The Gates: An Apocalyptic Novel

by Iain Rob Wright

  “It’s stored on my phone, but the teachers made us leave our phones in the hotel.”

  “Unfortunate,” said David. “Where are you children from again?”

  “Nebraska, originally, but our mom moved us to Maine. It’s where Stephen King lives.”

  “Yes, I’m aware. What about your father?”

  “He lives on a boat.” Kyle said it contemptuously. “Don’t see him much.”

  “He’s a United States Coast Guard,” Alice added. “He rescues people.”

  “Wow,” said Mina. “I wish my daddy did something cool like that. My daddy runs a chip shop.”

  Alice frowned. “What’s a chip shop?”

  “It’s where they sell English French fries,” Kyle told her knowingly.

  Mina smiled. “That’s right.”

  “Can we have some?” Alice asked.

  “Sure we c-”

  David put a hand up to halt the conversation. “Oh, yes! Oh, bloody well thank the stars. We’re saved.”

  Mina put her arms around each of the children and squeezed them tight as they all saw what lay ahead of them.

  “Soldiers,” cried David. “It’s the British bloody Army.”

  Hyde Park was covered in a vast collection of military jeeps and trucks. Soldiers milled about like ants, and were setting up sandbag walls, or mounting scary-looking machine guns on tripods. Mina noticed other survivors wandering into the park from every direction, spilling out of side streets or stumbling out of nearby buildings. From out in the open, it was clear that London was burning, but this large area of grass and water had been spared. People were being rescued. This was salvation.

  A squad of soldiers spotted Mina’s group and immediately approached. The lead soldier’s name patch read: MARTIN. “Identify yourselves,” he barked.

  David spoke on their behalf. “My name is David Davids, journalist for the Slough Echo. This is my photographer, Mina Magar. These children were unfortunate enough to be on a school trip from America. We picked them up on our travels.”

  “I’m Corporal Martin, good to meet you.” The soldier looked at the two children and seemed sympathetic. “Your parents are back in America?”

  They both nodded.

  “Sorry to hear that. We’ll try to contact them for you.” He focused on Alice and said, “You’re lucky you had your big brother watching out for you.”

  Kyle wrapped his arm around his little sister and stood proudly.

  “Have you got everything under control?” Mina asked the soldier, nodding to the large military force spread out over the park.

  Martin shook his head. “Not even close. The Army deployed in three sections of the city, but we all took a hammering. Orders came through to fall back either here or at Greenwich Park. We’re concentrating on getting civilians out of the city. You’re lucky you found us.”

  “We need to get to Slough,” said David.

  “No can do. We’re choppering people out to Cambridge. They’re setting up a refugee camp there, but it’s not safe to go north or east.”

  “Why not?” Mina asked.

  “Because London isn’t the only place hit. Birmingham and Manchester are both under attack too, and so are Southampton, Swindon, Plymouth, and a shit-tonne of other places. The enemy are coming at us from all sides.”

  “Do we know what they are?”

  “Not a clue. Some of the men have been calling them demons; said those glowing gates lead straight to Hell.”

  Mina caught David glancing at her, but she asked another question, “Where have all the demons in London gone?”

  Martin shrugged. “We made a dent in their numbers when we caught them out in the open at Regent’s Park. Choppers made a real mess of ‘em at first, but then they took rifles off our dead squaddies and aimed them up at the sky. The RAF pulled out and left us to look after ourselves. Typical Crabs.”

  Alice tilted her head. “Crabs?”

  Martin smiled at her kindly. “Yeah, sweetheart, the RAF pilots. Ask ‘em to lend a hand and they crawl off sideways. That’s why we call ‘em Crabs.”

  Alice frowned and remained confused.

  “Where are the demons now?” Mina asked.

  “North of the city. The enemy army in Birmingham is heading south—they took a battering as well—so we think they might plan to merge their forces. More of those creatures are pouring through the gates every minute, so we’re doing our best to secure each one.”

  “So we’re getting a handle on it?” asked David hopefully.

