“That movie was like twenty years ago, idiot!” Smithy was so angry he wanted to keep shouting insults, but it would only alert the demon to his location. Enough trees lay between them that he had a real chance of losing Frankie.
“Where you at, bitch?”
Smithy zigzagged and dodged, hoping to loop around and exit the woods on the side they’d entered. With any luck, Frankie would keep moving deeper in the opposite direction.
Go toy with someone else, you sadistic fu—
Smithy’s head whipped back as he ran into a branch hanging just above his forehead. The momentum of his legs continued, and he ended up on his back. He groaned and rolled onto his hands and knees, trying to get back up. When he touched his hairline, he could feel a lump already forming. “Who put that bloody tree there?”
Frankie was still calling for him, but his voice was far away. There was still a chance to escape, so long as he didn’t knock himself unconscious.
Just get up and keep running.
Smithy shook the stars from his vision and got moving again, but when he had smacked his head on the branch, it had turned him around. He wasn’t entirely sure which direction he was now headed.
Any direction is fine, so long as it’s away from Frankie.
“I can hear you,” Frankie shouted, although it was probably a lie. He sounded closer though. “I can smell you.”
Smithy dodged under a weeping willow and considered hiding under its dangling branches, but then Frankie shouted again, even closer, and it startled him into a sprint. This time he kept his head low, desperate not to collide with any more low-hanging branches. One more fall and Frankie might find him. He dodged to his right, trying to snake a path away from the demon.
The woods cleared ahead, the space between trees increasing. Frankie’s cursing and shouting began to fade. Even the darkness lifted, the moon finally showing itself through the thick canopy. Smithy was home free, about to get back to his life as a lonely, half-starved survivor. He couldn’t wait.
A figure stepped out from behind the thick trunk of an ancient oak tree. Smithy managed to put out his hands and stop himself just in time to avoid crashing right into them. Without taking a breath, he squared up to the stranger. He prayed it wasn’t Frankie.
It wasn’t.
It was a young black man with overgrown hair and fuzzy wisps on his chin. His gaze had a lethal quality to it, like the biggest lion at the zoo.
“S-Shit! You scared the hell out of me, man.”
“What you running from, bro? Need help?”
“Yeah! There’s a demon on my ass. A demon with some serious mental health problems. Not that I’m stigmatising.”
The stranger sighed and shook his head. “The demons were brought here to eradicate you. They almost succeeded.”
Smithy frowned. “Yeah, um, look, what’s your name, mate, because we really need to get out of here.”
“Some people call me Vamps.” The stranger offered a hand and Smithy took it, glancing back through the woods to locate Frankie. When he turned back, the stranger was grinning at him. “My true name is Crimolok.”
Smithy gasped as the stranger’s eyes became inky whirlpools, and jagged fangs erupted from behind his lips. He tried to pull away, but the thing still had his hand. It hissed in his face. “I shall not rest until I extinguish every last one of you insipid creatures.”
Smithy could do nothing. He yelled for help where help no longer existed.
“You best leave him alone, blud. His arse belongs to me, yeah?” Unbelievably, Frankie appeared from the trees on Smithy’s right and faced the newcomer. He glared and clenched his fists. “Get your own bitch.”
Crimolok snarled. “Silence, creature! You address a being equal to God.”
“And I’m Frankie fucking Walker.”
“Remove yourself, Frankie fucking Walker. I am about to devour this worm.”
Frankie didn’t back off. In fact, he stepped forward and faced the other demon nose to nose. “But there’s no fun in killing him before he’s had time to suffer, innit? The real fun don’t start till he starts begging.”
Smithy tried pulling away again, but it was like trying to free his hand from a vice. He couldn’t gain a millimetre, despite Crimolok not even paying him any attention. He was staring at Frankie with a curious expression on his cruel face.
Frankie sniffed, a glob of blood disappearing up his nose. “You wanna take a picture, mate?”
