Armageddon tsw-1

by Stuart Slade

  "Hell's coming to the world is more like it, Sandy." Senator Carl Levin, Sander's younger brother, joked. "I know, its bad. But what do you want me to do? Anyway, I don't LIKE that woman. I'd rather have a baldrick on the ticket than her. At least then we know what we'd be getting."

  Sander laughed, and blocked out words with his hand. "Beelzebub-Levin in 08, why settle for a lesser evil?" He shook his head. "No, I think the best we can do is to keep supporting Barry and

  …" suddenly there was a rumble that turned into a steady vibration, and the lights in the room flickered.

  The door burst open. "Sirs!" A secret-service agent stepped in, listening on his earpiece and with a weapon in-hand. "A portal has opened pretty close to us, north of here. Its looking like a replay of Sheffield, and we have orders to get you out of here." His voice made it clear it wasn't a request. After the incident with Bill Clinton, the Secret Service had mandated that all members of congress be protected with at least one agent at all times, to prevent demonic possession. "If you'll follow me to the street, we will evacuate you to the west, we have an airplane waiting but all of the metro-airspace has been locked down."

  Both men nodded grimly, and they began following their agents; the meeting room was on the twenty-second floor and it was a long way down. Like every other stairwell in downtown, the way out was clogged with a mass of people, and it only took a few to panic and fall to turn the evacuation into a crush. The secret service tried to clear a path, shouting “Federal Agents!” and “We have a US Representative, let us through!” but with little effect on the crowd. Their hopes picked up when one of the elevator doors began to open, but it revealed a car packed to bursting with bodies.

  “Citizens, please, we have a senator and a congressman here, we need to evacuate them.” The men and women in the elevator stared back with panicked eyes. Two of them spilled out into the hallway, but the rest shrank back. The agents looked at each other, considering whether to press the issue, but it was rendered moot as the building suddenly lost power. With set expressions they returned to trying to force a path for their charges through the crush.

  Okthuura Yal-Gjaknaath, Tartaruan Range, borderlands of Hell

  It was hopeless. No matter how she struggled her ripped wings couldn’t find enough purchase on the air. The magma level had already dropped noticeably, but the receding lava just exposed a steep, jagged rim of still-glowing rocks. To Euryale it looked like a rack of red hot knives ready to tear her apart. Already she seemed to be drowning in an ocean of merciless heat as she fell into the volcano’s throat, the rim drawing away even as the ground rushed closer. She knew it was hopeless, but instinct made her try to flare anyway, throwing away the last of her airspeed to prevent an instant crushing death on impact.

  In what seemed like a miracle, as she hovered for that final two seconds the sharp glowing rocks were replaced by a shifting mass of gray-brown rubble. The gorgon landed heavily, splaying onto the still scorching-hot stones and gaining a fresh set of sprains and bruises, but to her utter surprise she was neither incinerated nor broken. Elation lasted for only a moment as Euryale realized that the lip had collapsed and she was crawling on a landslide. Desperately she tried to out-pace the sliding rocks, scrabbling for purchase as the rim continued to crumble into the throat. At last she was out, stumbling into the crater proper and panting despite the searing air.

  She wasn’t out of danger yet though; the unstable portal was still churning the lava, which was spitting out globs of molten rock at random. She’d emerged near one of the shrines, a tattered mess of bent rods and half-melted wires, still sparking feebly with residual psychic energy. A half dozen naga lay collapsed in front of it, abandoned by their peers, who were slithering out the crater as fast as their coils could carry them. Euryale found most of the naga rather hard to tell apart, but one snakelike form was unmistakable; Yulupki had always had a taste for tacky jewelry and for the ritual she’d liberally festooned herself with beaten gold trinkets. Euryale had an overwhelming urge to leave her there. It would certainly make explaining the disaster easier. No, it didn’t make sense, too much was riding on Count Belial’s scheme and losing Yulupki would be too much of a blow, to their portal capability and to morale.

  As she got closer she saw that the naga’s eyes were still open. “Baroness! Snap out of it! Come on, you can’t stay here!”

