While Mass and Aymun filled plastic bottles with full fat Coke from the vat behind the self-serve machine, Vamps sat at a table staring at his sword—his ‘flaming’ sword that was the prior property of an angel of death. Somehow, he didn’t feel honoured to have been bestowed with it. All the angels could go back to Hell, good or bad, he didn’t care. None of them should be here. All they brought was death. Ravi, Gingerbread, Marcy, Max... So many lost.
And it was only a matter of time until everyone was gone.
He looked over at Mass, his last remaining friend. The guy was an ox, yet he would not have stepped on a bug before the end of the world. Now he was forced to fight for his life every day. What did the demons want? Was it really as simple as escaping Hell? Or was there something more? Why did they have to wipe out mankind? Lucas had suggested there was some larger war going on—a war with God. Humanity was just the innocent victim caught in the middle.
When has mankind ever been innocent?
Screw it. He’d kill as many demons as he could, whatever the reason.
“I’m the Angel of Death.”
Mass looked over from the drinks station. “Huh?”
“Nothing.”
There was noise outside. Not so loud that it startled anyone, but loud enough that Vamps rose from his seat to take a look out of the window. The sword was automatically in his hand as if it were part of him.
“What is it?” asked Mass, moving up beside him. Aymun was soon at his other side, the three of them now in a line.
Vamps saw movement near the bowling alley, across the car park. His hand tightened around his sword. “It’s him.”
The wounded angel stalked the shop fronts, smashing windows and looking inside. A dozen demons scurried about beneath it—worker ants finding prey for their queen. Was the angel searching for Vamps? Had killing Marcy and Max not been enough?
It was me who killed them.
But it was because of this creature.
Vamps rushed for the exit.
“Vamps, man. Stop! We have no ammo left and we’re outnumbered. Vamps!”
Vamps didn’t listen. He burst out of the restaurant and stalked across the car park. His approach went unnoticed for several paces, but then the angel turned its head, singed hair flicking over its shoulders. It pointed a massive hand, and like a swarm of bees the demons charged. Vamps gritted his teeth, lowered his head, and prepared to meet them.
“Vamps, man! Get the fuck back!”
“This is folly,” shouted Aymun.
But Vamps wasn’t listening. He raised the sword in front of him, and it began to throb, almost jumping loose from his hands.
He gripped tighter. Preparing to swing.
The first demon was one of the hunched over primates, and like the agile beast it resembled, it leapt at Vamps.
Vamps swung his sword.
The silver blade cut through the air, and halfway through its arc it turned to flame. The primate's torso sliced like warm butter and came apart in two pieces. The steaming flesh landed at Vamps feet and sizzled. He studied his sword with admiration. “Fuck yeah.”
The next demons arrived en masse, and Vamps cut through them just as easily. He wielded the sword clumsily at first—having never used such a weapon—but slowly he settled into a rhythm, swiping left and right in looping arcs. Demon torsos came apart like slurry and each one he killed made his grin wider.
“Vamps!”
Vamps was sick of hearing Mass’s voice, so he tuned his friend out. All that mattered was killing demons. All that mattered was being the Angel of Death. He’d been born to violence. He’d been born for this.
Vamps swung his sword in another spinning arc, having fun and enjoying the feel of hot silver slicing through flesh. Did he actually see fear in his enemy’s eyes? The demons approached more cautiously now, trying to surround him before attacking. But Vamps would not be surrounded. He spun and leapt, attacking all sides.
“Vamps!”
Spinning to catch a burnt man attempting to slash at his back, Vamps glanced back across the car park.
How had he missed it? How had he lost sight of the angel?
Because I was lost in the killing.
Enchanted by the blood in my nostrils.
The wounded angel stalked Mass and Aymun across the pavement, barging aside parked cars in its quest to crush them. Aymun caught a glancing blow and tumbled to the ground, hitting his head against a Volvo's protruding tow bar. He lay on the floor, unmoving.
Vamps rushed to help his friends, but more demons appeared in his way. A burnt man grinned with broken teeth, shrivelled lips pulled back like a Pitbull's.
Vamps snarled. “Go ahead… try me!”
The burnt man lunged and Vamps decapitated it with one quick cut. He kicked the legs from under the next attacking demon and made a gap for himself to rush across the car park. Mass was pinned against a delivery van for the bed company, with the towering angel glaring down at him. The killing blow seemed to arrive in slow motion.
Mass cowered, his courage drained.
The angel reared back, clawed hands cutting the air.
Aymun lay on the ground, unconscious, just a few feet away.
Vamps screamed.
“NO!”
The blow was so powerful that the delivery van slid sideways on its tyres a full six feet.
When it came to a stop, Mass was gone.
“I FUCKING HATE YOU!” Vamps ran across the car park, raising the flaming sword above his head. The wounded angel turned to meet him.
Vamps turned sideways, leapt, and then threw his sword with everything he had. Twenty years of anger and hate went into his throw—a lifetime of poverty and violence on the streets. The sword tumbled through the air, whirling end over end for an eternity. It left a trail of blackened air and the smell of burning in its wake.
