Wasteland in Red Square (Hell Gate Book 2)

by Josh Matthews

  The train whistle blew for three seconds.

  “We need to get going,” said Jason. He lingered behind as the others paid their final respects and made their way to the command car. Lucifer and Lilith remained by his side.

  Jeanette also stayed back, waiting until the others were out of earshot. She reached out and took his hand. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Jason lied.

  “It’s Sasha, isn’t it?”

  “It’s Sasha. It’s Neal. It’s Werner. It’s everyone who died out here.” Jason stepped away from the grave markers. His voice grew quiet and depressed. “And it’s everyone who is going to die before we’re through.”

  Jeanette faced Jason, taking both of his hands. The eyes that locked on him were filled with love and compassion. “Like you said earlier, what we did here was the right thing to do.”

  The train whistle blew again, this time three long blasts. Jason and Jeanette headed back to the train, with Lucifer and Lilith rushing ahead of them. Svetlana stood in the cabin of the armored engine. She waved to the couple as they climbed on board.

  As they entered the command car, Jeanette asked, “Do you want company?”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather be alone for a while.”

  “I understand.” Jeanette clapped her hands to get Lucifer’s and Lilith’s attention. “Come with me.”

  The three made their way to the front of the command car where the others had gathered.

  A minute later, the train lurched forward. The engine slowly gained speed.As it passed the junction, Jason lifted the binoculars to his eyes and studied the wreckage of the first engine for the final time. If Jason succeeded in what he set out to do, then maybe someday this location, like the ruins of Notre Dame and Red Square, would become a memorial to those who sacrificed their lives to close the portals and rid the world of the Hell Spawn. Deep down he knew that would not happen. Future generations would repair their cities without giving a second thought to the Hell Gaters or the Purgatoriati, and would go about their lives without showing any concern for what might have been. At some point in time, the spur line would be cleared so rail traffic could travel to Irkutsk. Maybe the engine would be placed on the side of the tracks to commemorate what had happened, or be erected as a monument in a nearby city. In reality, he knew it would most likely be sold as scrap metal. Everything the Hell Gaters and the Purgatoriati did here, and all the sacrifices made, would one day be forgotten by all but a select few.

  Jason placed the binoculars back on their hook and joined the others.

  The train headed south along the main line of the Tran-Siberian Railroad. The next stop would be China.

  A THANK YOU TO MY READERS

  This is a tradition I began with Hell Gate and liked it enough to continue with it in the sequel. It’s unusual for writers to thank their fans for reading their book, but this is a heartfelt appreciation. The publishing industry has changed dramatically over the past ten years, and there are now thousands of young adult post-apocalypse novels on the market for readers to choose. I appreciate the fact that you took a chance on Wasteland in Red Square: Book Two of theHell Gate Saga. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.

  If you liked Wasteland in Red Square, please tell your friends about the book, and review it on Amazon. The review does not have to be long—just a rating and a sentence or two about why you enjoyed it. The more reviews Wasteland in Red Square receives, the more opportunity other readers have of discovering the book. If you haven’t read yet Hell Gate, the first book in the series, it’s still available on Amazon and for Kindle.

  The Hell Gate saga will continue. Future books will take the Hell Gaters to Asia and the United States, and eventually into Hell itself. The locations they will visit will be more exotic. The people they encounter will be more colorful and, in some cases, will pose as much of a threat as the Hell Spawn. And the demons they face will be more fierce and terrifying. I can’t promise that your favorite characters will survive, but I can promise action, thrills, and surprises.

  Please check out my blog Hell Gate Saga (http://hellgatesaga.blogspot.com/) and my Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/HellGateSaga/) and Twitter (https://twitter.com/HellGateSaga) accounts for the latest information on the next books in the series, upcoming events I will be attending, and other fun stuff. You can also send me an email directly at jossmatthews@outlook.com. I look forward to chatting with you.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Writing is very solitary and lonely. Getting a book published, on the other hand, is a complicated process involving many people, all of whom deserve to be recognized.

  I want to express my deepest gratitude for the staff at Burning Willow Press who are as excited about the Hell Gate saga as I am. Edd and Kindra Sowder, BWP’s owners and co-founders, and I have worked together closely to make this project a reality and we’re excited to continue the series until its conclusion. I want to express my appreciation to Michele Thompson for her excellent editorial skills, and for catching those things I missed in the original draft. Her efforts helped make Hell Gate a success, and she has done an equally fantastic job on the sequel. Loraine Van Tonder, owner of Ryn Katryn Designs, crafted the artwork for Hell Gate and graciously agreed to create the cover for Wasteland in Red Square, which is more epic than the original. And I would be remiss without mentioning Lori Michelle for making this novel ready for print.