  “It’s gone! My magic! I have no magic!” Yulupki wailed.

  Euryale shook her head. She’d seen Megaaeraholrakni suffer exactly the same thing when she pushed herself too far. It was temporary of course. Demons could recover from nearly anything that didn’t kill them outright, save the touch of iron. “Snap out of it witch. You’re mewling like a kidling.”

  The naga didn’t seem to have heard her. “I can’t hear it… I can’t feel it… I am nothing…”

  Euryale rolled her eyes then slapped the baroness across the face. The naga hissed and bared her fangs, suddenly focused. “You’ll be fine… if you get out of here now. Come on. I can’t carry you.”

  A thump followed by a sudden scream issued from nearby as a piece of lava narrowly missed another of the naga, spraying the creature with glowing fragments. Yulupki painfully began to slither up the slope towards the crater rim, while Euryale went to find a Great Beast to help her move the other wounded survivors.

  Ford Field Stadium, Detroit, Michigan

  Lieutenant Preston swept the binoculars across the smoke-shrouded asphalt, trying to verify the charge placement. The scene took him back to Kuwait, the same dirty haze backlit by towering flames. The plan was a desperation tactic to start with, worked out in haste at the marathon emergency civil defense meeting just two days ago. With only half his platoon available it would be a minor miracle if they pulled it off. Worse, breathing gear was in critically short supply, the best they could manage was taking gulps from medical oxygen bottles. Even up on top of the stadium’s parking deck, the noxious air was burning his throat and making his eyes water. His men down in the freeway cutting had it much, much worse.

  The old-style surplus radio crackled to life. “Sir, I’m seeing lava flow under the Wilkins Street bridge, it’s gonna hit you in five to ten minutes. Over.”

  “Got it Private. High tail it out of there. Have you got civvies on board?”

  “Yes sir, Alan been picking up wounded, truck’s full of them.”

  “Great. Get them clear. Out. Taguba, how are those charges coming?”

  Sergeant Taguba’s voice came in ragged gasps. “Just doing the… last column now… Quarrie’s collapsed… put one of the bottles on him.”

  Another, higher pitched voice cut in – Sergeant Sharoff’s squad had already finished the northern bridge and moved on to one of the ramps. “Sir, we ran out of satchels, we’ve been improvising with loose blocks but we’re still stringing detcord…”

  Lieutenant Preston cut him off. “Sergeants, we’re out of time. Prepare to set timers, three minutes, on my mark.”

  There was a long silence – on the radio at least. The city was anything but silent, with the wailing sirens, honking horns, roaring flames, human screams, drawn-out thumps of collapsing buildings and the omnipresent deep rumble of the falling lava. Number four platoon, bravo company was the best approximation of a combat engineering unit the Third Volunteers could manage, but faced with an attack on this scale they most they could hope for was buying a little more time.

  “Ready. My boys are pulling back.” Another pause. “Sharoff, in position.”

  “Mark!”

  “Timer set.” Pounding footsteps came over the voice as Taguba wasted no time pulling back.

  “Timer ru… sir…” Sergeant Sharoff’s voice cut off.

  ”Well done, now haul ass! Samuels, stop the traffic now, any means necessary.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Preston could just make out diesel starting up as his men moved commandeered trucks to block the freeway overpass. The civvies would hate them for it, but better that than let them
get blown up or dunked in lava. His knuckles went white as his grip on the binoculars tightened. The smoke completely obscured the ramps now, but there was a streak of movement… yes, yes! it was Taguba’s truck barrelling down the freeway, his men piled into the bed. But where the hell was Sharoff?

  “Sharoff? Report! Sharoff? Lee?” Preston tried to force back the growing sense of horror as the second pickup failed to appear. He dropped the binoculars and jumped back into the SUV, addressing his driver. “Take us out to the edge of the lot. As soon as the charges blow, we go down after our men, understand?”

  Private Russell was only nineteen, a trainee machinist when he wasn’t drilling with the regiment. Preston guessed that the kid had spent a lot of his time fooling around with cars before the Message, judging by the work he’d done getting the ex-museum pieces back into working order. Russell’s hands were trembling on the wheel as he steered the Cherokee down the parking ramp, and he gulped before responding with a shaky “Sir yes sir.”

