“Inside this cottage, I’m still team leader. I’m the one with the biggest bollocks.”
“Yeah, you look very manly slumped in grandma’s rocking chair.”
He managed a smile and thought it would probably be his last. “I went down fighting, Addy. I’m okay with that. We’ve lost a lot of guys, but the Urban Vampires are alive and kicking so long as you’re okay. Go, Addy, seriously. When you get back to Portsmouth, you and Cullen can fight over who’s in charge.”
“But—”
“Go! Get out of here before I throw you out. My runtime’s over and I want to be alone. End of movie.”
Addy opened her mouth to argue but turned away. She shouted at the women to get moving, then yanked open the front door without turning back. She was finally leaving him to die. Mass was relieved, even when he caught the glint of tears in Addy’s eyes. Walking through the door was a goodbye that neither of them wanted. All the same, she opened the door wide.
A stranger stood on the doorstep.
Addy only had her knife, but she produced it in no time at all, slipping it out of her belt and placing it under the stranger’s throat. The stranger didn’t flinch. In fact, the peculiar man stepped inside the cottage without the slightest concern. “I do not seek to do you people harm. Weapons are unnecessary.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” said Addy.
“Addy! Put down the knife.” Tox limped inside the cottage. Smithy was with him, helping him along. “This is Rick. He saved us.”
“Dude’s a bit weird,” said Smithy, grinning, “but he’s a good egg. It’s good to see you guys.”
Mass struggled to see, his vision blurry, but he vaguely recognised the stranger with Addy’s pressed knife against his throat. “You entered the gate with Vamps. Rick… Rick Bastion?”
“Things went badly for your friend. Vamps was brave, but no match for Crimolok.”
Mass nodded dismissively, not wanting to talk about such things. “I know what happened to my friend, but what are you doing here?”
“I’m here to help mankind win this war.”
“Yeah, okay, fair enough.”
Smithy explained the events of the past week so rapidly that he had to start again. “So, yeah, we, um, found this pub a couple hours after we left the cottage – Nailor’s Arms, it was. Nice place with loads of guest ales and a specials menu behind the bar. Anyway, inside we found a pair of first aid kits, dishcloths, and as much alcohol as we could carry. It was a perfect score, man.”
Tox nodded. “It was. We expected to be right back here with everything we needed.”
Smithy continued, excitement in his voice. “Then this hobo with a shotgun appears from out of nowhere and shoots Tox right in the shin – almost takes his leg off at the knee. I almost puked, I swear.”
“I was bleeding out fast,” said Tox, grimacing at the memory, “and the fucker would have shot me again if Smithy hadn’t brained him with a bottle of Irish cream.”
“It was Tia Maria.”
“Oh, I thought it was Baileys.”
Smithy shook his head. “Nah, it was definitely Tia M—”
“Not important,” said Mass. He glanced at Tox’s leg. His friend was limping, but his limb was intact. His jeans were ragged and covered in blood. “How did you survive a shotgun blast?”
“I wouldn’t have,” said Tox. “The gunshot attracted demons and they surrounded the pub. They would have got in, but they all vanished.”
“Vanished?”
Smithy and Tox both looked at Rick, who gave no response. After a moment, he acknowledged that they wanted his input and sighed. “This body can only endure so much,” he said, “but I can exorcise nearby demons to Hell. It is… draining. As is the act of healing. I helped your friend, but it took a lot out of me. I needed a day to rest.”
Mass slumped in the rocking chair, his head moving closer to his knees. He was so tired. So cold. His words were slow and soaked with saliva when he spoke. “I wish I could say it all sounds like… like nonsense, but I’m talking to a guy who’s been to Hell and back. Tox, how come it took you a week to get back here?”
Tox leant against the wall, taking the weight off his leg. “That was my fault. Rick kept me from dying, but my leg didn’t get better straight away. It was like accelerated healing or something, not instant. Each day my leg hurt a little less and looked a little better until, eventually, I could walk again.”
“What about the old guy who shot you?”