Crimolok snorted. “You amuse me, demon. Misery pleases you. It pleases me also.”
“Shits ’n giggles, innit?”
Crimolok studied Smithy, boring into him with those jet-black eyes. “You wish to keep this worm alive?”
“Least till we run out of skin to peel off him.”
Smithy kicked his legs, but was too weak to fight any more. Crimolok grabbed him by the throat and sneered. “Looks like your eternity of suffering begins here.”
Smithy tried to breathe, but his entire throat closed off, his windpipe crushed to breaking point. He saw Frankie out of the corner of his eye, snickering at his torment, and then the darkness of night took over and his misery ended.
5
Aymun awoke once more beneath the trees. David stooped over him and was shaking him gently. “Aymun alive. Good!”
Aymun blinked, his eyes dry and fuzzy. When he pressed with his fingers against his temples, he felt a deep, painful bruise. “Vamps struck me? How long have I been unconscious?”
David frowned.
Aymun tried again. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Short sleep.”
“Okay, so Vamps might not have got far.” Aymun began to get to his feet.
“Not Vamps. Crimolok. Creator.”
Aymun looked at David. “Did you say ‘Creator’?”
“Yes, Crimolok made to create. Bad create. Mad create.”
Aymun wondered how the demon knew of Crimolok’s true purpose. As brother to Lucifer and Michael, his destiny had been to take on God’s role as creator, to renew the Earth with life and wonder. The problem was that with creativity came ego, and soon Crimolok viewed himself as God’s equal. For his arrogance, he was cast into the darkest pits of Hell for all eternity. Yet somehow he had escaped and taken ownership of Hell’s throne, left vacant by Lucifer.
“David, how do you know about Crimolok?”
David tapped his temple with a twisted fingernail. “My lord. In my head.”
“In your head? Hold on, David. Has Crimolok been in your head the whole time you’ve been with us?”
David creased up his face, the bones of his cheeks showing through his translucent skin. He was clearly having to think. “Only while Aymun sleep.”
“Crimolok’s power is increasing. His influence over demonkind is returning.”
David nodded. “I am sorry.”
Aymun patted the demon on his back. “Do not be. You have resisted his dark desires before, when he was at his strongest, and you will continue to do so. You are brave, David.”
“More people will die. Will not stop.”
“Death is a natural part of life. We should not fear it.”
David stared at the ground. “Should fear. Hell follow.”
“We must find our friend. Vamps needs our help.”
David nodded. While he seemed more alert than usual, he also appeared frailer. His skin was taut. His movements were languid.
“David, are you okay?”
“Feel different since gate close. Remember more of David. Things less confusing. And more confusing.”
“The gate closing affected you? Why?”
David frowned, trying to find the answer in his rotting, demonic brain. “I think… I think it gate David come through. Gate where David… arrive?”
“That’s interesting. Usually when gates close they explode and kill any nearby demons, but when Vamps closed the one here, it was more like he was merely switching it off. If it was the gate through which you came, then its closure
may have affected you. Whatever connection you had with it has been broken. Your mind seems less muddled.”
“I remember now, name is Davod, not David.” The demon frowned. “Prefer David.”
“Then David it shall remain.” Aymun considered whether David’s – or Davod’s – ill health had something to do with the gate closing, but decided it might cause the demon alarm and so didn’t mention it. “Which way did Crimolok go, David? We have to find him.”
“This way. Come.”
Aymun chased after the scurrying demon. David was able to dodge through the moonlit forest with ease, but Aymun had to duck and scramble as branches whipped out of the shadows at his face. Fortunately, the trees were thinning out as they neared the edge of the woods.
Aymun was sure he could hear distant shouting.
David slowed and then paused altogether. He tilted his head like a dog.
“What is it, David?”
“Crimolok is close.”
“You can sense him?”
“Buzzing in head.”