  “Steady now. The rubble will hold back the lava, we’ll be in and out before the smoke gets us. If the gas has knocked them out, we’re their only hope…”

  A deafening, stuttering series of cracks and booms drowned out the Lieutenant’s words. The smoke swirled and for a moment cleared to reveal the two freeway bridges collapsing in a tumble of concrete rumble. A second later one of the connector ramps came down, breaking into spinning chunks as its support columns cracked unevenly. The charge placement was supposed to tip the decks on end as they fell, and from here it looked like they’d not done too bad job. Splashes of color showed where cars had been on the bridges when they fell. Preston hoped they were abandoned, but if not… well, they were warned, and thousands of lives were at stake here.

  Private Russell had the accelerator on the floor before the rubble had stopped falling and the SUV surged forward, smashing through a low metal barrier, crossing an on-ramp and charging down the grassy slope towards the freeway proper. Visibility dropped to mere feet as they entered the now settling dust cloud. Suddenly the vehicle swerved left, braking hard and throwing Lieutenant Preston against the dash. Two shapes emerged out of the gloom, bent low and moving slowly, passing a bright red bottle back and forth between them. Preston shoved the door open, admitting a wash of heat and smoke to the cabin, and pulled the men into the back of the SUV.

  “Did the others make it?”

  Corporal Lee had a horribly pained look in his eyes. “No… don’t think so.” His voice was a croak. ”Sharoff insisted on wiring more detcord! I think the gas got them, they weren’t moving. Sorry sir, no choice, had to leave them.”

  A cracking, rumbling, groan proclaimed the arrival of the lava, punctuated by the distorted screams of tortured rebar. The makeshift barrier shifted but held for now, checking the stream’s headlong rush towards downtown and the river. Preston nodded to Private Russell. “Go!” he shouted, then in a quieter voice “we did what we could. Now lets see where else we’re needed.” He reached for the radio again.

  Congress Street, Downtown Detroit

  At last, they had reached the lobby. Sander was breathing heavily, at sixty-seven he was hardly a young man. He paused to catch his breath, but what he saw outside snatched it away again. The sky was turning pitch black, and ash was falling like snow. Into the streets they went, but traffic had long since ground to a halt as cars had stalled from the ash or been abandoned by their drivers. Coughing and stumbling, they made their way slowly through the deepening black. It was hard to keep a sense of direction; were they heading towards the river?

  After what seemed like an eternity, a piercing scream cut through the darkness. They rounded a corner, only to see a city street backlit by a lava flow. A side-channel of the main flow, it wasn't going at a breakneck speed, but it was steadily making its way down Randolph street. Carl grimaced, knowing the park had to be in flames by now. But worse than that, if the lava reached the entrance of the tunnel to Windsor, a critical evacuation route would be cut. "We've got to do something!" He yelled through the din.

  "Our job is to get you to safety, sir!" The agent grabbed his shoulder, but the Senator from Michigan refused to be moved. Lights flashed ahead, dimly in the smoke. A hulking yellow form resolved into a back hoe; it was an abandoned highway repair site.

  "There!" He spied a dump truck with a bed full of gravel and ran to it. "We can put a bit..” Carl’s voice trailed off into a hacking cough. ”…A bit of a barrier up, we can dam the lava." The agents looked at each other, then at Sander, who nodded. They weren't likely to make it out of the city alive, but the longer they could keep the streets clear, the better chance other people would have. "I'll do it, sir. I was in the Army Corps." The agent climbed into the cab and fired up the engine.

  Coach Insignia Restaurant, Renaissance Center, Downtown Detroit

  Gloria had wept for a while, but the sorrow had receded for now. Perhaps it was the unreality of the situation, like a disaster movie. Possibly though it was what she’d been watching below, because she’d never expected to see this much heroism in the face of hellfire and damnation itself. She had a fine view from the deserted restaurant and she’d seen people dragging others out from burning buildings, others digging through rubble of collapsed ones even as the lava closed in on them and private cars actually driving back in to the city to pick up more survivors. She’d seen a news helicopter buzzing around lifting children off rooftops and another big helicopter dropping packages to the survivors – after watching for a few minutes she was pretty sure they were gas masks of some sort.

