Legion: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel (Hell on Earth Book 2)

by Iain Rob Wright

  “Glad to have you on board. I’m sure if we all put our heads together we can figure out what to do next. That London gate still needs closing, so let’s just hope there’s someone still alive out there, and that they have the balls to do what needs to be done. You were right about us needing heroes.”

  Richard nodded. “We have heroes. Everyone left alive will be one in the days ahead. It was you who was right, Corporal Martin—we need a plan.”

  “Do you have one?”

  “Yes,” said Richard. “I just might.”

  Vamps

  The giant roared, and kicked a city bus so hard that it skidded from one side of the road to the other. At the same time, a black Mercedes hurtled down the road, heading towards the gate. When it screeched to a halt, two bodyguards and Prime Minister Windsor stepped out.

  Vamps spat at the sight of the man.

  Windsor looked excited as he hurried along the road. His bodyguards struggled to keep up with the long-legged man, and they didn’t seem to know whether to walk fast or break into a run.

  The PM stopped before the giant and looked up. “Lord Amon, it is a pleasure beyond words.”

  The giant looked down at the tiny man and sneered. “For you, I imagine it is. Have you done as asked?”

  Windsor nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, yes. I have brought you flesh as required. Hundreds more are en route.”

  “Excellent, then your head need not part from your shoulders.”

  The smile on Windsor’s face wavered. “I am yours to command.”

  “As are all.” The giant glared at Vamps and Mass who were still frozen in place. “Regain control of affairs, Prime Minister, lest affairs take control of you.”

  Windsor nodded to his bodyguards who seized Vamps and Mass and dragged them towards the gate. Mass blinked rapidly, as if he didn’t trust his sight. He didn’t seem to realise he was being dragged backwards. “That thing is talking, yo! A giant and the motherfuckin’ Prime Minister are having a conversation. When are we gunna wake up?”

  “I don’t think this is a nightmare,” said Vamps, not daring take his eyes off the giant.

  They were thrown back with the other terrified survivors, who had fallen to silence in the presence of the giant. Lord Amon, Windsor had called it. Upper-class fucks.

  The giant stomped over to the gate, making the ground shake and the road crack. “Make haste,” he bellowed. “My brothers seek liberty to see the sun rise to the sky and moon to follow.”

  The demons before the gate reformed and resumed their gathering of people. A catatonic woman was placed before the shimmering gate and stood there like an ironing board as they sliced open her wrists. Once the lightning hit her, she was animated once more and clapped her hands gleefully.

  Then the demons grabbed Ginge.

  Vamps leapt up but was smashed in the guts by a burnt man. He fell back to the ground, wheezing and gasping, clawing at the ground to get back up.

  Mass shouted to their friend. “Gingerbread! Ginge, don’t let them take you.”

  Ginge was still someplace else, his stare far off in the distance. He was completely obliging as a demon led him towards his fate.

  Vamps caught his breath and cried out. “Ginge… Ginge, you need to wake up! These bastards killed Ravy, and now they are going to use your body like a puppet. Brixton Boys don’t lay down for nobody!”

  Ginge stopped. His weight was substantial enough that the burnt man dragging him was forced to stop too.

  Mass and Vamps exchanged glances.

  “Ginge, wake up!”

  “Will you shut them up?” John Windsor shouted, watching from beside his Mercedes.

  Another demon went to its colleague’s aid and doubled up on Ginge, dragging him by each arm.

  Mass cried out again, but a demon kicked him in the mouth. A burnt man stalked towards Vamps too, so he had only one final chance to say goodbye to his friend. “Ginge, we need you, man. Don’t go. We’re your brothers!”

  Ginge stopped again, even with two demons trying to drag him. They struggled with his arms, but he would not move.

  “Get him moving,” Windsor bellowed.

  One of the demons raised a twisted hand and slapped Ginge across the face. Ginge did not flinch. What he did do was turn his head slowly to face the one who had struck him.

  The demon snarled. “Move it!”

  Ginge grabbed the demon like it was a child and lifted it over his head. He tossed it on top of the other one at his side and then let out a roar to rival any monster.

