The Gates Saga: Books 1 & 2
Date: 2017-01-11 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror
Description: Both books from the bestselling Hell on Earth Series by Iain Rob Wright. Box set includes full versions of THE GATES and LEGION, as well as bonus novella TAR. Hundreds and hundreds of pages of apocalyptic terror. Book 1: The Gates Guy Granger is a US Coast Guard captain in search of his kids, who just so happen to be thousands of miles away in the UK when strange gates open all over the globe. Mina Magar is a photojournalist forced to take pictures of horrors she could never have imagined as something terrible emerges on London's busy Oxford Street. Rick Bastion is a fading pop star with his h
Rights: Copyright 2017 Iain Rob Wright. All rights reserved.

Hell on Earth Trilogy

Books 1, 2, & 3

Iain Rob Wright

SalGad Publishing Group

Contents

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The Gates

Quotes

Part I

~Elizabeth Creasy~

~Rick Bastion~

~Mina Magar~

~Tony Cross~

~Samantha Smart~

~Guy Granger~

~Rick Bastion~

~Mina Magar~

~Tony Cross~

Part II

~Guy Granger~

~Rick Bastion~

~Mina Magar~

~Guy Granger~

~Mina Magar~

~Rick Bastion~

~Tony Cross~

~Mina Magar~

~Rick Bastion~

~Tony Cross~

~Guy Granger~

~Mina Magar~

Part III

~Tony Cross~

~Rick Bastion~

~David Davids~

~Rick Bastion~

~David Davids~

~Rick Bastion~

~Tony Cross~

~Guy Granger~

~David Davids~

~Vamps~

Collateral Damage

Takao

Monty

Nancy Granger

Hans

Damien Banks

Legion

Quotes

Tony Cross

John Windsor

Vamps

Richard Honeywell

Lieutenant Hernandez

Vamps

Richard Honeywell

Rick Bastion

Vamps

Commander Hernandez

Richard Honeywell

Vamps

Hernandez

Rick Bastion

Richard Honeywell

Vamps

Hernandez

Vamps

Rick Bastion

Guy Granger

Collateral Damage

Takao

Nancy Granger

Cheese Burger

Damien Banks

Extinction

Quotes

Marcy

Guy Granger

Vamps

Richard Honeywell

Guy Granger

Vamps

Richard Honeywell

Guy Granger

Vamps

John Windsor

Guy Granger

Vamps

Richard Honeywell

Hernandez

Lord Amon

Guy granger

Vamps

General Wickstaff

Richard Honeywell

Guy Granger

Richard Honeywell

Hernandez

Skullface

Richard Honeywell

Guy Granger

General Wickstaff

Guy Granger

Richard Honeywell

General Wickstaff

Vamps

Guy Granger

Vamps

Vamps

General Wickstaff

Vamps

Mass

General Wickstaff

Lucas

Tony Cross

Damien Banks 2

Tar

Quotes

Prologue

Endings

Fuel

Fire

Flames

Embers

Ashes

Ruins

Earth

Blood

Sweat

Tears

Guilt

Confusion

Beginnings

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Plea From the Author

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About Iain Rob Wright

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Boxset 1

Sam, ASBO, The Final Winter, The Housemates, Sea Sick

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Ravage, Savage, Animal Kingdom, The Picture Frame, 2389, The Peeling Omnibus, Slasher, Soft Target, A-Z of Horror Vol 1

Dedicated to my wife
for all that she goes through.

“If you’re going through hell, keep going.”

Winston Churchill

“War does not determine who is right – only who is left.”

Bertrand Russell

“Fear is the most basic emotion we have, Fear is primal.”

Max Brooks, World War Z

Part One

“Every war has its demons.”

--Richard Engel

~Elizabeth Creasy~

Devonshire, England

Elizabeth Creasy froze.

The mother bird and her fluffy grey ducklings marched single-file from the hedge on one side of the road to the embankment on the other. When the mother noticed Elizabeth, and her agitated cocker spaniel, Boycie, she picked up speed. Her brood, in turn, picked up their speed—a cute little army marching on the double. Their feathery advance took them into the long grass where they promptly disappeared.

Elizabeth grinned. “Oh, what a lovely day, Boycie.”

Boycie looked up, tongue lolling out, but said nothing.

It was indeed a lovely day. The greens were green, and the sky was as blue as a crystal ocean. If not for a slight thickness to the air heralding a possible storm, it was the perfect afternoon.

Two years retired now and yet to become restless, Elizabeth’s daily jaunts through the fields and farms surrounding her home never failed to exhilarate her. After decades toiling in an office she’d all but forgotten the benefits of simple fresh air, and it’d been an invigorating experience reacquainting with the joyous beauty of nature. If only her beloved Dennis were still alive to enjoy it with her, but that was not to be. At fifty-eight, an aortic rupture had snatched her husband away while he drove his evening bus route. The ensuing low-speed crash had not injured anyone, but Elizabeth had been left a heart-broken widow. She lamented on the time they could have spent together—‘cuddling’ in bed all morning and spending the afternoon feeding ducks by the lake. Simple pleasures sure, but oh, the absolute best.

She hadn’t been with a man since her beloved Dennis had passed, but Lord knows she had felt the need. Lately, she’d even been considering joining an online dating site just to get a man between her legs. Only so much batteries and plastic could do for a woman of her age—and Colin Firth wasn’t cutting it anymore. She needed a real man, with real man parts.

Up ahead, the little knoll she enjoyed climbing came into view. Twelve months ago, the act of hiking up it would have assaulted her knees, but now she could assail it briskly. From atop she could gaze right across the rolling fields to the sleepy village of Crapstone where she kept a modest two-bedroom cottage. The house in Torquay she had shared with Dennis had been too painful to keep, so she’d sold up a year after his death to purchase the cosy home she and Boycie now lived in.

At the bottom of the hill, she wheezed a little. The muggy weather made it harder to breathe and she was getting out of breath. Her daily hike would have to be a little more leisurely today. You could never be too careful at her age.

“Come on, Boycie, up we go.”

Obedient as always, her cocker spaniel started up the hill at an ambling pace matching her own, and together they trampled the thick, green grass as they progressed towards the top. Birds chirped, and the sunshine was so potent that it seemed to massage her shoulders with invisible hands.

She started singing—“All things bright and beautiful…”

Boycie barked.

“Settle down, Boycie. I don’t want a duet.”

Boycie barked again.

“Now, now, Boycie, settle down.” The cocker spaniel hopped from paw to paw, floppy brown ears twitching. Elizabeth was about to scold him when she saw what had got him so worked up. “Hmm, that wasn’t there yesterday, was it, boy?”

The smooth black stone was the size of a football, and out of place up on the lonely hill. No other rocks or boulders lay around, and certainly none that were jet-black like this one. It more resembled volcanic glass than anything that should be found in the English countryside. If not for the delicate grey veins snaking over its surface, it could have been an old-fashioned bowling ball, or one of those cartoon bombs with the fuses and ACME written on the side. The closer she got to it, the less smooth the stone appeared—like how a television picture degraded when you went right up to the screen.

Boycie tugged on his lead, hard enough he almost yanked free of her grasp. She gave it a swift tug and brought the spaniel back to heel. “Behave, Boycie! What’s got into you?”

The birds stopped chirping and the warmth of the sun disappeared, yet it was still so muggy that it was hard to take a breath. A distant roll of thunder, but not a single cloud hanging in the sky.

Elizabeth’s eyes fixed on the strange black stone. The word ‘obsidian’ popped into her mind. She reached out to touch it, not knowing why other than something inside of her demanded it. Her fingertips were just about to make contact when Boycie bit her.

“Damn it!”

The leash slipped out of her grasp and Boycie fled, running down the hill full pelt like a greyhound chasing a rabbit.

“Boycie, come back here!”

“Damn it.” Her hand throbbed something terrible; a purplish-blue blotch forming where one long canine had crushed her skin. Boycie had never snapped at her like that before. Never. What had got into him?

Then came more pain.

Thwump thwump thwump…

Elizabeth turned and clutched her forehead. The delicate grey veins on the stone’s surface had started to pulse and vibrate. It was calling out to her. She couldn’t help herself. She reached out.

Pressed her fingertips against the stone.

Ice cold. Like running her hand down the inside of a fridge.

It felt… wrong. Unnatural.

Elizabeth was just about to pull away when something seized her. Her fingertips fused against the stone’s icy surface. A powerful force snatched her mind and showed her unbelievable things. Distressing images seared themselves into her soul and boiled the blood in her veins.

She saw horrors—exquisite tortures of the worst kind.

A vast legion of monstrous creatures.

She saw Hell.

The pictures in Elizabeth’s mind were so wondrous and terrifying that her eyeballs melted inside her skull and leaked down her cheeks while her heart burst in her chest like a pin pricked balloon. When her sixty seven year old body slumped to the ground it was an empty husk and her days of ambling through fields were over—her retirement irrevocably ended.

The cold black stone went back to sleep.

~Rick Bastion~

Devonshire, England

When Rick’s song came on the radio he winced and pulled out the plug. Few things upset him more than hearing his number 1 hit, Cross to Bear. It was fingernails on a blackboard, and its title had become more than a little apt. Its existence was his cross to bear.

Sitting in the kitchen of his vast country home, he poured himself another whiskey and switched on the wall-mounted television. Evening had not yet arrived, and the only programmes airing were a couple of convoluted quiz shows and a mock-court case with Judge Kettleby. Today, the gesticulating gavel-wielder heard a case about a stolen Xbox. Riveting stuff.

Rick slid off his stool and took his whiskey into the living room, where he ambled over to the sleek black piano in the corner. Despite the melancholic feelings playing always stirred in him, he never lost affection for his beloved parlour grand. He’d saved six long years for it back in the days before he’d acquired his fortune. The sense of achievement of finally making enough money to buy the beautiful instrument had made him cherish it even more. Now he could buy a piano worth twice as much, but it wouldn’t mean half so much.

Sitting down at the piano, Rick placed his whiskey on the coaster already on the shiny black lid. His fingers began to play automatically.

House of the Rising Sun.

Closing his eyes, he slipped away and became a vessel through which the music flowed. It was impossible not to smile against the haunting onslaught of well-played piano music. It was that feeling of peace and calm that he felt as he caressed the keys that had first attracted him to the music industry. Life contained so much misery, so if he was going to devote his life to something, it would be this—creating beauty with his fingertips.

A bum note.

He lifted both hands away from the keys in horror. The uninvited C Major had been unmistakable. His ears did not lie.

The doorbell rang again.

He sighed.

He hadn’t played a bum note after all—someone had pressed the doorbell in the midst of his playing.

He leapt up with a grunt. Unannounced visitors were not something he often received, thanks to the imposing iron gate that stood at the end of his long gravel driveway. He had no idea who would be calling on him now.

The security panel in the entrance hallway illuminated and the CCTV-controlled video feed had activated. The LCD monitor showed a man outside, dressed in a suit and tie, despite the balmy weather.

Rick activated the intercom and spoke into the microphone. “Who is it?”

The suited gentleman spotted the CCTV camera and waved. “Don’t you recognise your own brother? That tiny bit of fame must have gone to your head.”

Rick groaned. “Long time no see, Keith. Come on in.”

What the hell was his brother doing here?

He pressed the gate release and then went and unlocked the front door. He waited on the front step while a burgundy Range Rover crunched up his pebble driveway. It’d been an age since he and Keith had seen each other, so this unexpected visit was rather…unexpected.

The Range Rover pulled up next to Rick’s imported Mustang in front of the property’s detached double garage where Keith switched off the engine and got out. He looked smug and proud for no reason, but that was ordinary for him. “Hello, brother,” he said.

“Nice motor,” said Rick. “I remember you always wanted a Range.”

“Best thing England ever made. Got her last year after a particularly lucrative month.” He patted the bonnet lovingly then shot a thumb at Rick’s sky-blue 2009 Mustang. “I don’t know how you can drive that foreign abomination.”

“Seemed a good purchase at the time.” Truth was, Rick had never been much of a car fanatic and only got the American import because it felt like something rich people did. For the amount he drove it, it’d been a waste of money, but it was nice to look at and roared like a dragon on the highways.

Keith didn’t wait to be invited. He stepped through the doorway into the entrance hall where he glanced around nosily. “Place is a little big for just you, isn’t it?”

Rick glanced at his property and considered the truth of it. The Edwardian mansion, with its rough stone floors and gnarled mahogany beams, was perhaps a trifle grand for a single, essentially unemployed man, but it was also the only thing that reminded him of the success he’d once been. Win or lose, he’d made enough money to live in a massive house like this. He shrugged. “I like it here. Doesn’t feel so big after a while.”

Keith nodded, but said nothing.

They both went into the living room, which was modern compared to the rest of the lower floor which still retained its Edwardian charms. They gave each other an awkward hug.

“It’s good to see you, Keith. Take a seat, I’ll get you a drink.”

“Nothing for me, thanks. Marcy and I don’t much touch alcohol these days.”

“Really? Good on you both.” Despite his brother’s refusal, Rick went and retrieved his whiskey from the piano and gulped it down, then poured himself a fresh measure from the bottle in the kitchen. Back in the living room, he found Keith spread out on the couch like it was his own.

Rick perched on the other couch. “So, you really don’t drink?”

“Well, you know how it is. We don’t want to raise Maxwell thinking that booze is an ordinary part of life.”

“You mean like dad raised us?”

“Oh, come on, Rick. Dad was never as horrid as you make him out.”

“You’d gone to university by the time he was really bad. I was thirteen. I’m the one who got to see the bastard he turned into—I’m the one who got to watch him knock mum about.”

Keith sighed. “Mum and dad’s marriage was nothing to do with us.”

“Anyway,” Rick changed the subject, “how is Maxwell? He must be—what?—four by now?”

“Four in October. He’ll be starting school soon, though I think he’s ready now. He’s so smart, Rick. I tell you, he’ll be Prime Minister one day.”

“Must take after you. You’ve always been driven.”

Keith looked smug, and Rick chided himself for kneading his brother’s ego. Rick could be King of the Universe and Keith wouldn’t give him the slightest congratulation, so why was he throwing his brother a bone? Rick still remembered the look of devastation on Keith’s face when he’d signed his record deal. No happiness, no pride in his younger brother’s accomplishments—just resentment and anger. Rick became the rich and successful brother, and Keith detested it. When it’d all inevitably gone down the pan, Keith’s transparent glee almost ended their relationship. Perhaps it should have, but Rick had allowed himself to fall back into the old routine—Keith turning up his nose at everything he did, and him trying to act like he didn’t notice.

“So, why are you here, Keith? I haven’t seen you in over a year—since Tabitha got married.”

“Tabby’s already divorced. I could have told you it was on the cards the moment they said their vows. He was a carpenter.”

Rick frowned. “So?”

“Just saying. Chap didn’t have much going on. Tabby wanted more.”

“She told you that, did she?”

Keith shrugged. “It was obvious.”

“So why are you here?” Rick demanded. “Not to talk about our cousin’s divorce, I’m sure.”

“Can’t I just drop by to see my little brother? I wanted to check in on you, make sure you hadn’t hanged yourself in this big empty mansion.”

“Why would I hang myself?”

“Because… Well, you know.”

“What? Because I lost my record deal and haven’t been able to get another one? Or because they make funny videos on the Internet about how cheesy my one and only hit song was. Rick Astley called me the other day and thanked me for replacing him. Should I just hang myself?”

“I never said that.”

Rick knocked back his whiskey and went to get another one. “Maybe I’ll kill myself when my money runs out. Fortunately, I made a shitload of it, so that will probably never happen. Least I’m a stinking rich failure, huh?”

“Rick, come on…”

Rick stormed off into the kitchen. Once he’d poured himself a fresh drink, he placed his elbows on the counter and held his head in his hands. If Keith thought he was depressed, it was because he damn well was. Suicide, though, had never crossed his mind. As much as he hated the sour turn his life had taken, he had made it once. He’d been top of the charts and saw his face printed on the cover of Rolling Stone Magazine. Most musicians only dreamt of getting a shot like he had, and whether it had lasted or not, Rick had been lucky. For that reason alone, he was proud. It was just difficult finding self-respect when you were a one-hit wonder. If a man made a fortune by selling a business and retiring at thirty, he was forever successful, but if a musician got rich off one song and then hung up his guitar, he was a joke—his short career became a punchline. People enjoyed watching celebrities fall—it was modern blood sport—and while Rick had been a celebrity for all of five minutes, he had fallen hard.

“…grizzly scene discovered just outside the Devonshire village of Crapstone.”

Keith walked into the kitchen. “Hey, Rick, I’m sorry if I upset you.”

“Quiet a second. They’re talking about something that’s happened in Crapstone. That’s only a few miles from here.”

Keith pulled up a stool next to Rick, and they both watched the television while the news report continued. There was a female reporter standing at the base of a grassy hill surrounded by police tape. Several men and women in latex gloves hurried around, working on something out of sight.

“Atop this small hill, the body of pensioner, Elizabeth Creasy—a retired local businesswoman—was found dead; her eyes badly mutilated in what police are suspecting was a premeditated and personal attack.”

Rick scrunched up his face. “Poor lady.”

“She must have annoyed the wrong person,” said Keith.

“Most bizarre,” the reporter continued, “is the presence of a bizarre object found beside the crime scene. A smooth black stone was discovered right next to Mrs Creasy’s body, but all attempts so far to collect it have failed. In fact, several attempts to interact with the stone have resulted in further casualties as two police officers, first to arrive at the scene, both suffered fatal injuries shortly upon touching the object in question. A team of geologists from the University of Exeter are now examining the stone, but their initial studies are yet to provide any insight into its nature. Police are hesitant to draw any conclusions, but this has been a strange and brutal attack in one of the country’s most idyllic locations. I’m Kimberly Wilkins, back to the studio.”

Rick pulled a face. “Horrible.”

Keith shrugged.

“Somebody mutilated her eyes, Keith. I don’t know how a person can…” He sighed and took a nip of whiskey. “And that stone they were talking about... They said they couldn’t collect it. What does that even mean?”

“That it’s heavy. Who cares?”

Rick wasn’t sure why he cared. Perhaps it was because he often felt so isolated and vulnerable here on his own. He sometimes lay in bed at night hearing noises and worrying about robbers creeping around downstairs. That might be why the thought of an old lady being mutilated and murdered just miles away from his home was more than a little unnerving. “I just find the whole thing sad,” he said. “Why would someone do that to a pensioner?”

Keith chuckled. “You always think too much, Rick. I remember when our dog, Cassie, died. You cried in your room for a week. You were such a funny child.”

Rick topped up his whiskey and exhaled into his glass, then took another long swig. He clonked the empty glass down on the counter and took a moment to study his older brother—a slightly plumper, slightly balder version of himself. His previously jet-black hair had lightened towards grey and his nose seemed bigger. “What do you want, Keith? Will you tell me why you’re here? I know it’s not because you missed me.”

Keith rubbed a hand against his stubbled chin. It was unlike him not to be clean-shaven. “Maybe I should have that drink after all, Rick. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

Rick poured his brother a whiskey in a fresh glass and slid it towards him. “Why are you here for God’s sake? Will you just tell me?”

Keith wrapped his fingers around the whiskey glass and stared down at the oak-coloured contents. “Because I have no place else to go. I need to stay here tonight, Rick. Maybe for a while.”

Rick closed his eyes. He could not have got a worse answer.

~Mina Magar~

Oxford Street, London

“Come on, Mina,” shouted David. “We need to get there before the others. There won’t be room to swing your elbows soon, and I need those shots.”

Mina kept a firm grip on her camera and fought to keep up. She was fifteen years younger than David, but when there was a story to be had, the man could move like the wind. His yellow hair flowed behind him like a thoroughbred’s mane, and he slipped through the crowd like water through a sieve. All Mina caught were brief flashes of his Argyle socks. She, meanwhile, bumped into people almost every step, and received more than a few dirty looks. She couldn’t help but apologise profusely.

Even on a slow day, Oxford Street was one of the busiest spots in London, and today people were teeming through it like ants. They packed together in small groups, lining the road on both sides. The police were massively outnumbered and struggled to maintain order. The large gathering lacked the festive spirit of, say, a Royal Wedding, and instead held an atmosphere more akin to a kindling riot. People had a look of mischief about them, and several lampposts were skewed as people hung off them like chimps.

David shouted again. “Come on, Mina. I can see those buggers from The Chronicle already there. We can’t let them hog the headlines.”

Mina fiddled with her camera while trying to run. She wanted to have the settings ready for when she started snapping. Her pictures would be used in the Slough Echo, but if she produced something noteworthy, it might spread to bigger outlets, or even go viral. Maybe if she achieved that her father would finally see she was good at her job, and stop telling her to quit all the time.

Not looking where she was going, Mina collided with the square back of a man. The shaved head turned around and glared at her. “Watch where you’re fuckin’ goin’, luv.”

Mina backed up. “Sorry, I’m so sorry.”

When she heard the man mutter the words, ‘Fucking Paki,’ she was stunned. How dare he! She wasn’t even from Pakistan. How could people be so hateful?

“Come on,” David shouted for the third time. “Get moving.”

Mina wanted to say something back to the snarling racist, but instead she ended up smiling nervously and moving on. Much as she would’ve liked to confront him, she wasn’t that person. Even the thought made her stomach churn. So she put the experience behind her and focused on her job.

“I’m right behind you, David,” she shouted as she dodged around a woman with a pram loaded with shopping bags instead of a child. Up ahead, the historic Selfridges building loomed unhappily. Its sleek interior was devoid of shoppers, and the bus shelter out front had been smashed and twisted by enthusiastic oglers trying to climb it.

David pointed ahead, still dodging through the crowd with fluid ease. “We need to hurry, come on. We can’t afford to miss anything.”

“I’m right behind you,” she shouted, even though she was six steps back. They were heading for the Soho Street intersection on the east end of Oxford Street, but they had been forced to get off the tube at Bond Street as Oxford Circus and Tottenham Court Road were closed. It was a long walk on a normal day, but today was a nightmare. It was like squeezing through a corridor of hot, sweaty people, and when she saw Newman Street coming up on her left, she let out a moan of joy. They were only one street away.

“There! I see it,” David shouted.

Mina caught up to him and saw it too. They had arrived at a police cordon outside McDonald’s. A dozen scientists milled around inside the tape as if they hadn’t even noticed the thousand-strong mob surrounding them. They were focused on the strange black stone, curiosity at the forefront of their minds. Mina was fixated on it too, surprised at how unremarkable it was.

Since the first stone had been discovered last night in the village of Crapstone, hundreds more had materialised. Business began as usual that morning in the City of London, but it soon became evident that something strange was afoot. At seven-thirty, a double decker bus had struck a bowling ball-sized stone in the centre of Oxford Street and broken its axle. The driver got out to investigate, and died of a massive and explosive heart attack a second after touching it.

News circulated rapidly after that—panic spreading thick and fast. Identical stones appeared all over the United Kingdom, from Inverness to Plymouth to Norwich to Hull, and Glasgow too. Wales had identified more than a dozen within its borders. Word spread that anyone who touched the stones would immediately die of a heart attack, and that had been the nugget of news to set the nation on edge.

The stones were a threat.

Public alerts were issued: Do not approach the stones and report any discoveries immediately. A hotline was set up too, plastered at the bottom of every news report. New discoveries came in every minute.

The stones were everywhere.

“It’s just a rock.” Mina heard the disappointment in her voice as she spoke. “I was expecting something more… I don’t know. It’s just a rock.”

A leathery-skinned old woman grabbed Mina’s arm, madness in her rheumy eyes, and barked at her. “It’s aliens. They’ve sent ‘undreds of meteorites to Earth to colonise us. That stone is gunna crack open like a coconut and spill its load into the atmosphere, you mark me words. We’re all dead!”

Mina yanked her arm away and rubbed the finger marks left on her skin. She clung to David, but he paid her no attention, focused only on making it past the police cordon. Mina covered her mouth in shock when she saw him knee a child out of his way. The little boy fell to his knees, got up, then went crying to his mummy, arms outstretched and begging to be picked up.

“David, you just hurt a child.”

“The brat shouldn’t have been in the way. Ah, here we are, finally.”

They made it over to a burly police sergeant with a clipboard in his hands. He was grinding his teeth and taking slow, deep breaths. His wide eyes examined David and Mina with suspicion. “Stand back, please.”

“We’re with the Slough Echo,” David snapped.

The sergeant ran a finger down his clipboard and nodded. “Okay, step inside the cordon, but don’t go within six feet of the object.”

David swooped beneath the police tape without another word. Mina took a moment to thank the sergeant before doing the same.

The black stone sat in the middle of the road.

Mina’s tummy churned. It wasn’t hunger—she’d grabbed a hotdog less than an hour ago—it was something else. The mysterious object, just ten feet away from her, had killed people. It was dangerous. She’d been so intent on getting to Oxford Street, that she’d not stopped to consider the peril she was placing herself in. Had the stone been tested for radioactivity, toxicity? Was she in danger just by being close to it? The dozen scientists surrounding the thing did little to assuage her fears.

A tug at her arm pulled her away from her fears. It was David. “Get snapping, girl.”

“Yes, right.” Mina raised her camera and started snapping away, altering and fine-tuning her settings as she went. It was difficult to know how the best photograph would look until she examined the digital reel on her laptop, so she followed the photojournalist’s credo and just kept on snapping. The more pictures she took, the better the chances of getting something valuable. Different angles, different settings, different lenses, but just keep snapping.

David interviewed the police officers, scribbling away furiously on his notepad while they spoke. Usually he would use a tape recorder, but police officers were notoriously shy around recording equipment, and they gave much more away when faced with a simple pencil and pad.

While Mina tried to do her job, a pushy photographer from The Chronicle fought with her for the best angles, hustling her out of the way so often that it almost felt malicious. Mina knew she should hustle the older woman right back, but it wasn’t something she was used to. The other woman carried herself with such confidence and authority that it was hard to resist her. The police officers all smiled and chatted with her, while they had only disapproving glances for Mina. She started to wonder if she would ever find her feet in this job.

Satisfied that she had got as much as she was going to get, Mina placed her spare lenses back into her hip bag and let her camera hang around her neck. Now that she no longer stared through a viewfinder, the black stone in the centre of the cordon seemed to be alive—less a detached photographic subject, and more an imposing presence that demanded attention. From six feet away, she could see that the surface of it was not jet black, but streaked with delicate grey veins. She wondered what it would feel like if she touched it. It could kill her, she knew that, so why was she so eager to approach it? It was that same feeling she got whenever she stood on a high balcony and peered over the edge. That same voice in her head that always dared her to jump: Just do it!

A batch of shouting broke out behind Mina and made her turn around. The burly sergeant who stood outside the cordon had dropped his clipboard and had begun fighting with a lad in a red hoodie. A skinny girl batted the sergeant with both fists, yelling at him to leave her boyfriend alone. The profanity she used was impressive.

The sergeant applied a headlock, yanking the lad around. “I told you to bloody get back.”

The lad twisted and squirmed, trying to break free. “You have no right, pig! People deserve to know what’s happening!”

The sergeant released the lad’s neck and shoved him backwards. “Move away or I’ll bleedin’ place you under arrest.”

“Fuck you, pig,” the girlfriend shouted.

“Go suck a dick,” said the lad.

“Okay, that’s it.” The sergeant reached to his belt and pulled out a canister of CS gas. He pressed the nozzle and gave the young man a full dose in the face that sent him stumbling backwards, coughing and spluttering. The lad’s girlfriend screeched like a tomcat and pounced on the sergeant with her claws out. The sergeant restrained her easily with his meaty arm, and let her have a dose of the CS gas too. She fell to the floor weeping and scratching at her eyes.

The crowd ignited in anger. Hundreds of yelling voices merged into one, singular accusatory howl.

“Nazi!” somebody shouted.

“Fuckin’ pig,” came another.

The sergeant was on his radio, calling for backup, but before he got a call through, somebody threw a milkshake that exploded against his chest and covered him in pink mess. His face grew red with fury, and he started throwing punches at whoever was near. The lad in the red hoodie was pulled back by the paternal crowd, which then surged forward as a single, massive organism. Mina winced as she saw the same snarling racist who had called her Paki punch the sergeant in the face. The loud crack was like a cricket ball hitting a bat, but the stunned police officer remained on his feet and continued swinging his fists madly.

But it was a battle lost before it’d already begun.

The crowd dragged the sergeant to the ground, and the racist thug kicked his head like a football. Somebody else stamped on his testicles. Mina was glad the sergeant was unconscious through most of it. She was also glad that she had not confronted the racist. That could have been her head being kicked like a football.

The two police officers within the cordon raced to their colleague’s aid, but could not get near. The crowd was a pack of lions guarding its prey until it was well and truly dead.

“We need to go,” said David, clutching Mina’s arm.

“We need to help.”

“No! We need to get out of here before they do the same to us.”

Mina shook her head. “Why would they attack us?”

“Because we’re on this side of the cordon. Now come on.”

Mina allowed herself to be dragged, but found herself unable to take her eyes off the black stone. She got the feeling it was staring right back at her.

Police cars raced down Oxford Street, sirens blaring, but they had to stop when they encountered the thick mass of bodies. Within seconds, the squad cars tilted and rocked as people laid siege to the trapped officers. The windscreens cracked as people climbed up on the bonnets and, within seconds, the police cars had disappeared in a sea of bodies.

“This is insane,” said Mina. “They’re acting like animals.”

“Just keep moving, and don’t make eye-contact. Things are about to get nasty.”

“They’re already nasty.”

David grabbed her arm again and pulled her close. “People are afraid, Mina. And when people are afraid, their inner cavemen come out. There’s no rationality in a man when he panics. Just keep your head down and don’t stop moving.”

Mina dodged around an old woman who had fallen in the road. She wanted to stop and help her, but the crowd was a living thing, and swallowed the pensioner up before there was any chance to offer help. David dragged Mina beneath the awning of French Connection to catch a breath.

“What do we do, David?”

“We wait for the first gap in the crowd and then get the hell out of this city.”

“David, there are hundreds of those stones. What if this is happening everywhere?”

“There are thousands of them,” he corrected her. “You were there when Carol got the report. Thousands of them all over the world. I don’t think I understood the chaos they would cause until now. Hundreds of years ago, people’s superstitions kept them in line. Now, in the age of science, people don’t tolerate things they can’t understand. Until someone makes sense of these stones, things are going to get ghastly.”

Mina swallowed. “I’m afraid, David.”

“So am I, but there’ll be time to be afraid later. We need to get out of here.”

“And then what?”

“We give the public the news, and hope they don’t riot.”

~Tony Cross~

Iraq-Syria Border

The patch of scrub desert at the Iraq-Syria border was the worst hell British Army Staff Sergeant Tony Cross had ever visited—and he’d visited many. The air was so arid that it seemed to dry you out from within, and every breath was like swallowing sand.

And there was the isolation.

Nothing but sand, rubble, and rocks for a hundred miles in every direction. The nearest town was Rutba, but the people there were as frightened of British soldiers as they were of the fanatical members of the ISN—Islamic State Nationalists. They feared the West because they might be accused of being in league with terrorists, and they feared the ISN because they might be accused of being in league with the West. The ordinary people of Iraq were perpetual victims of religion and money, and neither served them well. Tony felt sorry for them in the same way he felt sorry for cows in the field—they didn’t realise how much their lives were not their own.

Lieutenant Ellis stood with his hands on his hips and stated the obvious, “Looks like this fence has been tampered with.”

The gap in the border fence was twenty metres wide, and either end of it had been rolled aside so neatly that they resembled a pair of decorative pillars. Sabotage—but from which side?

“What are you thinking, Staff Sergeant?” Lieutenant Ellis asked Tony, no doubt noticing his dubious expression.

“How far away is the border crossing? Two miles? Three? The only way the Iraqi Guard didn’t notice a giant hole in their fence is because they’re either useless, or they’re letting the ISN stroll right on through.”

Ellis stiffened. “We can make no such assumptions. The Iraq national forces were trained by our soldiers. They know what is at stake.”

“Do they? To me their choice is pretty simple. Side with a group of men with the same religion and colour skin as them, or with a bunch of rich, white westerners with avarice behind their smiles.”

Ellis strolled up to Tony and lifted his chin in a way the pompous git probably thought was authoritative. “Now look here, Staff Sergeant, I will not have you criticising our operations here. You have made it quite clear your feelings on our duties in this part of the world—and since I have served nowhere near as long as you have I will reserve my judgement—but please keep your disenfranchisement to yourself. The men need not hear it. We are here to do a job, so leave the moral quandaries to the politicians.”

“That’s the last bunch of crooks I’d leave it to.”

Ellis placed his hands on his hips. “Am I understood, Staff Sergeant?”

“Perfectly, sir.”

“Good. We can be fairly certain that this is the ingress point from Syria into Iraq, so our mission is as planned. We set up here, and ambush the next group that tries to come through.”

“I don’t think that’s necessarily the best course of action, sir.”

“Oh? Why not?”

Tony told him, “The first set of rebels we fall upon might be a bunch of wet-eared kids. We should hold off until we identify a high value target.”

“And allow members of ISN to funnel through in the meantime? No, I’m afraid not. We are here to shut down this security breach for the Iraqi government and that is what we will do. We engage the first border-jumpers we see, and then get this fence repaired.”

Tony didn’t waste time arguing. This twenty-six year old, fresh out of Sandford Academy thought he knew everything and wouldn’t bend from what he thought best. He wasn’t the first arrogant little twerp to give Tony orders, and it was just part of the job. In the older days of war, Ellis might have got a bullet in the back, but those times were over. As they were carrying out a pretty low-risk mission in a conflict they were not officially involved in, Tony’s only concern was keeping the lads from doing mischief. Ellis could play the simpering peacock as much as he wanted.

Tony snapped off a half-arsed salute. “I’ll get the men dug in just behind that hill, sir. It’ll keep us well hidden until the time is right.”

“Excellent! See to it, Staff Sergeant.”

Tony marched away, leaving the Lieutenant to stand with his hands glued to his hips. The young officer’s expression made it look like he was planning a campaign to rival D-Day, but the truth was that there was probably very little going on inside his skull. With all the British Army’s great progress into the modern fighting force it was today, it was still top-heavy with entitled idiots from ‘military families’ and well-bred fools looking for a jolly old jaunt in the forces. The real leaders of the Army were the sergeants like him.

Tony flagged down one of his corporals, a young Scouser named Green. Like his name suggested, he was a little inexperienced, but he was also bright and eager—which counted for a lot out here in the wastelands.

“Yes, Staff Cross? Do you have orders?”

“Get four men and dig a defensive trench on the rear of that hill.” He pointed to the gentle slope that formed a moderate peak. “We’ll dig in with a lookout position at the top. We’ll see any border jumpers long before they see us. Have Corporal Rose help you.”

“Right away, Staff Cross.” Green marched away at the double, gathering men as he went.

There were fifteen of them assembled at the border, split off from a platoon of two hundred stationed at a temporary camp fifty miles way. Britain had decided not to take direct action in the Syrian conflict, or commit itself to any land wars, but it had compromised upon a small reactionary force to operate within ‘friendly’ Iraq. Any border jumpers could be dealt with as criminals, rather than terrorists, and that made things less politically precarious. After the decade-long nightmare of Al Qaeda, Britain did not want to draw the ire of another extremist group. It might have held an obligation to keep Iraq free of dangerous individuals, but it held no such responsibilities to Syria. Damascus could burn for all Westminster cared, so long as it was down to Syria’s people or Syria’s government. Tony didn’t particularly disagree. How could the Arab nations ever hope to evolve and pull themselves up out of the dirt if the West interfered every time a government was threatened? There would be no United States if some disenfranchised Brits hadn’t stuck their fingers up to the Crown. There would be no democracy in Britain if not for Cromwell and his armed uprising. People needed to overthrow governments and take control of their own destinies. The rest of the world should stand back and let them. The Arab Spring movement was the Middle East’s first step towards positive change. Worst thing to do now would be to try and manipulate things from Washington, London, and Brussels.

Not that Tony held any respect for the ISN. Like all fanatics, they were monsters hiding behind ideals and traditions—they deserved whatever they got—but it was for the Arab world to deal with them. Only through their own trials and triumphs would the people of the Middle East gain the confidence needed to unite against extremism and join the rest of the world on equal footing.

While Private Green carried out his orders, Tony took a trek up the hill to double-check that it was indeed a suitable location to stage an ambush. The elevation alone should give them the better end of a firefight, but it never hurt to know the terrain. For instance, as he strode up the gentle incline now, he noticed that the ground underfoot was loose. It would become tough to see if a sudden gust swept dirt up into the air. The last thing the men needed during a battle was a face full of sand. It might be worth building a windbreaker out of any larger rocks they could find.

So Tony set about looking for those rocks. There were numerous fist-sized boulders, but few that were large enough to provide cover. The unit had brought jeeps with them—hidden nearby under sandy tarps about half-a-mile back—so it was possible to make a quick reccy to see what lay in the surrounding area, but before he had properly considered doing that, he spotted a large stone up ahead. A jet-black boulder, completely out of place amongst the browns and greys of the desert.

In fact, it looked very much like it had been placed there.

Tony squinted and muttered to himself, “What the hell is that thing?”

“Incoming,” came a squawk through the radio.

Tony dropped onto one knee and swung his rifle up and around. Private Harris, a large brute of a man and the group’s lookout, pointed toward the Syrian border. Lieutenant Ellis rushed to the bottom of the hill and signalled the men to gather up, but as Tony was on higher ground, he stayed right where he was. Ellis realised that his Staff Sergeant was in a better position and instead rallied the men to Tony’s location.

“Who’s coming? How many? And which direction?” Tony asked Private Harris before Ellis had time to interject.

“Vehicles—I counted four. Three cars, one van.”

“Dear Lord,” said Ellis. “That’s quite the convoy.”

Tony faced his commanding officer with urgency. “We should get the men behind the hill and call it in to Command.”

“Yes, of course. Everybody, form a firing line behind the hill and await my orders.”

When the Lieutenant did nothing else, Tony frowned at him. “Are you going to call Command, sir?”

“No, it’s unnecessary until we know what we’re up against.”

“When we know what we’re up against it’ll be too late.”

“Nonsense. I don’t want to put a call through to Command without good reason.”

“There could be twenty armed men in that convoy.”

“Pah, twenty rebels against fifteen British soldiers. In an ambush no less.”

Tony gritted his teeth. He knew the Lieutenant wanted to call Command after successfully taking out a rebel unit so that he looked like a competent leader with initiative, instead of an officer who called everything in to get orders from above on how to proceed. “Fine,” Tony relented. “Let’s just be ready.”

The men scurried behind the hill and bedded down, spreading themselves out six feet apart and forming a well-spaced firing line. Closer to the top of the hill, Tony peeked over the crest to see what they were up against. It was bad.

Four cars and a van—not three as Private Harris had reported. If the vehicles were full of rebels, there would be a serious firefight. The ambush would have to be executed flawlessly, because if it became a protracted affair, there would be casualties on both sides. Tony got on his radio, the quickest way to speak to all fourteen men at once. “Everybody keep their ‘eds down ‘til either me or the Lieutenant give the word. When the shit hits the fan, we drop grenades on those vehicles and pin ‘em down with gunfire. Hit ‘em quick and hard enough and they’ll drop their weapons and surrender. Radio silence until then. Over.”

Tony remained at the top of the hill, pulling out his binocs and assessing the situation that was racing across the desert towards them. AK47 barrels protruded from the car windows like spines on a porcupine. The convoy was headed right for the breach in the fence, which meant they knew it was there. ISN rebels.

Ellis crawled up the hill and rested beside Tony. “You shouldn’t have ordered radio silence until I had spoken. I may have had something to add.”

Tony knew Ellis had nothing to add, but he nodded and gave an apology. “Just trying to do my best for you, sir. I’ve identified five vehicles; passengers armed to the bleedin’ teeth. We need to be ready.”

“We are ready,” said Ellis. “My men are ready for anything.”

“Let’s hope our grenades hit the target. It’ll improve the odds.”

“Don’t you feel that’s a little excessive, Staff Sergeant? We don’t know who is in those vehicles. There could be civilians. Would it not be better to be a tad more precise?”

Tony blinked at his superior. “They’re illegally crossing the border and bearing arms. Our mandate is clear, sir. We take ‘em out, and any civilians stupid enough to be in the middle only ‘ave themselves to blame.”

Ellis sighed. “Poor fellows aren’t going to know what hit them. Fall back, Staff Sergeant, lest they spot you.”

Tony nodded, then shimmied down the hill on his belly until he was a part of the firing line. If all went to plan, the men would rise up like something out of Braveheart and reduce the enemy in seconds. Tony had faith that the lads would be ready to act, but he was yet to witness any of them under fire. You could never tell how good a soldier was until somebody tried to kill him. If this didn’t go fast, it would get bloody.

The convoy was still half a mile away. Nothing to do but wait. Tony tried to ignore the churning in his belly he still got before a fight. Even after fifteen years in the Army, you never stopped being afraid of death. Even suicides changed their minds in those final seconds before death. They all begged for a second chance as they dangled by their necks. Every soldier worried a bullet would find them without them even knowing it, and all of them begged for their mothers if they ever got hit. Tony had held the hands of more dying men than he cared to remember.

Movement in the corner of his eye.

Tony flinched and hoped he wasn’t about to spot a sneaky rebel coming up on his flank—but all was well. It hadn’t been movement he’d seen, but a flash of light. The strange black stone he’d spotted earlier seemed to be glowing. Its smooth surface danced with delicate sparks of light, like the static on an old-fashioned television. There was a crackling sound too. But Tony was a soldier, not a geologist, and his only focus was the enemy speeding towards him. Whatever the strange stone was, it would have to wait.

The din of sand-clogged engines arrived, and the British soldiers behind the hill became visibly on edge. Tony saw the tension in each of their eyes and knew exactly how they felt. For a man, controlling his adrenaline was an arduous task, and perhaps a soldier’s biggest skill, and to run into danger instead of away from it was against every basic human instinct. It took training and courage to overcome the urge to flee.

Giving the word would be difficult, for Tony would have to rely on his ears instead of his eyes. He’d have to gauge when the enemy convoy was within range purely from what he could hear. Too soon or too late and things could go very wrong.

The engine noises grew louder.

Tony gave a hand signal to the men. Wait.

Grenades slipped from link straps. Safeties went off L85 combat rifles. All done in silence.

The men were ready.

Tony kept his hand where it was. Keep holding.

The engine noise rose in pitch.

The convoy was close.

Almost time. Almost…

“Engage!”

Tony flinched. His hand was still in the air, signalling for everyone to remain holding, but the men leapt out of cover and raced up the hill.

Ellis had his rifle pointed and was bellowing at his men like a lion. “Engage, engage, engage.”

“You fool,” cursed Tony, as he shouldered his rifle and ran up the hill. None of them could be sure what they would find there until they reached the top.

When Tony got there, he saw it was bad.

The convoy was still fifty metres away. The flat, hard ground of the desert had carried the engine noise and made the vehicles sound closer. If the men had waited just another five-seconds, the enemy would have been close enough to engage, but now, Tony realised in horror, they were screwed.

A volley of British Army grenades took flight, arced through the sky, plummeted back towards the ground.

Multiple explosions shook the air and kicked a cloud of dirt up off the desert floor. Nobody could see or hear anything. Confusion reigned.

Then the enemy convoy screeched to a halt just outside the border fence. Their vehicles were unharmed—the British grenades had missed them—and armed ISN soldiers spilled out into the desert, surprised, but in no way deterred. They used their car doors as cover and opened fire upon the hill. Private Green went down in a red mist as a bullet took off the top of his head. Two more privates and a corporal went down right next to him. Four men dead in a single second.

Tony zeroed in on the nearest car in the convoy—a banged up Toyota Corolla—and pulled his trigger. The first burst ricocheted and sent sparks off the bonnet, but the next round hit an ISN soldier in the throat and sent him cartwheeling to the ground.

The dirt kicked up two feet in front of Tony, making him turn and leap for cover, ducking down behind the hill. By that time, Lieutenant Ellis had already fallen back, and so had all the other men with half a brain.

“Our grenades fell short.” Ellis stated.

“No shit!” Tony growled. “Why did you give the order?”

“Because I felt it right.”

“Well, it was sodding wrong.”

Ellis cleared his throat. “We need to focus on our next move now, Staff Sergeant, not the past.”

“I agree. We need to flank ‘em. They have too much cover to keep trading shots back and forth like this. It’ll degenerate into a case of who has the most ammunition, and we don’t know what they’ve in the back of that van.”

Ellis flinched as a bullet whizzed past his head, but he stayed calm and kept talking. “Okay, I concur. I’ll split the men into two-”

“No, we don’t split up. Our only cover is here and that’s where the unit needs to stay. I just need two men.”

“You’re going yourself?”

“Damn right I am. The men acted on a bad order and that’s our fault.”

The corners of the Lieutenant’s mouth crinkled, and he looked offended at the implication, but he settled on a guilty look and nodded. “Take any two men you want, Anthony.”

Tony chose the two men nearest, for it didn’t matter whom. There were no heroes in the unit yet, just a dozen well-drilled kids. The two men he chose were Corporal Blake and Private 2nd Class Harris.

“We break south along the fence,” Tony explained, “and try to get an angle on ‘em. The fence will stop us from getting behind their cover, but if we can get at their flank, we can take ‘em out while the rest of the unit suppresses ‘em from the front. You be careful, Harris, you’re a big bloody target.”

Both men nodded, a mixture of excitement and knicker-wetting fear on their faces.

“On my command. Ready…

“… Go!”

The three British soldiers raced down the hill, heads down and zigzagging. Tony was a decade older than Corporal Blake and Private Harris, which led to him falling back a pace, but he could still move at a decent clip—even at thirty-four. Gunfire bit the dirt around his feet, but he kept on going, outrunning his death by a factor of centimetres.

The border fence was just ahead. Corporal Blake was almost there, Harris right behind him.

Something caught Tony’s attention, making him stop. The strange black stone came up on his left and had begun glowing brightly. His focus and urgency dripped away. He strolled towards it even as gunfire cracked from every direction. He was uninterested in anything other than the curious black stone. It seemed to call to him. The light coming out of it spread and started to form a border around a translucent layer that reminded Tony of the suds in the centre of a child’s bubble blower. Something inside that translucent layer moved—something that seemed to stare right back at Tony as he approached it.

It’s beautiful.

Before Tony could figure out what was happening, a bullet hit him in the back and dropped him to the ground.

Suddenly the bright light above the stone was replaced by darkness.

~Samantha Smart~

Central Park, New York City

Samantha loved Central Park in the summer. It was so alive. When people thought of New York City, they pictured skyscrapers, banks, and museums, but to Sam, Central Park was the real soul of the city. In the seventies, the park had been a dangerous place, like the city itself, but gradually, and in tandem, both the park and city had evolved. Now the Big Apple was one of the most welcoming places on Earth. A place where kosher delis sat alongside Italian pizzerias, Ethiopian restaurants, and LGBT bars. No racial underclasses here like there were in LA or San Antonio; New York was a place of acceptance. Gay or straight, black or white, it didn’t matter in the Big Apple, which was why Samantha, a Lesbian from Utah, felt so at home. Sure, the hustle and bustle could give you a headache, and the traffic was pure torture, but that was why the park was so wonderful. Even in Manhattan, you could find tranquillity.

Today was different though. The park buzzed with excitement. Manhattan had gotten a new tourist attraction this morning.

The strange black stone had materialised outside the Central Park Carousel and killed three homeless people during the night. Now it was cordoned off, and mounted police officers trotted between the crowds, sharing what they knew and chatting with curious tourists. The stone was deadly, and no one could move it. A few hours ago, the City Council had attached a harness from a truck-mounted crane to the stone. The truck had tipped over before the stone had even shown the slightest hint of shifting. Three people had been crushed. In the last hour, the stone had started to glow.

The crowd grew anxious, but they would not disperse. In fact, the crowd only continued to grow. Thousands of people were now gathered in the park and business had ground to a halt as employees failed to return from their lunch breaks. Even Wall Street was deserted—and it usually took a bomb threat to drag those wolves from their dens. Everybody wanted to be in the park.

New York was a city of togetherness, and people were gathering in mutual support of one another. This strange black stone had inserted itself into their city, and they would stand together until they understood exactly what it was. The citizens of New York were afraid, but they were consolidated.

An old man stood nearby. He smiled at Samantha as she slid from one gap in the crowd to another. “They’re saying it came from space,” he said.

“What, like a meteor or something?”

“Yeah, I don’t buy it either. You looked tired, miss. Here, finish the rest of my coffee.”

“No, that’s…” She smiled, embarrassed, but took the cup anyway. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I could actually kill for coffee right now.”

“Sure, enjoy it. They give you such big cups nowadays that I can never finish.”

Samantha sipped the hot beverage and sighed at the spreading warmth in her tummy. “Makes you wonder when they’ll stop, doesn’t it? One day we’ll all be drinking from buckets.”

The old man put his hands on his rotund belly and chuckled. With his white hair and wizened, grey eyes, he resembled Santa Claus.

“So, why are you so tired, miss?”

“I didn’t realise I looked so bad. You can tell just by looking at me?”

“The bags under your eyes give you away. I used to work night shifts at a grain mill in Buffalo as a young man. I know tiredness when I see it.”

“Wish I could say it was because I was hard at work all night, but it was irresponsible fun, I’m afraid.”

“Partying with your boyfriend?”

“Girlfriend.”

The old man recoiled. “Oh, excuse me, I never…”

“No, it’s okay. Sorry, I don’t know why I felt the need to correct you.”

The old man recovered and shrugged his shoulders. “Because I needed correcting, miss. Why should I assume that you have a boyfriend and not a girlfriend? I should have said partner. I’m afraid you’ll have to forgive an old man for being old-fashioned.”

Samantha grinned, again reminding herself how much she loved this city. If she’d told an old white guy in Utah she was gay, she might have been heckled in the street, but not by this old New Yorker. “You’re forgiven.” She smiled. “My name is Sam.”

“Ha! Mine too. What a coincidence.”

“No way! Your name is Samantha? How weird.” She chuckled.

“You silly thing. No, my name is Samuel, but my friends call me Sam.”

“This might become confusing.”

“It just might be. Maybe we should go our separate ways, miss.”

Samantha giggled. “Maybe. You staying to watch the glowing black stone from outer space?”

“It would feel wrong not to stay. It has a momentous feeling about it, don’t you think? Like something is going to happen worth staying for. You heard identical stones are all over the country?”

Samantha nodded. “Yeah, but this one is ours. This is the New York black stone. I just hope it doesn’t turn out to be anything bad.”

Samuel patted her on the arm. “I have faith it won’t be. All these people gathered… It must be for something good. I think we can all feel it. We’re meant to be here. Something will happen soon, and things will make perfect sense. It’ll be good, I know it. A gift from God.”

A lifelong atheist, Samantha would usually object to such a claim, but the old man had accepted her for who she was, so she was certainly willing to accept him. “You might be right,” she said. “Come on, Sam, let’s go find somewhere to get a better look.”

“Okay dokey, Sam. You lead the way.”

“Sure thing, Sam.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

“You’re very welcome, Sam.”

The old man chuckled. “You sure we shouldn’t have gone our separate ways?”

“Too late now. Come on, Sam.”

“Okay, Sam.”

* * *

They managed to find a spot next to an overcrowded hot dog vendor where Samantha bought them both a foot long. Samuel took his with onions and mustard, her without.

“Taste buds need a kick at my age,” he explained. “Among other things.”

Samantha rose on her tiptoes and tried to see over a large woman’s shoulder. She couldn’t see the black stone, but could see the light coming off of it, and that was what finally made her nervous. At the beginning, the stone had merely been peculiar, but now that it glowed, it seemed alive. Was it really from outer space?

“What can you see?” Samuel asked her.

“Not much. It’s still glowing. I think…” She hopped up and down to get a better look. “I think the light is spreading out.”

Samuel grinned. “It’s happening. It’s going to reveal its secrets.”

The crowd hushed. Several thousand people stood in complete silence. The strange light was definitely spreading, the glowing loop becoming a frame within which a translucent layer shimmered. Sam could see right through it, but her view was distorted, like trying to read a letter underwater. Images flickered and danced inside the transparent layer, but she could make out nothing in detail.

“There’s something inside,” somebody in the crowd cried out.

“It’s like looking through a lens,” someone else added.

The bright archway continued to grow, rising twenty feet above the crowd. The translucent centre shimmered like the surface of a pond.

Samantha couldn’t take her eyes away. “So beautiful.”

“I see it!” Samuel shouted beside her. “Everything is about to change.”

By now, the entire crowd was entranced: a thousand mouths hanging wide open, and twice as many eyes staring in amazement. The glowing archway continued to grow, towering over the nearby carousel. The translucent centre began to thicken and take form.

Samantha reached out for Samuel’s hand and squeezed it. The miracle in front of her was starting to make sense. “I think… I think it’s a gate.”

A blinding explosion of light.

The crowd cried out in shock.

All hell broke loose.

The screaming started at the front of the crowd, nearest the cordoned off area with the stone. It was cries of fear at first, but evolved into cries of agony. Samantha stood too far back to see what was happening, but the crowd turned in on itself, people elbowing to get away.

“We need to get out of here.” Samuel grabbed her arm.

Samantha shook her head in a daze. “What’s happening? I can’t see what’s happening.”

“Something came through,” Samuel told her. “I was wrong. Whatever this is, it isn’t good. It’s not God.”

The screaming continued; it never stopped for a single second.

Samantha glanced back. People flew into the air and crashed against the ground, arms breaking and mangled legs snapping. Something steamrolled the crowd—a charging rhino? Surely something explainable. Then a horrendous thing showed itself and put all hopeful notions of an escaped rhino aside.

A man, twenty feet tall and rippling with taut muscles, swiped at the fleeing crowd, breaking backs and caving in skulls with giant fists. He was naked save for a loose robe falling from his shoulder and around his waist. His bare back was pierced by spines of charred bones, and his face was a dark shadow of rage—yet flawlessly beautiful even in its ferocity.

Samantha watched in terror as the monstrous giant snatched up a police officer from his horse and tore him in two, like a Christmas cracker, his wet innards showering the crowd.

“We need to leave,” repeated Samuel, grabbing her so hard on the bicep that she cried out in pain. She understood though. They needed to get away.

They took off towards the playing fields where the park opened up and bordered Central Park West. Maybe there they could get free of the mad panic and bloodshed. People were lying on the ground everywhere, trampled half to death by the fleeing crowd that was no longer united, but selfish and afraid. A young woman with two broken arms lay on her back sobbing, but no one stopped to help her. The crowd moved too fast for anybody to risk being a Good Samaritan.

As the two Sams entered the emerald grass of the playing fields, Samuel slipped and almost pulled Samantha down with him. He fell in a mess, but made it up again quickly. He tried to continue, but gritted his teeth and hissed.

“Samuel, are you okay?”

“My ankle’s gone. I’m too old to be dashing around in blind panic.”

Samantha reached out to help him, but it was just as a squad of teenage boys in football jerseys came ploughing along and barged right into them. Samantha hit the ground hard, cursing at the boys from on her back. “You fucking bastards!”

They’d ploughed into Samuel too. He lay on his back, moaning. Samantha dragged herself across the grass to him to check he was okay. The crowd continued its stampede, clattering feet dodging Samantha and Samuel only at the very last second. Soon somebody would not be paying attention and would crash right into them.

There was also the giant to worry about—currently stomping its way towards the playing fields.

“Samuel, get up. That thing is coming.”

“I can’t,” he whined. “My leg.”

Samantha looked down at Samuel’s leg and saw that his sprained ankle had developed into a broken shinbone. The glistening white shard poked out of his trousers and glistened with globs of blood.

“Those goddamn jocks.”

Samuel sighed. “Don’t blame them. They’re just frightened. You go on, miss. Get out of here.”

“I’m not leaving you, Samuel.”

“You just met me. I’ll forgive you.”

“I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

“Better living with guilt than dying with honour, if you ask me.”

Samantha glanced towards the edge of the playing fields. A group of police had assembled there and were discharging their weapons at the towering monster. The giant bent and swung a long arm, scooping them up as if they were matchsticks. The screaming police officers tumbled twenty feet in the air before gravity reclaimed them and smashed them against the ground. A dozen bullets had hit the giant, but it carried on without the slightest concern.

“Get out of here,” Samuel grunted through his pain.

“I can’t leave you.”

“I can’t let you die for me.”

Samantha wished she’d met Samuel years ago. The instant connection they’d made was rare, but it was destined to go to waste. She shook her head, and fought back tears. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, miss, but it’s been lovely meeting you. Now get gone.”

Samantha nodded, leapt up, and ran. She wanted to glance back at Samuel, but refused to allow herself. Nothing to be gained by a final look.

Police cars skidded in the grass up ahead, leaving long brown furrows in their wake. Officers leapt out either side in pairs, armed with shotguns and rifles. They wasted no time in heading straight towards the Beast of Manhattan.

The furthest reaches of the crowd had crossed the edge of the playing fields and were spilling into the busy thoroughfare of Central Park West. Traffic screeched to a halt as yellow taxis shunted into the backs of city buses, and unlucky pedestrians got caught in the middle, bleeding out as twisted metal pierced their vital organs. Horns honked so persistently that the individual sounds merged into one long, continuous blare. That seemed far away to Samantha, though, who was running across the playing fields. Her legs started to tire, and young men and thinner women overtook her on both sides. A helicopter zipped overhead, low enough to make the grass shimmer. The sound of machine gunfire arrived like something out of a Vietnam War movie. Samantha was still running as fast as she could when the hair on the back of her neck stood up.

She glanced back over her shoulder.

The Beast of Manhattan was right behind her.

The ground shook.

She was done for.

Something crashed into Samantha, cracking against her skull and knocking her vision sideways. She hit the ground, and something crushed her. Her eyes remained open, but she saw nothing but darkness.

The Beast bellowed.

A stranger’s hand covered her face as she lay there in the grass for several minutes, wondering why she wasn’t dead. The stranger who had fallen on top of her did not move an inch. Was he okay?

Samantha slid the stranger’s arm away from her face and tugged at their clothing until she found a belt. When she finally tugged the guy off of her, she managed to sit up. She gagged when she saw the caved in face of a teenager lying beside her. The Beast must have struck him. His dead body falling on Samantha had saved her life.

The playing fields were quiet. Bodies littered the ground like confetti. The Beast had marched away into the city, where chaos was now visible. The epicentre seemed to be outside the Holy Trinity church, which had caught fire.

Samantha dragged herself to her feet, sobbing. The shock and utter bewilderment finally took a hold of her. The dead stranger’s blood soaked her, and she tasted it on her lips. What the hell had happened? Why was New York always subjected to such horror? She’d been a child in Utah during 9/11, but she often imagined the terror in the city on that terrible day. Now she knew.

She almost fell back down to the blood soaked grass as her knees clashed together like cymbals. The smell of cordite assaulted the air, and from somewhere she heard the faint moans of the injured, but it was impossible to identify anybody alive in such a mess. So she took a walk in the park she loved, no longer pleasant and green, but grizzly and red.

It didn’t take long to find Samuel. She’d left him at the edge of the playing field, and that was where he remained. It was unclear what had killed him, but his sagging chest spoke of badly broken ribs. A slight bruise on his temple might also have been the culprit.

“It was good meeting you, Samuel.”

More moaning, but this time louder, and from many voices. Samantha glanced up and peered toward the carousel where the nightmare had started. The great glowing archway still hovered above the black stone with its shimmering, translucent centre. Whatever it was, and wherever it led to, it was still open.

Someone approached Samantha.

The hunched over man was hurt, his flesh singed and smoking. Flaps of blackened skin hung from his naked body and littered the floor behind him like gory breadcrumbs. His moans were desperate and pained—a walking embodiment of nerve-searing agony. Samantha hurried towards him, tears filling her eyes. “Oh God, I’ll find you some help. Just…just sit down.”

The burned man didn’t accept her help. Instead, he snarled like an animal.

“It’s okay. I want to help you. I-”

The injured man grabbed Samantha’s throat with a crushing grip. “You should concentrate on helping yourself, whore.”

Samantha tried to wrench the hand away from her throat, but her attacker was inhumanly strong. Every time she gained a grip, her fingers slid on loose chunks of burned flesh that sloughed away in her hands.

“Please,” she begged.

“Your begging is a song the whole world will be singing. We bring unending torture and eternal slavery. Your cities will crumble, your children will weep blood and shit themselves in misery.”

Samantha choked, the vice around her throat tightening. Her terrified eyes fell upon a legion of horrors.

An army of smouldering, blackened monsters marched across Central Park. A dozen at first, but then more and more. Soon there were hundreds. Burned monsters from some faraway, fiery pit.

Demons.

Samantha felt herself grow weaker. Her eyes bulged in their sockets as she kept on struggling, but it was no use.

Death beckoned, and she could not refuse its call.

“Why?” Samantha managed to ask in her final moments.

But she didn’t live long enough to get an answer.

~Guy Granger~

Lower Bay, New York

“What the hell is happening over there, Captain?” Guy Granger’s second-in-command, Lieutenant James Tosco, stared at him with piercing blue eyes.

Guy didn’t have a clue what was happening. The view through his binoculars was difficult to make sense of. It was hard to see past Brooklyn from where the USCG Hatchet floated in the Lower Bay, but Manhattan was at the centre of something bad. The city was in panic. Fires had broken out everywhere, and the sound of chaos made it all the way across the Upper Bay. The Hatchet, a 263 foot U.S. Coast Guard cutter, had been approaching New York Harbour for routine maintenance when it had been halted by a state of emergency being declared. It appeared the terrorists had struck again.

This time there were no exploding planes or toppling buildings. The damage seemed smaller in scale, yet wider spread. The distance between individual fires stretched several blocks, and dozens of helicopters spiralled the skyline from Hell’s Kitchen to Midtown East.

Tosco cleared his throat. “Captain?”

Guy lowered his binoculars. “I don’t know what’s happening, Lieutenant, but it’s bad.”

“Then we need to offer assistance.”

“No. Command told us to hold firm, so we hold and await orders.”

Tosco grunted. “The men are unsettled, Captain. Many have family working in the city. In the time it takes to wait for orders, people will die.”

Guy said nothing, just examined his second-in-command carefully. Eventually, he said, in a voice that brooked no argument, “There are ten officers aboard this ship, Lieutenant, and sixty enlisted seamen. If you are suggesting we will have some kind of disruption on our hands, it would lead me to seriously doubt your credentials as my senior officer.”

Tosco bristled, pointy ears twitching beneath the brim of his officer’s cap. “Everything is under control, Captain. I just felt it my duty to inform you of the men’s feelings.”

“Noted, Lieutenant, but you’re not running a union. You carry out my orders, not theirs. Go and perform a weapons check and put the crew on high alert. If we do get instructions to head into harbour, I want us to be ready.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Tosco snapped off a sloppy salute and stormed away.

Guy exhaled. His second-in-command was becoming a problem of late. Too ambitious and bull-headed to accept orders without complaint, James Tosco had reached a stage where he obviously felt he should be commanding his own ship. A strapping lad of thirty, smart and athletic, he certainly had the aptitude for command, but this was Guy’s ship, and he did not tolerate insubordination, or a negative attitude from anyone. You let things slide once and you gave the go ahead to be undermined at every turn.

He would need to deal with Lieutenant Tosco.

Chief Petty Officer, and Guy’s oldest friend, Frank Jacobs, gave him a sheepish grin that suggested he wanted to be of use. The man’s chubby brown cheeks had sagged in old age and his once fuzzy black hair was now brittle and white. He looked older than usual, and worried.

“This isn’t going to be a good day, is it, Captain?”

Guy placed his binoculars down on the desk and said, “I’m thinking not. We heard anything back from Command yet?”

“Nothing other than instructions to hold ready. They don’t seem to understand what’s going on either. Apparently, it has something to do with that strange black stone they found in Central Park this morning. It exploded or something.”

“They say there are matching stones all over the country.”

“All over the world,” Frank corrected. “My aunt in Trinidad said there’s one right in the middle of town, next to the laundrette.”

“How is your aunt?”

“Eighty-eight and still growing her own strawberries. They’re the most delicious things you ever tasted, Captain.”

Guy grinned, then spoke more seriously, “What do you think is happening, Frank? Has New York been attacked again?”

“After 9/11, I don’t see how any attack could succeed. Every inch of New York is covered by half-a-dozen security cameras. You only have to utter the word bomb and Homeland will turn up on your doorstep ready to waterboard you. Whatever this stone they found in the park is, I don’t think it’s the work of terrorists. I’m not sure if I feel better or worse about that.”

Guy raised an eyebrow. “You’re not one of those who believes it’s aliens?”

“I don’t know what I believe, just have a bad feeling, that’s all. I’m an old man, Captain, and my waters tell me this will be a long day.”

“Well, whatever happened is still going on. Is Tosco right, Frank? Should we be helping?”

“We do as we’re commanded.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

Guy chuckled. “I’ve known you twenty years, Frank, and I don’t think I’ve ever once seen you break a rule.”

“I leave that to men like you. If you want to help, then help. Long as I follow your orders, I’m doing my job. It’s for you to worry about what Command will think.”

Guy looked back through his binoculars and was certain that the devastation had doubled in just the last five minutes. More fires had taken hold, and Army helicopters zipped across an ever expanding area like hungry buzzards. Brooklyn remained quiet, but Roosevelt Island was aflame and the chaos had begun snatching at the fringes of Long Island.

“Take us a quarter-mile into the Upper Bay, Frank. I want to see if our help will even make a difference before I think about lending it.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Guy left the pilothouse and headed down to the armoury. He expected to find Lieutenant Tosco there, but instead, he found two ensigns and a dozen enlisted sailors. They stood to attention when they saw him approach.

Guy waved a hand. “At ease. How goes it?”

Ensign Lucy Smith answered, “Lieutenant Tosco asked us to ready weapons and ammunition, sir.”

Guy nodded, pleased that Tosco had carried out his orders as requested. “Good.”

“How long until we enter the harbour, Captain?”

“Who said we’re going into harbour, Ensign Smith?”

“Oh, I… My mistake, Captain. I just assumed.”

Guy gritted his teeth. Tosco had been getting ahead of himself. “No decision has been made whether to head into harbour, Ensign, so do not pre-empt my orders.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Do we know what’s happening out there, Captain?” asked one of the ship’s mechanics, Seaman Biggins.

Ensign Smith shouted at him. “Biggins! Do not address the captain unless you are spoken to.”

Guy waved a hand. “It’s okay, Ensign. Truthfully, Seaman Biggins, I don’t know what’s happening, but it’s not anything good. As soon as Command gives an update, I will share it with the crew.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“You’re welcome. Now, where is Lieutenant Tosco?”

Ensign Smith pointed towards the wide shutter at the end of the storage area. “Out on launch deck prepping the Jayhawk.”

Guy gave a slight nod and marched away. “As you were, sailors.”

He went over to the shutter and raised it. The wind came rushing in, along with the sound of distant chaos from Manhattan. Tosco was indeed outside on the launch deck, sitting inside the Jayhawk rescue helicopter and running system checks. The main rotor spun and the rear prop propeller whirred in fits and spurts.

“Everything nominal, Lieutenant?”

“I’m still running checks, but aye, sir.”

“Why did you tell Ensign Smith that we’re heading into the harbour?”

“I said we need to prepare to go into harbour.”

“You can see her confusion.”

Tosco stopped flipping switches for a moment and stared at Guy. “It’s only a matter of time before Command gives orders to head in. People are in trouble, and we’re floating out here doing nothing when we should be helping.”

“What we do is entirely my decision, Lieutenant. You give orders without my say so and you’ll find yourself working a tugboat in the Arctic.”

“Don’t threaten me, sir.”

“It’s no threat.”

Tosco hopped out of the helicopter and faced Guy down. “Times have changed. The Coast Guard doesn’t pull drowning fishermen out of the sea anymore. We fight drug lords and human traffickers. We are men of action.”

“If you want to fight so badly, Lieutenant, I suggest you transfer to the Navy. They would be glad to have you.”

Tosco rolled his eyes. “I’m not interested in fighting foreign wars. I am a Coast Guard because I want to protect the shores of my country. Right now, I am failing to do that. The citizens of New York need us.”

“The men on this ship need you, Lieutenant. They need you to do your job and carry out my orders. Undermine me and you jeopardise the safety of the crew.”

“Then don’t give me a reason to undermine you, Captain”

Tosco went to walk away, but Guy stopped him by grabbing his arm. “Do you know what it takes to send a man to the brig, Lieutenant? My say so, that’s all. It’s been some time since I’ve had to lock a man up, but go and ask Chief Petty Officer Jacobs if I’m willing to do it. I once locked him up for six weeks without letting him out.”

Tosco looked surprised as Guy hoped he would be.

He capitalised on the advantage by continuing. “That’s right, Lieutenant. Frank Jacobs is my oldest friend, and about the straightest shooter you could ever hope to meet, but even he got on the wrong side of me once. Let’s see how you fare if I deem you guilty of insubordination. Or even if you just piss me off.”

Tosco licked his lips and kept quiet.

“I will take your silence as a good sign. I appreciate your initiative on checking the response vehicles. Carry on. I’ll let you know if you’re needed.”

Guy marched away, just as the ship lifted anchor and began to turn starboard.

“Captain!” Tosco shouted after him.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“We’re moving. Are we heading into harbour?”

“It’s very likely, yes.”

“Then why give me such a hard time if you agreed with me all along?”

“Because it’s not my job to agree with you, Lieutenant. It’s your job to agree with me.”

* * *

“We’re just coming up to a half-mile out,” Frank informed Guy when he reached the pilothouse. “What do you want to do, Captain?”

Guy picked up his binoculars and took another glance at the city. From nearer shore, he could make out the snarled traffic and panicking mobs of people. There was full-scale panic in Manhattan, but it was still unclear why. People leapt from the docks into the water, or clambered into boats. Small pleasure craft joined giant transporters as a mass exodus headed for the sea. Those unlucky enough to miss a chance at boarding a vessel now flailed about in the river, heads bobbing under for several seconds at a time before reappearing. People were drowning.

Guy decided. “We’re heading into harbour, but keep our approach slow. There’s a lot of traffic coming our way.”

“Tosco will think he got his own way,” Frank commented.

“Aye, but he might reconsider his attitude going forward. I told him about the time I locked you in the brig for six weeks.”

Frank looked at him and frowned. “You mean when I had a staph infection and you had to quarantine me? And it was less than two weeks.”

“Yes, but Lieutenant Tosco doesn’t know that. He thinks I left the most honest man on board to rot. It should remind him who’s in charge.”

Frank chuckled. “With no time to spare too. Any more lip from him and I was going to throw him overboard myself.”

“I can deal with Lieutenant Tosco.”

“I know you can, but I’d hate to see you get your hands dirty. The crew likes the Lieutenant and they won’t be pleased if you take a firm hand against him.”

“They don’t have to like it, Frank; only understand what happens when you question the captain of this ship. Now, take us into harbour, Chief Petty.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

* * *

They almost collided with a millionaire’s catamaran on the way into harbour, but they eventually managed to navigate their way to the docks of the Hudson River. From there they had no need of binoculars to see the devastation. The senior officers, and a portion of the crew, were all standing inside the pilothouse, staring out the window at a scene none of them could understand.

In New York, shell-shocked victims staggered down the streets in various states of ruin, blood covering most of them and many mortally wounded. One old man carried his own severed arm around with him in a bewildered daze, while a sobbing younger woman held a bundle of gore-streaked rags that might have been a baby.

Tosco was shaking his head. “What in God’s name has happened?”

Guy wished he had the answer, but it continued to elude him. All that was clear was that some disaster had befallen Manhattan—possibly, dare he even think it, something worse than 9/11. “Has Command come back to us yet?” he asked Frank.

“No, you want me to hail them?”

“Yes.”

Frank got on the radio. “USCG Hatchet to District Command. Over.”

“District Command receiving you loud. Over.”

“Requesting permission to carry out rescue mission in New York Harbour. Injured civilians identified. Over.”

“Negative. Please change course to U.S. Naval Base Norfolk. Over.”

Guy took the intercom. “Captain Guy Granger speaking here. Can you explain why I am to redirect the Hatchet to Naval Base Norfolk? Over.”

“United States Navy has taken command of District Coast Guard. We are to relinquish authority to Norfolk immediately. Over.”

Guy had a bad feeling. The Navy only took control of the Coast Guard during times of war or national emergency. “Command, there are civilians here who need us. Requesting permission to stage a rescue attempt before relinquishing authority to U.S. Navy. Over.”

“Negative. Over.”

Guy stamped his foot. “Goddamn it, man. People are drowning in the Hudson River. Are you telling me to leave American civilians to die?”

There was silence on the line. Then came a shaky reply, “You are in command of the Hatchet, Captain Granger. Do as you will.”

The line went dead.

Guy clenched his jaw and thought things through. He didn’t understand what had happened in Manhattan, but Command had ordered him to redirect to Norfolk. The Navy had taken control, and it would be foolish to disobey them.

People continued hurling themselves into the Hudson.

The Navy took lives. The Coast Guard saved them.

Guy made up his mind. “I want two teams of eight in Rapid 1 and Rapid 2. There are too many birds in the sky to risk launching the Jayhawk, so we concentrate on the people in the river. Tosco, get men on the .50 cals this second, but they don’t start firing without my word. If there are enemies in the city, I want to be prepared.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Tosco saluted, turned on his heel, and raced to put words into action.

Guy turned to Frank next. “What are these people so afraid of? Do you have any idea what’s happening?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it, Captain. There are people on the docks with limbs missing. It’s a war zone.”

It wasn’t an exaggeration. Even now, Guy could see mangled men and women throwing themselves into the water rather than facing whatever was occurring behind them. They were drowning quicker than he could spot them. “We need to move fast.”

Frank placed a hand on Guy’s shoulder and squeezed. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

* * *

Considering half the men serving aboard the Hatchet had never seen real action, they carried themselves well. The rapid response boats dropped down onto the water and were away in moments. Each sailor took a firearm, but only a handgun—rifles would only frighten the civilians more. If bigger weapons were needed, the boats would return to ship.

Within ten minutes, the two rescue crafts were packed full of half-drowned people and on their way home. The first groups of survivors were laid down on the launch deck and the ship’s doctor, Gonzalez—a loaner from the U.S. Public Health Service—checked them over. The healthiest survivor was escorted to the pilothouse and brought before Guy. The teenage Avengers fan—judging by his garish t-shirt—was stained with blood and mucky with Hudson water, but he was free from injury aside from a superficial gash across his left brow. Blood had leaked into his left eye and dried so that it was now stuck half-closed. His long hair was so filthy that it appeared brown when it was probably ash blond.

Guy handed the kid a coffee. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Simon.”

“Hello, Simon. I am Captain Guy Granger, and this is my ship. You are currently in the care of the United States Coast Guard. Are you able to tell me what happened?”

“No. I mean… Yes, but you won’t believe me. It’s crazy.”

“Allow me to be the judge of that. Please, tell me as best you can.”

“Monsters.”

Guy leaned forward to hear more. “Monsters?”

“Yeah, and I don’t mean figuratively. That black stone in the park opened a big, glowing gate and something came through. A monster, twenty feet tall with wings.”

Guy cleared his throat. “Did you say, wings?”

“Yeah, but they were all burned up and useless. Just bones, really, but you can tell they used to be wings.”

“You’re saying that Manhattan was attacked by a giant monster? Like, Godzilla or something?”

Nobody in the room laughed. There had been too much bloodshed. The kid telling the story was deadly serious, and because of that they were able to stay focused on what he was saying—as ludicrous as it sounded. “I know it sounds crazy,” the kid admitted, “but it’s the God’s honest. That black stone opened some kind of gate, and the Devil came through. It’s Lucifer, dude. The end of the world, and we’re all screwed.”

Guy exchanged a glance with Frank that told him they were both thinking the same thing. The kid was suffering with shock. Nothing could be gained by further questioning. “Okay, Simon,” said Guy. “One of my men will take you back outside for treatment. We’ll get you back on land someplace safe as soon as we can.”

Simon nodded and stood up, but before he allowed himself to be led away, he turned back to Guy. “I haven’t told you everything. After the Devil came through, there was an army.”

Guy folded his arms and gave the kid his attention. “Tell me about the army.”

“Men, like you and me, dude, but all burned up, like they just stepped out of a fire. They came right out of the gate in a big group and started attacking everyone. I was working at an office on 65th Street—sixteenth floor. I saw it all.”

“Why did you leave?”

The kid looked sad. “Because my girlfriend works at the zoo. I wanted to get to her. I… I still don’t know if she’s okay.”

Guy put his hand on Simon’s shoulder. “Give your girlfriend’s details to one of my men, and we’ll see what we can do.”

“Thanks, dude—uh, Captain.”

“You can call me Guy.”

Simon nodded, then allowed himself to be led away like a child.

“What do you make of the kid?” Frank asked Guy.

“I have no idea.”

“It must be shock,” Tosco added. “Unless we’re to believe that the Devil has come to New York.”

Guy actually chuckled at that, but then felt bad for doing so. “Whatever the truth, we can assume it started in Central Park and spread from there. Perhaps that stone they found this morning really is to blame. It seems too much of a coincidence to be otherwise.”

Frank groaned. “Then what of all the other stones they discovered? Is this happening everywhere?”

Tosco covered his mouth and gasped. “You’re right! I need to call my wife. The men need to check on their families.”

Guy shot him down immediately, even though part of him was desperate to agree. Guy had two kids and an ex-wife, and would love nothing more than to speak to them right now, but he had a duty as well. That duty was the reason Alice and Kyle barely spoke to him anymore. He hoped, one day, his children would respect him for his dedication to his job. “Lieutenant, our only priority is the harbour. We can help these people, but we can’t help our families—we can only pray that they are safe.”

Tosco looked to argue, but glanced at Frank and seemed to think better of it. “Okay, I’ll go check on the progress of Rapid 1 and 2. They should be heading back with more civilians.”

At that moment, the radio squawked.

“Rapid 1 to Hatchet. Over.”

Guy grabbed the intercom. “Captain Granger. Over.”

“We’re under attack. Repeat: we’re under attack. Help. Hello. Over. Help. Over.” The voice on the line was frantic and struggling to maintain radio protocol. Never a good sign.

“Who is attacking you, Rapid 1? Over.”

“You can smell their flesh on fire, even in the water. They’re in the harbour… dragging… dragging people under. Burned… They’re so badly burned. They pulled Williams and Biggins overboard. We’re returning fire, but they keep popping up out of the river… They keep grabbing us. Oh God. Ensign Smith is wounded, she needs help. Lost visual with Rapid 2…. Saw them being boarded. Permission to retreat. Over. Please help. Over. Over.”

Guy opened all channels and shouted his command. “All units, get the hell out of there! Rapid 2, if you’re reading me, get out of there now! All personnel return to the Hatchet ASAP! Return to ship immediately!” He turned to the Lieutenant. “Tosco put those MGs to good use. Over.”

“He said they were burned,” Frank said in a haunted tone.

“Yes, I heard him,” said Guy.

“So do we take what Simon told us as truth? He said there was an army of burned men.”

“I think we have to take him seriously until we know different.”

Frank shook his head and swallowed loudly. “Then does that mean the Devil really is stomping around Central Park?”

“Either it’s the Devil,” said Guy, “or something that looks a lot like him.”

~Rick Bastion~

Devonshire, England

After learning that his older brother planned on staying with him for a while, Rick had needed some air. That was why they were heading on over to The Warren, a local inn just a short walk down the road from where Rick lived. It was early evening, warm and balmy, and so the perfect night for a pint down the pub. When Rick thought about it, he realised it had been months since he’d last had a drink outside his house.

The Warren came into view as they rounded a bend in the country road. The Tudor building was as quintessential as an old English pub could be, and the amber glow of the setting sun made it blur like an oil painting.

Braaaarr…

Rick and Keith had to hop back into the hedges as a red transit van whizzed past them. The limit was 30 mph, but the driver seemed to think otherwise.

“Someone’s in a hurry.” Rick tutted.

“Probably forgot to pick his wife up from spinning class,” said Keith as they cautiously crossed the road and headed into the pub’s car park. “So, you drink at this place often?”

“No, I haven’t been here in a couple months. It’s a nice place though. Wood burning fires and horse brasses, that kind of place.”

“A dusty old relic, you mean?”

“What’s wrong with the way things were?”

“Huh, you would say that.”

Rick frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You’re always looking fondly backwards instead of brightly forward. It holds you back.”

Rick ignored the comment and headed inside the pub. Warm shadows embraced him as he left the sunlight and approached the old oak bar in the centre of the room. A single barmaid stood behind the brass taps and smiled as he approached. “What can I get you gents?”

“I’ll have a pint of lager, please. What do you want, Keith?”

Keith winked at the barmaid and said, “I’ll have a large cognac, please, sweetheart.”

There was a brief flicker of contempt in the barmaid’s eyes, but she nodded politely and went to get the drinks.

Rick turned to his brother. “Thought you were off the booze.”

“Got a taste for it after that tipple at yours.” He leant on the bar and looked around. “You know, this might be my kind of place after all.”

Rick followed his brother’s gaze over to a suited businessman sitting next to an older man in a tweed jacket who was reading a broadsheet newspaper. “You mean, because the people who drink here are snooty?”

“Not at all, not at all. I just like the atmosphere. Bet it’s lovely in the winter with the fires going. It must get all sorts in here—farmers, vicars, local doctors. Not like the pubs you get in the city. Yes, this is my kind of place all right.”

The barmaid returned with their drinks, and Rick paid her. Then they headed around the corner of the bar to a seating area with sofas and a television. This part of the pub was busier, and a group had assembled in front of the plasma screen.

“Evening,” said Keith, sipping his cognac before he’d even sat down.

“Sshh! Be quiet,” someone chided.

Keith frowned at his brother. “Friendly place you’ve brought me to.”

Rick glanced at the television to see what had everybody’s attention and saw it was the news. Looked like something had happened in America. Possibly New York. A young brunette stood at the edge of the assembled group, arms folded and mouth wide in horror. Rick moved up beside her and gently got her attention. “What’s happening?”

“There’s been an attack on America. It’s going on right now.”

“Oh Jesus, really?”

The young woman nodded, then gave Rick that odd look of recognition he was used to, and always dreaded. “Do I know you?” she asked.

“It’s possible,” he said glumly.

Something seemed to click into place, and her face lit up. “You’re that singer, Rick Bastion. Cross to Bear, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

It surprised him when she said, “Cool song.”

“Yes, if you like formulaic pop music,” Keith butted in then offered his hand. “I’m Rick’s big brother, Keith.”

“Sarah.”

“Good to meet you, Sarah. Can I buy you a drink?”

Rick huffed. “Jesus, Keith. There’s been a disaster, and you’re hitting on a girl ten years younger than you? And while you’re married, too. Nice.”

Keith shot him a look of pure venom. “I was doing no such thing. Just being polite. Some people like to make friends. That might seem alien to you, Rick, seeing as how you choose to spend all of your time alone, but the rest of us are more social.”

“You know nothing about me,” Rick muttered. “Anyway, you still haven’t told me why you turned up on my doorstep.”

Sarah had been watching the short exchange, and now she rolled her eyes. “They say it’s even worse than 9/11. It started in the park where they found one of those weird black stones.”

Rick blinked. “Like the one in Crapstone?”

“Yes. The police have been up on that hill all day, trying to work out what it is. Those stones just keep appearing out of nowhere, and no one can move them. It’s scary.”

Rick was glad the anxious churning in his stomach was not unwarranted, that others felt nervous too. “When I heard that old woman had been murdered right next to one of them, I got a bad feeling.”

Sarah nodded, a lock of hazel hair falling loose from behind her ear. She tucked it back again and said, “Me too.”

“Ssshhhh, we’re trying to listen,” someone said.

Rick shut up and watched the television along with everybody else. Half of New York City was in flames. Cars piled up in the road, and bodies littered the streets. Unusual for the news to be so graphic, but there seemed to be nowhere to film that wouldn’t show some level of bloodshed.

Sarah covered her mouth like she was going to be sick. “What are those things?”

It took a moment for Rick to spot what she was referring to, but once he had he couldn’t focus on anything else. Amidst the chaos was a surging mass of inhuman creatures. They resembled men, but looked like they’d stumbled right out of an inferno. Like locusts, they enveloped the city streets and eviscerated everyone in their way. The citizens of New York were so desperate to escape that they were launching themselves right off the docks into the river. Dozens and dozens of boats headed out to sea while a single Coast Guard vessel slipped through in the opposite direction.

Rick tried to blink but couldn’t. “It’s a bloodbath.”

Sarah was shaking her head, mascara running. “I’ve never seen anything so horrible.”

“Least it’s them and not us,” said Keith.

Rick and Sarah both glanced at him in disgust. “Seriously, Keith, that’s not a cool thing to say.”

“I just meant, it would be even more terrible if it was happening here.”

Rick pictured the strange black stone found near the body of Elizabeth Creasy and felt uneasy. Was a similar black stone responsible for what was happening in New York? If so, then what would happen to the village of Crapstone?

* * *

Twenty minutes later Rick and Keith had taken a seat around a small round table with a wobbly leg. They were joined by Sarah who, as it turned out, was a member of The Warren’s kitchen staff. She was twenty-seven, but lived with her parents in the village since divorcing her cheating husband a year ago. Her job at the pub was temporary while she decided what she wanted to do. Rick enjoyed her company, but it also meant he couldn’t quiz his brother about why he’d turned up out of the blue. Had Marcy kicked him out? They had always seemed so close—she was as pretentious as he was.

“I hate it when things like this happen,” Sarah said to them over their second round of drinks. “Whenever something terrible happens on the news, I can’t help thinking about the children—how frightened they must be. I imagine them getting taken into a room and told that their daddies won’t be coming home, or that mummy has been hurt. It’s just so horrible.”

Rick sipped his beer, trying to pace himself. He was a sloppy drunk, which was why he usually drank alone at home. That didn’t concern his brother though; Keith was ready for his next cognac—added to Rick’s tab—shortly after starting his last.

“I still don’t understand what’s going on,” said Rick. “Those monsters were attacking like an army.”

Keith rolled his eyes.

“No, he’s right,” said Sarah. “They were monsters. All their skin had burned off, like they’d come straight out of Hell.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Keith. “There’s no such thing as Hell.”

“There is,” said Rick, glancing at the television. It had been running the same aerial shots of New York City for the last twenty minutes now, and it was tough to endure. “I’m worried about the stone in Crapstone. What if the same thing happens?”

Nobody said anything, not even Keith. In fact, the entire pub was silent, except for the sombre tones of the television news reporters. No one knew what to say. Silence seemed the only fitting statement.

It wasn’t until an hour later that anything new happened.

“Help me!”

An injured woman staggered into the pub, her cleavage exposed and covered in ragged claw marks. The side of her face was so badly wounded that a section of her cheek was missing and revealed the teeth inside. No sooner had the woman made it inside the pub than she collapsed in the middle of the floor right in front of the bar. The businessman was the first to go to her. He dropped down and lifted the woman’s head in his arms. “Somebody, call an ambulance.”

The barmaid was on it, pulling a cordless phone from under the bar and making the call. Rick ran to help the businessman, but didn’t know what to do. The ragged wounds on her bare chest looked as if a sharp fork had dragged through warm, flesh-coloured butter. Blood didn’t squirt out so much as continuously oozed.

A coppery scent filled the bar.

“Do you know First Aid?” the businessman asked Rick.

“No, I don’t. We just need to keep her comfortable, I think, until the ambulance arrives.”

“It’s on its way,” the barmaid shouted from behind the bar. “They said ten minutes.”

The businessman shook his head. “I don’t think she has that long.”

“Let’s just hope for the best,” said Rick.

“Oh God,” somebody cried out.

Rick arched his neck to look around. “What is it?”

It was Sarah. She was pointing at the television. “Look!”

The news showed new scenes of devastation, but not of New York. Another city was under attack—London.

The barmaid turned up the volume.

“Oxford Street has been cordoned off as disaster strikes the nation’s capital. Just moments ago, as a large crowd gathered, the unidentified black stone, located this morning in the city’s busiest shopping street, began to emit light. What happened next was something right out of a nightmare. These scenes were captured less than five minutes ago.”

The reporter disappeared, and video footage took her place. It showed a glowing lasso of light emanating from a black stone in the centre of the road. The lasso spread out into a wider circle and formed an archway. There was no loss in quality as the first creature emerged onto Oxford Street. It leapt at a nearby police officer and tore into the man’s neck with blackened teeth. The crowd broke apart, screaming in terror, and people fought each other to flee as more creatures poured through the archway behind them. An endless stream of monsters appeared.

A legion of burned and twisted horrors.

The video ended and the news reporter returned. “This is happening in numerous locations. The mysterious black stones, recently discovered throughout the country and the world, have opened, what appears to be some kind of gateways, and an unknown enemy is pouring through. New York was the first city under siege, but we can now confirm similar attacks in several of the world’s major cities. The Armed Forces are mobilising, as are those of other countries. The best thing to do right now is to stay indoors and stay tuned to your televisions.”

Keith put his hands on his head. “Shit. I need to call Marcy.”

“I need to call my mum,” said the barmaid.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” said Rick.

Sarah fainted.

~Mina Magar~

Soho, London

Less than twenty feet away from where Mina now stood, a BMW hit a shopfront at 50 mph and sent a shower of glass into the air. The driver got out, dazed but miraculously alive. People strolled around the wreck as if they hadn’t even noticed it, and the only person to even react was a young boy who pointed and laughed.