Smithy chuckled. “Bryan. We tied him to the pub’s fruit machine until he calmed down, which took about three bloody days. We asked him to come with us when we left, but the guy’s missing the marble from his Screwball Scramble – a complete loon. We left him alone at the pub. I reckon his plan is to drink out the last of his days in peace. Not the worst idea.” He looked at Tox wistfully. “I miss Bryan.”
Tox sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”
“We came back as soon as we could,” said Smithy. “I could have come alone sooner, but I didn’t want to leave Tox behind with Jesus mark two.”
Rick looked at him, the slightest of frowns upon his face. “You did not trust me?”
“No offence, but you’re a tad emotionless, the kind of guy who would work at McDonalds and piss in the milkshake machine when nobody was watching.”
Rick shrugged, uninterested.
“Anyway, we’re back now,” said Tox. “I was worried we took too long. I thought for sure…”
Mass could barely keep his eyes open. “You made it back just in time to say goodbye. I’m glad… I’m glad you’re okay. Now… go.”
“Not without you, man. I got the thing you need.” Tox gave Rick an assenting nod and the former pop star approached Mass with his hands outstretched like he was coming in for a grope.
Mass shifted, almost falling forward out of the rocking chair. “W-What are you doing?”
“Helping you. I’m afraid this will hurt a lot.”
It hurt worse.
Another day passed. An agonising stream of time, punctuated by Mass’s healing body crying out as the cells in his body stitched themselves back together. It was an otherworldly experience, happening so fast that he could swear he saw his flesh knitting back together before his very eyes. The pain was immense.
Everyone sat around anxiously, watching Mass, soothing him and holding him, telling him that everything was all right. He felt like a smackhead being nursed through recovery. His brow sweated, he begged constantly for relief, and yet nobody could do a damn thing to help except bear witness to his soul-destroying agony. “Can’t you do anything?” Mass heard Addy demand of Rick several times, but each time the peculiar man said no.
Smithy always seemed to be sitting close by, most often on the second step of the cottage’s rickety staircase. His knee juddered up and down ceaselessly, his chin resting on his hand. Concern or boredom, Mass was unsure. The constant, jittery movement was annoying either way.
When Tox and Smithy had returned with Rick, they had brought food and water from the pub. The pork scratchings, salted peanuts, and plain crisps had kept everyone going, but morale was low. Mass’s pain was bringing everybody down. Their isolation in the middle of nowhere was sending them insane. Mass thought constantly about what he had released when he had killed Vamps. He thought about the giant gate and what monstrous being might emerge from it. Perhaps a devourer of worlds like the giant squid monster he’d once read about in a dreary old book – probably the last book he’d ever read, the one to put him off the activity altogether.
Lovecraft. That was the dude. Boring old shit. I should have stuck to gangster novels.
Mass wasn’t exactly sure when it happened, but he suddenly felt better. After so much pain, the lack of it came like a mirage in a white-hot desert. He almost didn’t believe it at first, but then he realised he felt okay. “I-I’m better.”
Everyone in the room jolted, and he realised it was because he had barely spoken since Rick had laid hands on hi
m. It was Rick who replied. “Good. We must go soon. Crimolok will be planning mankind’s demise.”
“Yeah, okay, Batman,” said Smithy. “Let the poor bastard catch a breath before we ask him to jump out the nest. Mass, you look better, but don’t rush it, okay?”
Mass took a deep breath and tried to get a sense of himself. There was a sharp pinch in his trapezius, but it wasn’t debilitating. His chest was a little tight, like he had asthma or a twenty-a-day habit, but there was no pain. “I-I think I can stand. Someone, help me up.”
Tox came forward, no longer limping. He offered an arm. “I got you, brother.”
Mass pulled himself up and felt light on his feet, not as if he had lost weight, but more as if his body had been filled with helium. He took a step and stumbled, but then got his balance. “I’m ready to get out of here,” he said. “The next face I want to see is General Wickstaff’s, followed by a bottle of the strongest booze she has in her private stash. She and I have a lot to talk about.”
Addy grinned. “She’d better promote you to top banana after the shit we’ve been through.”