  Finally, a major debt of thanks goes to my family, human and furry. We recently moved into a new house in New England, and everyone is trying to get used to the new environment. My new study is in the basement. My Boxers stand at the top of the stairs whimpering for me to come up and spend time with them, and my cats spend more time walking across my keyboard than I do typing on it. Sometimes it’s hard to maintain my writing discipline. However, my family gives me the time I need to write and never holds my self-imposed isolation against me. I couldn’t do this without their love and support.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Josh Matthews lives just outside of Concord, New Hampshire with his wife, teenage daughter, and four lovable but exasperating pets. Josh used to work for the U.S. Government where he had the opportunity to travel around the world and be exposed to numerous cultures, many of which appear in the Hell Gate saga. He has always been a fan of horror novels and monster movies, and sees the Hell Gate saga as his way to share that love with a new generation of fans.

  ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

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  If you enjoyed this book and would like to know when we release more like it please sign up for our newsletter on our website at www.burningwillowpressllc.com

  Additionally, if you enjoyed the story or even if you did not, we—the author and the publisher—wish for you to leave a review on Amazon/Goodreads. The number of reviews that an author receives helps them continue to write every day to produce more works like this one and more. It does not matter how long or short. We certainly appreciate this and hope to read it with others like it.

  RISE OF THE SATANERS:

  BOOK THREE OF THE HELL GATE SAGA

  Chapter One

  A small village twenty-five miles north of Changchun, Jilin Province, China

  The day after the closure of the Hell Gate in Siberia

  Little Ah remembered the times before the renlei de jieshu. Being only five years old she did not recall much, only the important things like watching television, playing with her toys, meeting her friends in pre-school, sleeping in a warm bed, and always having enough to eat. It had been over a year since the electricity went out, and ten months since her parents had abandoned their apartment in Changchun and headed into the country in search of food. By now, Ah had grown accustomed to sleeping on the ground under a worn and dirty blanket, living inside of a tent that only partially kept out the rain and the cold, and eating
whatever scraps the villagers could scrounge up that day. She did not enjoy her new life; she had only gotten used to it. She missed her favorite cartoons, her soft mattress, and hot meals at the table with her family. Most of all, she missed those times when her parents were happy. Although Ah’s mother remained cheerful during the day, at night she cried when she thought her daughter had fallen asleep. Her father was the same way, always smiling and rubbing her hair, telling her things might be bad now but would soon improve. Ah grinned and nodded to make her father feel good, but deep down she knew things would not get better. She could see the fear and worry in his eyes, and decided to make the best of the situation and not upset her parents. Her old life was gone and would never return.

  Ah pulled the smelly blanket under her chin and rested her head on the backpack she used as a pillow. She had kept only one connection to those happier, earlier times—Ling Ling, a stuffed panda, the only possession her parents allowed her to bring when they left home. Ling Ling had seen better days. One of her eyes had fallen out, and the white fur had become so dirty it blended with the black. For Ah, the stuffed panda was priceless because it comforted her through the uncertainty. She confided in it when she did not want to bother her mother or father. She cried on it when she was sad, or clutched it tight when afraid, both of which happened much more frequently than she cared to admit. Ah kissed the top of Ling Ling’s head before going to sleep. She would rather die than leave her panda behind.

  A loud commotion outside the tent woke up Ah. She sat upright, clutching the stuffed animal to her chest. Yelling came from around the camp site, and people raced back and forth. In the distance, she heard galloping horses, the noise becoming more intense with each passing second. Someone barked an order about defending the perimeter. Gun fire erupted. It lasted for several minutes and mixed with screams. Then, as suddenly as the uproar began, everything went quiet except for the sound of running footsteps approaching the tent. Ah tried to remain brave, but her body shivered from fear.

  The flap flew aside as Ah’s mother raced into the tent and rushed over to her daughter. “We have to get going.”

  “Where?”

  “Don’t ask questions.” Her mother’s voice wavered. She grabbed Ah by her left wrist and yanked her toward the exit. Ah dropped Ling Ling. Breaking free from her mother, the child ran back and picked up the stuffed panda.

  “Hurry up,” her mother snapped.

  Ah hugged Ling Ling and joined her mother. Before they could exit, a man carrying a large gun used the barrel to push aside the flap and enter. He wore a uniform that Ah recognized as belonging to the People’s Liberation Army, or PLA. Her mother gasped and stepped backward, dragging Ah with her. She wrapped her arms around her daughter and cried. “Please don’t hurt us.”