“David, we need to get out of here.”

“Mina, why aren’t you taking pictures? We need pictures.”

Mina fondled the heavy camera hanging around her neck and considered ditching it, but she just couldn’t. It was a part of her, and had cost as much as her car—not that her decade-old Peugeot was worth much. She sighed and took a skewed photograph of the crashed BMW. The angle would add to the disorientating feeling of the accident. She made sure she got a snap of the shell-shocked driver, too. Next, she intended to take a photo of a burning coffee shop on the corner of the street, but when she looked through her viewfinder, she saw something that made her take notice.

A young woman lay trapped inside the building, crushed beneath an overturned table. She was screaming for help as the flames crept towards her.

Mina realised she was taking pictures of other people’s misery instead of trying to help, so she let the camera hang around her neck and raced towards the burning coffee shop, even as David yelled at her to get back and focus on her job.

The young woman trapped inside had a broken leg—left foot pointed backwards.

“Help me, please,” she begged, eyes swollen with pained tears.

Mina grabbed the edge of the table and strained to lift it. The fire was at the back of the room by the service counter, but it was hot enough to make her break out in a sweat. The girl screeched as the weight shifted against her ankle. Mina had to grit her teeth to keep from dropping the table, for it was heavier than it looked. Too heavy.

“It hurts, it hurts.”

“I know it does,” said Mina, straining with all her strength. “Can you get yourself free?”

“No, it hurts.”

Mina’s arms trembled—couldn’t hold the table much longer. With a groan, she lifted it another few inches, but that was everything she had. “How about now…? Can you get free?”

The girl screamed in agony. “I can’t. The pain…”

Mina’s knuckles creaked. It was only a question of what gave out first—her hands or her biceps. “You need to move. I can’t hold it!”

“It hurts.”

The table began to wobble. Mina couldn’t hold it anymore.

The flames were getting closer.

She would have to drop the table and run. She couldn’t help the girl. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Suddenly the weight in her hands lightened.

“After three,” said David, now standing beside her. “One…two…three!”

Together, they shoved the table up and over. It fell free of the girl, and she screamed in renewed pain, but there was a hint of relief creeping into her cries now. They grabbed her under the armpits and dragged her out of the restaurant and onto the pavement. Nobody came to help or even paid much attention, for everybody in the crowd had some place to be, and it was unanimously away from here.

Mina and David had retreated from Oxford Street south into Soho when the gate opened, avoiding the initial slaughter, but they hadn’t escaped the mass exodus from the city. Everyone in London knew they were under attack. That nobody understood by what made their panic even worse. They had made it as far as the Soho Theatre before they had slowed down, and then they headed west onto Meard Street to catch their breath.

“What’s your name?” Mina asked the girl, trying to stop her screaming and attracting attention.

“G-Gabby.”

“A beautiful name. Gabby, we need to go. I know your leg hurts, but you need to hop as fast as you can.”

“We can’t bring her along,” said David. “We have work to do.”

Mina glared at him. “I’m not taking any more pictures, David. We have to get out of here.”

David looked at her like she was mad. “This is the news story of the century—of all human history. Do you want to be a bystander, or do you want to be the photographer whose pictures remain in the archives of mankind until the end of time?”

“I want to be one of the survivors. Which is why I’m getting out of here and taking Gabby with me.”

David flapped his arms and stamped his foot, almost comically. “You will regret this for the rest of your life, girl. Think about it.”

“There’ll be no rest of my life to live if I hang around here.”

“We’re all going to die,” Gabby moaned. “They’re coming to kill us.”

Mina grabbed the girl’s head and seized her focus. “Gabby, we will be just fine. Move as quickly as you can, okay?”

They continued south towards the theatre district, Mina propping up Gabby, and David following behind and complaining about what a mistake she was making. Part of her wondered if a real photojournalist would do as David suggested and continue taking pictures. War zone photographers stared death in the face every day, but she was choosing to run away. This felt different though. This didn’t feel like a situation where reporters should be expected to hang around and document.

They’d not yet witnessed the invading creatures first hand, but the scattered survivors fleeing the city had screamed and wailed about burned monsters tearing people apart. One woman even barked at Mina about a giant angel come to smite them all. People had gone mad with terror. David tried interviewing some of them, but most of what he got was confused babble.

The roads were clogged with wrecked vehicles and broken glass covered the pavements. Slow-moving lines of exhausted survivors funnelled along where there was a gap, and uniformed shop workers stumbled side-by-side with executives and public servants. Several thousand refugees looking for a way out—and this was only one small part of the city. How bad were things? People were already starting to turn on one another. Mina saw a topless man strike a cyclist with a brick before making off with his bike. The previous owner still lay unconscious in the gutter outside a media office. David insisted on getting a picture.

Helicopters buzzed overhead but did nothing to help.

Gunfire clattered in the distance.

Gabby moaned before they even made it to the end of the street. “I need to stop. My leg…”

“We can’t stop, you stupid girl,” cried David.

“I can’t go on anymore.”

Mina eased the girl up against the bonnet of a crumpled Royal Mail van and stepped back. “Thirty-seconds,” she said, “but then we don’t stop until we’re safe. Do you understand, Gabby?”

Gabby nodded, fresh tears down her cheeks. “I’m not even from London,” she muttered. “I live in Stroud. I only came here for a job interview. My mum will be so worried about me.”

“Sorry,” was all Mina could say.

David tapped his foot and generally looked pissed off. Mina did the only thing she could think of to oblige him—she lifted her camera and started taking pictures. She zoomed in on an old man lying beneath an overturned motorised scooter. There was a chance he was alive, but nothing anybody in the street could do for him. His head was smashed open and his brains were bleeding out. Mina had to cover her mouth to keep from throwing up.

The crowd began to thin out as they passed the Apollo Theatre, enough people having fled to the further reaches of the city leaving Soho mostly deserted. If not for David’s constant lingering, they would have been out of there too.

Ominous grey smoke rose above the skyline back toward Oxford Street and across the river, the spiky summit of the Shard rose solemnly in the background. London burned, but the gunfire in the distance might have been the Army fighting back. Could the situation be dealt with? Could the city be reclaimed from whatever abominable horrors had spilled out onto Oxford Street?

Mina took her last picture—a snap of a dirty Labrador trotting down the pavement with a rolled up newspaper in its mouth—and was about to turn away when she noticed something in the distance. At first, her eyes only registered movement, but then she took in some of the finer detail. Something was definitely there.

Unsure of what she was seeing, she looked through her camera’s viewfinder and zoomed in 12x. Something massive strode across the road several blocks back. The semi-naked figure walked like a man but was five lengths taller and had the remnants of wings on its back. Mina thought about what the crazy woman had barked at her earlier: A giant angel. Could such a thing be true?

Just as she started to accept what she was seeing, the giant creature disappeared into the next street and was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

David grabbed her arm. “Time to go.”

“Did you see that?”

“See what?”

Mina shook her head. “There was… Nothing.”

A scream.

Mina and David turned to find Gabby on the floor. She crawled backwards as something stalked after her.

A creature had leapt up onto the roof of the Royal Mail van. It was so horribly burned that its nostrils had fused over and one eye socket was hollow. It leapt down on top of Gabby and seized her by the arms, hoisting her up off the ground like a child.

Mina went to help, but David grabbed her shoulder and twisted her around. “You already saved her once.”

More creatures surged into the street from a side road up ahead. They leapt on any stragglers they could find, and agonised screams soon filled the air. Gabby screamed too, as the burned man gouged out her eyes with its blackened thumbs. It was enough to extinguish any hopes Mina might have had of saving the girl. There was barely a chance to save herself.

David was already running, but Mina caught up with him once she got a hold of herself. The creatures pouring into the street moaned in ecstasy as they tore the heads and limbs off screaming victims. One of them spotted Mina and gave chase.

“David, help,” she screamed.

David tilted sideways at a sprint and pointed ahead. “Over there.”

A pharmacy lay ahead, its door hanging wide open. David made directly for it, leaving Mina little choice but to follow if she had any chance of escaping the thing tearing after her. She leapt up on the pavement and sprinted.

The creature chasing her dodged around a shattered bus shelter and headed her off from the front. Unaware, David carried on running. To her astonishment, the creature spoke. Its charred lips cracked and peeled as they formed words.

“Nowhere to run, little girl. We are everywhere. The Red Lord will make you his slaves.”

Before Mina could reply, the creature leapt at her, a roaring beast snatching out with skinless hands. Mina grabbed the only thing she could—her camera—and swung it as hard as she could. The heavy, digital SLR struck the burned man in the side of his skull and dropped him to the pavement where he went still. The strap broke and the expensive piece of equipment shattered on the ground.

Mina got moving, and made it through the pharmacy’s door just as David was closing it. It slammed behind her, and David quickly tipped a display rack over to act as a barricade.

The streets filled with terrified screams.

“Quick, get back here,” said David, crouching behind a service counter at the back of the room. Mina leapt over, and they both scurried to a storage area at the back stacked with pills and medicines.

David put a hand on Mina’s shoulder and eased her back against the wall. “Did any of them see you?”

“Wouldn’t they be in here by now if they had?”

“I saw that one attack you. I think you killed it.”

“What? You mean you saw me in trouble and didn’t help?”

“What could I have done? Besides, you handled yourself pretty well. If a little woman can kill those monsters, then the Army should get this whole mess sorted out soon.”

Mina bit her lip at the sexist remark. Too much had happened to get into a petty argument. She wasn’t good with confrontation on a normal day—had been meek and shy ever since her mother died and her father began home schooling her. She wanted to sit in silence and try to make sense of it—but could the fact that London was under attack by bloodthirsty monsters ever make sense?

She thought not.

* * *

David pulled his phone out of his pocket and tried to make a call. Several times he had tried in the last hour, but the mass panic had caused the network to fail as thousands of people used their phones at once. This time, however, looked promising as David glanced at Mina urgently from where he sat. “Yes, hello? Carol, is that you? Oh, thank God. Yes, it’s David. I’m okay…”

Mina kicked out a leg at him across the floor.

“…Mina is with me too. We’re stuck on a London backstreet somewhere in Soho. There are monsters attacking—that’s the best way I can explain it. Do you want a quote from me? How about-”

Mina kicked him again. “Can she get us help?”

David rolled his eyes but took the hint. “We need help, Carol. We’re trapped inside a grimy little pharmacy, and I don’t know how we’re going to make it out of the city. Things are bad. That stone in Oxford Street opened some kind of portal.” He paused and listened, then said, “I don’t know if it’s aliens. They don’t look like aliens. They look more like demons. Carol, you need to send help. In the meantime, I can conduct an interview over the phone. Carol? Carol…?” David glanced at his phone and cursed. He immediately redialled but couldn’t get through. “Damn it.”

Mina honed in on something he’d said and mentioned it now. “Demons?”

David looked at her curiously. “What?”

“You said they look like demons.”

“Don’t they?”

“Yes, they do, but if they’re demons then the gate that opened was…”

David finished her thought. “A gate to Hell.”

Mina nodded. “That would make things a whole lot worse than we even thought.”

“We’re not being invaded by Hell, you silly girl. I won’t even consider it. Heaven-Hell, it’s all a load of codswallop.”

“Well, wallop me a cod,” said Mina. “Because those monsters outside are demons.”

David huffed. “Aren’t you a Hindu?”

“What? Because I’m one of the brown folk? There’re as many Christians in India as Hindus, but that’s beside the point. Up until today, I was an atheist, same as you. Yet here you are, talking about demons.”

David folded his arms across his chest. “Fair enough. You may still consider me still an atheist though.”

“Even after everything you’ve seen?”

“Those monsters could have been anything. Escaped lab specimens for all we know.”

“What about the…” Mina trailed off.

“What about the what?”

She knew David wouldn’t believe her, but she was burning to talk about it. “I saw something else,” she said. “There was a giant. It looked like a man with wings. It looked, I suppose, maybe, a little, you know, like… an angel.”

David bellowed with laughter, then flinched and covered his mouth. “Sorry,” he said in a whisper. “But you must be mad.”

“Come on, David. You just don’t want to admit the truth.”

“The truth has a way of evolving, Mina. I’ll wait until we have all the facts before drawing conclusions. Now, let’s think about getting out of here.”

“Go back outside? It’s not safe.”

“No, perhaps not, but we can’t sit around here forever. You think those chumps from the Chronicle are holed up somewhere cowering?”

“No,” said Mina. “They’re probably dead.”

David huffed. “It’s gone quiet. Let’s just take a look.”

Mina closed her eyes and had to summon courage to even get up off the floor. When she eventually managed it, David had disappeared into the front of the shop and lurked behind the barricade. She hurried over to join him and dared to take a peek out of the window. The demons had gone. In their place was a carpet of bodies. Hundreds, maybe a thousand people dead. A fire had started at the end of the road.

It was Hell on Earth.

“We have to get out of here,” said Mina, completely changing her mind about staying. “No one is coming to save us.”

David glanced up from over the barricade and saw all the bodies. “I agree. Somebody has to tell these people’s stories.”

“You can’t tell a story until it’s finished,” said Mina, “and this one hasn’t even got started yet.”

“I fear you might be right.” David took off his jacket and placed it on the counter. He rolled up his sleeves and started taking down the barricade.

~Tony Cross~

Iraq-Syria Border

Tony lay on his back gasping. He reached an arm around beneath his back and prodded at himself until he felt the most pain. The most tender area was just below his right shoulder blade, and when he brought his fingers back, they were bloody. He’d been hit. First time in fifteen years. Hadn’t even seen it coming. Because he’d been distracted.

No, not distracted—mesmerised.

That strange black stone. Glowing.

Rough hands grabbed Tony’s webbing and started dragging him. Suddenly, he was sliding along the desert on his back. The person dragging him was out of sight, but in front of him, he saw the ISN soldiers advancing. They’d removed the handbrakes from their vehicles and were using them as rolling cover. A few of their number lay dead, but there was at least a dozen still engaging.

The ambush had failed.

Goddamn you, Ellis.

Tony’s rescuer released his webbing and let him drop against the dirt behind the hill. Lieutenant Ellis appeared before him looking like a ghost with his pale and sullen face. “Anthony? You’ve been hit.”

“You don’t fuckin’ say?”

Ellis frowned. “Not too badly, I see. Harris, help the Staff Sergeant up.”

Tony grasped the meaty hand offered to him and made it up into a crouching position. The pain in his shoulder was bad, but he battled through it. “Sit-rep?”

“We’ve lost six men, but we’re holding steady,” Ellis informed him.

Tony groaned. Six young men dead. What a waste. He turned to Private Harris. “Why are you here? You were heading for the fence with Corporal Blake.”

“Blake’s dead. I saw you were down too, so I abandoned the plan and got you back into cover. You’re lucky the bullet only winged you, Staffie.”

The pain in Tony’s shoulder didn’t make him feel so lucky, but he patted the private on one of his massive arms and thanked him. “You saved my life, lad, but that means we’re still pinned down without options.”

Ellis clutched his rifle against his chest. “There must be something we can do?”

Tony couldn’t think of anything besides a full retreat, but then his mind turned to something else. “The stone… Harris, did you see a strange black stone when you rescued me?”

The young private nodded. “Yeah, the thing was glowing. I almost took a bullet looking at it, so I had to get out of there.”

“I suppose it’s not important right now,” Tony admitted. “We need to get our arses out of here.”

The ISN soldiers were right at the base of the hill now—Tony could hear them. He popped his head above cover and saw them pushing closer. He also spotted that strange black stone. The odd glowing had distracted the ISN as well, and with a little luck it might just buy Tony and the others a chance to escape, but when he saw the rear doors of their van open, he feared the worst.

Two ISN soldiers appeared carrying an AGS-17—an automatic grenade launcher. Tony had seen the weapon only in training videos, but he knew it could spit thirty high-explosive frag grenades in about ten seconds. It would obliterate the hill and any men taking cover behind it.

“We need to get our arses out of here now!” Tony shouted. “Move!”

“They’ll mow us down,” Ellis argued.

“They’re about to blow us up.”

Ellis understood and grabbed his radio, but before he made a call, something halted the fighting.

A blinding flash of light.

A skull-piercing whine.

Tony cupped his ears, lifted his head from cover and saw what was happening. For a moment, he thought a grenade had exploded, but as his eyesight recovered, he saw that the enemy were stumbling around in confusion.

A glowing archway had risen twenty feet high above the black stone, and it now shimmered in the air like a cloud of vapour. It looked like some kind of gate.

Something came through. It materialised from the floating puddle and hit the desert as solid form. Whatever it was was barely human, hunched over like an old crone—more ape-like than person. It was naked and entirely bald, with two curled talons the length of chef’s knives hanging from each arm.

Tony rose to his feet. “What the f-”

The ugly creature leapt into the air and came down on top of one of the ISN soldiers. It snatched away the soldier’s AK-47 and sliced through his neck with one of its razor-sharp talons. The cut was so deep that the victim’s head fell back on his shoulders, and blood spurted out of the exposed neck stump like a fountain.

It thundered and rained with bullets.

The ISN opened fire first, a dozen soviet assault rifles chattering all at once, but the British soldiers were quick to add fire from their more modern combat rifles. The snarling creature reeled backwards. Chunks of flesh and dark red blood filled the air around it.

It hit the ground as dead as anything could be.

Silence fell upon the patch of Iraqi desert. Two opposing groups of men stood on opposite sides of a hill having just dispatched a mutual enemy. What had just happened confused everybody enough that the fighting ceased. Yet nobody dared break cover. Nobody dared lower their weapons.

The centre of the archway shimmered.

Another creature leapt out.

This time the soldiers were ready for it, and the creature was dead before its clawed feet settled on the ground. The ISN looked at its corpse, and then at one another. Fear and confusion adorned their faces. Tony had never seen Islamic extremists show fear of anything, but these men were shitting their knickers. To give them their due, not one of them tried to flee.

A dozen more creatures came through the gate.

Tony moved his finger back to his trigger but didn’t fire. He found himself staring. They were honest-to-God monsters: clawed feet, taloned hands, and vile, naked bodies—some of them even sported obscene, dangling tackle between their legs, while others had nothing. One of them spotted the British soldiers behind the hill and raced in their direction.

Tony lopped its leg off with a burst of rifle fire, then re-aimed and blew its head to smithereens. The things were fast. The creature had been leaping and bounding towards Tony like an angry gorilla, and if he had missed his shot, it would’ve been right on top of him. Within seconds, a handful of the ISN had been taken down in a merciless attack. The creatures were so fast it was impossible to aim at them quick enough to keep them back. They surged forward in a tide of deadly claws and teeth.

The Syrian rebels screamed as they began to fall.

Pushing through the border fence and encircling the base of the hill had brought death to the ISN soldiers. Their vehicles had been sitting just yards from the black stone when the gate had opened. The monsters had leapt out right on top of them.

“We need to help them,” said Ellis.

Tony shot him a glance. “What?”

“They’re being ripped apart by those monsters. We need to help them.”

“We need to get our arses out of here. They can go fuck themselves. We’ve lost men.”

“Yes, we have, but we will rescue the ISN soldiers anyway. We are better men, Staff Sergeant. We are British soldiers.”

Tony shook his head and cursed so loudly that the men heard it over the gunfire. “Fine, but the only chance we have is to head across the border into Syria. If we try to move off this hill back towards our vehicles, those things will head us off.”

“Fine.” Ellis got on his radio. “All men. On my command, we will abandon this hill and head for the breach in the fence. We are moving east into Syria until we can find a place to regroup. During our retreat, we will endeavour to assist the ISN forces below. They are assaulted by a common enemy and it is ignoble to use them as a screen for our escape. Over.”

Tony watched the men groan at the mention of helping the ISN, but he knew they would do as commanded. The way things were going, it might not even be an issue. There were hardly any ISN soldiers left to save. The creatures had made it amongst the vehicles and were rapidly slicing the terrified extremists to pieces. One creature spotted Tony peering over the hill at them, but he shot it in the face before it had a chance to warn its brothers.

“We need to move before they come for us.”

Ellis barked into his radio. “Men, on my word. Hold… hold… move!”

What was left of the British firing line crested the top of the hill and descended towards the border at a staggered sprint. They were met with no armed resistance, for the ISN were overwhelmed by the creatures. If there was any chance to aid them, it would have to be now.

Tony made a beeline for the bullet-battered ISN vehicles. One of the ISN soldiers saw his approach and took it as a threat, but before he had a chance to point his rifle, Tony shot him in the chest. He was there to help, but they were still enemy combatants, and if they pointed a gun at him they were going down. The flaring agony in his right shoulder made him firm about that.

Tony made it amongst the remaining ISN and shouted to get their attention. They glanced at him suspiciously, but he waved a hand of peace before any of them tried to shoot him. Eventually, they realised that the British soldiers were lining up behind them and adding their fire to the fight against the creatures. Together, the two groups of men were able to take out a dozen of the beasts in a single, quick, combined volley, and they were soon backing away towards the border fence.

Tony counted only three surviving ISN soldiers and a mere seven British soldiers—including him and Ellis. More than half the men on both sides were dead.

And the enemy were still coming.

The remaining men wove between the vehicles and broke into open ground where they all picked up speed towards the fence. Tony didn’t want the ISN at his back, so he fell back and brought up the rear. In doing so, he left himself vulnerable to attack from the creatures. Glancing back, he spotted an army taking shape.

He spotted something else.

The ISN’s van lay just ahead and lying in the dirt right beside its rear tyre, was the AGS-17 grenade launcher. Tony licked his lips and tasted grit. If he didn’t do something, the creatures would chase them right into Syria. He had to buy them all a head start. It was a sergeant’s job to look after his men.

Lieutenant Ellis spotted Tony as he ran in the wrong direction. “Anthony, what the blazes are you doing?”

“Not letting a big fuckin’ gun go to waste,” he shouted back.

He was just about to reach the fallen grenade launcher, when a creature leapt out in front of Tony from between two banged up Toyotas. He raised his rifle and placed a round right through its left eye, but by that time it had launched itself into the air. Its dead carcass came down right on top of him, and his injured shoulder raged with agony as he fell sprawling onto his back. It was all he could do just to kick the dead monster off of him and clamber away through the dirt.

More of the creatures raced towards him.

The other men continued their retreat towards the border.

He was alone.

The AGS-17 was two feet away. He scrambled on his belly and grabbed it. The heavy steel in his hands reignited his confidence, and he leapt to his knees and deployed the tripod so gracefully that he could have been playing music.

The first grenade rocketed straight into a creature’s face, and the massive explosion took out two more in the vicinity. All three creatures exploded in ludicrous gibs. Dirt blew into the air and peppered Tony’s face, but he barely felt it, too much in that quiet, focused place that all soldiers went to in the heat of battle. He was on his feet without even realising it and firing more grenades at wherever the creatures were most congregated. Whenever one of them got too close, he would pull up his rifle and let off a shot, before returning to the grenade launcher in his other hand. The recoil should have taken him off his feet, but the weapons were a part of him, and he tamed them like wild horses.

Creatures exploded all around him.

One of the Toyotas flipped and came down on its roof when a grenade exploded beneath its chassis. It crushed several creatures and caused many more to leap out of the way. Tony became a one-man army, wreaking destruction one grenade after another. His final volley hit the area in front of the gate and shredded a bunch of creatures that had only just passed through. When the grenade launcher finally ran dry, at least three-dozen creatures lay dead or mangled. Their piggish squeals filled the air.

Tony caught his breath for a moment, taking in the heady scent of singed flesh and burning metal. He threw the empty AGS-17 down on the ground and turned heel to race towards the border and re-join his comrades. He’d bought them some time. Hopefully it was enough, because he had a feeling that this was an enemy that was just getting started.

Part Two

“If you’re going through hell, keep going.”

--Winston Churchill

~Guy Granger~

Lower Bay, New York

All Guy could think about was Alice and Kyle. Since the mobile phone amnesty, the men aboard the Hatchet had been coming to him with horror stories from all over the country. His Airman, whose job it was to pilot the Jayhawk, had wept as he’d spoken of his hometown of Carmel, Indiana, which was besieged. His auntie and two cousins were already dead. There were similar reports from enlisted men hailing from Boston, Tallahassee, Newport, and Marietta. Everywhere with a black stone was under attack.

Which meant the whole of America was under attack.

It was Guy’s turn to make a call now, but he sat in his cramped quarters with his cell phone in his lap and hands shaking as he found himself unable to dial.

Just make the call, he told himself. You have a job to do, and this is the only chance you will get to speak to your family. Make the goddamn call, Guy. Find out if Kyle and Alice are okay.

He unlocked the phone and brought up his contacts. His hands shook, but he kept his forefinger straight enough to press his ex-wife’s name and start the call. He placed the phone to his ear and waited.

“Guy, is that you?”

“Nancy, are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. What’s going on? Brunswick is under attack. That’s only the next town over.”

“But Durham is okay?”

“Yes, I think so. The local police have gone to help in Brunswick, but things are okay here. They say those stones opened up some kind of gate and monsters are pouring through.”

“I think that’s correct,” he admitted, “I’ve seen the monsters. They’re real.”

“Oh God.”

“Nancy, where are Kyle and Alice? Are they with you?”

“No.”

“Jesus, where are they?”

“They’re in London. You know that.”

Guy’s eyes went wide as he realised. “Damn it. Their school trip was this week?”

“And all of next. I can’t believe you forgot. I suppose I should be used to it by now.”

“Nancy, I’m not calling for an argument. I want to know my family is safe, so just tell me. Are the kids okay?”

“Guy, I haven’t been able to reach them all day. The news said London is under attack.” She sobbed.

Guy almost dropped the phone. His hands shook. “Nancy, when did you speak to them last?”

“Yesterday. It was night time there, but around midday here. They were having fun; said they were going to visit Big Ben in the morning.”

That put Kyle and Alice in the heart of the city.

Guy closed his eyes and tried not to scream. “Okay, Nancy, don’t panic. Give me the details of where they’re staying and I’ll contact the U.S. embassy; see what I can do from here.”

“Thank you, Guy. Clark has tried to get in contact with the school, but hasn’t gotten anywhere.”

The mention of his wife’s lover dispelled some of Guy’s desperation and replaced it with anger. “Is Clark there with you now?”

“Yes, did you want to speak to him?”

“No! I mean, I don’t have anything to say to him. Just stay together and don’t leave home. Things are bad, Nancy, but at least it’s not everywhere. If Durham is okay, then stay put. I’ll try to find Kyle and Alice. Contact you as soon as I hear anything.”

“Thanks, Guy. You stay safe.”

“I always do.”

He ended the call and once again stared at the cell phone in his lap. Nancy was okay, and that was good, but nothing told him his children were safe.

There was a knock at the door.

When Guy opened it, he found Frank standing there.

“My aunt is gone,” he said. “I tried to get a hold of her, but a nurse at the local hospital answered the phone.”

Guy sighed. “I’m sorry, Frank.”

“Thank you. Have you got a hold of your kids? Nancy?”

“Nancy is okay, but Kyle and Alice are in London.”

“Their class trip?”

Guy huffed. “Now I really feel like an asshole. I forgot all about it, Frank. They’re stuck on the other side of the Atlantic, and Nancy can’t get hold of them. I… I don’t know if they’re okay.”

“Of course they are. I’ve never known a thirteen year old boy as grown up as your Kyle. He’ll be looking after Alice even as we speak. They’ll be okay.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I am. So what’s our next move, Captain?”

“We head for Norfolk, as commanded. We can refuel and get new orders.”

“Sounds like the smart move. You will have a problem on your hands though.”

Guy tilted his head. “What problem?”

“Begins with a T.”

“Tosco? What’s my second-in-command up to now?”

“Some of the men want to leave, go to their families. Tosco told them they could.”

“He said what? I’ll throttle him.”

Frank put his hand against Guy’s chest. “Just stay calm. You can control the situation best by making the most sense. Tosco’s just another demagogue who thinks you run a ship by pandering to your men.”

“Demagogue? Have you been studying the dictionary again?”

“Not a lot to do on board a ship but read. I’ll get the Hatchet moving again. Sooner we leave New York in our wake the better, if you ask me.”

Guy nodded agreement.

They marched up to the pilothouse where they found Tosco and a gathering of enlisted men. Guy was happy to see that none of his other officers had sided with Tosco and were all elsewhere, performing their duties. Tosco held his chin high and squared his shoulders as if he were about to put forward a great speech of noble cause.

Guy didn’t give him a chance to utter a single word. “I understand that some of you want to leave,” he said, wiping the smug expression from Tosco’s face as he took the upper hand and addressed the issue before it had a chance to be raised. Tosco would not get the opportunity to play hero and put forward the concerns of his men. “But I would remind you of why you are here: You are enlisted men of the United States Coast Guard. You are not trained killers, like the Navy. You are not merchantmen or fishermen. You sail the Seven Seas not as pirates. Every man and woman aboard this ship signed up to be a hero, and today we saved over thirty civilians from a terrible fate. For that, they will thank us for the rest of their lives. You probably think that earns you the right to disembark this ship and go searching for your families. Perhaps it does. Yet, I ask you to think carefully, because the moment you step off this ship, you cease being heroes at a time when the world needs heroes more than ever. As long as people are in need of help, it is our duty to stay aboard this ship and do what we signed up to do. Something terrible happened today, and our country is relying on us to minimise the damage. If we fail to protect our homeland, then what do our families even have left to live for? America is a country forged by brave men and women. The moment we stop fighting for our freedom is the moment we lose it. I, too, have a family, but I will remain aboard the Hatchet and do my duty. I ask you to do the same. We are heading to Norfolk, and there we will rearm and refuel. What will happen beyond that, I do not know, but I suggest that those of you that pray do so now. Pray for us all.”

Before anybody replied, Guy turned to Frank and gave his orders. “Sail us out of here, Chief Petty, and don’t stop until I say so.”

~Rick Bastion~

Devonshire, England

Rick still had the injured woman in his arms, but now Sarah had passed out on the floor beside him. Keith was frantic trying to call Marcy while everyone else in the pub paced up and down. The news report said they were at war—not just Britain, but the entire world. Where had the creatures come from? What did they want? Was it all some kind of media conspiracy? Other than what he’d seen on the news, Rick had witnessed none of it for himself. He’d walked to the pub only two hours before, and it had been a normal evening. It wasn’t until this injured woman had collapsed in front of the bar he saw anything wrong first hand.

“The paramedics are here,” somebody said, and Rick looked up to see a man and woman entering. Both wore green NHS jumpsuits, and were quick to rush over to help. There was no mistaking the haunted look in their eyes.

“What happened to her?” the female paramedic asked as she started examining the unconscious woman.

“I have no idea,” said Rick. “She just ran into the pub and fell down.”

“Something bad is going on,” said Keith. “It’s all over the news. My wife isn’t answering her phone. Something’s happened.”

“We know,” said the male paramedic, whose bald head was slick with sweat.

“What do you know?” asked Rick. “Anything we don’t?”

“This woman is dead.” The female paramedic said. She went to stand up. “We can’t help her.”

“What? You haven’t even tried,” said Rick.

“She has no heartbeat. I’m sorry. Usually, we might try to do something, but we had another seven emergencies called in on our way here. We’re the only ambulance in the area, and we have to spend our time where it can do most good. This woman has been dead too long.”

Rick looked down at the woman whose head he’d been holding for fifteen minutes and saw the truth of it. The amount of blood that’d leaked from her chest had formed a massive puddle on the wooden floor beneath her, and her arms were the colour of chalk. She was cold.

“Can you help Sarah?” he asked. “She passed out from the shock.”

The female paramedic took something from her kit bag and waved it beneath Sarah’s nose. She winced and began to stir. “She’ll be fine. Just give her a few minutes to wake up.”

“We have to go,” the male paramedic urged.

“What do we do with her?” asked Keith, pointing to the dead woman.

“I’ll inform the coroner,” said the female paramedic. “Just place a sheet over her and wait for someone to come.”

Rick eased the dead woman’s head down onto the floorboards and stood up. He retrieved his pint from the table and downed half of it.

The paramedics disappeared out the door, which left the people inside the pub to stand around anxiously. Nobody knew what to do. Rick wondered if he should go home or stay where he was.

Screaming from outside.

Rick stared at his brother. “What now?”

“I don’t know. Just close the door.”

Rick nodded, went over to do so, but couldn’t help glancing outside at the car park. The ambulance was parked right outside, its lights chasing away the shadows of approaching night. The paramedics were nowhere to be seen.

The screaming had stopped.

He took a tentative step outside the pub and looked around. The front of the ambulance faced him at an angle, its large rear doors hanging open. He couldn’t see inside from where he stood, but the paramedics must be in the back.

Who had screamed?

“Hello? Is everything all right out here?”

The sound of movement from the ambulance drew him forward another few steps. It took a handful more until he had moved around sufficiently to face the rear of the vehicle.

Something horrible glared back at him.

It was a man, but also a monster. His eyes were cloudy and white, lips cracked and bleeding. He looked dead.

“Are you okay?” asked Rick, not knowing what else to say.

“I am your end,” the dead man hissed. “I will use your hollowed skull as a latrine.”

Rick noticed the bald paramedic lying on a gurney in the back of the ambulance. His neck had been twisted around and broken. This monster had murdered him and would do the same to Rick. He turned to run, but the dead man leapt out and grabbed him, cold hands seizing his throat. Rick fought back the only way he could—with his legs. He lifted his right foot and stamped down on where he hoped a kneecap would be, and the dead man howled and collapsed sideways. The icy fingers slipped from around Rick’s neck and allowed him chance to stagger away.

The dead man bellowed. He reached out his hands to try and grab Rick again, but every time he tried, he crumpled to the ground as his broken leg folded.

“Is it safe?” came a voice.

Rick glanced upwards to see that the female paramedic was lying prone on the roof of the ambulance. A bad scratch parted her left eyebrow, but she seemed otherwise okay. “What are you doing up there?” he said. “Come down and help-”

The dead man tackled Rick around the waist, dragging him to the ground. Before he could react, his enemy had straddled him and was back to squeezing his throat. “Submit to slavery, worm, and you may get to live out your days as a foot licker.”

Rick struggled, tried to bring his legs up to kick the monster off of him, but he couldn’t get any leverage. Every second, the pressure in his head increased and made it impossible to focus on anything else other than trying to get a breath.

“Your men will be sodomites, your women whores.”

“Well, doesn’t that just sum up the 21st Century?” Keith appeared over the dead man’s shoulder, holding what looked like an old iron fire poker. He brought the metal rod down two-handed, like a barbarian wielding a broadsword, and shattered his target’s skull, caving it in at the top so that it resembled a grizzly heart shape.

Rick swatted the hands away from his throat and gasped uncontrollably, even as his brother and the paramedic dragged him to his feet.

“There are more coming,” cried the paramedic.

Clutching his throat and still struggling for air, Rick glanced across the car park and saw that more of the dead men were indeed coming. They lumbered down the road like zombies, but were cursing and shouting threats. One of them brandished a tree branch like a spear.

“Get inside,” Keith urged. “Now!”

The three of them hurried back inside the pub, closing and locking the thick wooden door behind them. The helpful businessman understood that danger was on its way because he quickly dragged a table over to act as a barricade.

Rick staggered over and finished what was left of his pint, then slumped over the table while Keith took charge. He told them what was coming and that they all needed to find weapons. It was good that he was being proactive, because nobody else was. Rick least of all. He could do nothing but close his eyes and wish it wasn’t all happening.

“R-Rick?”

Rick opened his eyes and glanced to the side. Sarah had woken up on the floor and was propping herself up on her elbows. She looked bewildered. “What’s happening?”

He knelt beside her. “We’re in a spot of bother.”

“The monsters are here, aren’t they?”

Rick nodded.

“Are we going to die?”

He looked at her face and couldn’t bear to tell her the truth; so he lied. “We’ll be fine. My brother already took care of one of them.”

Sarah smiled at him, but she looked more likely to cry than laugh.

* * *

“Why aren’t they trying to get inside?” asked the female paramedic, whose name turned out to be Maddy. She peeked out of one window through a gap in the curtains.

“Because they don’t want to end up like their friend,” said Keith, patting the iron poker that he had not put down since bashing the dead man’s brains in. His bravado might have been masking the fact he still couldn’t get through to Marcy.

“It’s because they’re smart,” Rick muttered as he worked on his fresh pint. “They’re figuring out the best way to get at us.”

Maddy folded her arms. “Then we have to be ready.”

The businessman, Steven, clutched an iron poker, identical to the one Keith had. He waved it in the air as he spoke. “Whatever is out there picked on the wrong people.”

“This isn’t time for bravado,” said Rick, staring into his pint. “The thing that attacked me wasn’t human. It was like a zombie, only it spoke. It hated me, hated all of us.”

Sarah plonked herself down on a chair next to him. “We need to get help.”

Keith pointed his poker at Maddy. “She was supposed to be our help.”

Maddy sighed. “On our way here, emergency calls came in from all over. Only reason Tom and I made it here was because you people were the first to call. I wouldn’t hold up much hope of getting any more help. I’ve got a feeling that emergency services are inundated right now. Poor Tom…”

“Then we stay here,” said Keith. “We batten down the hatches and arm ourselves. The Army will get a handle on this eventually. That thing that attacked Rick was easy enough to kill. Wherever these things came from, they underestimated us.”

“I need another drink, Diane” said Rick, suppressing a dire need to belch. The barmaid fetched him one.

“I don’t think getting drunk is the answer,” said Keith.

Rick held up his fresh pint. “You go ahead and be the hero. I’m going to get pissed.”

Steven waved his poker again. “We need to stick together and stay focused. You’d be dead if your brother hadn’t helped you.”

“I would be too,” said Maddy. “Thank you.”

Keith lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. “Just doing what anyone else would have. I’m sure my brother would do the same.”

Rick sighed. “So what do we do?”

“We get ready,” said Keith. “Those things try to get inside, we do everything we can to stop them.”

Maddy nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

Everyone agreed, and within minutes, they all had weapons. Rick, Steven, and Keith clutched iron pokers from the pub’s three fireplaces, while Diane and Maddy wielded knives from the kitchen. Everyone else went with whatever they could find, ranging from jagged beer bottles to a baseball bat found hidden beneath the bar. It was just in time, too. The attack began not ten minutes later.

* * *

The fight came not to the front door, but to one of the windows. The thick double-glazing did not shatter, but crumpled inwards a piece at a time. Everyone formed up, weapons at the ready.

A window smashed at the opposite end of the pub.

“Damn it,” Keith shouted. “Split into two groups, one at each window. Move, move, move.”

Rick headed towards the other window, taking Sarah and Steven with him. To his dismay, they both looked at him like he was the one in charge.

The window shook in its frame, the curtains flapping as the air moved. “You both ready?” Rick asked.

Sarah nodded. Steven pulled off his blazer and threw it on the floor, rolled up his shirt sleeves, then gave a thumbs up.

“If they’re anything like the one that attacked me, these things like going for the neck. As soon as they lunge, let them have it.”

Large shards of glass fell loose and shattered on the ground. Rick tightened his grip on his poker, knuckles creaking. Sarah held her beer bottle near her waist, ready to stab.

Then the siege halted.

Both windows stopped cracking as the enemy outside stopped attacking. Rick looked at his brother at the other side of the pub, who replied with a confused frown.

There was noise. Rumbling.

Rick cocked his head. “Is that…? Is that the ambulance?”

“It sounds like somebody is driving it,” said Steven.

Sarah shifted on the spot. “Those things can drive?”

“It looks that way,” said Steven. “Why, though? If they want to get at us in here, why drive away?”

Rick had a thought. “Unless…”

Sarah looked at him. “Unless what?”

Rick heard the noise of the accelerating engine just in time to shout a warning. “They’re going to ram us.”

An earthquake shook the building and the barricade in front of the pub’s door disintegrated as the nose of a speeding ambulance crashed through it. The heavy wooden door flew off its hinges and crashed against the bar.

“They’re dividing us,” Rick shouted. “They’ve split us in two.”

The ambulance’s rear doors sprung open and dead men spilled out. From the driver’s seat, a corpse with long black hair slid out. It looked at the poker in Rick’s hand and laughed. “I’ll gut you with that thing before you ever get chance to swing it.”

Rick defied his enemy and swung at a dead woman with mottled grey breasts. His head was fuzzy with alcohol, but he was glad to have the edge taken off now. Sober, he might have retched at the sight of her caved in skull.

Steven joined the fight and took out two dead men in quick succession. Sarah was less aggressive, and backed away until a dead woman was right on top of her. Desperation made her strike out, but she managed to slice her attacker’s throat open.

From the other side of the pub, obscured by the crashed ambulance, the other guests fought for their lives. Rick worried about his brother and gritted his teeth as he connected a blow with a brunette’s rotting skull. He fought his way to the ambulance, but dead men continued to spill out into the pub and blocked his way.

The fight had just got started.

Steven held his own. With Sarah huddled behind him and striking out at anything that got too near, they made a good team. Rick took out another attacker, gained several more feet towards the ambulance, but the black haired dead man stood in his path.

“A valiant effort, worm.” He struck Rick in the chest with the force of a kicking horse and sent him flying into the air.

Rick hit the ground in a crumpled mess, and it was only dumb luck that allowed him to keep a hold of his poker. He thrust it out in front of him as protection while he fought to get his breath.

“You are pathetic, worm.”

Rick waved the poker, but was powerless on his back. “W-what are you?”

“A man.”

Rick shuffled backwards. “You’re not a man, you’re a monster.”

“Men are monsters.”

Rick cowered, tried to get up, but ended up shuffling along on his backside some more. The dead man cackled with delight.

“Please,” Rick begged.

“Your begging will not save you. You are—”

The dead man stumbled forwards in surprise, falling right onto the pointed tip of the poker that Rick still held out in front of him. His bloated stomach slid right down the length of the iron rod and left a slick trail on it. The poker went straight through him, poking out of his back. Rick shoved with all his might and sent the wounded monster to the floor.

Sarah appeared and helped Rick to his feet. Steven stood nearby with his tie flapped over his shoulder, and all around him lay the corpses of dead men. He was panting heavily, keyed-up and ready for more.

“We have to get out of here,” said Sarah.

“Not until we help my brother.”

Rick could see Keith swinging his poker desperately, as two creatures had him pinned against a strobing fruit machine. They grabbed him by the arms and wrestled with him.

Rick slid over the ambulance’s bonnet and raced to help. He no longer had his fire poker—it was embedded inside the black haired dead man’s torso—so he did the only thing he could think of and converted his speed into an attack. He aimed his foot at the nearest enemy and put so much force into the kick that the dead man flew into its partner, and the two of them smashed down on top of a table. Keith was quick to capitalise and rammed his poker down into them like a pike, impaling the dead men together like meat on a shish kebab. “Never piss off an accountant,” he shouted at them.

Rick grabbed his brother’s arm. “We need to leave. This place isn’t safe anymore.”

Keith looked at the broken windows and the obliterated doorway and nodded. “We need to get back to your house.”

“What? No, we need to get help.”

“You heard what Maddy said. There is no help. Your house is big and old, with big gates and alarms.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Diane, coming up behind them and covered in dark red blood that didn’t belong to her. The baseball bat in her hands was snapped and caked in gore.

“Me too,” said Maddy between pants.

Rick looked around and saw that they had won a pyrrhic victory. A dozen of their attackers lay dead or injured, but many of the pub’s drinkers were dead also. Steven and Sarah were still on the opposite side of the ambulance, but they seemed to be okay. They were staring over the bonnet; expressions weary, yet exuberant.

“We made it,” said Steven, sounding like he could barely believe it. “I’ve never been in a fight in my life before today.”

“Well, you kicked ass,” said Rick. “You were like a Viking.”

Sarah patted Steven on the back. “I wouldn’t have had a chance without you. You were amaz—”

Her eyes went wide. Steven turned to glance at Sarah and his eyes went wide too. He stepped away, startled.

Rick reached out across the bonnet, not understanding what was happening. “Sarah?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but blood passed between her lips. Gnarled black fingernails appeared around her throat, and then her face disappeared, replaced by the back of her head. The sound of her neck snapping echoed off the ceiling like a gunshot.

Her dead body slumped to the floor.

The black haired dead man appeared where she had been standing, iron poker still sticking out of his torso. The grey flesh around the wound was scorched. “You think you can fight back, maggots? You will all die.” He grabbed the poker in his belly and dragged it out with a slithery plop! then threw it down on the ground next to Sarah’s head.

Steven took a swing, but was too slow. The dead man ducked the blow and struck Steven hard enough to launch him up and over the bonnet of the ambulance. Rick and the others ran to his aid, dragging him back to his feet and hustling him towards the exit.

The black haired corpse laughed at their retreat.

Outside, it was fully dark and completely silent. Steven was groggy and struggled to walk straight, so Keith and Rick grabbed an arm each and marched him across the car park as fast as they could. As they did so, Rick kept picturing Sarah’s face. There one minute; snapped around and facing the wrong way the next.

Dead men walked the Earth, killing the living.

The apocalypse had arrived.

As Rick dared to glance backwards one last time, he saw the black haired corpse strolling after them casually, apparently, in no hurry.

~Mina Magar~

Mayfair, England

It was like walking through a movie set for the grizzliest film ever made. The dead littered the roads like rubbish, their blood the ancient city’s latest graffiti. Tens of thousands dead. Mina made the assumption simply by extrapolating from what she saw on every street. Now and then, amongst the dead men, women, and children, she or David would spot a body that wasn’t human. One laid in front of her now—a charred creature with clumps of flesh between its crooked teeth. Somebody had fought back and run it through with a skiing pole. The price tag still hung from the rubber grip.

“Every inch of its skin is burned away,” Mina muttered, more to herself than David. “It’s like these things walked right out of a fire.”

David was busy making notes and using his phone to take pictures, but he heard what she said and replied. “Well, they say Hell is hot, if that’s still what you’re implying.”

“I think these monsters used to be men and women once. What do you think that means?”

“Maybe they’ve been burning in Hell for all eternity.”

Mina thought about it and found it grim to even consider. Was there really a Hell? Did people truly go there to burn for eternity? She’d never been a believer until now.

“The stones,” David said flatly as he pointed his camera phone at a prominent blond, shaggy-haired politician he’d found tangled in the wreckage of a shiny bicycle. “Wherever they’re from, the stones are the key.”

Mina agreed. The stones had opened some kind of gate, but who had put them there? The monster she had killed outside the pharmacy mentioned ‘The Red Lord’. Was that the Devil? Or something worse? Was the giant creature she had glimpsed the Red Lord?

“I wish you hadn’t ruined your camera,” said David. “We’re alone out here and have the exclusive.”

Mina groaned. “It was my camera or my life, and we don’t have the exclusive. It’s happening to everybody, so there’s no need for anybody to report it.”

“Nonsense. People will be too terrified to understand what is going on. We have a chance here to gain evidence and try to help piece things together. You already have your theory about Hell coming to Earth—as silly as I may deem it—and we can see if it holds water.”

Mina took a moment to think about it. They were alone in the aftermath of a catastrophe, and perhaps there were ways to help, but, as she viewed the utter devastation of London, she felt powerless. She prodded the dead creature with her foot and grimaced when the toe of her boot came back sticky. The demons had attacked en masse and with complete surprise, but they could be hurt—and killed. They were ferocious and relentless, but as fragile as any human being. Maybe the Army and their guns could turn things around.

Mina’s phone rang and made both of them leap. David had spoken with their Slough office multiple times since they’d left the pharmacy, but Mina had completely forgotten about her own phone.

She answered the phone and heard her father’s barking voice on the other end. “Mina? Are you all right?”

“Yes, dad, I’m fine. I’m in London.”

“London? Bloody damn it, Mina, why are you always in trouble? You could be at home safe with children, but instead, you are out in the middle of everything.”

“I’m a journalist, dad.”

“You are not a journalist, Mina. You take your hobby too seriously. I could have lost you today because of your irresponsible behaviour. You need to come home right now. Get away from that city. There is fighting.”

“Yes, dad, I know. I saw it first-hand.”

“Bloody damn it. You are where it happened? How did you stay safe?”

“I hid.”

“Good girl. Now, I am wanting you home.”

“It’s not that easy, dad. Things are bad here.”

“That is why you must leave.”

“I have a job to do.”

“No, you do not.”

Mina sighed and gripped the phone tightly in her fist. “Yes, I do, dad. I’m standing in the middle of a thousand bodies, and it’s my job to do something to help. I’m not interested in being at home, raising children, and cooking dinner. I’m a journalist, so let me journalist…lise.”

“Mina, you do as I am saying.”

“I’m twenty-five years old. I’ll do what I say.” She put down the phone and switched it off, hands shaking.

“You okay?” David asked her.

She swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

David looked at her, the first time he hadn’t frowned or given her an order. “You were good on the phone. Didn’t take any nonsense. Attitude like that will take you places.”

Mina smiled. “Perhaps. More likely, my dad will make my life a living hell.”

“Hell is already here, so what have you got to lose?”

“Good point.”

Movement ahead. A man stepped out of an alleyway and headed towards them.

“Oh no,” said Mina.

David glanced at her. “What is it?”

Mina watched the racist thug heading towards them and felt her bladder loosen. “This guy is bad news.”

“Do you know him?”

“More than I would like?”

“Give me that phone, luv,” the man demanded once he was close.

“You forgot to say please,” said David, folding his arms.

There was blood down the racist’s white t-shirt, and when he looked at David, there was murder in his eyes. “What did you fucking say to me, mate?”

David shifted a little, but there was too much pride in him to back down. “Manners cost nothing, my friend. You want to borrow my colleague’s phone, then I suggest you ask nicely.”

“David, it’s fine. He can have my phone.”

The racist grinned spitefully. “There you go mate, your little slag doesn’t mind giving it up.”

David strode forward, wagging his finger. “Now look here you-”

The thug punched him around the side of the head so hard Mina thought his skull might have cracked. Unconscious, he flopped face first to the pavement with not even his arms to break his fall.

Mina yelped in shock.

The bald menace sneered at her. “You’re that Paki from earlier, ain’t ya?”

“I’m not a… I am English.”

“The fuck you are.”

“I was born in Wigan.”

“More like a fucking call centre in Mumbai.”

“Mumbai is in India, so how could I be a Paki?”

“You fucking cheeking me, slag?”

Mina swallowed, tried to find whatever it was she needed to stand up to this beast. “People are dead. You shouldn’t be attacking people. We all need to help one another.”

“Which is why I want your phone. Give it.”

Mina reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She was about to hand it over when she caught sight of David, face down on the floor. Rather than scaring her, it made her angry. She placed the phone back in her pocket and shook her head. “It’s my phone and I’m not giving it to you. You try to touch me and I’ll scream. The monsters might come.”

“Oh, you’re going to give it to me, sweetheart, and you can scream all you like.” He lunged forward and grabbed her, threw all of his weight on top of her so that she fell backwards and struck the pavement. The wind escaped her lungs and the man grabbed her arms. He bent over her and started to lick and bite her neck like a panting dog.

“Stop it! David, help!”

David remained unconscious just three feet away.

“Never had a Paki before.” Her attacker nibbled at her earlobe. His fumbling hands went to the buttons on her jeans and popped the first one. “Gunna fuck the shite out of you, Paki.”

Terror got the best of Mina and she screamed.

The beast cut her off by smashing his fist into her mouth. “Shut it!”

He was just about to punch her again when a small red hole appeared in his windpipe, followed almost instantly by a piercing snap! He looked down at her with an expression of utter confusion. The little red dot on his windpipe leaked blood and air, making a gargling sound. He slumped sideways and collapsed to the pavement.

Mina clambered to her feet as quickly as she could, moaning in a mixture of fear and relief. She turned around and saw a group of men in jeans and sportswear—not much more than kids. One of them, a black lad in a luminous green beanie hat, held a smoking pistol in his hand turned sideways. “Racist motherfucker,” he muttered as he lowered the gun to his side.

Mina took a breath and said, “Y-you… you shot him. How…? Where did you get a gun?”

The lad gave her an odd look that made her feel stupid. “Ask me no questions, I tell me no lies. You all right, darlin’?”

“I… Yes. Thank you. You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

The lad glanced back at his friends, who seemed to bristle at her comment. Then he looked again at Mina but didn’t seem happy. “I just saved your arse, luv, and you accuse me of bein’ a mugger and shit. I ain’t gunna hurt you. We ain’t even like that.”

“Oh,” said Mina. “It’s just that you all look so… scary.”

The lad looked down at his baggy jeans and black hoodie, then surprised her by chuckling. “Just how we do on the streets, innit? You dress how you want, and we dress how we wants. Just clothes, innit?”

“Thank you,” said Mina, truly meaning it this time. Her attacker lay dead at her feet, but she didn’t care one bit. There were lots of people dead today, and the racist bully was among the most deserving.

“What’s your name?” Mina asked her rescuer.

“Vamps.”

“Vamps?”

The lad gave her a wide grin, revealing his gold plated fangs. “Yeah, Vamps. These are my homies: Mass, Ravy, and Gingerbread.”

The other three men nodded silently. The one she assumed was gingerbread—due to the gingerbread man on his t-shirt—was a huge white guy with curly ginger hair.

Mina shook all of their hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

“You need to be careful out here,” Vamps warned her. “There’s some heavy shit going down.”

“I know. I’m a journalist. David and I are trying to get out of the city. You should come with us.”

Vamps looked down at David, who was finally beginning to stir, and then back at her. “Nah, I’m sound, darlin’. These are my streets, d’you get me? Me and the boys are staying put, and any of them fucked-up, Freddy Krueger bitches wansta come take us on, they welcome. This is our manor and ain’t nothing gonna bowl up and make a mess of it. You take care, darlin’. Next time, just hand over your phone, innit? And ‘ere, take this.” He pulled a thin black stick out of his belt and tossed it Mina’s way.

She caught the object and saw that it was a metal police baton. The weight of it in her hands felt deadly, and she immediately felt safer. She couldn’t help it, she hugged Vamps as he was about to leave. “You’re a hero,” she told him.

Vamps eased her away, looking awkward. “Easy now. I ain’t no hero. Don’t you go writin’ ‘bout me in your paper. I ain’t news friendly.”

Mina nodded. “I promise. Take care.”

“You too.”

Then the group of young men disappeared, merging into the side streets as if they were a part of the city itself. The spirit of London had just saved her.

David managed to sit up and rub at his head. He saw the racist thug lying dead on the pavement, and then he looked up at Mina. “What the hell happened?”

Mina helped her colleague up and told him, “You wouldn’t believe me. There are angels in this city as well as demons.”

* * *

“Did you hear something?” David asked Mina about an hour later. Since setting off again, they hadn’t encountered another soul. Mina had secretly been hoping to run into Vamps and his gang again, but they were long gone. David listened to her story about the young man’s heroics, and was upset that she hadn’t kept the lad around for an interview. He’d been grumpy ever since waking up, and it was hardly surprising, considering the angry red lump on the side of his head where the thug had punched him. He’d also grazed his forehead on the pavement when he fell. Mina, herself, had a fat lip.

“I said did you hear that?”

Mina clutched the police baton Vamps had given her and raised it by her side. “I don’t know what it was, but maybe it’s a bad idea, us being out in the open like this.”

“Perhaps you’re right.”

The noise came again, and this time Mina spotted movement. It came from the top floor of a double decker bus. Someone was staring out of the window.

“Oh god,” said Mina. “There’s a kid up there.”

David looked up at where she was pointing and gasped. “My word.”

“I’ll go get him.” Mina hurried, but then slowed down. The last thing the poor kid needed was someone sprinting towards him with a weapon. She reached the bus and climbed the steps carefully. The seats on the lower deck were all empty and the driver’s compartment door hung wide open.

“Hello? You don’t have to be afraid. My name is Mina.”

The sound of scurrying feet came from above her head, but no voice in reply. She worried what she had seen only looked like a child, but might have been something else—another racist bully, or a demon. She hated having to have the police baton at the ready, but she lifted it now and was more than prepared to use it as she headed up the stairwell behind the driver’s compartment. When she reached the top deck of the bus, she saw more empty seats. Litter and abandoned possessions littered the floor, including a fat wallet with cash poking out of it.

A thatch of brown hair rose above the back of a seat, and a young boy peered at her.

“Hey there, little guy. Are you hurt?”

No reply. The staring eyes scrutinised her.

“My name is Mina. What’s your name?”

“Don’t come any closer.”

“It’s okay.” She took another step, despite the boy’s warning, and this prompted him to leap out at her and wave a claw hammer in her face. “I said step back.”

Upon closer inspection, the boy wasn’t so young—a teenager in fact, and probably as tall as she was. She took a step back. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to see if you’re okay.”

When the boy spoke again, she noticed his American accent. “I’m fine,” he snapped. “Just leave us be.”

Mina frowned. “Us?”

A girl popped up from behind another of the seats. Unlike her older brother, she had golden blonde hair. “Kyle? Is she another monster?”

“No, Alice. She’s just a normal lady, but she’s going now.”

“I don’t want her to go.”

“We have to stay here, where it’s safe.”

“It’s safer if you come with us,” said Mina.

The boy pulled a face. “Out there? Everybody’s dead.”

“I want to go home,” Alice moaned.

Kyle placed an arm around her. “I know you do, Ally, but home is far away. We have to keep ourselves safe. I’ll look after you, I promise.”

There was the sound of footfalls coming up the stairs, making them all fret, but it was only David. He rounded the last few steps and entered the upper deck. “Crikey,” he said when he saw them all standing there. “Two children? How did you both survive?”

“We hid,” said Kyle, puffing out his chest. “We were on a school field trip—my entire grade plus a few from the grades below. We were all headed to the zoo, but we got attacked by a bunch of monsters. All our friends and teachers are dead. Only reason we got away is cus I had to take care of my sister. I got her and ran. One of our teachers was with us for a while, but he left us.”

Mina gasped. “He left you?”

“Yeah, more of those monsters came at us from down an avenue and Mr Campbell ran into an alleyway. We didn’t have a chance to follow him, so we hid inside a store—that’s where I got this hammer—but then the store caught on fire and we had to run again. Alice spotted this bus, and that’s where we’ve been for hours.”

“We need to get you out of the city,” said Mina. “David and I will protect you. We won’t run away on you like your teacher did. Will we, David?”

“What? Oh, no, of course not. You’re safe with us, lad. We’re journalists.”

Alice looked at her brother like a hungry kitten. “Please, Kyle. I don’t want to stay on this bus anymore. The monsters are all gone. We watched them leave.”

“I think it’s safe for now,” Mina assured them. “The monsters seemed to have gone someplace else.”

Kyle huffed. “Yeah, but where? They didn’t just vanish.”

“Which is why you need to come with us,” she said. “It’s getting dark, and the monsters could be back any minute. You’d be all alone out here if they do.”

Alice whimpered.

Kyle’s expression lost some of its confidence, and the hammer he held so confidently lowered to his side. “Okay, we’ll come with you folks, but only if you promise to get us back home to America. No offence, but London sucks balls.”

Mina laughed. “It’s certainly seen better days. Good to meet you, Kyle and Alice. This is my colleague, David, and I’ve already told you that my name is Mina.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Alice, offering out her little hand and shaking Mina’s.

“Are we ready?” David asked impatiently

Kyle raised his hammer and nodded. “I want to get my sister home.”

* * *

They had headed east through Mayfair, planning on using the first working car they came across, but they were yet to find an area where the traffic hadn’t snarled up into an impassable wall at every intersection.

Hyde Park was ahead, Marble Arch sat just a little way off in the distance. For now it was as good a place as any to head, so that’s where they went.

“They say that’s where you used to hang people,” said Kyle, a macabre grin on his face.

David returned the boy’s smile. “That’s right, lad. They called it Tyburn in those days, and the elm trees here were used to execute condemned men. The most famous of them all, the Tyburn Tree, used to be at the site where Marble Arch now sits. Executions were entertainment.”

Alice looked horrified. “They used to enjoy watching people die?”

“They don’t anymore. Great Britain doesn’t execute people in this day and age. America would be wise to follow our lead. It’s uncivilised.”

“America is the greatest country in the world,” said Kyle.

“For now, yes,” David conceded. “But the British Empire once ruled the world, and look at it now. All great empires are destined to eventual mediocrity and extinction. No dynasty lasts forever. Before the British Empire, there was the Ottoman Empire, and before that, the Holy Roman Empire. Before that-”

“We get the point,” said Mina. “I think what David is trying to tell you, Kyle, is that you should never think yourself better than anybody else. We’re all just people, and we should stick together. Especially now.”

Kyle chewed at the inside of his cheek and seemed to consider the lesson being taught to him, which Mina thought was pretty level headed for a teenage boy.

“I like England,” said Alice. “Even with the monsters. I like all the big statues and the palaces. America should have a King instead of a president. Presidents are rubbish.”

“My mum says they’re all crooks,” Kyle added.

Mina smiled. “Are you sure you can’t remember your mother’s telephone number, Kyle? It would be good to call her.”

“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!”

Several 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.

The Hatchet hugged the shore on its way down to the Coast Guard station, and during that time, it became clear that a great fear had fallen over the various towns and villages. People here were not under attack, but the country they loved was.

Tosco had compiled a list of confirmed attack sites, and it made for grim reading: Jacksonville, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Anaconda, Memphis, San Diego, Clearwater, Billings, Pittsburgh, Fresno, Atlanta, Omaha, Tulsa, Newport, Wichita, Seattle, Minneapolis, Honolulu, Riverside, Newark, Toledo, Irving, Richmond, Sacramento, San Jose, Norfolk, New York, Des Moines, Brownsville, Peoria, and Elgin. And the two that were likely the reason the residents of Cape Fear were so worried: Charlotte and Raleigh.

There appeared to be no discernible pattern to the attack locations. Some states had relatively few gates, such as Illinois, where neither Chicago nor Springfield had been hit. The Prairie State’s biggest disaster site was Carbondale. California, on the other hand, was staging its own Armageddon with nearly every major city hit.

Although every bone in his body begged him not to do it, Guy had allowed his men free access to the radio, telephones, and internet. All the services were spotty, but it had soon become clear that mankind was at war. Every radio and television station had devoted itself to news coverage, but none could seem to agree on what was happening, or what to do about it. The theory that had the most supporters was that the gates to Hell had opened up and demons now walked the Earth seeking to destroy humanity. The second most popular opinion was that aliens were responsible.

It was difficult to draw any conclusions.

The giant the Hatchet had encountered was no anomaly. There had been sightings of similar winged creatures all over the world—including one in London where Kyle and Alice were hopefully still alive. Guy prayed they were. The general assumption was that the giants were Angels of Death come to smite mankind, but that was adamantly hand-waved by the religious-right who would hear nothing of it.

Guy hadn’t made up his mind about the truth, but he decided it would be best to refer to the enemy as demons from now on, for efficiency’s sake, if nothing else. If the men knew what they were fighting, they would be less afraid and more focused than if they were battling shadows and monsters. The fear on board the Hatchet was enough to incite desertion, and that was something that would need addressing soon. The crew could not be relied upon if their minds were set on leaving.

“We’re coming up on the base now,” said Frank. “I radioed in, and they’re ready to receive us.”

Guy blinked. “The Coast Guard is still functioning?”

“There’s a skeleton crew apparently.”

“Good, take us in.”

“Aye, Captain.”

The Hatchet pulled up alongside the deserted docks, and a grey-haired old man in a navy blue Coast Guard jumper met them. The weather was scorching, but he hadn’t seemed to have noticed. He saluted Guy as he appeared on deck and descended the gangway.

“Retired Captain Lund,” the old man said. “Caretaker of the station here.”

Guy shook his hand gladly. “Captain Granger. Thank you for receiving me, Captain Lund. How have you fared here?”

“Not bad, considering. Nearest attack is Charlotte, but that doesn’t make it any less frightening for us here. Watching the news is like watching a horror movie. Command won’t return my calls, and I just got word we lost a third of our domestic Navy in Norfolk.”

Guy sighed. “We were there. It was bad.”

“Well, I’m glad someone made it at least. All the Coast Guard vessels headed there last night to support the military. Some were friends of mine.”

“I’m sorry. Some ships got out, but more were lost.”

The old man took a long breath and let it out loudly. “You need fuel, I hear? Well, since I have no ships, you can have all the fuel you want. Heading anywhere in particular?”

“I have some ideas, but nothing set in stone yet. We’ll head wherever we can find that’s safe; unless we’re needed somewhere else. From what I saw at Norfolk though, there’s not a lot my crew can do but keep care of themselves.”

“There’re a couple young guys back at base,” said Lund. “I’ll radio ‘em to come fuel you boys up in a jiffy. You wanna come inside a spell and have a cup of Joe?”

“I wish I could,” said Guy, “but right now, I need to keep a tight leash on my crew. If I go wandering off inland, they might do the same.”

“I understand, Captain. Let me know if I can make myself useful.”

“You can count on it. Thank you, Captain Lund.”

“You can call me Skip. Everyone else does.”

“Thank you, Skip.”

Frank came down the gangway. His expression was urgent, and in his hand, he held a cell phone—Guy’s cell phone. “You left it in the pilothouse,” he explained. “You will want to take this call.”

There was a knot in Guy’s stomach, but he reached out and took the phone and placed it against his ear. “Hello?”

“Dad, is that you?”

“Kyle! Are you and Alice okay?”

“Yeah, dad, we’re fine.”

“Where are you? How did you get in touch with me?”

“We’re with some soldiers in London. I gave them our address back home and they got a call to mom. She gave me your number and said I had to call you too.”

Guy tried not to dwell on the fact that his son had not chosen to call of his own free will. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Kyle. I’ve been worried. Are they looking after you?”

“Yeah. Things were pretty bad for a while, but then a couple of reporters found me and Alice hiding in a bus. They took us to an army camp in the park. The soldiers are going to put us in a helicopter and take us somewhere safe. I think they said it was some place named Kane Bridge.”

Guy thanked God for the British Army. “I want to speak to one of the soldiers before you go.”

“Yeah, okay. There’s one here with us now—Corporal Martin. He’s waiting outside the tent. He’ll give you the details of where we’re going.”

“Good. You look after your sister, Kyle. No matter what, okay? Can I speak with her?”

“Sure.”

There was a pause, then Alice’s sweet little voice came down the line. “Daddy?”

“Hi, princess. I’m so proud of you for staying safe.”

“It was really scary, daddy. There were monsters, but Kyle looked after me.”

“I’m proud of him too. The nice soldiers will look after you now until you get home to mommy. Do exactly as they tell you, okay, and keep close to your brother.”

“Mommy says there are monsters at home, too.”

“Mommy is safe,” Guy assured her. “You spoke to her earlier and so did I.”

“Is Clark looking after her?”

Guy cleared his throat. “Yes, honey. Clark is looking after her.”

“When can me and Kyle go home?”

“Soon, I promise.”

“Will you come get us in your boat?”

“Daddy can’t do that, honey. Daddy has a job to do.”

“But the soldiers said that’s over now. Corporal Martin said that we have to fight. If you come and get us, you can teach me and Kyle how to fight. Please, come get me.”

“What? No, Alice, I don’t want you to fight. What else did this Corporal Martin say?”

“I heard him say we’re going to lose. That there are too many monsters.”

“Let me speak to him.”

“What?”

“Honey, let me speak to Corporal Martin.”

Alice sounded sad, like she knew she’d just caused trouble. “Okay, daddy. I’ll go and get him.”

There was a clonking sound as Alice placed the receiver down, and then Guy could hear Kyle speaking, asking his sister what was wrong.

Then there was the sound of gunfire.

Guy shouted down the phone. “Alice? Kyle?”

There was a man’s voice in the background. Guy could just about hear it. “Come on, kids. We have to get somewhere safe, right now. We’re under attack.”

“But I was talking to my da—”

The line went dead.

The cell phone fell from Guy’s grasp and shattered at his feet. Frank caught him just as he was about to fall.

“Guy, what is it?”

“Alice and Kyle. They’re in danger. Something is attacking them.”

Frank didn’t speak.

Guy wrung his hands together and started pacing like a caged cat. “I should be with them, Frank. I should be protecting them. Damn it.”

Frank looked him in the eye and held him steady. “You told the men we’re all just going to have to pray our families are okay. Kyle and Alice have survived so far. You have to hope they can make it through. They will make it, Guy. We all will.”

Captain Lund’s boys arrived around the coast, piloting a fuel barge up alongside the Hatchet. The putt-putt of the engine echoed across the water.

Guy wiped the tears from his eyes and straightened up. “Get the men to refuel, Chief Petty, and then assemble everybody on launch deck—the civilians too. I have something to say.”

Frank nodded. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

* * *

The Hatchet’s crew assembled alongside the civilian refugees on the launch deck, awaiting an address from the Captain. Captain Lund and his boys were also present as Guy had requested them.

Guy stood on top of the ship’s main gun emplacement so he was high enough to see the far edges of the crowd. The Hatchet wasn’t a huge ship, and the massed gathering made it seem cramped. The civilians looked nauseous and afraid, unused to the sea and even less used to the fighting.

“Thank you for gathering,” Guy began. “Some of you have served with me for a long time, some of you not so long, some of you are only catching a ride. Regardless of your position on this ship, we have all survived a terrible tragedy together, and for that, we are brothers and sisters—bonded through adversity and strengthened by courage. I am proud to captain this crew. Things are bad, we all know it. The Navy is in disarray—if it even exists at all—and reports are that the Army are faring little better. Things as we know them have fallen apart, and there is nothing I can do to fix that. All civilians are now free to go, and I hope that Captain Lund will assist you in whatever way he can. New York is no longer safe, but there are still areas yet to be attacked. Cape Fear is one of those areas, so I suggest that you remain here for the time being.

“I also offer release to my crew. Many of you still have time left to serve, but I have come to realise that a man must protect his family first, his country second. In fact, by doing the first, we often serve the second; so go, if you must, and find your families. There will be no repercussions, you have my word. Humanity is at war, and none of us can escape the days ahead, but I will hold no one on board my ship if they do not wish to be here. I, myself, will be crossing the Atlantic to find my own family. Some may call it desertion, but I see no Coast Guard left to desert. Some may call me a traitor, but I would rather betray my country than my children. What I am is a father, and that is how I intend to proceed.”

There was a collective gasp from those who understood the magnitude of what he was suggesting. The Atlantic was a big ocean to cross in a ship not made for comfort.

Guy gave the crowd no time to settle and continued earnestly. “The Hatchet is just about fit to do the journey with a full tank of fuel, and it’s the right time of year, so I’m going to London to find my children. I’ll pilot the ship alone if I have to, but if anyone wishes to join me, I will welcome their company, not as enlisted men, but as volunteers. Once I have my children, I will return to my duty and do what I can to help my country.”

“I’ve always fancied seeing Wembley Stadium,” said Frank. “You think it’ll still be there?”

Guy looked at his oldest friend warmly. “Only one way to find out.”

“I’ll join you, Captain,” said Lieutenant Tosco. His eyes were red and swollen, showing he’d been crying. “I just found out my wife is dead. If I can help you save your kids, then I’ll sail to England with you. Alice and Kyle are Americans. They need our help.”

Tosco had been the last person Guy had expected to join him, but he was more than thankful to have his second-in-command along for the ride. “Thank you, Lieutenant Tosco. I’d be glad to have you.”

More hands went up as more and more enlisted men volunteered. Almost half the civilians remained as well. The final voice in the crowd was Captain Lund’s. “I’d like to come too, if that’s okay, Captain Granger?”

“Don’t you want to run things here, Skip? The voyage will be long and uncomfortable.”

“Don’t consider things are going to be too dandy wherever I go. If I’m to risk my life, I’d rather risk it where I belong: At sea. I’ll be leaving good boys behind—they’ll take care of your civilians, but I want to join your crew, sir. One last adventure for a silly old man. I’ll pull my weight, you can be mighty sure of it.”

“I have no doubt. Welcome aboard, Skip.” Guy looked for more volunteers, but none remained. About a third of the crew had opted to leave, but with the additional civilians, the Hatchet would end up being over-manned. They’d need to resupply before setting off, but that was a problem to be addressed later. For now, Guy just wanted to bask in the feeling of solidarity between him and his fellow sailors. He had truly expected to be making the journey across the Atlantic on his own. Even now, life could surprise him.

“Get some rest, sailors,” he commanded. “We leave bright and early. Until then, think about your decision, and enjoy the land beneath your feet while you can. England awaits us.”

~Mina Magar~

Hyde Park, London

Mina had been sitting on the moonlit grass listening to her father’s angry voicemails when the first shot fired. It came from the edge of camp, over by Marble Arch, and when she looked up, she saw soldiers hastily gathering up their weapons and running to offer support. David had been sitting under a nearby floodlight, working through his notes and chatting to Carol on the phone. He came over now in a hurry. “Did you see what they’re firing at?”

Mina got up and wiped grass off her butt. “It’s too dark to see. The creatures must be attacking again.”

David hissed, “Let’s hope those soldiers know what they’re doing.”

The gunfire increased, lighting up the darkness like a celebration. Radios squawked everywhere as soldiers communicated with one another urgently. Explosions joined the mix and gave Hyde Park its greatest ever fireworks show.

“It’s bad,” said Mina. “The whole camp is getting involved.”

Corporal Martin appeared from one of the nearby tents with Alice and Kyle hurrying behind him. “You need to take the children,” he ordered. “I need to get over there.”

Mina gathered the frightened children to her side, but didn’t want to let the soldier rush off. “They’re attacking again, aren’t they? How many?”

Corporal Martin looked at her gravely. “Just one.”

“One? I don’t understand.”

As if to address her confusion, a beastly roar echoed across Hyde Park, and something huge charged towards the camp. The giant scooped up a black taxi and launched it at the assembled soldiers, scattering them into cover. They spread out, pumping magazines full of ammunition into the creature and hitting it several times with grenades.

Nothing slowed the giant down.

A jeep skidded to a halt in front of it. When the soldier in the back manning a huge machine gun pulled the trigger, it sounded like a volcano erupting. The onslaught of automatic fire was enough to send the giant reeling, but it quickly recovered, dragged an elm tree out of the ground, and launched it at the jeep. The vehicle bucked, rolled, and ended up on its roof. The soldier who had been manning the machine gun fell awkwardly and snapped his neck.

David shot Corporal Martin an accusing look. “Your men are dying.”

“Which is why I need to go help them.”

Mina grabbed the soldier’s arm. “No, you’ll die. Your weapons aren’t working on that thing.”

“Uh, guys?” Kyle got their attention and pointed to the other side of the park. “There’s something else coming.”

Screams filled Hyde Park as an army of charred creatures arrived from a dozen side streets and fell upon the camp. Soldiers began to fall, clutching torn open stomachs and mangled throats. Meanwhile, the giant continued its devastating march, crushing all in its path.

“The battle is lost,” said David. “We need to get out of here.”

Alice cried. Kyle put his arm around her, but looked close to tears himself. Mina smiled at the boy and tried to let him know it would be alright—even though it wouldn’t be.

In the centre of the park, two choppers started up their rotors, each one loaded full of refugees. The army of creatures made for them, but was held back by the last smatterings of resistance. If those soldiers didn’t hold their ground, the civilians would be sitting ducks.

Corporal Martin grabbed his rifle and prepared to head off.

Mina grabbed his arm. “You’re not seriously going to go fight, are you?”

“No,” he said. “We’re getting the hell out of here. Come on.”

They raced after him as he took them across the playing fields towards the centre of camp. It was closer to the danger, but Mina understood the soldier’s motives. The vehicles were all parked in the centre of Hyde Park, and reaching one was their only means of escape.

“Is that the thing you saw earlier, Mina?” David asked her as they sprinted towards the motor pool.

“I only saw it for a moment, but yes, that’s definitely it.”

“It has wings like an angel,” Alice said.

“It’s not an angel,” said Kyle. “It’s a monster.”

“A demon,” Mina stated, as sure of it as ever.

“But it looks like a pretty man,” Alice argued.

“It’s going to bloody well kill us if we don’t hurry up,” Corporal Martin shouted at them all.

The burned creatures were no match for bullets and went down in clouds of gore whenever shot, but their sheer numbers gave them the advantage. They didn’t seem to fear death and were happy to sacrifice themselves if it meant that their comrades would reach their target.

It was a Kamikaze attack. Unstoppable.

Mina and the others were almost at the jeeps. All around them, soldiers screamed and begged for their lives, but they received no mercy. The demons tore out their intestines and left them to die in agony—they seemed intent on maiming over killing. The gunfire became less and less. Floodlights tipped over and shattered, allowing the shadows to claim Hyde Park. Alice screamed and covered her eyes. She stopped running and refused to move.”

Mina tried to grab the girl, but was clawed away. “I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home.”

“Sweetheart, you have to keep moving.”

Kyle came and knelt in front of his little sister. “Hey, Ally. It’s going to be okay. Remember the bus? We were okay, weren’t we? You promised to do whatever I said, and I kept you safe then. I need you to run towards the jeep, okay? Do you understand, Ally? I need you to run. I love you, and it will all be okay.” Alice wiped away her tears and went to look back at the dying soldiers, but Kyle stopped her. “Don’t, Ally. You just focus on running and think about what you’re going to do when we get home. Mom and Clark will take us to Funtown, but first you have to get to that jeep over there, okay?”

Alice nodded and finally got moving again, but they’d lost time they could ill afford. Hardly any soldiers remained between them and the murderous horde of creatures.

The giant was now close enough that the ground trembled beneath their feet as they ran. A hundred metres away, the two helicopters hopped up into the air. They lurched away in separate directions, one heading south, the other heading north, but the chopper heading south passed right over the battlefield.

Right into danger.

The giant leapt up and swatted the helicopter to the ground. The fuselage crumpled and the main rotor broke free and cartwheeled across the park, taking out several soldiers and demons. There was a small explosion from the chopper’s engines, but most of the damage came purely from the force of impact with the ground. Dismembered arms and legs spilled out from the wreckage. Mina’s mouth filled with vomit, but she forced it back down. There was no time for nausea.

Corporal Martin made it to the jeep first, but he didn’t hop in behind the wheel. Instead, he hopped in behind the machine gun mounted on the back. “David,” he shouted. “The keys are in the ignition. Get us out of here.”

David stumbled. “What? I… I can’t take the wheel. What if I crash? M-My nerves are shot.”

Mina shoved him out of the way. “I’ll drive, just get the kids inside.”

David nodded, relieved. “Okay, Kyle, get in the jeep, quickly.”

Kyle shook his head. “Alice first.”

Alice was shaking and trembling, but she hurried towards the jeep as her brother urged her to move. David grabbed the little girl under the arms and launched her across the back seat, where she seemed to take comfort in clicking in her seatbelt. Once secure, she looked over at her brother and waved her hand. “Kyle, come on!”

“I’m coming, Ally.” He took a step forward, but as he did something yanked him backwards.

David went to help, but then changed his mind and backed up against the jeep. “Kyle, run!”

Mina and Martin shouted warnings too.

Alice screamed.

But it was too late.

The demon had the boy firmly in its clutches.

Kyle was brave. He punched and kicked at his attacker, tearing away strips of burnt, tattered flesh, but the simple fact was that the boy just wasn’t strong enough. The demon shook off the blows as if they were flies and thrust its skeletal hand right inside Kyle’s belly, ripping out a pink, glistening bag that could only have been his stomach. Blood exploded from his mouth, and he made the most pitiful whine, but then he fell to the floor, dead.

Martin opened up the machine gun on the back of the jeep, and the demon danced as a hundred metal wasps stung him. Scraps of singed flesh flew into the air like ash, and tendrils of smoke appeared from every bullet hole. When the vile creature hit the dirt, it looked like a soiled rag.

Alice tried to leap out of the jeep and go to her brother, but David grabbed a hold of her collar and kept her inside the jeep. “He’s gone, sweetheart. We have to go.”

“Kyle, no!”

Martin shouted across to Mina. “Get us the fuck out of this city.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Mina stamped on the accelerator and took off at full speed. Behind them, Hyde Park descended into darkness and terror.

~Rick Bastion~

Devonshire, England

Rick was glad he and his brother hadn’t got a taxi and travelled to drink somewhere further afield, for they were able to reach his home within ten minutes, and just as night fell. Keith led the group as if it were his own house they were going to, but Rick had no inclination to complain. After the losses at The Warren, their group now consisted of just him, Keith, Steve, Diane, and Maddy, but when they reached the thick iron gate that protected his property, they discovered a new survivor.

“What are you doing outside my house?” Rick asked the man. The blond stranger—perhaps about thirty—wore a black t-shirt tucked into jeans and was smoking a cigarette. His heavy work boots made him look like an extra out of Grease.

“Wow, this your gaff? Nice. I’ve been rattling away at the gate for the last ten minutes. Never considered you might be out.”

“You weren’t rattling the gate just now,” Rick commented. “You were just hanging around.”

The stranger waved his lit cigarette. “Fag break, mate. Try’na batter down an old iron gate is tiring work. ‘Specially after gettin’ chased by demons.”

Keith held up his iron poker and seemed to examine the dark red blood staining it. “You think they’re demons?”

“I know they’re demons.”

“How?”

“Believe it or not, I once studied to be a priest. Eventually, I was put off by all those rules they expected me to follow, but I learned a few things.” He looked at Maddy and winked. “Those things are demons though, you can bet your hats. I’m happy to tell you fine folks all about it, but I would much rather do it inside this fine mansion, and not out where we might get eaten.”

There was something about the guy that Rick didn’t like—he was too casual—but he couldn’t turn a person away with so much danger going on. They would have to keep an eye on him. It wasn’t like they didn’t outnumber him.

Rick pulled out his keyring and located the little key that connected to the modern padlock he’d installed on the gate. Before he let everybody in, though, he turned to the stranger and asked for a name.

“Daniel,” came the reply. “And very pleased I am to meet you all.”

“Nice to meet you too, Daniel. I’m Rick. This is my brother, Keith… Steve, Maddy, and Diane. We’re pretty much strangers, but we’re bonding quickly. If you want to stay with us then behave yourself.”

“Yeah, of course, pal.”

They crunched up the driveway while Rick closed and locked the gate behind them, before racing ahead to open up the front door. The alarm beeped, and everyone had to wait in the porch while he disarmed it, but then he invited them all into the lounge where they all sat down—exhausted. It had been a long time since he’d hosted guests, and it made him feel anxious—strange considering the day he was having. It shouldn’t have been important.

“I’ll get everyone drinks,” said Rick.

“Just water for me,” said Diane.

“Me too,” said Steven.

“I think we should stick to the water,” said Keith, although his pained expression made it seem that he wanted a drink as much as Rick. He really had got a taste for it tonight, hadn’t he, but unlike Rick, he had the willpower to say no. It upset Rick to realise that he was more like his father than Keith. Perhaps that was why they had always clashed so badly.

“Suit yourself,” said Rick, “but I’m having a beer.”

He made them all drinks and brought them over on a tray. A silence descended, and everybody’s gaze fell on the newcomer, Daniel.

“You’re all looking at me like I farted,” he said.

“We want to know why you’re so sure those things attacking us are demons,” said Maddy. She had unzipped the top half of her jumpsuit and let it drop around her waist, revealing a tight black vest and well-toned arms. Everyone appeared hot and sweaty, so Rick got up and switched on the ceiling fan while they continued talking.

“When I was studying to be a Roman Catholic priest,” Daniel began, “I spent a little time at the Vatican. There were some interesting books there, I don’t mind telling you—many of which were strictly off-limits. But, even back then, I was a bit of a shit, so one night, me and some of the other novices got hold of a book all about Lucifer and the Fallen Angels. You know the story: Lucifer refused to bow down to mankind and went to war against God in Heaven. Got his arse handed to him and was cast down with the other rebel angels, yada, yada, yada. Well, this book was all about what happened afterwards. Lucifer set up a kingdom of his own and named it Abysseus. The Abyss.”

“Hell?” said Diane.

“Yeah, darlin’. Hell is exactly what it is. Anyway, God, in all his glory, protected the Earth from this kingdom of Abysseus by creating six thousand Heavenly Seals. Each one protecting a spot where Hell encroached upon the Earth. You see, Heaven and Hell are both tethered to the Earth, a bit like the ropes on a hot air balloon. Heaven is the balloon, it keeps everything afloat. Earth is the basket, it gives us all something to stand on. But hitching a ride on the bottom is Hell. Hell is the ballast; it drags everything down, and drains away all the effort Heaven puts into keeping us all afloat. If Hell gains too much influence, we all go down, you understand? Anyway, to keep everything nice and separate, God created the six thousand seals.”

Rick’s eyes narrowed. “The black stones are the seals?”

“Yep, them stones are the six thousand seals the book mentioned. Each one protecting a gateway between Hell and Earth. If Hell gains dominion over the Earth, that’s a whole lot of extra ballast dragging down Heaven. Maybe that’s what this is all about: Another shot at ending God’s kingdom. But, hey, this was all stuff I read in a book one time. Make of it what you will.”

Rick put his beer down and leaned forward. “If the stones were put there by God, why have they opened and allowed Hell to come to Earth?”

“Dunno.”

Rick grunted. “You don’t know?”

“Hey, you’re asking me to speculate based on a dusty old tome I read as a teenager. My guess would be sabotage opened the gates. Nothing in Hell can affect the seals, so someone on Earth must have had something to do with it. Or maybe God was so pissed off that he summoned the seals and switched them all off himself. Like I said, I dunno.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “We don’t have any reason to believe your story over any other.”

Daniel shrugged. “Nope, you don’t. The only thing we need to agree on is that them things are dangerous. We should stick together and hope for the best.”

“Good plan,” said Keith morosely.

Daniel threw his arms in the air. “It’s the best I got, pal.”

“We should barricade this place,” said Maddy seriously.

Diane nodded. “Yeah, we should totally do that, like in the black and white zombie movies. We should hammer boards over the windows.”

Rick frowned. “This isn’t a zombie movie, Diane. Do you have any boards on you?”

“In the films, they used doors.”

Rick looked around the open-plan living room and frowned again. “It’s all open down here. There’s a door on the office and the rooms upstairs, but… Well, I suppose we might be able to work something out.”

“What about that big garage you have out there?” asked Keith.

Rick flinched. “No, there’s nothing in there.”

“Probably worth checking out though,” said Steven.

“No.”

Maddy stared at him. “Come on, Rick. We need to find whatever we can. Where’s the harm?”

Rick tried to find argument, but couldn’t. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll open it.” He stood up and looked at them. “Well, come on then.”

They all got up and headed outside and around to the side of the house. The double garage sat beside the property but had rarely been used to park a car. Its main use was as a junk storage shed, and when Rick opened it, he felt his cheeks glow. He knew Keith would be the first to comment, and he wasn’t disappointed.

“Are these all your albums, Rick? Oh dear.”

Rick looked down at the boxes upon boxes of unsold music albums and cringed. “I’ve told you before that my record label went bust while I was still in contract with them. This is all the stock from their warehouse. They were just going to chuck it.”

Keith sniggered. “And you thought it would be better keeping it in your garage?”

“I didn’t know I’d never get another record deal. I assumed I’d sign a new contract and sell this stuff on as signed copies or something.”

Maddy studied his face. “Wait… That’s how I know you. You’re that Rick Bastion guy.”

Keith chuckled. “His real surname is Monroe.”

Rick shot him a glare. “No, it’s not. I changed it.”

“Shouldn’t have bothered.”

“I think it’s cool,” said Diane. “You were really a pop star, Rick?”

He smiled. “Yeah, for about five minutes.”

“I have to admit,” said Maddy, picking up one of the albums and studying it. “I liked that song.”

Steve laughed. “Can’t say that I did, but it’s still impressive. Well done.”

Keith bristled and looked at Daniel. “Were you a fan of Cross to Bear, Daniel?”

“Never heard it. Sorry.”

“Oh come on,” said Maddy. “You must have heard it. My love for you is just a cross to beeear!”

Daniel looked nonplussed.

Rick patted him on the back. “Always glad to meet a non-fan—truly. Anyway, I told you there was nothing in here. I wasn’t lying. Unless you think we can pay the demons off with signed copies of my albums.”

“I think not,” said Keith.

Maddy ran her fingers over the surface of the album and kept glancing between it and Rick. The sight of his pink hair and leather jacket made him cringe. “Could you please put that down,” he begged her.

She smiled and tossed it back into the box. “Sorry.”

Steven slipped inside the garage and looked around. “You have a few tools in here, Rick. That nail gun could be handy. The stepladder too.”

“Take whatever you want. We should start getting the doors off to use as barricades. I think there’s a tool kit in here somewhere.”

“Where are your keys, Rick?” asked Keith. “I’ll park our cars up against the gate; stop anything barging through.”

Rick reached into his pocket and handed them over. “Good idea. The iron fence goes all the way around, so it should hold, but the gate is rickety and only held with a padlock.”

“Can I borrow your phone, too?”

“Yeah, of course. You want to call Marcy?”

“I’m thinking she isn’t answering because it’s my number coming up—or perhaps I’m hoping that’s the reason. Anyway, it’s worth a try.”

Rick offered his phone. “Take it. Keep trying her.”

Steven started yanking stuff out from the back of the garage and piling it out front. In short order, he had added a hammer, a toolkit, and a garden shovel to the nail gun and ladder. It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t nothing either. Keith got the cars moved, parked them side by side in front of the gate. Next on the list was getting the bedroom doors off and nailing them against the ground-floor windows. For that job, they all worked together.

“So, Rick,” Daniel said to him as they propped a door in front of the office window. “What’s the deal with your brother? He’s not really the supportive type, is he?”

“You could put it like that.”

“Why does he give you so much grief?”