Mass doubted it. They’d done nothing but go from one disaster to another since leaving Portsmouth well over a week ago. They’d made things worse, not better. Mass was just grateful to be alive. It gave him a chance to make up for his mistakes. “Let’s just focus on getting back home.”
Smithy patted Mass on the back. “Glad to see you back on your feet, big guy.”
Mass went to the door and yanked it open. “Everyone, fall out.”
Tony and his men encountered the Urban Vampires further along the road than expected, but it only made the plan run more smoothly. The ragtag band of warriors appeared late in the day, claiming to be conducting their own search for Mass. No rational argument existed against combining forces, so after a small show of reluctance, Tony accepted their presence. He tried not to reveal his satisfaction as he exchanged a handshake with the man he’d arranged all this with beforehand. Cullen was ready to do whatever was necessary to ensure Mass’s eventual safety – and had promised to keep Tony alive too if his men turned on him. In the meantime, they would assume the roles of uneasy allies.
“We don’t have to mix,” said Cullen, feigning derision as he spoke with Tony, “but it makes sense to stick close to each other. There’s safety in numbers out here.”
Tony pretended to mull it over before nodding. “I see no valid reason not to work together, seeing as our mission is the same. I understand that your man Mass was clearing an area south of the Wessex Downs. Is that correct to your understanding?”
Cullen nodded. “We’ve been working to secure Oxford, along with the areas south and west of it. We were making good headway, which is why it’s strange that Mass never made it back. He left Portsmouth armed to the teeth with a dozen Vampires along for the ride. Not to mention our girl, Addy, who’s tougher than the lot of ’em put together.”
“Addy? That her surname?”
“Yeah, Addison. Urban Vampires don’t go by first names. Most of us are running away from who we were, so we give ourselves nicknames. New name, new start.”
“I used to be a sergeant,” said Tony. “Never thought I’d ever be anything else – certainly not a sodding colonel. I suppose we’re all different people nowadays. Probably the only way to keep the past from swallowing us up. We’ve lost a lot. Everything, really.”
Cullen nodded. “Once we find Mass, we can chat about that some more.”
Tony side-eyed his men, searching for tells. He didn’t know for certain that they had an agenda, and his inherent trust in the brotherhood of fighting men made it difficult for him to condemn them. Cullen could order his men to raise their shotguns and deal with the threat right now, but there was too much risk that some, or even all, of the men were innocent.
“Shall we get going… um, sorry, what was your rank, Cullen?”
“Don’t have one. Urban Vampires are a family, not a unit.”
Tony detected the eye-rolls of his men, but he couldn’t chastise them. “Right, well, shall we make a move? The afternoon’s showing us its arse, and I don’t want to get caught in the open when night falls.”
Cullen waved a hand. “Lead the way, Colonel. We’ll trail back a few and watch your tail.”
Tony pretended to consider things once again. He needed to act as though he were suspicious of this man and his ‘family’. “Not planning on shooting us in the back, are you, Mr Cullen?”
Cullen chortled and shared a laugh with his Vampires. “That might be how you operate, Colonel, but if I want a man dead, I look him in the eye first. I thought we were on the same side. You doubt it?”
“It’s my job to doubt, Mr Cullen. The safety of my men depends upon it.”
Cullen bowed slightly. “I promise I won’t shoot you in the back. I just want to find out what happened to Mass and his team.”
Satisfied, Tony got moving, and just like that, he had embedded his own secret bodyguard. It pained him to anticipate a bloodbath, but in war you had to secure the things of most value. Mass, and hopefully Tony himself, was of high value. Thomas’s hand-picked men were not, and Cullen was ready to take them down the moment they even hinted at betrayal.
I hope you’re everything they make you out to be, Mass, because my bollocks are on the line trying to keep you alive.
Hopefully, Diane was busy taking care of things back in Portsmouth, but no matter what happened in the days ahead, Thomas had an army behind him. It would take a lot of effort and luck to bring him down.