Aymun patted David to get him moving again. The demon took off even faster than before. This time Aymun was sure he would end up knocking himself silly on an overhanging branch, but before that happened, they reached a clearing. They found Crimolok.
The demon was not alone. Another creature stood in the clearing with him, along with a young man who was writhing in pain on the ground. The unidentified demon was kicking and stamping on the young man while cackling with glee. Crimolok – wearing Vamps’ face – was watching in amusement.
David ducked behind some bushes, and Aymun moved up beside him, shaking his head in disgust. “They are toying with that poor boy. We must help him.”
“How? Two demons, only one of you.”
“You are part of this, David. If you want to do good, then you must do it.”
David nodded, but he was clearly frightened. “David weak, but David try.”
Aymun pulled a long knife from his belt and rushed into the clearing. He couldn’t use the weapon on his friend, so instead he confronted the other demon, the one kicking the defenceless young man on the ground. “Leave that boy alone.”
The demon looked up in surprise and stopped its assault. His victim was a sorry sight, both eyes swollen, nose gushing with blood. His attacker snarled. “I see the Pakis are still around then? You people are like cockroaches.”
“I am Syrian, and you will step away from that young man.”
“What if I don’t?”
“Then I shall send you back to Hell, fiend.”
“The name’s Frankie Walker.” The demon flashed its fangs then leapt at Aymun, and he sprang aside easily. Frankie swiped the air with bladed fingertips but missed. Aymun sliced the air with his knife and opened a trench in the flesh of the demon’s thigh. The skin and muscle tore easily, like wet tissue paper.
Frankie slumped onto one knee and Aymun went to deliver a stab to the neck, but the demon thrust out both arms and struck him in his chest. His sharp fingertips dug into Aymun’s flesh and opened bloody divots beneath his shirt. The sudden flash of pain sent him into retreat. David entered the fray, leaping at the larger, taller demon and trying to claw at its eyes. Slithers of skin and globs of congealed blood flew into the air, but Frankie tossed the small demon away from him easily. David fell onto his back, and Frankie lifted a heavy tan boot to stamp on his skull.
Aymun yelled in anguish. “David!”
The beaten young man was still lying on the floor, but he seemed to recover for a moment. He threw out a leg, perhaps instinctively, and tripped Frankie just as he raised his leg to stamp on David.
Frankie swore obscenely and stumbled onto his hands and knees in front of Aymun. Aymun glared at the abominable creature and raised his long knife. “May you find peace elsewhere.”
Frankie called out for mercy, but there would be none.
Blood spattered the chilled night air as Aymun stood frozen, his knife still hanging above his head. Slowly, he looked down and saw a blood-soaked fist jutting out of his chest. Elongated fingers twisted and flexed.
And then the fist withdrew.
Aymun wouldn’t have believed it if not for the massive circle of blood now staining the centre of his shirt. He tried to turn around, but he could no longer feel any part of his body. He slumped to his knees, desperately trying to breathe but unable to command his lungs. He saw David cowering at the edge of the clearing and, out the corner of his eye, he saw the beaten young man get up and retreat into the woods. He smiled at that. The boy is saved. Run, and do not look back.
Vamps’ face appeared in front of Aymun, but it was distorted and grim, no longer his friend at all. Crimolok was in full control. Did any part of Vamps still exist?
“You should have fled the moment you faced me in Hell,” said Crimolok. “I have no patience for worms who believe themselves to be tigers. Humanity is finished. You have lost.”
Aymun laughed, despite his mouth being full of blood. “No. Even in death, we have won. We are the chosen, while you… you are forsaken.”
The look of rage that crossed Crimolok’s face was satisfying, and Aymun held that image in his mind as he closed his eyes and died.
Smithy had no idea what had just happened, but he thanked the stars that the odd stranger had appeared and rescued him. The man had looked and spoken like he’d come right out of the desert, and it seemed he’d had a pet demon. Whoever he’d been, he’d been braver than he was strong, because the dark-skinned demon had shoved an arm right through his chest.