“Don’t ask me. I never got on with my dad, but Keith was joined at the hip to him. I think he took over where my old man left off, criticising me all the time. Keith hated when I got a recording contract. Dad had groomed him to be this great businessman, but I went and leapfrogged him by making a couple mil overnight. I can’t be certain, but I think he even went so far as setting up a fake account and leaving my albums bad reviews online.”

“Yikes, that’s a little…” he looked at the door they were holding, “unhinged.”

Rick shrugged. “Can’t pick your family, I guess.”

“A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.”

Rick held a nail in place and prepared to strike it with the hammer. “What’s that?”

“Proverbs 17:17. Priest school, remember? I can’t believe I still remember that stuff.”

“You really visited the Vatican? What’s it like?”

He shrugged. “A bit religious for my liking. Nice buildings though.”

They shared a laugh, and before long, they had the door nailed across the window and were off to the next task. Steve was busy in the living room while Maddy and Diane were in the kitchen making phone calls and trying to get help. They got through a couple of times, but only ever received bad news. The police were tied up, and the Army were concentrated around major cities. Nobody would come rescue a few people in a mansion on the edge of nowheresville. The call operators had started to be quite blunt about that. So Maddy and Diane had switched tactics and were now focused on trying to find out what was happening in the country. Rick had loaned them his laptop to aid their research. Maddy had already managed to contact an uncle in Leeds who claimed everything was okay, and Diane had spoken with her mother hiding out at her home in Exeter. People still lived, so perhaps things weren’t so bad.

Keith was in the hallway making calls of his own. It was obvious from his expression that Marcy still wasn’t answering. Rick felt for him. Not knowing if his wife and son were okay must have been torture. Once again, it made Rick wonder why his brother was there.

A beeping sound brought everyone into the entrance hallway. Rick knew it was the security system, and he went to the control panel on the wall. The video feed had switched on, activated by the proximity sensors on the gate. The security floodlight bathed the driveway in a spooky yellow-green glow.

It made the dead men look like ghosts.

Rick counted the demons outside the gate and covered his mouth in horror. “There must be two dozen of them out there. Enough to bring down the gate.”

“Okay, everybody,” said Keith, “get whatever you can to defend yourselves. We’re going to keep our heads down and hope they don’t find out we’re in here.”

Daniel elbowed Rick in the ribs and whispered, “Ain’t this your gaff, mate?”

Rick shrugged. Nothing Keith said was wrong, but he did have one thing to add: “If they do get in here, there’s no way out except the gate, but Steven has put the step ladder in the conservatory. If we have to make a run for it, we can set it up against the back fence and climb over. We might be able to escape without them seeing us.”

“We should just run,” said Diane.

Maddy was the first to shake her head. “And go where? No, if we can stay hidden, then we’d be stupid to leave. It’s the middle of the night. They might not even have seen us.”

Keith clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention back on him. “We all know about the stepladder. If we need to make a run for it, then it’s there, but things haven’t come to that yet. The lower floor is barricaded, and we can defend ourselves—we proved that back at the pub. We’re okay for now.”

“I don’t think there’s any doubt about them knowing we’re in here,” said Rick. He prodded the LCD screen with his finger and showed them all what he was seeing. The demons outside, a mixture of burned humans and hunched-over creatures, glared through the bars at the house. They were so unwavering in their focus, so intent on their staring, that there was no question that they knew somebody was inside.

“They’re just standing there,” said Maddy. “It’s like they don’t want to touch the gate.”

Rick nodded. She was right. The demons were half a foot away from the bars, but would approach no further. It was as if there was an invisible force field keeping them at bay.

Steven leant forward, closer to the screen. “They could climb over it if they tried, but they’re not trying. Why?”

“It’s the iron bars,” said Daniel.

Everybody looked at him.

“What?” Rick asked.

“The seals I told you about in the book. They were forged from iron. God created a substance toxic to anything not of earth and used it to make the seals. He also placed iron in the blood of man to help prevent evil from inhabiting us.”

“You mean, like possession?” asked Diane.

“Yeah, possession. Anyway, non-earthly creatures are allergic to iron. They can’t cross a barrier made from it.”

“The fire pokers are iron too,” said Keith, “but it didn’t kill them outright.”

“No,” admitted Rick. “But it hurt them. Perhaps iron is only truly effective as a barrier. It keeps evil spirits out of our bodies, and it’s been keeping the demons trapped in Hell via the seal stones. Maybe it’s-”

Maddy finished for him. “Keeping the bastards out of your house via the old fashioned fence.”

Keith folded his arms. “Well, well, well, it looks like we may have had the fortune to wander into the one safe place in town. I knew there was a reason you wasted so much money on this old house, Rick.”

“I obviously knew that somewhere down the line I’d need to seek refuge from an army of demons. Thought I’d be prepared.”

Everyone laughed, and Keith bristled again. He was straight-faced as he spoke. “We know nothing for sure, so let’s just stick to the plan. Everybody keep their heads down, and be ready. Even if we’re safe, we can’t stay here forever, unless my brother has a garage full of supplies hidden amongst all of his unsold albums.”

Rick wanted to reply with something devastating, but nothing came to mind. Instead, he kept an eye on the security monitor and watched the demons outside. Part of him wished he was stuck inside with one of them instead of his older brother.

~Tony Cross~

Eastern Plateau, Syria

Without vehicles for shade, the men were exhausted within an hour, and they slowed down just a few miles into Syria. Harris had got so hot that he had pulled out his combat knife and cut the sleeves off his shirt. But when night had fallen, they had faced a new set of problems: In the early hours, the desert froze, and the men had needed to clutch themselves to keep warm, hours after sweating profusely. They kept on walking long into the night, trying to put as much distance between them and the gate as they could. Now that it was almost dawn, they were looking forward to the brief window of temperate weather that morning would bring.

“I did not think I would live to see the sun rise,” said Aymun, the leader of the ISN trio that now marched side by side with seven British soldiers.

Ellis had been unfailingly polite to the Syrian rebels since rescuing them, and he was no different now. “I thought quite the same for a moment there, Aymun. That was quite a hairy situation we escaped.”

Aymun looked confused. He plucked at his dirty black fringe. “Hairy?”

Tony sighed. “He means we were in the shit.”

Aymun nodded. “I understand shit. Situation very bad. Allah has sent his servants to punish us.”

“Don’t start on that,” said Tony. “I don’t believe your Allah sent a bunch of monsters to kill us in the desert. I’m sure he has more efficient means.”

“Allah prefers to test, not punish. If we die, it is because we stop fighting.”

Tony grunted. “Do you believe that about your own men? You lost more than a dozen back at the border.”

A glimmer of sadness flowed through Aymun’s face, but he quickly went back to being expressionless. “They are in the next life, rewarded for their bravery.”

“Some reward,” said Tony.

Silence followed them for the next hour while the sun rose inch by inch above the horizon. They found a dirt road, and the walking got a little easier, and when they came upon a stream, they decided to set up camp. Ellis quickly upset the men by insisting they share their rations with the three ISN soldiers. Morale had been low ever since.

Tony sat on his own, fiddling with the squad’s long-range radio. Ellis had tried it as soon as they’d made it into Syria, but had not been able to get a successful link up. Communication in the desert was never great, but the majority of their unit was deployed less than a hundred miles away and should have been reachable. Yet, when Tony tried to hail them again now, he got zero response. Had another gate opened near base camp? Was the rest of the platoon dead?

Tony wanted, more than anything, to encounter more people, even ISN. He feared what had come through that gate, and he feared what it meant for the world. If nothing else, it answered the question about whether humanity was alone. Either aliens or demons had come through that gate, and it looked like they were here to kill.

Ellis unfolded his map and noted down the coordinates on the GPS readout from his radio. Tony sat next to him to see what the score was.

“We’re in the middle of the desert,” Ellis told him, never failing to astound with his talent of stating the obvious. “It’s not safe for us to stay in Syria. We could head back east, but that would take us closer to that dastardly gate. Or we head south for Israel?”

Tony shook his head. “We’d never make it through Jordan in one piece.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“Turkey.”

“But that’s north, Tony, through the desert and river towns. We could meet resistance. The ISN operate in the northern regions”

“The ISN are everywhere, but we’ll be less likely to be attacked that way than if we head south or west. The north is barren enough that we can avoid the towns. We should head for the U.S. airbase in Incirlik. If we can make it to the Turkish border, we should be able to get a ride. We should be able to make it within a week on foot, sooner if we manage to find a couple vehicles.”

Ellis rubbed at his jaw. “A week’s march across the desert, how are we supposed to manage that?”

Tony sighed. “Once upon a time, armies used to march thousands of miles. If we cut our rations, take as much water from this stream as we can, we’ll make it. It won’t be a pleasant trip, but any other direction and we risk getting into another firefight. I don’t know about you, but I could do without losing another bunch of lads.”

Ellis looked at the map for several seconds, eyebrows knitted in concentration. He came up with no alternative, so nodded his head and agreed to Tony’s plan. “I will go and let the men know what they’re in for.”

Tony looked at his Commanding Officer and tried to convey his confidence one last time, hoping it would pass through him and onto the men. “This is how we all get to live, Lieutenant. I’ll take hard and safe over easy and dangerous any day. We stick together and we’ll be fine.”

Ellis nodded toward Aymun who was sitting on a rock with his two men. “What about them?”

“Leave them to me.”

Ellis seemed satisfied. “I trust you to take care of it, Staff Sergeant. Carry on.”

While Ellis addressed the men, Tony approached the ISN. Aymun nodded to him and said, “Hello, my friend.”

“We’re not friends, we’re enemies. That’s why you need to go your way while we go ours.”

“You will let us go?”

“Yes, you can even keep your weapons, but you don’t head into Iraq and you don’t follow us.”

“Where will you go? Syria dangerous for British soldier.”

“Not your concern.”

“Only safe place is desert, but you never make in the heat. Summer bad. No time for walking.”

“We’ll be fine,” Tony snapped.

“I help you.”

“Don’t want your help.”

“You need my help.”

Tony studied Aymun and tried to figure him out. He seemed genuine in his offer to help, but here also was a man who believed that infidels should be beheaded and homosexuals hanged. “Why do you want to help, Aymun? We oppose everything you stand for.”

“I be very surprised if you know what I stand for. I stand for duty. Your men save my men, so now we help save you. You want out of country. Turkey, yes? I take you across desert, across river. Make sure your men do not burn.”

Tony folded his arms, strangely finding himself willing to listen. “How would you help us, Aymun?”

“I lead you to hidden ISN stockpile. Food, water, monies, yes? You can take. Payment for saving my life.”

“How do I know you won’t turn on my men? You could lead us into a trap. We’re enemies.”

“I think we are enemies no longer. We have new enemy to fight.”

“The demons?”

Aymun nodded. “Allah’s test. Perhaps he wish to bring men together by giving them mutual adversary.”

Against his better judgement, Tony asked, “You really want to help my men?”

“I swear it in Allah’s name. You are not my enemy. Syrian puppet government my enemy, greedy white men my enemy, demons that come through gate my enemy. You are friend.”

“Then we should shake hands.”

Aymun waved a hand. “Pah, white man’s gesture. For Moslem, man’s word alone good enough.”

“Okay, you have my word that if you get us to the Turkish border, I will let you and your men go free.”

“And you have my word that I will not kill you.”

Tony smirked. “Good to know, Aymun.”

From the demoralised look on the British soldiers’ faces, Ellis had just delivered the bad news about their upcoming trek. They were sitting in silence, heads in hands and glancing at the featureless desert as if it were some giant, sucking hole waiting to devour them. Ellis had retired to the edge of camp and was trying the radio.

“Still no answer?” Tony asked.

Ellis shook his head. “It’s like there’s no one on the other end. Do you think something is going on? I mean, more than what happened to us?”

Tony sat down beside his Commanding Officer and crossed his legs. “It seems unlikely there’d be just one of those gates in the middle of nowhere. I assume there’re more. Perhaps that’s why no one is answering our calls: they’re all busy with their own problems.”

“I don’t want any more of my men to die, Tony.”

“No officer ever does. Things could have gone worse, you know? We’re lucky any of us got out of there alive.”

Ellis sighed and seemed to think about it. “Are Aymun and his men leaving soon? We should depart at the same time, or they might regroup and ambush us.”

“No, he’s coming with us.”

“Pardon me?”

“We saved his life. He wants to repay the favour by helping us through the desert. There’s an ISN stockpile. He said we can have it.”

Ellis was silent, but eventually he said. “I’ve known you a year now, Tony, and in that time I’ve never seen you make a bad decision. If you think we can trust Aymun and his men, then I will back you. Maybe if I had trusted you earlier, the ambush wouldn’t have failed so miserably.”

“If it hadn’t of failed, we’d all be dead. We wouldn’t have got pinned behind the hill, and that gate would’ve opened right behind us. Instead, it opened on top of Aymun and his men. One thing I’ve learned about war, sir, is that it rarely goes to plan.”

“Huh, I suppose you’re right. Maybe Allah really does have a plan for us.”

Tony pulled around his rifle and started disassembling it to clean it—best to do it now than later. “Well, if that’s true, I’d hate to see what He has planned for us next.”

* * *

They rested as best they could during the morning whilst the heat was mild, but it was impossible to sleep, nor were they in any position to stay, so they got moving at noon. Within half an hour of leaving the stream, they were all sweating. The desert seemed to swallow them up, stretching on forever in every direction.

Aymun led the way with his men, Ellis and Tony a step behind. The three Syrians chatted in Arabic, but Tony caught the odd word or two. They were discussing the gate and what had come through. That was good; much better than them discussing a plot against their current travelling companions. Tony reminded himself that the man was an extremist. It would be unwise to let down his guard.

“We must walk one day before we find supplies,” Aymun told them. “We go slow like snails, or we will not last out the sun.”

“How’re you sure the supplies are still there?” Ellis asked him.

“Because only I and my men know about it. They all dead now except Majd and Sayid, so will be more than enough to get us to Turkish border.”

“Good, good,” Ellis cooed. “Thank you once again for your help, Aymun.”

Tony grunted and gave Ellis a look that screamed shut up. It was one thing to accept the help of the ISN soldiers, but another to kiss their arses. The men would lose confidence in their Commanding Officer if they thought he was pandering to the enemy. Although a majority of the ISN had fallen to the monsters from the gate, most of the British casualties had been at the hands of Aymun’s men. Nothing would make them friends, however much they acted otherwise.

Tony dragged back a little and fell amongst the men. The best way for a Non Commissioned Officer to learn the state of morale was to mix with the unit. It didn’t take him long to discover that the temperament of the men bordered on panic.

“I think it’s the end of the world,” said Private Harris, his large, square shoulders slumped. He’d been tossing his knife into the air for the last hour, letting it spin, and then catching it. The repetitive action spoke of a taut mind. “Those things came right from Hell. We all saw it.”

Corporal Rose, a ginger-headed Scot, agreed. “Aye, they was demons all right. I hope for them they didn’t open a gate in the centre of Glasgow. They’ll piss themselves and run right back to Hell if they see some of the local split arses on a Friday night.”

The men laughed. It was good to have a man like Rose in the unit—a guy incapable of taking any situation too seriously. The corporal could be bleeding from his neck and still crack jokes about not letting the alcohol in his blood go to waste.

Private Harris noticed Tony walking nearby and quickly shut up, averted his gaze. It was bad form to complain on a tour—dangerous as much as it was insubordinate—and one man with a negative attitude could affect an entire unit, demotivate it into a listless squabble of unshaven men. Harris had been caught out, but there was little reason to blame him too much. They had all been through Hell, literally.

“We all know that the situation is fucked up, Harris,” Tony said, “but we survived, didn’t we? You all went up against a bunch of monsters and lived to tell the tale. We saw them bleed; we watched them die. Don’t let them scare you because you don’t understand them. Wars are lost through fear. By the end of the Vietnam War, the Yanks were terrified to take one step in that jungle, but that won’t happen to us. We’re British soldiers, and we have ourselves an enemy. Our job is to kill it. The men we left back there in the desert are relying on us to feed those ugly fucks their own bollocks—and we will, I promise you.”

A jubilant cheer roared from the men, which made Ellis and Aymun glance back over their shoulders. Ellis seemed bemused, not understanding what was happening behind him, but the ISN leader seemed to understand, and gave Tony a nod. The men would be looking to Tony for courage. If he was afraid, they would be afraid. It was his duty to show bravery and set an example, but the truth was that he was more afraid than he’d ever been. How long could he keep up the brave face? If he faltered, his men would die—for they were his men, not Ellis’s.

Tony patted Harris on the back. “Harris, why don’t you tell the lads one of your stories. I swear you’ve had more lives than a cat.”

Harris chuckled. “Okay, Staffie. Did I tell you about the time I ejaculated during a conversation with my mum?”

The men laughed just at the premise.

“No, lad. Let’s hear it.”

“Okay, well, I was sixteen-seventeen and shagging this bird called Lisa. We was in my bedroom one Saturday afternoon, and she was underneath the duvet giving me head—the best I’ve ever had. Anyway, I’m just about to get there, getting ready to blow me load. My toes are going, and I start to moan. Lisa starts bopping up and down faster, working my balls with her hand. Then, boom! The bedroom door opens. Lisa leaps up out of the duvet just in time, as my dear old mum comes in. She wants to know what I fancy for dinner. Problem was that I had passed that point of no return. Lisa’s mouth had done the trick. So here I am, going off like a sprinkler beneath the sheets—having a giant sodding orgasm—and I have to hold a conversation with my old lady about chicken bloody Kiev. Lisa is laying next to me trying not to laugh her arse off. Anyway, the point of the story is that I blew my load while having a conversation about chicken with my mother. The moral is: always get a lock put on your fuckin’ door.”

The men bellowed with laughter, and Tony knew he could leave them alone for a few more hours.

* * *

They walked until nightfall, taking water breaks every hour, but even then, they were dry-mouthed and sweating. Now that night had arrived, they were all grateful to see the blazing sun recede. The men had shed their combat jackets and now wore only their webbing over their undervests. Several times, Ellis tried to hail Command on the radio, but within the cradle of the desert, their calls went unanswered.

Tony glanced around. It wasn’t the kind of desert that would typically come to mind, with endless dunes of golden sand—only hard-packed dirt beneath his boots, ranging from dark brown to bright orange. There was the odd patch of straw-like grass here and there, but no trees and no shade. Now and then he’d glimpse movement in the distance, but could never tell if it was animal, man, or mirage. They were alone, wandering through sun-scorched oblivion.

“We cross river between Al Mayadin and Boqruss Foqani,” Aymun informed them. “There will be trees and water. Supplies are two miles past river. There we rest tonight.”

The men muttered contentedly. No sleep in two days had left them looking grey and unsteady on their feet. They had avoided sunburn with the use of the cream in their packs, but the heat had sapped all but their last reserves of strength. Rest was needed, and if Aymun was true to his word, they would get the chance soon. Or they would be double-crossed and murdered. Both were appealing after having marched through a desert.

They walked for about another hour before the hard-packed dirt softened into moist soil and green grass. The river was a half mile ahead and due east of the town Al Mayadin. Tony could see some of the taller buildings on the horizon and even caught the faint sound of a car horn. They had reached civilisation, but heading into the town would be risky. There was no one overtly friendly to the West in Syria and many who vehemently opposed it. It would be too much of a lottery trying their luck there. The British had refused to help the Syrian civilians against the rebels, so why should the Syrian civilians help the British? No, they would stick to the plan and keep heading north into Turkey.

Tony spotted the men gazing into the distance at the town and was quick to distract them. “That’s not safety over there, lads. The ISN would be on us before we ever got chance to find help.”

The men glared at Aymun.

Tony sighed. “We have an eye on those three and we outnumber them. If they try anything they’ll regret it.”

The men all nodded defiantly. They were almost beaten, but they would not go down without a fight. A doomed soldier was a dangerous soldier, so let Aymun try something if he dared. Not that Tony had any reason to doubt the ISN leader. So far, Aymun had led them around the settlements and alerted them whenever traffic appeared on the seldom encountered roads. Whenever he spoke, he did so in a friendly manner and showed no sign of contempt. Every bone in Tony’s body told him not to trust the man, but somehow he was starting to. He hoped he didn’t end up regretting it.

They made it to the river. The moon was full, making the water appear as a twinkling silver strip. Tony stooped down on the bank and cupped water over his neck, giving permission for the men to do the same. They all lined up and cooled themselves down, drinking until they were full. The water was clean and fresh-tasting and led Tony to wonder what the Thames would taste like.

“Should we camp here?” Ellis asked, deferring to Aymun.

“No, we cross first, find supply cache.”

Ellis needed to show authority, so Tony tried to help him. “Unless you want to camp here, Lieutenant? It’s your decision.”

Ellis stuttered. “O-of course… erm, no, I think it would be wise to locate the supply cache first. We can rest after.”

Tony saluted. “Yes, sir.”

Ellis returned the salute. “As you were, Staff Sergeant. See if you can find a good spot to cross the river.”

“No need,” said Aymun. “I know place.”

Tony found cause for concern. Was this the part where Aymun led them into a trap? But it turned out that the Syrian knew of a raft hidden in the reeds. He and his two men retrieved it from further down the bank and were quick to explain its origin. “In early days of war,” said Aymun, “Syrian forces patrol river crossings. Local people make this raft and hide for ISN.”

Ellis frowned. “The locals helped you? Why?”

Aymun smiled. “Because they believe in ISN, Lieutenant. You think they side with government? Ha! ISN what they want. We take power and bring back old ways. Ways that best for Syrian people, not rich men and politicians. People in Syria, they starve while others take what they have. The West attack our religion, take our oil, tell us how we must be. ISN say no. We will not be how they tell us to be. We will be Syrian.”

Ellis was clearly dumbfounded. “But you people are savages. You behead your enemies, enslave your women, and kill children. Surely people don’t want that.”

Aymun’s eyes narrowed. “We do what must be done to take back our country. In war, bad things happen, yes? How many children has British Army killed? Many, yes? Children die in war. Enemies suffer. Do not judge a man in war, judge him in peace. Once we have country back, we will feed poor, help weak, and make peace with neighbours, but not while puppet government still lives. ISN fight for Syrian people and Syrian way of life.”

Ellis laughed derisively, which led to the Syrians on either side of Aymun to sneer. Neither Syrian spoke English, but they were smart enough to know they were being mocked.

Tony stepped in before the accord between the two groups was shattered. “Aymun, I believe that you believe your actions are just. We believe the same of our own. Right now we’re friends, and later we may go back to being enemies, but for now, we must concentrate on what we set out to do. We need to cross this river and get to that supply cache. Whatever differences we have will wait for another time. You gave me your word that you would help us.”

Aymun nodded. “I already tell you, Sergeant, that we have new enemy now; is stupid to fight you, but your leader is ignorant man. He stupid man.”

Ellis went red in the face. “How dare you. I am a lieutenant in the British Army and you are my prisoners.”

Aymun sneered. “We are no prisoner.”

“No, you’re not,” said Tony, glaring at Ellis. “Aymun is here to help us, sir. We made a deal.”

“They had the chance to leave, but they chose to remain under my protection. They placed themselves under my command.”

Aymun faced Tony. “You give word you let me and my men go.”

Tony nodded. “I did.”

Ellis glared. “You did what, Staff Sergeant? On what authority do you make deals with enemy combatants? These men are my prisoners, and I decide what happens to them.”

Aymun and his men shifted anxiously, and the British soldiers did the same in reply. Fingers slid towards triggers as everybody waited to see what would happen next.

“I have been fair,” said Aymun. “You help me so I help you, but if we are still enemies, then say so.”

Ellis flapped his arms. “Of course we are still enemies. You’re members of the blasted ISN. What would my superiors do if I shook hands with members of an enemy rebel force?”

“Your sergeant wish to shake my hand,” said Aymun. “He is better man than you. He see. He see what is.”

Ellis frowned. “What do you mean, ‘what is?’”

“I mean we all must be as one to fight new enemy. Mankind must be an army. You do not understand. You are fool.”

Ellis pointed his finger. “I am no fool.”

Aymun sighed and turned his back. “You are fool. I leave, fool.”

Ellis pulled out his handgun and pointed it at the back of Aymun’s head. “You stop right there. You are my prisoner.”

Aymun’s two soldiers raised their AK47s and pointed them at Ellis. The British army raised their L85s in reply. A standoff ensued.

Tony threw up both hands and stood between the two groups. The ISN were out-gunned two to one, but they would take a couple of British soldiers down with them before they bit the dust. That couldn’t happen.

“Lieutenant Ellis,” Tony shouted, “the only priority right now is getting the men to safety. There is precedent for working with the enemy in times of exceptional circumstances, and I believe what happened at the border more than qualifies as exceptional. Over a dozen of Aymun’s men are dead. Command will consider our mission a victory, but we will be needed for the days ahead—all of us. We cannot afford to get involved in another fire fight. The ISN are considered an illegally occupying force, but we are not officially engaged in a war with them. Therefore, they are not strictly our enemies. We can work together peacefully as allies.”

Ellis continued pointing his gun at Aymun, but his hand trembled. After several seconds, he lowered the weapon and placed it by his side. Everybody sighed with relief—even Aymun.

“Everybody at ease,” Tony shouted. “Aymun, that means your men too.”

Aymun nodded and muttered something in Arabic. His two men lowered their AK47s.

Ellis was shaking his head and staring down at the ground. “I apologise. This heat… so little water. I am not in my right mind.”

Tony groaned inside. Their only officer was hinting at his own incompetency and giving mixed messages to his men about whether they were working with the ISN or not. Things would not go well if Ellis didn’t get a handle on things and let everybody know where they stood.

To his credit, Aymun did not linger on the animosity. He smiled at his British colleagues and said, “We must cross river now, yes? Very tired and all must rest.”

Tony went to pat the man on the back, but worried about offending him, so he returned the smile and nodded.

They went across the river in three shifts, taking almost an hour in total. The journey was wobbly, and they all got wet, but the night had not yet cooled, and they were all glad of the moist chill.

On the other side, they formed up beneath the glowing moon and got going again. As the temperature descended, they dug into their packs and retrieved their jackets. It would be freezing within an hour or two.

Fortunately, an hour was all it took for Aymun to locate his supply cache. They encountered an outcropping of boulders at a place where the green, fertile river plain changed back to the hard-packed, featureless dirt of the desert. Aymun led them all up the stony hill and waited for them at the top. Tony had his rifle raised, ready for an ambush, but once again, he was glad to find that Aymun had kept his word. It was all there.

The outcropping of boulders was wide and hollow inside, like an inverted cave with the entrance above rather than besides. It was large enough for every one of them to climb inside, and they all gasped in amazement when Aymun lit a gas lamp and placed it at the centre of the room. Stacked up against the walls were numerous rifles and crates of ammunition. There were also piles of clothes and tins of food, along with can openers. Several bedrolls and sheets were bundled up in the corner, and it was pure luxury after what they had just walked through.

“Take whatever you wish,” said Aymun, “but please do not touch the Quran. It must not come into contact with ground or be touched by…”

Tony noticed the pedestal in the corner with the holy book placed reverently atop it and nodded. “We understand, Aymun. Thank you.”

Ellis looked around. “This is much appreciated, Aymun. I wonder, could I… could I trouble you for…”

Tony caught his superior officer just as he was about to hit the ground. He eased Ellis down onto one of the blankets and propped him up. “Get some water,” he shouted.

Aymun pulled a bottle of water from the pile of supplies and hurried over with it. Tony took it and helped Ellis take a swig. “There you go, sir, drink up.”

“Oh, thank you, Staff Sergeant. I-I’m afraid I came over rather lightheaded.”

“It has been hard journey for us all,” said Aymun. “We rest tonight, get strength. Hardest part of trip tomorrow, will take several days to reach Turkish border.”

Tony looked at Ellis’s grey face and wondered if he could make the journey. The men needed an officer, but Ellis was weak and inexperienced, too recently out of Officer’s Training to possess the grit required to keep going when his muscles begged him to stop. This was still just an exercise to him; he didn’t understand the stakes.

Tony took a swig of the water, then gave the remains to Ellis. The men stood around anxiously, so he gave them something to do. “Hydrate, urinate, then get your heads down, lads. We have a lot of walking to do in the morning.”

So everyone settled down inside the hidden ISN cave on the edge of the Syrian Desert. Despite the tension inside each of them, tiredness won out easily and they were all asleep within minutes. Tony waited until last to close his eyes.

* * *

Tony awoke in darkness wondering where he was. He heard rustling, felt the air move.

Then came an explosion.

His hand was on his rifle, and he leapt to his feet. His eyes adjusted enough to see shadows, but it wasn’t until someone lit a lamp that he could see properly. By that time, everyone was scurrying to their feet blindly, bumping into walls as they tried to wake up. Ellis was last to his feet, and didn’t seem to realise that he should have been the first.

“What the blazes was that?”

“I don’t know,” Tony admitted. He looked at Aymun accusingly. “What’s going on?”

The Syrian shook his head. “I do not know.”

Another explosion.

“He’s set us up,” said Ellis, pointing his finger. “His men are coming for us.”

Tony studied the cave, saw no one missing. “If that’s true, then who’s fighting outside right now?”

“It is not my men,” Aymun protested. His foot struck something, and he looked down at it. It was the Quran, knocked from the pedestal when everybody had been stumbling to their feet in panic. Aymun went to pick it up, but Tony saw something that made him raise his rifle.

“Wait! Step away from that, Aymun.”

Aymun looked at him pleadingly. “It is holy book. Must not be on ground.”

Tony snarled, shoved Aymun away. “This isn’t a fucking holy book.”

Keeping his rifle on the Syrian, he knelt down and flipped the pages. There was no printed scripture, but instead, handwriting, maps, and numbers—messages scrawled in Arabic. The ink from the most recent messages was still wet.

Tony glared at Aymun. “You’re not the only one who knows about this place, are you? The ISN leave each other messages here. What have you written?”

Aymun stayed silent, so Tony pointed his rifle in the Syrian’s face. The British soldiers backed him up by pointing their own rifles.

“What a fuck party,” muttered Private Harris.

Tony moved the muzzle of his rifle closer to Aymun’s face. “What did it say?”

Aymun swallowed, but didn’t look away for a second. “I write that we head north, west of Ash Shaddadi. Rescue is needed.”

“I told you he would betray us,” Ellis shouted.

“I say we shove a wee grenade up his arse,” said Corporal Rose.

Tony glared at Aymun, looking into the man’s dark brown eyes, and prepared to pull the trigger. “You’re a liar. Where is your honour?”

Aymun placed his hands in the air, a placating gesture. “I plan no bloodshed, only rescue. Your captain want to take us prisoner, even after accepting our help. I lead you to safety and escape in night. That was plan.”

Tony delayed pulling the trigger. “How can I believe you?”

“Because is truth. You understand, Sergeant. We are no longer enemies. Something has come to destroy all. We are brothers now and must fight. My men will need me and yours will need you. I was going to lead you to safety, then escape. I swear it by Allah.”

Another explosion.

Tony kept eye contact with Aymun despite the loose stones falling from the ceiling and into his collar. “You swear by Allah that you aren’t betraying us, that the fighting outside isn’t you?”

“Yes, I swear it by Allah.”

“Staff Sergeant, I command you to take this man prisoner,” demanded Ellis.

Tony turned to his captain and sighed. “We have to trust him, sir. There’s too much at stake to go off half-cocked.”

“I have just given you an order.”

“I won’t follow it. Not until I know for sure that he betrayed us.”

“Then you are under arrest for failure to obey a rightful order.” Ellis turned to the nearest British soldier, who was Private Harris. “Harris, please place Staff Sergeant Cross under arrest.”

“Fuck you, sir.”

Ellis spun on his subordinate with more fire in his eyes than Tony had ever seen in the man. It seemed like a breach in manners was the thing that finally lit his fire. “I beg your pardon, Private? I have given you an order and strongly suggest you follow it.”

Harris lifted his chin and showed no sign of backing down. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t believe you’re fit to give orders. I will do whatever Staff Sergeant Cross commands until we reach the Turkish border.”

Tony considered what was happening. There were few offences more serious in the British Army than mutiny, but as Aymun constantly said: Things had changed when that gate had opened in the desert. Hard choices needed to be made.

Ellis looked around at his remaining men. “Place Sergeant Cross and Private Harris under arrest. That is an order. Disobey me, and you’ll all be court-martialled.”

Nobody moved a finger. The men’s expressions were steely—dangerous. Ellis grew more and more frustrated, growing red in the face, his lower lip quivering.

Aymun was next to speak. “My men believe that a leader should be chosen by his men. You are no leader, Lieutenant—just a fool.”

Ellis spun around in a rage and pulled his handgun up and pointed it at Aymun’s face.

Bang!

The sound echoed off the cave walls.

Captain Ellis turned to face Tony, who had raised his rifle and fired before he even knew what he had been doing. A pinprick of blood bloomed on Ellis’s chest, just to the left of his heart. “Staff Sergeant…?”

The officer dropped to his knees with disbelief in his eyes. Tony reached out to grab him, but reconsidered and let the man fall to the ground where he landed on his back, gave a few quick gasps, and then died.

“Fuckin’ ell,” Tony muttered to himself, trying not to let himself panic. “Jesus fuck fuck fuckin’ ‘ell.”

He’d just shot his commanding officer. They’d throw the book at him—the whole soddin’ library. But what choice had he had? If Aymun had been telling the truth, then allowing Ellis to kill him would have been a mistake. Ellis had no cause to execute the man.

If Aymun really had betrayed them, then Tony had just made the biggest balls up of his life. Please, please, please, let Aymun be on the up and up.

Tony turned to his men to gauge their reactions. A bunch of boys, all of them frightened, all of them tired, but there was something else to them as well. They were hardened. They were veterans. Not one of them seemed to judge him for what had just happened. They were his men.

Tony cleared his throat and said, “Anybody who has a problem with what I just did is free to report me once we’re back at a friendly base. Until then I’m going to get you out of this fucking desert and to safety. Stick with me until then.”

“I’m with you, Sergeant,” said Private Harris.

“Me too,” said Corporal Rose.

Soon, every man had agreed to follow Tony, and he found himself in a situation he had never been in before: Solo command.

Aymun moved towards Tony and offered his hand. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

“I thought you didn’t shake hands.”

“I shake hand of man I respect. You are leader, like me. Let us lead together until peace finds us, be it in this life or the next.”

Another explosion.

Tony sighed. “This isn’t an ambush.”

“No ambush.”

“Well then, if that racket isn’t to do with you, we better take a look.”

Aymun nodded. “We must.”

They climbed out of the hidden cave entrance and stood atop the boulders. What they saw in the distance shocked them.

Harris groaned. “It was so fucking dark last night that we never even noticed it. Another one of them gates right under our bloody noses.”

“For fecks sake,” said Corporal Rose.

About a mile away, another gate rose above the desert, monsters pouring out of it. The explosions were coming from a group of militia fighting back against the demons.

“Those are my people,” Aymun said.

Tony glanced at him. “ISN?”

“No, Sergeant. Not ISN, just Syrians. They must have been attacked but now fight back to defend themselves. These are the people I fight for. They are brave, and we must help them.”

“Then we will,” said Tony, realising there was no longer any option to make for the border when the enemy were right here. If you ran away in war, you lost.

Aymun gave Tony a kiss on both cheeks. “We fight together, as brothers, ready to take Allah’s test.”

Tony turned to his men. “Okay, lads. You know the drill. There’s enough weaponry in this cave to make a real dent in the bastards this time, and we’ll be the ones springing out of nowhere on them. Those people fighting are civvies, and they’re doing a bang up job. Are we going to let them take all the victory for themselves?”

“Fuck no,” said Harris.

“No way no how,” Rose added.

“Whatever is coming through those gates is here to destroy us, to end our way of life. They want to murder our families, kill our children, and slaughter our women. They came from some ‘orrible bleedin’ ‘ell we probably can’t even imagine, and they want to take what is ours. Are we gunna let ‘em?”

The men shouted a resounding “NO!”

“Then let’s send the fuckers back where they belong.”

Cheers all around. They were going off to war, and they were ready to kick arse.

~Mina Magar~

Slough, Berkshire

They left the city of London burning behind them. After the initial attack on Oxford Street, the enemy Army had systematically torn through the city, before backing off to regroup. They waited for the Army to congregate, and then attacked again from all sides. Hyde Park had been a massacre, and Corporal Martin had got a similar report about the Greenwich Park camp. What remained of the British Armed Forces was now regrouping at Colchester barracks to lick their wounds.

Mina watched Heathrow Airport slide by on her left as they sped down the M4 motorway. The thick clusters of shops, factories, and houses faded away behind them as they entered the parklands on the way to Slough. A vast golf course lay to Mina’s right, still lit by enormous floodlights. The time on the jeep’s dashboard read 4:00. She wondered if people were hiding out in that hotel. In fact, how many people were still alive, cowering in their homes or grouping together at places like the golf club? If everybody fought back, all at once, would they have a chance? Corporal Martin seemed to think so, and she was beginning to agree. The Army could not win this war—that had become clear back at Hyde Park—so the only chance mankind had was if the entire population became an army. Every man, woman, and child.

Both Corporal Martin and David had been making endless calls during the last thirty minutes as they fled the city. The staff of the Slough Echo had locked themselves in the offices, updating the website and posting on the larger newsgroups. At first, they had worked feverishly on this morning’s papers, but had abandoned it when it became clear that there would be no paperboys working tomorrow. Now they sought to get information to people through the Web. They had used the information given to them by David and were informing people about what they were up against. The black stones had opened gates, and the legions of Hell walked through them. That was the headline.

Alice had screamed after her brother for a while, but had since gone quiet, staring out of the window and saying nothing. What had happened to Kyle affected everyone, even those who’d only just met him. He’d been a child. A brave boy looking after his kid sister. Mina thought about how many other children were dead.

She took them off the motorway and entered the outskirts of Slough through Ditton Park. The sun had risen, and she was surprised to see people walking their dogs.

“They know something’s coming,” said David. “It’s their attempt to enjoy the normalcy while they still can. Denial can be a powerful thing.”

But the denial wasn’t true everywhere. Police patrolled the centre of Slough, which looked like it had been turned upside down by a whirlwind. Litter choked every gutter, and any shop windows not covered by shutters were now smashed. Mina remembered the 2011 riots and saw little difference. People become intrinsically antisocial in times of crisis. When something bad came their way, they thought only of themselves. People were rioting when they should have been coming together. During World War II, entire peoples came together to support their countries, now people fought their countries even as their countries fought for them. Times had changed. The enemy’s attack had come at the worst time possible.

There was a scuffle up ahead spilling out into the road and causing Mina to stop. The police had gathered, forcing a group of youths to sit on the ground. One of the officers spotted the Army jeep and came over.

“Bout time we got a little help,” the officer said.

“I’m not here on behalf of the Army,” Martin said. “I’m just getting these two reporters to their offices.”

The officer sighed grumpily. “Oh, how are things in the city? Still bad?”

“No, not bad. Finished. There’s nothing left in London. The Army got destroyed. I might be the only soldier left from Hyde Park.”

The police officer went white. “Shit. What the hell are we dealing with, here? Is it really monsters?”

Mina nodded. “We’re at war, and we need to be prepared. Everybody, not just the police and army. We all need to be ready to fight.”

“Fight monsters? You must be joking. People won’t fight. I’ve just spent half the night trying to stop people robbing each other.”

“If we don’t start working together, we don’t have a chance,” Mina reiterated.

“Just do what you can, Officer,” said Martin. “Those kids you have under arrest. What did they do?”

“What didn’t they do? Breaking into shops, kicking in car windscreens, joyriding...”

Mina looked at the gang of youths and saw beyond their hoodies and baseball caps. She remembered Vamps and at once stopped seeing disenchanted youths and saw potential heroes. She saw young, fit, healthy men with anger inside them that could be put to good use. “You need to talk to those boys,” she said. “Tell them what’s coming. Give them something to do, and they’ll be glad to be of use. I promise you.”

The officer sneered. “What? You want me to deputise a bunch of thugs?”

Martin nodded adamantly. “Yes! We just lost an army in Hyde Park. This country needs fighters. You have a bunch of them sitting in the road. This isn’t just a news of the week event. This is it—the big summer blockbuster, end of the world, fight for survival type of gig. You have a chance to make a difference, Officer. Get your men and those boys ready, because war is coming to us all.”

The officer looked at everyone inside the jeep, then back at Corporal Martin. “You’re not joking? This is really the apocalypse or something?”

Martin nodded gravely. “Everywhere is under attack, you probably already know that. It’s going to fall on men like you to fight back. There won’t be a British Army to sort this all out. It’s going to be fighting in streets and dying in pain. It will be youngsters, like the ones you have under arrest, that will fight for our survival. So go tell them what they’re up against before it’s too late.”

The officer nodded. “Okay, I’ll round ‘em up and get ‘em to work. Every able-bodied person I can find will be ready, you have my word.”

Martin saluted the officer. “What’s your name?”

“Richard Honeywell.”

“I wish you well, Richard. Stay alive.”

“I… Yes, you too.”

Mina shifted into gear and got going. She glanced in her rear view mirror as Officer Honeywell stood the gang of youths up and addressed them. He looked like a leader rallying his troops. That was exactly what he needed to be.

Then she headed towards the newspaper offices, comforted by the recognisable streets along which she’d commuted almost every day since she’d joined the Echo ten months ago. It’d been her first professional job since gaining her photography degree from Falmouth. Her father had insisted on her taking a minor in business studies, and she had truthfully found that it had helped her when looking for work as a journalist. It gave her uses beyond taking snaps. Still, her father had not been happy when she went into photography instead of business. Respect and fortune were gained through trade, not by indulging in one’s hobbies. Mina’s father did not consider photojournalism a proper job.

She wondered how he was.

The last voicemail she’d received from her father had informed her that he was at home awaiting her imminent return. Her absence had forced him to close up the chip shop, and he was extremely disappointed in her. Well, he could go right on thinking about himself. She would do whatever she could to help. Right now, she was the one doing something while her father cowered at home.

“We’re here,” said David, more for the benefit of Martin and Alice than anybody else. Alice continued staring out of the window, but Martin sighed with relief. He was probably as glad as Mina to finally stop fleeing. They needed to regroup and re-strategize. Running only made you tired.

Mina pulled the jeep up behind Carol’s Mazda and switched off the engine. She put the ignition key in her pocket, even though the vehicle didn’t belong to her. If Martin asked for it back later, she would hand it over happily, but until then, she liked having access to a vehicle.

“Help me!”

Mina glanced into the road and saw a man lying twenty metres away next to the curb. He looked about thirty-years of age and he reached out to her and pleaded. “I’m hurt.”

Martin raised his rifle suspiciously.

“Please help me,” the stranger repeated.

Martin took a step away from the jeep and moved into the centre of the road. He looked at Mina and then nodded ahead. “Go, check on him. I have you covered.”

Seeing no reason to assume danger, yet possessing nerves frayed to tatters, Mina headed cautiously up the road. The dark-haired man’s olive skin gave him a look of the Mediterranean. He wore simple jeans and a white t-shirt stained with blood. As she got closer, she noticed that his nose was bleeding.

“Are you alright? What happened to you?”

The man remained lying on his side and moaned. “Some kids gave me a kicking, took my car, and left me here.”

Mina knelt down beside the man and placed a hand on his arm. He was cold. “How long have you been lying here?”

“I don’t know. An hour maybe. I… I was afraid to get up.”

“It’s okay now. You can come with me.”

The man pushed himself up into a sitting position and winced. “Thank you. My name’s Andras.” Despite his uncommon name, he had no accent to speak of, plain spoken and bordering on posh.

Mina helped the man to his feet and took him over to join the others. “This is Corporal Martin,” she introduced him, “and my colleague, David, and this here is Alice.”

Alice didn’t bother to look up, but Andras said hello anyway.

“Andras was mugged,” Mina explained.

“Not to worry, old chap,” said David, patting him on the back. “We’ve all been through the wringer tonight. We’re heading inside, and you’re welcome to come join us.”

Andras nodded sheepishly. “Thank you.”

So they all headed inside the building and went upstairs to the third floor. The lower floors were all unlit, but the third floor offices were glowing with life and buzzing with action. Almost every member of the Echo’s reporting staff was present, either at their computers or on their phones—some of them both, typing away with their hands while holding a phone between their head and shoulder. Mina had never seen the office so motivated. Even Carol, usually sitting in her office and violating the smoking ban, was up on her feet, bare-footed in stockings and waddling around on her mahogany cane. Numerous times, Mina had seen that cane waved in someone’s face, including her own, but she was glad to see it now. She felt at home again. The world seemed a little less off-kilter.

Carol spotted them and came running on over. “You made it! I’d begun to wonder if you’d ever get here.”

“The roads were rather… chaotic,” said David. “I gave you all we had on the phone. What’s the word this end?”

“It’s a bloody shambles. France and Spain have put their Governments on boats and abandoned their own countries in their time of need. America is fighting back, as you’d expect, but they’ve been hit bloody hard. New York took it right up the arse, poor buggers. China and Russia have killed as many of their own people as they have the enemy. They’ve flattened Moscow. Africa is doing the best, believe it or not. So many of its countries are heavily armed that their entire populations are effectively armies now. I bet the ugly buggers that came through the gates in Somalia didn’t know what hit ‘em.”

“What about us?” asked Mina. “How is the U.K. doing?”

Carol sighed. “You know the answer to that, luv, because you saw it for yourself. Our Army is mostly overseas, and most of what wasn’t disappeared in Hyde Park. What happened in Hyde Park has happened a dozen other places. Army got the shit kicked out of ‘em.”

“I got word the Army is regrouping in Colchester,” said Martin, seemingly wounded by Carol’s remarks.

Carol examined the Corporal like she had just realised he was standing there. “That’s true, my love, but what’s left to regroup? Not a lot. We’re up shit creek, not without a paddle, but without a bloody damn boat. We are literally swimming in shit. I can almost taste it. Jesus Christ it’s a sodding mess.”

Martin glanced sideways at Mina and spoke in a hushed tone. “This woman is your boss?”

Carol heard the comment and pointed her finger. “Yes, I’m her bloody boss, and anybody else who steps inside this office. The Echo is my paper, and we’re all working our arses off to get word out to the people about what’s happening. You here to help, Sergeant Stiff-neck, or are you going to put the kettle on?”

Martin fidgeted. “It’s Corporal Martin.”

Carol’s eyes bore into him. “Milk, three sugars. Kettle’s at the back.”

Martin frowned, went to speak, but then trotted off towards the back of the office, like a good little boy.

Carol raised an eyebrow at Mina once Martin was out of earshot. “That the fella who rescued you?”

“Yes, he saved our lives.”

“Then I’m glad to have him. Now, who’s this little beauty?” Carol knelt in front of Alice, who stared at the floor and said nothing.

“This is Alice,” said Mina. “We… She lost her brother in Hyde Park.”

Carol let out a long, pained sigh. “A big brother, I bet? I had a big brother, too. He’s gone now, died of the cancer four years back. Don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost him at your age. I want to hear all about him, my love. He might be gone, but the more people you tell about him, the more his spirit will live on. I have chocolate in my office. Will you come share it with me while you tell me all about your brother? I want to know everything, starting with his favourite colour.”

“His name was Kyle. He liked blue.”

Carol gave Alice an enormous smile. “An American? I love Americans. So, did Kyle like his baseball?”

“No, he liked ice hockey. Clark took him to see the Montreal Canadiens in Canada once.”

“Clark your daddy?”

“Step-daddy.”

“Right you are. You can tell me all about him too. Come on now, my love.” Carol took Alice’s hand and straightened up. She turned to David. “Big Jimmy will catch you up on things. I’ll be in my office with Alice, but I don’t want to be disturbed. Not much else a woman my age can do but calm a child’s nerves.”

David nodded. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I need good news, but don’t think I’ll get it.”

Carol walked away just as Corporal Martin appeared with a mug of piping tea. She snatched it off him as she passed and left him to stand there looking confused.

Mina chuckled. “Come on, Martin. Let’s find you something to do other than make tea.”

He looked at her and nodded eagerly. “Please do.”

* * *

Sitting at her computer, Mina realised that things were as bad as Carol had told them. People in Scotland were fleeing to the highlands, and refugees from the cities flooded the British countryside. There were over eighty gates in the U.K., spread wide enough that nowhere was safe. Likewise, America was under attack far and wide, but had a little more land to work with. Some areas did not have gates at all, and it was to these areas, like the greater Chicago area, where survivors were fleeing. It was also true that Africa was doing better than most other places. As Mina streamed the news channels broadcasting out of Somalia, Zimbabwe, Nigeria, and South Africa, she saw armed militia holding their own against the hordes of creatures. For the first time in history, the whites and blacks in South Africa were fighting alongside each other, instead of against. Mina marvelled at the sight of a little white boy and a black girl holding rifles and standing over the corpse of a demon. Likewise, Al-Jazeera, in the Middle East, gave positive reports of resistance in Iraq, Iran, Jordan, and Israel, but their reputation for propaganda made them less than credible.

The more and more Mina researched, the more she understood that Corporal Martin was right. The nations faring best were the ones where the citizens were armed and fighting alongside the military. Countries with a political climate of unrest, such as Somalia, followed by places like America and Canada where guns were legal, were giving as good as they got. The countries worse off were the ones with the most totalitarian governments, like Russia and China. In those countries, the people at the top seemed happy to scorch the earth to defeat the enemy. Moscow and Shanghai were both burning craters now.

Whatever chance Britain had was unclear, but it was a country famously free of firearms, which meant that it was now almost defenceless. Even the nation’s police force used weapons sparingly. The only ones to use them in any significant capacity was the Army, but its majority was overseas, further contributing to those countries like Iraq who were already fighting back.

Exasperated, Mina glanced around the room.

Andras had gone with Martin to try to liaise with the military. David was working alongside Big Jimmy—an overweight West Country native with a lot of intelligence, but very little personality—to run operations. Mina had taken her orders from Mitchell, the newspaper’s System Support Manager, and had been tasked with gaining insight into the situation worldwide to try and form an overall picture. What she really wanted was to find out what was behind those gates—where did they lead? She thought of the creatures as demons now, even though nothing had confirmed it. What did other people think? Did anybody understand what was going on?

The Internet was ablaze with theories—millions of people hiding in their homes and offering opinions. The two main factions were Aliens vs Demons. One forum online operated only with the understanding that the black stones had opened up inter-dimensional portals and that humanity was being invaded by an alien species. Conversely, those who believed Demons were responsible, pointed out that many of the enemy resembled burned human beings, not aliens. What intelligent species would evolve to have burned flesh? The other side would then rebut with the explanation that the burns were from an unforeseen side effect of travelling through the gates. The theoretical victory tilted more towards the demon theory whenever somebody brought up the giants. That they were flawlessly beautiful and possessed scorched wings upon their backs gave credence to the fact they could indeed be Fallen Angels from the depths of Hell. Mina agreed with that theory, then chided herself for believing in something so absurd. Yet, the more she said the word ‘demon’ the more it lost its potency and supernatural connotations. Now, the word was as real and mundane as ‘dog’ or ‘cat’. It became easier and easier to grasp her new reality every minute, yet harder and harder to accept.

They were being invaded by demons.

She listed the things she knew for sure:

Black stones opened gates.

Demons (?) came through.

Giants are in charge of the demons?

Need to fight back. Everyone must fight back.

Humanity must fight back.

Fight.

Fight.

Fight.

Mina sighed as she realised that she had so little to offer anybody who might read the newspaper’s website. Everyone needed to understand that they were at war, but even if they did, what should they do? This wasn’t like watching Iraq on the news and remarking upon the politics of it all. This was war on people’s doorstep, outside the local McDonalds. There could be no pacifists in this. Everyone needed to be ready to kill the enemy.

But could ordinary people become killers—soldiers?

And would that even be enough?

Mina leaned back over the keyboard and typed a message onto the front page of their website:

NOTICE: Please post anything you know about the creatures. Have you seen one die? How? What do you know that might help others? Please, please share whatever you know, wherever and whoever you are. Please share. We need to help each other.

It was nothing more than a shot in the dark, but just maybe somebody would share something helpful that she could share.

Ring!

Mina flinched as her phone rang. She had forgotten she’d switched it back on earlier to check for messages. There had been a couple of texts from a handful of friends, but most of them just wanted her to tell them what was going on. The only thing she sent them back in reply was: Find weapons. Fight. It was short and a tad dramatic, but there was no time to caress people’s sensibilities. Millions were probably already dead, and those remaining would have to go from nought to sixty in a single second. As Mina looked at her phone now, she saw that her father was calling her. It was 7AM, and maybe he’d just woken up. She was the first thing he had thought about. That affected her in a strange way. Made her want to cry.

“Hello, dad. I sent you a text. I’m safe, so you don’t need to worry.”

“Mina, I will stop worrying about you when you are home. Where are you?”

“I’m at work.”

“You need to come home.”

“No. I’m working.”

“Bloody goddammit.”

“Do you realise what’s going on, dad? The world is being attacked. It doesn’t matter if I’m at home or work. Nowhere is safe. At least here I can do some good.”

“You can do good at home with your father. I need you here.”

“For what? To look after you? Don’t be so pissing selfish. Do you know how many people have died in the last twenty-four hours?”

“You swear at your own father?”

“Yes, I do swear when you’re acting like a moron. I love you, dad, but I’m not coming home. In fact, there’s a chance you might never see me again. I was there in London; I saw it all. Maybe that’s why I understand and you don’t. Now is not the time to argue with the people you love. The office is two miles away; if you want to see me, dad, then come here.”

“You order me to come see you? I am your father, and I have bid you to come home.”

“You are my father, yes, but not my master. I’ll be here if you want me, but if not, then just keep safe and prepare for the worst. I love you, dad. I really do.”

Silence.

Mina looked at her phone and realised her father had hung up on her. Exactly when, she did not know. Twenty-four hours ago, she would never have dared speak to him like she just had. Even now, in her mid-twenties, she feared the strict man who was still more than willing to strike her. Yet, gradually, over the years, she had started resisting him, placing just a little more of that distance between herself and his cloying rules. The conversation she’d just had with him was the final snare on her independence being torn away, sped up by the events in London, but always inevitable. She loved her father, but she had also resigned herself to never speaking to him again. She knew that, one day, she would rebel, and that their future relationship would depend very much on his ability to let her go willingly. It was just a pity that, with the way things were, he would have to make his peace quickly, for there might not be a chance later.

Mina stood up from her computer and went to make herself a cup of tea. She needed to wipe her mind and start again.

She met Andras over by the kettle. “Things are bad,” he told her. “Corporal Martin keeps shouting and kicking things. I don’t think the Army is doing well.”

Mina wearily poured some milk and threw in a tea bag. She would need sleep soon, or she’d pass out where she stood. “I don’t think wars ever go well,” she said. “It’s how they end that matters. We need to make sure we do whatever we can to help. We’re in a position of authority. People will look to the media to inform them about what to do. We have to make sure that anyone who finds us gets the best information available. We have to rally people to fight.”

“You think they will? I mean, when you found me, I was lying in the road, terrified. I’m afraid I’m a coward when it comes to violence.”

Mina thought for a moment, then said, “That was different. When those kids mugged you, you had the option to lie down. When you have to face the demons, that option won’t be there. You’ll fight. We all must fight.”

“Perhaps you’re right. Still, seems pretty hopeless.”

“You’re alive, Andras, same as yesterday and the day before that. So what’s hopeless? Hope only dies when we die. So don’t die.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“And I’ll do mine.” She then went on to ask him, “Do you need to call anyone? Everybody has been making calls home to check on friends and family, but I haven’t seen you make a call.”

“I have nobody to call.”

“No one?”

“No one. I’m new here; came to start again. Some fresh start, huh?”

Mina gave him a lopsided grin. “I guess I don’t have anyone to call either. Not sure if that’s a blessing right now.”

Andras put his hand on her arm and squeezed. She liked it. “Better to have loved and lost, they say, but what do they know? The only people I have to worry about are in this room. Thank you for helping me, Mina. I’m so glad I’m not alone right now.”

“Don’t mention it.” She yawned. “Hey, will you find David for me and tell him I’ve gone to take a nap?”

“He already went and did the same. I saw him sleeping on a sofa in the waiting room.”

Mina rolled her eyes. “Nice of him to tell me. Well, you’ll find me somewhere nice and quiet for the next few hours, if such a place still exists.”

“I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

“Thanks, Andras.” She headed off toward one of the unused offices, of which there were several. Web-based news had led to less and less boots-on-the-ground reporters, and by the time Mina had got the job at the Echo, Carol said she was lucky to find work at all.

There was no soft furniture in the empty office she chose, but that was okay. She nestled down in the corner and closed her eyes as if the worn carpet were a silk sheet. Before she fell to dreams, she hoped against hope that somebody out there would find a way to fight back. She also hoped that her father would call back, but perhaps that was too much to ask.

~Rick Bastion~

Devonshire, England

Rick awoke with a headache, but it was nothing new. For a few, blurry seconds he lay on the couch in his living room and didn’t remember that anything was wrong. He was just waking up with a hangover like he had a thousand times before. Then it came flooding back.

He turned and saw Maddy asleep on the floor next to him, and he saw Diane and Steven sprawled out on the other, larger sofa. His new companions, he reminded himself—his partners from last night’s battle against the minions of Hell. The thought made him wish he could go right back to sleep. But he couldn’t.

He swung his legs down onto the carpet and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms. His head throbbed, his mouth was dry, but before he went into the kitchen to get a glass of water, he wanted to check on something first. Before going to bed last night, he had overridden the alarm to keep it from beeping, but he had left the monitor switched on. When he went over to it now, he saw the creatures still lined up outside his front gate. There were more of them now, standing shoulder to shoulder and filling the entire video screen. And there, right in the middle of them, was a corpse with long, black hair.

Rick narrowed his eyes as he recognised the demon that had killed Sarah. It glared directly into the camera as if it knew Rick was watching it.

Rick felt his fists clench.

“He’s been there all morning,” came his brother’s voice. Keith stood behind him with a mug of tea in each hand. He handed one over, which Rick took gladly. “How’s your head?” he asked. “You were blind drunk by the time you fell asleep.”

Rick took a sip of tea and shrugged. “I can handle a hangover. I had an expert father to show me how. You were drinking pretty heavily yourself up until we made it back here.”

“Difference is: I stopped. Well, at least I did this time.”

Rick turned to his brother and saw there was something different about him this morning. His shoulders were lower, his chin raised less proudly. “What is it, Keith? Has something happened?”

He sipped his tea, sighed, then said, “I used your laptop this morning. I had an email from Marcy, sent about an hour after I left to come visit you. She told me she was taking Max to stay with her mother in Gloucester for a few days.” He seemed to be holding back tears as he spoke. “Gloucester is hit pretty bad apparently. BBC news is trying to sugar coat it, but when you search the smaller news sites, you get the real truth. There’s a newspaper in Slough which has posted a list of the gates that have opened. Gloucester is on the list.”

Rick squinted, his head still banging, but now he was confused as well. “I don’t understand. Why did Marcy go to her mother’s?”

“Because I cheated on her with my secretary.”

“Oh God, Keith, seriously? That’s so fucking clichéd.”

Keith’s face screwed up in anger, but he seemed to force it away and stared down into his mug of tea as if trying to channel his rage into the liquid instead of his brother. “I’ve been drinking heavily and… I don’t know. I wasn’t in my right mind. My secretary ended up causing me all kinds of bother. She called Marcy in the middle of the night and told her I was leaving her and was going to get a divorce. Crazy bitch. All the shit I give you, huh, Rick? Makes me a hypocrite.”

This was Rick’s chance. The opportunity to finally tell his big brother what a self-centred prick he was. It had been a long time coming, and he savoured the moment.

But he couldn’t do it. “I guess there’s a bit of dad in both of us. Impulse control has never been a strength of the men in our family.”

Keith chuckled, a tear forming in his eye. “You know, I never thought about other women before, but lately I’ve just started feeling so… unfulfilled. You lived your dream, Rick, even if it was fleeting. What did I ever do?”

Rick placed his tea down on a side table and folded his arms. “Are you kidding me? You’ve always got whatever you’ve wanted. You’re a rich accountant with a beautiful wife and a genius son.”

Keith shook his head. “No, Rick. I’m a rich accountant who used to have a beautiful wife and genius son. Now they’re dead, and it’s all because of me. If I hadn’t cheated, we’d all be together at home now. I sent Marcy and Max to their deaths.”

Rick put his arm around his older brother and let him sob into his shoulder. “You don’t know they’re hurt, Keith. Look at us: We were attacked and made it through okay.”

Keith eased away, wiped his eyes with the crook of his elbow. “Wake up, little brother. We’re not okay. It’s a stay of execution, that’s all. Those things have us surrounded.”

“The iron gates are keeping us safe.”

“You don’t really believe that lunatic, Daniel, do you? All that talk about seals and demons. I don’t understand what’s out there, but it’s going to get us eventually.”

“For fuck’s sake, Keith. Last night, you held everyone together. You were a rock. You’ve had bad news about your family, I get it, but you need to keep your head straight. Marcy and Max might still be alive, and you owe it to them to make it out of this so you can make things right again.”

“Why can’t I just give up like you? Last night, you did nothing but drink. You would’ve died if I hadn’t saved you back at the pub.”

Rick groaned as he saw the old Keith return. The moment of vulnerability was over. “I’m a sad alcoholic with a failed pop career. You’re not me, Keith. You have every reason to go on living. If Marcy and Max are still okay, we’ll find them, okay? Maybe not in the next forty-eight hours, but eventually. Until then, we just have to keep our wits about us—me included. I’ll try to knock the drink on the head. You’re right: It’s no good.”

Keith sighed. “You’re right. If there’s a chance, I have to try. Thanks, Rick. You do have your uses.”

“You’re welcome.”

“This place is massive,” said Daniel, trotting up behind them. “Took me a half hour to find the lavvy. You might want to give it twenty minutes by the way.” He leaned forward and studied the video screen. “Those sods still out there?”

Keith nodded. “Haven’t moved an inch. That one in the middle with the long black hair is the one who attacked us at the pub last night. Drove an ambulance right through the door.”

Daniel whistled. “Quite the Die Hard villain.”

“Makes you wonder, why he doesn’t try something similar now?” pondered Rick. “They may be monsters, but they’re not stupid. If the iron in the gate is keeping them out, then why aren’t they trying to knock the fence down?”

Keith said, “They wouldn’t be able to ram it like they did with the pub’s door. I parked our cars up against the gate, remember?”

“You think that’s the reason they haven’t tried to force the gate?” Rick asked, looking at Daniel to see what he thought.

“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe they’re waiting for something.”

Keith frowned. “Like what?”

Daniel shrugged. “Reinforcements?”

* * *

“My husband’s dead,” said Maddy as she stood beside Rick in the master bedroom. They were both staring out of the window at the demons outside. Rick counted over a hundred of them huddled in the road. A crowd of rotting corpses waiting to devour them.

He glanced at her. “How do you know?”

“I left my mobile in the ambulance, but I used Diane’s phone to call him. A stranger picked up, told me that my husband died last night in Milton Combe. The demons from the gate in Crapstone have spread out to nearby towns. My husband was on his way home from the hospital when the village was attacked. He tried to help the injured, but he should have run.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. You’re not wearing a ring.”

“I have to take it off when I’m working. It’s at home. I keep thinking about it, wondering if I’ll ever see it again. My husband is dead, and I keep thinking about a silly old ring.”

Rick looked at the young women and saw the anguish behind her confident strength. “It’s not silly,” he said. “Your ring is a symbol of your love for your husband, and his love for you. I think that we hold on to symbols because it makes our feelings easier to tie down and make sense of. I suppose that’s why my garage is full of unsold albums—I don’t value the CDs, I value the time in my life they represent. Your ring is important. I hope, one day, you manage to go get it.”

Maddy closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she seemed a little distant. “Those things outside aren’t going to go away, are they?”

“Daniel thinks they might be waiting for something.”

“Like what?”

“I have no idea. Is Diane still checking the Internet?”

“Yeah, things are bad, Rick. The whole world has been hit. There’s even talk of giant angels stomping around the earth killing everyone.”

Rick pulled a face. “Angels?”

“Yeah, bad angels—like Lucifer kind of angels. Looks like Daniel’s theory about Heaven and Hell might be right.”

“Keith doesn’t believe him. Not sure I trust him either.”

Maddy kept her stare on the demons outside. “I see no reason not to trust him. We’re all as screwed as each other. How much food do you have, Rick? I see a lot of beer, but not a lot of stuff to eat.”

“I’m a bachelor. I order in.”

“I assumed as much, which means we’re all going to be dealing with hunger pangs by tonight and feeling pretty rotten within a couple of days. How long will those things keep us penned up in here?”

Rick hadn’t even considered it, but Maddy was right, they couldn’t stay there indefinitely. “We’re going to need to find supplies, aren’t we?”

“Or starve to death. It’s not a problem right now, but it will be soon. I don’t see things going well for us here, Rick. That’s why I’m thinking about leaving.”

“What? You can’t go out there. They’ll tear you apart.”

“I listened to what you said last night about the step ladder. The demons are all at the front of your house. If I can make it over the back into the woods, I’m sure I can get away. I can find help and bring it back.”

“You might get over the gate from the inside, but what if you get attacked and need to get back?”

“I’ll figure something out.”

“It’s a bad idea. What if help comes while you’re gone and you’ve taken the risk for nothing?”

“There’s no help coming, Rick. Just take a look on the Internet, and you’ll see enough to understand that we’re on our own. The Army tried to fight back in London and got torn apart in Hyde Park. Somebody hacked into the CCTV footage and leaked it onto YouTube for all to see. It’s devastating. I can accept that we’re all going to die, Rick, but I’m not prepared to do it by starving to death. And I don’t want to die without my wedding ring.”

Rick studied the demons outside the gate and weighed up Maddy’s chances. She might be able to slip away unnoticed—maybe they all could—but was getting out really for the best? Yet, how long would they have if they stayed?

The black haired demon glared up at them and grinned. The malicious intent in his crooked expression gave Rick little doubt that he was not standing there aimlessly. The monster had a plan.

“I think we should all leave,” said Rick after having considered things. “Some places are still okay, right? Diane found a couple of areas we could go?”

Maddy nodded. “A few places, yes.”

“Then we find the nearest safe place and head there right away. Somewhere better than this—some place where we can survive.”

Maddy’s face lit up. “Yes, we should all get out of here together. I’d appreciate the company.”

Rick nodded and confirmed it to himself, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “Okay, let’s leave.”

They headed downstairs together and went into the kitchen where Diane was still busy on the laptop. Steven was in the living room, piling up anything they could use as weapons. Knives mostly.

Rick went over to the fridge and reached for a beer, but stopped himself and grabbed a can of coke instead. He pulled the tab and sat down next to Diane at the computer. It was the first coke he’d had in a long time that didn’t include whisky. “Hey,” he said. “Where’s the nearest place that’s safe?”

“Torquay. All the South Coast up to Southampton is safe. Plymouth is okay too, but it’s so nearby the gate from Crapstone that the demons might reach there soon. I’ve been reading this website for a newspaper called the Slough Echo. They’re trying to list all the information people have found out. I told them about the iron gates and how the demons can’t come in—maybe they can pass it on to the army or something. Anyway, this newspaper has listed all the safe towns that they know about. Torquay isn’t anywhere near a gate.”

Rick looked at Maddy. “If we can get a car, we can be at Torquay in a couple hours. I’ve always loved the English Riviera.”

“I want to go home first and get my ring.”

He sighed. “I know you do, but the village isn’t safe. Better to stay alive and get it later.”

Maddy looked to argue, but ended up nodding. “I suppose you’re right. If we’re all leaving together, then we should head for the coast like Diane said. If there’s any sort of evacuation effort it would be better to be near the ports.”

Rick nodded. “Then that’s where we head.”

“Head where?” said Keith, entering the kitchen with Steven by his side.

“We’re heading to Torquay,” Rick told him. “It’s safe.”

“Nowhere is safe, Rick. We’d be stupid to leave.”

“Yeah,” said Steven, who had finally taken off his tie and opened his collar. “That gate is the only thing keeping us alive.”

“Yes, the gate is keeping us safe,” said Maddy, “but we can’t just hide in here forever. We need to go somewhere with supplies and food. The longer we stay here, the worse it will get outside. There’s a chance to reach safety that might not be there later.”

“We’d never make it out,” said Keith. “The demons would rip us apart before we even reached the road. You’ve seen that one with the black hair, Rick. He’s just waiting for an opportunity to finish what he started.”

Rick shuddered at the thought of confronting the monster again, but he was resolute in his decision. “We go over the back fence like I said last night. The stepladder.”

“Oh, wonderful, the stepladder. And what makes you think there aren’t a hundred demons waiting for us around the back?”

“Because I’ve looked, Keith. They’re all outside the front gate. We can check things out first, of course, but I’m certain we can sneak away. Torquay is an hour away by car, and it’s safe.”

Steven shook his head. “It’s safe here, Rick. Your house is huge and protected by the gate. We shouldn’t leave.”

“Don’t you get it?” cried Maddy. “We’ll starve to death in here. No help is coming, so we have to help ourselves. If we put off now what we won’t be able to do later, then we’re screwed. We need to leave while there’s a chance we can.”

“No,” said Keith. “I won’t allow it.”

Rick stood up from his stool and faced his brother. “You won’t allow it? Who’s asking?”

“I saved your arse last night, Rick. You do as I say.”

“Are you kidding me? I thought you’d actually found a little humility after being caught fucking your secretary, but you’re the same old control freak. You’re not the boss of anyone here.”

Keith shoved Rick hard into the kitchen island. “Watch what you say to me, Rick. I’ve been wiping your arse your entire life, but I’d just as soon give you a good hiding.”

Rick was in shock. His brother had never struck him before, not even as a kid. “What the hell is your problem?”

“You’re my problem, Rick. You’re running away and trying to isolate yourself, just like you always do. I won’t allow you to get everyone killed. I’ve already lost too much. No one is leaving. It’s a suicide mission.”

“It’s not your decision,” Maddy muttered.

Keith put his hands up and let some of the aggression leave his face. “Look, I hear what you’re saying about the food situation, but we have running water and enough food to get through for a little while longer. Maybe we should wait a day or two before making any rash decisions. We’re all in fight or flight mode—and that’s understandable—but it isn’t conducive to good reasoning. Running for the hills might sound good, but is it wise? I don’t think so, and I’m not leaving.”

“I’m staying put too,” said Steven.

Diane flipped her hair behind her ears and said, “I’m not leaving unless everybody else is. We’re fine here, and we have Internet. We should learn as much as we can before we try to escape.”

Rick and Maddy looked at one another in desperation. Maddy seemed to have lost her fight and broke eye contact with him. “I’ll stay one more day,” she muttered, “but after that I’m going home. You people can stay here if you like, but you’ll regret it, I promise you.”

“I won’t regret it,” said Rick, “because I’m leaving today.”

“You are not,” said Keith in a voice cold as ice.

Rick huffed. “Keith, take a hike, okay? This is my house, and I’ll bloody well leave if I like. In fact, you can have the place; it’s yours. Just stop being a twat.”

Keith went red in the face. “Rick, you’re—”

“What the hell are you people fighting about?” asked Daniel, wandering into the kitchen. “I could hear you from all the way upstairs.”

“What were you doing upstairs?” asked Rick.

“Sleeping, until you sods woke me up. What’s the problem here?”

“Rick wants to leave,” said Keith.

Daniel shrugged. “So let him.”

“If he goes outside he’ll die.”

“His place, his rules. If he wants to leave, who can stop him?”

Keith clenched his fists. “I can. And I will.”

Rick felt his own face growing red now. He realised, in that moment, that one of the main driving forces of him wanting to leave was to get away from his brother. What was Keith’s problem? Whether he was arguing out of genuine concern or just plain stubbornness, it pissed Rick off royally. He had made up his mind and wasn’t backing down. The more and more the argument went on, the more claustrophobic he felt, and the more he was certain he wanted to leave.

“Look, Keith. I can’t stay in here knowing that those things are right outside the gate. I’d rather take my chances on the road.”

Keith shook his head and was actually trembling. “Please, Rick. Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

“You’re not the boss of me.” Rick went to push past his brother, and to his relief, Keith stood aside.

“I understand, Rick.”

Keith grabbed one of the empty beer bottles off the counter and swung it at Rick’s head. Rick tried to duck, but ended up on the floor bleeding as Keith stood over him with a look of pity on his face. “The problem with you, little brother, is that you never help yourself. No backbone, just like dad always said.”

Before the others in the kitchen had chance to stop him, Keith lifted his foot and kicked Rick in the face, sending him right back to sleep.

~Tony Cross~

7 miles north of the Euphrates, Syria

“There’ll be no one left to save by the time we get there,” said Tony as he and Aymun led their men across the desert at a sprint. The gate was less than half a mile away, but they could all see the civilian militia was taking heavy losses. The clawed creatures poured out of the gate and cut through men, women, and children too young to wield a rifle. Blood stained the ground as if gallons of red paint had been spilled onto the dirt.

“If we save only one man or woman then we have done our duty,” said Aymun.

The Syrian and British soldiers were all now armed with L85s, AK47s, grenades, and a PKM machine gun that Harris, the strongest of them, lugged over his shoulder. The civilians in front of the gate wielded a mixture of reclaimed assault rifles and pistols, but they were not trained proficiently enough to form a firing line. As they missed shots, or were forced to reload, they were set upon by the demons. In the last five minutes alone, dozens of them had died.

Aymun and his two men reached firing distance first, as they were less encumbered than the British soldiers clad in full battle armour and carrying the heavier L85s. Aymun dropped to one knee and let off a barrage from his AK47. He hit several of the creatures, even at two hundred metres. His men then overtook him and fired from their knees ten metres ahead. Tony’s men caught up and set themselves down a further ten metres before firing. Aymun got up and ran past them all and once again took a knee and fired from the front. They continued this series of firing overlaps until they were only fifty metres away from the battlefield. The civilians saw their arrival and cheered, even as they continued to be slaughtered. It was the first time Tony had ever seen civilians in this region show gratitude to see British soldiers.

The demons outnumbered the militia five to one, but now their flanks were under attack by Aymun and Tony’s men. Tony unclipped a grenade from his vest and lobbed it into the air. His men followed suit. Unlike the ones they had tossed at Aymun’s convoy, these grenades fell perfectly amongst the enemy and exploded with venom. Mangled demon parts littered the ground along with great clods of displaced earth. The resulting mess was enough to ignite hope. Tony saw the confidence creep onto his men’s faces as they advanced further, unloading round upon round into the enemy.

Demons fell in their dozens.

Now that the enemy were split wide open, the militia gained a foothold. They formed up in a group behind their battered vehicles and fired all at once, cutting down another two dozen of their foe in seconds. The battle was turning.

Tony and his men released another volley of grenades, opening up more craters in the enemy’s ranks. Any human army would have turned tail after such sudden and devastating losses, but the clawed creatures continued their attack, more than willing to die.

Harris set down the PKM on its bipod and opened her up as soon as it was steady. Its roaring teeth ripped the creatures apart like razor wire, dissecting limbs, torsos, and heads with the precision of a surgeon’s buzz saw.

“Send their wee dirty arses to Hell,” Corporal Rose yelled triumphantly as more demons fell.

But their advantage waned when Harris’s PKM jammed. The decades-old machine gun had been stashed in a cave for God knew how long, and they suffered the consequences. The second thing to go wrong was when one of Aymun’s men threw a soviet F1 grenade at the enemy, but didn’t bother to cook it first. One of the creatures was proactive enough to scoop it up in its claw and launch it right back again. It exploded mid-air over the original thrower, and Aymun’s man hit the ground, clutching his burst eyeballs and trying to pull out the shrapnel. Aymun had no choice but to leave the man where he lay.

The creatures were unbroken, and kept on coming, even as they continued falling to fresh onslaughts of gunfire. Reinforcements came through the gate every second to join the fray.

Harris hadn’t thought to bring his rifle with him when he’d picked up the bulky PKM, so he had no way to defend himself when one demon broke away and headed right for him. It fell upon him like a rabid beast and ripped shreds out of his stomach with its claws. At first, only clothing and armour split apart, tatters twirling in the air, but then a spray of blood jetted upwards and covered the demon’s snarling face. Tony was too far away to help his man, but Harris wasn’t done for yet. The private reached around to his webbing and slid his combat knife from its sheath. He rammed it into the demon’s side with such force that it sounded like somebody had hit a bass drum. He twisted and turned the knife until the creature stopped moving and fell to the ground.

Tony finally made it over to Harris and dragged his injured private back to his feet. It was hard to assess the man’s wound while hidden beneath several layers of clothing and torn armour, nor was there time to try, so Tony pulled his Glock 17 pistol from its holster and shoved it into Harris’s hand. “You should have brought a backup, Private.”

Harris held up his blood soaked knife and gave an ugly grin. “I did.”

The civilians screamed as the demons made it through the parked vehicles and attacked the back lines—mostly children and women. There must have been a hundred dead villagers scattered in the desert now, and the militia was down to its last remnants.

“The villagers are falling,” shouted Aymun. “We must go to them.”

Tony nodded and ordered his men to skirt the edges of battle to where they could form up alongside the militia. They covered each other in turn as they made an overlap toward their ailing allies.

Tony and Aymun reached the villagers just in time. There were perhaps twenty of them remaining, but half were out of ammo, and the other half were wavering. The creatures had pushed them all back to the rearmost vehicles, which meant that they had nowhere further to retreat. A small group of children cowered behind them.

“They just keep on feckin’ coming,” Corporal Rose shouted, aiming his rifle in a dozen different places and taking well-aimed pop shots. One demon made it through, but he kept his calm and took a leaf from Private Harris’s book and stabbed it in the face with his knife.

Tony watched the glowing gate and cringed every time another demon leapt through. It was like they formed out of vapour, coming into existence one droplet at a time, before dumping down into the desert. Were they lined up somewhere on the other side, leaping through the gate one after the other, like lemmings off a cliff?

They would not stop coming.

Tony had an idea. He snatched the last grenade from his vest and coiled up like a spring as he prepared to throw it. When he finally let go, he aimed it right at the centre of the gate. It seemed to sail through the air forever, arcing over the heads of the writhing creatures in slow motion. Then it disappeared. The only proof the grenade had ever existed was a brief ripple in the gate’s translucent centres.

The explosion was muted, as though occurring underwater, but a great torrent of flames burst forth from the gate and immolated the demons closest to it. The creatures stopped advancing for the first time, and looked back to see what had happened.

“Attack the gate,” shouted Tony. “Attack the bloody gate.”

Everyone concentrated their fire on the gate at once, causing the translucent surface to plop and shimmer as bullets hit it like the pitter-patter of rain. The men launched the last of their grenades and cheered each time another muted explosion brought forth another torrent of fire.

But then they were forced to regroup.

While the men attacked the gate, the remaining demons charged. Aymun’s last remaining man went down as two creatures grabbed his arms and yanked them off, leaving him to spin around in panic, bleeding into the air like a sprinkler. Two of Tony’s men got isolated and gutted in quick succession. A handful of the remaining villagers went down in a haze of blood.

“There’s no more coming through the gate,” shouted Tony as he peppered the enemy. “Keep fighting, and we can end this.”

The men took heart and kept up the assault, even though the urge to run was in all of them. There were still several dozen creatures coming right at them, but as they spread their fire in a wide arc, they thinned the enemy out.

“We can do this,” Corporal Rose cried out. “Kick their lily arses.”

The enemy numbers were down to ten, outnumbered for the first time since the fighting began. Harris came up beside Tony with his Glock, popping off shots carefully and exploding heads off demonic shoulders. He emptied his last magazine into a leaping creature and knocked it right out of the sky like a clay pigeon. Aymun fired from twin AK47s now, like some kind of action hero, after picking up the weapon of his fallen comrade. The villagers emptied the last of their ammo and took down another handful of enemies.

Soon there was only one, single remaining demon left alive. It glared at them, and took a step back.

It was afraid.

Tony reached out and reclaimed his Glock from Harris. He crossed the battlefield with it until he was face-to-face with the demon. The oily skinned, coal-eyed abomination snarled at him like a cornered cat, spitting and hissing. Its breath stunk of rotting meat.

Tony raised the Glock and fired a bullet right through the bastard’s forehead. For a moment, it remained standing, staring at him through wide, almost-human eyes, but then it teetered and tipped over backwards, hitting the ground with a thump.

The men behind Tony were silent, but then, like a rising tide, their voices rose to a triumphant cry. He turned around to face them, too beat and too weary to smile. What he could do was raise the Glock above his head in victory—the weapon that had fired the final bullet. “We did it,” he croaked. “We sent those fuckers straight back to Hell.”

The men cheered even more, their voices strained with jubilation. The surviving villagers were crying with a mix of relief and shock. They had done it—they had fought back their deaths.

But then the cheering stopped.

More creatures poured through the gate.

~Guy Granger~

Cape Fear, North Carolina

Refuelled, resupplied, and re-manned, the Hatchet raised anchor and set off from the southeast coast. Guy planned to follow the shipping lanes across the Atlantic as much as possible and avoid the winds by having a senior ensign check the ship’s meteorological instrumentation every thirty minutes, but the weather so far was fair. The men were focused. Many had received word of their families and friends being lost in the attacks, but they were turning their anguish into motivation and concentrating on getting to England. Others were just glad to be aboard where it was safe.

“I’ve relayed a message to Command,” Frank told him. “Said we were no longer operational. You understand that if things ever get back to normal we’ll all end up in prison for dereliction of duty, and theft of a Coast Guard Vessel?”

Guy nodded. “If things go back to normal I will happily accept full punishment. Until then, I’m going to get my kids.”

Frank took his hand and clasped it in his own, an intimate gesture, but appreciated. “I’m sure they’re safe. The British Army is no pushover.”

“Nor is the United States Navy, but look what happened at Norfolk.”

“We’ll get them, Captain. I promise you.”

“I think the time for calling me ‘Captain’ has passed.”

“On the contrary. Now more than ever you need to lead these sailors. The civilians especially will need direction. Give it a day or two, and we will see bouts of seasickness, panic, claustrophobia, and a lot of changed minds. You will have to keep a firm hand to maintain order.”

“Firm but fair,” Guy corrected.

“The former is more important.”

“Captain!”

Guy turned around to see Lieutenant Tosco hurrying up the ladder.

“What is it Lieutenant?”

“Switch to Naval Frequency 1.”

Guy frowned, but gave Frank a nod to do as requested. The ship’s main radio squawked to life with the panicked tones of a stranger. “USS Augusta requesting immediate rescue. We are under attack. Our coordinates are…”

Guy raised an eyebrow. “Those coordinates are sixteen miles off the coast.”

“We are under attack. All vessels in the vicinity, please respond with immediate aid.”

“We can reach them within the hour,” said Tosco firmly. “We have to help.”

Guy shook his head. “We have our mission, Lieutenant. You agreed to stay on board and cross the Atlantic.”

“I agreed to help you find your kids, yes, but I never said I would turn my back on Americans in need. You want to maintain my support, direct the ship towards the USS Augusta.”

Frank stepped in front of Guy and faced Tosco down. “How dare you give the Captain orders!”

“No, he’s right, Frank. I can’t ask the men to save my children if I’m not willing to save the men aboard the Augusta. Lieutenant Tosco, prepare the crew for a rescue operation and battle conditions.” He turned and got on the radio. “USS Augusta, this is the USCG Hatchet. Stand by. We’ll be with you within the hour.” He turned back to Tosco. “You have your orders, Lieutenant. Go.”

Tosco nodded, and saluted as respectfully as Guy had ever seen him. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

Once Tosco had left, Frank turned to Guy with concern on his face. “I thought you agreed you would be firm. You just let Tosco dictate our course.”

“I said I’d be firm but fair. Tosco was correct in his thinking. Do you disagree?”

“No. It’s the right call. I just wish it hadn’t come from Tosco. You give that guy’s ego a penny and he’ll take a pound.”

“He’s given me his support, Frank. I owe it to the man to trust him.”

Frank nodded as if he understood, but then he said, “I would rather trust a man because he earned it, than because I owe it to him.”

“Have I earned your trust, Frank?”

“Ten times over.”

“Then you’ll just have to hope I know what I’m doing. I can handle Tosco.”

Frank rubbed at his chin, a day’s stubble there for the first time since Guy had met him decades ago. “I worry more about whether Tosco can handle himself.”

“Your concerns are noted, Chief Petty. Now, full-steam ahead.”

* * *

When they reached the USS Augusta, they were all glad to see that it was still afloat. That didn’t mean it was in good shape though. A battle raged on its decks.

“They’re coming up right out of the water,” said Frank as he stared out of the pilothouse window. Sopping wet creatures with bloated stomachs and sagging skin were launching themselves out of the water, like dolphins, and landing on the deck of the Augusta. There, they were attacking the sailors as they did their best to stay together.

Guy turned to Tosco. “You know the drill, Lieutenant. Open up the MGs.”

Tosco nodded and went to give the orders. A minute later, the rapid fire sprayed across the water and hit several creatures before they had a chance to leap up out of the ocean. The Navy frigate Augusta had far more firepower than the Hatchet, but it looked like its captain had never gotten the chance to use it.

Guy got on the ship’s radio and ordered the crew to take to the rails and open fire from their assault rifles. The men—including some of the civilians—lined up along the ship’s boundaries and started picking their shots. Guy flinched when he saw some rounds go awry and hit the Augusta’s crew, but enough of the bloated, slippery demons went down to make them acceptable casualties. The remaining crew of the Augusta saw the Hatchet now and raised their hands excitedly. Fortunately, they were not distracted too long and could take advantage of the opening they’d been given. They steeled themselves against the enemy and fought for the upper hand. The Hatchet continued to lend support from its two machine guns.

The slippery demons continued leaping up out of the ocean.

Frank clenched his fists, watching the scene without blinking. “Where are these things coming from?”

Guy watched a naval officer fall overboard as a demon swatted him over the gunwale. Seconds after hitting the water, the man was dragged down screaming beneath the surface. Not even the oceans were safe.

There was screaming from the deck below, making Guy and Frank glance at each other in horror. Tosco came on the radio. “The enemy are on board. We’re losing men.”

Guy turned to the ladder, but Frank stopped him. “We need you here, Captain. I’ll go.”

“We’ll both go. We will need every man we have.”

Frank relented, and the two of them raced down the ladder together and sprinted towards the launch deck. What they saw was terrifying. The slimy creatures were horrifying, and a stink of rotting flesh and the sea came off them in waves. Tosco had the crew organised in a line in front of the Jayhawk helicopter, cutting down the enemy with their rifles. Many of the civilians had scattered in panic and had found themselves cut off from safety. Guy watched as Simon—the teenage Avengers fan—backed up into the clutches of a demon stalking him. It grabbed his head and wrenched it right off his neck before he even knew what was happening, leaving behind a spurting stump and a tap-dancing body that flopped onto the deck like a fish.

Frank and Guy both grabbed rifles from the stockpile and loaded them up with magazines. It’d been years since Guy had fired a rifle, and the first time he’d ever needed to shoot to kill. The U.S. Coast Guard were not killers, their weaponry more often a deterrent. Today, they would all become soldiers. Guy picked his shots and nailed a demon right in the back of the head. He aimed again and took down another demon snacking on a civilian’s torn-out intestines.

Frank was like a machine, firing shot after shot without seemingly even having to aim. Tosco stood behind the nearby firing line, pointing out targets to the men and shouting motivations. The young lieutenant was in his element, face stained with blood from a slash wound on his neck, and a look of total control about him. He was unflappable.

Guy glanced across at the Augusta. The Navy frigate was under renewed attack now after losing the support of the Hatchet’s MGs. Its decks were once again filling up with waterlogged monsters.

“We need to get to those MGs,” Guy shouted to Frank.

“I’ll take starboard, you take port.”

They split up, running to opposite sides of the ship. Guy made it over to his MG first, grabbed the handles, and pulled the trigger. The heavy weight of it bucked in his grip, but he kept it steady and drew the bullet stream across the water and took out a dozen demons. The alleviation in the enemy reinforcements allowed the crew of the Augusta to once again recover and start clearing their decks anew. That gave Guy time enough to spin the MG around and face onto the Hatchet’s own launch deck. He opened up and cut a swath through the demons attacking the civilian refugees. Tosco kept the rest of the crew organised enough to allow the civilians to creep back into safety where Skip handed them weapons and ammunitions. Everyone needed to be armed and firing. No more being a civilian.

Guy saw that they were winning. Fewer and fewer demons emerged from the water and Frank kept the opposite MG trained to make sure that those that did lost their heads. Many of the demons floated dead on the waves. The men aboard the Augusta were cheering as they swept the last remaining invaders from their deck.

The MG in Guy’s hand clunked as it fired its last round—its belt-fed magazine expired. He let go of it cautiously, expecting demons to run straight for him now that they had the chance, but none did. So he did his best to march confidently on wobbling legs towards Tosco who was mopping up the last of the enemy. By the time Guy reached his Lieutenant, the crew was hailing him as a hero. Tosco lapped it up, grinning ear to ear, even as he continued to bleed from the jagged wound on his neck. He looked like the lead in an action movie.

“Are you okay, Lieutenant?” Guy asked his second in command.

Tosco wiped the blood from his neck and looked at it. “Just a flesh wound, Captain. One of them got me when they first came up out the water. Luckily, I’d already taken the safety off my rifle.”

Frank left the other MG and came over. “You did well,” he told Tosco, although it sounded more than a little begrudging.

“Thank you, Chief Petty, but I can’t take any of the credit. The men were warriors, each and every one of them. Let the enemy come, I say. They’ll never get the better of the Hatchet.”