  Then there were the barricades, springing up everywhere as people tried to hold back the burning tide for just a few more minutes. It had started with the freeway collapse, that had gone down and sent up a big cloud of dust right before the lava got to it, so it had to be deliberate. She wasn’t sure if that had been a good idea, the stadium had gone up in flames and then the molten rock had pooled and started heading west along the I75, cutting off escape to the north as it went. Then again she’d probably be in hell already if they hadn’t damned the flow, along with thousands of others caught in downtown.

  One particularly bold group had tried to block the road just in front of her skyscraper, piling up rubble and cars and trucks and all manner of junk right under the people mover track. The lava had already reached the barricade, which was burning and melting and shifting dangerously, yet they still kept reinforcing it. Another rumble, another boom… another building was collapsing, just a hundred yards north of the barricade. The lava was closing in, seeming to come at the tower from every surrounding street. Weren’t they going to run? Didn’t they realize that this was the end? Gloria closed her eyes, wondering if a New Detroit would ever rise from the plains of Hell.

  Brush Street, Downtown Detroit

  Agent Drexler finally found the control that tilted the bed of the truck, and slowly drew a line of gravel three feet high across the street. Other people stopped, and seeing what they were doing, began to manhandle benches, tires, and any still-working cars into the line. After only a few minutes they had a barrier five feet high. The lava began to pool behind it, but as the rocks glowed, they fused into a solid berm. The lava swirled slowly.

  Sander clapped his brother on the shoulder, and they both smiled. Before either had a chance to say anything, a loud -CRACK- echoed above the din. On their right, a building bucked wildly, shedding a rain of cladding, and they both saw the lava pouring into the basement windows and storm drains. With all the heat, the foundations were giving way. The crack repeated again, into a deafening roar as the building came down. The two brothers looked each other in the eyes, knowing they wouldn't see each-other for a long time, bracing themselves for what was in store, as hundreds of tons of steel and masonry came down on them.

  Neither flinched.

  Free Hell, Swamps by the River Styx, Sixth Rings of Hell

  In the distance, the Russian artillery rumbled, sounding for all the world like far-off thunder. Jade Kim could
only imagine what it was like in the firing zone, or the hell on the receiving end of the steel rain. Once, she'd been near a single large howitzer firing; the sound had knocked the breath out of her and deafened her even through the headphones. And knowing the Russians, they'd lined up their artillery wheel-to-wheel for fifty miles. She wouldn't want to be in that big baldrick army assaulting the Russian positions right now.

  Kim brought her mind back to Free Hell. Initial estimates put the number of people imprisoned in Free Hell at a bit over one hundred thousand. The sheer number still surprised Kim on a gut level when she thought about it, so she constantly had to remind herself that there were ninety billion people in the Pit alone, and the surveying flights had shown that Free Hell controlled little more than a mere millionth of the surface area of the Pit. Spread out before her was a rudimentary map of Free Hell. She was in between appointments in her command tent, contemplating the area they controlled. Marked were the major rock outcroppings, particularly dry and wet places, the courses of streams and rivers, baldrick roads, and known human and baldrick positions. She had also penciled in the locations of canals-in-progress and the small, growing city that housed all of the freed humans.

  Nearly one-third of Free Hell's border lay along the Styx. Along the other two-thirds, Tarrant had placed extensive minefields and regularly spaced small fortifications, generally taking advantage of particularly wet areas and clusters of boulders thrusting up through the mud. These had repulsed several weak baldrick assaults in the last few days; they'd taken no casualties, while the baldricks had gone down heavily.

  But there wasn't enough information about the main baldrick forces. The noted baldrick strongholds were vague, and there were all too many question marks. She wasn't sure how many reinforcements had arrived, or even just how many baldricks had been under Asmodeus' command in the first place. This lack of knowledge was disturbing.