The wounded angel bellowed.
The sword plunged into its chest.
The angel stood frozen for a moment, eyes wide open. When it fell to its knees, it did so slowly, like treacle pouring from a cup. It clutched at the weapon hilt poking up from its chest, but its fingertips blackened and burned as they made contact. Finally, it opened its mouth, but no sound came out.
“See you in Hell, bitch!”
The angel tumbled forward onto the tarmac, expiring face down. Vamps turned and saw the remaining demons coming up behind him, but he was past caring. His last friend was gone. He prepared to fight with his bare hands, but realised the flaming sword was once again in his hands. He had thrown it, but it had found its way back to him.
The demons stopped just as they had been about to set upon Vamps. They peered past him at their fallen master and faltered. As one, like a starter's pistol had fired, they turned and fled. For the first time since the apocalypse began, Vamps saw demons running in terror.
The tables had turned.
But at what cost?
Vamps hurried towards where Mass had been standing. A massive dent distorted the side panel of the truck, but Mass was nowhere to be seen. Had he been obliterated? Shouldn't there be blood?
“Shit, that was close.” Mass crawled out from beneath the crumpled truck. His forehead was bleeding, but he was okay. Vamps stumbled back and lost his legs completely. He dropped his sword to the ground and collapsed, panting. Crying.
Mass clambered to his feet and pulled a face. “I froze, man. I almost let the thing swat me like a fly. Got my senses back just in time and ducked beneath the truck. Fucking thing dragged me across the ground on my face when that son-of-a-bitch hit it.” He looked down at the dead angel. “You did it, man. You killed a fuckin' angel.”
Vamps couldn’t speak, he was sobbing so much. Sobbing like a bitch, but he didn’t care. “I-I-I thought you w-w-were…”
Mass moved beside him and knelt. Then he wrapped his arms around him, and the two of them hugged it out—a long embrace that neither broke away from.
“It’s okay, man.” Mass patted Vamps' back. “It’s a
ll good.”
“You almost died because of me. I ran off and forgot about you and Aymun. All I cared about was the fight.”
Mass nodded. “You need to chill, man. You haven’t been right since—”
“Since I let Marcy and Max die.”
“Nah, you didn’t. That piece of shit on the ground killed them, and you know it. We’re all just doing our best to survive, and every death is on them, not us. You’re one of the good guys, Jamal. Don’t lose yourself to anger. Stay with me, man.”
Vamps bumped his forehead against his friend’s, both of them still on the ground and hugging. “I hear you, bruv.”
“Does anybody else hear ringing?”
Mass and Vamps looked up to see Aymun staggering towards them. The guy seemingly refused to die.
“I don’t hear anything,” said Mass.
Aymun nodded and slumped against the bed truck and trickled to the ground. “Oh good.”
Vamps and Mass hurried to help their injured brother. It was just the three of them now, but they had each other’s back. They would survive. Even if it killed them.
13
RICHARD HONEYWELL
Finally being out in the world again after weeks holed up at the Slough Echo was not as freeing an experience as Richard would have thought. Death stained the landscape like graffiti. The demons had strung up humans from lampposts or impaled them on railings. Some of the bodies still twitched, but were beyond helping. Fire and buildings falling in on themselves blackened other parts of the landscape. Civilisation was dead. All that remained were echoes of humanity.
Even the soldiers were mournful as the bus hurtled through the twisted shadows of the world. They flinched each time they sped by a group of wandering demons, or whenever the bus was forced to drive across a carpet of human viscera. If not for David’s confident, somewhat reckless driving, they might not have made it out of Slough. If a group of demons tried to get in their way, David ploughed right through them.
But those continuous impacts had taken their toll. The bus's engine thunked and grumbled, and now and then the whole vehicle shuddered. Not to mention the needle of the fuel indicator plummeted.
The tank had a leak.
Knowing the bus ride was only a reprieve from fighting, Richard took a seat with his son. Dillon, like everyone else on board, was sullen. He stared at the floor, avoiding the horrific views from the windows on either side. This was no world for a child. It was almost cruel keeping Dillon alive, but what choice did Richard have? He was a father before anything else.
“You okay, Dil?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. We’ll find someplace safe again soon. Safer than before.”
“Will Alice’s daddy be there?”
Richard glanced over at Alice. She was sitting near the rear of the bus with Carol. The old gal had her arm around the girl—giving as much comfort as she could. It didn’t stop Alice from weeping into her hands. The poor child had been so close to reuniting with her father, but their phone call cut mercilessly short.
Richard put his own arm around Dillon. “David told me he’s heading south. If we make Portsmouth, we might find Alice’s daddy. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”
Dillon nodded. “I don’t think it’s fair I have my daddy, but Alice doesn’t have hers. Most daddies are dead. I seen them out the window.”
Richard hugged his son. “I’m not going anywhere, Dil, I promise.”
“The skeleton man wants to get you.”
“We left him behind. He’ll never find us again.”
“You promise?”
Richard swallowed a lump in his throat. He didn’t want to make the promise, but what were the chances of Skullface finding them again? They could be a hundred miles away by the end of tonight. David said he would continue driving long after dark.