The men cheered, and were interrupted only by the squawking of a radio. Ensign Bentley brought the unit over to Guy who immediately answered the call. “Captain Granger of the USCG Hatchet. How are you doing over there, USS Augusta? Over.”

“Thank the Lord for you, Captain Granger. Thank the Lord. You saved our bacon. Once those things were on board we couldn’t stop them coming. It was you cutting them to ribbons on the water that turned the tide. Your men are heroes. Over.”

“That they are, Captain. Over.”

“Not the captain,” came the reply from the Augusta. “Commander Johnson died in the attack, a stray bullet from one of your men, I believe. I’m Lieutenant Hernandez. Over.”

“I’m sorry about your commander,” said Guy. “My crew did the best they could. Over.”

“I understand. Our decks were swamped with monsters. We would’ve lost far more men if you hadn’t been here to help. Over.”

“Do you know where those creatures came from, Lieutenant Hernandez? Over.”

“Affirmative. Our radars picked up an anomaly on the seabed in this area. The things must have swum right up out of the depths. They were so bloated and malformed that they must have been sunk right down low. Over.”

Guy took a moment to reply. “Then it appears these hell gates are beneath the oceans and on land. We should all keep an eye on the radar and steer a clear course. Over.”

“Copy that, Captain. We fled Norfolk hoping to regroup, but ran right into another battle. Over.”

“You were at Norfolk? So were we. Did you see how things ended there? Over”

“There’s nothing left. The USS New Hampshire went under and took a thousand men with her, but several vessels got away. We count our blessings. Over.”

Guy slumped back against the port side railing. “At least some of us got out alive. We’re not beaten yet. Over.”

“Copy that, Captain. Gives us a chance to regroup and head back to coast. Now that you saved us, we’ll be able to fight another day. Naval Command is operating out of Florida now, and all ships are to make their way to Jacksonville. It’ll be a pleasure to have the Hatchet along for the ride. Over.”

“Negative. The Hatchet is crossing the Atlantic. Over.”

“Why? Over.”

“I have a personal matter to attend to. Over.”

“We have orders to assemble at Jacksonville. Disobey and you’ll be considered a deserter. Over.”

“Call it what you want. I’m going to the U.K. to get my kids. Over.”

“I can’t allow you to do that, Captain Granger. The Hatchet is United States property, and your men have a duty to protect their country. You need to return to coast, or relinquish command to someone who will. Over.”

Guy looked around at his crew, each of them panting and ferocious, like blooded wolves. Tosco had his arms folded, but Guy couldn’t tell if he was for or against what his counterpart on the Augusta was suggesting. His opinion would be key to persuading the rest of the crew one way or another.

“With all due respect, Lieutenant Hernandez, I don’t take orders from you. Over.”

“The U.S. Coast Guard has been ordered to relinquish command to the Navy. I am the senior naval officer in this region, and I am taking authority of your vessel. I will have one of my junior officers take command of your crew. Prepare to be boarded. Over and out.”

Guy swallowed a lump in his throat. He had already made his mind up about deserting and heading to the U.K., but how far was he willing to go? And how far would his crew be willing to go? Would he allow them to get into a firefight with their own countrymen, just to save his children? No, he couldn’t do it. He would have to relinquish command. There was no other option.

I’m so sorry Kyle and Alice.

“Fuck them,” said Frank.

Guy looked at his Chief Petty in shock. “You don’t agree with them? What about your belief in the chain of command?”

“Fuck the chain of command. The chain of command allowed two-thirds of our Navy to get obliterated at Norfolk. It’s you who has kept us all safe. We rescued those goddamn blue dicks and this is how they repay us? Any man tries to board this ship will have to go through me.”

The crew looked worried, but none said anything. Guy looked at Tosco, who still had his arms folded. The lieutenant glanced over at the Augusta, then back at Guy. “Those lightweights think they can come aboard and take control of our ship, give orders to my men, they got another thing coming. I say we line up and prevent them from boarding.”

“We can’t beat them,” said Guy, laying it on the line. His crew had earned that much. “They have more guns and a thicker hull. If we get into a firefight, we can’t win.”

“Don’t have to win,” said Frank. “Just make it clear that we’re more trouble than it’s worth. They might take this ship from us, but we can make sure they won’t have enough men left to run it.”

“We can also make sure that our first bullet takes out Hernandez,” said Tosco.

Guy straightened up, pride swelling in his chest. “Okay. Lieutenant, get everyone armed and lined up against the railings. Frank, back on that MG.”

“It’s out of ammo.”

“So is the other one, but the men aboard the Augusta don’t know that.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

The men got busy, reloading their weapons and forming up along the rails. Bloated demon corpses littered the deck, but were forgotten for now as the USCG Hatchet had a new enemy: The USS Augusta.

The Augusta drifted in close enough that the hulls of the two ships were almost touching. Its marines lined up along the railing, but they were not pointing rifles—yet. A small man stood amongst them, unarmed. His officer’s uniform and Hispanic complexion led Guy to assume that he was Lieutenant Hernandez in the flesh.

“Tell your men to stand aside, Captain Granger. I hereby seize this vessel in the name of the United States Navy.”

Guy stood at the railing, also without a weapon—two generals meeting across the battlefield. “Your access is denied, Lieutenant Hernandez. I am the captain of this ship, and my word is law. Be grateful for your rescue and take your men wherever you choose, but they will not come aboard this ship.”

“You have American citizens on board. Do you plan on kidnapping them?”

“No man or woman is here against their will. In fact, any who wish to join you now may do so.” Guy turned around to look at the civilians, but not one of them stepped forward to leave.

“You have them scared,” Hernandez remarked.

“Considering you were all but dead in the water when we arrived, I think maybe it’s you they are afraid of. The men on this ship survived the attack on New York, the attack on Norfolk, and now the attack on the USS Augusta. They are safer with me than anywhere else. They are survivors and—as my own Lieutenant called them earlier—warriors. We came to aid you in your time of need when running away would’ve been easier. My crew is fearless and ferocious. Come aboard if you dare, Lieutenant.”

Hernandez laughed like a hyena. “You really think you will win a fight against my ship, Captain? You don’t stand a chance.”

“Perhaps, but are you willing to lose the men it will take to put us down? I promise that for every one of us you take, we’ll take three of yours. We have two machine guns and my ship’s main gun aimed at you, not to mention about a hundred rifles. I’m over-manned, you see. That’s what happens when you win fights—you get stronger. I look at your crew, Lieutenant, and all I see is fear and exhaustion. They have lost their commander and inherited you. How long do you think they will tolerate your command if you force them to kill fellow Americans? Fellow Americans who just saved their lives. Or perhaps they won’t have to tolerate you much longer. Maybe the very first shot fired will be right at your forehead. You’re a pretty good shot, aren’t you, Lieutenant Tosco?”

Tosco raised his riflescope to his eye and grinned. “Aye, aye, Captain. I can shoot the nutsack off a navy officer from a hundred metres. In fact, I’m ready to pull the trigger right now.”

Hernandez tried to respond but tripped over his own words and ended up offering nothing but bluster. He shifted uncomfortably and retreated a step, as he no doubt felt Tosco’s sights falling on him. It sent the wrong message to his men, who all suddenly seemed completely unsure of themselves.

Guy didn’t want to undermine the Lieutenant too much. The man still had a Navy frigate to command, and his help would be sorely needed back on the coast. “Look, Commander Hernandez, I see you’re a good man—a good American—but after Norfolk, it became every man for himself. We all need to do whatever we can in whatever way we can to make a difference. The Hatchet is crossing the Atlantic, and we will lend our help wherever it is needed, just like we did to save your ship, but we will make our own way and decide our own fate. It’s survival now, don’t you see? There’s not going to be any great war because we’ve already lost. There’s no more United States, there’s just us—people. All that is left is resistance, and no resistance ever worked by following empty orders. It will only work by doing what needs to be done when it needs doing. Take your ship, and do whatever you can to help, but if you try to fight us you’re only helping the enemy.”

Hernandez seemed to mull it over for a long, long time, struggling to find words and scratching at his head. Guy wished the man was more decisive, quicker to reply, for it showed his lack of confidence by thinking so hard in front of his men. Eventually, he found something to say, and it was less rational than Guy had hoped for, but it was sufficient. “I consider you a traitor to your country, Captain Granger, but I will not command my men to fire on fellow Americans. I disagree about the war being lost. It has only just begun. Your country requires your ship and your crew, but I can see that you have brainwashed them to abandon their beliefs—and even stand by while you deny the existence of the United States. I will not risk lives, but when America is victorious, men like you will be strung up for cowardice. If you have any honour at all, you will step down now, Captain Granger, but I don’t expect that you will.”

Guy sneered. “The last thing anybody aboard my ship is guilty of is cowardice. I wish you a safe journey, Commander Hernandez. Do try to keep your men alive. We won’t be there to rescue you next time.”

Hernandez turned away and disappeared from sight.

Guy kept his crew lined up along the railings, ready for a fight, but was relieved when the Augusta moved away. Bloated corpses fell into the sea as its crew jettisoned them into the water.

“We should do the same,” said Frank. “God knows what diseases these things might carry. Even if they don’t, I don’t fancy having to look at them.”

Guy gave the order for everyone to kick and shove the demon corpses overboard. Their slimy carcasses left behind slick trails of blood and seawater. Many of the sailors gagged.

“Yikes,” cried Frank. “This one looks like my aunt.”

The men all laughed and gagged a little less.

Guy took a moment to study his enemy close up. The shrivelled up penis dangling between its flabby grey thighs gave no ambiguity as to its sex. Had it been a man once? Its dead eyes were strangely human.

“We got a live one over here!” Someone shouted.

Guy glanced across the deck to see that one of the demons was back on its feet, stalking after one of the civilians. It was badly injured—one arm hanging attached by a thread. Guy had no weapon, but he hurried to help. Frank and Tosco did the same. The creature was missing an eye, but the remaining one bore into them with hatred. In a slurping voice, it spoke to them. “We will drag your souls into Hell and violate your bodies.”

Guy sighed. “Will somebody please kill this thing?”

Frank lifted a handgun from by his side. He pulled the trigger three times, and the demon reeled back, spilling over the port side railing and disappearing into the ocean.

“They’re here to exterminate us, aren’t they?” muttered Tosco.

“Yes,” said Guy. “They are.”

Frank tucked the gun into his waistband and spat over the side of the ship. “They’re welcome to try, but I’m not going down without a fi-”

Frank’s head shuddered and his left eye disappeared in a flash of red. He slumped against the railing, exposing the wide-open crater at the back of his skull. A loud crack skipped across the ocean.

“Sniper!” Somebody shouted.

Tosco lunged at Guy and shoved him to the ground just as another shot was fired. The lieutenant took the bullet high up on his body and flipped backwards like an acrobat. Guy was forced to watch, stunned.

Skip was the one to give the order. The old sailor kept his calm and yelled out instruction. “Take cover and return fire. Don’t make it easy for ‘em.”

The Hatchet’s crew crouched down at the railings and fired at the Augusta, but the larger Navy vessel was at least a mile away and too far to hit with an assault rifle. The enemy sniper fired a series of follow up shots, but by then, everyone had taken cover and remained there safely.

Guy looked over at Frank and felt a rage bubbling in his chest. His oldest friend shot dead by a faceless sniper on the orders of a jumped up lieutenant. Hernandez would pay for this.

Tosco lay on the deck nearby moaning. Guy crawled over to him and checked for a bullet wound, finding it on his left shoulder—a leaking hole in his trapezius muscle. “You’re going to be okay, Lieutenant. It’s just-“

Tosco managed to lift himself slightly. “A flesh wound? Yeah, I know… Jeez, hurts like a mother though. How’s Frank?”

Guy shook his head and fought back tears.

Tosco cursed, from anger now, instead of pain. “That idiot must have thought we were firing at him when Frank shot that demon.”

Guy snarled. “Hernandez was waiting for an excuse. He didn’t want to order his men to fire on us without cause.”

“He’s stopped firing now,” said Tosco through gritted teeth. “They’re still heading away from us.”

A nearby radio squawked. It lay on the deck, and the voice of Hernandez came through it loud and clear. “Men and women aboard the USCG Hatchet. Your senior officers are dead. Please put me in contact with whoever has inherited command. I wish you no harm, only that you follow the Augusta back to the coast where it will be added to the Navy’s relief effort. You are no longer bound to fulfill whatever promises you made to Captain Granger. You are free.” A brief pause. “Come in, come in, Hatchet. Whoever is most senior, please respond.”

Guy crawled over to the radio and answered it with venom in his voice. “Hernandez, this is the senior ranking member of the USCG Hatchet, Captain Guy Granger. You just killed a man worth ten of you, and I’m going to make you pay for it. You see, when this war is over, they will string men like you up. I will be the one to do it. As soon as I find my kids, I’m coming for you.”

There was the mutter of a reply as if someone was about to speak but had changed their mind. The line went dead.

* * *

Everyone aboard the Hatchet remained in cover until the Augusta was a mere dot on the horizon. Guy shouted for the ship’s medical officer, Gonzalez, and got Tosco some help. The lieutenant was in good spirits as a group of enlisted men carried him off to the sickbay. Guy remained on deck, staring out across the vast ocean and feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. Frank’s body lay beneath a blanket at his feet.

The old captain, Skip, came up beside Guy and stared right at him. “Your second in command is quite a hero,” he whispered. “Led the men against the demons and took a sniper bullet for you.”

Guy nodded. “If more men had his backbone, we would already have driven those monsters back to Hell.”

Skip nodded, but exhaled as if something worried him.

“What’s on your mind, Skip?”

“I worry for you.”

“That was always Frank’s job.”

“Then it’s a job vacant for me to fill. He was a good man, the Chief Petty? Your friend?”

“The very best of both, friend and man. I don’t know how I would have fared these last few days without him questioning my every move. He was always my conscience, making me consider my actions.”

“Well, if I can attempt to fill his boots, I have some advice for you, Captain. Keep Lieutenant Tosco onside. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but these are his men more than they’re yours.”

The insult was grave, almost unforgivable, but the old captain was right. “I know what you’re saying,” he admitted, “but he gave me his word he would help me find Kyle and Alice. After that, I’ll just have to be ready for whatever happens. Don’t worry about me, Skip.”

“I always worry about good men. We’re back to the old days now, Captain Granger, and in the old days, there was only one way for a captain to lose his ship.”

Guy looked down at Frank’s body beneath the sheet and thought about his friend’s earlier advice. Be firm. He turned to Skip and smiled. “You’re wrong, you know? These aren’t the old days, Skip. They’re the new days. And if Lieutenant Tosco tries to take my ship, I’ll kill him.”

~Mina Magar~

Slough, Berkshire

When Mina awoke, the day was in full swing and approaching late afternoon. She felt refreshed for a few moments, but then the grogginess hit her and she craved coffee. She got up off the floor, knees and elbows clicking, and went out into the office. It was as frantic now as it had been when she sneaked off to take a nap. David was in the centre of the room directing things, having apparently taken control away from Big Jimmy.

Andras stood at the kettle, and Mina went and joined him. “You seem to spend a lot of time here. I’d love a coffee,” she said.

“Coming right up. It’s the only thing I’m good at apparently.”

“They won’t let you help, huh?”

“Nope.” He made her the coffee and handed it over. “It’s not that they won’t let me help, it’s more that I don’t really have any way to help. I don’t have a network of contacts to call.”

“You can help me,” said Mina. “I’m used to being treated like a spare part around here. Nobody ever wants help from a photographer.”

“So what are you working on?”

“Updating the website with information people can use. We need to get people fighting back. It’s our only chance.”

Andras smiled at her. “I’m all yours.”

Mina had a thought. “Where’s Alice?”

“Asleep in Carol’s office. Carol’s taking a nap too. David’s in charge at the moment, I think.”

“I’d imagine he is. Go over to my computer, Andras. I’ll join you in five minutes. I want to check in with David and see where we’re at.”

“Sure thing.”

Mina interrupted David in the midst of giving orders to the paper’s sports editor. The bump on the side of his head had turned a sickly green colour. “Ah, Mina,” he said when he saw her. “Back in the land of the living?”

She ignored that he had gone off for a nap too. “I needed sleep.”

“The news never sleeps.”

“What’s the latest?” she asked.

“Much the same as before. The demons—that’s what we’re officially calling them now—have formed up into three main armies within the U.K. Most of the smaller groups merged together, and the largest army is now currently south of Luton. It’s being led by the same giant we encountered in Hyde Park. As such, we’ve started referring to him as Hyde. The second largest army is based outside Carlisle, on the Scottish border. It, too, is being led by one of the giant beings. We call this one-”

“Let me guess, Carlisle?”

“No, we call it Hex, for the gate it came out of was in Hexham. The third giant has been moving around Wales and is currently outside of Cardiff. We call him Aberdare. His army is the largest by far, and it’s yet to meet any real resistance.”

Mina filed the names away. “Hyde, Hex, and Aberdare, okay. So the giants are definitely leading these armies?”

“Undoubtedly. We’ve been gathering reports from all over the country—local police stations, other newspaper offices, et cetera. People are blogging on the Internet like crazy, can you believe it? The world is at war, and people are sharing it all over the web like the latest Game of Thrones episode.”

“People are probably trying to keep themselves occupied. So what have we learned?”

“After the initial attacks, the demons converged to the three main locations I mentioned, each headed by one of the giants. There are outcroppings of smaller groups around, but they seem to be exercising guerrilla tactics—attacking randomly to cause disarray. What’s left of the British Army upper Brass believes that the three main armies are intended to destroy us. Similar armies are gathering abroad too, from what we can gather.”

“Are we fighting back?”

“Just trying to rally at this point. The Army made a dent in the enemy foot soldiers, but nothing has scratched the giants. People are calling them angels. If that’s the truth, then there may not be a way to take them down unless drastic action is taken.”

“Like what?”

“Nukes. The Government is already discussing a scorched earth policy. If it comes down to the survival of the human race, I don’t see what choice they’ll have. Hope they give us fair warning first. Would hate to look out the window and spot a bomb falling out the sky.”

Mina’s opinions on nuclear weapons had never changed since learning about them during her college days. The grainy video footage of Hiroshima had convinced her that atomic weapons were barbaric and invited calamity. Now she wasn’t so sure.

“Do we have any chance, David?”

“We’re still alive, aren’t we?” He surprised her by putting a hand on her shoulder. “You and I made it through Hell together. Oxford Street was the enemy’s opening gambit. They won’t get a jump on us like that again. The worst has happened, but now we dust ourselves off and fight back. You and I, Mina, will do our part.”

Her tiredness wore off. “I’ll do whatever I can to make those monsters pay.”

David smiled. “Then get people ready. The hits on the website have started to rise. Other websites are linking to us and we’re making waves.”

“Really? That’s great. I’ll get right on it.”

“What are you waiting for then?”

“Right.” She hurried to her cubicle with renewed energy. Her work was important; people were reading her words and looking at the pictures she’d taken. People might have a chance of staying alive because of her.

Andras was waiting at her desk and pulled up a chair for her. “Ready for your command, mistress.”

Mina blushed and giggled. “Thank you, Andras. We need to update the website with anything we learn about the demons. What did we find out while I was asleep?”

“David told you about the three armies?”

Mina nodded.

“Okay, did you know there are three different types of demons?”

She leaned forward. “No, tell me.”

“Okay, well, um, there seems to be three different types of demons. There’s the extra crispy kind—the burn victims. They are the most common and strong as bulls. They can also talk and use weapons, but they die as easily as us.”

“Okay, what are the other two types?”

“There are the corpses—like zombies, except they aren’t braindead. They can also talk, but don’t die as easily as the burn victims. You can damage them, and they keep on coming. Damage them badly enough, though, and they’ll die. The third kind are less like human beings. They’re the ones that are hunched over like apes and have those nasty claws. They’re as agile as spider monkeys and can disembowel with a swipe, but they die easiest of all. The biggest problem with all three is their numbers. They just keep on coming through those gates. Mankind keeps dying, but the demons keep getting stronger.”

“So, to stand a chance, we need to find a way to close the gates. Has anybody tried yet?”

“Nobody has even got close. The gates are the enemy’s strong points, and the Army isn’t in any shape to stage an attack on them.”

“Then that’s what we focus on: Closing the gates.”

Andras raised an eyebrow. “No big thing then?”

“We aim high, or we lose.”

“I understand the stakes, Mina. We all have to do whatever is necessary to survive.”

Mina scrolled through the website and saw updates she hadn’t put there, as well as some of her photos. The picture she had taken of the stray Labrador had over a thousand views. “I assume David added these extra bits?”

Andras shrugged. “He told everyone to add whatever they could verify. I know Corporal Martin added a few things about how to kill the different demons. David added something about iron being helpful.”

“Iron?”

“Yeah, he got an email from some girl in Crapstone.”

Mina accessed the website emails and located an email from someone called Diane Potter. The subject-heading read: The demons can’t pass iron barriers!!!

She opened the email and read a hastily typed message from what seemed to be a teenage girl. There was a group of survivors in Crapstone where one of the gates had opened. They had taken refuge at a retired pop star’s house surrounded by big iron gates. Apparently, the demons couldn’t pass the iron bars or even touch them.

David had already posted about it on the website, and Mina found comments piling up. People cited their own stories of survival, thanks to the tip. A group of survivors in Stockport had fled to a local church after reading the website and were now safe behind its old iron doors. Another group was hiding out at a scrapyard, constructing barriers of their own from the iron junk collected there. People were surviving because of the website.

“It’s working,” said Mina. “Iron works against the demons and word is spreading. This is how we win, Andras. We find out the enemy’s weaknesses, and we spread the word.”

Andras seemed troubled when she looked at him, but he changed his expression to a smile. “I guess humanity has a chance after all—especially with a woman like you looking out for it.”

A brief flutter of butterfly wings in her belly made Mina blush. “I…”

Andras blushed too and turned away embarrassed. “Not really a good time to flirt, is it? Sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be sorry. Tell you the truth, it’s been a long time since a guy flirted with me. If it takes the end of the world, then so be it.”

Andras patted her on the knee and gave it a furtive squeeze. He nodded to her coffee cup. “Time for a refill. Allow me.”

Mina grabbed his hand. “Your job fetching the coffee is over. I’ll make this one.”

Andras smiled. “Milk, three sugars.”

“Wow, you like it sweet.”

“What’s life without the senses?”

On her way to get the drinks, Mina swung by to say hello to Corporal Martin. The soldier looked ready to drop, wobbling on his feet and rubbing at his eyes every couple of seconds. “You look ready to fall into a coma, Martin. You should get some sleep.”

He smiled at her. “I keep meaning to call it a day, but something else pops up that I need to deal with and another hour passes by.”

“Are you still in contact with the Army?”

He nodded. “I assumed they would call me back to base, but Command has asked me to remain here and pass on any intel you folks get.”

“Makes sense,” she admitted. “I’ll let you know whatever I find. You know about the iron, right?”

“Yes, I passed it up the chain of command. They’re already looking at ways to make use of it. Maybe setting up a central base surrounded by iron fences, or fashioning ammunition out of it, I don’t know. If only it wasn’t such an outdated substance. Wooden stakes would be better.”

“Like in the movies?”

“Yep. We have plenty of wood, but not so much iron. Would make the war a lot easier if people could just grab the nearest chair leg.”

“When is war ever easy?”

“I suppose you’re right. Still, most wars aren’t against supernatural creatures that aren’t supposed to even exist. A little help would be fair enough in my book.”

Mina’s phone rang. She pulled it out her pocket and sighed. It was her father again. “I have to take this.”

Corporal Martin nodded. “Of course.”

Mina headed away to get some privacy. The newsroom was still a chaotic hive, so she headed out the exit into the waiting area. There was a chair behind the reception desk, so she sat as she answered the call.

“Dad, I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”

“Mina, you are safe?”

“Yes. I’m fine, dad. Are you oka—”

“The monsters are here, Mina. Mrs Patel next door is screaming. I can hear her. Mina, what should I do?”

Mina bolted to her feet, clutching the phone and wishing she could yank her father right through it. “Hide, dad. You need to hide.”

“But your website says to fight. Should I go help Mrs Patel?”

Mina almost got stuck on the fact that her father had been reading her website, but she knew there was no time for pride. Her father was in danger. Could she really tell him to hide when she knew it was the wrong thing to do?

“How many are there, dad?”

“Hundreds. They just appeared in the streets, dragging people from their houses. They will be here soon, Mina. My God, Mrs Patel, has stopped screaming. I think they killed her.”

“Hide, dad. You need to hide, and I’ll find a way to come get you.”

There was silence on the line. Then: “No, Mina. I cannot hide. You are out there helping people and facing the evil. How can I hide when my daughter is so brave? I will not hide. I must fight the monsters so that there are less of them for you to face in the days ahead.”

“Dad, listen to me-”

“I love you, Mina. I am proud. And I am sorry.”

Mina shouted down the phone, but was forced to listen to her father’s manic shouts as he entered some unseen battle. She heard the shrieks of monsters, the screams of victims. Then the line went dead.

“Dad? Dad?” She knew it was of no use, but she couldn’t help it. She kept on shouting. “Dad?”

“Whoa, what’s wrong?” Andras came into the waiting room, two coffees in his hands. When he saw the state she was in, he placed them down on the reception desk and went over to her. “What’s happened?”

“My dad. H-he was attacked. I…” She shook her head as tears came.

Andras put his arms around her and pulled her close. “I’m sorry.” He left it at that.

“He said he was proud of me.”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t he be?”

She huffed. “You never knew my father. I’ve never seen him be proud of me, ever.”

“Then at least he got to be proud of you before he died. You’re helping people.”

“That’s what he said.”

“Well, it’s true. People are already fighting back because of your website.”

Mina’s phone went again. She snatched it up to her ear. “Dad? Dad? Oh, it’s you, David. Yeah, I’m in the reception area. I… What? No, I didn’t. I was just there, and everything was… Jesus. I’ll get back on it right away.”

She put the phone back in her pocket and looked at Andras. “Did you do anything on my computer?”

Andras smiled. “Like what?”

“David just told me that the website has been deleted. All the information we posted is gone.”

Andras frowned. “Weird.”

“Yeah, it is. You were sat at my computer when I came out here. What did you do, Andras?”

“Nothing. I… Maybe I did something by accident.”

“No, you’re an IT specialist. You wouldn’t accidentally delete a website. You could only have done it on purpose.”

Andras folded his arms. “What are you accusing me of, Mina?”

She sighed, rubbed at her eyes with her thumbs. “Nothing. Sorry. I need to take a look at my laptop and just hope I can get everything back online. I’ll soon find out what happened. Andras, if you did something by accident it could cost people their lives.”

“Good.”

Mina had been about to walk away, but the comment stunned her. She turned to Andras in confusion. “Good? What do you mean, ‘good’?”

He grinned at her, his teeth mouldy, his breath foul. “I mean good that your pathetic attempts to get people fighting are finished before they even got started. You really think you can change anything with a silly little blog? You’re all doomed.”

The venom in Andras’s words was enough to make her stagger back. “Y-you’re helping the demons?”

“No, I’m not helping them, you stupid worm. I’m one of them.”

Mina opened her mouth to shout for help, but Andras’s hand went over her lips and stifled her. His other hand went over her nose, and he forced her down to the ground and climbed on top of her chest. She couldn’t breathe.

Andras glared at her as she struggled.

“There will be no resistance,” he hissed. “You are all going to die, and this world will be ours. Do you know what it’s like to spend an eternity in the fires of Hell? You will find out.”

“Mina? Are you out here?”

It was David. He was looking for her. Mina was behind the reception desk—out of sight—with Andras pressing down on top of her. She tried to scream out, to kick at something and make a noise, but she could barely move. She raked at Andras’s neck and squealed as one of her nails tore away.

“Mina?” David called out again. “Damn it, girl, I need you to help me get this website sorted. Where are you?”

Mina tried desperately to cry out.

The door swung closed again.

David had gone.

Andras laughed as her vision began to darken. It felt like her head would explode, her eyes bulged out of their sockets. Breathing was so instinctual and automatic, but right now she couldn’t catch a single mouthful of air. Every cell in her body panicked. Andras kept on pressing down, squeezing her nose and mouth shut. He bent over her and licked her face. “Sweet dreams, maggot.”

Mina hated that the last thing she would see was her murderer laughing at her terror, but that’s exactly what happened.

Part Three

“You must not fight too often with one enemy, or you will teach him all your art of war.”

—Napoleon Bonaparte

~Tony Cross~

8 miles north of the Euphrates, Syria

“We’re fucked,” said Tony as Aymun and the remaining fighters regrouped behind the vehicles.

Aymun agreed. “Yes, we die here.”

Tony looked around desperately. “Where’s Harris and that PKM? We need to get it firing again.”

Corporal Rose pointed over to a battered old van and shook his head. Private Harris was slumped up against the rear tyre with his chin resting against his chest. “He did’na make it, Staffie.”

Tony cursed the air. Harris’s wounds had caught up with him, and he had bled out from a torn gut. The PKM was nowhere in sight.

And the demons were coming.

Along with Corporal Rose, only two of the British soldiers still lived. Aymun’s men were all dead, but about ten of the villagers remained. Tony had witnessed the death of hundreds of brave men and women in less than forty-eight hours.

What was left of them returned fire, trying to take down the demons before they formed up again in groups. They had the advantage for now, picking off the enemy one by one as they came through the gate disorientated, but the advantage would not last forever. They were running out of ammunition, and trying to keep up with the flow of demons flooding through the gate was already beginning to outpace them. Now and then, a demon would make it a few feet before going down to a headshot.

“We can’t keep this up,” said Tony. “We have to retreat.”

Aymun nodded. “Perhaps that is wise, but I will not go.”

“Don’t be a fool and die here, Aymun. This isn’t a test. Allah doesn’t require you to die.”

“No,” he said. “I require it of myself. I am tired of fighting infidels and invaders. It is time I struck at my enemy in their home.”

“What do you mean?”

“I will die having looked upon our enemy truly, so that I may pass on the information to Allah. He needs soldiers in the next life, as well as this one. This is not his work.”

Tony tried to understand and thought that he might. “You’re going to go through the gate?”

“Yes. Will you cover me, my friend?”

“I…” Tony saw there was no point in arguing. “I’ll make sure you get there.”

Aymun smiled, seemingly at peace. “Continue the fight after I am gone.”

“Damn right I will.”

“Good to have met you, Tony.”

“You too, Aymun.”

Without another word, Aymun broke cover and sprinted towards the glowing gate. Tony gave the nod, and the remaining men laid down covering fire, riddling the gate’s entrance with what remained of their ammunition. Demons danced and spun as bullets ripped them apart, but one by one, their rifles ran dry, and the chorus of gunfire lessened. Dead demons continued piling up in front of the gate, but more and more continued coming through.

Aymun ran so fast, he kicked up dirt behind him. He’d thrown down his rifle now, but held a grenade above his head—pin removed, ready to be released. The villagers shouted something in Arabic—numuur numuur—while Tony’s last few men gritted their teeth and remained silent.

The last of their rifles ran dry.

The gunfire ceased.

Silence descended upon the desert just as Aymun made it to the gate. A demon came through and dropped right front of him, but before it had time to leap at Aymun, Aymun surprised it by leaping at it first. He tackled the demon backwards, their two bodies took flight and disappeared through the gate.

The gate shimmered. The glowing edges warped and bent while the sound of a cracking whip bounced across the desert.

Something was happening.

The next creature through the gate was on fire. It hit the dirt and spun around, clawed arms flailing. Then it slumped to the ground and went still, leaving the fire to consume its corpse.

Corporal Rose stood up and pointed with a trembling finger. “The gate. It’s closing.”

Tony saw it was true. The glowing edges of the gate had twisted and contorted, knotting together like a child’s tangled skipping rope. The translucent centre darkened. Smoke billowed into the air, and the light started to fade. The shimmering centre solidified into the dark, gnarled consistency of old wood, and then it disintegrated into ash and blew away in the wind.

The gate was gone, and so was the black stone.

Tony drifted out of cover and approached the patch of desert where the gate had been. All that remained was a large pile of ash.

“Martyr,” one villager shouted. “Martyr.”

Corporal Rose came up beside Tony and whistled. “Aymun did it. He closed the gate.”

“Yeah,” said Tony. “Not bad for an extremist.”

“He was brave.”

“He was devout,” said Tony. “Never thought I’d ever think it, but we will need more men like him. More men will be needed to sacrifice themselves and close the gates. Aymun’s sacrifice has showed us how we can win this war.”

“We need to make it to the border,” said Corporal Rose. “We have to spread the word.”

Tony snapped out of his shocked daze and got to work. He straightened up and gave his corporal a look of urgency. “See if we can get any of the villager’s vehicles running. We don’t have time for a trek across the desert anymore. We leave in one hour.”

The villagers gathered around the pile of ash and began chanting in prayer. Then they all got down and bowed to Mecca. Tony considered joining them, changing his mind about everything he had once thought about a Lord Almighty. If these gates led to Hell, then somewhere there was a Heaven.

So why wasn’t God helping?

* * *

Tony, Corporal Rose, and the two remaining privates were ready to go within the hour. They had lost a lot of comrades in the last two days, but each of them knew they were lucky to be alive. That they had destroyed one of the gates would make the sacrifices of their brothers meaningful. The intel could give humanity a fighting chance.

They still needed to reach the Turkish border.

Tony had tried the cell phones of some of the surviving villagers, but getting through to anybody in authority had been a nightmare. Most of the calls failed, and others laced with interference. It left Tony with no choice but to hand deliver the information. Perhaps the military forces of the world already knew how to close the gates, but if they didn’t…

Time was of the essence, so he thanked the villagers who had given him a battered Toyota minivan, and then ordered his three remaining men inside it. The villagers all piled into a Nissan 4x4 like some bad joke—How many Arabs can you fit in a 4x4?—but then they were off, honking their horn in salute as they fled back to their homes. They were simple folk, who had faced an army of evil and lived. They would return to their wives and children as heroes, but it might not be long before they were called upon to fight again.

Tony slid into the driver’s seat and clutched into first gear. It was like a furnace inside the cramped vehicle, and the drive would not be comfortable, but the quiet boredom would be sublime while it lasted. There’d be nothing but scrubland for the next many hours, but after that, who knew? Tony dreaded losing more men over the days ahead.

It was the end of days.

As a soldier, Tony had been conditioned for war, but deep down, a soldier needed to have conviction in his heart to operate. A soldier needed hope—however minuscule—that the final battle could be won. He didn’t feel that yet, and as much as he knew that the information he had to share was vital, it might only buy the world some added time. Things had changed so much that mankind had already lost. Nothing would ever be the same again, and only darkness lay ahead.

Tony took off across the desert with the last of his men.

~Rick Bastion~

Devonshire, England

Rick woke up with a hangover, but it wasn’t caused by drink. He fingered his head at the line where his fringe ended and flinched when he felt a wide-open gash. Blood stained the top of his shirt, and he could feel it caked on his face.

That bastard. His own brother had clocked him with a beer bottle, like some thug at a nightclub. Keith had never been violent in his entire life, so what the hell had got into him?

Rick got up off the cold floor and saw that he was in his garage. The only light was from a frosted square of glass above the side door, but it was enough to see all the stacks of unsold albums with his face on. It was the worst place in the world to wake up with a headache, like being surrounded by a manifestation of his regrets. His own face seemed to mock him from the cover artwork, showing him how stupid his pink and silver-streaked hair had been.

A cross to bear. The past.

Days gone by looked good now, considering the current state of affairs. He had no idea how long he’d been out, but there was no doubt in his mind that demons still surrounded his home. The black haired corpse wanted to finish what he’d started with Sarah.

“Hey, let me out of here,” Rick demanded, banging on the side door of the garage. There was a flicker of a shadow across the frosted glass, but no one answered.

“Come on, man. Whoever is out there, stop acting the prick and unlock this door. This is my goddamn house.”

The jangle of keys preceded the rattle of the doorknob, and the door opened a tad. Someone slipped inside before Rick had chance to force his way out.

It was Daniel.

“You all right in here, pal?”

“No, I am not. I’m leaving.”

“Right you are, but listen to me first, okay?”

Rick folded his arms and let his pissed off expression do the speaking.

“You’re probably planning a little pay back against your brother for bottling you,” Daniel surmised. “Can’t say I blame you.”

“Goddamn right I-”

“But my advice is to cool your jets for now. We’re all under stress. Your brother is just trying to protect you—although he’s a bit of a bastard in the way he shows it.”

“Trying to control me, more like.”

Daniel chewed at the side of his cheek, then said. “Yeah, you’re probably right, but I’m on your side, okay? This is your house, and everyone is alive because of your hospitality. Other people don’t see it that way though. They only look at what’s in front of them. You’ve been out a few hours, but your big brother has been rallying the troops during that time. He’s got everybody onside, so don’t cut off your nose to spite your face. You kick off and your brother will lash out at you again. The others will likely have his back too. The only person who didn’t think you were insane for wanting to leave was Maddy, but she’s gone quiet.”

“I don’t give a shit,” said Rick. “If I want to leave, then that’s what I’m bloody well going to do.”

“Actually, I think you’re better off staying. The problem you will have now is keeping everyone else from leaving.”

Rick growled and pointed his finger, but he let his arm drop and tried to make sense of what he had heard. “Huh?”

“Your brother told me to let you out. He wants to leave before it gets dark.”

“What? How long have I been out? What’s happened? He was dead set against leaving.”

“You’ve been out less than three hours, Rick, but a lot has changed. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Daniel opened the garage door and let Rick step through. It was still light outside, but the chill in the air told him it was getting late. “Where is he, Daniel? Where’s Keith?”

“Still inside, but wait…”

Rick marched across the gravel driveway towards the house, hands clenched in anticipation of what he would do to his brother. Instinctively, he glanced back over his shoulder at the gate.

But the gate was clear. The road deserted.

Rick stopped so quickly that he tripped and stumbled. By the time he had recovered, Daniel had caught up to him. “They left about an hour ago,” he explained. “Just dispersed suddenly.”

“What? Why?”

“Diane has been checking the web. According to some newspaper in Slough, the demons have assembled into three main armies. Your brother thinks the demons were recalled to go join their buddies.”

“So we’re safe?”

“Your brother thinks so.”

“But you don’t?”

Daniel shrugged. “Maybe, but if we are, then why be in such a hurry to leave? Why not wait a while until we know for sure that all is well?”

Rick nodded. “You’re right. It could be a trap.”

“I know you wanted to leave, Rick, but that was when you knew the demons were crowded around your front gate. Now, we don’t have any idea where they’re lurking.”

Rick thought about it. “We should all stay put. There could even be help on the way.”

“And there’s your problem. Your brother has everybody getting ready to make for the south coast. The nearest demon army is north, so he thinks it will be plain sailing all the way down. Ironic, actually, that he’s pretty much following the plan you laid out.”

Rick looked once again at the gate. Everything Maddy had said was true; they couldn’t stay trapped inside forever, but he had a bad feeling about leaving now. The demons were smart, not mindless monsters. The black haired corpse wanted them all dead. It was personal. Would he just up and leave so suddenly?

Rick decided. “I’m staying here, Daniel, and you’re welcome to join me.”

“What about your brother?”

“He can leave if he wants. I couldn’t care less, to tell you the truth. He’s always been a shit, but to do this…” He pointed at the wide gash on his forehead. “Fuck him.”

“The others will leave with him.”

“So?”

Daniel sighed. “Come on, Rick. You really want a young girl like Diane out there in danger? Maddy and Steve are both good people. They’re just a bit lost and following the loudest voice in the room—your brother’s.”

“What could I do, even if I wanted to? Maddy wants to go home.”

“Yeah, she does, but I think she’d rather do it later, and with friends.”

“I’m not her friend.”

“Rick, all of us are friends now, whether we like it or not. We have mutual enemies, and all we have is each other. You let your brother leave with the others, and you’ll be regretting it this time tomorrow. The television has already stopped, and the phones are working less and less. How long before the lights and water die? You want to be alone when that happens? We need to stick together and stay alive. Your brother has the first part down, but I worry he’s going to fall on his ass regarding the second.”

Rick said nothing else because he was still thinking things through. He went inside the house and found everyone huddled inside the kitchen. They were packing up supplies into a bunch of holdalls that belonged to him.

Keith smiled when he saw his brother. “Rick? I’m glad you’re okay. I’m sorry for what I was forced to do, but good news: We can leave now, just like you wanted.”

“It’s too risky to leave right now. We all need to stay put a little while longer.”

Maddy was the first to argue. “Rick, I told you how bad things will get if we stay here. We have to go while there’s a chance. The demons are gone.”

“But why?” asked Rick. “Why have they suddenly left?”

“Because there are armies forming up and they were called upon to head north. Diane found out all about it.”

Rick shook his head and shrugged. “Called by whom? We can’t be sure of anything right now. You wanted to stay so badly earlier, I can’t believe you’re being so stubborn about leaving. You don’t know why they left; admit it.”

Keith leaned back against the counter and grunted. “Maybe they’re telepathic and received orders. Only thing we know for sure is that they’re gone, and we have an opportunity to make a break for it. This is a good thing, Rick. If I hadn’t subdued you, then you might have been caught right in the middle of them as they left. I saved your life.”

The sudden burst of anger was so sudden that Rick snarled like a dog. “You saved my life? Are you kidding? You smashed a bottle over my head like a fucking savage. Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m your big brother, and I’m trying to look after you and everybody else here.”

“Who the hell asked you to?”

“Nobody. It’s a burden I’ve taken on for myself.”

Rick unclenched his fists and tried to calm down. “Look, Keith, if you want to leave, fine, but I’m staying. I suggest everyone else does the same. There’s nothing to tell us that this isn’t all a big trap. The demons can’t get inside because of the iron bars, so they’ve thought of a way to get us out instead. I’m staying here until I know more.”

“Me, too,” said Maddy, moving over to Rick’s side. “He’s right. We could walk right into a trap. Let’s wait until tomorrow and make sure the coast really is clear.”

Keith slammed his hand down on the counter. “If we don’t leave now, there might not be another chance. Do you people not understand what’s going on? There’s a war. We can’t just lie around here hoping help will come. We need to help ourselves.”

“I agree,” said Steve.

Diane nodded. “Me too.”

“And I’m with Rick and Maddy,” said Daniel. “So that splits us in two.”

There was silence while everyone waited for someone to change their mind, but no one did. Maddy had already taken off her backpack and sat down on a stool.

Keith shoved a bottle of water into a holdall and pulled the zip closed. “That’s fine,” he said. “We go our separate ways. When I find help, I’ll send it to come get you. Hopefully, you’ll still be alive.”

“Don’t do this, Keith,” Rick pleaded. His head was still thudding, but he didn’t want to see his brother make a mistake.

“I’m sorry I had to hit you, Rick. I was trying to save your life, but it seems there’s no helping you.” He shouldered the bag and shoved his way out of the kitchen. Diane hurried after him. Steve was a little slower in following and first stopped to speak with Rick before leaving. “Your brother is an arsehole, but I want out of here. It’s safe, so I’m going, but I want to say that it took backbone to stay calm after what your brother did to you. I would have smashed his face in. You’re a better man than he is. Thanks for letting me stay at your house.”

Maddy pulled up a stool for Rick. “They’re not leaving for twenty minutes,” she said. “Might still change their minds.”

“They won’t, but why did you?”

She shrugged. “I keep thinking about my husband, and who he would want me to tag along with. He would want me to be safe, and I feel safest around you. You did come and try to save me outside the pub after all.”

“Yeah, but it was Keith who came out and rescued us in the end.”

Daniel chuckled from the corner of the kitchen. “I suppose it’s the thought that counts.”

Maddy chuckled too. “It mainly comes down to me not trusting a man who can smash a bottle over his own brother’s head. I’d rather follow a good guy to my death, than a bad man like your brother. It was different when we were all leaving, but if it comes down to you or Keith, I choose you. Because my husband would have chosen you.”

Rick put his hand out to grab Maddy’s, which was placed on the counter, but he ended up hovering over it awkwardly. Maddy helped him out by standing up and giving him a quick hug. “You, me, and Daniel will have to think about leaving soon ourselves. If your brother gets out safely, we might end up chasing after him.”

“I hope so,” Rick admitted. “I hope I’m wrong and the demons really have all gone north.”

Maddy nodded and exited the kitchen, leaving Rick and Daniel alone together. “You still sure you want to stay now that everyone is splitting up, Daniel?”

“I’d rather we all stay together, but at least you convinced Maddy to stay. Three is better than two. Plus, if it was just us two dudes hanging around together, it would be weird.”

“Huh, you still think my brother is walking into a trap?”

“I do, yeah. Diane said the demons were forming up in three big armies, but she also said that there were smaller bands dotted around causing havoc. Your brother doesn’t seem concerned about that though. Me, I think that black haired demon has unfinished business here.”

“I can’t make the others stay, Daniel.”

“I know, but at least you tried. God likes a trier. Idle hands and all that.”

“You really think there’s a God? How can you?”

“How can I not? In the presence of demons, one cannot possibly deny the existence of God.”

Rick rubbed at his throbbing head, loosing several flakes of dried blood. “Then why isn’t He helping us?”

“Maybe he was caught as unawares as everybody else. Maybe backup’s on its way. Maybe you should pray.”

“If I live another day, I just might start. Feel like it would be easier to lay down and die right now.”

Daniel went to the fridge. The water had gone into the holdalls, so he was left with nothing to snatch up but a couple beers. He handed one to Rick.

Rick shook his head. “If I start drinking now, I won’t stop.”

Daniel took the beer back and broke the tab. “I hear you, pal. There was a time I let myself get carried away with things that were bad for me. Learned a little self-control since. It’s never too late for a man to start changing.”

“Not sure if I believe that. With Keith around, I’ve realised that I’m no different than when I was a kid.”

Daniel took a swig of beer before placing the bottle down on the counter. “You’ve changed since I met you. The guy I met wanted to bury his head in the sand and go sit in the corner and drink himself asleep while everyone else did what needed to be done. The man you are now marched into this kitchen and spoke up for what he believes in, then sat down and refused a beer. You’re not a little kid anymore, Rick. Your father’s long gone, and your brother’s a tit. That pop career you lament so badly can finally be put behind you. The world has changed, and so have you. You have a new cross to bear now, and it’s called: keeping everyone around you alive. Even if you don’t see it, people gravitate towards you. That will be important in the days to come. God needs leaders.”

Rick smirked. “That religious stuff never quite left you, did it, Daniel?”

“None of us ever loses the Lord, we just sometimes forget that he’s there. Believe me, though, Rick, he never forgets about us.”

Rick got up from his stool. “We should see the others off.”

They went into the entrance hallway and found that the front door was open. Noise came from outside. Keith was busy backing Rick’s Mustang up the driveway and away from the gate. Maddy, Steven, and Diane stood by, watching, so Rick and Daniel went and joined them.

“When we leave here, Rick,” Maddy told him. “I want to drive your car.”

“Be my guest. I was always too scared to put my foot down anyway.”

Keith parked the Mustang and got out. Then he went and got into his Range Rover, which he reversed out of the way of the gate as well. It felt like taking the safety chain off a front door during a dark and stormy night.

Keith got out of his car once it was parked and marched back towards the house. “I need the padlock key, Rick.”

Rick sighed. “Sure I can’t talk you out of this?”

“I’ve made up my mind. The only chance we have is to leave now.”

“I was talking to Steven and Diane.”

“Sorry, Rick,” said Steven. “I can’t stick around while there’s a chance to find help.”

“Me too,” said Diane. “The Internet said the coast is safe, so that’s where we need to go. There’s a gate too close to here. If more demons come through, we’ll end up trapped again.”

Rick pictured the gate in Crapstone and wondered if anything was coming through right now. Were there a limited number of demons, or would they continue to pour through forever? Did the Army have any idea of how to close them? Was it even possible?

“Okay,” he said with an air of finality. “I’ll open the gate for you all.”

He walked down the pebble driveway while Keith and the others got in the Range Rover. When he reached the gate he peered through the bars. The coast certainly did seem clear, but the road was too quiet. The cottages down the road were quiet, and trees obscured the farmland further along. There might not be a person alive for ten square miles, or there could be a thousand people dotted around, hiding in houses or in the woods. There was no way of telling what the world was like beyond the driveway.

Rick pulled the padlock around so that he could insert the key, and then unlocked it. Holding his breath, he took one last look through the bars, expecting demons to spring forth from the trees, but none did. The rev of the Range Rover’s engine jarred him, and he swung the gate open without further hesitation. It felt like stepping in front of a speeding train.

But nothing came.

Keith’s Range Rover crept forwards and almost shunted Rick out of the way. Tradition took him, and he lifted his hand to wave his former housemates goodbye, but Keith kept his eyes pointing forwards. The tinted rear windows kept Steven and Diane from view.

The Range Rover passed through the gate, turned into the road, and sped away.

They were gone.

Maddy and Daniel came up beside Rick. Daniel spoke. “You think we can get that gate closed again, pal?”

Rick took a hold of the gate and began to close it, but stopped when there was an almighty crash.

Maddy’s eyes went wide as she looked at Rick. “Jesus! What the hell was that?”

Rick held the padlock in one hand and the key in the other. He thought about putting the two together and going back inside, but he already knew he couldn’t. “Keith’s crashed the car. The demons never left. It was a trap.”

As if to confirm his suspicions, a group of corpses burst from the tree line on the other side of the road and sprinted towards the gate. One of them threw itself at the gate before Rick had chance to fully close it. It struck the iron bars and shunted Rick backwards. His ankle twisted in the gravel and he fell down onto his rump.

Daniel leapt forward and kicked the gate closed, but the demon was half inside and became trapped between the bars. Its skin began to smoke and burn until it squealed in agony and withdrew. Maddy ran up and helped Daniel keep the gate closed until Rick could get back to his feet and insert the key in the lock. His hands were shaking so much that it took him several attempts to get the gate secure, but once he had, the three of them leapt back towards the house.

The dead men and women threw themselves against the gate, even as the iron burned their flesh. They were angrier than before, snarling and hammering at the bars, like angry gorillas.

“They’re pissed off,” said Daniel. “They had a chance to kill us, and they failed. Maybe they have a boss they’re going to have to answer to.”

“The son-of-a-bitch with the black hair,” said Rick.

Maddy looked around. “Then where is he?”

Rick remembered the sound of his brother’s Range Rover crashing. “He’s wherever Keith and the others are. We have to go rescue them.”

Daniel looked at him like he was mad. “Are you serious?”

Rick nodded firmly. “You said your God needs leaders. Well, I’m leading. We grab whatever weapons we can and we go out there. I’m done hiding.”

Maddy tried to stop him as he marched into the house and into the living room. “Rick, we can’t go out there. They’ll tear us to pieces.”

“Why? Because they’re monsters?”

“Well, yeah.”

“So we should just lay down and die? They aren’t monsters—we’ve seen them die. If all we do is cower away, waiting for someone to rescue us, then we’re all screwed. They’ll pick us off one by one. We need to fight back. In the pub, we fought back and won.”

“Sarah died,” said Maddy. “So did lots of other people.”

Rick nodded. “But so did lots of demons. I’m going to get my brother. He’s a complete and utter shit, but he saved my life. I don’t want to owe him anything.”

“Your mind is made up?” said Daniel, standing next to the couch.

“Yes.”

“Then I suggest we put all that booze in your kitchen to good use.”

“You want to get pissed?” Maddy asked.

Daniel grinned. “Oh, I’m already pissed, darlin’, but I wasn’t thinking about having a drink. Let me show you some of the things I learned after I left the church.”

* * *

Within ten minutes, the kitchen counter had been transformed into an armoury. A row of spirits—whiskey, tequila, and vodka—sat with dishcloths stuffed into their neck. Keith had taken the iron poker with him, but Maddy had found an old field hockey stick. Daniel had fastened a long chef’s knife to the end of a broom handle, producing a makeshift spear. Rick, himself, clutched the long stem of an antique brass lamp he kept in the conservatory.

They all now wore whatever they could fashion as armour. It was hot, but Maddy had put back on her thick paramedic overalls and wrapped a scarf around her neck. The only skin showing was her hands and face. Rick wore a long leather jacket from his pop-star days—the type of thing that looked stupid on anybody who wasn’t famous. It was a thick second hide that would hopefully protect him from the claws and teeth of his enemies.

Now that it was time to go, Rick’s resolve threatened to leave him. His stomach churned like a blender, and the urge to lurch forward and vomit was hard to resist. When he looked at Maddy and Daniel, reminding himself that they would be with him, he felt a little stronger. It wasn’t as if any of them had a choice. The demons were back at the gate, which meant they were once again trapped. Their only choice was to fight their way free, or stay and eventually starve. If they could help Keith, Steven, and Diane, all the better.

“Let’s do this,” he told the others, who had both taken on the colour of whipped ice cream. They headed out the front door and headed down the driveway. It was now the tail end of dusk, and the security floodlight had come on, bathing the demons in a silvery skin of light. More like angels than monsters, but then Rick heard them growl and knew there was nothing pure or holy about them.

“Let them have it!”

Maddy and Daniel lit two of the Molotov cocktails and let fly. Both flaming bottles smashed against the fence and ignited in a cloud of fire. The demons screeched like tortured children, flailing around like puppets with twisted strings. Flames crackled in the evening breeze, and the smell of burning flesh added to the scents of summer.

Rick followed the next part of the plan and ran to unlock the gate. Once he’d popped the padlock, he yanked the gate open wide enough that the driveway was clear. Maddy hopped into the Mustang and gunned the engine while Rick jumped clear just in time to avoid getting run over.

The heavy American beast struck the group of burning demons and sent them scattering across the road. They seemed to roll and bounce endlessly before coming to rest. There was no ambiguity about their condition. Every one of them was dead, burnt, and battered.

Maddy reached across and shoved open the passenger side door. Daniel was cooped in the back. “Rick, get in.”

Rick threw himself into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut behind him. Maddy took off, the car beeping at them to buckle up, which they had to do to shut it up.

“Is this a bad time to say I need a piss?” said Daniel.

“Why didn’t you go before you left?” Maddy growled.

“I should have done. Sorry.”

“You can go after we kill the rest of the demons,” she said.

Then they all broke out laughing, not because they thought it was funny, but because their nerves were so fried. They had just survived a battle unscathed, and the adrenaline in their veins was like a hit of cocaine. It gave them giddy hope that they might just be okay. So they laughed.

It didn’t take but a few moments to get around the bend and find Keith’s Range Rover. The vehicle was on its side, windows shattered and axles bent.

“He’s still alive,” said Daniel. “I’ll be damned.”

Rick couldn’t believe what he saw. He’d felt obligated to come to his brother’s aid, but had possessed slim hope that there would be anything left to rescue.

Keith was holding his own. He popped up out of the Range Rover’s side window, which was now facing the sky, and swung his iron poker at any demon that got too close. They tried, in vain, to drag him out of the wreckage, but he picked his swings and made sure every one counted. Several of the demons lay dead in the road, their skulls caved in.

Steven was dead. He lay on the tarmac, face down after having apparently launched through the windscreen. Keith’s older vehicle must have lacked the nagging seatbelt alarm that Rick’s Mustang possessed.

Diane was nowhere to be seen.

Maddy repeated the manoeuvre she had performed at the gate and ploughed the big American export right into the group of demons. Some of them got up, but most stayed down.

Demons still surrounded Keith’s Range Rover.

Maddy pulled on the handbrake, and Rick leapt out of the car. Maddy and Daniel were right behind him, running at the enemies with all the fierceness of barbarians. They swung their weapons with everything they had. Daniel stabbed a demon in the guts with his spear, before pulling it free and using it to pluck out the eyes of another. Maddy swung her hockey stick like a baseball bat and caved in several skulls. Rick bludgeoned demon after demon with his antique lamp.

But the demons kept on coming, attacking like a pack of hyenas. The dead men and women were joined by hunched-over creatures with long, twisted claws. Rick caught one in mid-air, smashing it in the side of its face before it had chance to return to earth. Maddy hit another so hard with her hockey stick that its lower jaw detached and rolled across the road. Atop the Range Rover, Keith fought with renewed energy. He saw his rescuers and dragged himself out of the broken window, fending off demons with one hand, while he climbed with the other.

Rick fought his way over to the Range Rover and helped his brother down. “Sorry about your motor,” he said.

Keith shrugged. “Least I can say I owned one. A dream fulfilled for a while is better than a dream out of reach.”

Rick frowned. “Sounds like something I’d say.”

“Look out!” Keith shoved his brother out of the way as a demon slashed the air with its talons. Keith jabbed out with his poker and impaled it right through the mouth, then lifted his leg to kick it away. The next demon that attacked fell afoul of Rick’s lamp and hit the floor with a broken spine.

“We make quite a team,” said Keith.

Rick nodded. “If only we’d found out sooner.”

Keith stared at his brother and let out a laboured sigh. “Let’s leave the past where it belongs, huh?”

“You mean like you being an arsehole most of my life, culminating in you breaking a bottle over my head and locking me in my garage?”

“Yeah, stuff like that.”

Rick patted his big brother on the back. “It’s forgotten. Now, come on.”

Maddy and Daniel were back to back in the middle of the road, demons coming at them from all sides. Rick was about to wade in and help them, when Keith grabbed his arm and stopped him. “Diane,” he said. “She’s still inside the Range Rover.”

“What?”

“She was in the front with me. Her head hit the dashboard. We have to get her out.”

Rick turned back to the Range Rover and leapt up on top of it. As he looked down inside the broken windows, he could see the pale shape of Diane. Unconscious.

Keith climbed up beside Rick to help. The whole time they were up there, Maddy and Daniel continued to fight for their lives.

“Hold on to me while I lift her out,” Rick told his brother.

Keith nodded.

Rick lowered onto his stomach and reached an arm inside the window while Keith kept a tight hold on his belt. Diane murmured when his hand brushed her face, and it was a relief to know that she was still alive, but she didn’t wake up. A shadow cast across her face, and as Rick’s eyes adjusted, he saw it was blood from a wound hidden beneath her blonde hair. He fondled between the shadows and shafts of light and located her wrist. When he pulled, Diane slumped back in her chair and her eyes fluttered open. She moaned. Ignoring her pain, Rick heaved her upwards; a dead weight, but just about manageable—the girl couldn’t have weighed over eight stone. There was still life in her legs, and once he pulled her up into a standing position, she kept herself there.

“Diane,” he urged. “Diane, wake up. You have to—Jesus!”

Rick was jerked backwards by his belt. He twisted around and saw his brother stumbling across the top of the car. From the road, the black haired demon snarled, a massive gash in his torso pouring with brown sludge. Keith slipped off the edge of the car and disappeared out of sight.

Rick turned back to Diane. “Diane, wake up!”

Her eyes fluttered and eventually stayed open. Her gaze fell upon Rick, and she panicked.

“Diane, it’s okay. It’s me, Rick.”

She stopped struggling and took a hard look at him. “Rick? I… I thought we left you.”

“You did. It was a trap, but you’re okay. Come on.”

Diane reached up with both arms and allowed Rick to drag her up onto the side of the car. She was unarmed and disorientated, so he told her to hop down and run to the bushes at the edge of the road. Rick, himself, dropped down and went to join the battle. He retrieved his brass lamp and smashed in the brain of a nearby demon. Keith was right ahead, being beaten half to death by the black haired, dead demon.

Rick shouted. “Leave him alone!”

The demon raised his fist to strike Keith again, but held it in the air and looked at Rick with a sickening grimace. “Wait your turn, worm.”

“That’s an ironic thing to say for a maggot-riddled corpse.”

The demon wasted no more time with trash talk. It dropped Keith to the pavement and stalked after Rick. Rick clutched the lamp, but felt as if he were holding an inflatable mallet. The creature coming towards him was massive, and the gaping wound in its torso had not been enough to stop it.

Rick leapt forward and took a swing, but the demon was too quick. It backhanded Rick across the cheek hard enough to send him down to the ground and see stars. The loose stones on the road bit into his palms as he tried to right himself. Keith staggered back to his feet and leapt at the demon’s back, but he too was swatted away with a cruel backhand. He ended up on the floor right next to Rick, and the two brothers crawled backwards together. The demon stalked after them with the plodding ferocity of a rhino. His gnarled hands were thick, and perfect for breaking bones.

In the background, demons surrounded Maddy, while Diane cowered in the bushes at the side of the road. Daniel was nowhere to be seen.

“Why are you here?” asked Rick.

The demon stopped his approach and seemed to answer after careful thought. “Because the alternative is remaining there.”

Rick shook his head. “Where?”

“Hell. Do you know what it is like to finally be free from there? To return home to the place that allows us the pleasure of life?”

Rick saw sadness on the demon’s face and made an assumption. “You were people once. You were a man?”

The question seemed to enrage the demon. “Not just a man—a prince. My family’s kingdom stretched from the Euphrates to the Tigris, and all we wanted, we took. Now I am a prince once more, here to take what I wish and answer only to the Red Lord himself.”

“So, it sounds like you’re still somebody’s bitch,” said Rick.

“I am a prince!” The demon’s face screwed up in fury, but, having stalled sufficiently to recover his strength, Rick was able to spring up and wallop the demon around the head with his lamp.

There was a resounding crack and Rick shouted triumphantly, “We already have a monarchy, thanks!”

The demon reeled backwards on its thick legs, face distorted from the large dent now in the left side of its skull.

But the black haired dead man did not go down.

“Fuck sake,” cried Rick. “Don’t you die?”

“Princes die when princes choose to die.”

“Do they choose to go to Hell? Because that’s where you’ve been rotting.”

The demon tried to backhand Rick again, but this time, he ducked and gave his enemy’s knees a hefty blow with the lamp.

The demon bellowed and stumbled sideways. “I will tear you into shreds and feed your remains to vultures.”

“You’d need to go someplace else for that,” said Rick as he smashed the demon in the hip. “No vultures here, I’m afraid.”

“There will be nothing left when we are done with it. We will destroy all.”

“Except vultures, apparently.” Rick took another swing, but his luck ran out, and he missed. The demon caught the lamp stem, yanked it away from him, and threw it to the ground.

“Now you die, worm.” The demon punched Rick in the stomach, and his ribs cracked like twigs. He slumped to his knees, able only to catch half a breath.

Keith raced to help, but Rick put his hand up and waved him away. “No… Keith, go… help Maddy and Diane. Get them out of… here.”

The demon grinned. “Yes, Keith, run while you can. I’ll deal with you later.”

Keith kept on towards Rick, but slowed down, and then stopped. “Rick, I can’t-”

“Just go!” shouted Rick, clutching his ribs in agony. “Get the hell out of here.”

Keith swallowed, then turned and ran. He called Diane out of the bushes and they went to Maddy’s aid—just in time to save her from being torn apart by a demon creeping up behind her.

Rick coughed and tasted blood in his mouth. Every breath he took was shallower than the last. The effort of even staying upright on his knees was too much. He slumped onto his side.

The black haired demon stood over him, deep, guttural laughter coming from deep down from its dead insides. “A valiant display—braver than a thousand other worms we have slaughtered in this village. It will be a pleasure to add you to our ranks, once your time in Hell is over.”

Rick flailed, no longer able to take another breath. His vision fizzed with swirling rain drops, and he tried to find the strength to get back to his knees and face his death with his head held high, but he only felt himself getting lower and lower to the ground. Eventually, his head rested against the cold tarmac. He looked up at the sky and saw the moon shining down on him. It was pretty.

That was when the demon raised his foot into the air and stamped Rick’s skull into pulp.

~David Davids~

Slough, Berkshire

“Mina? Mina, where on Earth are you, girl?” David had tried Mina’s cell, but it only ever rang out to voicemail. The last couple times, the call hadn’t even connected—it appeared the nation’s cellular network had started to fail. Whatever contingencies were put in place by the networks could obviously only last so long without human intervention. David imagined call centres and hub offices lying empty, employees all fled, or ripped apart by demons. Inside the offices of the Slough Echo, things seemed almost normal, but he knew that was likely an exception. It was just a busy news day as far as the staff of the Echo was concerned. Everybody had been tasked with the same jobs they would have been given if a local celebrity died. They were somehow outside of the situation, as journalists so often were. It was hard to realise that the current situation affected them as much as the people they were reporting the news to.

The last time he’d spoken to Mina, she’d said she was in the waiting area, but when he stormed out there to find her, she had been nowhere to be seen. Her whole website had been erased—didn’t she care? People had been funnelling through to the landing page in droves over the last several hours, and there was evidence that it was directly helping people survive. How on Earth had it been deleted?

David headed back out into the waiting area, returning there to check, even though he’d already inspected it once. It was the same thing he did with his car keys some mornings. Whenever he misplaced them, he’d go to the sideboard in the hallway again and again because that was where they were supposed to be. Mina said she was in the waiting area, so that was where he went once again.

He never expected to bump into Andras.

“Do you know where Mina has wandered off to?” he asked. “She’s needed.”

Andras nodded and looked rather sad. “She got a call off her dad. I think he’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“Yeah, you know… dead.”

“Oh, poor Mina. Is she okay?” He felt for her. From what he’d witnessed, Mina’s father was a controlling man, but still her father. He could tell she loved him, but lots of people were dying in the world, and no one had the luxury to mourn them. They needed to keep working.

“Do you know where she went, Andras?”

“For fresh air, I think. I asked her if she wanted to talk, but… well, she doesn’t know me, so she went to be alone.”

“Of course. I’ll go look for her, and see if she’s okay.”

Andras nodded. “I’ll make myself useful inside.”

“Yes, please. Little Alice is awake, so Carol will no doubt be back on the floor ready to give out tasks.”

“Great, I’ll get right on it.”

Andras walked away, but something occurred to David that made him call the man back. “Andras?”

He turned. “Yes?”

“You were at Mina’s computer last. Do you know what happened to the website?”

“Don’t ask me. Everything was fine when I left it. Maybe it was hacked.”

“By whom? Who out there would want to stop us giving out information about the demons?”

“The demons, for one.”

David thought the idea of tech savvy demons was ridiculous, so he gave a thin smile and walked away. There was something off about Andras. They had found him cowering in the road outside the building, but since then, the man had shown little fear or concern. Nor had he made any phone calls to friends or loved ones.

Mina had probably gone out to the front of the building to get fresh air, but David would rather her be inside. The army south of Luton had been spotted moving west by a middle-aged postal worker trapped in a Chinese restaurant. He had been providing typo-ridden email updates from an iPhone attached to the building’s Wi-Fi. The updates had stopped about fifteen minutes ago.

David opened the door in the hallway that led to the stairwell. He wasn’t about to trust the lift—the power could go at any minute and he didn’t fancy being trapped inside a metal coffin. Despite the mugginess of the summer night, the stairwell was chilly, and a draught whistled up the central gap between the levels.

He started down the step, his ears picking up a rhythmic thudding, like a tree branch tapping against a window in the wind. It seemed to come from the floor below, and as he looked down the central hollow of the spiralling stairwell, he saw something flashing in and out of view. What on Earth was it?

He quickened his steps. He had a bad feeling, and was eager to find out he was wrong. But he wasn’t wrong. The bad feeling was completely warranted.

Mina swung from a long length of telephone cord attached to the safety railing, her neck broken. The thick, grey cord bit so deeply into her windpipe it looked like her head might pop off at any minute and send her decapitated body plummeting to the bottom floor lobby.

“Mina!”

David panicked. He reached out and grabbed Mina’s legs and tried to hoist her back up onto the landing, but she was too heavy. Her body swung wildly around on the end of the cord. The only thing he could think to do was call for help. So he screamed until his throat hurt. “Somebody, help me! Please!”

Before he knew it, he was sobbing.

Nobody came. Nobody could hear him.

* * *

Eventually, David’s thinking prevailed, and he pulled out his phone and dialled Carol. When she heard what had happened, she appeared in the stairwell within minutes. She stood beside him now, looking down at Mina where they laid her down on the landing. Getting her down had been much easier with two of them.

“The silly girl,” said Carol. “She was so bright.”

David was light-headed, so he leaned up against the railing and dropped his head as he spoke. “We survived so much together, to end it like this? It makes no sense. She wouldn’t do this, Carol.”

“Of course she would, David, my dear. In fact, it takes more courage not to kill ourselves right now. You know the demon army is heading this way?”

David nodded.

“Corporal Martin thinks it might be planning to head down to the South Coast, maybe attack Portsmouth. The Navy is there, rounding up people into a refugee camp.”

David rubbed at his temples, fingers moving in clockwise circles. “They’re trying to exterminate us.”

“Looks that way, which is why it’s such a sodding shame that young girls like Mina are making their job easier for them. We needed her. Silly girl.”

“She didn’t do this, Carol. I know her. She was strong. I listened to her stand up to her father, I watched her run into a burning building to save a girl—she wasn’t in a vulnerable place. She was motivated, and she wanted to help.”

“Andras told me her father might be dead. That’s likely what tipped her over the edge, David.”

He’d been a reporter for thirty years, and something didn’t feel right. “Andras was at Mina’s computer right before the website got wiped. He was in the waiting area when Mina went missing. Who is he?”

“He’s just some chap, David, trying to survive like the rest of us. He isn’t up to no good, I promise you.”

David looked down at Mina’s body and sighed. “Perhaps you’re right. Give me a minute and I’ll be back to work.”

“Okay, I’ll see you in the office. Alice wants to see you now that’s she’s awake.”

“Alice? See me?”

Carol shrugged. “She wanted to see you and Mina both, but we’ll have to break the news to her. She likes you.”

David frowned. “Heaven knows why.”

“You and Mina saved her life. I don’t blame her for wanting to stay close to you. You’ve done well, David. Don’t lose yourself now. I need you.”

“I’ll be back to work in a minute, just want to put Mina somewhere quiet.”

Carol squeezed him on the arm and smiled. Then she left him alone with Mina. He was able to pick her up into his arms, and he took her down another level into the offices of an accountancy firm that sub-let part of the building. He took her into the boardroom and placed her down on the long desk where he straightened her legs and put her arms by her side. It was nice to see her at peace, but strange that he already missed her so. Before the chaos that erupted in Oxford Street, David had thought nothing of Mina—just another youngster with a camera, naively hoping she could make a mark on the world. Now he knew different. Mina had been a brave and kind woman, and he’d been lucky to know her. He’d been so consumed with his career for so long that he’d forgotten how to make a friend. In Mina, he had at least found pleasant company, and a person he respected. Now it was too late to appreciate her, and he regretted it more than ever.

He felt so alone. There had always seemed to be time for a wife and kids later on, and even at fifty, he hadn’t felt his options were closed. He was selfish at heart and had wanted to be free for as long as possible. Now he wanted nothing more than for someone to sweep him up in their loving arms and hold him. Just a friend would do.

David wept over Mina’s body.

Perhaps she really had killed herself. If he was drawn to such dark introspection, perhaps she had been too. It still didn’t feel right, though.

He ran a hand over her cheek. “Sorry, kiddo. I hope you’re some place nice.”

He was about to move away, when he noticed a spot of blood on her shirt. It could have come from her broken neck, but when he looked at her throat, he saw no breaks in the skin, not even where the cord constricted her flesh. He examined her more closely, until he eventually discovered the source. One of her fingernails had torn away.

A defensive wound?

David had once reported on a murder case in Essex where he’d seen the body of a woman close up. She’d been raped and strangled. Her fingernails had been broken too.

Did somebody attack you, Mina?

Andras?

David couldn’t bring himself to trust that man. Something was just off about him. Somebody had done this to Mina; he was sure of it.

It was time to do some investigating.

He headed back upstairs and into the newsroom, acting calmly while remaining suspicious. Alice waited for him with a cup of tea and handed it over. “I’ve never made tea before,” she said. “Everyone in America drinks coffee.”

David took a sip. It was weak and lukewarm. “Perfect! You’re a natural English lady if ever I saw one.”

She smiled, but then fell back to sadness. Obvious survivor’s guilt—a brief glimmer of happiness followed by shame as memories of her brother’s death returned. He did something he was unused to and gave the little girl a hug. “We’ll get you home to your mummy soon, sweetheart, I promise. Let’s just get this mess sorted out first.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I know I’ll never go home.”

“You don’t know that, Alice. We’ll do everything we can.”

“I heard Corporal Martin say that America is just as bad as here. My mommy might already be dead.”

It hurt David’s heart to see a child so devoid of hope, and he did his best to combat it. “There are lots of people still very much alive, Alice. We are fighting back. Your mummy might be okay. Your father too. He’s a Coast Guard, isn’t he? He’ll be safe on his boat.”

“I don’t see my daddy much. He’ll be too busy to come and get me.”

“I don’t have children, Alice, but believe me, I know your father will be doing everything he can right now to get to you.”

Alice nodded, but didn’t seem to believe him very much. “He doesn’t know that Kyle is dead. Corporal Martin has been trying to reach my mommy, but she’s not answering anymore. That’s how I know she’s dead. She said she would stay indoors with Clark, so why isn’t she answering?”

“The phones are playing up, sweetheart. Corporal Martin will keep trying her. Why don’t you go ask him to call again now for you?”

She sighed. “Okay. Tell me when you want more tea.”

“Will do.” He took another sip of the lacklustre brew and smacked his lips. “Mmm.”

Once Alice had gone, David went and grabbed Mitchell, one of the Echo’s system administrators. The pasty-faced spindle of a man had a look of constant illness—with perpetual dark bags beneath his eyes. “Hi, Mitchell. I was wondering if you could do something for me.”

“What’s up, David?”

“Is there any way you can go on Mina’s computer and find a history of what was done on it?”

“You mean like a list of user actions?”

“Yes, that’s it exactly.”

Mitchell nodded. “Piece of piss. There’s black box software on the entire network. It records every single keystroke. Carol had it installed after we got accused of phone hacking last year. She wanted to know exactly what was going on under her nose. You thinking somebody in the office deleted the emergency website on purpose?”

David nodded and kept his voice low. “I do think that, yes, and I also think that someone used Mina’s computer to do it.”

“Makes sense. The backup was on Mina’s laptop, and that got deleted too. I’ve been trying to restore it for the last hour. Where is Mina, anyway?”

David decided not to confuse things for the time being, so he lied. “She’s gone to get some air.”

“Okay, well, let’s go take a look at her computer.”

They went on over to Mina’s cubicle, where Mitchell sat down and opened her laptop. David leaned over his shoulder while he tapped away. “How long will this take, Mitchell?”

“Ten minutes. Leave me to it.”

“Okay, I-”

Somebody bumped into the back of David, and he was unnerved to discover it was Andras. He held two steaming mugs of tea out in front of him. “I saw Alice made you a cuppa earlier, so I thought I’d get you one a little stronger. Bless her socks, but she goes a little overboard with the milk.”

David tried to smile, but only a grimace appeared on his face. Standing in front of Andras, he was even surer that something was odd about the man. Maybe Mitchell would find the answers that proved his suspicions were well founded.

David reached out to take one of the mugs, but as he did so, Andras thrust out his own arm. Their hands collided, and the mug bounced up into the air. It flew over Mitchell’s shoulder and landed right on top of Mina’s laptop. There was no fire, or even sparks. The laptop’s screen simply flickered for two seconds, then went dark.

Mitchell leapt up. “Damn it! You clumsy idiot.”

Andras covered his mouth in horror. “I’m so sorry. I… It was an accident.”

David looked down at Mina’s laptop and groaned. “Is it okay? Can you fix it, Mitchell?”

Mitchell picked the laptop up and winced as it drained steaming hot tea from its vents. “It’s gone to digital heaven.”

“Then the black box recording is lost, too?”

Mitchell shook his head. “No, I can still get it from the network. It’ll just take me a bit longer. Give us an hour.”

David caught a flash of concern present itself on Andras’s face at the mention of the black box. Perhaps he hadn’t counted on that.

David turned to face him. “Did you do that on purpose, Andras?”

“Do what?”

“Ruin Mina’s computer.”

“What? No, of course not. It was an accident. My nerves are fried. I’m jittery.”

“No,” said David. “You’re the least jittery person in this office. If it was you who deleted the website, just come clean about it now. You might be able to help us get it back online.”

“I swear, I did nothing. Mina was on my back about the same thing.”

“Mina’s dead,” David said it so that only Andras heard it. He also added a hint of aggression to his tone. He wanted Andras to know that he was on to him.

Andras took a step back as if the shock of Mina’s death had dealt him a physical blow. It could easily have been a reaction he’d rehearsed. “What do you mean she’s dead? I just saw her an hour ago.”

David nodded. “In fact, you were the last person to see her alive. Strange how bad things keep happening around you.”

Andras looked confused, but it was as if a mask fell. He leaned in close to David and spoke in a growl. “I don’t know why you have it in for me, David, but I suggest you back off. I would hate for you to have an accident too.”

“Are you suggesting you had something to do with Mina’s death?”

Andras stepped back and put on a bright smile as he pulled back and dropped into a practiced, defensive face. “Of course not. I had nothing to do with it.”

It was then that David noticed the ragged scratch mark on Andras’s neck, right below his ear. The small incision looked exactly like the kind of wound a woman’s fingernail would cause.

“We’ll talk again later, Andras. I have some things to attend to.”

Andras moved, but made sure to bump into David and shunt him out the way. “Go do some reporting, David, while you still can.”

David glared at the man’s back as he walked away and spoke only to himself. “Oh, I plan on it, you son-of-a-bitch. I’ll find the truth. I always do.”

~Rick Bastion~

Devonshire, England

When Rick opened his eyes, all he saw was red. He tried speaking, but his jaw seemed to open and close in strange ways. He was cold, could feel nothing at all but the chill on his skin.

“Hold on, Rick. I haven’t finished with you yet.”

Rick tried to move, but managed only to shift his legs from side to side.

“Hold your horses!”

Something clicked. Rick felt pressure inside his skull, and he was able to move his jaw again. He screamed. “Help me!”

“I am helping you, pal. Just stop wriggling like a worm.”

The red drained from Rick’s vision, and the world returned. Daniel hunched over him, staring.

“D-Daniel?”

“Yeah. Sorry for running out on you all, but me and the black haired gent have some history. I was hoping to get the jump on him, but by the time I got around back, things had already taken a turn for the worse.”

Rick blinked, took in a deep breath that felt divine in his lungs. “I… was hurt?”

“You were dead, pal, but no worries. I brought you back.”

Rick shot up into a sitting position and looked down at himself. Blood covered him.

He fingered his skull and felt it move.

“Give it a few moments to set,” said Daniel. “Your head was cracked wide open.”

Rick glanced around. He was sitting in the middle of the road, right next to his brother’s wrecked Range Rover. All the demons had gone, except for the corpses they had left behind.

“I-I… I don’t understand.”

“Khallutush stamped your head into pulp. I wasn’t sure I could mend you.”

“Khala…Khala?”

“Khallutush. The black haired demon. He used to be a—”

“A prince,” Rick finished for him. “He told me. Right before he… You really brought me back to life? That’s impossible.”

Daniel chuckled, but the sound was phlegmy, as if he was ill. “You should know by now, Rick, the rules have changed. Demons and angels walk the earth.”

“Who are you, Daniel?”

Daniel moved into a cross-legged position, where he propped his elbow on his knees. He looked sick as he spoke, like he was going to throw up. “My name is Daniel, The Watcher.”

Rick frowned. “Huh?”

“Thought that might confuse you. Don’t you people read your bibles anymore? I am Daniel, one of the twenty Watchers fallen from Heaven.”

Rick’s expression remained blank, but a bout of hysterical laughter wasn’t far off. What was he listening to?

Daniel tutted when he saw no understanding on Rick’s face. “I’m an angel, you numpty. One of the Fallen who fought beside Lucifer in the Heavenly Wars. I fell from grace with two hundred of my brothers after God’s faithful prevailed—Michael and Gabriel and all them good eggs. You must have heard of them?”

Rick nodded.

“Well, it was all a long time ago now. A really, really long time ago.”

Rick tried to follow along. “So you… fought against God?”

Daniel nodded. “I was young, stupid. Lucifer swept me along in his mad adventures before I even knew what was happening. One minute all was well, the next I’m fighting a war against my own brothers. Lucifer lost, and we all fell, lost our wings and ended up in Abysseus.”

Rick shuffled backwards, moving away on his butt. “You’re… You’re one of them?”

Daniel sighed. “I came through the gates, yeah. Of course I did—nobody would voluntarily stay in Hell, would they? I saw the seals break, and I scarpered. Doesn’t mean I want anything to do with all this. I’m not one of them.”

“What are they?”

“You already know that, Rick. They’re just people. Or at least they were. They’re the sinners sent to Hell throughout all of human history and even from times before. Some of them had only been in Hell a single second when the seals broke, but others, like Khallutush, have burned in Hell for millennia. The very worst beasts don’t even understand the concept of time anymore; their suffering has been so long. The Fallen have suffered since Abysseus first came into being—our pain was used to forge its walls at the dawn of history.”

“Why are the demons here?” Rick couldn’t believe he was asking the question. “What do they want?”

“A new home,” said Daniel. “Somewhere a little less fire-and-brimstony. At least, that’s what most of them want. The Fallen, though, they want to force God’s hand and finish what they started. Lucifer and the Red Lord want to see Heaven crumble. The Fallen lead their armies and intend to scourge humanity from the face of the earth and finally put an end to God’s finest creation. If God does not act, his work will be undone, his existence undermined. If humanity doesn’t fight back, He will have no choice but to intervene, and then he’ll be vulnerable.”

“So this is a war on God?”

Daniel nodded “And all He created. The Red Lord would rather see everything burn, than suffer in Hell one moment longer.”

Rick actually believed what he was hearing—after all he had seen and done, how could he not?—and wanted to learn more. “Who is the Red Lord?”

“I don’t know,” Daniel admitted. “Few in Hell have ever seen him, but he pulls Lucifer’s strings—always has. He might even have been the one who convinced Lucifer to start the war in Heaven in the first place. He-” Daniel broke off and started coughing and heaving. It went on for almost a minute. Once he caught his breath, he brought the back of his hand away from his mouth and saw blood.

Rick grabbed him by the shoulders and steadied him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It just took a lot to bring you back.”

“Why did you?”

He shrugged. “Dunno, really. Suppose I must like you. We need to go.”

“Go where?”

“To get a little payback. Khallutush went after your brother and the others. They took off in your car, but I don’t know what happened to them after that. They might have gone back to your gaff.”

“They’d be better off making for the coast.”

“And they probably will have, but we need to get off the street. I need to rest.”

“Okay, then we’ll head back to mine.” Rick got up to his feet and helped Daniel to his. The self-proclaimed Fallen Angel had gone ghostly white, and his nose dripped with blood.

“Daniel, are you sure you’re okay? You look bad.”

“I’ll be fine. You’re the one who just had his skull crushed. Come on.”

They started down the road, allowing Daniel to take slow steps. There were more dead demons lying around the bend, crushed and broken, most likely, by the 19inch wheels of his imported Mustang.

“I hope they got away okay,” said Rick.

“Even your brother?”

“Yes, even him. Daniel, if you’re an angel, where are the others? I mean, the good ones, from Heaven.”

“Huh, been wondering that myself. The Fallen are all here—over two hundred in total. They all lost their wings when they fell, cut off from Heaven and God’s divine spirit. They’re driven by nothing now, except madness and anger. Lucifer had indoctrinated them long before they fell, and over the millennia, he has got them slavering for a new war, a War of Chaos and Ending. They want to wipe every living thing off the face of this planet, and then laugh in God’s face. They will show no mercy, for none was afforded to them. So, yeah, the Heavenly angels could do with making an appearance right around now.”

Rick felt sick in his stomach, but he kept probing for answers, even though each one he got made him more desperate. “Why aren’t you like the other Fallen, Daniel? Where are your wings? Why are you… human?”

“Because this isn’t my body. When I opposed Lucifer’s grand plans for a new war, he threw me into the lowliest pit in Hell. But nothing ever dies in Hell—my body still smoulders there now. When the seals broke, I projected my soul upon another.”

“You said demons couldn’t possess people because of iron in their blood.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t possible. The man whose body I took was in a coma. He was anaemic, and I was able to force my way in. It was he who spent all that time at the Vatican. I have all his memories, but don’t know his name. Isn’t that odd? I even talk like him.”

“So, you’re here to help? You want to fight Lucifer? Why?”

Daniel looked at Rick like he was an idiot. “Lucifer dragged me along in his first war and got me sent to Hell for all eternity. I’d say that’s reason enough to hold a grudge.”

They carried on down the road. All was quiet, everything still. Even the trees were devoid of motion—no breeze rustled their leaves. The entire stretch of road was dead, and only Rick and Daniel walked it.

The world had ended.

Rick’s house came into view around the next bend. The gates were still hanging wide open, but there was no Mustang parked in the driveway.

He couldn’t help but smile. “The others aren’t here. They must have made for the coast. Good on them.”

“Shame,” said Daniel. “It would have been nice for us all to stick together.”

“If you’re an angel, why can’t you just magic us to wherever they are? You brought me back to life, so why can’t you do something as simple as that?”

“I lost my wings when I fell. I’m not really an angel anymore. I have a little residual power, just enough to bring you back, but I can’t teleport, or shoot fire from my eyes. Lucky for you, neither can any of my big brothers currently stomping their way around the earth.”

“How do we fight back?”

“By doing what you’ve been doing. I don’t know if you noticed, Rick, but we just passed about two dozen dead demons. Maddy must have killed five or six by running them down in your car. They die as easily as you do. If people realise they can fight back, humanity might have a chance. Men are animals, but they’ve forgotten. People need to rediscover their claws before it’s too late.”

“I think it might already be too late.”

Daniel stumbled and almost fell. His nose bled again, and Rick had to steady him. When he looked into his eyes, the irises had turned a solid black.

“What’s happening to you, Daniel?”

“The iron in my blood. There’s only a trace amount, but it’s keeping me from healing. Bringing you back, it… it…”

Daniel’s legs folded, and he fell into Rick’s arms, shuddering and moaning.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Rick knelt down and heaved Daniel up onto his shoulders. He hurried through the gate and staggered up the driveway. The front door hung open too; he hadn’t closed it when he’d left—he’d not expected to return. There was something sad about returning home now—an emptiness of knowing it was no longer a house, but a tomb. It was destined to deteriorate into a neglected ruin. Still, it was the only thing left that reminded Rick of what life had been less than a week ago.

Things had changed in the blink of an eye.

Daniel trembled across Rick’s shoulders, having a mild fit as he hurried inside and went into the living room. He threw the wounded angel down on the couch, and then he turned to go get water from the kitchen.

“Worm! You live still?”

Rick lurched backwards in fright, colliding with the glass coffee table in the centre of the room and cracking it. The noise brought more demons rushing into the room, and he found himself encircled.

The monsters had invaded his home.

“What are you doing in my house?”

Khallutush bared his rotting teeth. “Looking for things to kill. I get to crush your skull all over again, worm.”

Rick remembered what Daniel had said about fighting, so he didn’t back away, even though he wanted to. Not intending to get pinned down, he clambered up onto the couch and launched himself over the back of it. He collided with a nearby demon and sent it crashing into the wall. It stumbled to its knees, which gave Rick chance to viciously stomp on its head. Another demon tried to grab him from behind. He thrust his head backwards and broke its fragile nose before spinning around and clubbing it in the side of the head with his fist. It fell down unconscious.

More demons attacked, but Rick kept them at bay with fists and feet, stomping them whenever he could knock one down. He eventually found himself face to face with Khallutush, who stood before him, laughing like a towering hyena.

“Lie down, worm, my foot is ready to reacquaint itself with your skull.”

“No, thanks.”

Khallutush roared and swung his giant fists at Rick. Rick ducked and delivered a punch of his own, hitting the festering gut wound caused by the iron poker. His fist came away caked in foul smelling gore, but Khallutush bellowed in pain and doubled over.

Rick raced into the kitchen and yanked open a drawer. He pulled out the biggest knife he could find and—

Khallutush rammed into Rick from behind, knocking the wind out of his lungs and sending him sprawling across the counter top. He barely slipped away before Khallutush could hit him with a follow-up blow.

Another demon ran into the kitchen and tried to leap on Rick while he was off balance. He ducked and buried his knife into its guts, pulling it free with a sickly pop. Then he dodged behind the kitchen island and used it as a barrier between him and the monstrous Khallutush.

Khallutush laughed. “You reek of desperation.

“And you reek of ancient dead person.”

“You speak to a prince of Hell.”

“You’re in my fucking kitchen.” Rick picked up a bamboo chopping board from the counter and hurled it at Khallutush. It hit the demon in the chest and made him grunt, but then he laughed. With impossible strength, he reached out a giant hand and swept aside the heavy granite-countertop island. Rick stumbled out of the way before he was crushed, but found himself cornered at the back of the kitchen with no way to get out.

Khallutush approached.

Rick threw a punch, but Khallutush caught his hand and squeezed. “Worthless maggot. You will be forgotten before your body even cools.”

Rick moaned as the bones in his hand creaked in the demon’s vice-like grip. He beat at Khallutush’s chest with his free hand, but it was like punching brick. Every second the pressure increased. Khallutush seemed to savour the agony on Rick’s face.

Rick screamed.

“Yes,” Khallutush purred, “Beg. Beg for mercy. Beg to be forgotten.”

Rick bit down on his tongue as the tiny bones in his hand snapped like twigs. The pain was so unbearable that he would do anything to make it stop. It took everything he had not to give in. “I’m a one-hit wonder. I’ll never be forgotten.”

Khallutush snarled, and clamped his fist closed, crushing Rick’s hand flat and breaking every tiny bone. He screamed so hard that something in his throat ripped. He coughed, spluttered, and vomited.

