The Gates: An Apocalyptic Novel

by Iain Rob Wright

  “Then I have work to do.” Andras came forward again, but stopped when the door to the office opened.

  “David?” came a meek little voice.

  David’s heart leapt into his chest when he saw Alice standing there. “Alice, get out of here, now!”

  “But Carol is looking for—”

  Alice screamed.

  Andras grabbed her around the throat and held her in front of him. “Just what I needed,” he said. “I can use her guts to make a spell and get me back to where I belong.”

  “Let her go,” David warned.

  “I don’t think I will. In fact, I think I’ll let you watch with your one good eye, while I twist her head off.”

  “Just let her go!”

  Alice stopped screaming and went completely silent, like she had after her brother died. She looked at David with her lower lip trembling.

  David smiled at her, despite it causing him agony and his ruined face no doubt scaring her. “Don’t you worry about me, sweetheart. Everything is okay.”

  “No,” said Andras. “The time has come for little children to learn about the horrors of the world. There are no heroes, only blood and death.”

  Alice panted, not fear in her eyes, but anger. “Yes, there are heroes.”

  Andras chuckled. “No, there isn’t, child. There are only monsters, like me.”

  “You’re wrong. My brother was hero. His name was Kyle.” She lifted her foot into the air and stomped hard on Andras’s shin. He let go of her and hopped on one foot as his hands went to his injured leg.

  “You little shit!”

  David reached out his hand. “Alice, come to me. Quick!”

  Alice ran to his side, and once she was safe, he sprinted forward and drove the metal tip of his umbrella right into Andras’s open mouth. He shoved the demon backwards, through the main office, and into the reception, driving the umbrella deeper and deeper into his throat as they picked up speed.

  Out the office’s exit. Across the hallway.

  The open stairwell lay just ahead.

  Andras tried to get his balance, but David kept on shoving him back until he struck the safety railing over the stairwell. They had enough speed that Andras went right up over it. He managed to cling on for a moment, but David was the one with all the leverage and grabbed a hold of the demon’s wrist. He glared into his face. “Back to Hell with you.”

  Andras laughed, and actually threw himself backwards. He wanted death, wanted the release that would send him back to his true body. He fell from the second floor and hit the ground below, letting out an endless wail as the air escaped his compressed lungs.

  David turned to find Alice coming out of the office behind him. “Get back to Carol,” he said. “I’ll be right up.”

  Alice nodded and ran up the stairs.

  David headed down to where Andras lay at the bottom, gasping for breath. The demon’s body was twisted and broken, and the pain on his face was a joy to behold for David.

  “Hurts, doesn’t it? I broke my wrist once playing badminton. Ached like buggery for almost two years. I can only imagine what a broken back must feel like. Next time, throw yourself from a little higher up to get the job done.”

  Andras struggled to move, but could barely even lift his neck. “M-maggot.”

  “You’re the one on the ground.”

  “I will-”

  “Yes, yes, I know: You’re going to do unspeakable things to me. I’m terribly frightened, but right now, you’re all but paralysed. I’m thinking, with a little tender loving care, we can keep you alive for some time yet. I’ll make sure you’re right at home. You can have a front row seat, while we help save the world.”

  Andras struggled, but could only flop like a beached salmon. “Let me die.”

  David sneered, ignoring the sharp pains coming from every inch of skin on his face. “Now why would I do that? I’m not a monster.” He stamped on one of Andras’s lifeless legs and broke the shinbone. “Well, maybe just a smidge.”

  He grabbed Andras by the arms and dragged him up the stairs, being as clumsy and careless as he could. By the time Andras reached the top, he was begging for mercy.

  ~RICK BASTION~

  Devonshire, England

  Night fell, and all was quiet. Rick had just dragged the last of the dead demons into the driveway, and had returned to Daniel, who still slept fitfully on the couch. The Fallen Angel was in and out of consciousness, and Rick wasn’t sure he would ever wake up. Daniel was one of the good guys—had all but proved it—and if he died, then Rick would be left alone and clueless.