And how was Maddy doing? Had she made it to Kielder Forest? Was she still aboard The Hatchet? Was she dead? Tony hadn’t known the woman long – and was under no doubt that she and Wickstaff had been an item – but he liked her a lot. Their brief exchanges had been the only times he’d felt more man than soldier. Maddy reminded him there was more to living than fighting to stay alive.
I hope you’re okay, lass, wherever you are.
The road ahead opened up. Wrecked vehicles cluttered the verge, most likely shoved there by Urban Vampires on prior missions, but the way forward was mostly unimpeded. Because of Mass’s previous hard work, Tony and his men were able to march at a decent clip without any of the fatigue uneven ground would have caused them. Tony considered rustling up a pair of vehicles but then reconsidered. Far easier to track a target on foot, and too easy to miss clues when whizzing by in a vehicle. It would also give his men too much scope to lose their tail, speeding away and leaving Cullen’s contingent in their dust. No, slow and steady would win this race. They needed to comb the land cautiously, seeking signs that Mass and his men had been through this way, as well as searching for the reasons they hadn’t returned. The last thing Tony needed was a demon ambush striking at their arses. They needed to keep all dangers securely ahead if they were to retain the ability to leg it back to Portsmouth.
As if to cement Tony’s concerns, they encountered a demon around the very next bend. It was alive, but injured. The burnt man staggered along the road, right arm flapping uselessly against its hip. When it spotted the humans, it gave a zombie-like moan and called out, “Eat shit. Eat shit. Eat shit!”
The men chuckled. Demons often shouted things or mumbled this and that. In Portsmouth, people laughed about such things while playing cards or sharing a beer. Theories went that the demons spouted memories of their former selves. It made a certain sense. Tony had heard them call out all kinds of things, including a few Latin words, which he was mildly familiar with only because so many British Army mottos employed the language. The old Sandhurst brass had also enjoyed their dead languages, especially to share private jokes between themselves after a night in the officer’s lounge – and usually at the expense of whichever poor squaddie was trying to please them. Tony missed many things, but thoroughbred officers wasn’t one of them. Men should earn their promotions on the field. You had to earn the right to send other men to their deaths.
Tony gave a hand signal to his squad sergean
t – a man with thick black stubble named Pearson – and ordered him to gun down the solitary demon. A single shot leapt from Pearson’s rifle and the demon collapsed on the road. No one rushed to check it was dead, but when they passed, Tony gave it a nudge with his boot. The shot had taken the demon right through the heart. Pearson was an excellent shot. Thomas had sent his best men.
Tony looked back and threw up his hand, signalling to Cullen, a hundred metres back, that everything was okay, no reason for twisted knickers. Then they resumed their march, rounding the bend and finding the next stretch of road clear of further monsters. No vehicles littered the verges on this stretch either, yet several dark patches stained the tarmac.
Bodies.
“What do we have here?” Tony muttered. “Stay alert, lads.”
Tony assumed the bodies were human, but once he got closer, it became clear they were actually dead demons, seemingly bludgeoned to death. Had Mass and his men been through here? Who else could have taken down a dozen demons in hand-to-hand combat like this? A bloodstained rock the size of a melon lay nearby.
No sign of Mass though.
Tony scratched at his forehead, peeling off grime with his fingernails. He voiced his thoughts. “Cullen said Mass’s team left armed to the teeth, so why are none of these demons shot?”
“Hey, Colonel, eyes on this!” Pearson pointed down the embankment on the right-hand side of the road. “We’re looking for a bus, right?”
Tony approached the sergeant and peered down the embankment. In a ditch at the bottom lay a muddy white coach. It was lying on its side and its windows were cracked and caked in gore. Bloody smears marked the bodywork and obscured whatever lettering had been printed on the side – the groping of demons trying to get in. Tony told his men to stand ready while they waited for Cullen and his team to catch up. They should see this. A demon named David had said Mass was in a ‘fallen wagon.’ Could this bus be it?
Cullen approached a moment later with his shotgun raised, eyeballing Tony suspiciously. “Everything good?”
Hell On Earth Box Set | Books 1-6 Page 146