  Windsor stepped away from his Mercedes and flung out an arm. “Get him in front of the gate now!”

  Ginge punched a demon in the face as it went to grab him, then spun around and booted one of the ones he’d tossed to the ground. Half a dozen burnt men tried to bring him down, but he was a wild bear, shoving and clubbing at all within reach. The whole time he roared.

  Vamps leapt up and grabbed the burnt man that had been planning to silence him. Mass jumped up too, and between them they snapped the demon’s neck. They took down two more before the demons even realised that they were under attack. Ginge’s freak out held most of their attention.

  Vamps looked at the other survivors and yelled at them to join the fight. None did. They might have done something before, but not in the presence of the giant.

  Lord Amon stood silently by as the chaos ensued, watching with what might have been amusement. Vamps shuddered under the demon’s glare, but got back to fighting. He and Mass punched and kicked and wished for something more than their own limbs to fight with. The burnt men were supple, and easy to take in a fight, but there were so many—and they never backed down.

  Mass nailed one of the ape-creatures with a spinning back kick that made Vamps laugh at the audacity of it. Ginge grabbed a burnt man by the arm and flung him into the air like an athlete throwing a hammer. Vamps raced towards the PM.

  If he only had a short amount of time, best make it count. Go for the high-value target.

  Windsor’s attention was on the gate. He didn’t see Vamps coming.

  Vamps clenched his fists and prepared to launch himself at the worm who had once led the country before betraying it.

  “Where you going, mate?”

  Vamps collided with the barrel chest of a bodyguard. He bounced off and ducked just in time to avoid a right hook. The other bodyguard came up on Vamp’s right.

  Windsor backed off towards his Mercedes. “Take care of him.”

  Vamps spun out of the way as another punch sought his face. He moved himself beside the bodyguard on his right and stamped down on the bigger man’s knee, making him scream like a baby and go down clutching himself. The other bodyguard threw himself at Vamps and lifted him off the ground. Vamps drove the point of his elbow into the top of the man’s skull and they both fell to the ground. The bodyguard got the upper position and began raining down blows. Vamps covered up, but was locked in place between the heavy man’s knees.

  What would Mass do in such a position?

  Vamps opened his arms, which caused him to take a few unmet punches. He ignored the rattling of his teeth and reached up to grab his attacker’s head and neck. Then he pulled up his left leg and slid it around behind his attacker’s shoulders. The man struggled to straighten up so he could rain down more blows, but Vamps held the back of his neck with both hands and snaked his left leg around enough to clamp down on it with his right. Now, between his thighs, he had the man’s head, neck, and left arm trapped.

  Vamps squeezed his thighs together with all his strength.

  The bodyguard pawed at him with his trapped arm and beat at his ribs with the other. His face reddened. Spittle escaped his mouth. He fought, struggled, tried to stand.

  Then his body went limp.

  Vamps held the triangle choke in place for a few more seconds, making sure the man was truly unconscious, then let go and pushed the chump aside. Mass would have been proud.

  John Windsor aimed a revolver at Vamp’s ch
est and cocked the hammer. “I think you’ve had enough fun. Time for you to fall in line.”

  Vamps rolled aside just as Windsor pulled the trigger. A chunk of road leapt up into the air, and so did Vamps, pouncing at the PM and knocking the revolver aside. Another gunshot went off, but he ignored it and head-butted the Prime Minister. Blood exploded across the man’s cragged face and stained his thick moustache.

  “You thug!”

  “Fuck you, you blue-blood motherfucker.” Vamps grabbed Windsor’s throat and squeezed.

  “ENOUGH!”

  The bellow shook the ground and distracted Vamps enough for Windsor to bring up a knee into his groin. Agony exploded in his pelvis, and he doubled over, the ground rising to meet him. There he lay, looking back towards the gate.

  Lord Amon held Ginge in his hand, twenty feet above the road. Ginge struggled and beat at the massive hand around his waist, but it was clear he could not breathe.

  Mass had been beaten down and lay bleeding on the pavement, a burnt man standing over him. A gunshot rang out somewhere.

  It was over.