  He sat down at his piano and placed a glass of water on the lid. The whisky had all been used to make Molotov cocktails, but even if he’d had some left, he would have chosen water.

  He thought about his brother, and Maddy, and Diane. He hoped that they had made it someplace safe, but whether there even was anywhere safe to go was a major question. His laptop had been in the kitchen during his fight with Khallutush and hadn’t made it. Nor did the phone or television work anymore. The power and water were still on, but he expected to lose them eventually too. Whoever was in charge of such things, had probably died or scattered—no blue-collar worker would stick around and do their job while the world ended. Everybody had a family to get to, somewhere. Everyone, that was, except for Rick. His only family was a brother, whom he rarely even liked and would most likely never see again. He didn’t specifically mourn the loss of his brother, but the bond of having somebody close would be missed. Rick was used to loneliness, but he’d never endured what he was feeling now: abandonment. The world had left him. The one thing left in his life that could bring him comfort was his piano—but he only had one hand with which to play. He looked at his crushed fingers and wept, but then he looked at his trembling right hand and realised that he was blessed to be left with anything at all.

  Fingertips of his good hand resting on the keys, Rick held his breath. Always a twinge of excitement before playing the first note, and now was no different, but there was a feeling of trepidation also—he would have to play one-handed for the first time in his life, and wasn’t sure he could do it. A single hand with which to create something living, amidst all of the death. One hand to breathe life to music.

  He started playing.

  House of the Rising Sun.

  He played flawlessly.

  The melody took him away, carried his mind to that ethereal place where all great music comes from.

  “That’s pretty good. Ever think about doing it professionally?”

  Rick’s fingers leapt off the keys and hung in the air. He spun around and saw his brother standing in the living room. “Keith?”

  “Yep. I didn’t think you’d made it.”

  “I kind of didn’t,” said Rick. “What are you doing here?”

  Maddy and Diane walked in and joined Keith. All three of them looked weary and tired.

  “Hi, Rick,” said Maddy. “We came back.”

  Rick didn’t understand. “Why?”

  “Because there’s nowhere to go.” Keith let out a heavy sigh. “We tried to make for the motorway, but there are wrecks everywhere. People are fighting in the streets, and there are still demons all over the place. We’d never make it to the coast. We thought our little battle was special, but it’s happening everywhere.”

  Rick glanced at Maddy. “Your wedding ring?”

  She shrugged. “I thought it was important, but after what I saw out there, I’ve realised that there’s no point holding on to the past. My husband is gone, but I’m still here. There are better ways to honour him than getting myself killed.”

  “We came back here to stay safe behind the gates,” said Keith. “Never expected to find you home.”

  “I never expected visitors.”

  Maddy came over to the piano and hugged him. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Rick.”

  “Likewise. Does anybody have a plan on what to do next?”

  “We managed to get some su
pplies at a corner shop,” Diane answered, “but not much.”

  “We have a few days,” said Maddy. “I just want to rest for now, figure it all out in the morning. Try to find some answers.”

  Rick glanced across at Daniel, still unconscious on the couch. The only answers they could hope to get would likely come from him—one of them—so they should all pray that he made it through. For now, Rick decided to keep Daniel’s secret. Let the poor angel sleep.

  “It’s nice to have company.” Rick waved an arm. “Make yourselves at home.”

  “I’ll put the kettle on,” said Diane, heading towards the kitchen.

  Maddy followed. “I’ll help her.”

  “Excuse the mess,” Rick warned them.

  “Looks like a whirlwind hit this place,” Keith commented as he looked at the broken furniture and bloodstains in the living room.

  “Yeah, it’s been Hell, and I think I lost my hand. Hey, speaking of hands, what’s that in yours?”

  Keith looked down at the slim object in his hand like he’d forgotten he was holding it. “Oh, yeah, well… The garage was still open, and I thought you were…. Well, you know. There were plenty, so hope you don’t mind.”

