were fearsome warriors, respected and relied upon.
They had survived Hell. What else was left to fear?
Mass pulled a machete from a sheath and held it in his left hand while he fired a black-market Uzi with his right. His body armour split at the seams as it tried clinging to his massive body, but it was only there as a last resort. With his blade and machine pistol, nothing was getting near him. He was a war machine.
His lads charged alongside him, each of them with a machete and pistol of their own. They liked to get in close, shoulder to shoulder, where they could cleave the enemy apart like a line of Roman legionaries. It had been remarkably effective against the demons, which knew no tactic but to throw themselves at their prey. Some were smart enough to grab weapons, but as ammo became scarcer, it was a rare problem. Weeks now, since a full-sized horde had posed a threat. Wickstaff’s forces were picking the enemy off in groups; killing stragglers just like the demons had once done to them. The victory at Portsmouth had changed everything.
Hell On Earth Box Set | Books 1-6 Page 80