  Vamps struggled to catch his breath as his testicles buzzed with agony. He reached out a hand to the giant holding his friend and begged. “P-please…”

  Lord Amon stared at Vamps and grinned. Then he opened his hand and let Gingerbread fall.

  Vamps cried out, wishing to defy gravity with pure willpower. Ginge’s body shattered against the road, then Lord Amon lifted his foot and stepped on him.

  Vamps screamed in a mixture of rage and grief. The pain in his heart was so intense that he was almost unaware of hands grasping him and pulling him to his feet. He was shoved back towards the gate where he was met by a bloody Mass.

  Despite his condition, Mass was grinning. “I took out nearly a dozen, buster. Not a bad last stand.”

  Vamps bit down on his grief to give his one remaining friend a response. “Is that all, you pussy? I stuck the nut on the Prime Minister.”

  “Quiet, both of you,” said the demon with dreadlocks who had helped capture them. “Your bodies will be given to dogs to copulate with.”

  Mass laughed. “Haven’t you heard, mate? All dogs go to Heaven.”

  The demon walloped Mass across the face. He shook it off, but remained silent. Vamps looked at him and exchanged a glance of understanding. Neither would beg for life. Both would die with their balls intact.

  “Resume duty and have the deed done,” Lord Amon demanded.

  “And make it hurt,” the Prime Minister added.

  “Prime Minister?” A group of suited bodyguards appeared from a side road. With them was Pusher, both his eyes blackened and swollen. He limped along with his hands cable-tied together. The flesh of his cheeks beneath the bruising was pale.

  Windsor grinned ear to ear. “Ah, another escapee from the cages. Wonderful. You see, Lord Amon? I may have run into a complication or two, but I deliver in the end.”

  Lord Amon stood impassively, staring down at the Prime Minister with little interest. “Late result, poor result. Your noise irritates.”

  Windsor cleared his throat, spat a mouthful of blood caused by his broken nose, and stepped back submissively. He nodded to the bodyguards holding Pusher. “Get him in line with the other two. Sooner we show these people what happens to trouble-makers, the better.”

  They shoved Pusher into line beside Vamps, who sneered at the man who had left Ginge to the wolves. “Fuckin’ backstabber.”

  “I have a son to think about. I left him with my sister, and she spends most her time on smack. I need to get back—”

  “Don’t pretend you have honour,” said Mass. “Our friend is dead because you used him to escape. We live through this, I’m gunna kill you.”

  Pusher ignored Mass and waved his hand to get Windsor’s attention. “Prime Minister. It was me who helped you capture these two and their friend. I’m on board with what you got going. Just let me go, and I’m your man for life, yo. I swear down.”

  Windsor glanced nervously up at Lord Amon, but then strode up beside Pusher. “Why would I want an untrustworthy snake in my midst? One who is mortally injured, no less.”

  Vamps glanced down and noticed for the first time that Pusher was badly hurt. The back of his shirt bloomed with blood, and it leaked down the back of his jeans in a steady trickle. The front of his shirt was clean. If one of the Prime Minister’s men had shot him, the bullet had not passed through. Vamps was pretty sure that was bad.

  “I’ll be okay,” said Pusher. “I eat bullets for breakfast.”

  “We cannot take a dying man,” said the dreadlocked demon. “Our brothers need living vessels. Dispose of him.”

  Windsor looked Pusher in the eye. “Any last words?”

  Pusher slumped to his knees. “I’ll do anything. Please…”

  “You shame yourself.” Windsor raised the revolver he had pointed at Vamps and pulled back the hammer.

  Pusher wept.

  Vamps looked at the drug-dealing scumbag and actually felt pity. Pusher was just living by the rules of the street. The city made him, not something deeply embedded like the abominations coming through the gates. Windsor was doing what all men in power did—playing with the lives of the vulnerable for his own gain.

  Windsor closed one eye and aimed. His finger tensed against the trigger.

  “Please,” Pusher begged.

  Vamps placed his foot against Pusher and kicked out.