Khallutush let him collapse to the floor and stood over him. “Time to die, and stay dead, worm.” He lifted his huge foot over Rick’s skull. “You have the honour of dying at the foot of a prince twice.”

Rick clutched his hand and moaned on the floor, waiting for death—welcoming it.

“Didn’t anybody tell you?” came a voice from across the room. “Your kingdom fell to ruin a long time ago. You’re a prince of nothing.”

Still perched on one leg, Khallutush glanced back over his shoulder and seemed confused.

Rick craned his neck and saw Daniel standing in the entrance. The wounded angel held the severed head of a demon under his arm, like a basketball.

“Daniel the Watcher?” Khallutush snarled. “You should be burning in Hell.”

“I’m on vacation.” Daniel bowled the severed head into the air, and it ignited. When it struck Khallutush, it engulfed him like a human torch. His thick arms flailed as he spun on the spot and screamed defiance. “You will all burn!”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Says the one who’s on fire.”

Khallutush flailed across the kitchen, flaming hands reached out towards Daniel, but he slowed down half way and slumped to his knees. He kept his focus on Daniel the entire time, his wicked eyes shining through the flames. “He will never forgive you, Daniel.”

Then the ancient prince collapsed onto his front and died.

Rick clambered to his feet, clutching his mangled hand against his chest and trying not to black out from the pain. He stared at Daniel in amazement. The angel still looked at death’s door, sweating profusely, but he’d killed the demons in the living room and had turned one of their severed heads into a blazing cannonball. He was anything but meek.

Rick bent down and righted one of the kitchen’s fallen stools. He dragged himself on top of it and looked at Daniel. “I thought you didn’t have a lot of power left?”

Daniel placed his hand down on the side counter and tried to catch his breath. When he did, he said, “I have a couple of parlour tricks when needed. I dealt with the rest of the demons in the house. If you get that gate closed, I think we’ll be safe for now.”

“Maddy had my keys, but I think I have a spare set somewhere. I’ll go find them.”

“Great,” said Daniel. “You go do that while I pass out.”

Rick opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted as Daniel collapsed face first on the floor, right next to Khallutush.

~David Davids~

Slough, Berkshire

David stood watching at the edge of the room. He watched little Alice hard at work, doing whatever the adults gave her to do, so that she didn’t have to face the anguish inside her head. No child should face what she had. Her brother had been far too young to die a hero.

Carol was a hero too. The tireless old bird hobbled about on her cane, shouting orders like a drill sergeant, keeping everybody on task. She was there to keep them all motivated and unafraid, but she had nobody doing the same for her. It was her toughness alone that kept everyone going.

Mina might have been the biggest hero of all. She had faced danger at every turn, but had never shied away from doing the right thing. She had been unwilling to turn away from any person in need, but nobody had been there for her when she’d needed it. In David’s line of work, he rarely met ‘good’ people, but Mina had certainly qualified. Since Oxford Street, he had cared only about getting the story and furthering his career. With all the death he had seen, he realised how vain and petty his life had been. It all seemed like such a waste. Mina’s death highlighted how fragile life was, and how easily it could slip away. It made no sense that her death had affected him so much, but it had. He couldn’t get the image of her swinging body out his head.

It filled him with rage.

Mina hadn’t killed herself, he was certain of it. She’d been murdered. Andras had a scratch mark on his neck, and he had been the last person to see Mina alive. That was evidence and a connection to the victim. The only thing left to prove was motive. David intended to do that right now.

He went on over to where Mitchell was tapping away at his keyboard and leaned over the man’s shoulder and whispered, “Please tell me you have the black box data for Mina’s computer.”

Mitchell started at the sudden voice in his ear, but he recovered and nodded. “Just finished compiling it. You want me to open it?”

“Yes.”

Mitchell zipped around with the mouse and opened a couple of folders. He double-clicked a text file, and the contents popped up on screen.

“What am I looking at?” asked David, as he examined the crowded mess on screen.

“It’s just code. Let me scroll down… Here—the last few actions before the website went dark. Someone definitely deleted the whole thing.”

“How?”

“They deleted all the files off the local server, and then uploaded through Mina’s FTP manager. They basically uploaded a blank slate to the website. That’s why there’s nothing but a white screen—there’s no data to fetch.”

“You have a backup?”

Mitchell nodded. “Yeah, I can access the revisions on the server and roll things back. Should be easy enough.”

David was relieved and let it show, but there were still other questions he wanted answered. “Anything to tell you who deleted everything?”

“Yes, it was Mina.”

David frowned. “She wouldn’t have.”

“You’re probably right, but it was her logged in at the time.”

David folded his arms for a moment and thought it through. “She was updating the website when she was last sitting down. Do you have that data?”

“It’s here—4.57PM. I saw her sitting there myself. She got up a little after five. According to this… the data was deleted at 5.06PM. It was right after Mina left the office to take a phone call. I know who deleted the files.”

David already knew the answer as well. “Andras.”

Mitchell nodded. “Yeah, he stayed at Mina’s desk for at least ten minutes after she left. It could only have been him.”

“Then I have what I need. I suspected Andras was the one behind the sabotage.”

“Sabotage? You don’t think it was an accident then?”

“No, I do not.”

“David, what exactly is going on here? Where’s Mina?”

“She’s dead, Mitchell. I strongly suspect that Andras killed her, right after he deleted the website.”

Mitchell shook his head and looked bewildered. “Mina’s dead? Man, why would Andras do anything like this? It makes no sense.”

“Murder rarely makes sense, Mitchell, but I’m certain it was him. Mina had a broken fingernail, and Andras has a scratch on his neck. She tried to fight him off.”

Mitchell flopped back in his chair and put his head in his hands, seemingly close to tears. “God, David. We’re fighting for our lives here, and there’re still monsters like him running around. I still don’t understand why he would do it.”

“Me neither, but now I have everything I need to demand an answer.”

Mitchell nodded. “I’m right behind you. Where is he now? Andras?”

David looked around. He had assumed Andras would be somewhere nearby, but he wasn’t. Damn it. Had he realised David was on to him and scarpered? He couldn’t be allowed to get away.

David took a few steps, then grabbed Corporal Martin as the soldier went to walk by. “Hey, Martin. Where’s Andras?”

“I haven’t seen him, but listen to this. I just spoke to a colleague based out of Camp Bastion. They’ve been monitoring areas of the Middle East with satellite surveillance and they—”

“Not now, Martin. I need to find Andras.”

The soldier shrugged. “Fine. I was only going to tell you that someone closed a gate in Syria, but if you need to rush off, then by all means…”

David gawped at the corporal. “Somebody’s closed one of the gates? Really?”

Martin grinned. “I promise you. The MOD satellite only gave a bunch of still images, but there’s evidence of a firefight, and the gate is gone. Looks like somebody fought back, and won.”

David slapped him on the arm. “Hooray for mankind. We will not let those bastards walk all over us.”

“Hell no, we won’t. They’re going to wish they never stepped foot in our territory.”

David felt the smile trickle from his face as he regretted Mina not being there to share the good news. “Andras. Where did you see him last?”

Martin shrugged. “He headed out to get some fresh air, I think.”

David looked towards the exit and growled.

“You okay, David?”

He didn’t reply. He marched across the office, shoving Big Jimmy out of his way in the centre of the room. Then he barged through the exit and went out into the waiting room. It was empty, but something in David’s bones told him he was heading in the right direction. Andras was out here, somewhere; he knew it.

He took the stairs downward and detected the tang of blood in the air. Despite her being dead, David wanted to check on Mina. He headed to the accountant’s office where he had placed her, and the smell of blood got even stronger. It made no sense because Mina had not been wounded. Whether it was paranoia, or a subconscious eye for detail, David noticed the furniture in the office had moved. The reception desk had been piled high with stacks of paperwork, but some of those piles now lay on the floor. It could have been a breeze, but it was hot and still. He could already feel the sweat on his back just from taking the stairs down.

A shuffling sound came from one of the smaller offices. It was too dark to see in through the room’s windows, and horizontal blinds broke up any would-be shadows, but he knew somebody was inside. David considered shouting out, but reconsidered. He was here to find that bastard, Andras, so he didn’t want to give himself away.

The shuffling stopped, replaced by a faint whispering. The words made no sense, a jumble of consonants and few vowels. David kept low and crept towards the door to the office. He placed his ear against the wood and tried to listen.

A man inside was chanting—“Grlaw grlaw, hmdar veri vesta. Larix van doth.”

It was Andras, David was sure, but what language was he speaking? He knew a little Latin from his university days, but it wasn’t that. He knew German from a brief spell as a war correspondent, but it wasn’t that either. It was gibberish—the guttural snaps of an angry dog.

Andras was insane.

The thought of getting his hand on Mina’s murderer was too much to resist. David barged through the door.

Andras stood half-naked over Mina’s unclothed body. Her hands and feet were removed, placed in each corner of the room, and the brown flesh of her stomach was sliced open to reveal a gaping hole. Congealed blood coated Andras’s bare chest.

“You… you fuckin’ monster!”

Andras saw David, but he didn’t seem to care. He held his bloody hands up in front of him as some kind of grizzly taunt.

David felt weak. His stomach’s meagre contents dredged up, and he vomited. Mina had been his friend and colleague. Now she lay, defiled, on the floor. “Why would you do something so unspeakable?” he demanded once he could get a hold on himself.

Andras’s answer was: “To send a message.”

“A message to whom? Me?”

“Ha! You are insignificant. The message is for my brothers. You may have heard of them; they are currently crushing your world beneath their glorious feet.”

David drew a blank.

Andras grunted. “The Fallen are my brothers, and they will destroy all. The time of man is over.”

“You’re talking about the giants?”

“They are not giants. Men are puny ants.”

“You’re a loon,” said David. “Do you think you’re some kind of demon helping the other side? Fantasy or delusion, I don’t care which. You’re finished.”

Andras laughed. “You don’t get it, do you? This is just a meat suit. Some drug addict I borrowed as he choked to death on his own vomit. You could not bear to look upon the glory of my true form. I am here to see you all burn.”

David glared. “You killed Mina.”

“I will kill millions before I am done.”

“Then why are you hanging around a regional newspaper office?”

“You are one of the few news gatherers left. You have provided me with data from all over the world, highlighting areas that my brothers need to address. I deleted your pathetic website, and I will help delete mankind’s existence.”

“We’re helping people,” said David. “You won’t stop us.”

“Mina thought the same. Such an enthusiastic, brave girl. She might actually have made a difference, but you? No, you are too self-involved to ever be a hero.”

“You will lose. We’ve closed one of your gates.”

“One of thousands. My brothers will defend the others; I have already warned them. You have no chance. Humans are weak and mushy. The Fallen are eternal.”

David looked around the room, saw that, in addition to Mina’s scattered limbs, there was also a series of bloody sigils smudged onto the walls. “Who are the Fallen? How did you send a message to your brothers?”

Andras grinned. “Like this.” He dropped to one knee and shoved his bloody hands into the open cavity of Mina’s stomach. A bright light filled the room, and a sudden concussive force threw David against the wall and knocked the wind out of him. A shimmering puddle appeared in the air above Mina’s stomach, and an image projected onto it. David saw one of the giants up close—a blond man with crystalline-blue eyes.

Andras kept his hands buried in Mina’s belly as he spoke. “Qemuel, He who was destroyed by God, but has risen, it is I, Andras, The Discordant.”

A booming voice returned. “Brother Andras, what say you?”

“I am compromised and must move on from this place. What would the Red Lord have of me?”

“Take back your form, and join us in battle. Shed your fetid shackles, and rise in your glory. Human vulnerability does not suit you. Make rivers of human blood.”

Andras sighed euphorically. “Yes. Yes, I will bring forth my body and lay waste to all I see. Screams will fill the—”

David tackled Andras to the ground and terminated the conversation. As soon as the demon’s hands left Mina’s body, the portal blinked out of existence. Andras growled as David straddled him. David was no fighter, but he was a man, and he was angry. He pummelled Andras with punch after punch.

Andras was not a man though, and that was clear when he snaked a hand onto David’s face and cooked his flesh.

“Glat glat comna hartis.”

David screamed as his skin blistered and boiled. He could not escape the crushing, searing grip. His vision blurred and blackened.

“Burn, maggot,” Andras growled.

David reached out his hands desperately. His fingers found Andras’s face, and he pointed his thumbs at where he hoped a pair of eyes would be. There was a moment of resistance, followed by a wet squelch as David’s thumbs disappeared inside Andras’s eye sockets.

The demon bellowed.

Andras’s searing hand slipped away from David’s face and went to his own mangled eyes. The burning stopped, and David collapsed backwards onto the floor, trying to cradle his face, but recoiling in agony as his fingertips caused sparks of agony, like white hot pokers. It hurt to blink, and his lips flared with unbearable pain.

Andras rose to his feet at the same time David did. Both men moaned and staggered around in pained confusion.

“I’ll tear out your insides,” Andras spat.

David was in danger of passing out, but he focused on staying upright and readied himself for a fight. “Come and try it, you fucking monster.”

Andras attacked, but it was clumsy and in the wrong direction. He hit against a desk and stumbled.

“You’re blind,” mocked David.

Andras glanced in the direction of his voice, bleeding eyes pierced like grapes. “No matter. I will return to my own body soon and see more clearly than ever.”

David crept to one side, moving around to Andras’s side. “Until then, you’re a blind, little mouse.”

Andras spun around. “I’ll kill you.”

“Then come on. Better yet, why don’t you go get your big giant body, and stomp me into puddles.”

“I will show you pain you cannot imagine.”

David chuckled. “I’m thinking you can’t get back to your true body without doing another one of your nasty spells, but how are you going to manage that with no sight?” He moved around behind Andras. “Am I right?”

Andras spun around, getting frustrated. “I will bathe in your blood!”

“Your brother’s name was Qemuel?”

“Qemuel, The Great and Risen.”

David moved around behind Andras again. “He said you were vulnerable in a human body.”

Andras swiped at the air, but got nowhere near hitting David. David crept back towards the front of the office. A coat rack stood beside the door. Somebody had left a long golfing umbrella hanging from one of the arms, and David unhooked it carefully.

Andras swiped at the air again, but was still nowhere near. He’d begun to rave and rant like a maniac. “I’ll grind your bones into dust, you maggot. You seek to mock me? I am Andras, Marquis of Hell.”

“And I’m David Davids, reporting to you live.” He used the umbrella’s crooked handle to hook Andras’s ankle and yank the demon off his feet. He hit his head on the desk hard enough to leave him stunned.

David’s face still flared with agony, but he couldn’t help but grin as he swung the umbrella like a golf club and struck Andras under the chin. The demon moaned and grabbed his face.

“That’s the problem when you inhabit a human body, Andras, dear boy: We’re all so weak and mushy.”

Andras clawed at the air blindly.

David hit him again with the umbrella. “If I kill you, what will happen?”

“You cannot kill what cannot die.”

“You’ll go back to your body, won’t you? If I kill you, I’ll release you. Wouldn’t want to be doing that. Would be a terrible waste of intel. I think you owe us after all the spying you’ve been doing.”

Andras leapt to his feet like a cat and swung for David, almost hitting him this time. “Let’s finish this,” he hissed. “I cannot bear the stench of humanity any longer.”

David swung the umbrella at Andras’s head, but this time, Andras snatched at it and yanked David towards him. When Andras dug out one of his eyeballs, he screamed so hard he almost lost consciousness. In desperation, he forced the umbrella upwards under Andras’s chin, hard enough to bury itself in his neck. It was enough to get the demon to retreat.

David staggered backwards, palming at his ruined eye, which was now an empty socket.

“An eye for an eye.” Andras sniggered over by the door. David choked back his torment and reminded himself what would happen if he gave up. “I took both of your eyes, you son-of-a-bitch, so you’re still the one losing.”

“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 aren’t, child. There are only monsters, like me.”

“You’re wrong. My brother was a 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 supplies 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 barefoot, 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 gentlemen. 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 women 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.”

What Tony didn’t voice out loud was: Either that, or they’ll be dining on ours.

The four British soldiers crossed the American Air Force base, focused only on their appetites. There would be time enough to worry about the fate of mankind tomorrow, for tomorrow, they would fight again. Tonight, they would rest.

~Guy Granger~

Atlantic Ocean

The coast of the United States was three hundred miles behind them, and the vast, blue ocean seemed to stretch on for eternity. Guy didn’t know what he would find in England, but there was no doubt in his mind that things would be tough. The U.K. had been hit as badly as America, but its citizens lacked the freedom to bear arms. The citizens of the U.K. would have only their bare hands to defend themselves against the demons. But Alice and Kyle had been with the British Army, as safe as they possibly could be. There was a chance, and a little hope was all a father needed.

He strode across the launch deck and stood in front of his old friend, Frank. They had covered his body with the Hatchet’s Star Spangled Banner and placed him onto a plastic gurney. He had been positioned at the rear edge of the deck so that he could be slipped off into the sea, where he belonged.

The men had assembled, a mixture of sailors, civilians, and a handful of children. Guy wasted no time in addressing them. “Men, women, and children, the days past have taken their toll, and even a piece of our souls. The part of us that was innocent is no more, and our days of peace and pacifism are behind us, replaced by pain and war. You are all a part of something greater than each of us. Each of you represents humanity’s fighting spirit. All of you have survived horrors and faced intolerable nightmares. The human race will survive too, as each of you has survived. This ship is a weapon, and every man and woman aboard it, a warrior ready to wield it. Together, we will strike the enemy down and take back our world. We will make it safe again for our children, and resign this terrible period of history to textbooks and memory. John F. Kennedy once said, ‘Mankind must put an end to war before war puts an end to mankind’ and that has never been truer than now. I trust each and every one of you, and I will die to protect you. You must also be willing to die to protect others. It is not a choice, but a sacred duty. We are a part of mankind’s army, and we will win back peace. While the blood in our veins is warm, humanity will keep on fighting.”

A brief cheer rippled through the crowd, but Guy halted it with the wave of his hand. “For now, we put to rest a great man; a man who devoted his entire life to serving his country and protecting the innocent. My oldest friend and a man I will always look up to—Chief Petty Officer Frank Theodore Jacobs. I would like to read you all a poem that I know Frank would have liked.” Guy unfolded the piece of paper in his hands and began to read:

“Sunset and evening star,

And one clear call for me!

And may there be no moaning of the bar,

When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,

Too full for sound and foam,

When that which drew from out the boundless deep

Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,

And after that the dark!

And may there be no sadness of farewell,

When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place

The flood may bear me far,

I hope to see my Pilot face to face

When I have crost the bar.”

After a moments silence, Guy directed the men to tip Frank into the sea. He didn’t blink until his old friend had disappeared completely beneath the waves. The reason he shed no tears was because his sadness was propped up by pride—pride to have served with a man as honourable as Chief Petty Officer Frank Jacobs.

Eventually, Guy headed to the pilothouse where a skeleton crew had remained to keep the ship on course. They all saluted him when he arrived.

Tosco stood at the console, plotting their course.

“Are we all set, Lieutenant?”

Tosco nodded. “The journey should take us about four days, if we keep a decent speed. We’ve fallen too far south to make it any quicker.”

“Four days is acceptable. I would like it to be four minutes, but I’m realistic. Thank you for joining me, Lieutenant.”

Tosco chewed his lip as if he wanted to mention something. Eventually, he did. “Do you know what you’ll do when we reach England, Captain? Will you disembark?”

“I’ll decide when we get there.”

“I will stay behind. Perhaps, head back home, if we can refuel again.”

Guy sighed. He didn’t want to have this conversation now, but it wasn’t going to go away. “Let me make one thing clear, Lieutenant. The Hatchet is my ship. If you head home, it will be because I ordered you to, not because you take the ship while I’m off doing other things. When I find Kyle and Alice, I will be bringing them home, so the Hatchet will wait for me to return.”

Tosco looked embarrassed for a moment, then sniffed loudly and lifted his chin. “I think we both understand this ship is stolen from the U.S. government. Who it belongs to now is a matter of interpretation. I want you to find your children, Captain, but the Hatchet cannot sit around and wait for you. What if you take weeks to return? We all have jobs to do, and do them we must. Helping to rescue your children is a courtesy, not an obligation.”

“Be very careful, Lieutenant. I made it clear when we embarked that anybody coming along would be expected to help me find Alice and Kyle. Whatever happens afterwards will be my decision.”

Tosco smirked with all the confidence in the world. “If it comes to a popularity contest, Captain, you’ll lose.”

“Then let’s not make it one. Just do your job, Lieutenant, and we’ll all get along just fine.”

“I always do my job, Captain, and will continue to do so.” With that, the disgruntled Lieutenant left the pilothouse, leaving Guy to endure the sideways glances of his men. He was tired of having the same conversation with Tosco, but it would eventually come to a head. When it did, he just hoped he had Alice and Kyle safely in his arms. Then Tosco could do whatever the hell he liked.

Guy looked out at the Atlantic Ocean and wished he could stretch his arms out across the vastness and touch his children’s cheeks. He longed to hold Kyle and Alice so badly that it hurt his chest. Please let them be alive, he prayed. Just let them be alive.

~David Davids~

Slough, Berkshire

David sat at Mina’s desk with his laptop open, ready to hit ‘upload’. Corporal Martin just got word from what was left of British Intelligence that somebody destroyed a gate in Syria and stopped the demons pouring through. It was hope. But hope was only as good as the amount you spread it. Closing a gate required a human sacrifice—someone to jump inside and break some kind of cosmic rule that short-circuited the portals. Mitchell posited that a living person could not enter Hell, and whoever had done so in Syria, had been the equivalent of a computer virus, corrupting whatever code kept the gates open. Typical of Mitchell to use such a technical metaphor, but what mattered most was the message—that the gates could be closed. Just so long as a person was prepared to step inside and end their lives. It would take a brave soul to make such a sacrifice, but David had faith that there were heroes out there. It was his job to give the world the opportunity to find them.

Carol tapped him on the shoulder. “What are you waiting for, David?” She, and everybody else in the office, had gathered in a semi-circle around him, waiting for him to update the new website with all the information they had gained so far. News of refugee operations and safe areas, sightings of enemy armies, and a warning that demons could take human form—like Andras. The main thing they needed to know was how to close the gates. The gates were the demons’ means of reinforcements. Closing them would be vital to gain a foothold in the war.

“I’m just a little nervous,” David explained, reaching up and adjusting the bandage over his missing eye. The cotton had stuck to his burned face and made him wince every time he moved. “This could be the moment the tides change. We hold the information on how to fight back. It’s… Momentous.”

“We’re not the only ones who know,” said Martin. “British Intelligence is getting word out wherever it can.”

David looked at Mitchell. “How many subscribers does the website have?”

“Ninety-three thousand.”

David nodded. “Enough to make a difference. Our entire careers have been about giving people the news, letting them know what they need to. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m about to achieve that goal.”

“Just press send, you daft apeth,” Carol urged.

David clicked the mouse and uploaded the website. Then he sat back and sighed. “It’s done.”

There was silence in the room, and nothing happened. They hadn’t expected anything right away. The amount of comments on the website had been tapering even before Andras had deleted it, but there were still thousands of subscribers who were paying attention. Hopefully, some of them would make use of the information.

David glanced around the room until he located whom he wanted. “Corporal Martin, let me know the moment we receive word of any more gates closing. We need to pray that the one in Syria was not a fluke. We need to pray that people fight back.”

Martin nodded and got to work. Carol went back to giving orders, and David just sat there at Mina’s desk. He had just finished what she had started. He was proud of the work they’d done together. We did it, Mina. We got something useful and sent it out, just like you wanted.

Little Alice wandered over to him a couple of minutes later, carrying a mug of tea. She gave it to him, and he took a sip through his ruined lips; it was much stronger than before. “You’re getting very good at making tea, Alice. You were very brave yesterday, when you helped me fight Andras.”

She nodded, looked afraid, yet brave at the same time. “He was one of them, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, he was. You did the right thing. You could have run away, but instead, you fought. If all people are as brave as you, we’ll be okay.”

“Kyle didn’t run. He fought.”

David sighed and put his arm around the girl. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to know the lad better. I think I would have liked him.”

“Mom and dad will be upset when they find out.”

“They still have you, and for that, they will be grateful, trust me. Is Corporal Martin still trying to reach them?”

“I think he’s busy.”

“Well, I’m sure your mummy and daddy are waiting to hear from you. We’ll try them again soon.”

Alice looked at him like she didn’t believe it, but she trotted away obediently. Of all the tragedy David had witnessed, seeing that little girl lost in a foreign country and watching her brother die was the saddest. He would do whatever he could to see her reunited with someone who loved her.

For now, he left his seat and headed out of the office. He had something to attend to, and was very much looking forward to it. His face was a ruined mess, and he had witnessed the death of thousands—the man he had once been was gone, and it was time to do what was needed.

Andras was still tied up when David entered the storage closet outside in the waiting area. Cleaning supplies and an old floor buffer had filled it previously, but now, it made the perfect cell for a paralysed demon.

“Hello, Andras. How are you feeling?”

Andras scowled, both eyes still useless and blind. “You think you can keep a Marquis of Hell prisoner?”

David chuckled. “In a dirty broom closet, no less. Such audacity, I never thought I was capable of.”

“I will gut you.”

“Perhaps, but not now, and not today. Today, I get to be the one doing beastly things to human flesh.”

“There is nothing you can do-”

David pulled the steak knife out of his pocket and buried it in Andras’s collarbone, making him scream. While the pain was still fresh, he grabbed a bottle of bleach and emptied it onto the wound. “So fortunate you still have some feeling left. Makes this a lot more fun.”

Andras squealed like a stuck pig.

“You and I are going to become very well acquainted, Andras, dear boy. You’re going to tell me all about The Fallen and the dreadful monsters that serve them.”

Andras grunted, got on top of his pain enough to curse and swear. “I will never!”

David grabbed the steak knife and pulled it free, before burying it in Andras’ left ear. Once it slid in, he twisted it and sliced the flap of skin in two.

Andras bellowed so loud that it made David flinch, but it was music to his ears, and he ended up grinning. “Another thing you need to know about humans, Andras: We don’t cope terribly well with pain. What was it you said? We’re all so weak and mushy. I am going to teach you all about pain, one scrap of skin at a time, and for every life that your abominable colleagues take, I will extract retribution on you. You might have come from Hell, but you have seen nothing yet. I’m going to be the biggest monster you’ve ever met.”

David got to work, mastering the various ways to make a human being scream. Even if the demons conquered the world, this one would pay dearly. If mankind had a chance, they would have to lose a part of their humanity and become more like the monsters.

Blood covered David within minutes, and he embraced it.

~Vamps~

London, England

“Yo, Vamps, I can’t do another day, man.”

Vamps looked at his boy, Gingerbread, and shook his head. “You’ve seen what’s happening to our streets, Ginge. We don’t got no choice but to help out. Things are fucked up. People need us.”

Gingerbread had grown pale, as he always did when he was tired. It made his red hair stand out even more, especially his beard. His expression was the same as Vamps five-year old nephew, Bradley, when he wanted sweets but got cabbage. “Vamp, man, we ain’t heroes. We gangsters.”

“Yeah, we gangsters, and another gang is moving onto our turf.”

Ravy joined the conversation. “They’re monsters. I never signed up to fight no monsters.”

“Me either,” said Mass.

Vamps turned to face him. “We never signed on for nothing. We were born and raised, yo. This fight came to us. We go out and we help, just like we did yesterday. We stopped some bird from getting raped. Do you not get that? She’s alive because of us.”

Mass stood up from the floor and nodded. His grey hoodie was badly torn where he had fought with a demon. His MMA skills had come in handy and his strong arms had allowed him to throttle it until it was dead. “Vamps is right. I like how it feels… I mean, what’s going down is shit, but I liked the feeling when we helped people yesterday. I felt all respectable.”

Ravy was the smallest of them all, and pretty useless in a fight, but he had done his part. “Fine, but eventually we gonna die. This ain’t the boys from West Ham, this is some serious shit.”

“Way I see it,” said Vamps, “the chances of us dying are pretty high anyway. Least this way we take some of those ugly bitches down with us.” He looked at Gingerbread.

Gingerbread sighed. “Alright, I’m in. What’s the plan?”

Vamps grinned, glad that his boys were sound. “We go out and head towards the first scream we hear. Arm up, boys, today ain’t gonna be the day we die.”

They grabbed their guns and knives and headed out of the Boots Megastore where they had holed up during the night. The fighting in the city had continued, but only in small pockets now. Before finding sanctuary, they had encountered a group of Chinese tourists in Leicester square. They were surrounded by hunched over demons and fighting back as best they could. One of them even knew Kung Fu, which had been amusing. The small Chinese man had been swooping and swirling amongst the demons like a ferret and breaking their arms and legs. Before they finally fell on top of him, he had killed at least a dozen. It had bought the rest of his companions some time—time enough for Vamps and the boys to come to the rescue.

Vamps had led the vanguard, popping off shots from his granpop’s Browning. The boys had added fire from their own pieces and, in the matter of minutes, the fight was over. Their numbers had been growing less and less, not because they were dying, but because they seemed to be heading out of the city. Only a few smatterings had been left behind to terrorise survivors like the Chinese tourists.

The city was quiet and cold, the dawn sunlight not enough to bring warmth. Dead bodies littered the streets and begun to smell. The scent of blood was not as strong as the scent of shit. Vamps had never seen a dead person before, but it seemed that they all shat their kegs before moving on. It wouldn’t be long before the streets were stinking with disease. He would have to get his boys out of there soon. Perhaps tonight they would head out and make for the coast.

Right now though, they had to patrol the streets. When this war was over, and if they lived, they might just get some respect. No more being kept down by society because they were young and broke, and grew up in council-owned flats. They would be warriors, respected by all. When the shit went down, the upper classes were nowhere to be seen. There were no middle-class heroes in a ground war.

“Hey,” Gingerbread pointed. “Something’s going on down there.”

Vamps put a hand over his eyes to shield his sight from the rising sun. There was definitely movement. “Piccadilly Circus,” he muttered. “The place was clear last night when we passed through.”

“It isn’t now,” said Ravvy. “There’s a bus coming.”

Vamps frowned. “If there’s a working bus, why the hell isn’t it trying to bounce? They should be fleeing as fast as the wheels will take them.”

They picked up their pace and hurried towards the bus. The brightly lit signs on the corner of Piccadilly Circus were scorched and blackened from a fire in the shop below.

The bus up ahead stopped. It was not a city bus, but a plain white bus with darkened windows. The air brakes hissed and then the door folded open. A man in a grey suit exited and lit a cigarette.

Vamps street senses acted up. There was something wrong about the bus driver. He was too calm, the way he stood in the street smoking like nothing had happened. There was a pile of torn-up bodies not ten feet away.

“Hold back, yo.” Vamps put an arm up and slowed his boys down. He moved to the side of the street, sliding in and out of the alcoves to keep his approach hidden.

Somebody else was getting off the bus. It was another man in a suit, this one younger than the other and stocky as a wrestler. He had long blonde hair like a young Hulk Hogan. In his hand he held a length of chain, and as he yanked on it the first in a line of handcuffed men and women spilled out of the bus. When the last prisoner stepped off, there was a line of a dozen of them.

“Is it a prison bus?” Ravy asked.

Vamps shook his head. “No way. Travelling prisoners wear matching uniforms to stop ‘em running and blendin’ in. I remembered when they moved me from Belmarsh to Brixton after some fuckers were trying to off me. They had me in this shitty grey tracksuit. Those people are wearing their own clothes.”

“Then who are they?” Gingerbread asked.

“Who are the dudes in suits?” Mass asked.

“I dunno,” Vamps admitted. “Let’s crash over there and watch what happens.”

They moved over to a delivery van and stooped behind its large rear compartment. Vamps stuck out his head to see what was happening up ahead.

The two suited gentlemen brought the line of prisoners into the middle of the road and then had them kneel down. At the same time, a sleek black Mercedes pulled out of a side street. It parked up and a chauffeur stepped out and opened up the rear door. Vamps covered his mouth when he saw who exited.

“No freakin’ way!”

Gingerbread frowned. “Who is it? You know that dude?”

Vamps turned to his boys and nodded. “Yeah, man. That’s the fucking Prime Minister.”

Mass whistled. “That skinny fucker is the PM? We should go over. If we help him, we’ll have it made, yo.”

“Innit,” said Ravy.

Vamps turned back to watch and was absolutely certain that the man was John Windsor the Prime Minister. He was wearing an open collar shirt and straight black trousers. His jet-black moustache was a dead giveaway.

He walked up in front of the line of prisoners and began talking to their warden. The men and women all pleaded and begged when they saw their Prime Minister, but he acted as though they weren’t there. One woman sought to rise to her feet, but the chauffeur hurried over and kicked her kneecap. She screamed.

“What the fuck, yo,” said Mass.

Vamps clutched his Browning, making sure it was still there. “This shit smells wrong man. We need to go help.”

“Yeah,” said Gingerbread. “We should go pop that stuck up motherfucker. He cut my nan’s benefits last year.”

Vamps was just about to break cover and go sort shit out, but he leapt back down when he saw demons spilling into Piccadilly Circus.

Mass looked like he was about to freak. “What the fuck, man? There’re hundreds of ‘em. We need to bolt.”

Vamps agreed, but he couldn’t help but watch. The Prime Minister and his companions seemed unafraid, even as the line of prisoners screamed and begged. The demons surrounded them and Vamps could no longer see what was going on.”

“I’m fucking off,” said Mass.

Vamps nodded. “I’ll meet you at the Lyceum where we saw those rickshaws we can use. I’ll be right behind you.”

Gingerbread frowned at him. “What are you talking about? We need to get out of here.”

Vamps waved his hand. “Get the hell out of here, boys. I’ll be there. I promise.”

They didn’t seem to like it, but the boys got going, leaving Vamps hiding behind the van. Once the others were around the corner and out of sight, Vamps turned and climbed up onto the vehicle’s roof.

Once again he could see what was going on, and once again he did not like it. The demons were not attacking the PM, and in fact the PM seemed to be addressing them. One of the demons – a burned man at least a foot taller than the others and sporting singed dreadlocks stood directly in front of him and was nodding his head as if receiving orders.

Then the strangest thing of all happened. The warden in charge of the prisoners handed over the chains to one of the demons who, instead of attacking, began leading them away. The demons filed away, back into the side streets, taking the sobbing men and women with them. The PM remained behind with his companions and seemed to be smiling. Vamps had been a dealer most his life, and he had just seen a deal go down for sure.

But what the hell was the trade?

And what the fuck was the PM doing out here trading the lives of innocent men and women. The anger associated with the questions made Vamps look down at his gun and think strongly about using it. But it would be suicide. The demons had only just left and the PM knew shit that made him dangerous. It was time to bounce.

Vamps moved over to the edge of the van and was about to climb down when he heard a shout. It wasn’t his boys behind him. It was the chauffeur. He’d been spotted.

With no time to waste, Vamps threw himself from the top of the van. As soon as he hit the pavement he felt the pain. His ankle folded sideways and electricity ran up to his knee.

He picked himself up off the floor and began hobbling away. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw the PM diving back inside his Mercedes. But his two companions were giving chase. With two good legs, they were faster than he was. The fact that he had a gun was not going to help, because he quickly realised that his pursuers had guns too, bigger ones.

The only question now was who would get to him first—his boys, or the bad guys behind him. No way did he want to end up in chains like those people.

Vamps had no clue what was happening, but he knew one thing for sure: shit just got worse.

To continue the story right now, get Book 2: “LEGION” by clicking the link below

START READING LEGION NOW!!!

Collateral Damage

“I’m not interested in playing the victim. I like stories about survivors.”

--Laurie Holden

Takao

Tokyo, Japan

Tokyo’s strange, glowing gate was one of the few worldwide that had emerged indoors. It sat right in front of JoyCity Plaza’s twenty-foot Gundam statue, and when it had first risen from the immovable black stone, it had knocked the giant mobile suit sideways to where it now rested drunkenly against the mall’s south escalators.

Takao was inside Kiyoshis Playland, wearing out the Tekken 7 cabinet. He had his initials entered in 9 of the top 15 slots and he wasn’t going to rest until he had them all. Best of all, he was doing it with the character of King, the sluggish wrestler. Nobody had game like Takao did using King. Let the drones play as Kazuya or Paul—simple characters for simple minds, with slow thumbs. Last year his mission had been Street Fighter and Zangief; next year who knew?

The toy store was empty, everyone wanting to be outside in the plaza where they could see the weird glowing gate. Takao figured it was aliens. They would probably all be zapped to oblivion by death rays within the next few hours, which was why he was so determined to leave behind his legacy and own the Tekken scoreboard. Let no one say that Takao Tenta left things unfinished.

When the first screams began, they reached only the fringes of his mind. He was too engrossed in his ever-growing ultra-combo, to let in external stimuli, but he was eventually disturbed by the sense of movement behind him. The skin on his neck prickled.

He made King perform a German suplex for the win, and then span around. What he saw surprised him. As he had suspected, some kind of creature had come through the gate and emerged into the shopping mall, but it wasn’t a little green man. It was something more akin to the fiends that Dante faced in Devil May Cry. It was a smouldering abomination. And it was killing people.

Outside the Body Shop chain store, an old man in a winter Kimono beat at the creature with his wooden cane. The creature spun on him and slashed his wrinkled throat open with a claw like it was swatting a mosquito. The old man flopped to the floor, gargling on his own blood.

It angered Takao. He had little time for the older generation—especially those who still hung on to the past and wore Kimonos outside of ceremonial occasions—but he strongly believed that everyone had a duty to take care of the elderly. This old man had faced the nightmarish creature, while everybody else had run. It was wrong. It was ignoble.

Takao felt his fists clench and realised his palms were sweating. His palms often got wet when he was on a joystick marathon, but this was something different. This was adrenaline. The kind of feeling you only got in a real-life fight. It was exciting.

More of the creatures spilled through the gate, leaping over the old man’s body. The crowd continued to flee, shaming themselves as they turned their backs on their murderers and fell face down on the floor as they were attacked. They needed to fight. Where was the indomitable spirit that Japan prided itself on? It had obviously only resided in the old man.

And inside of Takao.

He spun around and saw that the only person inside the toy store was the owner. The fat man was cowering behind a ten foot statue of Sonic the Hedgehog.

“Debu!” he shouted at the man. Fatso. “We need to fight.”

“What?” the man said, as if Takao was crazy. “We need to hide. Those are monsters out there.”

“Yes, monsters. Will we let monsters kill us all? No, we are Japanese. We will send them back to their pits. Come on.”

“No.”

“Debu! Then, I need a weapon. I will save your worthless life. I will be your hero.”

The man was wide-eyed and barely listening, but he did give an answer. “At the back of the store. Take whatever you want.”

Takao nodded. “I thank you.”

He raced to the back of the store, the adrenaline in his bloodstream making him feel like Mario on a Power Star trip. He was so alive. What met him at the back of the store left him with a wide grin on his face.

The dai-katana was as tall as he was, but he knew the tempered steel would be light as a feather—fragile as a tree branch. He knew how to use it. A youth in Japan was born with a deep respect for the sacred tool of the Samurai, and he had practised often as a child with a blunted blade given to him by his father, a lowly dock worker.

He took the sword down with both hands and pulled it from its sheath. It caught the light and glinted with supernatural perfection. It was a thing of exquisite beauty, forged to bring instant and clean death.

The screams outside continued.

Takao left the back of the store, and by the time he reached the front, the demons had multiplied and one was already inside with him. It was stalking the fat proprietor, forcing him back against an old Sega Rally booth.

The debu looked at Takao and pleaded. “Help me, boy.”

Takao lifted the sword so that it rested horizontally away from his side. He narrowed his eyes. “I am no boy. I am Takao Tenta.”

He ran across the store, dodging between display racks—and purposely kicking over the Hello Kitty stand that had replaced the Pokemon one that had stood for years—and within seconds he was only feet away from the demon.

It turned and looked at him; hissed with a mangled tongue and blackened lips. The creature was from some fiery hell, but he was going straight back there. He brought the sword down in a diagonal arc. The sudden blur of steel seemed to miss the creature completely, and it continued coming, but then it stopped and seemed confused.

Takao stood still, unafraid.

A slight slithering sound, and then the left half of the demon came away from the right. Both slabs of grotesque flesh slapped on the ground.

The debu got down on his knees and laced his hands together like a Christian prayer. He was crying as he thanked Takao profusely.

Takao batted away the man’s hands. “You shame yourself, debu. Join the fight or die without honour.”

He left the debu on his knees and hurried outside into the shopping mall. The only people remaining were now left with no choice but to fight. The demons had them in their clutches. They kicked and punched, but none were warriors and none were armed. A young woman, with her black hair dyed a Western blonde was swinging an armful of shopping bags at two demons trying to take her down. Her fight was hopeless, but her spirit was bright. Takao ran to her aid.

With the sword trailing behind him like a silver tail, Takao dove over a sushi cart and then swung around a signpost. The demons had just disarmed the young woman of her bags when he appeared behind them. Again, the sacred weapon seemed to dance and shimmer in the air as he drew a dozen invisible shapes. He stepped back a second later and examined his work.

The demons sprayed blood like a pair of geysers as their bodies came apart at the seams. Blood spattered the young woman’s face, but it was still easy to see how beautiful she was. A princess if ever there was one.

Takao grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. “Stick with me and you will be safe.”

She nodded, almost swooned.

He kept her behind him as he did what no one else was willing to: he headed into battle.

Two dozen demons lay directly in his path, some busy with victims, some free and heading right for him. He cut them all apart with ease, the sword becoming more and more a part of his arm. In his mind, he tore down the enemy with the same skills he used in the arcades. His reactions, his skill of seeing an enemy’s moves before he did… It was no different.

A demon leapt at Takao. He ducked and lifted his sword over his head. The demon came back down to earth in two pieces.

The fallen Gundam suit was just up ahead, still lying against the escalators; it made a perfect runway. Takao leapt up onto its giant feet and sprinted up its legs. When he reached the torso, he dove sideways and came down right in front of the gate. Before he landed, he drove his sword directly down into the skull of a demon. It lodged so deeply, he could barely get it back, and was forced to stand on the corpse while he yanked at the hilt.

All around him, demons closed in, but he lopped off their arms and heads before any could get close enough to even breathe on him. Before long he was a king, surrounded by the bodies of his fallen enemies. His princess cowered behind the Gundam statue, but she knew she was safe. Her hero would protect her.

A child’s stuffed toy lay beneath his boot, covered in blood and lacking its owner. It was Cloud Strife, a fluffy Buster sword sewn to the back of his purple suit. Covered in blood, Takao felt the Final Fantasy hero was a kindred spirit. They had both faced hell and survived.

Angry and ready for more, Takao stood before the gate and waited for new foes to come forth. The translucent centre of the gate shimmered and plopped, like an icy ball launched forth from Ryu’s fingertips. Hadoken.

Something else was emerging from the gate.

Takao wiped the blood from his hands onto his shirt. He gripped the sword tightly in front of him, determined never to be parted with it. He was Ronin, a lone Samurai concerned only with protecting the innocent.

What came through the gate was no lowly demon like the ones that lay dismembered at his feet. What came through the gate was a giant, taller even than the fallen Gundam statue. It looked down at Takao with utter hatred and murder in its unholy eyes.

But Takao did not run. “Fighting you will bring out my true strength,” he whispered. Then he narrowed his eyes and ran towards his enemy.

Monty

Mumbai

Being late for work was a paradox in Mumbai—it was at once entirely understandable, yet completely unforgivable. With so many Western firms looking for cheap, unskilled labour, and so many Indians looking for employment, you could be replaced in an afternoon. Yet, trying to get anywhere on the capital’s streets was a nightmare. If it were not the battling traffic—carts, bikes, cars, and rickshaws—it was the cows. One cow could claim an entire road as its own if it wanted. A hundred vehicles would have no choice but to wait while a unconcerned bovine strolled across the main thoroughfare. That was what was happening right now.

Monty didn’t own a car, but even on his bicycle it was slow going. He dodged into gaps wherever possible, but there were a dozen more cyclists doing the same. The drivers of cars hated the cyclists and did whatever they could to nudge out and block them. Mumbai was a city under stress. It wanted so much to be important, but was not yet ready to join the New Yorks and Londons of the world. It needed to learn to cope with being busy.

It didn’t help that one of the strange gates had risen on the edge of town. The Indian government had declared it a holy sight after the Sikh population had claimed it would soon spawn the warriors of their past to help fix the ills of the present. It was currently an encampment of tents, pilgrim buses, and food carts—a festival in earnest.

Monty was Hindu, so the last thing he believed was that a bunch of old, dead Sikhs were about to visit, but he did think that the gate was from the other world. What Gods would come through it, he did not know. Maybe Shiva, to destroy the world. Looking at the teeming streets and garbage-stuffed gutters, Monty wasn’t so sure that would be a bad idea.

He hated his job selling mobile phone insurance to rich westerners. They were always so rude to him. He was just doing a job, so why did they call him paki and other racist words—just because of his accent? The fact that Pakistan was another country entirely seemed not to bother these people. Of course, some of them were very friendly and would discuss the cricket with him, or tell him what it was like in their town, but most people were angry that he had called them. It was a hard job to do, but even so, he needed the money. That was why it would not do to be late. Without his job at the call centre, he would join the masses of unemployed, and that was no life to live. Many of his friends had joined gangs, and now murdered and robbed people for whatever meagre possessions they had. As much as he hated his job, he would hate having to do that even more.

“Come on!” he shouted at the skinny, brown cow fifteen yards ahead. He was met by frowns from the open car windows on either side of him. He respected cows as much as any Hindu, but sometimes you just have to get a move on.

He edged his bicycle into a gap behind a bus, and then placed his foot up on the curb. The scent of a nearby snack bar made his mouth water. They were mixing up soup and ladling it out with bread to the morning commuters sitting outside. Monty was so certain that his job would be lost by the time he ever got to his building that he almost considered tossing his bike into the gutter and having some of the delicious-smelling broth; but Saira would never forgive him. With the baby on the way, he could not give in to impulse. He would have to take his telling off from his British born boss and beg to keep his job.

There was a lot of angry honking up ahead, but Monty could not see through the fumes enough to peer down the road. So he leant over the curb and caught the attention of a man in a suit. “Hey, my friend. What is happening down the road?”

The man shrugged. He was holding a cup of piping coffee and looked like he was ready to take a sip. “Don’t know, don’t care.”

Monty frowned. “Oh, fuck you too, my friend.”

He caught the attention of somebody else, a boy wearing an Indian Cricket Team shirt. “Hello, son, do you know what all the honking is about?”

The boy shrugged as well, but at least he was polite. “I don’t know, sir. I believe it might have something to do with the gate.”

“But the gate is outside the city.”

He nodded. “Yes sir, but something has happened. It opened up and something came through.”

Monty shuddered. “”How do you know that?”

The boy held up his mobile phone. “I get news updates. It said there’s a major incident happening at the Sikh camp right now.”

Monty looked ahead and saw that several cars and bikes were breaking off and trying to turn around. Their radios had obviously informed them of the events up ahead.

The first thing Monty thought was that this might just provide the perfect excuse for his lateness. The second was that he was heading right in the direction of whatever major incident was happening at the edge of the city.

Should he turn back?

What was he heading into?

Before he had chance to decide, there was an explosion in the distance. At almost the exact same time, several helicopters swooped overhead. They looked like they belonged to the Indian Air Force. They were jungle green, and had guns hanging off stubby pairs of wings.

The traffic up ahead snarled up. Cars barged into one another as they tried to turn into side streets or reverse. The bus in front of Monty began to back up.

“Hey, hey, I am here!”

Monty leapt onto the sidewalk, and just managed to drag his bicycle out of the way of the bus’s large back tyres in time to save it from being crushed. The bus rammed into a battered Mercedes and the driver got out to shout about it.

There was a side street a little further ahead, so Monty hopped back up on his bike and pedalled for it. It was perilous riding on the path, but no more so than being amongst the grinding traffic that was continuing to turn on itself. At one point he almost collided with a stack of orange crates outside a grocers, but he skidded his back tyre and managed to miss it.

When he saw the cow up ahead, he shook his head and laughed. The entire road was full of panicking people, but the cow still strolled along as if nothing was happening. Even when the gunfire started.

It wasn’t just the distant machine guns of the helicopters that Monty heard; it was the antique war pistols that often passed hands in the local bars that made noise too. They sounded like fireworks every time one was fired.

Monty took the side street, and was dismayed to find it as chaotic as the main road he was leaving. A police car was parked up on the curb, with a pair of police officers trying to maintain order. Their white-gloved hands were raised in the air, but nobody was listening.

Monty pulled his bike up next to them. “What is going on?”

One of the officers, a Sikh in a turban, gave an answer. “We’re under attack. The Sikh encampment has been attacked by something. The army are moving in. People are being told to evacuate, but there’s no way to get them all out of the city.”

“It’s going to be a nightmare,” Monty agreed. “What are you doing here?”

“Very little. We’re to help redirect traffic to the north of the city, but there’s just no way. You should get out of here, sir. There’s going to be a lot of damage.”

Monty nodded. “Good luck.”

The officer had already turned away to join his partner, who was arguing with the driver of a van. The old man was leaning out of his window and pointing his finger. The officer had lost his cool and was batting the finger out of his face.

Monty got back on his pedals and continued down the sidewalk. He was heading towards the outskirts of the city now, and after a few hundred metres the pavement deteriorated into stony dirt. He changed gear and ignored the mild burning in his calves. The gunfire continued in the distance, and the only traffic he saw was heading away. Something bad was happening, and he had to get away too. He needed to get home to Saira. She and the baby could not be left in danger.

He intended to get on the next street heading north, as currently he was heading east, towards the Sikh encampment. The feeling that something was going to jump out at him at any moment made his tummy froth. But nothing did jump out.

The eateries and snack bars disappeared as he passed into an industrial section of the city. There were employees milling outside the various units, too nervous of losing their jobs to leave, but also too unnerved to concentrate on their tasks. The explosion had halted the city, but the gunfire was what truly frightened everyone. Mumbai might not be pretty, but it was peaceful compared to other cities in this part of the world. He wondered if the ISA had attacked, sick of India’s constant fraternisation with the West and opposition to Pakistan. The thought made him feel sick. He did not want his son or daughter growing up in a climate of fear.

He kept on peddling, trying to find a street to take him north. He finally found one a hundred metres ahead, just past a lumberyard. His feet bore down on the pedals and he picked up speed.

The blow to his face came from nowhere and tossed him straight off his bike. He hit the dirt hard and clutched at his face. His vision swam with stars and he felt blood coming from his nose. He moaned, rolled back and forth, then yelped as unkind hands dragged him to his feet.

“What happened? I can’t see. My nose is broken.”

“And so will be your knees if you don’t hand over everything you have.”

Monty pulled his hands away from his face and saw the blurry images of several men. He was surrounded. “W-who are you?”

“You want to die, man? You give us what you got. This isn’t your part of town, and you made a big mistake coming here.”

Monty looked down at his shirt and trousers, and then up at the topless men that stood before him. He moaned. “You’re Dawar boys?”

“I won’t tell you again, man. Give us your wallet and your watch.”

Monty reached for his watch. The Dawar boys were a local gang, responsible for much of the low-level drug dealing in the area. They hung around the factories, selling to the underclasses. He had never encountered them face-to-face before. He handed over his watch, not even caring about it. “There’s been an attack,” he said. “I’m just trying to get out of the city.”

“Good idea, man. You can leave, just not with your wallet.”

“You are seriously robbing me?”

“What does it look like?”

“It looks like we all need to flee the city and instead you are wasting time trying to take what little I have.”

The lead thug pulled a knife out of his waistband and thrust it under Monty’s chin. “One more word, fucker. Your wallet or you die.”

Monty sighed. He was not carrying much more than two thousand rupees, so he wasn’t going to risk his life for it. He reached into his pocket and took out his wallet.

He was just about to hand it over when something leapt out from a gap between a textiles warehouse and a storage unit.

“What the fuck is that?” one of the thugs shouted.

Monty’s jaw fell open. His hand froze in mid air, still clutching his wallet, but nobody was interested in his money any more. There was a monster coming towards them.

The creature was hunched over like an ape, but had long talons like an eagle. There was no doubting its ferocity, as it sliced open a textile worker as she tried to get out of its way.

“It came out the gate,” Monty shouted. “I told you the city was under attack. We need to flee.”

The leader of the gang looked at him. “Yeah, you warned us. We need to get out of here”

Monty nodded. “Yes.”

“Buy us a head start, will you?”

Monty was confused, but before he asked a question, he felt a sharp agony in his stomach. He looked down and saw that the thug had buried his knife up to the handle in his guts.

The thugs took off while Monty fell into the road, clutching his stomach and trying to take a breath through the burning agony in his torso. The blood covered his hands in seconds, and his legs shook as if they were hollow.

The creature saw Monty lying on the ground and seemed to smile. He crouched down and came towards him slowly, as if it were enjoying the sight of his fear and suffering.

“P-please?” said Monty, but he knew it would do no good. He hoped this monster would never meet Saira and their unborn child, but he knew it was going to have him for sure. If there were any justice it would catch up to those thugs who stabbed him as well. They deserved the worst kind of hell for what they had done.

As Monty bled on the ground, he noticed something at the end of the road. It was the skinny, brown cow, strolling along without a care in the world.

Monty laughed.

Nancy Granger

Durham, Maine

“Clark, I’m going out of my mind. I can’t leave here. What if they call? We need to stay by the phone.”

“Nancy, we have to get out of here. They’re evacuating the entire area. Brunswick is gone. We’re going to be next.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Nancy, there is an army of monsters coming this way. I understand you want to wait and speak to Kyle and Alice, but you won’t be able to if you’re dead. We have to head for the evacuation centres. They say the south coast is safer.”

Nancy put her face in her hands and tried not to cry. Everything that Clark was saying was true, but she felt wrong in leaving. Guy had told her to stay put, but that was when he had thought it was safe. With Brunswick in flames, Durham would be next. Most of the neighbours had already packed up their things and left. The Goldmans next door had piled half their belongings onto the roof rack of their Escalade before speeding off down the street.

“Clark, do you think they’re okay? They’re all on their own in a foreign country.”

“It’s England, not Cambodia. They will be fine. They’re with the Army.”

“Who have stopped responding to my calls.”

“I’m sure they’re busy,” Clark snapped. “They have a country to defend.”

“Okay.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry. Look, I’m just worried about us. Soon as we get somewhere safe I will dedicate myself to getting a hold of the kids. For now, you need to think about your own safety.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right.” She looked at the phone. It seemed to mock her by not ringing. “Damn it. Okay, let’s go.”

Clark looked relieved. “I’ve already packed the car up. Grab whatever you need, because we might not be back for a while.”

Nancy raced into the study. On the desk were several pictures. She had photographs of Alice and Kyle in her wallet, but wherever they ended up staying tonight would feel more like home with a picture in a frame. She looked at the various snapshots and tried to find the one she liked best. The one that leapt out at her was the one of her, Guy, and the kids at Busch Gardens in Tampa. It had been one of the best days ever, back before Guy had become captain of his own ship. After that he never seemed to be around very often anymore. She knew that Clark had never liked the photograph of them all, but she was actually with Clark, so it only felt right to have a picture of all the other people in her life she cared about, but were not here. She grabbed the frame and put it into her handbag, stuffing it down so that it wouldn’t fall out. Then she closed her eyes and prayed that there would be chance to take new pictures one day.

She had no idea what was happening in the world, but it was horrifying. Being evacuated from her own home… A bad sign.

“You ready?” Clark came up behind her. “I want to be on the highway in five minutes. Traffic is going to pen us in, so we need to get moving. We have no idea what’s coming this way.”

A deep rumbling shook the house.

“God, what is that, Clark?”

“Grab your things.”

They hurried out to the carport and were struck dumb by what they saw. An endless convoy of army vehicles trundled down the quiet residential street as if it were the centre of Baghdad circa 2003. Massive trucks rolled along behind monolithic tanks, and columns of weary soldiers marched along the side of the road trying to keep up. Their uniforms were dirty and many were bloody. Some men carried along their injured comrades, and one in two sported a bandage or stitches of their own. One of the tanks had a bent cannon.

“It looks like they got a dustin’,” said Clark.

“I think it was worse than that.”

“Still want to stay here?” he asked her.

“No, I’ve changed my mind. Get me out of here.”

Nancy slid into the passenger seat while Clark took the wheel. They had to wait for some time for the army to pass through, but by the time it was gone, she was once again dreading what had happened to Kyle and Alice. If the US Army—the greatest fighting force in the world—had been bested so soundly, then what hope did England have? Clark had told her that their forces were equally as well trained as theirs, but still… Britain was no USA when it came to modern warfare. Or was she just being ignorantly patriotic? She hoped so.

Once the army had gone, the street was haunted by their memory. Lawns were torn up and muddy, oil slicks covered the road, and the houses all lay empty. It felt to Nancy like they were the last people on earth. Somewhere down the end of the road, something would be coming their way—an army of monsters stripping the land of humanity like a swarm of bloodthirsty locusts. She and Clark would run for now, but eventually there would be nowhere to go.

She had to find her kids. Alice and Kyle needed her.

And if she couldn’t get to them, she just hoped that Guy could. She’d never needed her ex-husband as much as she did now.

Hans

German Airspace

Hans banked his Tornado left and swooped down towards the city of Dusseldorf. The grey squares of industrial buildings, factories, and warehouses grew in size the lower he got. The gate was not big enough to spot through his cockpit windows yet, but he had its coordinates locked into his targeting systems. He was not carrying his normal payload of anti-aircraft missiles and air-to-ground munitions. His plane was carrying fire—lots of it. The incendiary missiles were leftovers from the first Gulf War. Today’s missions did not involve maximising human casualties. Modern munitions were designed to cause collateral damage—to take out buildings and bunkers, or the odd troop carrier. Having CNN or BBC footage of human beings burning to death after being covered in white phosphorus was not the way Germany wanted to be portrayed. Adolf Hitler was not yet erased from the world’s consciousness, and as such, Germany never got its hands bloody if there were alternatives. This time, there were no alternatives.

This time Germany wanted to see its enemies burn.

The gate had opened up in the city’s burgplatz—Castle Square. Named so for the castle that once stood there. The flat, open area perched next to the river Düssel, which was chock-a-block with attack boats—all of which were filled with armed soldiers. The sound of machine gun and assault rifle fire was like a swarm of hornets.

Hans swooped down lower, the nose of his Tornado pointed almost vertically at the ground, but then he banked sideways and pulled up. As he jetted over the rooftops, he got his first glimpse of the gate. The area teemed with the misshapen, horrific bodies of demons. They looked like burned men and woman, which made the Bundestag’s plan to engulf them in flames seem slightly redundant. Kommandos on the ground, however, had reported that the demons did indeed die when set aflame. They had reduced an enemy force outside the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin to ashes, but had been forced to retreat when the demons kept on coming.

So Hans’s job, along with three of his fellow pilots in their own Tornado’s was to engulf the entire site with white phosphorus—pretty much the nastiest substance you could drop on an enemy. When the substance was exposed to air it ignited. When it touched a person’s skin, it stuck while continuing to burn. In simple terms, white phosphorus would dissolve you while you screamed in the worst agony you could imagine. Even if you survived, you would likely die of kidney failure, or from the side effects that caused your lower jaw to rot away. It was a substance Hans had never dropped before, and had vowed never to do so. He had no qualms about it now.

He called in to HQ and made sure the area was properly evacuated. The ground forces had retreated to the ships on the Düssel or into the armored troop carriers that blocked the main roads. The enemy was pinned in—contained to the area around the gate. Some got through into other parts of the city, but it was slow going for them. Now was the time to strike.

Hans did a quick circle above the city, and then entered into his calculated approach. A flick of a switch primed his payload to release. All he had to do was reach the strike point on his intended trajectory and hit FIRE. The ball would be in the back of the net within seconds.

He grunted into the radio. “Engaging enemy. T-minus ten till fire.”

“Proceed as planned,” he received back.

Hans kept his Tornado under his control. He could have let the plane automatically follow the flight plan entered into its systems, but he liked to have the final say at crunch time. There was no machine yet able to think on its feet, and when it came to releasing death on a target, being able to make a last-second alteration was vital. Not that he expected any reason to change his mind in this instance.

As he sped towards the burgplatz once again, he saw the enemy teeming on the ground like ants. No, not like ants—like vermin. They were there to overrun and destroy, like a horde of rats inside a pantry. They would leave behind nothing but filth and remains. Unless they were dealt with like the pests they were.

Hans removed the shield from the top of his flight stick, revealing the red FIRING button beneath. He poised his thumb over it, waiting for the ideal firing solution. The flight computer told him it would be only three seconds away.

Ping!

The electronic targeting reticule went from red to green and it was time to press the button, but in the split second between his brain telling his thumb to press down and his thumb actually doing it, he saw something.

He lifted his thumb away just in time.

A mother and her child stood on top of a rooftop, waving their arms at his plane as it swooped towards them. They thought their salvation had arrived. The mother clutched her little boy in her arms and told him to wave his arms in time with her. The woman had a smile on her face so wide that he could see it from the air.

She reminded Hans of his own wife and his own son, safely tucked away in their cottage in the hamlet of Genheim, two hundred miles from the nearest gate. But were they truly safe there? Were the demons below ever going to stop? How many of them would come through the gates?

The only thing he could do to protect his family was to kill as many of the enemy as he could. He gave the mother and her little boy one last look, and then pressed FIRE.

Death rained down on the city of Dusseldorf.

Damien Banks

Birmingham

Damien Banks was an investment banker in the city. It was a job he hated—and most other people hated him for doing it. Bloody bankers—but the money was good and it pleased his father. Jan Banks was a hard man to please, but money seemed to do it. When he had made a fortune by building a vacuum cleaning empire, he had expected his layabout son to get off his butt and do the same. Damien had chosen banking because he lacked the imagination to make money through anything more creative. When his father had told him to make money, his mind had made the simple step right to banking, so he had studied economics and taken a job at a bank. It was strange, but he had always felt like he was meant for something greater. Being a banker was so—shit!

It was because of his stuffy, suited role as a banker that left Damien so surprised by how well he was faring in the current crisis. Demons had attacked the city—and everywhere else, it seemed—but he was somehow unfazed by it all. He had left his office on Corporation Street and headed towards the new Grand Central Station where refugees were quickly being hustled underground. The army were engaging the enemy and flying glass and debris rained from the skies like snow, except this wasn’t winter; it was summer.

People were screaming and moaning all around him, yelling into their phones for their loved ones, but he stood amongst it all calmly. He took it all in—the sobbing people huddled on the platforms, the frightened elderly sitting inside the idle trains—watching the pain and misery all around him and feeling every tear. He wanted to help. He needed to help.

He hurried up to a police officer in a bright yellow coat and got his attention. “What can I do?” he asked.

“Sir, you need to remain here and stay calm. The Army are dealing with it.”

“I’m sure they are, but I would like to help. The more people taking action the better.”

“Sir, you cannot get involved. Please go find somewhere to sit, until we know more.”

Damien shook his head and sighed. Telling someone not to get involved when the city was under attack was the height of irony. They were all involved whether they liked it or not. He couldn’t just stand around and do nothing. People were hurt, and being hurt.

He made towards the escalators, which were switched off but still made perfectly good stairs. As he took the metal steps, two at a time, the unhelpful police officer shouted after him. “Oi, you get yourself back here pronto.”

“No can do,” he yelled back.

The police officer stepped after him, but then looked back at the several thousand unruly civilians on the platforms behind him and thought better of it. He probably thought Damien was welcome to go get himself killed if he wanted.

As he headed through the shopping centre and emerged onto the pedestrian ramp, he had to shield his eyes from the burning sun. It was a glorious day, but the smoke rising from the city’s tallest buildings ruined it. Helicopters flew overhead and soldiers ran between Corporation Street and New Street with groups of screaming civilians between them.

“You need to go back into the train station,” one of the soldiers advised him, but didn’t seem like he was going to make an issue of it.

Damien considered whether he was somehow odd, due to the fact he felt drawn to the danger in the city, rather than away from it. The gate had opened outside City Hall, which was a ten minute walk down a wide open street. Even from where he was stood, he could make out the fighting in the distance.

Birmingham City under siege; it was a headline he never would have expected. No one could have expected it. Yet, somehow, he felt like he had been waiting for it. Lately he had been having the strangest dreams. Dreams of demons. Only they had been demons in the snow. And it hadn’t been him in the dreams fighting them—well, it had been him, but it was like a different version of him. The dreams had left him unsettled, like he had been waiting for something terrible to happen. He knew it was coming.

This morning, terrible had arrived.

He’d been in his office when he’d heard the chorus of screams. There had been flocks of people coming into the city all morning to see the strange black stone that had embedded itself in the fountain at the City Hall plaza, but Damien and his colleagues had just been getting on with their jobs. Banking never stopped, and one morning of distraction could cost a shitload of money. Damien did not lose money. He hated his job, but he made sure he kicked ass at it.

So what the hell was he doing? He was marching into a warzone wearing an Armani suit.

The closer he got to City Hall, the less and less he saw of the military. He should have been seeing more, but those he did see seemed to be moving away quickly, concerned only with getting civilians to safety rather than fighting the enemy.

He found a small group of soldiers hanging out the doorway of a bank. They seemed to be regrouping. When they saw Damien heading towards them, their eyes went wide.

“What the bleedin’ ‘ell you doin’ mate? Get out of here.”

“I want to help,” he said, realising how stupid he sounded now. What place did he have being amongst the soldiers?

The group’s sergeant stepped forward, a dark haired man with stubble and a flushed complexion—looked like a drinker. His nameplate read: Jobson. “People are dying out here, kid. I don’t know if you’ve noticed that.”

“I have. That’s why I’m here. I want to help.”

“You can’t help. You can only help yourself by getting out of here.”

“Yeah, okay. This was stupid. I just feel wrong standing around doing nothing. People need help.”

The soldier put out his hand. “My name is Harry. You are?”

“Damien. Damien Banks.”

“Well, Damien, I appreciate your courage. My advice would be to join the service. You obviously have the nut sack for it. Right now, though, you’re a civvie, and I can’t allow you to place yourself in danger. So get your arse in gear and get back to the safe zone. The train station is still holding, yes?”

Damien nodded. “It’s fine.”

“Good, then get mov-”

“Help me!”

The soldiers, and Damien, spun around to see a young woman sprinting towards them. She had a bloody-streaked face and her brown hair had been torn out in a clump. Right behind her was a vile creature that was worse even than Damien’s nightmares.

“Help her!” he shouted.

The soldier, Harry, brought up his rifle, and his men did the same. None of them fired though.

“What are you waiting for?”

“We can’t get a sight on it. The girl is in the way.”

Damien looked at the young woman and realised that the monster was right on her heels. It was too risky for the soldiers to take a shot. He realised then why he was there.

He took off in the direction of the terrified woman, running as fast as he could. The soldiers shouted after him, but there was no way he was being talked out of it.

The closer he got to the demon, the uglier it was. It was more ape than man, with talons like swords on its arms. It was only a few steps behind the girl now. It was going to get her.

The demon launched itself into the air and came down right on top of the woman. She yelled out, but her screams were cut short when her chin hit the pavement.

The soldiers were still shouting, but as the woman tried to rise back up, she again blocked any clear shot on her attacker.

The creature pinned her down with one of its claws and raised the other in the air. Then it slashed downwards at the woman’s neck.

Damien launched himself at the creature just in time to stop it decapitating the defenceless woman. The thing was crazily strong, and it was like trying to ride a bull. He grabbed it around the neck and squeezed, but it continued to thrash. Breaking necks seemed so easy in the movies. Eventually it got free of his grip and got itself loose. Damien was left on his back while the thing spun to face him.

“Oh bollocks.”

The monster leapt at Damien.

Damien lifted both legs and kicked out, catching his attacker in the stomach and holding him at bay. He gritted his teeth and kicked out with everything he had. It was enough to send the creature reeling backwards.

And into enough space that the soldiers could open fire.

Clatter clatter clatter.

The demon spun and twisted, dancing the dance of death. It was all over in a few seconds. The demon lay dead on the floor. The young woman was safe. Damien was trying not to piss his pants.

Harry came running up, scanning the area with his rifle. When he was satisfied that it was safe, he helped the woman to her feet. She was in bad shape, but nothing vital seemed to be injured. She was sobbing, but was also gushing with gratitude. When Damien got up off the floor, she went over and hugged him. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he said. “Glad I was here to help.”

“You did good, kid,” said Harry. “I really do hope you join the service. You got the biggest balls I ever seen. You took that son-of-a-bitch on hand to hand.”

“I had no choice,” he said.

“Yes, you did,” said the girl. “You could have done nothing. Who are you?”

“My name is Damien.”

She hugged him again. “Thank you, Damien. My name is Steph.”

“Steph, Damien. I know you both want to have your moment, but I think it’s time to leave.” Harry pointed towards the City Hall, to where more of the demons were coming around the corner. It was time to leave.

“This thing has just got started, hasn’t it?” Damien asked the sergeant.

Harry nodded his head. “Think this might just be our final Summer. Let’s make it one to remember.”

The soldiers opened fire.

“Mankind must put an end to war before war puts and end to mankind.”

– John F. Kennedy

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”

– William Shakespeare

“For God’s sake, how do you stop it?

– Ash, Evil Dead II, Renaissance Pictures/DEG

Tony Cross

Turkey-Syrian Border

Choppers buzzed overhead like a flock of giant birds—ones made of metal and armed with heat-seeking missiles. The air was so disturbed that walking through it was like navigating the centre of a whirlwind. Tony had to stop several times to wipe mud and grass from his eyes, and either side of him men and women from all nations did the same. German flag patches joined French, Turkish, Syrian, Iranian, Israeli, and dozens more. All of the armed forces stationed in Turkey had rallied, and now marched upon mankind’s first universal foe. No longer would men fight amongst themselves over things so trivial as religion or pride. The hour to pull together as a species had arrived, and Tony was proud to be a part of the movement.

He and some other British soldiers had worked with a captured group of Syrian rebels—terrorists—and succeeded in closing one of the infernal gates in the desert. Enemies had become allies, and together they had found enough strength to strike a blow to their adversary.

Ahead, lay mankind’s new enemy.

The shimmering gate towered twenty feet above the ground eighty miles from Istanbul. Monsters poured out of it like bile, tearing apart the landscape and littering it with human corpses. The enemy’s attacks had taken the world by surprise, as no one could have expected a worldwide, simultaneous attack from an alien force. It had been a bloodbath beyond comprehension. The monsters had gotten things all their own way so far, but that was about to change.

Mankind was not about to lie down.

The first line of choppers unleashed hellfire upon the enemy. The roaring impact shook the earth, sending dark clouds across the land. Rocks and dirt rained down from the heavens. And blood too. The end of the world or just plain old war? It was impossible to see the enemy death toll at the moment of impact, but once the smoke began to clear, a mountain of limbs and guts piled up before the gate. Blood and intestines slid down into newly-formed craters. Those enemies left alive staggered about in shock. To see a monster scared was empowering.

The allied soldiers released a triumphant cry and threw themselves into battle.

Tony loosed round after round at twisted, burnt monsters spilling out of Hell itself. His aim was honed, and his bullets took apart skulls and rib cages with lethal rhythm. He was fury at the end of a high powered rifle, and would see his enemy bleed long into the night. Beside him, brothers and sisters did the same. The chance to fight back, even when things seemed hopelessly lost, was enough to keep the human spirit aflame. The wanton slaughter had evolved into a war. The victims had become soldiers. The only question now was if enough people realised they were fighters now whether they liked it or not.

Tony lobbed a grenade at a pack of monsters and grinned as they disappeared in a sudden cloud of black and grey. No longer afraid, he got close enough to impale a demon on the end of his bayonet. He used his foot to kick the wretched bastard away.

A group of Russian Spetnaz entered the fray with hulking shotguns, splitting enemy bodies in two with explosive buckshot. The soldiers’ red bandanas flapped behind their heads as they spun with brutal efficiency.

A French lady, donning a sky-blue UN beret, fired at the gate with twin pistols, more like a courageous videogame character than a trained soldier. Tony was sad to see her fall when an abomination tore out her stomach.

More soldiers quickly fell, but nobody fell back. It was too late for retreat. Now or never. Tony threw another grenade and kept pace with his roaring comrades. Istanbul was on fire, filled with horrors, but they were facing it together. This was war.

The last war mankind would ever see.

John Windsor

2 weeks earlier

The room stank of death. A syrupy sweet odour melding with a brown, noxious rot. Sweat, blood, piss, and filth. It was all there. The blanket stench of the infirm.

Hospitals. If ever there was a place John Windsor loathed, it was the hospital. Prime Ministerial obligation was the only reason he inhabited one now, and the last time he had entered one voluntarily, his granny Margaret gave in to the smoker’s curse and let lung cancer take her. He’d been twenty years old, but he remembered it as being the very last time he had cried. His Law degree completed not long after, he had begun his journey to the courtrooms, where emotion was a hindrance. Now, twenty years later, he was the youngest Prime Minister of the 21st Century, the prospects of his own hospital stay still many years distant. Being faced with other people’s impending death was an unwelcome task, even if it was a necessary part of the job, and he was counting the minutes until he could leave.

A sycophantic nurse waddled over, a proud grin on her chubby face. No doubt she felt important, getting the job of shaking the PM’s hand, but the truth was she would be forgotten the moment he turned his back. Some people held such small ambition, yet he did not deny her the small moment of victory. Leaning forward, he paired the hearty handshake with a peck on the cheek that sent the woman giddy. He fought the urge to wipe his mouth on his sleeve afterwards.

The plump woman gushed. “We’re so glad to have you here, Prime Minister.”

John smiled, certain he could taste the woman’s sweat on his lips. “It’s my pleasure, Joan.” Good spot on the name badge. Plebs love it when you use their names. “It’s a wonderful job you’re doing here.”

“We do what we can. It’s a hard job, but so vital. We had our funding cut last—”

“Shall we take the tour?” said John, waving a hand towards the ward. Cramped tent cubicles filled it, and likely housed various dying occupants. So much money just to park the nearly dead. So inefficient.

“Oh yes, of course, the tour.” The nurse nodded. “This is the oncology ward where we care for stage 4 patients. I would introduce you to our guests, but most will be sleeping. Best not to disturb them.”

John nodded gravely, although it was great news. He had held little desire to look upon the diseased. “Of course, Joan. You are an angel to these people.”

“Me? Oh no, I’m just one woman doing what she—”

“Shall we move on?”

“Yes, Prime Minister, of course. There is lots to see.”

And lots to see there was—a dreadful amount in fact. John endured over an hour of sweaty handshakes and prattling small talk. In the children’s ward, he had to go so far as to kiss a collection of clammy foreheads (his PR Secretary’s idea, not his). By the time John looped back around to where he had begun, exhaustion had set in. Two bodyguards accompanied him the entire time and looked just as bored as he was.

It was time to go.

John turned and gave the chubby nurse one last sweaty handshake. This time he was powerless not to wipe his palm on the pocket of his blazer. Thankfully, the woman didn’t seem to notice, although Barry—one of his bodyguards—had to stifle a laugh. John gave his man a wry smile as he spoke out the corner of his mouth. “Thank you so much for having me, Joan. I will check in and see how you are doing again very soon, you can count on it. Give my love to your husband, David.”

The woman beamed. Simple tactic, asking about her family during the tour, and reciting it back to her now was enough to make her love him. People would eat shit with a smile if they thought you were feeding it only to them.

John’s bodyguards opened the fire door at the side of the hospital and stepped out before him. Their hands rested in their blazers, fingers on their guns. Not that they had ever needed to wield them—this was England, not Baghdad. All the same, his two burly men of action broke into panic now.

Something hit John in the chest, just over his heart, and when he looked down he saw a mess. Barry barrelled into him and covered him with his wide bulk. Meanwhile, Jeff launched himself forward at a stranger who John didn’t even realise was out there.

The scowling stranger yelled. “You’re a disgrace!”

John realised he was covered in egg just as another one hit him. This time it hit square in the face, hurting John’s ego more than his flesh. So incensed was he, that he released a bellowing war cry and threw himself at the egg-pitcher. Barry grabbed him and held him in place as if he were a twig—which wasn’t far from the truth. John’s strength came from his dark brown eyes, his precise words, and his booming voice, not his slender body and willowy limbs.

Jeff grabbed the stranger around the neck and dragged him away, but the crazed buffoon continued his tirade. “You’ll ruin this country,” he yelled. “The NHS will be in tatters by the time you finish stripping it for parts. My sister’s in there because she couldn’t get the help she needed a year ago. She’s dying because of you and your fucking government.”

Barry barked into his radio, alerting Special Branch. John shouted over him, putting his powerful voice into action. “You pathetic creature. You think throwing eggs will change things for your sister? Maybe if you had done something worthwhile with your life, you might have earned enough money to pay for the operation yourself. Why should other people pay for it? Blame yourself.”

“I blame you!”

John regained a hold of himself and lowered his voice. Anger withdrew from his eyes. Just in time, too, as people had begun wandering into the backstreet to witness the kerfuffle. This would already be bad press, but him berating a member of the public in front of witnesses would be a disaster. He quickly grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away the egg on his lapel and face.

Time for a little damage control.

John looked upon the furious stranger and smiled compassionately. “I’m sorry for what you are going through, sir. My dear old grandmother died in hospital of cancer too. I vowed that very day, as a young man of twenty, that I would see an end to such a dreadful disease. You have my pledge that I will do everything within my power to have the NHS restored to its former glory. Your passion is to be admired, sir, and I understand your frustrations completely. Leave your details with my assistant, and we will talk later.”

The egg thrower opened his mouth to speak, but was utterly confused. “Y-you’re a liar.”

John chuckled. “You caught me quite by surprise, but your concerns matter greatly to me, sir. I wish to help.”

“You can help my sister by—”

“I really must be going,” said John. He moved towards the black Mercedes that had suddenly appeared. The black Range Rover behind would be full of Special Branch ready to break this idiot’s arms if John ordered it, but there were too many spectators now. The true pleasure anyway was in spinning this fool’s attack into good press. It would be on the news within the hour, spun to portray him as the calm, passionate man his party worked so hard to make him. Idiots.

John waved quickly to the growing crowd of spectators, then allowed Barry to hustle him towards the car—as if it wasn’t his choice at all but something he fought against. The face he pulled suggested he would happily stay and greet people all day if he weren’t so frightfully busy.

Inside the Mercedes, the air conditioning was running, and a glass of gin sat in the alcove beside the handle. John took the drink and waited for his bodyguards to get in beside him. Jeff slid in earnestly, but Barry let out a chuckle as soon as the doors were closed and they were on their way. “What a morning, aye boss?”

John sipped his drink. “Just another day at the races. Bloody fools. What point did the idiot think he would make throwing eggs at me? At least do it somewhere there’s a crowd. Not a single person even saw him do it.”

“They saw your recovery though. You deserve an Oscar.”

“An Oscar?” He waved a hand. “Pah, anything American isn’t worth having.” He fiddled with his silver cufflinks as he expressed other concerns. “Hopefully there were no cameras on us that caught the whole thing. You never bloody know these days.”

Barry eased back in the seat as if there was nothing to worry about. “I doubt it. Even if there were, they wouldn’t have sound. You got a bit red faced, but what man wouldn’t when pelted by eggs?”

A beeping sound invaded the car’s interior, making them look at one another. Jeff pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen. “They have the egg-thrower in custody. Shall I tell them to let him go?”

John gave his bodyguard a stare that made the bigger man shrink. “You must be joking. The man assaulted the leader of his country. You’d be shot for doing such a thing in some countries. No, I want the man charged to the full extent. Prison time if possible. Community service if not. The man believes things come for free, so let’s see how he likes giving his time away for nothing. You have to love irony.”

Jeff frowned.

“Is there a problem, Jeff?”

“No, it’s just… the man was just upset about his sister. Maybe you could—”

John leaned forwards. “Throw him a bone, perhaps?”

“Well, yes.”

John glared at the man, letting him know he’d overstepped his boundaries. Jeff was new, but he would learn. “Okay, I’ll show some compassion. Barry, please tell my secretary to find out the name of the man’s sister and send a bouquet of flowers.” He looked at Jeff. “Good enough? No? Okay… Barry, make it a really big bouquet.”

Barry broke into hysterics. “Right-o, boss.”

Jeff stayed quiet for the remainder of the journey.

John was glad to get back to Downing Street an hour or so later. He had meetings all day, but most were with lackeys who would do little to annoy him. He would keep one eye on the news—to see if anything came of his morning altercation with the egg-thrower—but the day would fly by. Tomorrow morning, he had a meeting with an American healthcare provider vying to pick the final morsels from the NHS’s corpse. They were welcome to it, so long as their pockets were deep enough. The time of free healthcare was over. It hadn’t been sustainable since the population boom in the sixties. People needed to take responsibility for their own lives in today’s world. The free lunches were finished. No tyrant ruled over them—they all had the chance to make something of their lives. No more excuses.

John went into his office and sat down in his high-backed leather chair—a kind gift from the Italian PM. He liked its size—tall, like he was. An imposing, yet sophisticated piece to cement his position at the head of an empire—his throne. And make no mistake, Britain was still an empire—albeit financially now rather than martial.

John had just pulled a sheath of papers from his in-tray when the buzzer rang on his intercom. He accepted the call. “Yes?”

No answer. Only a crackling hiss.

“Stephanie, are you there? Stephanie, you best not be interrupting me for no reason.”

The line went dead. John leaned across his desk and prodded a finger at the black, plastic intercom. It hissed at him. “Chinese piece of crap!”

“I believe it was made in the USA,” said a voice in the room.

John shot back in his seat. “What the…?”

A well-dressed gentleman smiled politely at him from the back of the room. Donning an old-fashioned, yet impeccable suit, the stranger’s aquiline face was indifferent. Pointing to the intercom, he nodded. “Motorola, see? I believe they are based in the United States.”

“Who the Hell?”

The man grinned. “Who the Hell, indeed. My name is Oscar Boruta. They call me the Toy Maker, but that’s of no consequence. My time is short, and I am here only as emissary.”

“Emissary for whom? How did you get past security? If you’re another of those bloody imbeciles from the anti-fracking commission I will—”

“Silence! I am not here to discuss trifling matters. My intention is to present to you an offer.”

John was unnerved, and he realised that it had led to him humouring this intruder when he should have been slinging him out. He sat up straight in his chair and pointed a finger to his door. “You can bloody well make an appointment like everybody else. You do not barge into the office of the Prime Minister. I am this country’s leader.”

“You lead nothing—a sheperd of sickly sheep and mewing lambs.”

John stood up, fists clenched. “How dare you! I’ll have you—”

“Hear my offer,” said the gentleman. “And then I’ll leave you to your impotent bluster.”

John wondered how the man could be so brazen, to walk in here and talk to the PM in such a manner. He seemed to possess utter conviction about being there and that he should be listened to. But his eyes’ cold, grey flare betrayed his calm expression. The old man was dangerous.

“You have thirty-seconds, Mr Boruta.”

“I need only one.” With that, the elderly man lunged forwards and gripped John’s skull between his bony fingers, squeezing so hard that he saw stars.

Boruta glared into John’s eyes. “Take a look at what is coming.”

And John did see.

He saw it all—what was coming, and what would be.

The end.

When Boruta finally let go of his skull, John was sweating and panting. It seemed like he had been trapped in a nightmare for days, but he knew it had been mere seconds. He gawped at the old man standing before him and realised the truth—this was no man at all. His cold, grey eyes were devoid of life—of anything that made a man human.

“Well,” said Boruta. “What is your answer?”

John was too shaken to speak at first. After a long swallow, he was able to say, “Yes, yes, I will serve him.”

Vamps

Vamps didn’t know what made him grab his grandfather’s old Browning pistol from the safe beneath his bed, but something in his gut told him he might need it today. The city was on edge. Born and raised on the streets of London, Vamps felt the energy of its people in his veins. Just as an investment banker knew where the next trendy wine bar would pop up, Vamps knew where the next pocket of unrest would be. He had known which areas would get hit worst in the 2011 riots and where the pigs were most likely to pinch you. The City of London was an organism, its brain in the financial centre, heart in the tourist districts, and a diseased liver in the poorer areas that dealt with all the filth produced.

Today, Vamps experienced a feeling uncommon to him. He’d lived in Brixton his entire life, so danger was an everyday part of life, but this was different. Standing on the balcony outside his fifth floor flat and clutching his grandfather’s pistol in the pocket of his hoodie, he felt truly afraid for the first time since he was a child. The city was humming, from the rough areas to the posh. Trouble was brewing.

And it’s all because of those weird black stones.

Vamps had watched the news for most of the morning after awakening with a whiskey-hangover. The breaking reports told of a strange black stone in the centre of Oxford Street. A bus crashed into it, and when the driver got out to inspect the damage, he fell down dead in the middle of the street. He had touched the strange black stone moments before.

There were more strange stones all over the country. An old lady died near the coast next to one, and a stone in the middle of a Scottish football ground killed the groundsman. Anyone who touched the stones died. Simple as.

But it was the one in London—Vamps’s home—that concerned him.

So what the hell were they? And where had they come from? Nobody knew the answers, which was why everybody was afraid. London was afraid. Vamps was afraid.

The gunpowder was primed and ready to ignite.

Vamps needed to get out on the streets—his streets. He couldn’t be a bystander if things were about to go bad. He had a duty to look after his home. They all did. Brixton was a tough place, but there was a code they all stuck to. You didn’t tolerate shit coming in from the outside.

The elevators to Vamp’s low rise had been out of order for over a year, so he hurtled down the piss-stained steps instead. On his way, he hopped a sleeping junkie on the third floor without so much as a second glance—local wildlife. When he reached the pavement outside, he struggled to breathe for a moment. It was a warm day, but it was more than simple mugginess. The air tasted thick and ominous.

The newsagents on the other side of Tanners road was chock-a-block, people seemingly having gathered there to gossip about what was going on. Everywhere else was quiet though—no kids on bikes, and no gangs hanging around on the brick walls that lined the car parks surrounding the low rises. Vamps knew were they would all be—glued to a television set somewhere.

One person stood out in the open though. The nearest car park contained the usual mix of barely running Escorts and Golfs, as well as one or two newer—although not by much—motors. Vamps himself did not drive, but it still annoyed him whenever someone’s ride got messed with. Why should someone pay all that money to tax and fuel a car only to have some dickhead slash the tyres or key the bodywork? It was that kind of shit that kept them all in the gutter. That was why, when Vamps saw the lad in the luminous green beanie cap trying to shove a metal coat hanger down the window of an old Corsa, he marched right on over.

“The fuck you think you’re doing, blud?”

The lad flinched, the beanie cap almost flying off his head. When he recovered from the fright, he put on a scowl and thrust out his chin. “This your motor?”

“No.”

“Then what the fuck you care, innit?”

Vamps stepped up to the lad. “I care because you’re shitting on my doorstep. You vandalise this car and the owner has to pay to fix it. That means he struggles to buy his kid new clothes, which means they go to school and get bullied. Then they grow up with a big, angry chip on their shoulder that makes them go round robbing cars like the fucking low-life you are. You’re victimising people who have had to deal with the same shit as you, yo. We should be helping each other, not keeping each other down.”

“The fuck you talking about, man? Just piss off, innit. Some guy is stupid enough to leave his sat nav on display, he deserves to get it pinched.”

“And you deserve to get rolled if someone catches you.”

The lad lifted his chin higher. “You ain’t man enough, blud, trust me.”

Vamps grinned wide, letting his gold fangs show. “You is a toddler, blud. Don’t run before you can walk, you get me?”

Just as Vamps could feel the vibe of the city, he felt the vibe of the lad, which was why he saw the punch coming in plenty of time. He stepped aside and the lad’s swing became a miss, but a line had been crossed. Rep was now at stake. Vamps had no choice but to deliver a vicious hook to the lad’s unguarded ribs. The blow produced a meaty thud, and its recipient dropped to the ground like a bag of bricks, gasping. The lad’s green beanie cap fell off his head, and Vamps retrieved it. Instead of giving it back, he put it on his own head.

“Don’t throw your fists unless you know how to use them, blud.” He said it with more pity in his voice than malice. “I understand what it’s like living on these streets, yo, but you don’t have to be what they tell you. There’s no cred in hurting the people you live with. You want to be a criminal, then go down Canary Wharf and rob some rich-ass business man that deserves it. Only cowards sneak around and prey on the weak.”

The lad lay on his side, clutching his ribs and wheezing. Vamps didn’t know whether his words had been heard, but was satisfied that the lad would not be robbing any of the cars on this estate today. Just a pity it had needed to devolve into violence. So many things in this part of the city did.

* * *

Gingerbread had texted to say the boys were all down at the snooker hall, so that’s where Vamps headed. He found them at one of the tables, but they weren’t playing. Instead, they were propped against the cushion and staring up at one of the televisions. The volume was off, but someone had switched on subtitles.

Vamps moved up beside Mass and Ravy, but only Ginge noticed him. “Hey Vamps, nice cap,” he said with a worried look on his podgy face. He was wearing his gingerbread man t-shirt that Vamps swore had gone months now without a wash.

Vamps forgot he was wearing the bright green beanie cap, and he fingered the brim to make sure it was still sitting right. “How’s it going, Ginge?”

Ravy and Mass noticed him, nodding hello. Mass sniffed and said, “This shit is messed up, buster.”

Vamps glanced up at the television, mildly sick of the news by now. What mattered now was the news on the streets, not the BBC. “What’s the latest?”

“That stone in Oxford Street just started glowing,” said Ravy, his eyes wide and white against his dark brown skin. “Shit’s about to go down.”