But the petrol was depleting fast.
“I promise, Dil. He won’t find us again. We will be safe.” The words felt like ash in his mouth. Was he lying to his son?
The bus shuddered again, this time without end. The passengers started to mutter. The soldiers checked their rifles.
“Okay,” said David from the driver’s seat. “I was hoping we could get a little way farther, but she’s giving up the ghost. We have to stop.”
The passengers moaned. Some cried.
“It’s okay,” said Corporal Martin. “We are prepared for this. Everyone will be fine.”
It was an empty assurance, but it seemed to calm many. Richard moved up to the front of the bus to join David. “What’s the situation?”
David glanced up at him. “That fuel leak neither of us wanted to mention has become too hard to ignore. We have some fumes left, but there’s air in the tank, and the engine is on its last legs. Apparently, running over demons doesn't do a vehicle much good.”
“Will we be safe stopping here?”
“No choice in the matter. I haven’t seen any demons in the last few miles. Maybe we’ll catch a break.”
Richard thought of Alice’s interrupted phone call with her father and decided the world didn’t give breaks anymore. “Did we make it anywhere near Portsmouth?”
“We’re still a good fifty miles away. We can still get there, but not today.”
Richard sighed. The bus's shuddering increased, and they lost speed. David maneuvered them off the road, amongst a copse of trees. The area in their rear view mirror was urban, but ahead was farmland and scrub.
“Thanks for getting us this far,” said Richard.
David nodded, but gripped the wheel as if reluctant to let it go.
“Okay, everyone,” said Corporal Martin. “Let’s stay quiet. We’ll keep off the road and take the fields. It will give us plenty of vision and allow us to pick off our enemy in the open. We have guns, they do not. So don’t panic. I’ll get us through this.”
Richard glanced at Dillon. You better.
Everyone filed off the bus in silence. If they had learned to do one thing over the last few weeks, it was to keep a low profile. People helped each other over to the side of the road and stayed huddled together. Alice came and took Dillon’s hand and walked with him and Richard. Carol joined them too.
“Once more into the breach, ay?” said Carol with a determined, tight-lipped smile.
Richard raised his eyebrows in reply, letting out a weary breath through his nostrils.
Corporal Martin had his soldiers surround the group of civilians, and together, they entered the fields and started walking.
It was an hour later when the dull silence turned to chitchat. It was easy to see ahead, and the coast was clear. The ground was wet, and a light drizzle fell on them, but the group moved easily and without hardship. Alice and Dillon even had space to play, chasing after one another and wielding sticks like swords. Seeing his son smile lifted Richard’s soul. He never thought he'd see it again. Children playing—such a simple thing, such a precious thing. Even before the apocalypse, humanity had lost itself. Men and women forgot what was important. Cars, houses, jewellery—it was all worthless. This was what mattered—being alive, outside in the open air with smiling children playing. If mankind prevailed, what would it go back to? Would it remember the ills of the past?
Would it repeat them?
After a while, Corporal Martin spoke from the front. “There’s a farmhouse ahead. We should check it for supplies.”
“Is that wise?” asked David.
“It’s what we will have to do while we’re on the road. Who knows how long we'll have to feed ourselves?”
“I agree,” said Richard, although apprehensively. “We might find other survivors too.”
“More the merrier,” said Carol.
“Not necessarily,” said David. “We thought Andras was a survivor. Turned out he was one of them.”
Corporal Martin shifted his rifle to the other shoulder. “He’s right. We won’t turn people away, but any newcomers need to be closely watched.”
“Maybe we can test the
m,” said Richard. “Make them hold something made of iron.”
“Do we have anything?” David asked.
“No.”
“Then be on the lookout.”
“Maybe there’ll be something at the house,” said Corporal Martin.
They reached a fence at the edge of the field and climbed over one by one in a long line. As soon as he was over, Dillon raced off towards an abandoned green tractor. Richard called after him. “Dillon! We need to make sure this place is safe.”
Dillon nodded sullenly and came back.
Corporal Martin and his men swept the property, circling the various outbuildings. Their search eventually caused a stir.
“What the Hell is that?” asked Carol, eyes wide.
Richard chuckled. “Sounds like chickens.”
Richard took Dillon and Alice around the back of the farmhouse where a couple of soldiers stood with their hands on their hips. A family of chickens clucked about their feet. A huge bag of bird feed lay propped against the back wall of the house—it had been pecked open, and the seed fell out gradually through the small hole. The fat chickens had been eating like kings.
Corporal Martin stood watching the fowl like he didn't know what to do. When he saw Richard and the kids, he nodded. “This is a lucky find, right?”
Richard pulled a face. “You want to… you know?”
“We have to. Can’t turn down the meat.”
Alice petted one of the birds, which seemed very happy about it. They were tame, milling around merrily and undisturbed. “Don’t kill them.”
Dillon glanced up at his dad and pouted. “Yeah, don’t kill them.”
Corporal Martin was looking at Richard too. “Want to take the kids somewhere else?”
“Sure. Come on, you two.”
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