  Rick stared at the portrait of his face on the album cover in his brother’s hand and frowned. “You took one of my CDs? Why?”

  Keith blushed, shuffled his feet. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. Wanted something to remember you by.”

  “A picture of me with pink hair and a cheesy grin?”

  “A picture from when I was proud of you.”

  “You’ve never been proud of me, Keith.”

  “Yes, I have. Just never wanted to admit it to myself, until now. I’m proud to call you my brother. I think losing Marcy and Max has put things into perspective for me. Family matters. We survived the end of the world together, Rick.”

  “Not yet we haven’t. And you don’t know Marcy and Max are gone. We’ll find a way to get to them.”

  Keith nodded. “Bring it on, I say. Those demons will have to be crazy to mess with a chartered accountant and a fading pop star.”

  “And a paramedic,” shouted Maddy from the kitchen.

  “A barmaid too,” came Diane’s voice.

  Rick and Keith looked at each other and chuckled.

  “Then I guess we have our team,” said Rick. “Now we just need some theme music.” He turned around and placed his fingers over the keys. “Any suggestions?”

  Maddy and Diane came in with the piping hot brews. “Surprise us,” said Maddy.

  Rick thought for a moment, then came upon the perfect song for the situation. He put the electricity in his fingertips to work and started to play. The melody was perfect.

  The Final Countdown.

  ~TONY CROSS~

  Incirlik, Turkey

  Civilisation seeped into view on the horizon, and the featureless browns of the desert started to share the landscape with patches of green and the straight lines of sun-baked concrete. It had taken almost twenty hours of continuous driving, but they had made it across the Turkish border. They found the country in disarray. Word had arrived that Istanbul was under siege, and Ankara, in the North West, was assumed to be next. The Turkish armed forces were everywhere, a disorderly mess that fought side by side with local militia, police, and the bravest civilians. The whole country was ready for war, but no one seemed to know quite what to do.

  Tony and his men ran out of petrol just south of Osmaniye. Seeing the roads clogged with traffic and wrecked vehicles, they headed west on foot, until they found a couple of civilians on scooters. It pained Tony to do it, but he threw the young men to the ground and took their vehicles from them. The four soldiers doubled up on the two bikes and took off as fast as they could, dodging around the crawling traffic whenever they could see a gap. Many of the civilians walked barefooted, climbing up buildings or hanging from streetlights. It was a free for all. Everybody wanted to find somewhere safe to dig in. High ground seemed to be most desirable, and people fought to get to the rooftops. They did not understand how little good it would do them when the demons arrived.

  With the underpowered scooters, the journey to Incirlik Air Base took a little over six hours. When they passed through the green pastures and farmland and finally reached the Air Force installation, it was like witnessing a miracle. Planes flew in and out of the runways with amazing regularity, splitting the air with their deafening roars every couple of minutes. American soldiers hurried about, like worker ants, carrying weapons or loading up vehicles. The place was alive.

  Tony was halted at the gate and had to give the names of him and his men, along with their ranks and service numbers. They were British soldiers, not American, which meant it took over thirty minutes for them to get clearance to enter. Once they had, they were warmly welcomed by a United States Air Force Colonel. The officer had unkempt grey sideburns peeking out from beneath his cap, and a fuzzy brown moustache.

  “Colonel Chase,” he said. “A pleasure to meet you fine gentleman. You told my sentries that you closed a gate. We got word of it yesterday, but we were unsure whether to believe it or not. Is it true?”

  Tony nodded. “It opened in the Syrian Desert, but it’s closed now. How many more are there?”

  The colonel wore a grave expression as he spoke. “Over six-thou of them. It’s bad, Staff Sergeant.”

  “I gathered that. Sounds like we’re pretty much fucked.”

  “If you know how we can close those ungodly gates, then we have a fighting chance at least.”