  “Huh, hardly. We gave ‘em a good seein’ to, admittedly, but they outnumber our forces fifty-to-one. Eventually, we’ll run out of weapons and men—most of our veterans are overseas and we’ve had to call in the reserves. This ain’t like bombing a bunch of Afghans. These are our own cities, full of civilians. The only way we can fight back is by putting boots on the ground—but that’s not something we can do indefinitely. People need to join the fight.”

  David frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you civvies will have to start diggin’ in instead of running and hiding. The only way we’ll win this war is by matching the enemy’s numbers. Everyone needs to get involved in this one, but the TV and radio are warning them all to stay in their homes. Not my call, but if you ask me, that will be our downfall. The Armed Forces can’t win this war on its own.”

  “We’re reporters,” said Mina. “We can tell people to fight back.”

  David scoffed. “Against an army of demons, Mina? Really?”

  Corporal Martin shot David a glance. “Either that or we all die, pal. Simple choice when you think about it. Come on into the camp. There’ll be a chopper heading out in an hour or so.”

  “To Cambridge though,” said Mina. “If you want us to tell people to fight, we need to get to our offices in Slough.”

  “No can do. The CO has already been begging the Press to rally the public, but they’re getting their orders straight from the PM—wherever that cowardly bugger is hiding. The Government is trying to keep everyone out of harm’s way—I understand where they are coming from— but they don’t understand that they’re dooming us all.”

  “We’re from an independent paper,” said David. “We don’t have politicians pulling our strings. We can report the truth.”

  “At a piddling paper in Slough. Ha!”

  Mina tried to get the soldier to see sense. “It’s a start, isn’t it? We have a website. Who knows who might read it? We say the right things and word will spread. What other chance is there?”

  Martin rubbed at his chin and thought about it. “Okay,” he eventually said. “I can’t redirect a chopper for you, but I can spare a couple men and a jeep to get you out of the city. Slough isn’t too far to take the risk, I suppose. If you can get some civvies to fight, I can hardly say no.”

  Mina and David looked at each other and smiled. They were finally getting the hell out of this city.

  ~GUY GRANGER~

  Norfolk, Virginia

  Sound carried well across the dawn waves, which was why the Hatchet’s crew heard Norfolk Naval Station long before they saw it. The report of gunfire and explosions was an omen none of them appreciated, and when they came within visual distance, they encountered the largest collection of military and Coast Guard vessels any of them had ever witnessed. Frigates and cutters floated alongside monolithic destroyers and sleek gunships. Guy even spotted an aircraft carrier he was certain was the USS New Hampshire, not even due to be finished for another eight months. Completing the fleet were several dozen littoral combat ships and patrol boats—quick and agile craft with small crews. It was a veritable invasion force, but the battlefield had come to them.

  All the ships in dock were playing host to enemy forces—those same burned creatures that had attacked New York. They were also under attack by a second army of animalistic creatures with deadly talons. Guy watched a massive group of them tear right through the crew of a Hazard Perry class frigate, like termites through a
table leg.

  Unlike the attack on New York, this latest enemy had a clear leader. The giant beast towered above the docks and looked like a man, but it had the twisted spines of broken wings on its back. A loincloth covered its waist, but it was otherwise naked. Long golden hair fell across its muscular shoulders.

  An angel acting like a beast.

  The giant was so strong that it lifted a petrol tanker parked on the docks and hurled it. The metal cylinder collided with the decks of the USS New Hampshire and conflagrated. Burning sailors scattered across the decks while a scorched hole appeared in the aircraft carrier’s runway. A helicopter tilted over on its side and fell into the water.

  “It’s a massacre,” said Tosco, standing beside Guy in the pilothouse.

  Guy kept the binoculars pressed against his eyes. “They must have somehow known the Navy was assembling here.”

  Frank’s eyes went wide. “You mean they hit us strategically?”

  “Maybe it’s a coincidence,” said Tosco. “There could be a gate nearby. We need a confirmed list so we know where’s safe and where’s not.”