Vamps nodded. “I’ve been thinking the same thing all morning. We should get down there.”

Ravy frowned. “Down Oxford Street?”

“If something’s gunna happen, it’s gunna happen there.”

Ginge scoffed. “Which is why we should be anywhere but Oxford Street.”

“No,” said Vamps. “This is our city, yo. I’m tired of being told about it on the news. I want to see with my own eyes. If something is happening I don’t want to be a spectator.”

Mass, rarely concerned by anything, shrugged his massive shoulders. His confidence came from the fact he could choke a person out in ten seconds or break an arm in half that. When you fought as well as Mass did, very little could make you anxious. “I’m up for heading out,” he said, “if you want.”

“You lot are tripping,” said Ginge, running both hands through his greasy, copper hair. When he saw that their minds could not be changed, he sighed. “Fine. Let me grab a Snickers from the bar, and we’ll get going. But only because I don’t wanna hang around here on my own.”

And that’s what they did. Ginge grabbed a Snickers bar—as well as two bags of paprika crisps and an energy drink—and they headed out onto the street. The first thing they noticed as they neared the Thames was how many pigs were about. The police assembled everywhere, moving from shop to shop, or sat in squad cars. There hadn’t been this much presence even during the riots, and the only thing that brought this many pigs from their sties all at once was terrorism. It was exactly what Vamps had been afraid of—that the stones were some kind of weapon put there by someone with a grudge. The way the police were eyeing everybody up and inserting themselves into people’s business was not a good sign. People hung off the balconies of the nearby low rises heckling the pigs, but they would not be deterred from their presence.

“Shit man, I don’t like this,” said Ravy, fidgeting with himself.

“Me either,” said Vamps.

Ravy shook his head. “Nah, I mean I’m carrying.”

Vamps stared at his friend. “On today of all days? You muppet, what you holding?”

Ravy swallowed and looked embarrassed. “An ounce.”

“Shit man, what you carrying an ounce of weed on you for?”

“Not weed, man. Charlie.”

Vamps stopped walking and let his jaw drop. “The fuck? Where you even get that from?”

“Limpy Laz sold it me cheap down at the Boiler House. I got a bargain. Thought we could go sell it in Angell Town.”

Mass shook his head and chuckled. “Laz must have known you’re the only mug who would hold an ounce of cocaine today with all these pigs about. Not to mention all the robbing that’s gonna get under way.”

“Well, I can’t dump it, can I? Cost me six-hundred quid. Money I was meant to put on rent. If I’m late again, the council are gunna kick me out.”

Vamps glanced across the road at the police. They were chatting to everyone, and he knew that they would see Vamps and his boys coming a mile away. They couldn’t risk getting patted down. “We need to offload it to some other mug. You’ll get your money back if you’re lucky.”

Ravy looked relieved. It was a big time move to grab an ounce of C, and Vamps was a little impressed, but today was not the day. On top of that, he wasn’t a fan of Class A dealing. It did too much damage as far as he was concerned and put a massive target on your head.

“I know a guy nearby,” said Mass. “Can’t vouch for him that well, but I’ve had a few games of pool with him down Clapham way. Think he deals out of the Grey Goose over by the Evangelical.”

Vamps itched at the back of his neck—the hairs standing up. “We’ll have to risk it. Would rather get caught with our pants down by some a-hole dealer than the pigs.”

“Me too,” said Ravy. “Cheers, Mass. You got me out of the shit, yo.”

They got going, heading west. The Grey Goose was a rough boozer at the northern end of Brixton. Vamps and the boys preferred the snooker hall on the east boundary in Moorlands Estate. It was better to stick to places you knew and the people who knew you, which was why Vamps was uneasy at the prospect of visiting another gang’s manor. Still, it was the middle of the day and things were not as they usually were. All bets were off.

They took twenty minutes to reach the Grey Goose. It was a rundown old boozer with rotting boards running below its roof. They may once have been painted white, but were now grey and peeling. One window had a board over it, and the double doors did not hang evenly. In that respect, it wasn’t dissimilar to the snooker hall where Vamps and the boys hung around. Many of the pubs in London were in similar shape. The spiralling cost of a pint made bar tending a dying trade.

“I’ll go in on my own first,” said Mass. “We go bowling in all together, they’ll think we’re looking for a scrap.”

Vamps nodded. It made sense, so he stood and watched as Mass headed off alone. It would take a brave soul to pick a fight with him, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be someone stupid enough to do it. Vamps didn’t like letting him go in without backup, but his friend could handle himself.

Ginge was staring at his phone. Vamps asked him if there was any news.

“Nah, man. That stone is still just sitting there glowing. The front of Selfridges is trashed because of how many people are outside.”

Vamps pictured the scene. The more people flooded into Oxford Street, the more tempers would fray and nerves wear. Eventually, the massive crowd would provide cover for thieves to pinch anything not tied down. You could swipe a person’s phone and melt away into the crowd before the victim even noticed. That person would then turn around and accuse the wrong person, which meant a fight would break out, inciting others to join in. One of London’s poshest streets was a firework waiting to go off. Yet Vamps was still adamant they should make it there. They couldn’t just sit back.

It took five minutes for Mass to come swaggering back out of the pub. He had a smile on his face that put them at ease. No one was hanging around outside, but it had still been nerve wracking standing exposed in a street they weren’t known in.

Mass grinned. “He said he’ll take it off our hands.”

Ravy waved his fist in the air. “Great! How much?”

“Five-hundred quid.”

“What? I paid six-hundred.”

Vamps patted Ravy on the back. “And that’s what happens when you make a stupid decision. A hundred quid to get rid of the risk you put on yourself. Call it a life lesson.”

Ravy let his head drop. “Man, this fucking sucks. Fine, okay. Here!” He went to hand the coke over to Mass.

Mass put his hands out. “Hey, hey, keep that shit inside your jacket. Don’t go flashing it around out here. He said we can all go inside and do business in the back room. He’s waiting for us.”

“All right, let’s get this over with,” said Vamps. “What’s this guy’s name, anyway?”

“Pusher,” said Mass.

Gingerbread folded his arms. “You sure everything’s cool, Mass?”

“Yeah, Ginge. Guy’s sound.”

Vamps led the way, wanting to be first in the firing line if anything went down. While Mass could handle himself better than anyone, Ginge and Ravy were less handy. Ravy had grown up in a strict Muslim family that had erased most of his confidence by the time he was ten. Ginge was the son of two alcoholic parents and had turned to food early on as a way to drown out their constant arguments. Mass lived alone after a fall out with his single father, a burly builder from Lambeth. Vamps… Well, Vamps had no one and never had. No one except his brothers here with him now.

Entering the pub, Vamps was immediately hit by the sticky-sweet odour of spilled lager. He felt hardened stains underfoot as he traversed the threadbare carpet, but he kept his eyes forward, not looking anyone in the eye. Like everywhere else, the news was playing on the television above the bar.

A gang stood at the back of the room watching him approach. The men were in their twenties, but the young girls draped over them looked much younger. One girl even wore a school uniform. No one said a word to Vamps, but one guy—an idiot with tribal art on his face like Mike Tyson—nodded his head towards a door at the side of the room. Vamps nodded respectfully, not wanting to cause a scene, and headed through the door.

A dance floor lay inside, with an empty bar and chairs piled up on top of the tables. Looked like no one had danced there for a while. Only three men stood present, and it was obvious who was in charge.

“You Vamps?” said a skinhead with wiry arms and legs. A long scar ran alongside the left side of his face, giving him a villainous look that cemented him as the group’s leader. Underlings didn’t have disfiguring scars unless they really went out of their way to make themselves a target.

“Yeah, I’m Vamps. Heard we can do a bit of quick business. You Pusher?”

“Maybe I am.”

Vamps tilted his head but kept his stare on the other guy. “Maybe?”

“Let me see what you got, boy. Then we’ll talk business.”

Vamps looked at Ravy, and nodded to let his friend know to go along. Nervously, Ravy slid out the packet of Charlie and moved across the dance floor with it. The silence broke only by the awkward clip-clops of his Timberlands on the floorboards.

When Ravy offered out the packet of product, Pusher didn’t respond. He left Ravy standing there looking stupid with his arm outstretched. It was a power play—and it irritated Vamps immensely. He had to fight to keep his cool. While Vamps had no qualms with taking out the three guys in this room, there was at least another six guys in the bar and perhaps more who would keep them from ever making it out of the area in one piece.

Things couldn’t come to blows.

Before things got too tense, Pusher finally took the packet from Ravy and popped open the seal. He dipped his thumb into the powder and rubbed it over his gums. Lips puckered, he nodded. “Not the best I’ve had, but it’ll fly. Give you two-hundred for it.”

“What the fuck?” Ravy spluttered. “You told Mass five-hundred.”

“Yeah, you did,” Mass confirmed. “Thought we were sound about it.”

Pusher shrugged, as if it were of little consequence to him. “That was before I tasted it. It ain’t that good. Plus, there’s bacon everywhere right now. Not a good time to be holdin’.”

Ravy looked at Vamps with desperation in his eyes. Vamps wished his boy could keep things a little cooler, but the situation was in play now. They needed to get rid of the gear, and they needed to do it now. Two-hundred quid was better than five years in the nick.

But Vamps wasn’t about to let this wannabe Tony Montana take them for a bunch of mugs. This might be his manor, but Vamps was no victim. He clapped his hands together loudly, making the two thugs either side of Pusher flinch. “Sorry we couldn’t do business. Thanks for the time though, blud. Respect, yeah?”

Pusher didn’t react. His eyes shifted to Vamps and stayed there. It was some time before he spoke. “You fuckin’ me around, blud?”

“Nah, man.” Vamps opened his arms out to the side, trying to keep things light and non-threatening. “Just didn’t meet our price. Business, yeah?”

“This is my fuckin’ manor. I name the price, and you fucking take it.”

Damn it. Shit is about to go down. This fucker is looking for a fight.

If Vamps showed the slightest bit of nerve, the situation was lost. Respect was a cold war, and the moment the other guy thought you were weaker, the violence started. Vamps took a step forward, chest out, chin up. “Hand me back the product, yo. You want it, the price is five-hundred.”

Pusher glared at him, the slash on the side of his face quivering as his jaw locked. A standoff ensued, and it was some time before the other guy eventually moved towards Vamps. He offered out the packet, but when Vamps went to take it, he pulled it back again.

“Actually,” said Pusher. “Think I have a new price for you. I’m going to take this off your hands for free, and you mugs are gunna fuck off out of my patch before you get your skulls caved in.”

Vamps realised that the boys from the bar had entered behind him. They were boxed in by at least nine guys. A couple brandished snooker cues. Mass started hulking up, bunching his muscles and preparing to fight, and Vamps figured his big friend could take out at least three by himself. Maybe Vamps could take another three. But Ravy and Ginge would get hurt.

Vamps moved his hand into his pocket and gripped his grandfather’s Browning. The pistol would shift the power back to them, but it wasn’t a move to make lightly. If just one of the other men in the room had a gun of their own hidden, things would turn into a shootout—and you couldn’t predict what would happen when bullets flew. Also, aside from Pusher, who deserved a bullet, Vamps didn’t know a thing about any of the other guys. For all he knew, they were decent lads just showing some front.

No, too risky. Vamps moved his hand back out of his pocket. If it were only him, then he might escalate things, but he didn’t want to take risks with his friends’ lives. They all walked here in one piece, and that was how they would leave.

“All right, we’re leaving,” said Vamps. It hurt him to lose so much face, but it would be stupid to fight when they were at a disadvantage. He’d lost count of the number of guys he’d seen go down because of their egos. Backing down was smart, even if the taste it left was piss and shit.

Pusher grinned like a ghoul. “Smart boy. I see you round here again, I won’t let you leave.”

Ravy sucked at his teeth. “Man, this is fuck—”

Vamps snapped his fingers. “I said we’re leaving, yo, so let’s bounce.”

Everyone was silent as they left, boys on both sides. Eyeballs screwed into Vamps and his friends as they headed back out into the pub and towards the exit.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Pusher shouted after them to an audience of laughter.

Vamps paused, stopped walking and clenched his fists.

The laughter stopped. The air froze.

“Come on, man,” Ginge whispered to him. “This ain’t worth it.”

“It’s my fault,” said Mass. “The guy mugged me off!”

“It’s just money,” said Ravy. “Let’s go.”

“You lads got something to say?” Pusher shouted after them.

Vamps looked at the door in front of him, took a deep breath, and left.

But he would be back.

* * *

The street outside bustled. When they entered the pub less than fifteen minutes ago, the roads and paths were deserted, but now people were everywhere, spilling out of local businesses and flats. Many people headed for their cars if they owned one.

Vamps grabbed a kid who should’ve been at school as he tried to rush past. “Hey, blud, what’s going on?”

“It’s the freaking end of the world!” came the kid’s reply. “We’re under attack!”

The kid tried to rush off again, but Vamps held him in place. “What do you mean? Under attack by who?”

“By monsters. They came out of the gate.”

“The gate?”

“The stone,” he cried. “The stone on Oxford Street. It opened. We all need to get the hell away from here.”

Oxford Street was not far away, which was obviously why the streets had erupted into panic. Car horns blared like a chorus of angry ducks. A dickhead in a Mini Cooper sideswiped a battered Mazda as he went up on the pavement to get around. The Mazda gave chase, its driver hanging out his window and shaking a fist. A black Cocker Spaniel ran around without an owner, stopping briefly to cock its leg over a steel bike railing. A cat perched atop a wall and hissed at it.

“This ain’t good,” said Ginge. When Vamps turned to him, he was holding up his phone which was now playing a video. It was a news report from Oxford Street—and it was live.

Vamps, Mass, and Ravy gathered around Ginge’s phone as scenes of chaos played out. Above the strange black stone in the middle of Oxford Street, a strange, shimmering gate had appeared. Things piled out of it in a steady stream. Monsters. They looked like men but horribly burned. Some hunched over with vicious talons at the end of their arms, but most were smouldering corpses. As soon as the creatures landed on the tarmac though, they set about the nearest person and tore them to shreds. Blood filled the air like mist from a sprinkler. Even the camera lens filming was red-hazed. It was hard to get a good look at the invaders, for they moved so quickly, but eventually one came towards the camera. Its eyes swirled with black oil. Blood stained its broken teeth.

Then the camera clattered to the ground, settling on a skewed view of the curb with a hundred feet fleeing.

“We need to get out of here,” said Ravy.

A window broke nearby as if to punctuate his point.

“And go where?” asked Vamps. “Those stones are everywhere. If the one in Oxford Street opened up some kind of gate, I bet the other ones did too. The news this morning said hundreds had been identified.”

Ravy hopped from foot to foot anxiously. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying there might not be anywhere to run.”

Even Mass looked nervous now. A thick vein bulged in his trunk of a neck “You really want to stick around?”

Vamps thought about it and shook his head. “Nah, man. I ain’t crazy. Just feels wrong running from our home, you know? If we don’t defend it, who will?”

The sound of a door slamming spun them around. When Vamps saw who was coming out of the pub, he grabbed his boys and pulled them behind a nearby bus stop. The bricks stank of piss.

“It’s that prick,” said Mass. “We should go do him while he hasn’t got all his backup.”

Vamps watched Pusher barrel out of the Grey Goose with only two of his meat heads. It would be a good opportunity to roll the fucker, but… No. It wasn’t enough.

“That bitch has something that belongs to us,” said Vamps with a snarl.

Ravy raised an eyebrow. “The coke?”

“Nah, man. Five-hundred quid. I walked out of there with the intention of getting it back later, and this might be our chance. Everything is about to turn to shit. The law ain’t gonna care about us rolling a low life dealer for half-a-grand.”

Mass smacked his fist into his palm. “Let’s go get it done.”

Vamps held back his muscled friend. “Not yet. Let’s see where he’s going first.”

Mass frowned. “Why?”

“Because it ain’t enough to just take what he owes us. The piece of shit needs to learn a lesson. If there’s a chance to take him down a peg, we do it.”

“You’re stone cold,” said Mass with a grin.

“Nah, man. I never wronged no one who didn’t wrong me first, you know that. We gave him a chance to get a bargain, but he was too greedy to take it. Got no time for people who only think about themselves. We’re going to show him where that attitude gets you.”

“Let’s show him we ain’t a bunch of fuckin’ mugs,” said Mass.

Ravy nodded. “I really need my money back, so yeah, let’s do it.”

Ginge sighed. “Ah, man, this is gunna suck. Fine, okay, but only because I don’t want to see Ravy get shafted. I just need to get something to eat first.”

“Fuck sake, buster,” said Mass. “You never stop filling your gob.”

“I have a thyroid problem.”

“Like hell you do.”

“He does,” said Ravy. “I went the doctors with him once.”

“Come on,” said Vamps, ushering them in the direction Pusher had gone. The dealer was hurrying along the pavement towards one of the low rises that housed people together like ants in a nest. Vamps knew because he lived in one exactly the same. They had been built recently as part of a refurb of the estate, but the way the buildings all faced in on one another made the whole area isolated from the outside.

“You reckon this is where his gaff is?” Ravy asked in a whisper, even though they were outside and there was noise coming from everywhere. Police cars and fire engines blared in every direction.

“Maybe,” said Vamps. “Let’s keep back so he doesn’t spot us.”

But there was little chance of Pusher spotting them because he was talking loudly on a mobile phone and hurrying along at a jog. His two meat heads stuck close enough that all they could hear was him.

Vamps and the boys followed at a distance, but were forced to get closer once Pusher headed into the stairwells. It would be easy to lose the dealer if he slipped onto one of the floors and into a flat, and it was only his frantic voice on the phone that gave any chance of staying on his trail.

“He’s panicking about something,” said Mass. “Having a right flap.”

“He’s probably been screwing people over a little too often,” said Ravy. “Maybe someone’s coming for him.”

Mass nodded. “Yeah, us.”

“Maybe someone he knows is in Oxford Street,” said Vamps, sympathetic at the thought. The guy was a crook, but it was hard not to be in a place like Brixton. Not every scumbag started out as one, but living in shit turned as many men to fungus as it did to flowers.

The sound of a fire door opening—squeaking hinges—made Vamps shove out an arm. “Hold up. I think he headed in. Next floor up.”

Mass smacked his fist again. “We got the prick. There can only be three or four flats to a floor. Nowhere he can run once we find him.”

Vamps peered down the centre column of the stairwell, eyed the concrete below. He hadn’t been counting, but he figured they were six or seven floors up. Pusher really would have nowhere to run.

Vamps kept his voice low. “All right. Mass and me will handle things, but Ginge and Ravy, you got our backs, yeah?”

“Of course,” said Ravy.

“Then let’s go give this guy an education.”

Vamps took the next flight of steps two at a time, fists clenched. Mass was right behind him, and Ravy a step behind that. Ginge was halfway down, panting and wheezing. They opened the fire door and spilled into the landing. They knew which flat to go to because Pusher’s meat heads were standing right outside it. Maybe they weren’t trusted enough to come inside. They saw Vamps and Mass coming towards them, and at first didn’t seem to recognise or understand, but once they realized they were about to get rolled, they panicked and started throwing punches.

Mass ducked the first punch and whipped around behind the guy. He locked in a rear naked choke and pulled back so hard that the guy’s feet dangled off the ground. Vamps took care of the other guy, raising his left forearm to block a punch and landing a vicious right hand of his own. The guy dropped to his knees, blood gushing between his fingers from a broken nose. The sound he made was like a cat in heat. Mass let go of his man, who slumped to the floor unconscious. The calm expression on his face made it seem like he had just dropped off a bag of rubbish. Knocking guys unconscious was no big thing to Mass.

The door to the flat was ajar. Vamps put a finger to his lips, and they all kept quiet—the only sound the rattling wheeze of Ginge’s chest.

Vamps nudged open the door with his shoulder and crept into the hallway. A bout of screaming caused him to stop, but he realised it was coming from a floor below and carried on. The floor was cheap laminate—badly laid—and it squeaked with every step. If it were not for the sound of the television blaring in the next room, it would have been obvious that someone was inside the flat, but as Vamps made it into the living room, Pusher was still shouting into his phone, oblivious. With his free hand, he rooted around inside a chest of drawers.

Vamps stepped into the middle of the room, cutting off the dealer’s escape. “Hey, motherfucker.”

Pusher spun, but Vamps had already pulled out his grandfather’s Browning and pointed it at his face.

“The fuck you doing in my gaff?”

“Come to take back what’s ours, blud. You screwed with the wrong gangsters.”

It was obvious Pusher was concerned—in Brixton, a gun in your face was not an empty threat—but he remained calm, and even smiled. “Just the way of the street, innit? You want your drugs back, fair dos, but know that it don’t end here, boy. You don’t crash my fucking gaff and get away with it. Where are Dwayne and Goldy?”

“Sleeping,” said Mass. “You bout to take a big long nap of your own if you don’t hand over the cash.”

“You want the money? For that bag of crap you tried to sell me? I’ve snorted better washing powder.”

Ravy stepped around the coffee table in the centre of the small room. “What you talking about?”

“I mean you should leave the drug game to people who know what the fuck they’re doing. Shit you tried to sell me was so cut down it wouldn’t get a baby high. I did you a favour.”

“You’re a liar. Limpy Laz and me go way back.”

Pusher let out a spluttering laugh. “Limpy Laz? You’d have to be a right mug to buy off him.”

“Enough!” said Vamps, waving the pistol to get Pusher’s focus. “I ain’t here to debate the quality of the product. It was good enough for you to steal, so I think you’re full of shit. You’re going to stand here like a good little boy while we turn your gaff over for whatever’s worth taking. You think you can rob us? Well, guess what—your ass is about to get robbed.”

“You’ll regret this. You won’t be able to show you face on the entire fucking estate! I’ll have you fucking shot, blud, you get me? I’ll have you buried in Max Roach Park.”

“You ain’t the one with the gun, blud.” Vamps took a step closer, showing he wasn’t afraid. “I should plug you right now and be done with it. I’m tired of your fucking noise.”

Sirens blared outside. The possible sound of an explosion across the Thames.

Pusher was panting. However tough he was acting, part of him must have expected Vamps to pull the trigger. Vamps had never pulled the trigger before—and he didn’t want to now—but this was Brixton. Shit happened in Brixton.

Mass tossed the room, shoving aside sofa cushions and checking down the sides. Ginge and Ravy took his lead and started rooting around too.

Vamps headed to the chest of drawers that Scarface had been rifling through. “Step away. I wanna see what had you in such a panic.”

Pusher’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t do this, blud. Last warning.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Vamps pulled open one of the drawers far enough that it almost fell out of the unit. Inside was mostly junk letters, but at the bottom was a white envelope—a fat envelope. “Looky what we have here.”

Pusher had stopped talking—probably realised it was doing him no good—and only stood and glared at Vamps now as he opened the envelope and peered inside at the cash. There must have been a few grand, easy.

Mass had stopped searching the sofa and looked up to see what Vamps had found. “Nice! Guess we call that interest.”

“The fuck you do,” said Pusher. “You take your five-hundred and piss off!”

Vamps grinned. “No need to be sore. Just business, blud. Way of the street, innit?”

“Daddy? What’s happening outside?”

A little boy entered the room, rubbing sleep from his eyes. When Pusher saw him, his face dropped in horror. He looked at Vamps, almost pleadingly. “Everything’s okay, sweetheart. Daddy’s just talking to his friends about something.”

Vamps lowered his gun. It might have been foolish, but seeing a child made him do so instinctively. The streets were tough, but there were still rules. He moved the pistol behind his thigh where the little boy wouldn’t see it. “Hey, little man. My name is Vamps. I’m a friend of your daddy’s.”

The little boy looked like his father—same dark brown eyes and shaved head. When he looked at Vamps, he didn’t seem afraid—a Brixton boy in the making. “Why is your name that?”

“Because of my teeth. See?” Vamps bared his golden fangs—an upgrade required after a couple of Angell town boys had smashed his head against a curb.

The little boy giggled. “Cool.”

“Come on, man,” said Mass. “Let’s take the envelope and bounce. We done here.”

Vamps nodded, eyeballed Pusher. “Yeah, man, we done.”

“Can we all go and get ice cream, Daddy?” the little boy asked. “I want to see what’s happening outside.”

Pusher smiled at his son. “Yeah, sweetheart, but just you and me. These guys are leaving.” He nodded at Vamps and whispered, “Just go, man.”

Vamps remained rooted to the spot for a moment. His guts churned with what he supposed might be guilt.

Ah, for fuck sake.

He dug into the envelope and thumbed at the cash inside. He pulled out five-hundred quid in twenties and threw the rest down on the chest of drawers. “Let’s bounce.”

Mass frowned at him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. Move it.”

They got out of there. Mass gave one of the meat heads outside a swift kick to the ribs as they passed back towards the stairwell. On the way down, he struggled to understand what Vamps had done. “What the fuck, man? Why did you leave the cash?”

“Because we didn’t need it. We got what we were owed. I ain’t taking nothing from a father looking after his kid. Don’t matter how much a piece of shit he is.”

“He won’t leave things there,” said Ravy. “He’ll want payback.”

Vamps shrugged. “If he wants to come take a shot at us in our own manor, he’s welcome to try. Right now, though, we got bigger things to worry about.”

They took a moment to pause on the stairwell and look out of the windows.

The streets of Brixton had erupted.

Richard Honeywell

The chaos erupted with a lone gunshot, like the start of a marathon. Only, people did not break in the same direction towards a common goal. The rampage spread in every direction—people behaving more like startled deer than rational citizens.

As a police officer, Richard Honeywell’s biggest concern was where that gunshot had come from—and who had fired it—but any chance of finding answers quickly eroded as the crowd broke into panic.

The reason so many of them gathered in Slough’s Queensmere Shopping Centre was because of the giant television screen hanging from the rafters. Its purpose was to advertise products and televise sports, but for the last three hours, it had displayed nothing but news.

The news was not good.

The Thames Valley Police were on high alert, ready to assist the Metropolitan Police the moment anything happened on Oxford Street. Nobody could say what the stones were, or where they had come from, so they prepared for the worst. The problem was, the Thames Valley Police had their hands full on their own doorstep, without having to be on call for London. People in Richard’s patch of Slough, for instance, had been on the cusp of panic since dawn, and by noon, they were all but ready to blow. That was why the gunshot had set them off like runners on the blocks.

It happened fifteen minutes ago—the attack on Oxford Street. The news was running a studio report where an authority on ‘Terrorism Countermeasures’ had been considering the possibility of a worldwide conspiracy regarding the stones. He dismissed it as impossible. Then the studio report cut abruptly to a view of Oxford Street. The stone in the middle of the road began pulsing and glowing, projecting a large net of colourful light into the air. Richard sensed it was a gate immediately. To him, it resembled the plastic loops children blew bubbles with, and those swirling, multicoloured suds were exactly the same as the net of light above the stone now. Yes, he had known it was some kind of gate.

But he never expected what came through.

The first creature to emerge was horribly burned—so disfigured that a fellow police officer on the scene rushed over to assist. The injured man had grabbed the officer by the throat and snapped his neck with a single hand. His skull hitting the pavement echoed from large speakers hanging from the shopping centre’s rafters.

On screen, the City of London ignited.

In Oxford Street, what had been a rowdy, defiant mob now became a stampede of frantic animals. Reason and humanity deserted as men and women trampled the elderly and young to get away from the horrors at their back. In contrast, the people assembled in the Slough shopping centre had stood like statues, their necks craned upwards towards the television as if it were God speaking to them.

Then the gunshot had spurred them into action.

Richard’s ears told him it had come from the western corridor of the shopping centre, over by the Nandos restaurant, but the assembled crowd fanned out so quickly that the shooter was swallowed up by the mass of egressing people.

Richard was one of seven police officers designated to the shopping centre, and as soon as he had arrived, he knew it would not be enough if a riot started. Seven men could not control five hundred. That was patently clear now as Richard fell to the ground, barged aside by a large man not watching where he went, and then swiftly trodden on by a business woman in sharp heels. He cried out as the skin along his left shin shredded. No one stopped to help him.

Taking kicks in every part of his body, Richard dragged himself over to one of the vendor carts that dotted the main plaza. This one stocked cheap sunglasses made to look like designer shades. A hollow underneath where the stall holder might sit on a stool, provided Richard shelter and allowed him to wait for the worst to be over.

His radio chattered on his belt, and he unclasped it. Hunched over, he pressed the button and responded. “Honeywell, over.”

“Richard, you okay? It’s Saunders. I’m over at Waterstones, and a herd of people just came running by.”

Richard sighed. “Yep, that sounds about right. Some idiot fired a gun. I don’t know what we’re expected to do here.”

“Should we arrest people?” asked Saunders.

“For what? Being scared? I don’t blame them. I’m scared too. What the hell is happening in London?” A loud bang on the line followed by screaming. “Saunders, are you there?”

Silence for a moment, but then Saunders came back. “Sorry, a kid’s been hurt. I need to go. Let me know when you have orders.”

Richard was the most senior officer at the shopping centre—a sergeant—but that didn’t mean he was responsible for giving orders. Usually, he would be back at the precinct organising task forces or training new recruits. Now and then he led operations when Reading FC played against someone the fans detested. Truthfully, he didn’t know what to do. All he could think about was getting home. What he’d witnessed on television compressed his bones under the sheer weight of terror. The only reason he hadn’t panicked was because he coiled inwards instead of out, choosing to accept nothing rather than panic at the reality. He had a job to do.

He got on the radio and told the other officers nearby to rendezvous at his position. The crowd thinned enough for him to emerge from beneath the vendor cart and stand up. Visions of a video showing him cowering being posted on YouTube went through his mind, but what could he have done? Let his spine get trampled and spend the rest of his life having his poor wife wipe his arse and empty his bladder? No way. Jen had enough to deal with looking after their son, Dillon.

Small groups of people remained in the area, almost all of them sobbing and hurt. One woman clutched her arm which pointed the wrong way from the elbow. Another guy sported a lump on his forehead the size of a golf ball—the glaze in his eyes made it seem like he was daydreaming.

Moans filled the air, but only one caused Richard concern. He followed the high-pitched keening to a motorised scooter overturned outside a chemist. His eyes next fell upon a handbag, its contents scattered, but he didn’t see a body until he got close enough to peer over the scooter.

“Jesus!”

A frail old lady rested on her side, sobbing. The rubbery flesh around her wrist blackened from an obvious break, and a gash on her forehead dripped blood like a tap. Richard righted the scooter and shoved it away so he could lift the woman up and onto his lap. She whimpered, and it took several moments of gentle whispering to calm her. “You’re all right, love. I’ve got you.”

His colleague, Riaz, appeared then. When he saw the bloody old woman in Richard’s arms, he got right on the line to Dispatch to call an ambulance. “What happened to her?” he asked once aid was on its way.

Richard shook his head. “People turned into frightened animals. Nobody’s fault.”

“Like hell it isn’t. We should check CCTV.”

Richard disagreed. “People were running for their lives. Nobody meant to hurt anybody else. The only person who needs locking up is the idiot who fired a gun and started the stampede.”

“It wasn’t a gun,” said Riaz. “I spoke to the centre manager. Someone dropped a helium cylinder in the card shop, and a valve broke. No one got hurt, but it made a pretty hefty bang.”

Richard gave the old dear on his lap a gentle pat and tried not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. “There’s an ambulance on its way, love. You have anyone we should call for you?”

The old dear gave no reply, only whimpered. Shock. At her age it didn’t take much. From the look of her tissue-paper skin she was probably north of eighty. Poor girl must be terrified.

“It will all be okay,” Richard reassured her again. He looked up at Riaz. “Regroup with the others and then check outside. The crowd all ran for it, but God knows where they’ll end up.”

“All right, Sarge. I’ll be on the radio.”

Richard watched Riaz hurry away, then went back to soothing the old woman on his lap. The other injured people in the shopping centre gradually snapped back into reality, which led them to moan about their pain. From what Richard saw, they were fine. Only the old dear on his lap was in a truly bad way—and perhaps the woman with the broken arm who now fell unconscious.

Richard tried to wipe the blood off the old woman’s face, but it was so thin that it crusted. The smell was like copper pennies. She whimpered still, but now closed her eyes.

“Where’s that sodding ambulance?” he hissed.

Richard grabbed his radio and called Dispatch, surprised when no one answered. Never in his twelve years on the job had Dispatch failed to answer a call. He persevered for five minutes straight, and was just about to give up, when somebody finally replied.

“Dispatch.”

“Yes, it’s Sergeant Honeywell at Queensmere Shopping centre, what the hell is going on there?”

“It’s all gone to hell,” said a welsh accent he didn’t recognise. “I’m not even supposed to be answering calls, but everyone is busy.”

“Who are you, then?”

“I’m Nancy. I’m just an office temp. Heard your call going on for five minutes and couldn’t take the noise anymore.”

“Where are all the dispatchers?”

“Here,” she said, “but they have call after call after call coming in. London’s under attack. So is everywhere else.”

“Everywhere else?” said Richard, but then decided he couldn’t deal with any more information right now. “I need an ambulance sent to my location. An old lady is hurt.”

“I’ll see what I can do for you, but I’m not gunna lie, there isn’t going to be much chance of getting you one anytime soon. The entire region is calling in for help. They’re assembling the Army to go into the city.”

“The Army?” It made sense, but Richard struggled to imagine the Army stomping down Oxford Street. “What does Command want us to do?”

“I have no idea, love. Just look after yourself. I have to go.”

“No, wait. I need—”

The line went dead.

Richard looked at the old woman on his lap and felt himself shake. The moans in the shopping centre beat at his skull. The stench of blood made him want to gag. He needed to get out of there. Needed to do something.

A crash, and Richard looked around to see a group of young men kicking in the door to the video game store. The staff had all left, and the security guards, to Richard’s astonishment, looked the other way. So much blood and panic must have turned their stomachs and sapped their will.

The gang of youths spilled into the store and started their rampage, kicking over display stands and grabbing anything they desired. One lad, in a white baseball cap, stood up front while his pals loaded him up with games, consoles, and other expensive hardware.

Then one of the looters spotted Richard kneeling outside with the old lady—realised he was a police officer.

“Fuck, there’s a plod!”

They stopped what they were doing mid-rampage. The lad with the armful of game consoles peered over the top of the pile with wide eyes. They all made for the door at once.

Richard tried to get up, but couldn’t get the old lady off of him quickly enough without hurting her. She moaned. “P-Please…”

The looters edged out of the doorway and hurried towards the exit, where they would hit the streets and disappear with their haul. It was now or never if he was going to stop them. Richard might be a forty-year old man, but he was good in a sprint. He only needed to catch one of them—and the lad with the armful of consoles would be sluggish.

The gang bolted.

Richard jolted, but didn’t move from his knees. Ruefully, he watched them race out through the exit.

There had been no choice but to let them go.

The old lady needed Richard more.

“I got you,” he said. “Someone will be here soon.”

“T-Thank you.”

Richard stroked her brittle, grey hair while trying not to think too hard about what was happening. He had a feeling things would get very busy in the hours ahead.

What the hell was happening in London?

And how long before it reached here?

* * *

The ambulance took over an hour, and only one paramedic arrived instead of the normal two. Richard helped the medic load the old dear onto the gurney and secure her in the back of the vehicle. The woman with the broken arm was ushered inside also. She had woken up enough to take a seat up front. Before the paramedic got going, Richard pulled him aside.

“Will she be okay?”

The paramedic was a tall gent with shaved red hair. He looked dog-tired, and when he spoke, it was obvious his vocal chords had strained. “Honestly, I’m not sure if anyone will be okay today. She has a concussion, which is bad for someone her age, but she’s lucky compared to some.” He took a moment to rub at his eyes as if he was holding back tears. “It’s been the worst day of my life; I can tell you. This is my fourth call-out in the last two hours. I didn’t know people could act this way. I had to take a six year old to the hospital because someone pushed him in front of a bus while they were trying to steal a bike. I don’t think the boy has a chance of pulling through.”

Richard grunted. “People are afraid. It magnifies the bad behaviour. It’s men like you who have to look after the innocent at times like this. People like this old lady were doing nothing except going about their day.”

“Men like me and you,” the paramedic corrected.

Richard frowned. “Sorry?”

“It’s men like me and you who need to look after the innocent. It was good of you to care for this old lady. I haven’t seen a police officer all day. What are you all doing? Things are completely out of control. No offence.”

“I think we’re stretched pretty thin. Most of us are on high alert to go into London, but that might already have happened. I’ve been here all morning, and I haven’t been able to get in touch with my order-givers. Apparently, the whole country is under attack.”

“S’what I’ve heard. Those gates are everywhere.” The paramedic closed the ambulance doors and shook Richard’s hand. He also gave him a card with a phone number. “Name’s Oliver. You keep ‘em safe, and I’ll come get ‘em if I can. The switchboard’s a mess, so I figure it would be useful if us guys on the ground kept in touch.”

Richard put the card in his pocket. “My name is Richard; I’ll keep in touch.”

They shook hands one last time. Then Oliver got in behind the wheel and reversed out of the shopping centre. Richard turned a quick circle, taking in the remains of the precinct. It felt like one of those snapshots in history—a scene to be played out on the news ten years from now. A haunting reel of shocked stares and broken windows. Only, Richard dreaded that what had just happened in Slough was a byline at most. Oxford Street was the headline.

Monsters.

He got on his radio and called in again, but not to Dispatch. He hailed the other officers in the area. Riaz came back. “We’re assembled in front of the church.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you there.”

Richard did not want to go to the church. He wanted to go home and check on his family. Jen and Dillon must be terrified. But it was to the church he went.

St Paul’s C of E was right outside the shopping centre, and true to his word, Riaz was standing right there with two other officers beside him—Saunders and Jameson. Jameson was sitting on the ground.

“Where’s the rest of the team?” asked Richard.

“Your guess is as good as mine. I’m just hoping they’re not hurt. Jameson has a twisted ankle.”

Jameson shrugged, embarrassed.

Richard looked around and saw that the church was acting as sanctuary for the injured and afraid. A vicar milled about, offering tea and biscuits to the various refugees—many of them children. Some people had been trampled so badly that they sported dusty footprints on their clothing.

“We’re getting everyone out of harm’s way,” said Riaz, but the worst seems to be over. “It was the initial panic that did most the damage. It’s calmed down now. In fact, the town is deserted.”

“Calm before the storm,” said Richard. “Soon as the sun goes down, kids will be out for a good time. Unless we get our act together first that is. Have you heard anything from Dispatch or Command?”

“Not for the last half hour.”

“You spoke to Dispatch half an hour ago?”

Riaz shook his head. “No, I got through to Command.”

“I haven’t been able to get a hold of them. What did they say?”

Riaz didn’t answer. In fact he looked away and scanned the crowd of shellshocked people.

“Riaz, what did they say?”

“It’s bad, Sarge. They say this is happening everywhere.”

“Rioting?”

“No. Not rioting. The attacks. They’re happening all over the country. Everywhere there was a stone. They’ve all turned into gates.”

Richard had to steady himself on a nearby wall.

Riaz nodded. “I know, it’s hard to imagine.”

“What did Command want us to do?”

Riaz waved an arm towards the church and the people gathered around it. “This. They want us to keep a police presence in the town centre. Everyone else has been called in to man a task force headed for London.”

“So we’re on our own,” said Richard. He ran a hand through his hair and realised he was sweating.

“Hopefully, the other guys will turn up to help, but I’m guessing they might have panicked along with everyone else. Michaels has only been on the job a few months. I’ll have his nutsack if he’s done a runner.”

“Let’s not count them out yet. We need to wait for the dust to settle.”

Riaz rolled his eyes and turned away.

Richard went over to the vicar. “Any tea left for a shaken police officer?”

The holy man smiled. A subtle smear of blood stained his chin. “Of course. Let me grab you a cup. Here you go. Thank you for all your help today, officer. It’s times like these when strong men have duty.”

Richard took a sip of piping-hot tea and chuckled.

The vicar seemed bemused. “Did I say something funny?”

“No, it’s just that I was saying something very similar not so long ago.”

“Then you agree? Those of of us who can must do what is needed. We all saw the scenes from London. We understand what is coming.”

“And what is that, Vicar?”

“The end. Perhaps not of everything, but certainly of what we know. Hell itself came through that gate today—it could have been nothing else.”

Richard said nothing.

“You’re sceptical, Officer? Many are these days, I’m afraid. I don’t begrudge you for it, but whatever you believe—something evil has arrived, and this is just beginning.”

Richard put his teacup on the wall. “Well, we’re in agreement there, Vicar. I hear the Army is going into the city. People won’t know what to do. They won’t cope with fighting in the streets.”

“They will cope, Officer. You may trust in that.”

Richard sighed. “These people are lucky to receive your help, Vicar.”

“Please, call me Miles. And my help is but a drop in the ocean. As I said, we all must do what we can.”

Richard nodded. “Yes. If you’d excuse me.”

The vicar nodded and went back to making tea.

Hell, as a metaphor, was something Richard could grasp well enough, but as a real place…? Believing that demons, or something else malevolent, had come to earth…? It was a struggle for him to accept such ideas, but then what did he make of what he had seen? Camera tricks? A conspiracy? Maybe the media had been hijacked, and what everyone saw was mere trickery? That was more plausible than Hell falling upon them.

But the stones were real. Richard knew because he had colleagues who had encountered them first hand. An old lady had died beside one in the village of Crapstone, and Michael Bray, the local coroner, used to play squash with Richard before moving south. Michael Bray had described the stone that had killed the woman.

Unmovable, and unknown.

One stone of several thousand.

If not an invasion from Hell, then what? Aliens?

Richard wobbled and again had to steady himself against the nearest wall. It was too much to process.

“You okay?” asked Riaz.

“No, Riaz, I am not okay, but that’s not my main concern.”

“What is then?”

“My family. I need to go check on them, but I can’t leave you—”

“No, you can’t.”

Richard looked at the man. “What?”

“Everybody here is afraid, and they are relying on our presence to keep them safe. You can’t leave.”

“Riaz, you do not give me orders…”

“No, but I know that your orders will be to remain here.”

That he was being told what to do by a subordinate made him even more determined to do as he pleased. “Riaz, I will be gone thirty minutes at most.”

“Thirty minutes when anything could happen.”

“I need to check on my family.”

“And so do others.”

Richard clenched his fists. “I’m going. You hold the fort while I’m gone.”

Riaz rolled his eyes. “Fine. Just get back as quickly as you can.”

Richard took one last look at the mess he was leaving his colleagues in—maybe fifty people sat on the floor outside the church, or on whatever perch they could find. Children crying. Moms sobbing. Fathers sombrely staring into space. He would need to come back. The vicar was right about him having a duty, but his biggest and most important duty was to Jen and Dillon. How could he protect others before he protected them? He needed to know they were safe.

Richard found his squad car and climbed in. He took off at speed—the street ahead eerily abandoned.

The calm before the storm.

* * *

Richard leapt out of his squad car and raced up his drive. His house was a semi-detached dormer, but the long hedges on either side of the driveway made it appear to stand alone. Jen stared out of the front window, almost as if she expected him.

“Oh, Rich, I’ve been so worried,” she said when he passed through the door.

“I should have called. I just wanted to get here.”

“You’re here now.” She held him tightly—a strong woman with the extra pounds she’d put on over the last few years. He was so exhausted that her grasp knocked the wind out of him. “Are you okay?”

“No. It’s been a tough morning. Did you see the news?”

She eased away from him and looked him in the eye. “How could I not have? Every channel got interrupted. They cut into Dillon’s cartoons.”

“What? Did he see?”

She pushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and sighed. “He’s in the kitchen. I put a DVD on for him.”

Richard pressed his forehead against hers, too tired to do anything else, and then headed into the kitchen. Sure enough, Dillon sat at the table watching a Disney film. From his fidgeting alone, Richard could tell he was agitated.

“Hey, Dillon. Daddy’s home. What you doing?”

“Watching Lion King.”

Richard smiled and gave his son a hug. Dillon was always affectionate, but could be withdrawn if worried. That was why he returned the hug, but did not look at his father.

“Is everything okay?”

Dillon nodded, but still didn’t look away from the television. Despite being twenty-three, he was no less innocent than a eight year old.

“Dillon? If you saw something frightening on the TV, that’s okay. Sometimes programmes can be upsetting, but you’re safe. Nothing is going to hurt you.”

“Monsters,” Dillon muttered. “Monsters can hurt me.”

“There are no monsters here, Dillon. Just me and your mum.”

Dillon finally made eye contact. The Brushfield spots in his irises—a characteristic of his Down’s Syndrome—glistened beneath a film of tears. “Will you stay here, Daddy?”

“I… I can’t Dillon. I have to go to work.”

“Are you going to fight the monsters?”

Richard leaned in and hugged his son, patting his back at the same time. “No, sweetheart. I just have to make sure everybody behaves. You know my job is important.”

Dillon nodded. He normally idolised Richard for being a policeman, but today it seemed to bring him trepidation. Richard wondered if his son understood the danger his job now involved.

“I don’t want you to go, Dad. I saw the monsters on the TV. They were hurting people. Don’t go out.” His bottom lip quivered.

“Sweetheart, everything is fine. I’m not leaving for ten minutes, so watch your film while I go talk to Mummy.”

“I don’t want to watch the Lion King,” he said. “I want you to stay here.”

“Dillon…”

“Maybe he’s right,” said Jen, entering the room and looking like she needed a stiff drink. Pity they didn’t keep alcohol in the house.

“I’m still on the job, Jen. I only snuck away to make sure you were both okay. I’ll be lucky to get away with this as it is.”

“You never signed up for what I saw on the television just now, Rich. Will you have to go to London?”

“I don’t know.”

Jen blinked and tried to keep her tears at bay. She had to turn away as she spoke. “I’m not having you risk your life. Your job is to arrest abusive husbands and confiscate wacky backy. It’s just a stupid job.”

Richard was taken aback. Never had he thought of his occupation as a ‘job’. A vocation perhaps, but really, he considered it his calling. He’d been doing it so long now that it was part of who he was. “It’s not a stupid job, Jen. I have a responsibility to protect the people. If I abandon my duties, what does that make me?”

“A husband. A father.”

He sighed. Some arguments could not be won. “Look, before I do anything, I need to see what’s happening. Things are all over the place right now. Is the news still running?”

“It hasn’t stopped all morning.”

Richard went into the living room and picked up the television remote.

“Keep the volume down,” said Jen, following him. “I don’t want Dillon upset again.”

“Neither do I.” He switched on the television but did not need to change the channel. He could have been watching a disaster movie if not for the BBC News ticker running along the bottom of the screen.

It was all over. That was the way it felt. The amount of death on screen, the amount of destruction…

“Oh, God,” said Jen. “It’s even worse.”

A helicopter recorded the video—obvious from the high elevation—but this time it was not a view of London. It was New York. Richard spotted the Empire State Building towering in the background. The Big Apple burned. Central Park teemed with fleeing bodies so small they might have been ants. It was hard to see from such height, but the denizens of Manhattan were under obvious attack. Richard could see the ants colliding and dancing—predators and prey coming together in mortal harmony.

It soon became clear why the helicopter kept such altitude. Amongst the chaos, the flames, and debris, stood something massive and indescribable. A giant.

The huge, naked man strode through the streets of Manhattan, a colossus leaving in its wake a trail of devastation. With ease, it plucked up a city bus and threw it into the air as if no more than a loaf of bread. A military helicopter zipped around behind it, peppering it with machine gun fire, but it did more damage to the surrounding skyscrapers than the giant. Glass windows exploded in a Mexican Wave along the side of a modern high rise. A studio reporter narrated the scenes they were seeing, but the man struggled to string together sentences, speaking in broken, garbled utterances.

How did you report the unreportable?

A loud bang—from outside the house—distant yet not miles away. Richard went to the window and looked out. The street was quiet. A nice area, yet it backed up against a more urban district that would be a prime centre of unrest when the inevitable unruliness began.

Would the trouble spill over here? Was their home safe?

“What’s happening, Rich?” Jen asked him.

It pained him not to be able to answer. What was happening? A terrible dream? What had happened to the ordinary, mundane world of yesterday?

“We need to prepare for the worst,” he said, wanting to hug Jen but feeling it was important that they stay emotionally detached right now. “If the rest of the world is watching this on TV, then there will be a panic the likes of which we’ve never seen.”

Jen swallowed, but took a steadying breath and nodded. “So what do we do? Do we lock up tight and ride it out?”

Richard thought about it. Considered boarding up the windows and arming themselves, but his gut told him it was a poor move. If the unrest spilled over into this street, they’d have no chance of escape. And could Richard, as a police officer, hole up and ignore what was happening?

“I think we should all leave, Jen. It’s better if we stick together with other people than stay here by ourselves. Plus, if the government starts evacuating people, it will be better if we are somewhere visible.”

Jen folded her arms and held herself. “Where should we go?”

“The church in the town centre. Some of my colleagues are already there, along with a big group of people. It’ll be safer. If trouble starts, we’ll be less vulnerable in a group. It’s also my duty to look after everyone. At the church, I can do that while also having you and Dillon where I can see you.”

Jen nodded. “Okay, then we’ll all go there.”

Dillon came into the room. He looked pale, making his freckles stand out like bugs on his cheeks. “Go where?”

Jen smiled at him. “We’re going to church, honey.”

“Church is boring.”

“It won’t be today,” said Richard.

Lieutenant Hernandez

The USS Augusta buzzed with excitement, and it was with great trepidation that Lieutenant Jose Hernandez disembarked alongside his commanding officer, Captain Adrian Johnson, who was the spitting image of Harrison Ford and twice as grumpy. With the strange stones all over the world suddenly coming to life and emitting ethereal nets of multi-coloured light, the entire east coast Navy had been recalled to Norfolk Naval Station for immediate briefing. Nobody knew what would happen, but no one could see how the stones represented anything good. They were alien.

Hernandez had it in his head that the world was about to have its first alien contact. His mind conjured images of the strange lights turning into giant projectors for intergalactic communication. Maybe the aliens would be peaceful, reaching out in friendship—or maybe they planned to offer an opportunity for subjugation before they began their impending invasion. Every time he thought about it, his stomach flipped like a pancake.

“Keep up, Hernandez, you’re dawdling.”

“Sorry, sir.” He doubled his steps and moved back alongside Commander Johnson.

Norfolk Naval Station resembled a car park more than anything else from afar. Its paved shoreline housed a thousand cars on an ordinary day, but now it was crammed with twice that. As the world’s largest naval station, Norfolk could comfortably house over seventy ships alongside its fourteen piers and over a hundred aircraft in its eleven hangars. Today it seemed small.

Navy personnel rushed everywhere, some in dress uniform, others in their patchy blue work fatigues. Hernandez himself wore his fatigues, but he now wished that—like Johnson—he had thought to change into his dress uniform. He would be lost in this crowd, indistinguishable from the lowliest sailor. A wasted opportunity. Times like these—times of crisis—reputations got forged.

“Look at that beauty, Hernandez,” said Johnson as they hurried towards Hangar 4 where several dozen officers had assembled. He pointed to Pier 6, home to a floating monument, the USS New Hampshire.

The USS New Hampshire was the flagship of the US Navy. The latest Gerald R. Ford-class supercarrier, it was due to officially enter service next month, but here it was now, ready for action. Nuclear powered and highly automated, it was the most advanced naval craft in the world. Hernandez licked his lips at the thought of one day serving aboard her.

Not that Hernandez’s own ship, the USS Augusta, lacked prestige. A modern Burke-class destroyer, it was no duck in the water and could dominate most ships of equal size. Coincidentally, it had launched from this very naval station in 1993.

As they neared the wide-open Hangar 4, where a massive group of officers assembled in rank and file, something happened. Hernandez sensed it more than realised it at first, but he caught movement in the corner of his eye—saw people rushing more frantically than moments before. A panic had taken hold and was spreading.

“Something’s happened,” Hernandez muttered, slowing down and then stopping.

Johnson stopped too, but looked irritated. His intense green eyes were beds of concrete. “Keep your head in the game, Hernandez. I will not be late.”

Hernandez looked around and became more certain that some kind of news had just broken. A young ensign sprinted towards the docks and Hernandez grabbed her. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“New York is under attack. Orders are to offer support right now.”

Hernandez glanced at Johnson, who had changed from being irritated to looking confused. The look he gave the young ensign could have boiled water. “What do you mean ‘under attack’?”

The woman shrugged her arm free of his grasp. “I mean, those stones are exactly what we were all afraid of. They brought something here.”

“What—”

“I need to go.” The ensign sprinted away.

“We need to get to that briefing,” said Johnson.

With no counter-argument, Hernandez followed his commander towards Hangar 4. When they joined the other assembled officers, the panic had spread over the entire station—men and women cursed and cried. Some of them were from New York or had family there. Many fled, heading back to their ships or cars. Most remembered their duty and stayed, even as salty tears stained their cheeks.

When Admiral Kirsch appeared at the front of the hangar dressed in full regalia, the vast space fell silent. The sixty-year old man looked forty, with a wide chest full of medals and thick brown arms hanging confidently by his sides. A lifetime at sea had hardened the man, and even a sedentary command role failed to soften him. When he scanned over the assembled audience, he seemed to look at each person individually. Hernandez felt a chill.

Kirsch spoke slowly, making sure each word stood alone. “We. Are. At. War.”

The air vibrated. No one dared let out the slightest whisper.

Kirsch continued. “Ten minutes ago, New York City was attacked. Some of you may have seen the images already, but that shows nothing of the scale of what we face. Over six thousand black stones have been identified around the world in the last forty-eight hours, and as far as we can tell, every single one of them just opened up and spat out something alien. Our enemy: unknown. Their intentions: unknown. One thing we do know is that they are here to kill us. Man, woman, and child. The slaughter is going on right now, in New York, in nearly every other city you can name.”

Someone in the audience let out a strangled sob, but no one dared turn to see who.

Kirsch let the slight interruption go. He went on, “Assembled in front of me are some of the proudest, toughest, and most intelligent men and women the United States of America has at its disposal. Each one of you dreads the possibility of war; I know it, but each one of you is ready for it—has trained for it. You pledged your service to your country, but your country does not need you. The world needs you. Our foe is vicious and unknown. We will be gaining Intel on the ground as we fight, starting blind and finding our way as we go. We will win though, make no mistake about that. The enemy has ambushed us, caught us by surprise, but that is their first and only advantage. We have guns. They do not. We have hardware. They do not. We have the United States Navy, the meanest SOBs on this whole goddamn planet. Do you hear me?”

A cheer erupted, but it lacked bluster. The officers were still in shock.

“Most of us will go from here to offer aid to New York,” said Kirsch, “but there will be others of us with other destinations. The east coast alone is home to over a hundred of those God-forsaken stones. From now on, we shall refer to them as gates, because that, my friends, is what they are. Our enemy has come from someplace else—where, I don’t give two shits—but we sure as hell are going to send them right back with their tails between their legs.”

Another cheer. This one a little more enthusiastic.

Kirsch had grown red in the face now. “For the first time in our history as a species, we will go to war, not because of greed, religion, or politics, but for survival. We will, for the first time, be a united mankind, against an enemy that wishes to snuff us out. Are we, men and women of the United States Navy, going to let them?”

A cheer. “No!”

“I said, are we fucking going to let them?”

A resounding cheer. “No, sir!”

“Then get back to your posts. Man those engines, and get to war. Let our enemy gaze upon their reflections in puddles of their own blood. Let them—”

The ground shook beneath them. The air whipped up a breeze.

An explosion, deep and loud.

Pugnacity disappeared as panic came flooding back. The assembled officers stumbled. None of them knew what was happening. No one took charge. Even Kirsch looked confused.

Gunfire broke out.

“To battle stations,” Kirsch bellowed. Even though no one had designated stations, it served well enough to get them all moving.

Johnson moved, but Hernandez couldn’t get his feet going. The sound of continuing gunfire outside filled his veins with syrup and weighed him down. He’d never been in a firefight before. He was no marine.

“Get moving, Hernandez!” Johnson shoved him hard enough that it hurt. The pain snapped him into action, and he got moving again. Together, the two of them made a break for it. Outside, a pair of jeeps whizzed by, parting the confused crowd. Marines manned the rear-mounted machine guns.

Among the gunfire, screams broke out.

At the rear of the station, away from the piers and towards the main roads, smoke billowed and muzzles flashed. Marines filed together, rifles raised.

They fell quickly.

“What the hell is going on?” said Johnson.

Hernandez stumbled as someone collided with his back. That was his only reaction though, for his gaze fixed on that ever-diminishing line of marines. One by one they fell, their heads dipping out of view beyond the crowd. The crowd itself snarled up as hundreds of navy personnel fled towards the piers—away from the road. Hernandez and Johnson would get caught in the crush.

“We need to get out of here, sir.”

Thankfully, Johnson did not argue. “Back to the Augusta.”

They turned and tried to run, but the way forward was too thick with bodies. They were forced to shove and elbow their way along, inch by inch. Hernandez felt the unseen threat at his back like an approaching forest fire. He could even imagine his flesh burning, peeling from his back in bloody strips.

Was the enemy here?

Had they been ambushed? Or was it like this everywhere?

They needed to get back to the Augusta. That was their home, and they could defend it. Here, at the station, they didn’t even have weapons to defend themselves.

Screams of pain multiplied and intensified, spreading out in an arc around the centre of the station as if the crowd was folding in on itself. The sound of gunfire increased too, but not from the direction of the marines. It was coming from the piers. Crewmen lined the various ship rails and fired from onboard. Hernandez instinctively ducked as he worried about a stray bullet parting his skull. As if to prove his concerns correct, he saw a young Lieutenant flop to the ground as a spray of blood erupted from his neck.

“Where the hell is the enemy?” Johnson shouted. “I can’t see a thing.”

Hernandez didn’t either, so he wasted no time replying. The question answered itself.

A creature appeared in the crowd, a burnt husk of a man. It looked right at Hernandez, but then swiped to its left, catching an oil-stained mechanic around the throat and tearing out his windpipe. The dead worker folded to the ground like a roll of old carpet.

Then the creature charged right at Hernandez.

Time slowed down. Hernandez felt his feet lock up again and could only flail his arms and open his mouth to cry out. Johnson was behind him, unaware of the hellish monstrosity racing towards them. The thing was so badly burnt that it left strips of flesh on the concrete with every bounding step. With each split second, it closed the distance between it and Hernandez, and its broken teeth ground together hungrily. Its gnarled fists groped at the air.

A young woman backed into Hernandez, and when she saw the burnt creature coming towards her, she screamed. The noise prodded Hernandez’s senses and caused him to react. He grabbed the young woman by the shoulder and shoved her hard at the incoming monster. It collided hard with her, and the two of them went down, the burnt creature on top. It tore chunks out of the woman as she screamed and fought.

Johnson grabbed Hernandez by the elbow and yanked him. “Keep moving.”

More of the burnt creatures threaded through the crowd, overrunning the entire base and attacking from all sides. Johnson and Hernandez would be ripped apart long before they reached the Augusta. The ship was berthed two hundred metres away on Pier 6, but it might as well have been two hundred miles away.

Where had the enemy come from?

“Rip ‘em to shreds,” a gruff voice shouted.

Hernandez turned to see Admiral Kirsch. The admiral held a large pistol in his hand and fired it like a cannon. A nearby creature’s head disappeared like a red jelly someone had kicked. With Kirsch stood four marines, each of them unleashing from MP5 sub-machine guns. Hernandez realised then how many of the burnt men were within arm’s reach of him. They began to fall everywhere, riddled with bullets from the dead-eyed marines.

Kirsch caught Hernandez standing still and shot him a withering glance. “What are you doing, man? Get back to your crew and join this fight. Now!”

Hernandez feared the old admiral more than any creature from the beyond, so he stumbled backwards into Johnson when shouted at. Before long, he was sprinting down the pier at a speed he hadn’t known he was capable of. Even Johnson, an impressively fit man, struggled to keep up.

But it still wasn’t enough.

The enemy was everywhere, and the way ahead was congested.

Hernandez looked back over his shoulder. An army of abominations flooded down the pier behind him. Fleeing sailors were flung to the ground and trampled, or tossed into the water like trash. Blood stained the concrete.

“We’re not going to make it,” said Johnson. “No way.”

“The water,” said Hernandez. “We swim for it.”

Johnson went to the edge of the pier and looked down. “I don’t fancy our chances, but it might be our only choice.”

The creatures would be on them any second. Only a few men and women now between Hernandez and the ensuing tide of death. The cold, dark water churning beneath the pier looked little more inviting. If the sudden whip of its cold caress didn’t blow their already overworked hearts, then the pull of the various ship props might drag them under.

What choice did they have?

Hernandez prepared himself to jump.

Out of nowhere, an enemy appeared and grabbed him. Not a burnt creature like the others, it was more like a monkey torn wretched by disease. Each of its arms ended in nine-inch talons, and its face was a twisted grimace of teeth. Hernandez was not proud, but he let out a yelp.

Johnson came to his rescue, kicking out at the creature and sending it sprawling. The creature clambered back to its feet and launched itself into the air.

Johnson stood his ground.

A blast of noise.

A mid-air impact altered the creature’s trajectory and sent it tumbling off the pier and into the ocean. More gunfire erupted nearby and Hernandez ducked down. Johnson spun around and pumped his fist in the air. “Yes! Let them have it!”

The crew of the Augusta filled the pier and brought their M164A to bear. Four dozen sailors pulled their triggers at once, sending forth a blanket of fire. Johnson grabbed Hernandez and dragged him behind the other men, out of harm’s way. He glanced back and witnessed legions of monsters flopping to the ground as their organs exploded and heads split open. The crew of the Augusta slammed in magazine after magazine. The gunfire was endless.

But the enemy kept coming.

“Fall back,” shouted Johnson, taking command of his men. “Back to the ship.”

The wall of rifles inched backwards, still firing, still reloading, but retreating. The enemy was not wary, even as they continued to fall. They came in continuous waves, a hellish banzai charge.

The sound of rifles stuttering dry brought despair—the scratching of death’s fingers on an empty chalkboard.

The first crewman fell, pounced on by one of the ape-like creatures. The attacker tore open his chest cavity and ripped free one of his ribs. More men fell behind him. Hernandez was aware that he was screaming.

“Back to the goddamn boat!” Johnson shouted.

The men turned and ran, most of their weapons empty and useless. Turning their backs led to a rout, but some of them might still have a chance. Hernandez raced to the front of the group, desperately reaching for the Augusta’s distant gangway.

He had to get there. He had to make it.

When his boot came down on the metal ramp, Hernandez gurned with relief. Snot ran down his face, and his knees buckled, but he was gathered aboard by his crew. Johnson was right behind him.

“Pull up the ramp,” Johnson shouted.

The ramp clunked and recalled itself.

The disfigured apes leapt onto it before it disappeared and began to clamber aboard.

Rat-a-tat-tat.

Port-side machine guns opened up and tore apart the enemy, removing them before they had a chance to make it onto the deck. Reinforcements manned the rails with fully loaded rifles. The enemies on the pier were sitting ducks.

Johnson grabbed his nearest ensign, Cuervo, and barked into the woman’s face. “Tell the bridge to get moving. We’re too vulnerable sitting here.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Hernandez wiped the snot from his face and looked out at Norfolk Station. Smoke billowed from every structure. The sky was black. The enemy was everywhere.

Dead sailors lay scattered, and many of the smaller vessels in dock were being overrun, their crews besieged. Yet it was something else that chilled Hernandez to his bones.

A thirty-foot giant strode along the main road towards the base, a thing of rippling muscle and sinew. Its face was a marble sculpture—a beauty to behold. But it was no man, and such beauty only hid its bloodlust as it reached down and crushed a fleeing jeep full of men. With every man it tore apart, it bellowed in triumph. It was a monster, greater and more vile than all before it.

Hernandez flopped against the railing, unable to talk.

It wasn’t aliens. It was something worse.

* * *

“What is that?” someone asked.

Hernandez eased himself away from the railing. “I don’t know, and I don’t want to stick around to find out.”

The Augusta had moved away from the pier, but that didn’t mean it was free from danger. War still raged at Norfolk Naval Station, and the giant had only added to the slaughter. The crew gasped as the towering creature picked up a fuel tanker as if it were a toy and hurled it through the air. It collided with the main runaway of the USS New Hampshire and exploded. Sailors screamed and threw themselves overboard as the searing flames engulfed them. A parked F15 fighter plane listed onto its side and came apart in another mighty explosion. More sailors screamed in agony.

Meanwhile, the bulk of the enemy force—the burnt men and disfigured apes—continued tearing apart those unlucky enough to be in their way. Droves of men and women had made it back aboard their ships, but just as many still lay stranded in the centre of the base, standing back to back and fighting valiantly, yet losing decisively.

“All munitions to the deck,” Johnson commanded. “I want a continuous line of fire supporting those men and women still trapped on land. Let’s turn this around.”

Glad to receive orders, the Augusta’s crew got to work. Hernandez retrieved his combat rifle and struggled to load it with a magazine. His hands were shaking. Back at the rail, he lined up his scope and started picking shots. The first four trigger-pulls missed, chucking up chunks of concrete, but the next one winged a disfigured ape. The creature had been about to leap on top of a bleeding woman, but hit the ground instead—its right leg disintegrated.

Hernandez gritted his teeth and picked his next target.

Another direct hit. The burnt man cartwheeled into the water.

The next thing his scope spotted surprised him: Admiral Kirsch was still alive.

His marines also. The old man had lost his cap, revealing a thick crop of white hair, and his dress uniform was now stained entirely crimson—but he was alive. He still held his weighty pistol, and the thing still fired like a bucking mule. The four marines with him placed their shots with lethal accuracy, but were clearly exhausted. They moved sluggishly, brought their aims around a little slower every time. Eventually, the creatures would close in on them.

“Help the admiral,” Hernandez shouted, hoping he would be heard. “Hangar 2.”

Peering back through his scope, Hernandez watched the added fire support take immediate effect. Burnt men fell one after the other. The four marines moved with renewed enthusiasm. Kirsch looked around for who to thank and soon spotted the Augusta. He raised a hand and saluted them, then went back to popping off shots with his massive pistol.

Hernandez’s rifle clicked dry. He ejected the mag and jammed in another. Picking shots was easy because the enemy were everywhere. Had they all come out of a single gate?

Was there one nearby?

Contemplating the odds only made his heart beat faster, so Hernandez concentrated only on what he could see through his scope, and on pulling the trigger. Tat-tat-tat. His skull rang with the constant onslaught of noise. Nausea overwhelmed him.

“Fire on the big bastard,” Johnson yelled.

Hernandez pulled away from his scope and realised the giant had made it over to the hangars and was decimating the remaining Naval forces. Kirsch and his marines scattered around their huge foe and opened up with their rifles.

The giant roared, its long blond hair whipping around its shoulders—a statue come to life. A god of destruction. It reached down and snatched up one of the marines, holding the screaming man for a moment and grinning. Then he lofted the tiny body forty feet into the air and watched it thud against the concrete with a sickening splat.

Kirsch circled around in front of the giant and stood his ground defiantly. He waved a hand at his remaining three marines and ordered them to run. They refused. The four men stood together and unloaded the last of their ammunition into the massive enemy standing over them.

The giant flinched, took a step back, and let out a devastating roar. It swatted away the small-arms fire like mosquitos on its skin, then swung a massive arm and clobbered a nearby communications tower. The metal scaffolding folded in on itself, and the mass of electronic equipment held atop it came loose and fell to the ground. Kirsch had been standing right underneath.

Hernandez looked away and cursed as the old man and his three marines disappeared beneath a huge pile of twisted metal. Those still alive and fighting nearby faltered. Their admiral had been killed. Their leader was dead.

Ensign Tyke stood beside Hernandez and shook his head in despair. “What the hell is happening, Lieutenant? I don’t understand.”

Hernandez took a breath and pulled a face when he smelt blood. “It will be okay, Tyke. We’ll get ahead of this thing and—”

Tyke’s head disappeared from his shoulders. One minute he’d been anxiously staring at Hernandez, then he was a pair of empty shoulders with a stump of gristle and bone for a neck. His body slumped over the railing and into the water.

Gunfire peppered the deck. More of the Augusta’s crew fell.

Hernandez squinted through his scope, urgently scanning the battlefield. What he saw drained the blood from his veins.

The burnt men were picking up the rifles of dead sailors and using them to return fire at the various ships. The safety of being on board evaporated.

An almighty blast came from a ship’s main gun somewhere. The noise of the battlefield was like living inside a swarm of bees. Disorientation. No way to tell what was happening anymore. Chaos.

“Sail out!” ordered Johnson. “Norfolk is lost. We need to get to sea. Engines full power. Go! Go! Go!”

The decks rumbled. The Augusta leaned starboard. Crewmen ducked behind the rails, taking cover while bullets whizzed over their heads like hornets. A junior Lieutenant fell onto his back when he was too slow to get down, and he lay there screaming like a child. No one went to help him. Not yet.

Hernandez crawled over to Johnson who had taken a knee behind one of the ship’s two MH-60R Seahawk helicopters. One of them leaked from a pierced fuel line.

“Captain, should I call Command?”

“Already tried,” said Johnson. “Nothing but noise right now. We have to relocate.”

“Relocate where?”

“I don’t know, Hernandez! Right now, I just want to get my ship and crew out of harm’s way. You’re standing here doing nothing.”

Hernandez was taken aback by the sudden venom in his commander’s voice, but when he considered the stress of the situation, he understood. “What would you have me do, sir?”

“Check on the wounded.” Johnson turned away and got on the radio. Clearly any conversation with Hernandez was over.

So Hernandez went to carry out his orders. The Augusta moved half-a-kilometre out from Norfolk’s piers, almost out of danger, but the horror still flared back on land. Even now, rifles clacked and larger guns boomed. The giant had disappeared, but the burnt men still swarmed, mopping up whatever remained.

Hernandez just witnessed Pearl Harbour.

And survived it.

The Augusta’s crew stood mostly intact. Hernandez estimated the death toll at no more than twenty. Not bad considering the fates of ships such as the New Hampshire.

Seaman Patrick briefed Hernandez about the ship’s damage, and that too was within the realms of ‘lucky’. Nothing powerful enough to pierce the hull had come their way, and the only severe damage was to the backup comms dish. It wasn’t a problem, so long as the main dish remained operational. The Seahawk’s burst fuel line could be easily repaired. They had gotten out of there with their butts intact, but what came next, no one knew.

Hernandez headed to his quarters and grabbed his cell phone—wasn’t surprised when the call didn’t connect. If the world was at war, the networks would be overloaded with panicked callers. He would keep trying though.

“What are you doing, Hernandez?”

Hernandez looked up to see Lieutenant Danza. “Trying to call home. My ma lives in Austin, and there was one of those stones there, I think.”

“And my sister lives in Columbus where there’s one too. Think I don’t want to take a minute and make some personal calls? I’m sure everyone does, but we have to focus on our duties right now.”

“It’s just one call.”

“And what if one of the crew sees you make it? You’ll have three hundred sailors all demanding to drop tools and call their mothers. Once they get a hold of someone they love there’ll be no getting them back, especially if they get bad news.”

Hernandez saw Danza’s point, but he wasn’t about to take a dressing down by a fellow lieutenant—especially one beneath him by time served. Hernandez’s rank and seniority placed him below only Captain Johnson. “What an officer does and what a crewman does are not the same thing. I don’t need you to tell me how to conduct myself.”

Danza studied him for a moment, a slight smirk on his face. “If you think that screaming like a little girl is how an officer should conduct himself, then you have it all wrapped up.”

“I’m sorry? Care to explain what you mean by that?”

Danza shook his head and chuckled. “I mean that the entire crew saw you scream when that thing had you.”

“I thought I was going to die!”

“We’re US Navy. We’re trained to die. And when we do, we don’t scream like children.”

“Fuck you, Danza. Go back to driving a taxi for Danny DeVito.”

“Ouch, a Taxi joke. They never get old. Just watch yourself, Hernandez. You might be second in command, but everyone knows you don’t have any balls.”

Danza walked away, leaving Hernandez to clench his fists and fume alone in his cabin.

Who did that piece of shit think he was? Fellow officers were supposed to respect one another. He was probably just another racist prick who begrudged a ‘spik’ being in a position to give orders. Hernandez had dealt with dicks like Danza during his entire nine-year career. Snarling bullies who cried ‘affirmative action’ every time Hernandez got a promotion over them. They failed to see that he had an unblemished record and perfect aptitude test scores.

He tried to call his ma again but still got no connection.

Growing up in Austin, the ocean had always fascinated Hernandez. He never got to see it until his thirteenth birthday when his school took a trip to the Kennedy Space Centre followed by a day at Daytona Beach. The vastness of the Atlantic had mesmerised him for hours and almost frightened him too much to go in—but once he had…

Everyone in Austin loved water. In the heat of Texas, swimming pools were an everyday part of life, but the ocean was different. The sea was alive. And when Hernandez was around it, he felt alive too. That day at Daytona beach, he knew he wanted to spend his life sailing the oceans and seeing the world. He would not be another Latino who never left the city in which they grew up. His ma supported him, and his pops had died when he was young. He had no other family. He decided he would enter a new one: the United States Navy. While it had never been easy, it had also never been hard. While individuals within the Navy had their opinions, the institution itself was blind to everything except talent. Work hard enough, devote your entire life, and you could be admiral.

Like Kirsch.

Naively, Hernandez had only ever seen the benefits of the Navy. It wasn’t until now he realised he might actually have to die in service of his country. The Navy was not his family. It was his master.

He headed back onto deck where things were now more or less back in order. The crew went about their duties. The injured were moved to the infirmary. Only bloodstains suggested they had ever been in a conflict.

Commander Johnson approached Hernandez on the aft deck, motioned for him to follow. He didn’t say a word until they were out of earshot of everyone else. “I’ve had word from Jacksonville,” he said. “We had two-thirds of our east coast fleet at Norfolk. No word on survivors yet, but the USS New Hampshire was destroyed, along with several more of our larger ships. It hurt us bad.”

“Jesus Christ,” muttered Hernandez.

“That’s not even the worst part,” continued Johnson. “We had over four-hundred officers assembled during the attack, including three admirals. The Navy is rudderless. Fleet Admiral Simpson has taken over east coast operations from Jacksonville, but he’s just one man—and his best years are behind him.”

“I heard he was retiring this year.”

“You heard right. He’s pushing on eighty.”

Hernandez sighed. “So what are our orders?”

“To do what we can.”

“What does that mean?”

Johnson shrugged. “Hell if I know. Guess it means we try to help out wherever we can until we receive something more concrete. My current plan is to head north to New York, or south to Jacksonville. I’m waiting on Intel to see which area is most in need.”

Hernandez nodded. “Okay. I’ll head up to the bridge and keep an eye on things.”

“No, I want you to check our munitions. We expended a massive amount of ammo at Norfolk, and I need to make sure we can still defend ourselves if we head back ashore.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll have one of the—”

“I want you to do it.”

“Any officer can supervise a simple munitions check, sir.”

Johnson glared at Hernandez. “Yes, but there is only one officer to whom I am giving the order.”

Hernandez stood silent for a moment, trying to figure out why he was being treated like a green-eared recruit. He thought better than to argue further. Something about the expression on Johnson’s face seemed to challenge him to try.

Hernandez saluted. “Right away, sir.”

Johnson dismissed him curtly.

Hernandez started away, and wasn’t sure why he stopped when the ship’s radio buzzed nearby. Perhaps habit made him pick it up. He cringed when Danza’s voice came from the other end. The other lieutenant requested to speak to the captain.

“It’s for you,” Hernandez told Johnson, offering the handset.

Johnson snatched it. “As I was expecting a call, that makes sense. I thought I gave you an order, Hernandez?” He sighed. “Stand there a moment.”

Hernandez stood at attention.

Johnson spoke with Danza across the radio for several minutes, saying little and listening lots. Eventually, he dismissed the other and replaced the handset. He glanced at Hernandez and rubbed at his chin. “There’s a cruise liner docked at Charleston in need of rescue.”

“I agree we should help.”

“You agree? I never even stated my opinion.”

“Oh, I just assumed.”

“Well don’t. Don’t you dare assume my orders. We will head south, yes, but the cruise liner is not our concern. Civilians are not an asset. We need to focus our energy towards launching a counter offensive on our enemy. If Command is moving to Jacksonville, that’s where we should be. A new fleet will be assembling. Our priority should be to join it. I’m sure my fellow commanders will arrive at the same conclusion.”

“So, we’re going to leave the civilians to fend for themselves?”

“I don’t like it,” Johnson snapped, “but I need to think about the big picture. If I need a morality lesson, you’d be the last person I’d ask.”

Hernandez spluttered. “What does that mean? Sir, if you have a prob—”

“What it means is that I saw you throw that young woman to her death back at Norfolk to save your own skin.”

“I…” Hernandez closed his eyes as he recalled his own cowardly actions. “It just happened. I didn’t think about it.”

“I knew her, Hernandez. She served with me on the USS Wickham before I took command of the Augusta. She was a good officer. Better than you. Her name was Gina Landis, in case you were wondering.”

Hernandez couldn’t think of what to say. It was true, he had tossed the woman into the monster, but she would have been dead anyway. Nearly everyone at Norfolk was dead. He hadn’t changed anything except saving his own life. It was simple pragmatism.

“Sir, I’m not sure what you want me to say. We were fighting for our lives back there. That girl—”

“Gina!”

Hernandez sighed and began again. “Gina isn’t dead because of me. She’s dead because monsters attacked us. The same ones now attacking a cruise liner in Charleston, which you have elected to ignore.”

Johnson sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as if trying to calm himself. “Perhaps you’re right, Lieutenant. Perhaps you’re not guilty of anything.”

“Thank you for seeing that.”

“We’ll leave it for a court martial to decide.”

Hernandez blinked. “What?”

“Soon as we get a handle on this thing, I’ll be discharging you and having you stand trial. You’re a coward, Hernandez, and you’ll answer for it. Now get out of my sight. You have munitions to count, and if I find you’ve missed a single bullet you’ll spend the night in the brig.”

Hernandez walked away, shell-shocked.

A court martial?

So much for his unblemished record.

* * *

Danza came to see him two hours in. By that time, Hernandez thought he would faint if he had to count another bullet. As much ammunition as they had spent back at Norfolk, they still had more than enough for another conflict—an amount painful to count.

“Least the captain doesn’t have you cleaning the latrines,” said Danza, beaming.

Too miserable to give a comeback, Hernandez carried on with his count, sorting the 5.56mm NATO rounds into boxes, ten by ten.

“What did you do?”

Hernandez considered the answer. Oh, you know, just killed a girl the captain probably used to screw. No biggie. “I have no idea,” was his eventual reply. “Just leave me to it. I can’t count with you bothering me.”

Danza picked up a clipboard and studied it. “You counted the .62 cal shells yet?”

“No.”

“All right.” Danza picked up a pen and started counting the heavy boxes of large shells for the MK 45 gun.

Hernandez sighed. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you out. Actually, I came to tell you that we picked something up on the radars, something moving along the seabed. We think a ship went down recently. Now that I’m here, I’ll help you.”

“I don’t need your help.”

Danza carried on counting. “I know, I know. You don’t need anybody’s help, Hernandez. You have that big, giant chip on your shoulder to carry you through.”

“I can accept help. Just not from assholes like you.”

Danza whistled. “Ouch. And I thought I was a nice guy. You still sore about what I said to you earlier? Maybe if you’d seen my point and admitted I was right, you wouldn’t be down here playing number monkey.”

“What point?”

“That you should think about what you’re doing, and how it will look to the crew. Did you get a hold of your ma?”

“No.”

“Then it was all for nothing. You acted in your own interests, and as an officer, that’s not acceptable. I told you what would have happened if you’d started open season on cell phones.”

Hernandez clenched his fists and tried not to explode. Danza had been right—even at the time he had seen that—but why did the smug son-of-a-bitch have to make such a big issue out of it? “Yes, okay, Danza, you were right. It was a bad decision trying to call home. I’m worried about my ma, and I didn’t think.”

Danza smiled, still smug. “See, that wasn’t so hard. I know you didn’t think about it, but right now you have a boatload of frightened men and women who need you to keep a calm head. The crew will be looking to us and Johnson to make the right calls.”

Hernandez huffed. “Yeah, right. Tell that to Johnson. He just ignored a plea for help from a cruise liner full of civilians. You would know because you gave him the report.”

Danza nodded. “Not our place to question the captain. He needs to consider the big picture.”

“You sound just like him.”

“Good, because he’s led a distinguished career, and getting on the wrong side of him hasn’t done you any favours.”

Hernandez curled his lip in disgust and let his current handful of bullets fall back into the crate. “You agree with his decision? You think we should just leave civilians to die, to get murdered by those things?”

“And what if I did disagree? Would Johnson change his mind?”

“Command told us to do what we can. Johnson isn’t following that order. If he’s violating an order from above, then we have a duty to—”

Danza waved a hand. “Oh, give it up, Hernandez. A minute ago, you couldn’t stand me, and now you’re talking about the two of us relieving the captain of his command. I was there when Command gave the order. The subtext was that they were barely in possession of their sanity. Fleet Admiral Simpson is in charge, but he’s yet to give any firm orders, so whoever is manning the phones told us to just do whatever we can. The truth is that there are no orders to disobey, so the captain can do whatever he wants.”

“No he can’t! He has a duty to his country. We all do.”

Danza sighed. “I don’t disagree, Hernandez. The thought of all those innocent people... But let’s just hold off on the mutiny talk for now, okay? We are one of the few ships lucky enough to get away from Norfolk in one piece. Let’s consider ourselves lucky and not push things until we know more.”

Hernandez rubbed a palm over his face. What was wrong with him? He was overreacting. He was so angry at Johnson’s treatment of him that petty revenge clouded his thoughts. Or was it fear? Johnson wanted to see him dishonoured and disgraced because of some stupid girl. Humanity was at war, but the man was acting upon personal agendas? Hernandez now worried about America getting its act together and dealing with this crisis. Would there be time for a Court Martial? Would Hernandez end up in prison after surviving death back at Norfolk? It seemed likelier that they would all perish at the hands of monsters, but what if…?

Johnson was a fool. Hernandez stood guilty of nothing.

“Just forget I said anything, Danza,” he said.

“Already forgotten. Unless I need to use it against you later.” He clicked his fingers, firing them like pretend pistol, and laughed. Then he started up the ramp that led back out to the aft deck.

The ship listed.

Danza fell to the ground, struck his head against a pipe. “What the f…?”

Hernandez dropped a handful of 5.6mm NATO rounds onto the floor and cursed. He hurried over to Danza and helped the man back to his feet. “A wave?”

Danza rubbed at his head. “From where? The sea is calm.”

They hurried up the ramp and went out onto the deck where the two Seahawks stood idle. A couple of the ship’s mechanics huddled there, having been working on the broken fuel line. “What was that?” Danza demanded of them.

The two mechanics shook their heads. One of them, Seaman Lyle Crane, sported a greasy smudge across his forehead. “Dunno, sir.”

The sound of gunfire made all of their faces fall at once. It came from the bow, the opposite end of the ship.

Hernandez waved an arm at the two mechanics. “Battle stations.”

At once, they ran off to arm themselves. Hernandez and Danza did the same, grabbing rifles from the armoury and heading for the front of the ship. The gunfire grew continuous.

“How are we under attack?” asked Hernandez. “We’re twenty miles off the coast.”

Danza said nothing. He had grown pale, but he kept heading towards the bow. Hernandez fought the urge to jump overboard and followed his colleague. When they reached the front, they found Hell had come on board.

The crew battled something on the decks—bloated creatures resembling men, their flesh hanging loose and waterlogged on their bones. The entire ship was under attack. Enemies clambered over the railings and spilled onto the decks. Those with rifles let rip, tearing the enemy to pieces as quickly as they climbed the railings, but others stood unarmed, forced to defend themselves barehanded. The enemy leapt upon them like hungry lions, tearing at their windpipes with sharp, slippery claws.

Danza raised his rifle and joined the fight.

Hernandez stood there.

Seaman Lyle Crane stood nearby and came running. “Sir, we were already under attack when I got here. Do you know what’s happening?”

Hernandez shook his head. “I don’t understand where they are coming from. We should have been safe.”

Lyle’s face appeared grey under the setting sun, and impending nightfall felt like a curtain ready to be pulled over mankind’s corpse. Was this the end? Hernandez watched the abominations kill his crew. Yes. “Get on a radio. Call for help.”

Lyle saluted and sprinted off.

Hernandez stood there. He watched his crew fall in a torrent of gore, their slimy attackers ripping them into lumps.

Danza circled back around, popping one of the bloated monsters in the head. It launched backwards over the rail and back into the ocean. “Hernandez, I’m on my last mag. You got ammo? Hernandez? Lieutenant?”

Hernandez looked at the man, but couldn’t summon a reaction. Slowly, like a rusted robot, he reached into his trousers and pulled out a spare magazine. Danza snatched it.

“Thanks! Those things are coming right up out of the water. I see light down there, deep beneath the surface. I think… I think one of those goddamn gates opened in the middle of the Atlantic.”

Hernandez stood there.

Danza gave him a shove on the shoulder. “Hey, Hernandez, get with it! I need your help. Johnson wants a team up on the conning tower to gain elevation. Can you handle that?”

Hernandez stood there.

“Hernandez, go!”

Blinking, Hernandez got his legs moving. His heart thudded in his chest and bile burned his throat like he’d drunk a cupful of bleach. He raced into the ship’s interior, gathering whoever he could along the way. By the time he reached the top of the conning tower, he had seven crewmen and four rifles. He sent one of the men as a runner to gather more weapons.

Hernandez found his voice. “Okay, we need to keep the ship from getting overrun. Concentrate on the enemy trying to board.”

As commanded, the men with rifles concentrated their fire at the railings. The problem was that bloated monsters had now started to come on board via the aft deck too. From the conning tower, Hernandez only had a decent view of the ship’s bow. Someone needed to contain the enemy at the rear.

“Okay, Petty Officer Rossi, hold this position and keep those railings clear. Matthews will be back soon with more ammo.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m heading to secure the aft.” Hernandez flew down the ladder so quickly he almost free-fell, lucky to make it to the deck without injuring himself. The first person he bumped into was Commander Johnson. He was alone and injured. Blood flowed from his right arm hanging limply by his side. He held a Colt 9mm in his left hand.

“Hernandez. You got a team up top, good work.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Danza is pinned down. We need to offer support.”

Hernandez shook his head. “Sir, we need to secure the rear. The enemy is flooding aboard there. If we can stop the tide, we can regain control of the decks.”

Johnson looked back at the carnage behind him. Despite being surrounded, Danza led a large group of sailors currently holding their own. “Okay, let’s go quickly.”

Hernandez raised an eyebrow. “Just the two of us?”

“You see anyone else we have at hand? We’ll gather men if we can find them, but we need to hold the aft now. The men you put up top will help Danza hold the bow.”

Although it had been his idea, Hernandez felt a cold, wet fish in his guts as he considered what a suicide mission heading to the aft with only his injured commander as support would be. Yet, if he did nothing, the ship would be overrun. Even now, dead men slithered along the rails from the rear of the ship.

“Come on!” said Johnson, already heading off. He pulled the trigger on his pistol and hit a bloated creature standing in his way. “Let’s show these fuckers what we do to stowaways.”

Hernandez shouldered his rifle and took off after his commander. Johnson seemed to have snapped—it was the only way Hernandez could explain the man’s lack of fear. Even with one arm, Johnson sauntered along with confidence, raising his pistol and popping off rounds at whatever creature got close.

Almost at the aft, they found a couple of crewmen taking cover inside one of the rigid hull dinghies that hung over the railings. Both men were unarmed.

“Captain, thank God.”

“Winstead, Gallagher! Get out of there. Your shipmates are dying.”

Both men leapt out. “We were caught unarmed, sir.”

Johnson reached into his belt and pulled a Smith and Wesson revolver into view. He shoved it at Winstead then turned around to grab a fire axe from the wall which he gave to Gallagher. “Both of you, come with me.”

Together, the four men reached the rear of the ship. The sun had fallen below the horizon, but the area was well lit by spotlights. The two Seahawk helicopters blocked full view of the deck, but it was clearly an enemy ingress point. They teemed over the rails.

Johnson took out two bloated creatures mid-step. Hernandez opened up on three more sludging towards their flank. The creatures were slow to move—bogged down by water—yet they could pounce several metres once they picked their target. That’s what happened to Gallagher within moments. The man raised the pistol in time to let off a shot, but it was too late. The bloated monster fell on top of him and disembowelled him with a single swipe of its bony claws. Thinking fast, Winstead dropped his axe and scooped up the revolver; pulling the trigger, he blew the creature away.

“Good work, Winstead,” said Johnson, slapping another mag into the butt of his gun and firing off more shots.

Hernandez took out another bloater trying to sneak up behind them. Its leg came away at the knee, but it continued in a crawl. Winstead picked up the axe again and brought it down on the back of the creature’s skull. The blood spatter was jet-black in the moonlight.

“These things are smart,” said Winstead. “This one was trying to flank us. They’re not animals, not monsters... I think… I think they used to be men.”

Hernandez raised his rifle and zeroed in on another creature coming over the railing. Winstead might be right. Although the enemy’s blue, swollen flesh was monstrous, their nipples, genitalia, and most of all, their eyes seemed human. Had they really once been men?

Were they zombies?

Demons?

Hernandez swallowed and pulled the trigger.

The bloated creature fell down dead.

The three of them continued putting up the best fight they could. Winstead swung his axe whenever he could save a bullet, and Hernandez was on his last magazine—he made each shot count. Johnson, however, was a madman, emptying a seemingly endless supply of extended clips he’d brought with him.