He died trying to save me.
Who was he?
Smithy still wasn’t sure he could get away. He’d taken a beating, and every movement was painful. He couldn’t hear the demons following, but there was no way of knowing how close they were. His run had taken him deep into the woods, but he didn’t care where he was heading any more so long as he was running.
The woods were pitch-black. The moon only made itself known through the slightest of gaps. Smithy feared he might never make it out of this dark foreboding place, and part of him wanted to give up and cry. He missed his mum. He missed his dad. And he missed his brothers. All dead, ripped apart by demons. This he knew because the first place he’d visited once he’d left his flat above the newsagent was home.
Although it hadn’t been home by the time he had got there.
His parents lived in a large house in a small village. A five-bed property set in two acres of lawn beside a church and graveyard. In a zombie apocalypse, it would have been dead central, but this was a different end of the world scenario, and graveyards were no more dangerous than anywhere else. As the house was remote and surrounded by privet hedges and accessible only by a private gated driveway, Smithy held a hope that his parents were okay.
Getting there on foot had been difficult, but he had made the trip in less than a day. Early autumn, and night had arrived around seven o’clock. One hour after that was when he had reached his parent’s driveway. The button to open the gate didn’t work, and the driveway lights were out, but that was only because the power grid had failed six weeks ago. No reason to think his parents weren’t hiding inside the unlit property.
I know they’re in there.
He hopped the gate and started up the drive, staring up at the bedroom windows. The curtains were drawn over each one.
Nice thinking, Dad. Keep out of sight.
The urge to shout out had taken over him, but he knew he’d only got there in one piece by stealth. Being loud and stupid now could attract attention and get him killed. Demons occupied every street in the town, and Smithy had needed to crawl beneath vehicles or jump inside wheelie bins to hide. He’d never known he’d such a talent for sneaking, but he made it four miles across town without a single demon detecting him. Still, he wasn’t about to risk his life now by shouting for his parents.
He crept up to the front door and tried the wrought-iron handle. It didn’t budge. That was okay, because he knew other ways into
the home he had grown up in. He went to the side of the house, where there was a white-painted wooden gate. He tiptoed against it and craned his arm over the top. A moment’s fumbling was all it took for him to lift the catch on the other side.
The small courtyard inside was where his mum smoked her cigarettes, and he was relieved to see a large terracotta plant pot full of water and fag butts. Even in the apocalypse, his mum had refused to smoke in the house. His stomach began to flip, though, when he saw his childhood home dark and lifeless. What was making him truly anxious was the fact that, any moment now, he would find out whether his parents were alive or dead.
The back door was unlocked as he assumed it would be. His parents rarely locked it when they were home. It led into a small utility room where an ancient washing machine stood next to a brand-new dryer. The old dryer had packed up several years ago, but the washer was seemingly immortal. The utility room abutted the house’s spacious kitchen. The kitchen was where Smithy headed. Inside, he found both of his parents pasted across the tiles, limbs taken off and scattered on the counters. His father’s head was sitting on top of the Aga.
Smithy fell sideways against his mum’s antique china cabinet and threw up, the entire contents of his stomach spilling on the floor. He heaved until only bile stung his mouth.
His parents… His parents were dead.
Mum and Dad.
He couldn’t stay in this room, couldn’t see them like this. No. Holding his mouth, he staggered around their remains and headed into the dining room, where he promptly threw up. The horror only increased. Both his brothers were dead too. Mike was sprawled against the wall with his dry guts tumbling out. There was a cricket bat in his hand, but the lack of blood on it showed he had never stood a chance. Joey was slumped over the walnut dining table, legs splayed to the point where his pelvis had split apart. A pool of blood had dried beneath him on the dark wood.
What the hell had happened? The demons had clearly attacked, but beyond that Smithy would never know. The only clue was a broken window in the billiards room where the monsters must have got in.
Hell On Earth Box Set | Books 1-6 Page 120