  It was a good idea so Guy nodded. “Lieutenant, can you focus on that going forward? Every time we get intel, or an enlisted man calls home and finds out about an attack, make a note of it and stick it on the map.”

  “Roger that, but what do we do right now though? Should we retreat?”

  Guy studied the battlefield and considered turning around and leaving, but ended up shaking his head. “I think it’s time for us to start acting like heroes. Get the big gun ready, Frank. Tosco, get men on the MGs.”

  Tosco left the pilothouse while Frank passed orders to the ship’s gunner, Petty Officer 3rd Class Carrie Bentley. The woman got to work, flipping switches and inputting commands at a rate Guy himself could never hope to match.

  “Main gun online,” she said after a few moments. “Give me a target and it’s gone, sir.”

  Guy looked through the binoculars and tried to figure out where best to strike. The problem was that the battlefield was a melee; man fought monster at close quarters. There were few places to hit that would not result in casualties on both sides.

  Then he saw his opportunity.

  “Hit the big son-of-a-bitch.”

  Bentley looked at Guy. “Just to confirm, Captain, you’re asking me to target that giant, winged, can’t possibly exist, son-of-a-bitch we’re all looking at right now but can’t quite believe?”

  “That’s the one, sailor.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Guy stood behind Frank with a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Take us in closer, Chief Petty, but not so close that we can get hit with anything that son-of-a-bitch throws.”

  The Hatchet forged ahead, all those standing in the pilothouse enraptured by what they were seeing. All those on the decks were busy as bees as they readied weapons and prepared to fight. Every ship lying in Norfolk’s dock was a war zone, with men being torn apart in their dozens as they ran out of ammo and could not reload quick enough. The ships lucky enough to be at sea were relatively safe from the fighting—some were even leaving—but the enemy snatched assault rifles from dead sailors and fired at them. Anyone not smart enough to be in cover ran the risk of being peppered with 5.6mm NATO rounds. The enemy were smart.

  It was a massacre.

  The giant son-of-a-bitch bellowed and grunted his commands, directing his creatures like a medieval general. The monsters spread out over the docks like vermin, devouring everything in their path.

  “I have the target locked, Captain,” Bentley informed him.

  “Fire when ready, sailor.”

  The ship rocked, and an explosion followed. The shell was too fast to see in flight, but when it hit the son-of-a-bitch in the chest, everyone in the pilothouse cheered. Staggering backwards, the giant was stunned and off balance. A scorch mark on its chest released tendrils of smoke.

  Bentley turned in her seat and grinned. “Hit confirmed, sir.”

  “Good work, Bentley.”

  The giant roared. It had not toppled, and was in no way beaten.

  “Fire again, sailor.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Bentley let off another shot.

  Another direct hit.

  Once again, the shell struck the giant squarely in the centre of its chest. This time, it dropped to one knee, but it was straight back up again, glancing around until it spotted the Hatchet and understood from where the shell had fired. It pointed its massive hand and bellowed.

  “Sir, I think we pissed the target off,” came Bentley. “Permission to shit my pants?”

  “Permission granted.”

  The giant stomped towards the docks; as it picked up speed, it glared across the sea at the Hatchet.

  “It’ll never reach us,” Frank muttered. “We’re a half-mile out.”

  Guy grunted into his radio. “Tosco, open up the MGs.”

  “Roger that.”

  There was an almighty rat-a-tat-tat as the Hatchet’s two side-mounted machine guns unleashed on their target. The giant roared and swiped at the air as if surrounded by flies. It staggered again, but still did not go down, nor did it even bleed.

  Frank had grown pale. “Its flesh must be made of iron.”

  Guy crossed his arms, narrowed his eyes. “Fire again, Bentley. Take its goddamn head off.”

  Bentley loaded up another shell and let rip. The impact knocked the target’s head back with such force that Guy actually winced. The giant toppled backwards and fell to the ground, crushing its own minions beneath it.

  The Hatchet’s crew cheered and whooped.

  “Eat that!” Bentley shouted in victory.

  “Good work,” said Guy, patting her on the back.