The enemy kept on coming. There could be a thousand of them down there beneath the surface of the water. How much longer could the Augusta hold out?

Hernandez pulled the trigger on his last round. Winstead was too slow spotting a bloater coming up on his blind spot. It leapt onto his back and bit into his neck like a ghoul. Winstead fired his revolver over his shoulder and took care of his attacker, but he was hurt bad. He fell to one knee and tried to stem the torrent of blood leaking from his throat with the palm of his hand. He used the axe handle as a crutch to stop him collapsing completely. “I’m down,” he gargled.

The enemy smelt blood. They focused their attacks upon Winstead and swarmed him. Hernandez ran out of ammo, so Johnson was Winstead’s only chance, but his pistol was too slow to fight off the onslaught. By the time he’d taken down three of the enemy, another four made it over to Winstead. He cursed and swore as they descended upon him, but soon cried out in pain. He tried to swing the axe from on his back, but it was swatted away and skittered along the deck. It came to rest at Hernandez’s feet.

Johnson bellowed at him. “Hernandez, help him!”

“I’m out of ammo, sir.”

“I don’t care. Do something!”

Hernandez snatched up the axe at his feet and gripped it tightly, but remained where he was standing.

“God damn it, Hernandez!” Johnson slammed in another clip and fired. He hit two of the bloaters on Winstead, clearing a space in the swarm and revealing the man beneath. Winstead was dead, torn apart like a basket of bread. Johnson let out an animalistic snarl and kept on firing. Hernandez ran to his side.

“We have to get out of here, sir. We can’t hold them off with one gun. They’re going to surround us.”

Even now, it happened. The creatures sensed their advantage and spread out around the railings, waiting to close in like a net. They were smart.

“Sir, we have to go, now!”

“We’re not going anywhere, Lieutenant. Do your duty and secure this area.”

Hernandez looked at his superior officer—saw the madness in his eyes. The man had lost it. The blood on his face made him look like a snarling madman.

“Sir, this is suicide.”

“This is duty. The enemy is aboard our ship. We will die before we let them take it.” He fired off several more rounds, each one hitting its mark. More bloaters came over the rails. The smell of brine-soaked flesh overpowered them.

“I’m heading back to the bow,” said Hernandez.

Johnson glared at him. “Forever a coward. I order you to remain here and do your duty, Lieutenant. If we die, then we die as officers of the United States Navy. We die proud.”

Hernandez wobbled, his knees made of wet sand. He looked around at the railings and saw dozens of the waterlogged abominations all around him. They were surrounded by monsters. No way to survive.

“I won’t die for you, sir.” Hernandez lifted the axe and buried it in his commander’s collarbone, splitting his neck away from his shoulders. Utter shock covered Johnson’s face. He tried to speak, but couldn’t.

Hernandez put his foot on Johnson’s pelvis and yanked the axe free. He swung it again, burying it deeper into the ruined neck tissue like a lumberjack felling a tree. Johnson gurgled. Blood came out of his ruined throat in rhythmic gushes.

Hernandez snarled and pulled the axe free again. This time, Johnson slumped onto his back. “There’s your honourable discharge, sir.”

The creatures fell upon Johnson and tore him apart as he bled out on the deck. Several more stalked Hernandez, but he kept them at bay with mad swings of his bloody axe. He edged backwards, desperately hoping he would make it back to Danza and the others, and that the other lieutenant had things under control. Gunfire still blazed—both a good and bad sign.

With Johnson dead, the ship now lay in Hernandez’s command. The thought excited him as much as it terrified him, and the fact that he considered such things now, in this moment, surprised him. The other thought in his head, bizarrely, was that if he died, the ship would go to Danza. He wanted that even less than dying.

But that seemed to be the way things were destined to go. As Hernandez backed up towards the ship’s launch bay, hoping to slip in through the hangar and race towards the bow, he found himself cut off. If he tried to take the enemy at his back, the enemy at his front would fall upon him—and vice versa. He had no way of defending himself without leaving himself exposed.

This was it. The end.

Killing Johnson had been unnecessary because they had both been screwed.

The first creature attacked and Hernandez was ready. He swung the axe like Mickey Mantle clutching wood. The blade had so much elbow grease behind it that it took the bloated bastard’s head clean off. It also left Hernandez unbalanced and out of breath. The next creature barrelled right into his side and knocked him down. He hit the deck, the enemy on top of him. More surrounded him and closed in, ready to take their piece of flesh.

Hernandez whimpered. Time to close his eyes.

Rat-a-tata-tata-ta.

The sudden wetness on Hernandez’s face startled him. He flinched and opened his eyes, pushed the weight off of his chest. The creature was dead, its body weeping black blood and sea water from a dozen different holes. The other bloaters had scattered, many of them dancing the death tango as bullets riddled their bodies.

Rat-a-tata-ta.

Hernandez kept low and dragged himself into cover inside the hangar’s entrance. He dared peek out for only a single second to see who had come to his rescue. Had Danza secured the ship? The bastard would be a hero.

But it had been heavy machine-gun fire that had turned the tide. Something bolted down and chain-fed.

Hernandez saw the spotlights circle around and realised who had saved him.

It was another ship.

Vamps

The streets were a chaotic mixture of fear and anger. As many people fled as stayed to throw bricks at shop windows and kicked in car windscreens. Fight or Flight. The concrete jungle of Brixton had become a plain old jungle, and only animals lived in it.

“We need to get out of here, man.” Ginge leant against a lamppost and took great heaving breaths. “I mean, this shit is like Iraq or something.”

“I don’t see no soldiers,” said Mass. “We could use a couple of AKs right now. Wonder if the newsagents across the road sells ‘em.”

“No one will be coming to help us,” said Vamps. “You think they’ll be sending police, or the Army, to help out Brixton when Oxford Street and Soho are in the shit? We don’t matter.”

Ravy ducked as a brick flew over his head. It hit the side of a bus stop and rained glass on top of the old man taking cover there. “Shit man. We’re gunna get our heads caved in.”

Vamps looked at the madness erupting all around him and felt disgusted. Their city was under attack, and the first thing people did was turn on one another. Why? To grab a fistful of fags from the newsagent? What made people act this way?

Fear.

“We have to do something,” he said. “You think these monsters from Oxford Street are going to stay where they are? Those gates are everywhere. Where the hell would we even go?”

“Anywhere but here,” said Ravy.

Vamps shook his head. “If I’m going to have to fight for my life, then I want it to be here, where I know the streets and the people. This is home, yo. Where else you wanna be?”

Mass was already on board. “Mr Tarq runs the newsagents. He let me off for shoplifting when I was a kid. Used to let my mum off when she was short too. He don’t deserve to get his place trashed.”

“Then let’s get started,” said Vamps. “Let’s clean shit up.”

“What the fuck?” said Ginge. “We ain’t crime fighters. This morning we tried to sell drugs and then straight up robbed a guy.”

Mass smirked, his wide chin jutting out. “Which shows what bad motherfuckers we is. Don’t mean we have to stand around and watch our hood get jacked up though, does it?”

“Okay,” said Ravy. “As long as you and Vamps do the fighting, I’m down.”

Ginge sighed. “Fuck sake. Yeah, fine. I’m down too.”

Vamps nodded, proud of what they were doing—proud of his friends. “Let’s go save our corner shop.”

They legged it over to Mr Tarq’s newsagent and flew through the open doors like something from The Avengers. Vamps felt good as he said, “Shop’s closed, bitches.”

They grabbed a teenager helping himself to snack food and drinks and tossed him right out onto the street. The kid had been in the middle of piling half the shop’s inventory into his carrier bags when Vamps walloped him around the head.

“Get the hell out of here, you little rat,” Vamps snarled in the kid’s face, flashing his fangs.

“Aw shit, man. You’re Vamps. All right, I’m leaving.” The teenager legged it, empty handed.

Vamps nodded to his boys. “See, home has its advantages, like a killer rep.”

There were another two teenagers in the throes of anarchy, but they too headed away on their toes when they saw Vamps and his crew. Once the looters left, the shop was quiet, the chaos outside muted by the steel shutters over the front windows.

Magazines lined the floor like a glossy carpet and broken bottles of red wine gave the cramped space the look of a crime scene.

They heard moaning.

Vamps looked around but saw no one. He tilted his head and honed in on the sound until he realised it was coming from behind the counter at the back of the shop.

“There’s someone back there,” said Mass.

Vamps followed the moaning, took a moment, then leant over the desk.

A man shoved his hands up at his face. “Please, don’t hurt me anymore. Just take it.”

Vamps studied the old man, his grey hair befuddled and stained with blood, and felt his stomach turn. Fucking animals.

“It’s okay, Mr Tarq.” Vamps reached out his hand but kept his palm out and harmless. “I’m not going to hurt you. We came here to help.”

Mr Tarq cowered. “Please!”

Mass came over and stood beside Vamps. When he saw the battered old man, he shook his head and cursed. It took him a moment to let go of his anger. “Hey, Mr Tarq, it’s me, Alfie. You know me. You know my mum, Heather Masters.”

Mr Tarq looked up at Mass and frowned. “Little Alfie Masters? Is that you?”

“Yeah, Mr Tarq, but not so small anymore. We came to help you. It’s okay.”

The old man nodded and slowly pulled himself up against the counter. He clutched his ribs and winced a few times, but he didn’t seem too hurt.

Vamps made sure the old man was steady. “You okay, gramps?”

Mr Tarq bent forwards, in obvious pain, but reached out and patted Vamps on the shoulder. “Yes, my son. I am okay. Bless you for being good boys. I thought there were none left.”

“Not many,” said Vamps. “But it only takes a few.”

“Yes, yes, my son, you are right. Please, I must close my shop. The world is a dark place today, and I wish to be alone to think on it. Take anything you want before you go.”

“We don’t need anything, gramps, but thanks.”

“I’ll take a Snickers,” said Ginge.

Vamps rolled his eyes. “Okay, we’ll take one Snickers bar, but that’s all. You take care, Mr Tarq.”

Mr Tarq patted Vamps shoulder again and went to inspect the damage to his livelihood. He locked the door behind them as soon as they left.

Mass looked at Vamps and nodded. “It feels good to do good, you know?”

Vamps looked back at the newsagent, now shuttered up safely. “Yeah, it does. No reason to stop now.”

So they continued their mission of cleaning up the streets of Brixton, veering north and forgetting that the real danger was not so far away. It wasn’t until they moved just south of Battersea Park that they realised how foolish their bravado was.

Across the Thames, London blazed. Like the nursery rhyme, it was burning down.

Military helicopters flew overhead, unloading from their side mounted machine guns. More gunfire came from the ground. Even a fighter jet arced across the sky. There was a war across the river and Vamps had led his boys right to it.

Ravy wrung his hands together. “Okay, think we might have gone far enough.”

Ginge went pale, which made his ginger beard seem like a thatch of shining copper strands. “Thank God, because I was starting to think you were crazy. Can we go back home? We’re not even in Brixton anymore. This here is Battersea.”

Vamps nodded. “Yeah, time to call it a day. We did good work. How many heads we busted, you think, Mass?”

“Seventeen. I was counting. Plus we kicked that mugger in the arse.”

Vamps chuckled. “Nice work on that one, Ravy. You really showed him.”

Ravy grinned proudly.

“Let’s not get carried away though,” said Vamps. “Shit’s pretty quiet now on this side of the river, so I say we don’t chance our luck and go any further. Agreed?”

Everyone agreed.

So they took a breather and got going. In the last hour, Brixton had quieted down. Part of it was that the people wanting to get out had got out, but Vamps thought another part of it was that the reality had sunk in for most people—that there were monsters in the city—and had scared them off the streets. Once people’s adrenaline settled, fear found its grip easier. Even Vamps was coming down off his high, and the sight of smoke billowing from the thriving centre of London made his lips dry.

Maybe he had been hasty leading the boys this far north, but they were okay, and they really had done a lot of good today. If they could just get back to their block and hunker down, they could plan what they would do tonight—and tomorrow. Vamps understood that his recent stint of vigilantism had come about because he hadn’t known what else to do. Being pro-active seemed better than running around scared like everybody else. One thing the streets had taught him was that when you acted you weren’t thinking, and when you weren’t thinking, you weren’t afraid. If a Brixton boy spent too much time sitting around imaging being knifed, he’d end up a nervous wreck. And a nervous wreck was a lot more likely to get stabbed. London was a city where only doers thrived. If you hesitated, the streets would beat you down. That was as true in the financial districts as it was in Brixton.

They were halfway through the Patmore Estate now, heading back towards home. They heard a woman’s screams.

“Where’s it coming from?” said Ravy, rubbing his goatee anxiously.

“From that block over there.” Mass pointed.

Vamps started marching. He thought the others might argue, but they didn’t. None of them could stand by while a woman screamed for help.

They found out what was going on in the next street. A tattooed skinhead sat atop an Asian woman and shouted in her face to ‘shut up’ then called her a ‘paki’. He punched her face and wrestled with her clothing. An older guy lay unconscious in the gutter nearby.

“He’s trying to rape her,” said Ginge, looking sick.

“Well, he ain’t gunna succeed.” Vamps narrowed his eyes. The sight of this animal taking advantage of the current chaos by preying on the innocent made his blood simmer. All the selfish, violent acts Vamps had seen today, but this was the worst. To rape someone…

It wasn’t human.

The thug struggled to get the woman’s trousers off. He reared back to punch her again.

Before Vamps knew what he was doing, he gritted his teeth and yanked out his grandfather’s old Browning pistol. He’d never fired it before, but he pulled the trigger without hesitation. The bang was ferocious, but nobody flinched. Gunfire was normal today.

The thug slumped forwards on top of the woman, a penny sized hole in the back of his neck. Vamps had been aiming for his shoulder. “Racist motherfucker,” he muttered as he lowered the gun to his side to disguise his trembling hand.

The woman slid out from beneath her attacker and clambered to her feet. She took a breath and said, “Y-you… you shot him. How…? Where did you get a gun?”

Vamps took a breath and fought to keep his heart from beating out of his chest. He kept his eyes off the man he had just killed and instead frowned. “Ask me no questions, I tell no lies. You all right, darlin’?”

“I… Yes. Thank you. You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

Vamps glanced back at his boys, who bristled at her comment. After all the good they had done today, they still got treated like common criminals. “I just saved your arse, luv, and you accuse me of bein’ a mugger and shit. I ain’t gunna hurt you. We ain’t even like that.”

“Oh,” said the woman. “It’s just that you all look so… scary.”

Vamps looked down at his baggy black jeans and chuckled. “Just how we do on the streets, innit? You dress how you want, and we dress how we wants. Just clothes, innit?”

“Thank you,” said the woman, seeming to mean it greatly. Her attacker lay dead at her feet, but she didn’t seem to care one bit. There were lots of people dead today, and this racist piece of shit was probably among the most deserving.

It was okay to kill him. Wasn’t it?

“What’s your name?” the woman asked.

“Vamps.”

“Vamps?”

He gave her a wide grin, revealing his gold-plated fangs. “Yeah, Vamps. These are my homies: Mass, Ravy, and Gingerbread.”

The boys nodded silently.

The woman shook each of their hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

“You need to be careful out here,” Vamps warned her. “There’s some heavy shit going down.”

“I know. I’m a journalist. David and I are trying to get out of the city. You should come with us.”

Vamps looked at ‘David’, who was finally stirring. Then he looked back at her. “Nah, I’m sound, darlin’. These are my streets, d’you get me? Me and the boys are staying put, and any of them fucked-up, Freddy Krueger bitches wants to come take us on, they’re welcome. This is our manor and ain’t nothing gonna bowl up and make a mess of it. You take care, darlin’. Next time, just hand over your phone, innit? And ‘ere, take this.” He pulled a thin black stick out of his belt and tossed it her way. It was a metal police baton he had found abandoned in the street earlier. He’d always wanted one, but this woman needed it more.

The woman caught it, seemed to weigh it up in her hand, then did something that surprised him. She hugged him. “You’re a hero,” she said.

Vamps eased her away, looking awkward. “Easy now. I ain’t no hero. Don’t you go writin’ ‘bout me in your paper. I ain’t news friendly.”

The woman nodded. “I promise. Take care.”

“You too.”

Then Vamps took his boys and carried on heading back to Brixton. He’d just saved a woman from being raped. To do it he had killed a man. He wasn’t sure how he should feel about that, but the boys were looking at him in a way he didn’t like.

Looking at him like he just killed a man.

* * *

They got back to Brixton a short while later and had barely spoken a word to one another. They checked on Mass’s mum at her flat, but the old dear was tired and confused about things. Mass decided it best to leave her alone. She always had the warden down the hall if she needed help. Ravy called his dad who worked in Slough. He was fine. So was his sister who studied at East Anglia. Gingerbread lived alone and didn’t keep in touch with his family. Vamps lived alone too. That was the bond that made them all so close—they had each other and little else. Vamps had a half-brother some place, but his three true brothers stood right here beside him. The Brixton boys.

They decided to spend the night at Vamps’s flat, first choosing to take beers up to the roof to watch the craziness. You could see right across the Thames.

Night hadn’t yet taken its grasp on the city and the distant high rises still gave off their usual light pollution. In fact, if not for the stench of smoke in the air and the unceasing noise, it might’ve been a normal evening in the capitol.

“Shit, man,” said Mass, pointing at the horizon. “The Shard is on fire. Can you believe that? Next year’s Apprentice is gunna have to get a new opening.”

They chuckled.

“You watch that shit?” asked Ginge.

“Yeah, man. Next year I’m gunna take part and show L.A. Shugs my business idea.”

Ravy frowned. “L.A. Shugs?”

“Yeah, Lord Alan Sugar.”

“What’s your business idea?” asked Vamps.

Mass folded his arms and lay back in his deckchair with a smug expression. “Gunna sell digital light switches.”

Vamps frowned. “Digital what-nows?”

Mass rolled his eyes like they were idiots. “Digital light switches. I mean, what’s the deal with how up-to-date everything is, but our lights are the same as fifty years ago. I want to replace light switches with these little LED touch screens that let you adjust the brightness, set a schedule, and even have them adjust automatically based on the sunlight in the room. It’s so simple man, and it wouldn’t even be an expensive gadget to manufacture. People would lap it up. The world loves tech. I would do the same with plug sockets. Make ‘em digital. Let you switch stuff on and off from your iPad.”

Vamps was impressed. “You know, that’s actually not a bad idea. I suppose it’s bound to happen. Someone needs to get in and get it started.”

“And when I’m L.A. Shugs’ main man, I’ll be a millionaire. Get us all out of this shit-hole.”

“You’d share the money?” said Ginge.

“Hell, yes. We family. One of us makes it, we all make it.”

“Word to that,” said Vamps, putting up his beer for a toast.

They clinked bottles, but then Ravy said, “Too bad the world has ended.”

Vamps groaned. “Way to bring down the mood.”

“Sorry. I’m just saying… Look at this place. There’s fighting in the streets, looting, monsters tearing people apart… That’s some heavy shit.”

Vamps looked out at the city. Gunfire lit up the dusk like fireworks. Most of it came from the direction of Hyde Park, which had been illuminated by high powered floodlights. Several helicopters buzzed in and out of the area. Was that where the Army had assembled?

Were they taking care of business?

Like Vamps had with that rapist?

He pulled out his grandfather’s Browning and lay it across his knees, studying it. The brushed metal was scuffed and tarnished.

“How you get that thing, anyway?” asked Mass. “I don’t think you ever told me.”

“It was my grandpa’s.”

“Really? He was in the war?”

“Nah, man. He was a gangster, same as us. He robbed it off some dude back in his cat burgling days. Was too hot to sell.”

Mass chuckled. “Wish I’d met the old guy.”

Vamps smiled at the vague memory he had of his grandfather. “Yeah, he was a good crack. Died when I was eight, couple years before I met you lot.”

“Good he stuck by you,” said Ginge. “You know, after your dad did one.”

The mention of Vamp’s father brought silence. Vamps clutched his fists instinctively but gave no thoughts to his feelings. The lads didn’t need to hear about some deadbeat knocking his ma around. Way Vamps considered things, he had no father. End of conversation.

He put his grandfather’s Browning away.

For a while, Ginge had kept them updated from his phone’s internet, which was patchy at best. They watched juddering videos of monsters from Hell—too many to deny their existences. Those gates led to some terrible place and the damned and dead were spilling out. Some of the monsters were so badly burned that you could see bone.

“Think this will all go away?” asked Ginge when an hour had passed. He had barely touched his beer, more an eater than a drinker. Mass, on the other hand, drank two bottles ahead.

“Like hell it will,” said Ravy. “We’re all fucked.”

Vamps exhaled, took a swig of his own beer.

An explosion.

All four of them leapt up out of their deck chairs and went over to the edge of the roof. A fireball filled the night sky, blooming from the ground and heading towards the stars. Vamps gripped his beer bottle tightly as it swung next to his leg. “It’s one of the helicopters. The fighting’s moved to Hyde Park.”

“How the hell did they take out a helicopter?” asked Ravy. “They have anti-air missiles now?”

“Maybe it was pilot error,” said Ginge. “Zipping around all those tall buildings…”

Somehow none of them believed it. The distant fighting had intensified in the last hour. Things weren’t going well. The Army was going all in.

Then they saw something none of them could quite fathom.

Ginge dropped his beer bottle to the ground where it shattered. “Is that… Is that a giant?”

The word sounded stupid, but Vamps knew no better way to describe what he saw emerging from the floodlights of Hyde Park. A giant man wearing nothing but a loin cloth. Like some massive caveman meant to fight Godzilla in one of those awful Japanese movies. But this was no movie.

A giant laid waste to Central London.

“We need to get gone,” said Ginge.

Mass folded his huge arms. “Hate to be a pussy, but I agree.”

“And go where?” asked Vamps. The beer in his throat tasted like acid.

Ginge held up his phone. “The web said parts of the south coast are still okay, Portsmouth, I think. Maybe we should head there?”

“Let’s just boost a car and go,” said Ravy. “I could cope with the thought of zombies or demons in the park, but I ain’t sticking around for no giants. That thing could step across the Thames and be here in ten minutes.”

Vamps took another look across the city. He placed the thing as at least thirty feet high. If it wasn’t standing in the park, it would be hidden behind the buildings, and if it slipped out of sight there would be no way of knowing how close it was. By the sound of it, the Army was letting loose with everything it had.

But the giant didn’t fall. It was a titan—invulnerable.

“Let’s bounce,” said Vamps, deciding that living in a refugee camp in Portsmouth was better than surviving home any longer.

Ginge exhaled as if relieved. “Thank fudge for that. Actually, can we swing by mine to grab some food first?”

Mass punched Ginge’s flabby arm. “We’re about to run for our lives, man. We ain’t stopping for no Cadbury’s Cream Egg, buster!”

Ginge frowned. “Fine.”

They headed into the stairwell and started down. Televisions blared in some of the flats, so people were still at home, which made Vamps wonder if sticking around was a good idea. His gut instinct told him to stay put, but after seeing the scenes in Hyde Park he had a bad feeling. Eventually, the battle would spill over into Brixton and beyond. Staying alive on the streets would be even harder than normal.

Halfway down the stairs, three floors up, voices came up to meet them. Someone had entered the entrance hallway on the bottom floor. Vamps knew because he heard the broken front door scrape across the concrete.

“You sure he lives here?” came a voice they all recognised.

“That’s the fucking dealer who screwed us over,” said Mass.

“You mean the one we robbed at gunpoint?” Ravy added.

Vamps peered over the bannister to the stairwell below. It was definitely him. Pusher.

Other people too. Three more guys and a kid Vamps instantly recognised.

Vamps reached to the bright green cap on his head. “It’s that car-jacking piece of shit.”

Mass looked at him. “Who?”

“I caught a kid breaking into cars this morning and put him on his arse.”

“So you were fighting crime before you even met us today? You Batman.”

Vamps chuckled. “Batman would be good now.”

“He lives in this building,” said the car-jacker. “My mate Jasmine used to go out with him. Third floor, I think.”

“Hey, I remember Jasmine,” said Ginge. “She was hot.”

Vamps shook his head. “Not now, Ginge.”

Pusher started up the stairs with his entourage. “Gonna teach that piece of shit what happens when people mess with me. He’s fuckin’ dead. My kid was there.”

Mass smashed his fists together. “Let’s go choke this mother out.”

“Wait up a sec.” Vamps held back his bulldog and peered over the railing again. He watched Pusher ascend the bottom staircase—saw the stubby length of brushed steel in the dealer’s hands.

A sawn-off shotgun.

“He’s coming in heavy,” said Vamps.

“You gunna get your gun out,” asked Ravy nervously. Still no one had mentioned that he had shot a man earlier. Vamps didn’t know how they felt about it.

He didn’t feel good about it himself.

Vamps kept his voice low. “Back to the roof. We need to lie low.”

Mass looked at him slack-jawed. “We gunna run?”

Vamps nodded. “Don’t matter how tough you are in a gunfight. Anybody can catch a bullet. I ain’t gunna risk that, so let’s bounce.”

They hurried back up the stairwell towards the roof. Pusher was making enough of his own noise not to hear theirs, and by the time they made it up the stairs, they were all pretty sure of a clean escape.

Vamps shoved an old roof tile under the door to wedge it shut. There was no reason Pusher should think to come up here, but just in case. “We’ll stay up here till the coast is clear. Then we’ll think about getting out of the city.”

“Good thing it’s a warm night,” said Ginge, clutching himself.

“Good thing you’re carrying ten-stone of fat,” said Mass, punching his friend on the arm.

“Screw you, man.”

“Shut up,” said Vamps, or I’ll go get Pusher to shoot you myself.

“He don’t wanna shoot us,” said Ravy. “He just bluffing.”

Mass huffed. “You turn up at someone’s manor with a sawn-off, you ain’t bluffin’, man.”

When they heard the shotgun go off, the point was made. They fell silent, eyes wide.

Who the hell had just caught a bullet?

Vamps went over to the roof edge and looked again to Hyde Park.

The giant was gone, but things had never been more dangerous.

Richard Honeywell

Richard felt better with his family close by, but still felt a weight on his shoulders as he kept a watchful eye on the people in the church. There were a hundred of them now, mostly the vulnerable and lonely. Some had brought along cans of beer, which wasn’t against the law, but bode ill for the evening. Drunk people were not the easiest to control in a panic, and panic could swoop upon them at any moment.

The church had an old television set that the vicar set up in front of the wooden lectern. The news played constantly but showed nothing to make people feel any better. It showed horror; not hope, but people could not look away. In the centre of London, Big Ben’s ornate clock face was blackened and charred, while a battle raged on in nearby Hyde Park. The Army fought monsters in the street, monsters from Hell, if you believed what the more paranoid talking heads claimed. Gates to Hell had opened and demons sought to purge the earth of humanity. The insane thing was that Richard believed it. He could think of no better explanation for what he was seeing on the news.

Demons were here.

And they were everywhere.

In the last hour, the television had flashed multiple scenes of devastation from Tokyo to Bogota where barefooted Colombians fired guns in the street. There had been few scenes of triumph, except for a brief ten seconds of footage from Damascus which showed the entire city armed and ready. The peaceful nations of the world were the ones doing badly. Geneva had been laid to waste with barely the slightest resistance. Swiss pacifism had been a death warrant to its people.

Dillon was bored, but an old lady named Shirley was doing her best to keep him occupied by playing eye spy. The kindness of a stranger was a powerful thing in times like this, and Richard felt a swell of emotion every time he looked at the old woman caring for his son.

“Romantic, in a way,” said Jen, holding a cup of coffee between her hands whilst leaning against a weathered pew. “Like the way people huddled together during The Blitz.”

“People died during The Blitz,” Richard told her. “And people have been dying today.”

Jen nodded, but didn’t seem to regret her comment. She placed a hand on her husband’s arm and looked him in the eye. “I’m just saying, it’s times like these when people pull together. We all make each other stronger by sharing courage and compassion. I’m proud of you for looking after all these people, Rich.”

Richard didn’t feel like he was doing much good, and he told her so. “I’m just babysitting. The real work is in London. I feel terrible for admitting it, but I’m glad I’m not there.”

“I’m glad too, but that doesn’t mean you won’t be needed here. These people,” she looked around at all the stragglers and oddballs that sat on the church’s stone floor or slouched on its pews, “they see a police officer present and automatically feel safer. Don’t underestimate how important you are.”

“I don’t underestimate it, Jen, but I worry that if things get worse, all these people will look at me for direction. I don’t have a bloody clue.”

“Cross that bridge when it comes.”

Riaz came in from outside and strolled down the centre aisle between the pews. He went right up to Richard. “It’s dark outside now, and Glen just radioed in from Cider Hill. We got some kids playing up.”

“Can Glen handle it?”

“No,” said Riaz. “He’s one man, and he said there’s half a dozen of them.”

Richard nodded. “Are you going to assist him?”

“No, we will assist him.”

“I’m not leaving here,” said Richard, glancing sideways at Dillon, who was growing bored with eye spy.

“Look,” said Riaz. “You’ve already abandoned your duty once to go get your family, and I can understand that to a degree, but they are here now and safe. I won’t allow you to stay here and do nothing while the streets turn into a jungle.”

Richard straightened up and scowled at his colleague. “You’re not in a position to allow me to do anything.”

“Maybe so, but as a fellow police officer, I am requesting your assistance, and unless you have a bloody good reason not to give it, I’ll be reporting you to the SI.”

Richard opened his mouth to speak, but Jen squeezed his arm. “It’s fine, Rich. You need to go do your job. Don’t worry about me and Dillon. We’re fine.”

Richard swallowed a lump in his throat as he tried to decide. He watched Dillon stand up and inspect the various church paraphernalia. Before long he would start messing with things he shouldn’t. Then he would break something.

But the damage outside the church would be far worse if looters were allowed to scurry around unchecked.

“Okay, Riaz, fine. Let me say goodbye to my son.”

Riaz nodded, but looked annoyed even at having to wait one minute more. Richard ignored his colleague’s attitude and went over to Dillon.

“Hey, Dil-Dil,” he said. “I’m just popping out, but I’ll be back soon.”

“No, Dad, don’t go outside. The monsters will get you.”

Richard gave his son a squeeze to calm him. “No, they won’t. The monsters are far away. I’m just going out to see a friend at the other side of town. I won’t be long. While I’m gone, I need you to be good. Don’t mess with anything you shouldn’t, and do what mummy tells you, okay?”

Dillon, nodded whilst pouting at the same time. “It’s boring here, Dad. They won’t let me change the channel on the telly.”

“I know, but we all have to stay here for a while before we can go home.”

“Because of the monsters?”

Richard didn’t want to alarm his son, but he also wanted him to understand. “Sort of, Dil, yeah. We just need to make sure the monsters stay where they are.”

“Can you get my books, Dad?”

Richard sighed. His son loved to read—something Richard and Jen had tried to instill in him at an early age as a way to support his Downs. It had worked, and Dillon often read the Harry Potter books cover to cover. Child’s encyclopaedias were also a hit—especially if they contained facts about animals. “I don’t think I’ll have time to go back, sweetheart, but if I see any shops open, I’ll see if I can grab you a magazine.”

“Okay, Dad,” he nodded forlornly. “Love you.”

Richard kissed his son’s forehead. “Love you too, son.”

Jen was still standing nearby, so he gave her a quick hug before he left. He was about to say something to her when Riaz cleared his throat irritably.

“I’m coming,” Richard snapped. He followed the other officer out of the church doors, but was stopped by the vicar.

“Ah, officers,” said Miles. “I just want to say again how very grateful I am to have you here. People are afraid. Part of me wishes I never turned on that television, but I suppose there’s no hiding from the horrors we face.”

“No, thank you, Reverend. It’s been a massive help giving all these people somewhere they can come together for moral support.”

“I suppose you two are on your way to deal with those less interested in such things?”

Richard nodded. “Unfortunately, times like these bring out the worst in people.”

“I don’t honestly think there has ever been ‘times like these’, but I take your point. Please remind anyone you meet that there is still room at the church and a mug of hot tea if they want it.”

“We shall,” said Riaz. “Thank you again, sir.”

“Please, call me Miles. ‘Sir’ should be reserved for men in ties, don’t you think?”

Riaz was eager to get away, and his reply was short. “Yes, Miles, I do. Goodbye now.”

As they walked away, Richard pulled his colleague up. “You don’t have to be so rude, you know. That man has done more to help than anyone.”

“Serving tea isn’t a help. We need to clamp down on nuisance behaviour before it takes hold. He’s just getting good publicity for the church.”

“That’s a little cynical.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps.”

Richard wondered if Riaz was Muslim, and if that was why he took exception to the reverend and his church. He decided he was too ignorant of such things to ask. Nor did he know Riaz particularly well.

Cider Hill lay at the edge of the town centre where the shops changed into offices. A booze shop traded there next to the bus station, so it was often a problem area where anti-social behaviour was concerned. The walk took them ten minutes.

Glen, a round-faced man with a persistent smile, had parked outside a recruitment firm. He waved out the car window at them as they approached. “Didn’t want to make a move until I had backup.”

“What do we have?” asked Richard.

“Six or seven kids boozed up at the bus station. They raided the office by the looks of it.”

Richard put his thumbs inside his belt and sighed. “Don’t know what we’re supposed to do with them.”

“Lock ‘em up,” said Riaz. “Same as any other night.”

“But this isn’t any other night, Riaz. The whole world went to Hell in a hand basket today, if you didn’t notice. Bunch of kids pissed up at the bus station is not the concern it would usually be.”

“Crime is still crime. If an innocent person wanders into the bus station and gets attacked, that’s our failure.”

Richard nodded. “I agree. My only point is that it seems stupid to ride them all to lock up. Is anyone even manning the jail tonight?”

Glen nodded. “I’ve been back and forth on the radio with Suzie at the desk. There’re a couple uniforms in—Sutton is there.”

Sutton was another sergeant, like Richard—a decent copper. Richard nodded. “Okay, we’ll call it in once we’ve dealt with the situation.”

“Let’s get a move on then,” said Riaz.

Glen took the car down the road outside the bus station while Richard and Riaz hurried along on foot. The rowdy teenagers inside were kicking over bins and climbing the timetable boards like monkeys. The amount of beer cans on the floor was enough to fill a wheelie bin with.

Riaz was first in, racing at one of the lads before they saw him coming.

“Fuckin’ pigs,” one of them shouted, breaking into a run.

Richard dodged sideways and met the escape of one of the lads. The two of them smashed together and went down to the ground. Richard got the better of the scuffle and ended up on top. The lad’s baseball cap rolled across the floor and left his face exposed.

“You were at the shopping centre earlier today,” said Richard. “You trashed the games store.”

“I dunno what the fuck you’re on about, pig.”

Richard yanked the lad to his feet, trying not to let the stench of alcohol overpower him. “We’ll soon jog your memory, son. There’ll be plenty of CCTV footage to remind you.” He saw the flash of worry spark through the lad’s eyes and was satisfied. He turned around and saw that Riaz had apprehended two other lads, holding them at bay with his CS gas canister. Outside, Glen had gathered a fourth hoodlum and had him up against the car. Three of the youths got away.

“You okay, Riaz?” asked Richard, shoving his prisoner around and slapping on handcuffs.

Riaz nodded, a satisfied expression on his face as he manhandled the lads in his possession.

They got the prisoners handcuffed and took them outside, sitting them on the ground in a line outside the off license. “You’ve really made quite the time of it today, haven’t you?” said Richard.

The group of lads stared sullenly at the ground.

Riaz nodded at Glen. “Call it in."

Glen used the radio in his car and got through to Suzie. They chatted back and forth for a minute while Riaz and Richard dealt with the prisoners.

“You know what a scumbag you have to be to be out causing trouble at a time like this?” said Riaz. “People are scared. People are dying just a few miles away in London. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

No one spoke.

Riaz kicked one of the lads. “Answer me, you little shits.”

Richard reached out and nudged his colleague back a step. “Okay, Riaz. We have them.”

Riaz shrugged away. “I’m just disgusted. Disgusted at this country. Disgusted at degenerates like this who think they can do what the fuck they like.”

Richard saw the hysteria on his colleagues face. The way his eyes darted about, and his lips twitched. “Just calm down, Riaz. You know that this is what happens. Most people are behaving, trying to help.”

Riaz shook his head and took a moment. “I know. Damn it, I just wish we were better, that’s all.”

Glen climbed out of the cruiser and approached. “We can’t take ‘em in.”

Richard frowned. “What? Are the cells full?”

“No, the cells are empty, and so is the station. Suzie said that Sutton has told everyone to go home to their families.”

“Sutton did that?” Richard couldn’t believe it. Sutton was too dedicated to abandon his post. Where things really that bad?

Yes, of course they were.

Glen sighed. “I know it’s crazy, but Suzie was just about to leave herself. She said the officers who joined the task force in London haven’t reported back in hours and that Command isn’t answering. We’ve been forgotten for the time being, so it’s up to us what we do. There’s an all-out war in the city by all accounts.”

“So what do we do with these scumbags?” asked Riaz, his anger rising again. “We can’t just let them go.”

Richard grasped his arm. “We’ll figure something out.”

One of the lads bolted up and tried to make a run for it. It was an absurd act, seeing as his hands were cuffed in front of him. He made it three steps, waddling like a penguin, before Riaz swept his legs out from under him and sent him crashing down onto the curb.

“Fuck man! That’s Police brutality.”

“Tell it to someone who cares,” Riaz hissed. “Stand up once more and you won’t be able to try again.”

Richard had to move Riaz back again. The man was clenching his fists. “Riaz, just calm down. They’re just a bunch of kids covering their fear with reckless behaviour.”

“Yeah,” said Glen. “Just relax, Riaz. You’re frightening them.”

“I ain’t scared of nuffin’, blud,” one lad mumbled.

Riaz looked like he was about to go off again, but an approaching vehicle made the three officers turn. It was an Army jeep, and it stopped when the driver saw them and pulled up beside the curb. A soldier stared out at them from the back of the uncovered vehicle. An Asian woman sat in the driver’s seat.

“Bout time we got a little help,” said Richard, putting his hands on his hips and sighing with relief.

“I’m not here on behalf of the Army,” said the soldier. “I’m just getting these two reporters to their offices.”

Richard peered into the back of the jeep and saw the soldier was sitting next to another man, and there was a little girl sitting between them and staring glumly at the back of the seat. He grunted, not wanting to sound afraid as he asked the question. “Oh, how are things in the city? Still bad?”

The soldier shook his head. “No, not bad. Finished. There’s nothing left in London. The Army got destroyed. I might be the only soldier left from Hyde Park.”

Richard felt a wave of nausea wash over him. “Shit. What the hell are we dealing with here? Is it really monsters?”

The Asian woman nodded from the driver’s seat. “We’re at war, and we need to be prepared. Everybody, not just the Police and Army. We all need to be ready to fight.”

Richard tried to comprehend what the woman was getting at. He ended up huffing. “Fight monsters? You must be joking. People won’t fight. I’ve just spent half the night trying to stop people robbing each other.”

“If we don’t work together, we don’t have a chance,” she said to him. The young woman’s hard expression made him shift uncomfortably.

“Just do what you can, Officer,” said the soldier. “Those kids you have under arrest, what did they do?”

“What didn’t they do? Breaking into shops, kicking in car windscreens, joyriding...” Richard didn’t know why he was exaggerating. He wondered if he was panicking.

“You need to talk to those boys,” said the reporter. “Tell them what’s coming. Give them something to do, and they’ll be glad to be of use, I promise you.”

Richard sneered. “What? You want me to deputise a bunch of thugs?”

The soldier nodded adamantly. “Yes! We just lost an army in Hyde Park. This country needs fighters. You have a bunch of them sitting in the road. This isn’t just a news of the week event. This is it—the big summer blockbuster, end of the world, fight for survival type of gig. You have a chance to make a difference, Officer. Get your men and those boys ready, because war is coming to us all.”

Richard looked at everyone inside the jeep, then back at the soldier. “You’re not joking? This is really the apocalypse or something?”

“Everywhere is under attack, you probably already know that. It’s going to fall on men like you to fight back. There won’t be a British Army to sort this all out. It’s going to be fighting in the streets and dying in pain. It will be youngsters, like the ones you have under arrest, that will fight for our survival. So go tell them what they’re up against before it’s too late.”

Richard nodded, feeling stunned. He felt like he was discovering that he had been sleeping during some great event. He had known things were bad, but these people, driving around in a battered Army jeep, made him realise that the situation had progressed far beyond his current understanding. They had seen things he had not, things that had made them understand. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll round ‘em up and get ‘em to work. Every able-bodied person I can find will be ready, you have my word.”

The soldier saluted him. “What’s your name?”

“Richard Honeywell.”

“I wish you well, Richard. Stay alive.”

“I… Yes, you too.”

The woman shifted into gear and got going. Richard stood in the middle of the road, stunned.

Glen wandered over to him a moment later. “Do you think he was telling the truth? You think the Army is gone?”

Richard shrugged, watching the jeep’s taillights disappear at the end of the road. “Why would he lie?”

“I don’t know.”

“If the city really has fallen,” said Riaz, “then we need to fall back and find support. The Army in London wasn’t the country’s only defence.”

Richard felt his shoulders drop. “Perhaps not, but the Army in London would have been our best defence. If it fell, I don’t hold up much hope for anything else.” He began to pant. “And what about the other stones? We’re being attacked from all sides. There’s nowhere to fall back to.”

What was he going to do? How did he keep Jen and Dillon safe? By gathering up a bunch of vandals and trying to build a fort? Insane!

“But we’re safe,” said Glen. “Slough isn’t under attack.”

“Oh, wake up, Glen,” said Riaz. “If London is defenceless, the enemy will have free rein to spread out and attack the surrounding areas. We’re as close as you can get to London without being part of it. We’re next.”

“Then what do we do?”

Richard felt dizzy. He felt far away from his own body. He gazed at the line of youths sitting on the curb. Although they were likely afraid, their bravado was deeply ingrained. They would not dare show their worries. Richard needed to do the same. “We do what the soldier told us to do,” he said, desperately wanting to follow orders, even if they came from a stranger. “We prepare ourselves to fight. No one is coming to protect us or our families, so we need to do it ourselves.”

Riaz tutted. “You’re an idiot if you think that’s a good idea.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. I think it’s the only option we have.”

“My wife and daughter are here,” said Glen. “If there’s nowhere I can get them to, then I’ll fight any amount of monsters to keep them safe. If we have to stay here and fight, then I’d accept it head on.”

Richard nodded, trying not to fall down where he stood. “Me too, Glen.”

Riaz sighed. “Let’s just head back to the church. Maybe we can put our heads together and figure something out.”

Richard motioned towards the youths seated on the curb. “We have some recruiting to do first.”

One of the lads on the curb lurched forward and vomited.

“That’s up to you,” said Riaz. “I want no part of it.”

Richard sighed when Riaz departed in a huff, but was pleased that Glen stayed with him. The two of them faced the expectant youths together. Richard placed his hands on his hips as he spoke. “If you lads are still in a mood to wreck stuff, you might get another chance. Only, this time you’ll be wrecking what I tell you to.”

The lad who was still missing his white baseball cap, looked confused at first, but then he looked up and grinned.

* * *

Richard couldn’t believe the time when he glanced at his watch. 6AM. They had worked right through the night. Now that he realised the time, he let out an almost endless yawn. Most people in the chilly church interior had bedded down well before midnight, sleeping fitfully on blankets supplied by the vicar.

Richard had last checked on Dillon and Jen a little after 1AM. They had been snoozing, and he’d dared only to pull a blanket up over Dillon’s shoulder before going back outside to work. Lots of work to be done.

As it turned out, the four youths apprehended at the bus station were surprisingly eager to help, almost like they’d been waiting longingly for direction. It further convinced Richard that their drunken antics had been fear of not knowing what to do.

Aaron approached Richard now, white baseball cap reunited with his head. He was the gang’s obvious leader, and the other three rallied behind him when he had agreed to help Richard. For the last few hours they had been working on a barricade across the main road. It was looking good

“I’m knackered, boss. The sun’s coming up. Can me and the lads get our heads down?”

Richard nodded. “Go find somewhere quiet at the church and I’ll give you a shout if anything happens. You and your friends did a good job today, Aaron. We’re lucky to have you.”

The praise seemed to surprise the lad. “Thanks. Suppose we all need to stick together.”

“Unless we all wake up from a terrible dream, things have changed, and we only have each other.”

Aaron headed off while Richard inspected the lad’s handy work. The church was surrounded by roads on two sides and a large pedestrian zone on the others. Aaron and his friends, along with several others from the church, had broken into several cars and removed the handbrakes. They rolled the cars into the road to block anything from approaching. In addition, they pinched a bundle of scaffolding from a parked builder’s truck and constructed a small platform from which to keep watch. The remaining poles were shoved through the car windows to face the road like porcupine quills. It would make scaling the barricade that much harder. It wasn’t Hadrian’s Wall, but it might slow the enemy down, and it would make the people in the church feel safer.

Richard felt like a general, penned in and awaiting a last stand.

Yet, despite his fear, Richard could not suppress another yawn. He headed to the church. Birds waking on the roof began their chorus, remarkably calm and ordinary. Usually, the sound of birds singing at dawn depressed Richard—it meant a restless night of sleep was ending, and a tired day at work was beginning—but today it might be a sign that the world was not yet lost. The birds still sang.

Riaz sat on a wall outside the church. He looked ghostly, with the whites of his eyes the most visible part of him. “Your worker bees done for the night?”

“They did good,” said Richard. “Better to have them on our side than a thorn in our side.”

“I suppose you’re right. I lost it at the bus station.”

“That was hours ago, Riaz. Don’t worry about it. We’re all under strain. None of us know what’s coming.”

“Glen spoke to someone at HQ a little while ago. London has been abandoned, but there’s a new task force assembling in Portsmouth. Our armed forces are being recalled from abroad, but the Middle East is under attack too, so it will be hit and miss how much of it comes back.”

Richard closed his eyes and inhaled. “I can’t believe the whole world is under attack by demons.”

“Judgement is upon us.”

“You believe in God, Riaz?”

He shrugged. “You know many Muslims who don’t? I believe in Allah the Supreme and Almighty, but to tell you the truth, I’ve been wondering for a while if he still believes in us.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve been doing this job too many years. I’ve seen too many husbands beat their wives, too many stabbings and rapes. Too much of everything. We are not godly. We do not deserve Allah’s love. This is what we deserve. What’s happening now.”

“A massacre?”

“A cleansing. We have failed our creator. When an artist makes an irreparable mistake on his canvas, what does he do?”

Richard shrugged.

“He throws the canvas away and starts a new painting. We will not win this war, Richard. Mankind is not supposed to.” With that, he walked away, not towards the church but towards the barricade.

Richard went inside the church and headed to the altar where he had left Dillon and Jen sleeping. He found them sleeping still. As quiet as a mouse, he slid down beside them.

Snores filled the cavernous space, travelling high into the rafters. Richard wondered how long it would be until it was the sound of screams.

“Dad?”

Richard rolled to see that Dillon had opened his eyes. “Hey there, sweetheart.”

“I was worried.”

“I’m fine. I’ve been working.”

“Are the monsters here?”

“No, Dillon. No monsters. You’re safe.”

Dillon closed his eyes again, and for a moment, looked like he would fall back to sleep. Then he opened them again and appeared even more awake. “Can we go home?”

Richard kissed his forehead. “Not yet, sweetheart. We need to stay together, all of us in the church, for a little while longer.”

“Until it’s safe to go back?”

“Yes.”

“Will it ever be safe?”

Richard was about to answer, but saw that Jen had opened her eyes too. She looked at him, but did not speak. “I don’t know, Dillon,” he told his son. “The truth is that things might get very frightening, and Daddy will have to fight very hard to keep you safe. Whatever happens though, you and your mum need to stick together, okay? Even if it means leaving me.”

He had expected Dillon to protest, or even cry, but his son surprised him by nodding. “People in the church talk about the monsters. They said they will be coming to hurt us.”

Tears brimmed in Richard’s eyes. He wanted to lie—God how he wanted to lie—but he couldn’t. Not now. “That’s true, Dillon, and I need you to be big and brave. Everyone is frightened, and that’s okay, but we all have to be one big family and look after each other, so today, do whatever Mummy tells you to.”

“Are you going out again?”

“No, Dillon, not yet. I’m going to get some sleep.”

“But then you will have to go out again, because you’re a sergeant?”

Richard understood his son was trying to make sense of things, to put things in order. He wanted to know what to expect. “Yes, because I am a sergeant, and the other policemen need me to tell them what to do.”

Dillon nodded. “Okay.”

They all lay there for a moment, the three of them, listening to the snores of fifty strangers. Eventually, the sun broke through the stained glass windows, and a bejewelled shaft of light came down from the ceiling.

“Never thought I’d see the day you dragged yourself into church,” said Jen, reaching out a hand and stroking his hair the way he loved. Already it made his eyelids droop.

“Me either. Guess I’ve been wrong all these years. I hope God hurries up and helps us, because I’m not sure I can do much on my own.”

“You’re not alone, Rich. There might be a lot of bad things going on, but you’ll never be alone. We’ll face this together. You, me, and Dillon.”

“Right now, that’s the only thing I’m holding on to.”

“Good, because I’m proud of you.”

He glanced at her. “You are?”

“Remember before we got married, when you joined the police force? We stayed in that hotel in Torquay—The Silver Fish.”

“Oh yeah.”

“And we took a few beers onto the beach one night and spoke about our dreams for the future.”

“I remember. You stepped on a shell and cut your foot.”

She chuckled. “I did, didn’t I? Before that, though, you told me you wanted to join the police force and make a difference. You wanted to help people.”

“I remember.”

“But all you’ve done these last few years is complain about how all you seem to do is chase, punish, and lock up. Nothing has done any good. Nothing has changed.”

Richard sighed. His thoughts on the effectiveness of modern policing were often depressing. “Weed seizures and pub brawls. I’ve grown tired of it.”

“I know you have, honey. That’s why I’m proud of you, because you never let it jade you. Today you inspired a bunch of teenagers into helping out instead of punishing them for the sake of it because it wouldn’t have done any good. You gave them a chance to do something useful. You empowered those boys, and they broke their backs working for you tonight.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I got up in the middle of the night and watched you. Miles made me a cup of tea, and we shared a cigarette. He told me all about what happened at the police station.”

Richard had spoken at length to Reverend Miles about what was coming. The poor man had been awake the entire night, bringing Aaron and the others tea and coffee to keep them going. “The boys surprised me,” he admitted. “It was a reporter from the city who told me to enlist their help. Not sure I would have considered it myself.”

“You would have. You see the best in people, Rich. That’s why I love you.”

“I love you too, Jen. So much. If anything happens…”

She shushed him. “We’ll face it together. Get some sleep.”

His wife continued stroking his hair, and sleep was exactly what he did.

* * *

The refugees at the church had swelled throughout the day, but the group grew unbalanced with children and elderly. Richard understood that most families were probably hiding out in their homes, but it was those young parents and teenagers that they needed. If this was to be Slough’s defensive force, they needed strong men and women. That was why Glen and the other officers had gone out in the squad car to spread word that there was sanctuary at the church. The only one to remain was Riaz.

Richard, meanwhile, had slept until a little before noon and then got right back to building defences. Aaron and his friends were back at the growing barricade and had been adding to it with chairs and tables taken from the storage room of the church. It now stretched from the sidewall of J.Roberts Accountancy right across the road to the Fisherman’s Feast chip shop. It was next to the chip shop where Richard spoke to Aaron.

“We’re going to need to get some munchies, boss. I’m starving, and I bet everyone else is too. If we’re all going to hang around the church, we can’t live on the vicar’s tea and biscuits.”

Richard felt his own tummy rumbling. It was almost three o’clock, and he hadn’t eaten since yesterday at breakfast time. “I know. We need to sort that out or people will begin to grumble.”

Aaron motioned to the chippie’s large glass window. “Could get the grills on in there. Mikey used to work at a takeaway and could probably get everything cooking. Would mean breaking in though unless we can find the owner.”

“Break it,” said Richard, surprised by how quickly he came to the decision.

Aaron smirked. “You sure, boss?”

“We need to feed everyone. This isn’t going to get cleared up in a weekend. We will have to do whatever we need to.”

“You’re a copper I can get on board with, you know that?”

“You caught me on a bad day.”

“Your mate was looking for you.”

Richard frowned. “Who?”

“The other copper. The Asian one.”

“Riaz?”

Aaron shrugged. “He was sat on the wall outside the church.”

Richard turned and crossed the road, heading back towards the church. Sure enough, he found Riaz sitting on his usual perch. “You were looking for me?”

He pulled out his phone and waved it. “I’ve been getting network coverage this afternoon. Allowed me to do some research online.”

“Great. Have you learned anything?”

“I started with the normal searches, reports from the BBC, etc. Things are as bad as I thought. It’s the end of the world.”

Richard sighed. There was nothing to be gained by making such grand statements, even if they were true. “Okay.”

“Then I went narrower, tried to find out how long we have left. The enemy is on the move, but they seem to be forming up around the country into several larger armies. Each army is being led by a giant.”

“Sorry,” said Richard. “Giants?”

Riaz huffed. “People online are calling them angels because of scars they have on their back that look like wings. There’s one in London. It was there during an attack on Hyde Park. The RAF hit it with missiles, but it didn’t even bleed.”

“And it’s coming this way?”

Riaz shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“So where did you learn all this?”

“The Slough Echo.”

“The newspaper down the road?”

“They’ve been gathering the facts and posting them online. That’s the reason I was looking for you. Apparently, the enemy has some kind of aversion to iron.”

Richard tilted his head and paid close attention. “Iron?”

Riaz nodded. “According to the Echo, the demons, or whatever they are, can’t cross a line of iron. Thought that might be useful for your barricade.”

“It’s our barricade, Riaz. We’re building it to keep us all safe.”

“You really think it will make the slightest bit of difference? We can’t fight what’s coming.”

Richard sighed. “Can we beat what’s coming, I don’t know, I admit it. But the least we can do is fight it.”

“Why fight when it’s pointless? Why not run and enjoy the time you have left with your family?”

“You think I don’t want to do that? Of course I do, but where would we be then?”

There was the nearby sound of glass shattering.

Riaz leapt up off the wall. “Those little shits!”

Before Richard could stop him, Riaz was racing across the road towards the chip shop. Aaron and his three friends were currently putting through the large plate-glass window by throwing bricks.

Richard shouted after Riaz, but it did no good. The officer ran up behind Aaron and grabbed him around the collar, spinning the lad around. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Get your hands off me, pig!”

Riaz snarled. “I’ll drag you into a cell and guard you myself.”

“Riaz! Riaz, it’s okay.”

Riaz glanced sideways at Richard. “How is this okay? It was a bloody stupid idea leaving these trouble makers on the street.”

“I told Aaron to put through the windows,” said Richard.

“What? Why?”

“Because we all need feeding, and this chip shop is sitting here abandoned and full of food.”

Riaz released Aaron and shoved him away. The lad smirked but looked a little shaken in the eyes. Riaz glared at Richard in a way he did not like. “This is somebody’s business. What right do we have—”

“For Christ’s sake, Riaz! What the hell is the matter with you?”

“What’s the matter with me? I’m a police officer hearing that another police officer just condoned wanton destruction of property.”

Richard shook his head and pointed a finger in Riaz’s face. “No, it’s more than that. You’ve been in a foul mood since last night, which is fair enough considering the circumstances, but what I don’t get is how one minute you’re telling me we’re all doomed, then the next you’re trying to enforce the law as if everything is normal. What is going on with you?”

He slapped Richard’s finger out of his face. “I’m not having this conversation. You want to play at being Mad Max, fine, but it’s a waste of time.”

“Why is it?” said Richard. “Why are you so eager to give up?”

Riaz shoved past Richard and marched away. As he stormed off he shouted over his shoulder. “Don’t forget about the iron. It might just let you live a few minutes longer.”

“That guy is a dick, man,” said Aaron.

Richard patted him on the back. “It’s my fault. I should have involved Riaz in what we were doing.”

“He don’t want to be involved. All he does is sit around stink-eyeing us.”

“I’ll talk to him. For now, just get those fryers on. I’ll go get you some volunteers from the church.”

Aaron took off his baseball cap and ran a finger through his hair. With a smile he said, “I always wanted my own business. Guess I’m in the fast food game now.”

“Well, be good at it or it’ll end up being a free for all.”

Richard headed back to the church, and when he announced that food was in the process of being delivered, an excited chorus of hungry moans broke out. Dillon sat on the steps up to the altar, so Richard went up to him and pulled out the item he’d tucked in the back of his trousers. It was a Beano comic he had taken from a basket outside of a charity shop. Dillon grinned at the sight of it.

“Dennis the Menace. Thanks, Dad.”

Richard gave him a hug. “You’re welcome.”

Jen came over. “How’s it going?”

“We have a decent wall up now. Riaz told me he’s learned that the demons can’t cross iron.”

“Demons? Are we calling them that?”

“Yes, and there’s giant angels too, apparently.”

She broke out in laughter.

Richard grinned. “You don’t believe me?”

She covered her mouth and stopped herself. “No, I do believe you. That’s the problem. Demons, angels… It’s just so absurd. Whenever I try to make sense of it, I start to go insane. I mean, we haven’t even seen these things. It all feels like a big practical joke, you know?”

“Let’s hope that it is. I would rather feel stupid than afraid.”

“Well, we’re okay for now at least. I’ll take Dillon to go get food at the chip shop. Maybe we can find a way to help out.”

The thought of his wife and son having a task to occupy them sounded good to Richard, so he told her, “Go ask for Aaron and say you’re my wife. He’ll be glad to have your help; I’m sure.”

She nodded. Before she left, she rose on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m still proud of you.”

Richard sighed. “Just let me know as soon as you stop.”

“Can’t see that happening.”

Richard stood in the church while most everyone filtered outside and across the road to the chip shop. Faced with a brief moment of peace, he sat down on a pew and stared up at Jesus who hung from a cross above the altar. Richard had never believed in him before, but he wondered now if the man had been real—in the sense he was God’s son and looked down on humanity. Was it truly demons stalking the earth, or something else entirely? Was Riaz right: that they would all perish without the slightest assistance from heavenly forces? Despite Richard’s atheist views, there was something fateful about ending up at a church. He felt somehow protected.

“Do you feel his presence?” asked Miles.

Richard started, but then settled back down. “Not sure I do. I don’t see any sense in this.”

“And yet, there is sense to be made. It’s happening for a reason, just not one we understand.”

Richard laced his hands together in his lap and took his eyes off Jesus and turned them to Miles. The man was still donning his cassock and collar. If it had been Richard, he would have changed into something more comfortable. “What is your take on all this, Miles? Is there a religious perspective?”

“There is a religious perspective on all things, not that it’s always helpful. In my opinion, for I cannot speak higher than myself, I believe this is a war that started somewhere else. I think forces above us are in dispute, and perhaps we are just a staging ground. Maybe we have been caught in the middle.”

“You mean like Heaven and Hell? They are fighting over us?”

“Earth is heavenly by its very nature, for it is of God. I imagine God’s enemies would like to see humanity fall. It would be the ultimate insult to him.”

“So we’re collateral damage?”

Miles nodded gently. “To believe we are anything more important would be vain.”

“I suppose you’re right. Does the bible say anything about this kind of thing?”

“Depends on which version you read. Some of the American sects would tell you this is a tribulation, that we are all being tested for worthiness of Heaven. They call it the Rapture. C of E is a little less dramatic. Perhaps the Antichrist has been among us, and we missed him. There is so much evil in the world it would be easy to dismiss him as just another tyrant or greed-monger. Maybe he brought war to us without us even noticing.”

“I haven’t seen the Four Horsemen yet.”

“Nor shall you, I am sure. Such things are simple allegory. What I believe, however, is that if there are forces of evil, then there is also good. If the devil has come to Earth, I believe wholeheartedly that the Messiah will follow. As bad as things seem, we may not have seen everything play out just yet.”

Richard patted the man’s knee. It seemed appropriate. “I can get on board with that.”

“Then there is hope.”

“It’s about all we have.”

Miles put his hand on top of Richard’s. “Feed yourself, Officer. You are our totem, and we need you strong.”

“Totem?”

“The focus of our collective spirits. People will follow you, gaining strength from your strength. Keep care of yourself. Go eat.”

He nodded. “A question first.”

Miles leant forward. “Yes?”

“Does this church have anything made of iron?”

Miles looked confused, yet he gave the matter some thought.

A short while later, Richard went outside. He was pleased to find a long, orderly queue outside the chip shop. People were calm. Yet, imagining how they would be during an attack made Richard shudder. Would they scream and run? Probably. Could he change it? Unlikely.

Perhaps though.

Richard bypassed the crowd and went to the barricade. He climbed up onto the scaffold and turned to face the queue. “Hi, hello.” He cleared his throat. “I would just like to address you all briefly, if that’s okay.”

People nodded. Some muttered.

“Thank you. Many of you have already met me, but I would just like to introduce myself properly. I am Sergeant Richard Honeywell. Until the last few days, I worked at a desk and planned minor drug raids and arrests. I was never a soldier, and I can’t say I’ve ever been in real danger. I suspect that is true for most of us. Recently, I met a man who was a solider, however. He was at Hyde Park during last night’s attacks. Things went badly. London is abandoned—I don’t know if you already know that. The rest of the country is under threat too. It appears the enemy is everywhere.”

A few of the crowd whimpered. A mother cupped her son’s ears.

Jen looked up at him from the rear of the crowd. Dillon was eating a packet of crisps. Richard couldn’t help but look at them as he spoke. “Like many of you, I have a family to protect, and the urge to run away is strong. But there’s nowhere to run, I assure you. We will be forced to defend ourselves soon. Perhaps today. Eventually, those monsters we all saw on television will be here. What we do then will determine our futures. If we turn and run, the enemy will hunt us down and pick us off one by one. If we stand and fight…”

“Why would we stand and fight when the British Army couldn’t?” an older man shouted.

“Because you have no choice, sir. If you don’t fight, you will die. Maybe you’ll get to live a day longer by running, but you’ll die.”

More whimpers from the crowd. “Stand and fight, and we have a chance. If groups like us resist, our numbers will begin to add up. Maybe we won’t survive—I hate to say it—but if we take some of the enemy with us, we make it that much easier for the next group of people forced to defend themselves. We will prepare, and do our best to be ready, but I urge you to conquer your fear and fight those sons of bitches. They are here to exterminate us. They are here to kill our children and step over our corpses. Are we going to let them?”

“No,” said Shirley, giving Richard a supportive smile.

“Fuck no!” said Aaron, standing in the chip shop’s doorway. He wore an apron and held a ladle in his hand which he thrust into the air triumphantly.

“I’m with you,” shouted Jen.

“Me too,” said someone Richard didn’t recognise.

“What choice do we have?” cried someone else.

A couple more spoke out in support, but the rest of the crowd did nothing more than mumble. It was impossible to know what they would do, but Richard was confident he had done all he could. He’d explained the odds and what was required. It was down to them now.

“Good speech,” said Riaz once Richard had climbed down off the barricade. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For letting my hang-ups affect what you’re doing.”

Richard frowned at him. “Just tell me what the problem is Riaz.”

“My son was in the city. I haven’t heard from him since this began.”

Richard felt the news like a gut punch. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even know you—”

“His mum and I are separated, but I visit him one weekend a month. Maybe we didn’t have the best father-son relationship, but he was my boy.”

“I understand. How old is he?”

“Six.”

“You must have been young?”

Riaz nodded. “I was twenty-two. Part of the reason it never worked out with Tariq’s mum. I was too involved in myself back then.”

Tariq. Richard logged the name, wishing he knew more about his colleague. He patted him on the arm, but it was clear Riaz didn’t appreciate the contact. “Look, I can’t imagine what you must be feeling, but we are fighting here to stay alive. Tariq might still be out there. Give yourself a chance to find out.”

“I think I already know well enough.”

“Don’t give up on your son, Riaz. If you want to be a good father, don’t give up.”

“HELP! Please, help.”

Riaz and Richard looked around at the same time. The shouts came from beyond the barricade which was now too high to see above. Richard clambered back up onto the scaffold and looked towards the road. Two cars had pulled up on the curb, and people spilled out onto the pavement. The man shouting was covered in blood.

“Help us, please. We have an injured man with us.”

“Of course,” said Richard. “Let me make way for you.” He hopped back down from the barricade and grabbed Riaz. “Let’s move some of this out the way. We have people coming in.”

Several volunteers helped, and together they pulled back the scaffolding poles and other junk piled up on top of an old Rover shunted up against the chip shop’s wall. By the time Richard got another view of the road, seven people were standing there. Four women and two men. The two men carried a third between them—an injured man.

Glen.

Riaz spluttered with surprise. “Glen! What happened to him?”

The man who’d been shouting for help shook his head. “We don’t know. I found him lying by the side of the road. I was heading out of town, trying to find help. He’s in a bad way, but he told us to come find you all. Can we come in?”

“Yes!” cried Richard. “Come on in.”

They slid Glen across the Rover’s bonnet and allowed Riaz and Richard to grab a hold of him. While the newcomers climbed the barricade, Richard eased Glen onto the floor. He was muttering something.

Richard frowned. “What is it, Glen? Tell me what happened?”

“They… They’re here. They’re coming.”

Glen lost consciousness just as Miles arrived with the things Richard had asked for.

Rick Bastion

Rick sat at his piano but didn’t feel like playing. The time had come to say goodbye to his beloved baby grand and his vast Edwardian home. Time to say goodbye to his life. And maybe hello to his death.

Maybe then I’ll fade away
and not have to face the facts.

It’s not easy facing up when your whole world is black.

Of course, he wasn’t alone. His companions—Maddy, Diane, and his brother Keith—all paddled the same sinking boat. The world ended the moment demons and angels invaded it. That Rick had fought and survived while millions of others died was enough to keep him fighting. It was his duty. His companions felt the same way. None of them intended to accept death.

That was why they were leaving tonight beneath the cover of darkness. Rick’s home was surrounded by iron bars, but it had eventually been assaulted anyway. It was unsafe to remain, and their only chance of survival was to find help. Not that they were certain of finding any. Diane’s internet searches had grown bleaker by the minute, and only the Echo provided any meaningful hope. In the last few hours, their website had been down more often than it was up, but it was via the newspaper they had learned about the power of iron. The demons could not easily assail it and were injured by its touch.

The other ace in their pocket was asleep on the living room couch. Daniel was a Fallen Angel. It was from him they had learned what was happening. The black stones around the world had summoned portals to Hell, and the damned were coming through them to claim the earth as their own. In doing so, their leader, The Red Lord, hoped to force a confrontation with God himself.

Daniel was injured—possibly dying—and it was because he had given part of himself to bring Rick back from the dead after an ancient demon with long black hair had crushed his skull. Rick owed his life to the Fallen Angel.

Maddy came up beside Rick, a blank expression on her face that suggested she was thinking.

“You okay?” he asked her. “You’re thinking about your husband.” Maddy had wanted to go home to get her wedding ring, the only part of her deceased husband she could hold onto since his body was lost somewhere in the ruins of Milton Combe.

She sighed. “One day, I will go home and grieve for him properly.”

Rick smiled. “And I promise I will help you do just that.”

“Thanks, Rick. You going to play something?”

Rick looked at the ivory keys in front of him and reached out, fingers hovering. Instead of playing, he closed the lid. “My playing days are over. I’ve promised myself that one day, when all this is over, I’ll come back here and spend whatever days I have left playing music. Who knows, maybe I’ll even be a pop star again.”

“I’ll be first in line to buy your CD.”

“I’ve got our bags piled in the hallway,” said Keith, entering the living room. A large bruise stained his cheek from the last evening’s battle with the long-haired demon—which now lay dead in the garden along with several of its minions. The stench was growing pervasive.

Rick climbed up from his stool and forced himself not to glance back at his piano. He’d said his goodbyes. It was time to go. “I’m ready if you are.”

“We should get Diane to do one last check online,” said Maddy. “Check it’s still safe to head south.”

It was a good idea, so they went into Rick’s oak-timbered office where Diane was napping. When she noticed them, she started—everyone’s nerves were on edge—and they asked her to do another check of the internet.

“Sure,” she said, sleepily. “The connection is getting spotty, but I’ll give it a go.” She opened Rick’s laptop and tapped at the keyboard. “The Slough Echo is still up,” she said a moment later.

“Any news?” asked Keith.

“Hold on, let me see. Yeah, Portsmouth is still a safe zone. The Army is being recalled from abroad, and that’s where they are coming in. Apparently, the Echo has a military liaison at their office who is keeping them in the loop about things. The information should be up to date, and… hey, listen to this, someone managed to close one of the gates in Syria.”

Keith frowned. “Syria? How does that help us?”

“Because it shows there are ways to hit them back,” said Rick. “It shows other people are still fighting.”

“Great. Another few thousand gates and we should be all back to normal.”

Rick rolled his eyes. “It’s better than nothing.”

Keith looked at his watch. “It’s almost ten PM. If we want to make the most of night cover, we should move. We make it to the motorway if we can, but if not we stick to the countryside.”

Keith thought he was in charge, as always, but Rick didn’t argue. What his brother was saying was sound. The motorways were potentially troublesome, but if they were free of demons, they would be the fastest route—with farmland to escape to on either side if they encountered danger.

They gathered in the hallway before the large front doors. For a time, Rick had been a hermit behind those heavy slabs of wood, a failed pop star too embarrassed to be seen in public. Now, he was a blooded warrior about to step out into the deadly wilderness. Each of them held weapons: Keith and Rick iron pokers, Diane a baseball bat, and Maddy wielded both an old field hockey stick and a chef’s knife.

“I still say we leave Daniel here,” said Keith, glowering back toward the living room.

Rick shook his head. “No way. He saved me.” The others didn’t know Daniel’s true nature—that he was inhuman—but Rick told them he had been rescued from certain death by the guy. Daniel was coming along, no matter what.

Keith huffed. “Fine, fine. He’ll slow us down something terrible, but I understand he’s one of us, I suppose.”

Not exactly, thought Rick.

“I’ve put the wheelbarrow just outside,” said Maddy, “along with a duvet and pillow. He’ll be a bit cramped, but should be comfortable.”

Maddy was a paramedic. Rick was glad to have her along because she had a nurse’s compassion. “Thanks, Maddy. Keith, you want to give me a hand?”

Keith shrugged and followed after his brother. They approached Daniel on the sofa and picked him up between them like a length of old carpet. The Fallen Angel stirred momentarily, opening his eyes and staring at Rick, but then he went back to sleep.

“Guy’s as light as a feather,” said Keith. “That will make wheeling his arse around a little easier.”

Rick knew Daniel had possessed an anaemic hospital patient on the brink of death, so the lack of body weight was understandable. He also knew that if Daniel died, he would be whisked straight back to his prison cell in the lowest pits of hell. God had punished his revolting angels harshly, but betraying the Red Lord would bring Daniel even harsher punishments. Even Lucifer bowed to the mysterious power pulling the strings of this war.

Maddy unlocked the front doors while Keith and Rick carried the Fallen Angel to the awaiting wheelbarrow. He fit inside easily. Rick positioned the pillow behind his head.

It was time to go.

Rick took one last moment to appreciate the home he had spent the last six years living in—the symbol of the success he had once achieved. Its high, gabled roof had twin chimneys like ears on the head of a looming monster, yet it had only ever felt safe to Rick. The iron gates surrounding the property had saved their lives.

Movement. A flicker of a shadow beyond the driveway floodlights.

Rick squinted. What the hell?

“Whoa, whoa,” Maddy cried.

Rick spun to see Daniel’s wheelbarrow tipping over. He acted quickly, threw out his hands to keep it steady. Soon as he had, his eyes went back to the end of the driveway. Had someone been there? Rick was certain he had seen a person.

But the stranger was now gone.

“You okay?” asked Keith, seeing his confused expression.

“Yeah,” said Rick. “I thought I saw someone.”

Keith looked concerned, scanned the gates nervously. “Who?”

“An old man… An old man sweeping.”

“You saw an old man?”

Rick felt stupid. “I thought I did. He had a broom, I think. I must... I must be seeing things.”

Keith grabbed his shoulder and looked at him. “You still okay to do this?”

Rick wasn’t sure. “Maybe I have a concussion or something. We can’t stay here any longer, though. We need to find help.”

Keith gave his shoulder a hearty pat. “Then let’s go.”

They moved down the driveway, trundling Daniel along in the wheelbarrow. Rick couldn’t help but look around anxiously. Couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had been watching them. Watching them and sweeping the ground.

As they passed out of the gates, Rick noticed a pile of dirt gathered on one side of the road along with a trail—like a broom had swept across it.

* * *

They stopped at a petrol station one hour after leaving the house. So far the going had been good. Although walking through the rural village streets resembled walking through the ruins of a sacked settlement, there had been no sign of demons—live ones at least. Their bodies lay all over the place. The problem was that for every demon corpse, there were five human ones. The sheer horror of it was what led Rick and his group to take a breather inside the petrol station.

Tears filled Maddy’s eyes, but she would not allow herself to sob. “I’m not sure I can cope with any more. Did you see… did you see that little girl?”

Everyone nodded. It had been impossible to miss the little blonde girl with bloody pigtails and two torn-off arms. Her body lay propped against a road sign like some kind of warning. The harsh glow of the nearby lamppost made her sallow cheeks almost translucent. A blonde woman lay dead beside the girl—perhaps her mother. Before moving on, Maddy lay the girl’s stiffened body in the grass. Even for a paramedic, it had proven too grizzly. She had barely said a word since.

Keith put down his iron poker and went to the petrol station’s buzzing refrigerator. He snatched a bottle of water and uncapped it. After taking a swig, he looked around. “Looks like people left everything and ran for their lives.”

“What else could they do?” said Diane, holding herself and stepping carefully. “People must have been so afraid. So many dead. No one was ready for any of this. I was training to be a childcare worker. I’m supposed to be spend my days in a nursery surrounded by laughing children, not walking through dead bodies.”

Maddy gave the girl a hug. “We’re alive, and so are other people, I’m sure. We will find them, I promise.”

Diane wiped at the tip of her nose. “Where have all the demons gone now? I mean the ones that were here in the village. They couldn’t all have been with the ones that attacked us. You think any are still here?”

“The demons are all assembling into armies,” said Keith. “The ones that attacked us must have come from the gate in Crapstone, but they only swept through here on their way to someplace else. We head south. We’ll be fine.”

Diane seemed unsure, but she nodded. Rick approximated the girl to a nervous bird, yet she had survived a lot and still placed one foot in front of the other. Diane was stronger than she realised.

“Let’s grab a few supplies,” said Keith, moving over to the confectionary aisle and gathering chocolate bars. With his large gut, Keith would last longest if they were forced to starve.

Fortunately, that didn’t seem like it would be the case. The petrol station was fully stocked, and it was reasonable to assume other places were too. If they died, it would be quick and painful and at the hands of a demon. Rick picked up a sausage roll and tore open the packet. When he bit into it, the lights winked out.

Diane moaned.

“There goes the power,” said Keith. “Bound to happen sooner or later.”

Rick swallowed the mouthful of pastry and wiped his mouth with the back of his jacket’s leather sleeve. “Does that mean the power stations are offline? Have things got even worse?”

Keith shrugged, like he knew it all and was tired of explaining. “More likely the grid has been compromised. Not like they can send an engineer to go fix a fallen power line at the moment. Better to switch it all off and divert power where it’s needed. This is the government making smart decisions. Somewhere, someone is still in charge.”

“I hope so,” said Rick, but wasn’t sure he believed it. More likely, the power stations were unstaffed, their engineers deserted or dead. Was the enemy smart enough to attack strategic targets? Had they knocked out the power on purpose?

The demon with the black hair had certainly been in possession of his wits. He had spoken to Rick, told him of the Red Lord’s plans. All of humanity gone.

Maddy picked up a couple of bottles of sports drink and took them over to Daniel, still unconscious in the wheelbarrow. “Hey, Daniel, can you wake up and take a sip of this?”

Daniel murmured.

“Daniel,” she said, shaking him gently. “We need to keep you hydrated. Can you just take a little bit of this, please?”

Daniel’s left eye peeled open, and his lips parted. Maddy placed the sports drink against his dry mouth and slowly tipped it in. After a few moments, he spluttered and began gulping thirstily.

“That’s it,” said Maddy. “Drink as much as you can. It will give you a little boost.”

Daniel took another glug, but then started choking.

“Easy,” said Maddy, patting his back. It didn’t help. Daniel continued choking so violently that he almost tumbled out of the wheelbarrow. Rick rushed over and grabbed his arm to keep him from thrashing.

“Hey, it’s okay. Calm down.”

Daniel opened both eyes and gasped for air.

“What was in that bottle?” asked Keith. “Poison?”

“No, it was a vitamin drink.” She held it up in front of her.

Rick read the label and groaned. With added iron. “It is poison. At least it is to him.”

Keith stared at him. “What do you mean?”

Rick found himself in a hole and decided the only way out was to tell the truth. “Daniel is one of them. He came through the gates.”

Keith backed away from the wheelbarrow and raised his iron poker. “You mean he’s a demon?”

“No, he’s an angel. One of the Fallen. He was trapped in Hell and escaped with everything else, but he isn’t one of the bad guys. He saved my life. He’s been trying to help us.”

“Like hell he has. He’s a goddamn spy!”

Rick snarled. “Then how come we’re still alive?”

“Beats me, but we need to deal with him right now.”

All the while, Daniel continued to choke.

Maddy pointed at Diane. “Get me some water. Now!”

“What are you doing?” Keith spun to face her.

“Trying to stop him choking.”

“Let the bastard choke.”

Maddy pointed a finger in his face. “No! I trust Rick, and I haven’t seen Daniel do anything to harm us. I would at least like to help him survive long enough for him to answer my questions.”

Diane hurried back with the water. It was peach flavoured.

Maddy shoved the bottleneck into Daniel’s mouth and upended it. Daniel gagged on the new liquid, but some of it went down okay. After a few moments, he drank voluntarily. The choking and hitching subsided.

Daniel was lucid.

Rick peered at him, eyes wide. “Daniel, you’re awake?”

“S-so I am. What’s that… that terrible taste in my mouth?”

“That might be the iron we just gave you.”

“T-the what?”

Rick shrugged. “Sorry. We’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”

Daniel blinked, his eyes droopy and like he could fall back to sleep any moment. Despite that, he glanced around. “Where?”

“We’re at a petrol station. We decided to make a break for the south coast. There might be help there.”

“Rick says you’re a demon,” said Keith, looming over Daniel.

Daniel didn’t seem ashamed of the fact—maybe he was too out of it—and nodded slightly. “One word for me, I… suppose.”

“You’re one of them.”

Daniel shook his head adamantly despite his weakness. “No.”

Keith nodded, just as adamant. “Yes.”

“I’m not one of them.”

“Then help us,” said Maddy.

“Too… weak.”

“You see?” Keith pointed a finger. “He’s working to bring us down.”

Rick knocked his brother’s pointed finger downwards. “Yeah, because Hell would really send a Fallen Angel to bring down an accountant and a fading pop star. I’m telling you, he’s on our side. He…”

“He what?” Keith had grown red in the face, the collar of his dirty shirt seeming to grow tighter around his fleshy neck. “What were you going to say, Rick?”

“He… He brought me back to life. I was dead—my skull crushed—but he fixed me. Brought me back from the dead.”

Keith burst out laughing. “You’ve lost it. You’ve bloody well lost it.”

“No, I haven’t. I’m telling you!”

Keith looked at Rick, and the smile slipped away. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you haven’t lost it. Maybe Daniel has got to you. Maybe you’re determined to screw us all over.”

“Keith!” Maddy put her hand on her hips. “He’s your brother!”

“Is he? Came back from the dead, apparently. Isn’t that what demons do? Wouldn’t that make him a zombie? Doesn’t sound like my brother to me.” He prodded Rick in the chest.

“Back off,” Rick snarled.

Keith prodded him again. “I want to know what the hell is going on here. I won’t die. Marcy and Maxwell are still out there somewhere, and I intend on getting to them.”

Rick shoved his brother hard in the shoulders, rocking him back. “You mean the wife and son you cheated on? Screw you, Keith. You’re not the boss of anything, and you don’t decide what happens. Daniel is with us, and I am fine.”

“Rick?” Maddy was staring at him. Keith backed away cautiously, his poker held up in front of him.

“Oh God,” Diane put a hand to her mouth.

Rick shook his head. “What? What is it?”

“Just… look in the mirror,” said Maddy.

Look in the mirror? What was she talking about? There was one of those curved mirrors at the end of the aisle which allowed the sales assistant to glance around the corner. Rick went over to it. It was dark, so when he looked up, he couldn’t see himself clearly. He only saw his own eyes.

His eyes were glowing red.

Rick staggered backwards in shock, colliding with a shelfful of cleaning supplies behind him. “What’s wrong with me?”

Maddy came up behind and grabbed him. “Just sit down. On the floor, now.”

He allowed himself to be lowered and pulled his knees up while he sat there in stunned silence. Maddy rubbed at his back.

“What’s wrong with me?” he asked again, realising he was shivering.

“Shh, take deep breaths. Everything is okay.”

Rick realised his heart was thudding like a tambourine, but slowly, gradually, he calmed down. “Am I… Am I normal again?”

Maddy looked into his eyes. She nodded. “Yes.”

“I told you; he came back wrong,” said Keith.

Maddy glared at him. “Enough, Keith. Nothing’s changed. We’re all heading south to find safety.”

“You’re insane. He’s one of them now.”

“Can we stop fighting?” said Diane. “Let’s get what we need and go. I don’t like being stuck inside here. It’s too cramped. When I was twelve, I got locked in a cleaning cupboard at school for a whole hour. Tight spaces have freaked me out ever since.”

Keith ran a hand through his slicked-back hair and exhaled. “Fine, let’s get what we can in our packs and get back on the road. Let’s just forget about the facts Daniel is a demon and my brother is possessed. Nothing to worry about, I’m sure. Maybe that old man sweeping Rick saw was Jesus, come to whisk us all to safety. Everything is sodding hunky dory.”

“What did you just say?” Daniel struggled to lift himself up out of the wheelbarrow. “What was that you said?”

Keith didn’t even bother to look at him. “I’m not talking to you, demon. You’re a spy.”

“What did you say about a man sweeping?” The force in Daniel’s voice shocked them.

Frowning, Keith broke his own assertion and turned to Daniel. “It was a joke. Rick was seeing things. Thought he saw an old man sweeping. Not surprised, seeing as you supposedly knitted his brain back together.”

Daniel groaned. “The Caretaker. We need to leave here. Right now!”

“Wait, you mean he’s real?” said Rick. “I really saw him?”

Daniel gritted his teeth as he struggled to climb out of the wheelbarrow. He gained an inch before falling back down. “The Caretaker is very real. If you saw him, we are all in very serious danger.”

“Who is he?” Diane’s hands bunched up against her mouth.

“Hell is a place full of monsters,” said Daniel, “but even Hell has its bogeymen. They say the Caretaker was the slave who used to clean up the blood at the Roman Colosseum after Christians were put to death there. The Romans saw the blood as tainted and sent only the lowliest servants to deal with it. For decades, the slave watched while devout men were put to death, fed to lions, hanged, or stabbed. Over time, he became numb to their suffering—to all suffering. He became amoral. Near the end of the slave’s life, the gladiatorial combats stopped, and killing in the Colosseum ceased. The slave found himself without purpose. After a lifetime of cleaning up the blood of Martyrs, he had developed a need for its scent, for the tackiness against his fingers. For its taste.”

Diane groaned. “Oh God.”

Daniel continued, his strength returned as he told the story. Maybe it was fear giving him a boost. “Eventually, the slave could rest no longer. He needed to spill blood himself, to continue his life’s work. He started with his master, causing a minor slave revolt. First, he bathed in the blood, before cleansing it from his skin and from the floor. He left his former master on the dirt outside his home, mimicking the thousands of Christians who had perished on the sands of the arena. For another ten years, the slave continued his quest for blood, drinking from his victim’s necks as they bled out. It was the cleanest way to remove the liquid. No blood on the ground. It was his job to keep the ground clean. It had always been his job.”

“He sounds like a vampire,” said Maddy.

Daniel nodded. “Perhaps where the myth was born. Rome was deathly afraid of the old man who stalked its shadows, cleansing citizens of their blood. Roman Emperor Honorius promised a captured Gaul his freedom if the man hunted down the monster and slew it. The Gaul, once a druid of his clan, tracked the murderous slave down by butchering a dozen sows and draining their blood into a vat at the edge of the Rubicon River. The sickly scent drew the old man out of Rome, as desired, the very first night. The moon was full, and now, truly a monster, the murderous slave’s teeth were stained permanently red from the blood. The Gaulish druid ambushed the slave and drowned him in the great vat of blood, bringing a poetic end to the creature who had stalked the streets of Rome. The emperor decreed that the vat be sealed and buried with the old man’s corpse inside, forever to be soiled by the clotted blood of pigs.”

“How do you know all this?” asked Diane, still covering her mouth.

“I know nothing for sure,” Daniel admitted. “The Caretaker has become a myth throughout the hallways of Hell, his story whispered between the damned. The old slave has swept the burning halls for so long that I no longer remember when he first appeared. What I do know is that he wasn’t amongst the Fallen.”

“What does that mean?” asked Rick.

“I mean that the original inhabitants of Hell are the Fallen Angels. Lucifer created Hell to be his own kingdom and started claiming damned souls to serve him after that. In other words, aside from the original Fallen Angels, every single soul ever sent to Hell was once a man. The Caretaker walked this earth as a human being once. Then, one day, he ended up in the fiery abyss for his sins. For hundreds of years, he has swept the infernal hallways and kept them clean of blood. But blood is never ending in Hell. It flows like air. The Caretaker grew even more mad than he had been as a man. Eventually, just looking upon him as he went about his business would curse you to misery. To gaze upon the Caretaker is to invite him upon your soul. He will drain you of everything you are and leave madness in its place. He is feared, even by those in Hell. Even by Lucifer.”

“And I looked upon him,” said Rick.

Daniel nodded. “That is why we need to leave.”

But it was too late. The petrol station’s front window shattered, and something terrible came inside.

* * *

The windows burst in a hail-storm of glass. Rick grabbed Maddy and pulled her into the aisle. Diane and Keith scattered too, leaving Daniel stranded like an upturned terrapin in his wheelbarrow. The Fallen Angel was straining to get up.

Demons filled the petrol station—burnt monsters and ungodly primates. An infernal gang from the pits of hell. Who and what had they been in life?

Rick cursed himself as the demons came closer. He had left his poker next to the fridges when he’d grabbed a sausage roll. Now he was defenceless. At least Maddy still held her hockey stick. She had kept it the whole time inside the petrol station and also had hold of a knife. She handed the blade to Rick.

Rick took the knife silently, crouching low in the aisle and trying to see his attackers in the dark. They were spread out, moving to all corners of the room.

“There’s no way out,” he said, strangely numb to the fact they were probably all about to die.

“So we fight,” said Maddy.

“Hey,” Rick hissed after her as she broke into the aisle. “Get back.”

The sound of sweeping.

The pitter-patter of blood.

“Get back,” came a shaky voice. “Go back to Hell, you big shit!”

Rick frowned. Was that Daniel? What was he doing? Unable to leave his companion to face the enemy alone, he hurried after Maddy to face their possible deaths.

Out on the main floor, Daniel had stood, yet kept one hand on the wheelbarrow as though he might stumble back in. He had his other hand up in front of him, a fist clenched at the demons amassed before him. They were seemingly held in place, unable to close in on him.

They cowered.

Sweep!

Maddy moved up beside Daniel. Rick joined her.

Sweep!

Daniel glanced sideways at them. “Thanks for abandoning me, buddies.”

“Sorry,” said Rick. “It happened so fast.”

“I forgive you. Any ideas on what to do now? I can hold these buggers in place for a few minutes, but I’m too weak to keep it up.”

Rick watched as the demons edged forwards. One of the primates began to hiss and spit. “How are you controlling them?”

“Because an Angel has dominion over Hell, but that only means so much on earth. They’ll resist me, eventually.”

Rick could see the truth of it. “We have to run.”

“Where?” asked Maddy. “They have the front door blocked.

“There’s a back door,” said Keith, shouting across the room. “Over here.”

Rick turned to see his brother standing beside a door. EMPLOYEES ONLY.

“Go,” said Daniel. “Get out of here!”

Sweep!

“He’s coming, isn’t he?” said Maddy. “I can hear him sweeping.”

Daniel looked at her. “He’s already here, luv. You just can’t see him yet.”

Rick grabbed Maddy and shoved her towards the back door. She resisted for a moment, but then got moving. Rick stayed where he was.

“Rick, what are you doing?” shouted Keith. Diane and Maddy had arrived by his side.

“I told you,” Rick shouted back. “I’m not leaving Daniel.”

“You’re a fool,” Daniel sweated as he continued to cast a spell over the enemy—a weakening spell, as the burnt men and their fellow monsters edged closer. “A damned fool.”

Keith shouted again. “Get away from there.”

“I’ll meet you down the road, Keith. Follow the road and you’ll come to a car dealership. I’ll meet you there.”

Keith wobbled on the spot, back and forth, towards the door, towards his brother. “Rick!”

“Just go! Get out of here.”

Maddy went to make a run back towards Rick, but Keith dragged her away.

Then they were out the door, all three of them. Gone.

“What do we do?” Rick asked Daniel.

“Use what I gave you.”