  So Tony told the colonel what he knew—explaining how Aymun had thrown himself through one of the gates, and that the next thing anybody knew, it was collapsing in on itself like a faulty firework. The colonel remained silent the whole time he listened, expressionless but for the fleeting excited movements of his bushy eyebrows. When Tony finished, the U.S. Air Force Officer let out a long, weary sigh and shook his head. “So, to close the gates, men and woman must give their lives? I’ve spent the last decade fighting martyrs and suicide fighters, and now that’s exactly what we need. Lord, if life isn’t ironic.”

  “People are already giving their lives,” Tony remarked. “Every second, by the sounds of things.”

  “That they are, Staff Sergeant, but not voluntarily. I’m not sure there’ll be many queuing up to sign on for such a task.”

  “They won’t,” agreed Tony, “but in the heat of battle, you’ll find your heroes. My men did, and it was a Syrian named Aymun. As long as we spread word of how to close the gates, you’ll be making sure people know what to do when things are hopeless. Aymun died so that the rest of us have a chance to turn things around. There’ll be others like him.”

  The colonel lifted his chin and nodded proudly. “I hope you’re right, Staff Sergeant. I’ll get you and your men back home as soon as I am physically able, but I hope you can appreciate the difficulty that entails at the present moment.”

  Tony waved a hand. “We’ll go wherever we’re most needed. I think home just got a whole lot bigger. Time to stop thinking in terms of boundaries and realise that we’re all in this together.”

  “Men fight for flags better than they fight for their fellow man,” said the colonel.

  “It’s time for a change,” said Tony.

  “Perhaps you’re right—in fact, I hope very much that you are. For now, make yourself comfortable. You and your men are my personal guests, so present yourself to the Administration department as such, and they’ll find you somewhere to rest up. I imagine you’re starving.”

  “Bleedin’ famished, sir.”

  The American colonel looked bemused and let out a hearty chuckle. “You and your lads are safe, for now, Staff Sergeant, so make the most of the rest. I’m sure there’ll be more battles ahead. Let’s hope we can win them.”

  Tony looked back at his three remaining, battle-beaten men and grunted. “Or lose well enough to make the enemy regret winning.”

  “I’ll catch up with
you later, Staff Sergeant. I have duties…”

  “We can sort ourselves out. Thank you, Colonel. Get that information spread to every corner of the world. More of those gates get closed, the better.”

  The officer saluted and Tony did the same. Then the American turned on his heel and marched away. Tony joined his men, who were sitting on top of an ammo crate. There was a group of U.S. airmen nearby whispering amongst themselves. Word had already got out that these were the British soldiers who had closed the gate in the Syrian Desert. The Yanks were looking at them like revered war heroes.

  Corporal Rose got up and stood to attention. The two privates followed suit.

  “Stand down, men. I’m not a bloody officer, nor shall I ever be. I’m a squaddie like the three of you and damn proud I am, to have crossed the desert with you lads. We just left Hell lying in our wake. We kicked a bunch of demons’ arses and wiped our boots on their faces—and there’s gunna be a fuck-load more arses need kicking in the days to come, so we need to be ready. The world is at war. Not World War III, but the war that will decide whether mankind finishes its run right here and now, or if it lasts another ten thousand years. Our enemy is terrifying, and worse than anything mankind has ever faced, but we can make it bleed, and we can make it dead. Our enemy is strong, but we are stronger—we are men. Our enemy are demons from the pits of Hell, but we are British soldiers, and we are men. The world needs heroes, and I’m looking at three of the best right now. Don’t lose heart, and don’t think too hard. England is waiting for us, but there’s a war to win first. I will stand beside you in the fight ahead, and I ask that you stand by me.”

  “Fucking aye, ya crazy bastard,” said Corporal Rose. “I’ll follow you straight to Hell if you ask me to, Staffie.”

  The two privates said much the same thing.

  “Good,” said Tony, “then let’s go find out where the Yanks eat their grub and stuff our faces full of their hamburgers. It might be the last good meal we have for a long time. We’ll be dining on our enemy’s blood before long.”