  Then the giant leapt back up to its feet, so angry that it kicked a group of its own creatures up into the air like a petulant child kicking toy soldiers.

  Guy swallowed a mouthful of dread. “We can’t kill this thing.”

  “It can’t reach us,” Frank said again.

  Silence descended over the pilothouse.

  The giant sprinted for the edge of the docks. There was nowhere to go as the ground ahead disappeared and the water neared, but it did not slow down. When it reached the end of the dock, it launched itself into the air and came down right on top of the damaged runway of the USS New Hampshire. It sprinted down the entire length, knocking aside wounded sailors and stomping on inert aircraft. Then it leapt onto a nearby frigate. The smaller ship lurched, tilted, but stayed afloat. The giant kept on running.

  “Get us out of here,” Guy barked. “Full-turn-one-eighty, now!”

  Frank took the controls, hustling men out the way. The ship vibrated as the engines went to max output. Everyone on board held on to whatever was bolted down.

  The giant leapt from the frigate to a smaller patrol boat that couldn’t bear its weight, so it leapt to another frigate. It would be right on top of the Hatchet soon, a clear causeway of Navy vessels all the way.

  The horizon panned through the pilothouse window as the Hatchet turned to port full speed. No large ship could quickly perform a one-eighty, but Guy was satisfied that his crew was doing it as fast as possible.

  But they were not going to make it.

  The giant continued leaping from ship to ship, getting closer and closer. It would be on them any second, landing right on their decks and sinking them.

  Guy had to do something. “Bentley, load another shell.”

  “And fire?”

  “Not until I give the command. Just keep a lock on the target.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  The Hatchet carried on turning.

  The giant kept on getting closer.

  They were sitting ducks.

  “Sir, if we don’t fire soon, the ship will be pointing in the wrong direction, and I won’t be able to hit the target.”

  “Just hold, Bentley.”

  “But sir…”

  “Hold!”

  Seve
ral ships sank as they bore the giant’s weight. Another ten seconds and the son-of-a-bitch would reach the Hatchet and sink it just the same.

  “Sir, I must fire now.”

  “No, Bentley, hold.”

  There was a tense silence. The men in the pilothouse clenched their fists and waited for the captain’s orders.

  The giant let out an almighty roar as it launched itself from the final stepping-stone, aiming itself right at the Hatchet’s launch deck.

  Guy threw out his fist. “Fire!”

  Bentley launched the shell.

  It hit the target in the middle of its chest and spun it in mid-air. The force of the blow had altered the giant’s trajectory and sent it tumbling into the ocean instead of onto the rear deck of the Hatchet.

  Guy turned to Frank. “Cease turn, full engines fore.”

  The Hatchet sped away.

  The giant broke the surface of the water and roared, but it would never swim fast enough to catch them now, they were headed in a straight line. They left Norfolk Naval Station ablaze behind them, a hundred ships sinking to their doom.

  “Where to next?” Frank asked once they had some breathing room. The crow’s feet at the edge of his eyes had extended.

  “How are we doing for fuel?” Guy asked.

  “Almost empty. We can go about another six-hundred miles.”

  “We need to fill her up. Whatever happens we’ll need to be on the move. I won’t risk a situation where we need to get somewhere in a hurry and can’t.”

  “There’re refuelling facilities at Norfolk, Captain, but I guess that’s out.”

  “Head down to Cape Fear, Frank. We’ll refuel there.”

  “Aye. It’ll take a few hours.”

  “Good, it’ll give us all time to come to terms with what’s happening, and for Tosco to make a start on that list. Time to find out the state of our beloved country.”

  “Should we contact Command?”

  Guy considered his last orders from Command, to head to Norfolk, and decided his men’s welfare was better left to him. “No, Frank. Let them contact us.”

  ***

  As Frank had predicted, it took a few hours to reach Cape Fear, but the region on the eastern coast of North Carolina was as green and pleasant as ever. The civilian refugees took to the ship’s railings to look out at the beauty, and it was obvious that for some, their worries were momentarily forgotten.