  Windsor pulled the trigger. Pusher fell aside just in time, and the bullet flew out of Windsor’s gun and hit the ground. As the Prime Minister cursed, he adjusted his aim at Vamps, but Mass rammed a shoulder into the PM and knocked him to the ground. The smoking revolver fell from his hand and bounced off the curb.

  Vamps kicked out and caught the PM beneath the chin. A tooth flew into the air like an escaping fairy.

  The demons closed in once more as Mass tumbled to the ground with the dreadlocked demon. Vamps focused his attention on the PM, but Windsor scuttled backwards behind a wall of demons ready to protect him as if he were one of their own. Vamps cursed the man, but knew he’d wasted yet another chance to end the maggot.

  Pusher climbed to his feet, still weak and bleeding. He held out a hand to Vamps. “You saved me, blud. I dodged a bullet because of you. We need to get the hell out of here, or I’ll never get to repay the favour.”

  Vamps felt the gate at his back, its surface shimmering and popping like hot soup. He saw the light reflecting in Pusher’s eyes. Their hands met and the two of them shook hands for the first time. “I wasn’t about to stand around and let that crooked fuck kill you,” said Vamps. “Not when I wanted to end you myself.”

  Vamps yanked Pusher’s hand and threw him towards the gate. Fear sparked in his eyes as he stumbled into the shifting net of colour and disappeared. He’d not even had time to scream, devoured by the gate like a stone falling into a pond.

  Silence filled the air, as if all sound had been sucked into some far away funnel. Then the gate emitted a high-pitched whine. The lens shimmered wildly, the colours growing angry in hue—reds, blacks, and purples.

  Mass grabbed Vamps and shoved him away. “I think you broke it!”

  The two of them ran, shouting for anyone still living to do the same. For once, the crowd of captives listened and got up from the floor to run. The demons, however, stood around in stunned confusion, watching the gate fearfully.

  They were terrified.

  The high-pitched whining grew louder. The upper windows of the Selfridges building shattered and rained upon the street. Lord Amon bellowed, then turned and ran at great speed. Vamps enjoyed watching the giant run in terror, but his main thoughts were on getting away himself.

  The gate exploded, bathing the whole of Central London in its furious glow.

  Hernandez

  Hernandez held Cuervo across his lap, stroking her damp hair. Her bloody scalp had matted, yet the sea clung to their skin with every spray of every wave and kept them wet. She had not
spoken in more than an hour, and in the three preceding, had only mumbled incoherently. The young officer had followed Hernandez loyally and been rewarded with betrayal. He would see her wounds healed with willpower alone if he could.

  He had always assumed his death would be upon the oceans, it was a noble, traditional death in a way, but to be marooned in the abyss like a Caribbean pirate… Dehydration would set in eventually—the salt water around him a cruel mockery—and then he would lose his mind. By the time he died he would have no idea who he was. Everything he had been would be a fever dream. He wondered about his ma, and if she was still alive. She would never see him again either way. Fury filled his veins. At his mutinous crew, yes, but more so in another direction. Granger.

  Hernandez’s downfall had begun the moment that lowly Coast Guard captain undermined him. It had forced him to enact strict rule or lose immediate control to that smug toad, Danza. Trying to win over the crew after his encounter with the Hatchet had been a losing task. Granger had sabotaged Hernandez’s legacy. The Augusta was rightfully his after Johnson’s death, but he had lost it.

  Oh, how he would love to wrap his hands around Granger’s neck. If his boat had sails, he would find wind and seek the man out. England, he said. Going to England to find his kids. When the man’s country burns, he seeks only to fulfill his own needs.

  The sun began to peek above the horizon, and told him he was facing east. If there was a God, he was taking Hernandez towards his desires. As if to confirm it, a beacon lit up a small patch of the retreating darkness.

  A boat.

  Hernandez shook Cuervo in his arms. “Wake up. We’re saved. Wake up, Cuervo.”

  The woman remained still in his arms. And cold. When had she grown so cold?

  “Cuervo?” Gently, he rolled her over in his arms and gazed into her face. All life had left her. It pained him that he was unsure exactly when it had happened. A woman died in his arms, and he hadn't noticed.