  The soldier stared at them, his face expressionless. Turning his head, he waved for someone to join them. Ah’s mother gripped her tightly and sobbed.

  A young woman entered the tent. She wore civilian clothes—leather pants, a white shirt, and a tan leather jacket, none of which were soiled or tattered. Her raven black hair hung past her shoulders, clean and well groomed. She stood five and a half feet in height and, although by no means overweight, she did not have that emaciated appearance the others in camp did. Her deep brown eyes switched between Ah and her mother. After a few seconds, the woman smiled. “My name is Mei. Please, don’t be afraid. We’re here to help you.”

  “You shot at us,” growled Ah’s mother.

  “Your people shot first.” Mei’s pleasant demeanor did not falter. “We only defended ourselves. Now please, gather your belongings and follow me.”

  “Suppose we want to stay here?”

  “I’m sorry. We can’t allow anyone to stay behind.”

  When Ah’s mother refused to budge, Mei moved across the tent and squatted in front of the child. “What’s your name?”

  “Ah.” She hugged the stuffed panda.

  “That’s a beautiful name.” Mei reached toward Ah. Her mother held her close, but Mei showed no interest in the child. She petted the panda’s head. “What’s her name?”

  “Ling Ling.”

  “Do you trust me, Ah? Do you think I intend to hurt you or your mother?”

  For some reason, Ah did not feel threatened by this woman. Maybe it was Mei’s joyful expression, or maybe the glint in her eyes that promised her intentions were in everyone’s best interest. Ah swallowed hard. “I trust you.”

  “Good.” Mei grinned. “Do you and Ling Ling want to come with me?”

  Ah glanced up at her mother. “Can we go with her?”

  Her mother trembled and, for a moment, Ah thought she might cry. Finally, she gave in to the inevitable. “Promise me you won’t harm Ah.”

  “I promise,” Mei said with sincerity.

  Taking Ah by the right hand, her mother headed for the exit. Mei and the PLA soldier moved aside, each holding up one end of the flap. Once outside, the two women followed Mei to a clearing on the western perimeter. Most of the people from the camp were present, while a group of people she did not know, each carrying a gun, stood behind and on either side of them. Ah searched for her father, but could not find him. She wondered if he was one of the bodies lying scattered around the field. Before she could ask her mother, something in front of them caught her attention.

  Three horses approached camp, one in front and two slightly behind and on either side. The figures riding the rearmost horses wore black cowls that covered their hands and extended below the stirrups. They bowed forward in their saddles so that the hoods draped over their faces and hands. The rider of the lead horse wore a similar cowl, only blood red. Thirty feet from the group, the last two horses stopped. The animals shook their heads and stamped their hoofs; the drivers remained motionless, as if there they were not alive. The first horse continued ahead and stopped directly in front of Ah. As the rider dismounted and approached, Ah tried to get a look under the cowl, but the features remained hidden in the shadows. Mei spoke loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Bai, the head of our group. She will lead you to the Promised Land. All you have to do is trust her, like we do.”

  A flurry of questions followed Mei’s statement as those in the group asked at once where they were going, how long it would take, and what they could expect when they arrived. Mei calmed them down when Ah asked, “Are you going to hurt us?”

  “We’re going to save you.”

  “Save us from what?” asked Ah’s mother.

  “From all of this.” Mei gestured toward the camp site. “We’re going to save you from discomfort and starvation, and from the Xionghu. The world as you once knew it has come to an end. Things will never return to what they used to be. We’re creating a new way of life, and are giving you the opportunity to join us and make this world a better place. You can stay here if you want, cuddling in fear and living like vermin. Or you can come with us and have a purpose.”

  Ah stepped forward. “Is Ling Ling invited to join?”

  Mei began to speak, but Bai raised her right hand, cutting her off. Ah caught a glimpse of Bai’s fingers and shuddered. She wanted to run away. Then Bai spoke, her voice soft and reassuring, mesmerizing yet unsettling at the same time. “Who is Ling Ling, my child?”

  Ah held up he stuffed panda.

  Bai reached out and rubbed her forefinger along Ah’s cheek. This time the child did not flinch. “Everyone is welcome into this new realm.”

  Ah grinned and hugged her panda.

  Bai remounted her horse, turned it around, and headed back the way she had come. As she passed, the other two horses fell in line behind her. Mei motioned for the others to follow. Ah surged forward, dragging along her mother. One by one, the others followed until the entire camp was on the march toward their new destiny.