Rick frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the reason I’m so weak is that I transferred part of my essence into you when I brought you back. As long as you’re alive, I can do little. But if you help me.”

“Help you?”

One primate broke free of its thrall and leapt at Rick. Rick flinched and slashed with the knife Maddy had given him. The creature tumbled back, a thin line widening along its throat. Black blood sprayed out onto the floor.

The burnt men growled.

Sweep!

“Quickly,” said Daniel. “Concentrate and help me.”

“Concentrate on what?”

“On making this go away.”

Rick didn’t understand what Daniel was telling him to do, but he raised his hand and clenched his jaw with effort. He studied the demons in front of him, bore into them with his eyes. Imagined them being gone.

One of the creatures spoke. “You will rot where you stand. I will tear you limb from limb—”

Rick ground his teeth and squinted his eyes.

His head throbbed.

“I will track down the remaining children of this earth and… and…” The demon’s words trailed off. Its lidless eyes flickered, went wide.

Its fire-ravaged body began to smoke.

Rick trembled. “W-what’s happening?”

“Just go with it,” said Daniel.

Like a Plasticine sculpture beside a fire, the burnt man drooped, flesh sagging from its cheeks and pools of blood forming beneath its feet. It struggled and vibrated, but could not move from where it stood.

Then the other demons began to sag too. They thrashed madly, but it was like they were glued to the floor—a floor that was unbearably hot. Rick knew that the heat was not coming from the floor though. It was coming from him and Daniel.

The first creature suddenly popped. The sagging flesh of its cheeks burst open—like two giant zits—and blood and pus spattered everywhere. Rick fought back his revulsion and continued to concentrate. One by one, the demons burst open, and within moments, only pools of viscous material remained where they had stood.

Rick gasped, his arm dropping as if the bones had been removed. His body cried out, aching all over, but Daniel caught him as he fell. “Such power isn’t meant for a man,” he said.

“I… What did I do?”

“You just purged your first demons. Well done. Now, let’s get out of here. The Caretaker wants you.”

Sweep. Sweep. Sweep.

Rick pushed himself up out of Daniel’s arms and turned towards the staff door at the back. He took his first step towards it when something yanked him backwards.

He stared into the face of a monster.

Yet, it was a monster without a face. Beneath a thatch of clumped grey hair was a smooth, fleshy oval. Somehow, it still managed to stare into Rick’s soul, and he felt himself tremble, not on the outside, but on the inside. Something sharp held a fierce grip on his soul and was pulling, tearing, yanking.

Rick tried to scream, but his lungs turned to cough syrup, and he gargled. Inside his aching skull he heard words. Clean, clean, clean. You shall be clean.

“Let go of him. As a Lord of Hell I command you.”

Rick felt the grip on his soul loosen, but not completely. The abomination still had him. That empty, featureless face still looked down on him.

“I said let go!”

Rick felt himself being pulled savagely, but this time it was his body, not his mind. Daniel had him by the arm and was yanking him like a rag doll. They stumbled towards the back door.

The Caretaker produced a broom and swept up the messy puddles left by the demons. And he whistled.

Without a mouth, the abomination whistled.

It was a merry tune.

Daniel dragged Rick out the back door of the petrol station and into a small stockroom. The fire door at the back was hanging open, and they spilled through it into the awaiting night.

Daniel huffed and puffed, sweat pouring from his face. Despite being at death’s door only an hour ago, the Fallen Angel had once again been called upon to rescue Rick. How much longer could Daniel keep going?

“We need to find your brother.”

“D-down the road,” Rick muttered as he tried to move on his own steam. He took one step after the other, but each movement threatened to floor him. “H-he let me go, The Caretaker. You made him.”

“I did no such thing,” said Daniel wearily. “I surprised him, caught his interest, but he didn’t let you go. You’re a mouse, Rick. The Caretaker wants you, but first he wants to play. You have Angel blood inside of you, and he’s never cleansed an Angel before. He’ll be coming after you, Rick. No matter where we go.”

“Then what do we do?”

“For now, we find your brother.”

But when they made it to the car dealership, Keith was not there.

* * *

Daniel helped ease Rick onto the bonnet of an expensive saloon. The bodywork dented, but the time for worrying about property damage was over. Corpses lay everywhere—salesmen and customers alike. In the darkness, their silhouettes threatened to leap to life at any moment. It was only upon closer inspection that their caved in faces told the truth—that they were long dead.

Rick always thought dead bodies were supposed to reek enough to make a man gag, but so far his nose detected only a subtle meat smell—like old bacon.

“They didn’t wait for us,” Rick moaned. He could forgive his brother fleeing back at the petrol station, but to not even wait for him…

It didn’t feel right. Keith might have put his own safety first, but Maddy wouldn’t have. She’d been the first one of them to stand and fight back at the petrol station. In fact, she was the least afraid of them all. Rick supposed the death of her husband figured into that. Did she even care if she died? Maybe she did, and that was why she, Keith, and Diane had reached the car dealership and kept on running.

Rick was alone.

And the Caretaker was coming.

“What exactly happened back there?” Rick asked Daniel. “What did I do to those demons?”

“You expunged a demon back to hell. An exorcism of sorts, but as the demons were inhabiting their own bodies, their souls departed and left their bodies as empty vessels. They’ll be stuck in Hell now, part of the essence of the place, unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless they possess a human being.”

“I thought demons couldn’t do that because of the iron in our blood?”

“The iron in a human being’s blood only prevents a Heavenly creature from possessing a human. It was a way for God to ensure that Angels could never abuse his creation or escape to earth. The lowliest inhabitants of hell, however—the peasants if you will—they can inhabit a human being because they were once human themselves.”

“What are you saying? That if the demons on earth don’t kill us, the souls still trapped in Hell will possess us?”

Daniel shook his head. “No. Possessing a human isn’t easy. To reach out from Hell... Let’s just say, it’s not something you’re in danger of right now. We should try to find the others. They must be near. They left only ten minutes before we did.”

“Yeah, but they were running, and we were limping.”

Daniel pulled a face. “Good point. Maybe we can use one of these cars.”

“You saw the roads. We wouldn’t get past a block.”

“Can you walk?”

Rick pressed his fingers against himself, probing for injury. It was conclusive—everywhere hurt. But he could move.

“I can manage. How about you, Daniel? You don’t look good.”

As if embarrassed, Daniel stood straighter. “This body won’t last forever, not with the strain I keep putting it under. If I don’t rest up and heal soon I won’t be able to help you anymore.”

“You said I took part of your… essence. Is there any way I can give it back?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“By dying.”

“Right, so let’s not go with Option A.”

Daniel smiled, the first time in a while. “You really think your brother would abandon you?”

Rick snorted. “Keith is one of the most selfish people I know, but I don’t think he would. He loves me, in his way.”

“Then what happened to him?”

“That’s the part that worries me. Maddy and Diane are with him.”

Daniel hobbled over to the lot’s office and peered inside. It was locked up tight, with only a single window cracked. “I suppose we pick a direction and hope for the best.”

Rick hated the uncertainty of it, but he lacked a better solution. They had left The Caretaker less than half a mile away, and he could be upon them again very soon.

You’re a mouse, Rick.

And the cat is coming.

Rick glanced at the road. It split off in two directions via a junction. The junction led to Crapstone, one of the first places to be hit by the demon invasion. The other route led towards the motorway. Their plan had been to head towards the motorway.

“We go this way.” Rick pointed. “Crapstone is dangerous, but this way leads to the motorway. Keith would have stuck to the plan.”

Daniel nodded. “Seems sensible to me. Let’s just hope your brother didn’t take to the fields.”

Rick looked on at the farmland bordering the rear of the car dealership and thought it was a distinct possibility. If Keith had escaped across the fields, the route Rick was about to take would carry him in the opposite direction. He might never see the others again.

“Here goes nothing.”

Rick and Daniel exited the car dealership and started down the road. With the lampposts dead, it was like walking through an abyss, the moon—a bare sliver—giving off little in the way of light.

“So, you really knew Lucifer?” Rick asked after five minutes or so.

Daniel glanced sideways and seemed uncomfortable. “Yes.”

“What is he like?”

“Arrogant. But fair. He believed God had no right to rule the lives of Angels—that such beings of great beauty and intelligence should be free. Many of us agreed with him, and Lucifer posited that if Angels contemplated revolting to gain their freedom, then they were entitled to it. A lowly creature does not care if it is free or not, only that it is fed, warm, and safe. A creature such as an Angel or man yearns to make its own decisions. Lucifer dreamt of a Heaven where Angels were free to fashion their own destinies. He was the first democrat, with God a Monarch needing to be unseated.”

“You believe that too, Daniel?”

He shrugged. “God is great, and his compassion endless, but he is also in a position of eternal dilemma. Every decision He makes helps some and hurts others. Whichever side is suffering most will inevitably blame him and desire freedom from His will. I believe God should bestow the same indifference upon Angels that he has done on mankind. For millennia, he has stood back and refused to interfere on earth, even while millions of you cry out for him. Yet, he keeps his angels on the tightest of leashes. It is something I do not understand, nor ever will.”

“So you would still join Lucifer if you ever had to do it over again?”

Daniel frowned. “And spend eternity in Hell? No thank you. Despite what I think, I now understand that God made me, and that gives him the right to do whatever he wishes. Since being cut off from Heaven, it’s made me realise how much I was a part of it, and it a part of me. I yearn to be back home, and despair that I never will be. Hell is a place of torment and pain, yet it is the lack of love that hurts most. The lack of a gentle touch or friendly word is enough to make a soul brittle, forever on the edge of shattering. It is a lonely place. You have no idea how lonely.”

Rick shuddered. “I can’t believe Hell is real. That people go there.”

“People do not go there. Monsters do. You are not a monster, Rick. You will never see Hell.”

“Even though I’ve been an atheist my entire life?”

Daniel shrugged. “A product of society. It is not your fault that your parents did not instil in you belief, or that your era is dominated by science. How could God blame a child for not believing in him when that child was never told of his existence? The metrics of old no longer exist. All that matters now is a person’s virtue. Do good and you will be rewarded. Choose a path of strength, and it will lead you to paradise.”

“Then should you not be allowed back into Heaven one day, Daniel? You are doing good now.”

A shroud fell over the angel’s face, even darker than the shadows either side of them. “No.”

“But—”

“I said, no. There is no forgiveness for one who has looked upon the Abyss. My presence, my knowledge of the damned, it would taint Heaven. Only purity exists there. My soul is tarnished.”

Rick said no more. They walked in silence for an hour after that, until they neared the motorway’s entrance. Instead of heading down the slip road though, they carried on to the roundabout and peered over the railings at the wide road below. In the pitch-black darkness, the line of cars abandoned end to end seemed like a giant endless snake—a steel serpent without end. But while the great serpent remained still, there was movement.

People were alive down there.

Rick leant over the railing and pointed. “Other survivors.”

Daniel pulled him back and shushed him. “Take a closer look.”

Rick frowned. There were people. Rick saw them moving in the darkness—human movement, not the erratic, inhuman shuffling of the demons.

But then he realised that there were demons too.

Rick watched survivors walking with demons. The survivors moved in a line, demons at the front and back.

“What are they doing?” Rick turned to Daniel. “What the fuck are they doing?”

“Keep your voice down!”

Rick pursed his lips and glanced back down at the motorway. With no light to see by, it was impossible to make out individuals in the line. They were tied together—or chained—like a line of slaves in an old movie. The demons were hustling them along like cattle.

Being led to slaughter?

“Why are the demons not killing them?” Rick kept his voice low. “Why are they moving them along?”

Daniel sighed. “Remember what I was saying about possession? All those disembodied souls in hell? What you’re looking at is a production line of brand new cars.”

“I don’t understand.”

“These people will be used as vessels to house demon souls.”

Rick felt sick. The sight of people below being led to their doom like lambs… “How?”

“Best not to go into that,” said Daniel, “but they can only be possessed in proximity to a gate. They need to be near Hell for a disembodied soul to reach out and grab them.”

Rick started towards the slip road.

“Rick, where are you going?”

“To help those people.”

Daniel hurried after him. “Are you mad? There’s probably thirty demons down there.”

“And three times as many humans. If we free the survivors, we can overpower them.”

“You’re naive, Rick. Even if there were three hundred survivors down there, they’re afraid and weak. They’ll fall like flies.”

“We have to do something. Maddy might be down there.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow.

Rick grunted. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Just find it interesting that your biggest concern is Maddy and not your brother.”

Now that he considered it, Rick wasn’t sure about the reason either, but he tried not to overthink it. “Because my brother is an asshole.”

Daniel nodded. “Yeah, he is.”

“What if this is the reason they weren’t at the car dealership waiting for us? What if they were captured? I won’t stand back and allow all those people to be possessed. We’re at war, Daniel, you said it yourself, and right there is an enemy supply route. If we do nothing, all those people will end up being used by the enemy as tools. If we free them, they will add to our strength. So whose side are you on, Daniel? Are you truly here to help or not?”

Daniel shook his head slowly and glared at Rick as if he wanted to slap him. Quietly, he said, “I am here to help. I am on your side. If that is not clear by now—”

“Then prove it, Daniel! Time to commit. Not just to helping me, but helping the cause. This is war, and we need to hit back. That travesty down there is our chance. I don’t have a choice—my friends and family might be down there. You don’t have to help me, but I’m going either way.”

Rick started walking, ducking his head and creeping towards the slip road that would take him onto the motorway. He wondered how well demons could see in the dark. Not well, he hoped.

Daniel appeared beside him, also ducking. “You’re going to get killed, you know that?”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Like you said, only place I’ll be going is Heaven. So what’s to fear?”

Daniel didn’t reply, but something about the anxious expression on his face made Rick worry. What wasn’t Daniel telling him?

They reached the motorway, ducking behind an abandoned lorry. The chain gang was a hundred metres ahead, the nearest demon far enough away that hiding was easy. The problem would be when the sun came up, or if the whole group of them stopped to make some sort of camp. Then Rick would have to think more seriously about what he planned on doing. Following them was his only plan for now, but eventually he’d have to act.

How would he take down thirty demons?

Was it even possible?

He was going to find out.

Vamps

“Yo, Vamps, I can’t do this, man.”

They had just come to the aid of some Chinese tourists and things had got heavy. They’d ended up retreating across the Thames and were now even closer to the danger zone. It had left all of them shaken. Vamps looked at Ginge and shook his head. “You’ve seen what’s happening to our streets, Ginge. We don’t got no choice but to help out. Things are fucked. People need us.”

Ginge had grown pale, as he always did when he was tired. It made his red hair stand out even more. His expression was the same as Vamps’s five-year old nephew, Bradley, when he wanted sweets but got cabbage. “Vamps, man, we ain’t heroes. We gangsters.”

“Yeah, we gangsters, and another gang is moving onto our turf.”

Ravy joined the conversation. “I never signed up to fight no monsters.”

“Me either,” said Mass, shrugging to express that he was up for it anyway. “Just the way it is.”

Vamps looked at the bricks and broken glass covering the roads and pathways below. “We never signed on for nothing. We were born and raised, yo. This fight came to us. We go out and we help, just like we did yesterday. We stopped some bird from getting raped. Do you not get that? She’s probably alive because of us.”

“Vamps is right,” said Mass. “I like how it feels. I mean, what’s going down is shit, but I liked the feeling when we helped people yesterday.”

Ravy sighed. “Fine, but eventually we gonna die. This ain’t the boys from West Ham, this is some serious shit. Not to mention that psycho, Pusher, is on our case.”

“Way I see it,” said Vamps, “the chances of us dying are pretty high whatever we do. Least this way we get to go down swinging.”

Ginge sighed. He looked over the roof ledge and went silent. A moment later, he said, “All right, I’m in. What’s the plan?”

Vamps grinned. “We go out and head towards the first scream we hear. Arm up, boys, today ain’t gonna be the day we die.”

They grabbed their weapons and headed into the stairwell. On the third floor they were forced to stop when they stumbled upon a body.

“Ah, fuck, man,” said Ginge.

The lad’s face was a mess, half of it missing. Ravy covered his mouth and gagged.

“Guess that explains the gunshot we heard last night.”

Vamps reached up and took the green beanie hat from his head. He knelt down and placed it over the car-jacker’s ruined face. “Time I gave this back to you, blud. Sorry you got in the middle of this.”

Mass didn’t look as cocky as usual, and instead of slapping his fist he wrung his hands. “Pusher shot the poor bastard in the face. That’s cold.”

“He’s lost it,” said Ginge.

Vamps glanced at the dead car-jacker and nodded. “I think a lot of people have lost it at the moment. Let’s get out of here.”

The fighting in the city had continued through the night, but the city had grown quiet now. Cold too, with the dawn sunlight insufficient for bringing warmth. Dead bodies littered the street and started to smell, yet the scent of blood was not as pervasive as the pong of shit. Vamps had never seen a dead person—not until he’d killed the rapist yesterday—but it seemed like they all shit their kecks before moving on. It wouldn’t be long before the streets teemed with disease. Perhaps tonight they would finally head out and make for the coast.

Right now though, they had to patrol the streets. When this war ended, and if they lived, they might just get some respect. No more being kept down by society because of being young and broke. They would be warriors. When the shit hit, the upper classes were nowhere to be seen. No middle-class heroes in a ground war.

A jet flew overhead—gone as quickly as it arrived.

“Hey,” Ginge pointed. “Something’s going on down there.”

Vamps put a hand over his eyes to shield his sight from the rising sun. He thought he saw a bus in the distance “Piccadilly Circus. If that’s a working bus, why the hell isn’t it trying to bounce? They should be fleeing as fast as the wheels will take them.”

The brightly lit signs on the corner of Piccadilly Circus were scorched and blackened from fires in the shop below. The bus stopped. It was no city bus or open-topped tourist coach, but a plain white bus with darkened windows. The air brakes hissed, and the exit door folded open. A man in a grey suit exited and lit a cigarette. Vamps’s street senses acted up. Something was wrong about the bus driver. He was too calm—the way he stood in the street smoking like nothing had happened. A pile of torn-up bodies lay not ten feet away from him.

“Hold back, yo.” Vamps put an arm up. He crept to the side of the street, sliding in and out of the alcoves to keep his approach hidden. Somebody else got off the bus—another man in a suit. This one was younger than the other and as stocky as a wrestler. He had long blond hair like a young Hulk Hogan. In his hand, he held a length of chain and yanked on it. The first in a line of handcuffed men and women spilled out of the bus, the chain attached to their throats.

“Is it a prison bus?” asked Ravy.

Vamps shook his head. “No way. Travelling prisoners wear matching uniforms to stop ‘em runnin’ and blendin’ in. I know because they moved me from Belmarsh to Brixton after some fuckers from Angell Town tried to off me. I had to wear this shitty grey tracksuit. Those people over there are wearing their own clothes.”

“Then who are they?” asked Ginge.

Mass put a hand on the pavement and ducked lower, almost prone. “Who are the dudes in suits?”

“I dunno,” said Vamps. “Let’s watch what happens.”

They moved over to a delivery van and stooped behind it. Vamps stuck out his head to see what was happening. The two suited gentlemen brought the line of prisoners into the middle of the road and made them kneel. A sleek black Mercedes pulled out of a side street. It parked up, and a chauffeur stepped out and opened the rear door.

Vamps covered his mouth when he saw who exited next. “No freakin’ way!”

Ginge frowned. “Who is it? You know that dude?”

“Yeah, man. That’s the fucking Prime Minister.”

Mass whistled. “That skinny fucker is the PM? We should go over. If we help him, we’ll have it made, yo.”

“Innit,” said Ravy. “I voted for that guy. He said he would stop war in the Middle East.”

Mass raised an eyebrow. “You voted, buster?”

“Yeah! My dad said our vote is what makes us all equal.”

Vamps was certain the man was John Windsor, Prime Minister, his jet-black moustache a dead giveaway. In a black suit, he strolled before the line of prisoners and spoke with the jailors. The chained men and women pleaded and begged when they saw their reigning PM, but the man acted as though they weren’t even there. One woman sought to rise to her feet, but the chauffeur hurried over and kicked her kneecap. She screamed and grabbed herself. The chauffeur shut her up by kicking the teeth out of her mouth. He left her there choking on blood.

“What the fuck, yo,” said Mass.

Vamps clutched his grandfather’s Browning, making sure it was still there. “This shit smells wrong.”

“Yeah,” said Ginge, uncharacteristically brave. His outrage had overtaken his fear. “We should go pop that motherfucker right in the mouth. He cut my nan’s benefits last year.”

Vamps had been about to break cover, but he leapt back down when he spotted demons spilling into Piccadilly Circus.

“What the fuck?” said Mass, his face dropping. “There’re hundreds of them. We need to bounce.”

Vamps agreed, but he couldn’t help but watch. The Prime Minister and his companions seemed unafraid of the demons, even as the line of prisoners screamed in terror. The demons surrounded the area until Vamps could no longer see what was happening.

“I’m fucking off,” said Mass.

Vamps nodded. “I’ll meet you at the Lyceum. I’ll be right behind you.”

“What are you talking about?” said Ginge. “We need to get out of here.”

Vamps waved his hand. “Get the hell out of here, boys. The Lyceum. I’ll be there. I promise.”

They didn’t seem to like it, but they got going, and once they fell out of sight, Vamps turned around and climbed up onto the van’s roof to get a better view. The demons were not attacking the PM. In fact, Windsor seemed to address them as though they were his goddamn constituents. One creature—a burnt man at least a foot taller than its fellow demons and sporting singed dreadlocks—stood directly in front of the PM and nodded his head obediently.

Then the strangest thing happened: one of the human jailors in charge of the line of prisoners handed over their chains to one of the burnt men. The demon led the frightened people away. Windsor headed back towards his Mercedes, smiling. Vamps had been around dealers most his life, and he had just seen a deal go down for sure. Sure as shit.

But what the hell was the deal?

And what the fuck was the Prime Minister doing out here trading the lives of innocent men and women to these demons?

The anger the question summoned made Vamps grip his gun tightly, his finger tickling the trigger.

But it would be suicide to fire a shot. The demons had only just left.

It was time to leave.

Vamps crept to the edge of the van, about to climb down when he heard a shout. “Hey, you over there!”

Vamps had been spotted.

Oh hell no.

With no time to waste, Vamps threw himself from the top of the van to the ground below. As he hit the pavement, his ankle folded sideways. Electricity ran up his right knee.

God dammit.

Vamps hoisted himself up and hobbled away, glancing back over his shoulder. The PM dove back inside his Mercedes like an attempt had been made on his life, but his cronies gave chase. They were much faster than Vamps, and the fact he had a gun would not help him, because they carried some of their own. Bigger ones.

The only question now was who would get to Vamps first—his boys or the bad guys. No way did he want to end up in chains like those people. Shit just got worse.

He ducked into a side street, heading towards the Lyceum. He thought about leading his pursuers away from Ginge, Mass, and Ravy, but he was too afraid to play hero right now. He needed his friends. His family.

He needed help.

But the Lyceum lay a couple blocks away. He wasn’t going to make it.

Blindly, Vamps threw back his arm and fired off a shot. The report was loud and made his temples thud, but he didn’t miss a step and kept running. He got up to running speed, but a sprint was beyond him.

He fired another shot behind him.

Then another.

Then they were firing back at him.

Vamps dodged behind a vegetable cart on the pavement and threaded himself between two parked cars. His chest heaved in and out.

Another shot rang out. A car window shattered.

Fuck me, I’m gonna die out here in the street. Just like my ma always worried I would.

Another shot hit the ground in front of him, kicking up chips of whatever shit roads were made of. Vamps realised he was moaning out loud as the fear escaped from his throat.

Then his boys appeared, looking dazed and confused, but there to help him. They had his back.

Mass led them down the road. Vamps waved an arm for them to take cover. “They’ve got guns. They’ve—”

Another shot rang out and sailed so close to Vamp’s head he felt the wind on his ear. Panic seized him, and his legs turned to jelly. He wobbled and fell. The road rose to meet his chin and suddenly he was laying on the ground as stiff as a board. The sound his body made sliding along the ground was like a watermelon hitting concrete. The Browning tumbled from his hand and clinked against the curb.

“All of you, down now!” One of the PM’s men shouted.

Vamps drew his head back and watched Mass freeze. His hands went up, and he got down on his knees. His expression could have melted ice, but his rage wasn’t enough to stop a bullet, so he did as he was told. Ravy and Ginge too.

The PM’s men split off to opposite sides of the road, keeping Vamps and the others in the middle. The cronie on Vamps’s left was dark-haired where his partner was blond. It was the blond who grabbed Vamps and shoved him roughly to his feet. Vamps eyed up the Browning in the gutter.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” said the blond. “I’ll leave you to die right here in the gutter, you piece of shit.”

Vamps gave up on the gun. Instead, he turned towards his captor. “The fuck you doing working with the demons?”

“This is London. It’s all about the politics. If you aren’t with the reigning party, you get stepped on.”

Vamps glowered. “They’ll string you up for this.”

“When? Haven’t you had your eyes open? This isn’t a war, it’s a coup. Humanity isn’t top of the tree anymore, and never will be again.”

Vamps felt dizzy, his chin throbbing, and he was too nauseous to fight. Mass, however, cursed and swung a punch. He knocked the other guy right on his arse and snatched the gun from his hand. He spun on the blond man holding Vamps and looked like he was about to pull the trigger. Then his arm fell slowly to his side. His jaw fell open, even as the PM’s cronie leapt back his feet and struck him upside the head and knocked him out cold.

Vamps turned around to see what had stopped his friend in mid-fight. It wasn’t hard to figure things out.

The seven-foot demon with long black dreadlocks grinned like a deranged monster—exactly what it was. Demons filled the entire road like a football mob.

“Ah, what do we have here?” said the dread-locked monster in a thick Jamaican accent. “More fuel for de fire. Take dem to de warehouse.”

The demons in the road parted as Vamps and his boys were led away.

* * *

Vamps’s arms were numb by the time he was led inside the warehouse at the back of the theatre district. His blond captor had shoved his hands so far up behind his back that he could scratch his own head.

They were now inside some kind of prop factory. Mannequins stood before massive wooden backdrops. Pretend cars parked beside plywood furniture and cabinets. One wall was almost entirely lined with masks, including one that looked an awful lot like Shrek.

“You better hope I don’t get another shot at you,” Mass told the brunette cronie, who now sported a rather severe black eye.

Ginge and Ravy were silent, afraid. Instinctively, they moved together.

The blond prodded Vamps in the back with his gun. “In here!”

Vamps staggered into a cage full of people, perhaps two dozen. It was meant to be a storage cage for the warehouse stock, but it had been turned into a prison. Those inside all wore blank expressions. A young woman in the corner had pissed herself, sitting with her bare feet in the puddle.

Mass went in behind Vamps. The door swung shut and locked them in. Their two jailors left.

“I’m going to kick the shit out of those fuckers,” said Mass, smashing his fist against the cage and making the whole thing rattle.

“Chill out,” said Ravy. “You’re going to bring them back.”

“Good! You think I want to rot in here? They best come back so I can snap their necks.”

Ravy folded his arms. “Look, man. We alive. Let’s just be grateful right now. I’m tired of this shit. I want to see my family again one day.”

Vamps said nothing. His ankle was swollen and causing him pain, but it kept him lucid. He looked around at his new companions and saw they had been frightened beyond the point of usefulness. These weren’t gangsters from Brixton or hooligans from West Ham. They were city workers and shoppers—ordinary people used to worrying about car tax and mortgage payments, not demon invasions or being locked up. Come to think of it, who on earth really was ready for this shit?

Ginge pressed his forehead up against the cage and started panting. His cheeks grew bright red, but his clammy forehead looked like it had been rubbed with chalk.

Vamps patted his friend on the back. “We’ll be okay, man. I promise.”

Ginge sighed, keeping his head pressed up against the cage. “We should have made a run for it like everybody else. What the hell were we doing?”

“We were doing what was right. Hold your head high because we didn’t run.”

Ravy joined in. “Yeah, Ginge. You a gangster. For real. The only reason I stuck around was because you did. I was like, if Ginge has got the balls to face this, then so do I.”

Vamps patted him on the back again. “Be proud, man.”

Ginge sighed. “How can I be proud when I wanted to run the whole time? It’s only because you and Mass were so down with sticking around that I didn’t have a choice.”

“You had a choice, Ginge,” said Vamps. “You stuck by me because you’re brave. You didn’t tuck tail and run like the rest of this city because that’s not how you roll.”

Ravy put a hand on Ginge’s back and rubbed gently. “We family, man. We stick together no matter what. We stick together.”

Vamps looked at Ravy and nodded. “We stick together.”

Ginge lifted his head away from the cage, a criss-cross indentation pressed into his forehead. “And now we’re going to die together.”

“Got that right!”

Vamps looked up just in time to see a punch flying at his face. It clocked him on the point of his chin and sent him reeling backwards. He stumbled over his bad ankle and ended up on his arse.

Pusher glared down at him, a snarl on his face. “You crossed the wrong motherfucker. You think you can crash my pad and wave a gun in my face? Karma’s a bitch.” He kicked out at Vamp’s head, but was knocked off balance by Mass who shoved him up against the cage. Mass, in turn, was set upon by two of Pusher’s guys who emerged from the crowd and smacked him in the back of the head. A fight broke out. Those not involved scurried to the edges of the cage.

Vamps leapt up quickly. He grabbed Pusher’s shoulders and planted a head-butt on the bridge of the bastard’s nose. Enraged, he growled and retaliated with a kick to Vamp’s stomach. Both of them staggered backwards, nursing their pain.

Vamps clenched his fists by his sides.

Pusher did the same.

Ginge fell on the floor and screamed as one of Pusher’s boys punched him in the ribs. Mass came up behind the guy and lifted him off the ground, slamming him down on the concrete hard enough that he didn’t get back up. “Welcome to cage-fighting, bitch! I’ll be your guide.”

Vamps dodged towards Pusher. “I will knock your fucking teeth out.”

Pusher leered. “You can try.”

The two of them crashed together, whirling dervishes as their limbs lashed out at one another as they spun in a brutal dance. Pusher clubbed Vamps in the ear. Vamps planted a kick to Pusher’s left knee. Both of them snarled, their pain masked by adrenaline.

A gunshot stopped the fight as quickly as it had started. Everyone inside the cage froze. Vamps and Pusher faced each other, both of them panting, both of them bleeding, but they didn’t make a further move.

The two cronies appeared, each of them brandishing guns. The blond’s gun smoked from the recent gunshot. It was Vamps’s grandfather’s Browning. “What the hell is going on here?” he asked.

Vamps kept his eyes on Pusher. “What’s it look like?”

“It looks like you’re causing trouble. I don’t like troublemakers.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t go around kidnapping them.”

The blond man scowled. “Who started this?”

Vamps looked at Pusher accusingly, but he said nothing. He wasn’t about to snitch on anybody—not even a piece of shit like Pusher.

“We’re sorry,” said Ravy, his voice cracking. “We’ll be quiet.”

The blond man approached the cage and stared at Ravy. “Do you promise?”

Ravy nodded. “Yes.”

“Okay. Good. Just tell me who started it. You can tell me. I’m not a bad guy. Name’s Barry.”

Ravy stepped back from the cage. “I… Nobody started it. It just happened.”

Barry kept his eyes on Ravy. He spoke slowly. “Who started it?”

“No one, like I—”

Bang.

In a fraction of a second, Barry brought up the Browning and yanked the trigger. The people inside the cage went wild, erupting like monkeys at the zoo. Vamps was knocked sideways and re-twisted his ankle.

Barry held up the smoking Browning and smiled. “Got quite the kick on her. Guess they don’t make them like they used to.”

Vamps tried to speak, but he was too much in shock. He crawled along on his stomach, fighting his way through the panicked crowd. “Get out of my fucking way. Move!”

He climbed up onto his knees and shoved his way past a fat guy in a suit. Then he found himself face to face with Pusher. This time, though, Pusher didn’t raise his fists. He looked at Vamps anxiously, then moved his eyes to the side.

“Look!”

Vamps spotted Ravy lying on the floor and clambered over to his friend. The bullet had struck his chest, and his breaths came out in whistles. “Ravy, fuck man. You’re gonna be okay.”

“He’s fucked,” said one of Pusher’s guys, but Mass shut him up by punching him in the side of the head.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch.”

Pusher didn’t react to his boy getting beat down. He stood behind Vamps in silence, looking down at Ravy as he lay on the floor panting.

Ravy tried to speak, but all that came out was, “S-sorry.”

Then he was gone. Vamps lifted him across his lap and held him in his arms. It was a long time before he could let go.

* * *

Vamps and Mass placed Ravy up beside the back wall and covered him with a blanket they snatched from a frightened young couple in the corner. The man and woman would have to deal with being chilly, because Vamps wasn’t about to leave Ravy where everyone could gawp at him. He deserved better than that.

During this time, Pusher and his two boys kept their distance and nursed their wounds. Vamps, Mass, and Ginge had wounds of their own, but the worst pain was in their hearts.

Ravy was dead, and no matter how Vamps looked at it, he knew it was his fault. He’d been insistent that they stick around in the city. It had always been a crazy thing to do, but now it seemed downright absurd. What had he been thinking? Why was he so stupid?

“This is messed up,” said Mass, his thick arms folded in a nervous gesture that was entirely unlike him. “I… I can’t deal with this anymore. Ravy is gone. He’s really gone, isn’t he?”

Vamps had no words, so he embraced his friend briefly and let go. Mass would be okay, to a point. It was Ginge who needed looking after. Since watching his best friend get shot, the big guy had sat up against the wall, rocking back and forth gently and staring at the blood on the floor.

Vamps shuffled down beside him. “You okay?”

Ginge didn’t even acknowledge he’d been asked a question.

“Ginge, man. Let me hear you. Are you still with us?”

Ginge blinked. His eyes brimmed with tears.

“It’s the shock.” Pusher crouched in front of them both and examined Ginge with a quick glance. “I had a buddy who went the same way when he saw his sister jump off the roof of his tower block.”

Vamps frowned at his enemy. “Back up. I don’t need to be seeing you right now.”

“Fair enough. Just letting you know I call a truce. No good to be fighting each other right now when we have a bigger enemy.”

“I said back up.”

Pusher sighed, but kept his palms up, and he moved away. “Sorry for your loss, G.”

Vamps went back to his friend. “Ginge, man, we need to find a way out of this.”

Ginge stared into space.

Vamps sighed and got back to his feet. If Ginge needed time, okay, but they still needed to find a way out of this cage. Vamps couldn’t afford to sit around and do nothing. All the same, he was surprised when he saw the Prime Minister standing on the other side of the steel mesh.

The prisoners all gawped as the leader of the country stood before them proudly, his chin lifted towards the ceiling. His black moustache twitched as he spoke. “I’m extremely sorry for your ordeal. It is never my intention to watch any citizen of this great nation suffer. Unfortunately, certain sacrifices need to be made in times of exceptional circumstance.”

“Why are you doing this?” one of the prisoners asked.

The PM seemed pained by the question. He reached up and ran his long fingers over his bony chin. “I am faced with difficult decisions, ma’am, but my number one priority is keeping people safe. All of you here are safe, I assure you. You need not worry. I implore you to cooperate and understand that everything that is happening is happening in the interests of this nation.”

“Are you fucking deluded?” asked Pusher. “You’re caging people like animals. I have a goddamn son I need to get back to.”

Windsor scanned the crowd and located Pusher. “Would you rather be dead like everyone else? I have saved you by bringing you here. Don’t you see that? I am working with our guests to ensure a peaceful handover of the city.”

Vamps couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d seen a handover all right—a handover of innocent people to demons. No wonder the Army didn’t get the city under control. Their leader was in cahoots with the enemy. Had the demons likewise co-opted other world leaders? Was this less a war and more a hostile takeover?

But what if Windsor was being sincere? It was true they were alive rather than dead. What was the Prime Minister’s angle? Why were they locked up in this cage?

Vamps stepped up to the cage and studied the PM. “Are you really trying to help us?”

Windsor gave a politician’s grin which gave away nothing. “Of course. I was elected to serve the people of Great Britain. I assure you I am doing all I can.”

“I know where there are more people in need of rescuing,” said Vamps, deciding to test the PM’s reasoning. “Let me out of here, and I’ll take you to them.”

Windsor tilted his head with interest and took another step towards the cage. “Tell me where they are, and I’ll go get them. They’ll be brought right here into safety.”

Vamps shook his head. “No deal. You let me and my friends out, and I’ll show you.”

Windsor went silent. He studied Vamps with his dark eyes until a small laugh escaped his lips. “A good attempt, my friend, but I’m afraid you’ll have to lie a lot better to fool me. Good try. I can see I must keep an eye on you.” He pointed a finger and wagged it like a schoolteacher telling off a pupil. “Bravo.”

Vamps reached through the cage and grabbed the PM’s finger. He twisted it and yanked Windsor up against the cage.

Everyone gasped.

The PM was silent, his jaw locked, his eyes narrowed. “Unhand me immediately.”

Vamps held the PM in place for a few seconds, suddenly realising how rash he had just been. The sight of the smug prick made him lash out, but now he had crossed a line that would probably result in him getting a bullet like Ravy. “P-Please, sir,” he said. “Just let me out of here. I can tell you anything you want. I know the city—the parts you don’t. I know where you can find all sorts of things. I can be useful to a man like you. Please let me out.”

Windsor yanked his hand back and moved away. He straightened out his suit and offered Vamps a look of contempt. “I will have no dealings with the likes of you. There’s nothing you know that I do not, I assure you. You should be ashamed of yourself for trying to prostitute yourself. What kind of example are you setting to your fellow citizens? We are not mercenaries, and I will not abide the services of one. Good day to you all, and remember what I said: Cooperate and you will all remain safe.”

The PM marched away, leaving Vamps slumped up against the other side of the cage. From behind him, Pusher grunted. “Man, that was shameful. You were almost down on your knees ready to suck him off.”

Even Mass was upset. “Yeah, man, that was pretty disgusting to watch.”

Vamps made sure Windsor had gone before he spun to face the others. “Just doing what I had to do.”

“For real?” asked Mass.

Vamps smirked. He shuffled his arm and allowed something to slide out of his cuff and into his hand. He examined the expensive fountain pen for the first time as he displayed it for Mass and Pusher. “I needed to distract the wanker while I half-inched this.”

Pusher frowned. “You stole the Prime Minister’s pen. Man, you really is small time.”

Vamps sighed. “Don’t you get it? They want to treat us like prisoners, we should act like prisoners. This pen is stainless steel and sharp as fuck. I just got me a prison shank, yo. Can’t wait to use it.”

Pusher stepped back, looking worried.

But Vamps had other targets in mind.

* * *

Vamps tried again to get a response from Ginge, but summoned only a solitary tear down his friend’s left cheek. “Come on, Ginge. We’re getting out of here, I promise, but I need you back in the game. Mass and me need your help.”

Ginge blinked, and another tear spilled down his cheek. Vamps sighed and left him alone again. Pusher had been right—it was shock—but what were you supposed to do for someone in that situation? Was it right to leave them alone, or should Vamps be shaking Ginge roughly and slapping his face like they did in the movies.

Comedies mostly.

This was no comedy.

“He still being a whiny bitch?” Pusher folded his arms and pulled a face.

Vamps turned to him. “What did you just say?”

“He needs to man up. Thought he was a Brixton Boy?”

“He is.”

“Then he should start acting like it.”

“He was man enough to rob your ass yesterday.”

Pusher shrugged. “Only after I robbed you pussies first.”

Mass hulked up his shoulders, his massive trapezius muscles like the hood on a cobra. “You ‘bout to get another beat down, blud. Then we’ll learn who the pussy is, buster.”

Pusher laughed. His boys moved up beside him, but he waved a hand to keep them back again. “Nah, lads, this is between me and the punk with pretty little gems in his pussy mouth.”

That was the last straw. Vamps went at Pusher with both hands. He grabbed the back of his skull with his left and threw a punch with his right. Pusher took a fist right in the eye, but was quick to knee Vamps in the stomach and double him over. He followed it up with a hammer blow to the back of the head. Vamps hit the floor.

Pusher kicked him in the ribs.

Mass went to get involved, but Vamps waved him off, panting. “N-No! This is one-on-one.”

“Yeah,” said Pusher, grinning. “One man against one pussy.” He smashed his fist against Vamps’s cheek and almost knocked him out. It took everything he had to hold onto the last threads of consciousness.

Vamps moaned, tried to get up, but had his arm booted out from under him.

Another kick to the ribs.

“What is the meaning of this?” Barry marched into the warehouse, still clutching the Browning.

Pusher backed away, his hands out in front of him. “Hey, this guy is causing trouble again. It’s all him.”

“I… I need help,” said Vamps from on the floor. “I need to tell the Prime Minister something. Just get me out of here and put me in another cage, and I’ll tell you everything. This guy is going to kill me.”

The suited man frowned, seeming to assess the situation before acting. “What do you know?”

“W-what don’t I know?” said Vamps, spitting blood. “I know where there are people hiding out all over Brixton. I know where to get guns, drugs, money. You can have it all. Just get me somewhere safe, and I’ll tell you.”

“You’re a fucking disgrace,” said Mass. “I thought I knew you, Vamps.”

Barry pointed the gun at Mass. “Quiet, you.”

Then he unlocked the cage and stepped inside, keeping the Browning out in front of him the whole time. He knelt and patted Vamps with his free hand. “Okay, up! We’re leaving, just you and me. You’re going to snitch about everything you know.”

Vamps scrambled to his feet. “Yeah, man. I swear. I’ll tell you everything. One of the people in this cage has a weapon.”

Barry backed up, raised the Browning in front of him. “Who?”

“Me!” Vamps shoved the fountain pen right into the bastard’s jugular. The bleeding didn’t start until he pulled it out again. Then, like a geyser, it exploded in great rhythmic bursts that covered everything. Barry grabbed his punctured neck and sprawled against the cage wall. Even as he was dying, he raised his arm to point the Browning at Vamps.

Pusher backhanded the man in the face and broke his nose. He dropped the gun, and he used the hand to cover his face as blood continued pouring out of him. Then his legs gave way, and he collapsed onto his knees.

Mass leapt forward and booted the piece of shit in the chest, knocking him onto his back where he went still. “It’s just politics, bitch!”

Vamps examined the bloody fountain pen in his hand and grimaced with disgust. He had just killed his second man in as many days. He tossed the pen to the ground, yet somehow he knew the killing wasn’t done. With that in mind, he knelt to pick up his grandfather’s Browning. Pusher attempted to do the same, and they ended up face-to-face with both their hands hovering over the antique pistol.

The next two seconds seemed to last forever. The air went out of the room. Nobody spoke.

Pusher backed away, grinning. “Hey, man. I was just picking it up for you.”

Vamps gathered the Browning and straightened up. “I believe you. Let’s just get out of here.”

Pusher nodded to his boys. “Come on.”

They filtered out of the cage, but Vamps noticed that many of the prisoners remained—too scared to move? Vamps turned, unable to abandon them without thought. “You stay in there you’ll die. Take five minutes, think things through, then decide how you want to spend what’s left of your lives.”

Mass helped Ginge up off the floor, and together with Vamps, they got moving. Ahead, Pusher and his boys looked for weapons amongst the warehouse props. As long as Vamps was the only one with a gun, things might just turn out okay.

Mass readjusted his grip on Ginge. “Ginge, man, move your bloody legs. I ain’t carrying you across London.”

Vamps shot Mass a worried looked. “Maybe some fresh air will wake him up.”

“Epping Forest it is then. Hey, you remember that time we went there to smoke weed and ended up getting lost?”

Vamps chuckled. “Yeah, man. Ravy went full-castaway after ten minutes. He was trying to make a fire and contemplating the rest of his life in the wild.”

“He was high as fuck.”

“We all were.”

“Vamps?”

“Yeah, man?”

“What do you think we’ll find out there?”

Vamps could think of only one answer. “More reasons to fight.”

Commander Hernandez

Dawn was fast arriving, which made the other ship all the more a ghostly visage. It had appeared from nowhere—from the shadows themselves—but it had brought the light with it.

Salvation.

After leaving Captain Johnson on the helicopter deck, Hernandez fought his way to the ship’s bow. It would have been impossible if not for the covering fire of the other ship. Several times, demons had set upon him only to explode into pieces under machine gunfire.

The men he had positioned atop the conning tower were still alive, and so was the group led by Lieutenant Danza. The other officer gave Hernandez a hearty salute. Things hadn’t looked like they would end well for a moment there.

Hernandez staggered into the bridge, where Ensign Connelly had already patched him through to the Coast Guard frigate sitting at port-side. The other vessel’s captain introduced himself as Captain Guy Granger.

Hernandez picked up the receiver. “Thank the Lord for you, Captain Granger. Thank the Lord. You saved our bacon. Once those things were onboard we couldn’t stop them coming. It was you cutting them to ribbons on the water that turned the tide. Your men are heroes. Over.”

“That they are, Captain. Over.”

Hernandez sighed. “Not the captain. Commander Johnson died in the attack, a stray bullet from one of your men, I believe. I’m Lieutenant Hernandez. Over.”

“I’m sorry about your commander,” said the other captain. “My crew did the best they could. Over.”

“I understand. Our decks were swamped with monsters. We would’ve lost far more men if you hadn’t been here to help. Over.”

“Do you know where those creatures came from, Lieutenant Hernandez? Over.”

“Affirmative. Our radar picked up an anomaly on the seabed in this area. The things must have swum right up out of the depths. They were so bloated and malformed that they must have been sunk right down low. Over.”

After a moment of silence, Captain Granger: “Then it appears these hell gates are beneath the oceans and on land. We should all keep an eye on the radar and steer a clear course. Over.”

“Copy that, Captain. We fled Norfolk hoping to regroup, but ran right into another battle. Over.”

“You were at Norfolk? So were we. Did you see how things ended there? Over.”

Hernandez rubbed the back of his hand holding the receiver against his sweaty forehead, then put it to his mouth. “There’s nothing left. The USS New Hampshire went under and took a thousand men with her, but several vessels got away. We count our blessings. Over.”

A sad reply came back, yet not one seemingly ready to quit. “At least some of us got out alive. We’re not beaten yet. Over.”

Hernandez nodded, despite the other man not being able to see him. “Copy that, Captain. Gives us a chance to regroup and head back to coast. Now that you saved us, we’ll be able to fight another day. Naval Command is operating out of Florida now, and all ships are to make their way to Jacksonville. It’ll be a pleasure to have the Hatchet along for the ride. Over.”

“Negative. The Hatchet is crossing the Atlantic. Over.”

Hernandez frowned. Was there something he didn’t know? “Why? Over.”

“I have a personal matter to attend to. Over.”

A personal matter, at a time like this, when the whole of the United States was under attack? Was the man off his meds? “We have orders to assemble at Jacksonville,” Hernandez said plainly. “Disobey and you’ll be considered a deserter. Over.”

“Call it what you want,” came Captain Granger. “I’m going to the UK to get my kids. Over.”

“I can’t allow you to do that, Captain Granger. The Hatchet is United States property, and your men have a duty to protect their country. You need to return to coast, or relinquish command to someone who will. Over.”

Hernandez took a moment to inspect his crew—for they were now his—and saw they were bloody, panting, and badly shell-shocked. They needed a show of strength to rally behind. Danza stood nearby and was staring at Hernandez. Hard to read what the man was thinking.

“With all due respect, Lieutenant Hernandez, I don’t take orders from you. Over.”

Hernandez squeezed the handset and placed it right up against his mouth. This was a battle of authority, and if he had any chance of maintaining his integrity, he needed to show he was not a commander to be trifled with. Captain Granger had gone rogue, and that would not do. “The US Coast Guard has been ordered to relinquish command to the Navy. I am the senior naval officer in this region, and I am taking authority of your vessel. I will have one of my junior officers take command of your crew. Prepare to be boarded. Over and out.”

“You sure about this?” asked Danza, quietly enough that no one else heard it.

Hernandez realised he had a lump in his throat and struggled to remove it before speaking. “We have a duty. The United States needs every one of its assets to help in its time of need. We cannot allow a rogue Coast Guard captain to steal a ship and crew right in front of us.”

Danza nodded and seemed to agree. “You’re right, but that Coast Guard captain just saved our lives.”

“What’s your point?”

“That if we fire on them and kill them, our own men will be conflicted. If a fight breaks out, you’ll be asking them to kill the people to whom they owe their lives. Americans.”

“My crew owe their loyalty to the US Navy, nothing and no one else.”

Danza nodded. “I don’t think Captain Granger will lie down and let us board. He’ll fight, which means we’ll lose more men. Men we need right now.”

“What exactly are you getting at, Danza?” Hernandez snapped.

“I feel it’s my duty to play devil’s advocate. Just tread carefully is all I’m saying. Sometimes you have to lose a few battles to win a war.”

Hernandez disliked having to argue his case, but he hesitated a moment to consider Danza’s words. Was the officer right? Had he committed to a winless action?

It was too late to change course. To back down would ruin any chance of gaining the crew’s respect.

Hernandez gave his orders. The Augusta drifted in close enough that the hulls of the two ships almost touched. The remaining crew lined up along the railings, but they did not point their rifles—yet. Hernandez preferred the situation be concluded without gunfire, but would use whatever force necessary. Even after their losses, his crew still possessed two rifles for every one of the Hatchet’s, and the Augusta itself had three times the armaments. They could sink the Hatchet if it came to it, but to do so would defeat the purpose of this whole action. Hernandez wanted command of the other ship—the beginning of his very own fleet that would sail back to the mainland and begin a quest of heroism and bravery.

Hernandez approached the railing, wondering if it put him at risk of a bullet, but knowing that he needed to show confidence. “Tell your men to stand aside, Captain Granger. I hereby seize this vessel in the name of the United States Navy.”

Captain Granger stood at the opposite railing, also without a weapon—two generals meeting across the battlefield. “Your access is denied, Lieutenant Hernandez. I am the captain of this ship, and my word is law. Be grateful for your rescue, and take your men wherever you choose, but they will not come aboard this ship.”

Hernandez narrowed his eyes, and spotted then that there were several civilians on board the Hatchet, besides the servicemen. “You have American citizens on board. Do you plan on kidnapping them?”

“No man or woman is here against their will. In fact, any who wish to join you now may do so.” Granger turned around to look at his civilians, but not one of them stepped forward to leave.

“You have them scared,” Hernandez remarked.

Granger smiled so widely that it was easy to see even at distance. “Considering you were all but dead in the water when we arrived, I think maybe it’s you they are afraid of. The men on this ship survived the attack on New York, the attack on Norfolk, and now the attack on the USS Augusta. They are safer with me than anywhere else. They are survivors and—as my own Lieutenant called them earlier—warriors. We came to aid you in your time of need when running away would’ve been easier. My crew is fearless and ferocious. Come aboard if you dare, Lieutenant.”

Hernandez laughed like a hyena. “You really think you will win a fight against my ship, Captain? You don’t stand a chance.”

“Perhaps, but are you willing to lose the men it will take to put us down? I promise that for every one of us you take, we’ll take three of yours. We have two machineguns and my ship’s main gun aimed at you, not to mention about a hundred rifles. I’m over-manned, you see. That’s what happens when you win fights—you get stronger. I look at your crew, Lieutenant, and all I see is fear and exhaustion. They have lost their commander and inherited you. How long do you think they will tolerate your command if you force them to kill fellow Americans? Fellow Americans who just saved their lives. Or perhaps they won’t have to tolerate you much longer. Maybe the very first shot fired will be right at your forehead. You’re a pretty good shot, aren’t you, Lieutenant Tosco?”

Another officer on board the Hatched raised his riflescope to his eye and grinned. “Aye, aye, Captain. I can shoot the nut-sack off a navy officer from a hundred metres. In fact, I’m ready to pull the trigger right now.”

The situation was slipping from Hernandez’s grasp, and he knew it. Bile burned at the back of his throat. He tried to respond but tripped over his own words and ended up offering nothing but bluster. He shifted uncomfortably and retreated a step. The small act of moving away sent a shiver of unease among the crew and Hernandez saw them waver, uncertainty in their eyes. Captain Granger had used the same thinking that Danza had warned of, and now that the man had voiced it, it was in the men’s heads. Could they commit to a firefight after hearing the facts so plainly stated? Hernandez was being made to look like a petty bully.

Captain Granger came back through the radio. “Look, Commander Hernandez, I see you’re a good man—a good American—but after Norfolk, it became every man for himself. We all need to do whatever we can in whatever way we can to make a difference. The Hatchet is crossing the Atlantic, and we will lend our help wherever it is needed, just like we did to save your ship, but we will make our own way and decide our own fate. It’s survival now, don’t you see? There’s not going to be any great war because we’ve already lost. There’s no more United States, there’s just us—people. All that is left is resistance, and no resistance ever worked by following empty orders. It will only work by doing what needs to be done when it needs doing. Take your ship, and do whatever you can to help, but if you try to fight us, you’re only helping the enemy.”

That was it, the final nail. Hernandez saw the unease on the faces of his crew. They were waiting for an order they dreaded—to kill fellow Americans. Hernandez could no longer give that order, for it would end in disaster, but neither could he reverse course without losing face. He struggled in his own mind for several moments, a silence blanketing both ships. He needed to say something—something that the men could believe in. “I consider you a traitor to your country, Captain Granger, but I will not command my men to fire on fellow Americans. I disagree about the war being lost. It has only just begun. Your country requires your ship and your crew, but I can see that you have brainwashed them to abandon their beliefs—and even stand by while you deny the existence of the United States. I will not risk lives, but when America is victorious, men like you will be strung up for cowardice. If you have any honour at all, you will step down now, Captain Granger, but I don’t expect that you will.”

“The last thing anybody aboard my ship is guilty of is cowardice. I wish you a safe journey, Commander Hernandez. Do try to keep your men alive. We won’t be there to rescue you next time.”

Hernandez closed his eyes, locked his jaw, then turned away and removed himself from the railings. “Let’s get the decks cleaned up. We depart for the mainland immediately.”

Dead demons littered the decks, their exposed torsos like salt-encrusted jellyfish. The stench of death mixed with the briskness of the ocean. Engines rumbled, and they pulled away from the Hatchet. The sound of its crew cheering carried across the water, contrasting with the glum silence aboard the Augusta.

Danza scratched at a bloodstain on his sleeve. “That was going to go badly whichever way you went about it.”

“Are you trying to say that you warned me, Lieutenant?”

“I think it’s pretty clear that I did, but you pulled it back at the end. The crew will recover eventually.”

“Recover from what?” Hernandez glared at Danza. “They are sailors, not kittens. We have survived an attack, and will be ready for the next one. Johnson had no way of knowing what was coming, but I do.”

“What exactly happened to Johnson? You were defending the rear of the ship with him, right?”

“Like I said, when the Hatchet fired on us, he got hit. I was lucky I didn’t take a bullet too.”

Danza sighed. “I suppose they couldn’t help it, but it still smarts that they killed our commander.”

“It is in the past now. Let us forget it.”

“The men won’t forget it. Granger defied us and sailed away scot free. That doesn’t sit easily with me, and it won’t sit easily with the men.”

Hernandez stormed over to the railing and watched the now distant Hatchet. “What could I have done, Danza? What way out did I have?”

“You had no way out, I admit.”

The sight of the retreating Coast Guard ship made Hernandez’s blood boil. How he wished Granger stood beside him so he could knock the arrogant twerp—the traitorous twerp—on his ass.

“Granger won’t be getting away scot-free,” he told Danza. “This isn’t over.”

Danza raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? What are your orders, Commander?”

Hernandez told him. Danza rushed off to make it happen.

Ten minutes later, the Hatchet was almost out of view, but it would still be visible through the lens of a high-powered rifle—like the one Petty Officer Outerbridge currently held against his shoulder at the top of the Augusta’s highest perch.

Hernandez picked up the intercom and hailed his sniper. “Outerbridge, I want eyes on Commander Granger.”

“Roger that.” A few seconds of silence. “I have him. He’s standing on deck.”

“In your own time, Outerbridge. I want you to eliminate the commander.” Hernandez saw the looks on the crew’s face and decided to address their trepidation there and then. “The crew of the Hatchet helped us in our hour of need, I am aware. Firing upon them would have been wrong, yet Commander Granger is a traitor to our nation. He has assets at his disposal that can save the lives of the people back home, yet he puts his own selfish needs first. By removing him, command of his ship will fall to the next senior officer, who we can only pray is more loyal to the United States of America. Granger is about to learn what happens to those who betray their country. We are sailors. We are soldiers. We are the men and women of the US Navy.”

The crew stood silent and waited for the inevitable.

Kablow!

Kablow!

Kablow!

The sound of the .338 rounds exploding from the rifle barrel was like God cracking a whip. The crew flinched, but Hernandez did not. He had been eagerly awaiting the sound—the sound of him regaining authority. “Come in, Outerbridge. Give me your report.”

“Target confirmed dead.”

Hernandez swallowed. “Wonderful. You have eyes on Granger?”

“Negative, but I took the shot.”

“I need confirmation, Outerbridge...”

“I… I can’t see him, but I had a clear shot. The crew are panicking. They’ve all taken cover. I hit their commander, I’m sure. Their Lieutenant too.”

Hernandez smiled. “Roger that. Danza, get me a line to The Hatchet.”

Danza patched the call through to the other ship.

Hernandez spoke with newfound confidence. He had matched wits with a fellow commander and won. “Men and women aboard the USCG Hatchet. Your senior officers are dead. Please put me in contact with whoever has inherited command. I wish you no harm, only that you follow the Augusta back to the coast where it will be added to the Navy’s relief effort. You are no longer bound to fulfill whatever promises you made to Captain Granger. You are free.” A brief pause. “Come in, come in, Hatchet. Whoever is most senior, please respond.”

A voice crackled through the speaker. “Hernandez, this is the senior ranking member of the USCG Hatchet, Captain Guy Granger. You just killed a man worth ten of you, and I’m going to make you pay for it. You see, when this war is over, they will string men like you up. I will be the one to do it. As soon as I find my kids, I’m coming for you.”

Hernandez wanted to reply, but his lips had pasted shut. He let go of the intercom and left it dangling by its cord. Shit!

* * *

“Hernandez, calm down,” said Danza.

Hernandez spun on the man. “You do not address me as Hernandez. I am your commander. I will have that man strung up. You see if I don’t.”

“We could still pursue them,” said Danza.

Hernandez groaned. “They are heading in the opposite direction and can match us for speed. It would be a waste of our time. We need to head back to the mainland.”

“Would you still like us to plot a course for Jacksonville?”

“Yes, and see if we can hail anybody at Command. I need to report Granger’s treachery.”

Danza looked like he was going to add something more, but instead, he turned on his heel and headed off to do as requested.

Hernandez stood on deck, appraising the mess that was now his ship. Demon carcasses still littered the Augusta’s decks, although they were gradually being tossed overboard by the men. The crew’s own dead were lined up along the bow. The Augusta had lost at least fifty men, including Commander Johnson. His body lay beneath a blanket with all the others, no more remarkable now in death than the lowliest seaman recruit.

The situation was bleak, and coming into command in such a way was not how Hernandez had envisaged things, but it didn’t change the fact he was now responsible for two hundred men and several hundred tons of hardware. His country needed him.

Outerbridge presented himself, the usual confidence of a man trained to kill now replaced by unease. His shoulders sagged.

“What the hell happened, Outerbridge?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I thought I had him. He was in my sights when I took the shot. Someone must have moved in line with him. The bullet would have taken several seconds to reach the target. It was a long—”

“Quiet,” said Hernandez. “You had an order which you failed to carry out. Two nights in the brig. Present yourself immediately.”

Outerbridge looked shocked, his blond eyebrows leaping away from his face. Yet, despite his obvious shock at the punishment, he saluted. “Yes, sir.”

Hernandez took the time to walk the ship. He inserted himself into several fracas that needed dealing with, including a fight between two Ensigns who were exchanging fisticuffs over the body of one of the ship’s helicopter pilots. The dead woman had apparently been a close friend to both of the men, and neither wanted to entrust her care to the other. Hernandez removed them both and had someone else dispose of the woman’s corpse. He quickly moved on to other areas of the ship.

“Granger had the right idea,” said a male Seaman recruit named Gleeson. “Norfolk was a bloodbath. We should all go back to land and find our families.”

“We have a job to do,” said a female Ensign named Cuervo. “If we scatter to the wind, then there really is no hope. Our families will be gone by the time we reach them.”

“You don’t know that,” said someone else. “We have no idea what’s happening back home. Norfolk is just one place. My family is in Ohio. They might be fine.”

“Exactly,” said Gleeson. “We should be finding out what’s happening, not firing shots at the Coast Guard.”

“That man was no longer a Coast Guard,” said Hernandez, creeping up on them. “He abandoned his commission when he refused orders to return.” The group of sailors flinched. Gleeson grew pale. It was to Gleeson, Hernandez addressed his question. “You believe Captain Granger was right to plot his own course?”

The Seaman recruit looked like a lamb before a wolf, but to his credit, he answered the question. “You heard what he said—there’s no orders to follow. Every captain needs to make his own calls. He wasn’t the enemy, but we fired on him like he was.”

Hernandez turned to Ensign Cuervo. “Remove Seaman Gleeson to the brig.”

Cuervo nodded shakily. “At once, sir.”

When Hernandez turned around he was met by Lieutenant Danza.

“I gave you orders, Lieutenant.”

“Yes sir, you did. It’s as you thought. Command wants us back in Jacksonville.”

“And Granger’s treachery?”

Danza shrugged. “They had little to say about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean they have bigger fish to fry. A new fleet is being assembled, and its sole focus will be relieving the East Coast. One Coast Guard captain—”

“Granger is no longer a captain. He is a traitor.”

Danza didn’t seem to appreciate being interrupted, and he grunted. “Commander, do you want to take a breath?”

Hernandez felt a dark cloud descend upon him. He leaned closer to his lieutenant. “What did you just say?”

“I said take a goddamn breath. The ship is torn to shreds, and you’ve inherited command. It’s a shock. You’re under stress. Acting like a tyrant upon the high seas is not the way to go here. You’re sending men to the brig when we’re under-manned. This vendetta against Granger is pointless.”

Hernandez grabbed Danza by the collar and pulled him off balance. “Any more insubordination from you and there’ll be another man in the brig. I am being tough because the crew is on edge. They need to be brought in line.”

Danza didn’t try to break free of Hernandez’s grasp, but neither did he cower. “You’re losing it, Hernandez. Those men you think are so afraid fought to the death and survived. What they need is leading to the next battle with their confidence intact.”

“Then do not undermine me, Danza. Johnson might have done things differently, but he’s dead.”

Danza shrugged himself free and straightened up his collar. “Yes, he is. If only the men had been there with him, perhaps he would still be in command.”

“What do you mean by that?” Danza turned to walk away, but Hernandez grabbed him. “I said, what do you mean by that?”

Danza looked him in the eyes. “I mean, we only have your word about what happened. I knew Commander Johnson. He was a brave man, would have fought to the death, but I wonder if you were there fighting beside him just as hard, or running in the other direction. Why is he dead, and you’re alive?”

Hernandez let out a long, slow breath as he met his lieutenant’s defiant gaze. He realised the crew had gathered around as witnesses, and he was glad. “Three hours, Danza. That’s how long you have to apologise to me in front of the entire crew. Three hours for you to learn your lesson and obey. If you don’t, you’ll spend the next six months in the brig, I promise you.”

Danza locked his jaw, clenched his fists, but turned away in silence.

Hernandez smiled.

* * *

Hernandez spent the rest of daylight in the bridge, contacting other ships in the area—of which there were few—and trying to find somebody in Command who knew what was going on. The only impression he got from anyone on the mainland was that ‘things were bad’. The entire world was at war and there seemed to be no cohesive strategy to fight back. Naval Command had no clue what the Army or the Air Force was doing, and as for the President, no one had heard from him in hours. Washington had been penned in by a gate on each side and America’s seat of power was crumbling to ruin.

Meanwhile, Hernandez continued to get his ship in order. He nipped any signs of dissent in the bud at once and had only grown more severe after considering Danza’s words. The Lieutenant sought to make Hernandez doubt himself, the reason very clear. If Hernandez fell to pieces, it would be up to Danza to take command. The man was an ambitious shark.

Cuervo stood at the radar console, running constant scans for seabed activity. If there were any more gates at the bottom of the Atlantic, they would have plenty of warning. Johnson had run a tight ship, but Hernandez would run a tighter one. He didn’t need sailors, he needed warriors. He needed Vikings. The Beretta on his hip would make sure he got them. The weak would be disposed of.

Hernandez checked his watch and saw that crunch time was almost upon them. When Danza subjugated himself in front of him, the remaining crew would fall firmly in line. Danza was a popular officer. The men would do as he did.

“Cuervo,” Hernandez turned to his young Ensign and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve performed well since the attack, and seeing as we are low on officers, I will be promoting you to acting lieutenant to serve alongside Officer Danza.”

And report on his every action.

Cuervo looked shocked for a moment, but then she beamed. “T-Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”

“I’ll make it official shortly. I am heading down to deck, and I would like you to join me.”

“Of course.”

Hernandez went and sipped a cup of water, realising that he had not hydrated himself in almost a day. Once he finished the cup, he had to refill it several more times. Once sufficiently replenished, he went down on deck to meet Danza. He was pleased to see the Lieutenant already waiting there for him. So were most the crew.

“Lieutenant Danza. I assume you have something to say to me?”

“I do.”

Hernandez smiled, Crossed his arms and stood there waiting. He had directed the ship’s spotlights to light up the deck so all eyes would be on Danza. “Then speak your piece, Lieutenant.”

Danza hesitated, looked around at the crew surrounding him. What he was about to say was obviously difficult. Hernandez enjoyed every second of it. “Many of you have served with me for a while,” began Danza, “so you know that I am an officer who does not necessarily follow the rules. The decisions I make are based on the situation, and I always try to do what’s best for my crew. Commander Johnson was the same way, and if I can amount to half the officer he was, I will retire with full honours.”

Hernandez tapped his foot. “Can we speed this up, please, Lieutenant?”

Danza nodded. “Protocol demands I fall inline under Lieutenant Hernandez’s command, for he is the senior officer aboard. Those are the rules. It isn’t best for my crew though. Today, we survived Armageddon, and I don’t just mean aboard this ship. The world has fallen to ashes. We capable men and women of the US Navy are in a position to do something about that. Our country—the world, needs us, so the rules no longer apply. I will not follow the rules when they make no sense.”

Hernandez scowled. Not only had Danza referred to him as ‘Lieutenant’, but it did not seem in any way like he was apologising. Every word out of the man’s mouth seemed to take him further and further away from the word ‘sorry’.

Hernandez tried to interrupt, but Danza waved a hand at him. “Just let me finish, Hernandez. All day, you’ve talked, and you’ve talked, and you’ve talked. At first, I thought you were losing it, but you’re not that innocent. It’s your ego. Your whole life you’ve wanted to be the man, but being the man isn’t something you can seize. It’s something you earn.”

“I’ve heard quite enough. Will someone please escort Lieutenant Danza to the brig?”

Nobody moved.

Hernandez prodded Cuervo. “Do your duty, Lieutenant.”

“Yes sir.” She snapped off a salute and hurried towards Danza, but she was cut off by another member of the crew. Outerbridge stepped out of the crowd and blocked her.

Hernandez exploded. “Outerbridge! You were detained to the brig. You have defied a direct—”

“I released him,” said Danza, “along with all the other innocent sailors you sent there. It is not a crime to refuse to pander to your ego.”

“I am in command of this—”

Danza shook his head. “No, you’re not. I’ve spoken to a portion of the crew, and they have all agreed to recognise me as Johnson’s successor. The Augusta is under my command.”

“Mutiny!”

Danza ignored the slur with a smile. “I am leading the Augusta to Jacksonville, where we will all do our very best to work together and help our nation. I will not be making decisions based on ego. I will do what is best for my crew and my country, and send only one man to the brig—you, Lieutenant Hernandez.”

“How dare you? I have committed no crime. The command is rightfully mine.”

“Perhaps, but until we ascertain the circumstances behind Commander Johnson’s death, you are suspended from service. You will be contained to the brig for your own safety.”

“Fuck you, Danza.”

“You will address me as Commander.”

Hernandez looked around at the men and women on deck. Danza had not yet got to all of them, but a large enough portion seemed to be firmly behind him.

Hernandez pulled his Beretta out of its holster and pointed it at Danza. “The Augusta belongs to me!”

He pulled the trigger.

Richard Honeywell

“Glen? Glen, what do you mean they’re coming?” Richard shook his colleague, but he was unconscious. A quick examination exposed a ragged wound across his tummy, the skin grey and moist either side of a bloody furrow. It was bad.

“They’re here, aren’t they?” asked Aaron, standing over Richard and still wearing his chip shop apron. “The demons are coming.”

Richard looked up at the boy and finally saw how scared he was. “Yes, I think so. Are you ready?”

Aaron looked like he might throw up all over his shoes, but he nodded.

“Then get your boys, get weapons, and get on the barricade.” Richard placed Glen down on the pavement and stood up. He addressed everyone, almost shouting. “You hear that? The enemy is coming to kill us. Get ready to kill them first.”

The seven newcomers still stood next to the barricade. Richard approached the one who had announced their arrival, a tall, middle-aged man wearing a leather jacket and carrying a cricket bat. “What happened to Glen?”

The man shook his head. “I don’t know. We just found him lying on the side of the road. He said he’d been attacked by a demon.”

Richard looked at the new group suspiciously. “Who are you people?”

“I work at the garage on Trotter Lane, and these guys work at the supermarket next door. We heard your friend shouting, saying he had a place we could all go to be safe. That sounded great to us, so we left to find where he was shouting from. Around the corner, we found him bleeding.”

“So there was no demon? What about the officers who were with him?”

The man shook his head and looked like he wished he knew more.

Richard rubbed at his chin, then grimaced when he realised he had Glen’s blood on him. “Thank you for bringing him back. You can get yourself a hot cup of tea at the church, but there might not be much time to relax. If the demons really have made it here from the city, then we have a fight ahead of us.”

The man held up his baseball bat. “I’m ready, governor, don’t worry. I’m Leonard, by the way.”

“Good to meet you, Leonard. Get your guys ready.”

Leonard nodded and took his six companions with him. Richard turned back around to face the disorganised chaos behind him. If he had not realised it before, he saw it clearly then. The people in the camp were just ordinary people panicking for their lives. Overcoming panic and acting courageously was not a normal response—it was either learned, in the cases of soldiers, firemen, etc, or occasionally built in, in the case of random heroes, but it was most certainly not the norm. The people in the camp were normal. They would not be courageous. They would not be brave—especially now the sun was going down. The dark sapped a man’s courage.

He needed heroes, but until the battle began there was no way of recognising them from the cowards.

“Help me get him up.” Richard looked aside to see Riaz struggling to get Glen up off the floor. It was wrong to leave their colleague there, so the two of them carried him towards the church. “You really think he was attacked by a demon?” asked Riaz, grunting.

“What else could have caused such awful wounds?”

“Many things, but I agree death is coming.”

Richard moaned as he readjusted his grip on Glen. “Can I count on you?”

“I may not believe we have a chance, but I still believe it’s my job to protect these people.”

“Good, because they will be looking to you, Riaz.”

Riaz said nothing. They struggled with Glen and got him to the church. Inside, Reverend Miles helped them take the man into the vestry where they set him down on a bench.

“I will tend to your friend,” said Miles. “If the Adversary is on his way, you both must go. Lead us all to salvation.”

Richard smiled, but did not mock. He liked the vicar, Christian or not. Before he went out to rally the troops, however, Richard went to find his family.

Jen held Dillon against her breast. He was sobbing and trembling. “We just heard,” she said. “Someone ran in screaming that the monsters had come. I didn’t know what to tell him.”

Richard looked at his wife and wished he had eternity to spend with her. He reached out and rubbed Dillon’s shoulder. “You remember what I said, sweetheart. You do whatever your mother tells you, okay? I will do everything I can to keep us all safe, but you need to stay inside.”

“I can’t let you go out there,” said Jen, her eyes wide and full of tears.

“Jen, I wish you could stop me, but this isn’t going to go away. We have people here that know what’s coming. If we run now, we’ll never stop running. Fighting is the only chance we have.”

She nodded, and a tear spilled down her cheek. “Go.”

Richard turned and ran. He exited the church as the first cry of terror rang out.

Fifty people manned the barricade. Aaron stood in the centre, and it was to him—a mere teenager—that Richard ran. “Aaron, what’s happening?”

“They’re here, boss. They’re coming.”

Richard wobbled and almost fell. Now that it was finally happening, all the talk seemed absurd. They had to run. Surely they couldn’t stay.

“I had everyone link arms,” said Aaron. “It was the only way we could all get up here without knocking each other off.”

Richard nodded. “Good thinking, Aaron. Is there room up there for me?”

Aaron reached out his hand. Richard took it. Then he was up on the barricade, staring down the road with everybody else.

Death was indeed coming.

Just like news had promised, the enemy was a legion of burnt men. They shambled up the hill like zombies, their flesh peeling off in bloody scraps and littering the road. Leading the enemy’s charge was a creature so burned that it was more skeleton than human. A foot taller than the other abominations, it cut a slender figure. Only the loosest slivers of muscle and sinew remained on its frame. Atop its shoulders sat a naked skull. The reason Richard knew it was the enemy leader was because it marched ahead of the line, several feet in front of the legion that followed.

“Oh God,” someone cried. “God help me, please!”

Richard saw movement in the corner of his eye. People fell away from the barricade and ran towards the town. They were fleeing before the battle had even begun.

“Stand and fight! We must stand and fight!”

Aaron remained in place beside Richard and yelled to his friends. “Anyone runs, and I will find you and beat the shit out of you. Let’s show these fuckers the real meaning of Hell.”

Richard’s heart lifted at the sound of the teenagers roaring defiantly.

Something sailed through the air, launching from the safe side of the barricade towards the incoming army. It smashed to pieces in the centre of the road and a fireball ignited. A dozen of the tightly-packed enemy went up in flames, their already burned flesh turning from glistening pink to charred black.

Richard looked back and saw one of Aaron’s friends standing with a crate full of liquor bottles at his feet.

Aaron smirked. “You told us to be ready. Plenty of petrol going to waste in all these cars. Seemed a shame to waste it.”

Richard shook his fist. “Good lad.”

Aaron’s friend lit another petrol bomb and launched it. Flames filled the road and took out more of the enemy. The rest of the barricade—those who had not run—followed suit and started lobbing bricks and chunks of concrete. Most did little to halt the progress of the legion.

“They’re not going to stop,” someone shouted. “This is insane.”

More people abandoned the wall. Those remaining spread out, keeping the line as solid as they could. Aaron leapt down too and for a moment it looked like he was going to run, but he only went to help his friend with the petrol bombs. It was the best weapon they had. Together, the two of them launched rapidly, lighting and throwing one after the other. Fire filled the entire road for fifty metres. Diseased bodies combusted. Others marched through the inferno, limbs smouldering. The smell of burning flesh permeated the air.

Richard understood what Hell must be like.

The enemy leader, Skullface, reached the barricade first, and his proximity caused another rout. Droves of people left the wall, leaving it unmanned in several areas.

Skullface moved right up to the barricade, but did not seek to climb it. He looked down at the ground and growled. The cast iron drainpipes from the church had worked. Demons could not pass iron.

The legion caught up to Skullface and paused at the barricade.

“They can’t pass,” said Richard triumphantly.

Skullface looked up at Richard and glared. Then he snatched out at a burnt man and seized it by the throat. The demon squirmed and fought, but was powerless as the taller monster tossed him at the barricade. It hit the iron drainpipe and exploded, sending chunks of meat everywhere. The concussive force threw a handful of people off the wall.

The iron drainpipe rolled away from the barricade.

Skullface leapt up and grabbed a brave young woman who had stood her ground. She froze as the creature towered over her but did not scream. It grabbed her by her brown hair and tossed her over his shoulder like a shopping bag. She flew twenty feet through the air and landed on her back in the middle of the road. An almighty wheeze escaped her impacted lungs. The enemy ripped her apart. The burnt creatures surrounded her and tore off her legs and arms, before shoving their skinless fingers into her torso until nothing remained but human mash.

Skullface grabbed a piece of the barricade and tossed it aside, exposing a gap for its comrades to infiltrate, then he hopped down on the other side and set upon anyone unlucky enough to be within reach. Two seconds was all it took to pull a screaming man’s head from his shoulders.

The battle was lost. They never even had a chance.

“Fall back!” Richard shouted. “Fall back to the church.”

Even as he said it, he hated himself. His family was at the church.

But he couldn’t let everyone stand and die.

The barricade dissolved as bodies bled from it. People scattered and raced for the church—although many kept on running long after they had passed it. Richard stopped to get Aaron. The lad was still lighting petrol bombs and tossing them. Tears and snot covered his face. “Aaron, we have to go.”

“No, we have to stop them.”

“We can’t do it here. Come on.”

Aaron’s hands shook as he struggled to light another fuse. Richard grabbed the lad’s hands and looked him in the eye. “I need you alive!”

Aaron nodded and allowed Richard to drag him away. Behind them, burned bodies clambered over the barricade. Their hungry moans echoed off the shop windows on either side of the road.

They found Riaz outside the church trying his best to organise the crowd of screaming terrified people. “Grab whatever you can. Stay together. Shoulder to shoulder. Help your neighbour.”

Richard skidded on his heels trying to brake from his full on sprint. His colleague had to steady him.

“Still think this is the smart thing to do?” Riaz asked.

“What choice do we have? Are Jen and Dillon—”

“Still inside the church.”

“Then I want to make sure the enemy stays on the outside.”

“Oh my God!” somebody screamed. The crowd began to split apart.

“Stay together!” Riaz shouted at them again.

Nearby, Aaron’s friends appeared around him. Each brandished knives—something Richard would have pulled them for once—just days ago, everything had been different.

He realised he brandished no weapon of his own, so he moved over to a public bin and wrestled off the top. The plastic lid would make a basic riot shield. He pulled the telescopic baton from his belt and whipped it open.

The enemy came.

People screamed louder, but this time nobody ran. What remained were the people who understood that there was nowhere to run. This was a problem they could not escape.

Skullface was nowhere in sight, and only burnt men attacked the church. An old man swung an axe at the first ones and scored an immediate kill, but his weapon lodged in its skull and left him defenceless. The next monster fell upon him easily. The old man’s wife bellowed in anger and poked holes in the creature’s back with a pair of scissors. The demon went down, but so did the old woman when the next demon grabbed her.

People were dying.

But at least they were taking the enemy down with them.

Richard rallied Aaron and his friends to a charge, and together they threw themselves at the enemy. Richard swung his baton over and over again until his shoulder went numb. The burnt men came apart like roasted chickens, their flesh barely clinging to the bone. They were easy to destroy, but their numbers were endless.

Aaron buried his knife in the eye socket of a creature that came at him from the side. As the thing died, it twisted and fell away, taking the knife with it. Aaron fought the next attacker with his bare hands, tossing it over his leg in a basic judo throw. Then he produced another blade from the back of his jeans and buried it in the thing’s skull. He gave Richard a cheeky wink and got back to fighting.

Richard glanced back towards the church, trying to imagine what Jen and Dillon were doing inside—how scared they must be. It filled him with bone-shaking dread that the enemy moved so close to his family, but his spirit lifted because a crowd of people stood armed and ready. Richard and Aaron’s display of courage had given hope to those watching, and Riaz rallied even further back. They were gaining a foothold.

In front of Richard, Aaron’s group were joined by others—the front line swelling. They hacked and slashed at the burnt men, opening up their sinewy necks and disembowelling them.

Their confidence grew.

They were doing it.

They were standing their ground.

They could win this!

Then Richard heard the screams from inside the church. Suddenly, he realised that everything might already be lost.

* * *

As much as Richard had a duty to protect the people outside the church, his duty as a father and husband came first. He prayed the screams coming from inside were just fear, but the closer he got the more he became certain that something bad was going on inside God’s house.

Riaz tried to grab Richard as he raced past, but Richard dodged him. “I have to check on Jen and Dillon,” he cried out. “Keep fighting. I’ll be back.”

The sight of him running could shake the confidence of those still fighting, but he had no control over his body. His legs carried him into the church on their own volition. He flew through the heavy oak door and scanned left to right, taking in everything but seeing nothing. It was chaos. People clambered over wooden pews and barged Richard aside to escape. He let them go, not interested in their fear, only in Jen and Dillon.

“Jen! Dillon! Where are you?”

“Richard, help!”

Richard spotted his wife at the back of the church behind the altar. It was from that area that people seemed to flee. He did the opposite and raced towards it. What he saw confused him.

“Glen? What are you…?”

Glen was back on his feet, but in no way recovered from his wounds. In fact, his guts hung out the bottom of his shirt. Like the belly of a fish, he was pasty and pale. Reverend Miles cowered up against the chairs of the choir pit as the bleeding officer stalked towards him.

Jen waved her arms at Richard. “Help him!”

Did she mean Glen or Miles?

Richard decided it didn’t matter and flung himself forwards. The first thing he thought when he grabbed Glen around the arms was: So cold. His colleague was the same temperature as the icy church. He was also strong, and when he threw back an elbow, he caught Richard right in the jaw. It dazzled his senses and sent him staggering backwards. His vision tilted, and he fell onto his backside.

Glen then turned back to Miles, grabbing the frightened holy man around the throat and dragging him away from the chairs. “Please,” Miles begged. “You are injured, my son. You need to rest.”

“There are no sons left in this world, preacher, only insect carcasses. The Red Lord will claim you all, and you will serve him with backs broken and eyes gouged. Your whimpers will stretch through eternity, and your Father will cower and hide.”

Miles lifted his chin defiantly. “The Father watches over us all. He does not hide.”

Glen snorted with laughter. He snapped Miles’s neck with one hand and let the vicar’s body slump to the floor of his church.

Richard choked on his own words. “G-Glen, w-what have you done?”

Glen glowered at him and all became clear: this was no longer Glen. His eyes were black cauldrons of hate, and several of his teeth had fallen out.

Richard shuffled backwards, trying to get up without turning his back. “You’re one of them.”

Glen snorted with more laughter. “You are a worm.”

Richard clambered up to his feet in time to dodge Glen’s attempts to grab him. He stumbled over to his wife and pulled her away. “Where’s Dillon?”

“In the vestry.”

“Then let’s get him.”

They leapt down the steps before the altar and jinked into a small anti-chamber at the side of the church. Glen was right on their heels, but Richard had to know his son was okay.

Shirley sat up against the wall clutching her chest. She was dead.

Heart attack?

Dillon was cowering beneath an oak desk. When he spotted Richard his teary eyes sparkled with relief. “Dad!”

“It’s okay, son. It’s—”

Glen bundled into the back of him and sent him sprawling into Jen. She tumbled awkwardly with a pained screech. Seeing his wife hurt made Richard see red, and he spun on Glen with his telescopic baton held high above his head. The blow caught Glen’s shoulder hard enough to push him back.

“Who are you?” Richard demanded.

“I am death,” was all Glen said before launching himself at Richard.

This time Richard made firm contact with Glen’s skull, the baton striking so hard that one of his eyeballs bulged from its socket. Glen slumped to his knees. Like an executioner, Richard brought the baton down again, aiming for the back of the neck.

The blow turned Glen off like a light, and he fell onto his face without a single sound or movement. Richard stood there for a moment, heaving like a rabid beast. His humanity came back to him a moment later, just when he feared it was gone forever, and he spun around to embrace his family.

Jen groped her ankle and hissed through her teeth. “I think… I think it’s just sprained. I’ll be okay.”

“Dad?” Dillon came out from beneath the table. “Mrs Shirley…”

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He gave Dillon the biggest hug ever and didn’t want to let go, but they had to get out of there. No telling what was happening outside.

Jen limped along with his help as they exited the anti-chamber. The church had emptied, and Richard looked back sadly as they left Miles’s body lying on the floor. The vicar had brought them all together and housed them. Without the man’s hospitality, they might be dead.

Outside, Hell had not retreated. Fire still raged in the road and had started to lick at the barricade. People screamed everywhere. Bodies littered the pavement—human and otherwise.

Demon fought man and the fight was bloody. They spilled so much human blood that the floor was slick with it. So much chaos.

Richard trod on something that might have been a length of intestine. “We need to get out of here.”

Jen shook her head, horrified by what she was seeing. “No, we have to help. That monster took Glen’s body and killed Miles. We need to stay and fight these things, Richard.”

“But Dillon?”

Dillon had his head buried in his mother’s shoulder. With Jen’s ankle, they would struggle to escape even if they tried. Their only hope might be to win this fight.

But it was impossible.

Ahead, Riaz came briefly into view. His shirt was torn open, and his baton dripped with blood. He was an animal, teeth bared as he cleaved open skulls with wild abandon. Yet it was hard to spot anybody else because burnt monsters filled every inch of Richard’s vision. He shook his head. “I can’t let us do this. We’re leaving. We’ll find a car and get somewhere. Soon there won’t be anybody left.”

Jen seemed to battle internally, her eyes red and brimming. “Okay, you’re right. We have to get Dillon to safety.”

Richard nodded, glad to have the decision made. “Come on, we’ll head around the back of the post office. There’ll be plenty of cars parked behind it. We’ll think about how to get one started when we get there.”

They began to move. Richard felt fish hooks in his heart as he fled the battle. Could he ever forgive himself? He looked at his terrified son and knew that he would. Still, he could not help himself but to take one last look back at the people he was deserting.

He spotted Aaron, and was glad the lad still lived, but none of his friends had made it. Richard saw them dead in a pile. Aaron sobbed madly as he stabbed and thrust at the enemy. The lad was determined to go down fighting.

What was he doing?

He had to go back. At least try to get those left alive out of there.

“Jen, keep heading for the post office. I’m going to try and—”

His wife’s screams cut him off.

Richard spun around to see Jen in the clutches of a monster. She threw Dillon out of harm’s way, even as Skullface reached down and gouged out her eyes. Her entire body shook, a seizure strong enough to snap her spine. Richard wailed as Skullface slid his fingers so far into his wife’s eye sockets that the back of her skull broke apart.

Jen’s arms flung out to her sides and clutched at thin air.

“Mummy!”

Richard grabbed Dillon and yanked him back. He glared at Skullface and screamed. “You fucking bastard!” He swung the baton with every fibre in his body. The steel connected with chalky white skull bone.

Snap!

It was not the sound of Skullface’s cranium breaking, but that of the telescopic baton breaking in two. Richard stood there in shock as the slender monster before him smiled despite having no lips. Its smouldering eyes seemed ready to erupt into hellish infernos.

Jen’s body slumped to the ground, her ruined skull thumping against the pavement. A jet of fluid shot from her left eye socket. Skullface stamped his foot and turned Jen’s head to dust. The bellow of laughter that followed was mocking, tormenting.

Dillon wailed.

Richard was unarmed, but that didn’t stop him from throwing himself at the creature that had just destroyed the love of his life. He hammered both fists against its rib cage so hard that his knuckles bled. The whole time Skullface just stood there laughing. Eventually, Richard’s arms gave out, and he slumped to one knee. He glared up at his tormentor and spat. “You won’t win.”

Skullface stopped laughing. In a raspy voice like a swarm of bees, he said, “We have already won.”

The abomination raised his bony hand into the air above Richard’s head, ready to strike.

“Daddy!”

Richard closed his eyes. “Run, Dillon. Run wherever you can and hide.”

“No!”

An almighty impact sent Richard onto his back, but when he opened his eyes he saw Leonard, the guy who had brought Glen back to the camp. The man still wore his leather jacket, but it was now ripped and slick with blood. The cricket bat he held in his hand was broken in two, a wide piece embedded in the side of Skullface’s jaw.

The monster staggered, blasting out a ferocious roar.

Leonard grabbed Dillon and pulled him. Looking at Richard, he screamed, “Get up! Those of us left are getting the hell out of here.”

Richard didn’t argue. He scrambled to his feet and ran after the man who had just saved him. But it would all be for nothing. Dillon had just lost his mother.

Richard had just lost his wife.

Skullface was right. The demons had already won.

* * *

The entire area around the church was a bloodbath. Blood formed a river in the road, and the fires had claimed the buildings on either side. Demons swarmed everywhere.

Riaz fought up ahead, gathering those still breathing to his side. Aaron was there too, standing amidst only a dozen survivors—all that remained of nearly a hundred souls. He held a bloody knife in each hand and growled hysterically at the demons racing towards them.

Riaz spotted Richard and came running. “We have to go now. Richard, where’s Jen? We have to move.”

Richard flinched at the sound of his wife’s name.

Riaz seemed to understand. “Shit, sorry.”

“I need to get Dillon to safety.”

Riaz nodded, and they moved in a group, gathering whoever was left.

“Where do we go?” asked Aaron. “Where?”

There were demons everywhere by now. Burnt men stalked every inch of the road and pavement. The only thing giving the survivors a chance was that the demons were occupied with ripping apart the wounded and dying. Dozens moaned on the ground, begging for help, but they were soon silenced by the tearing out of their throats.

“The newspaper,” said Richard.

Riaz frowned. “What?”

“The reporters I spoke to last night, they were from The Slough Echo. It’s nearby.”

“Then let’s go,” said Leonard, jabbing his broken cricket bat into a burnt man’s snarling face.

They altered course and headed across the high street and through an alleyway between two banks. It took them towards the college. The newspaper offices were nearby, housed in a mid-sized office block with giant printing presses visible through the ground-floor windows—Richard had taken Dillon to see them once. It would not withstand a siege, but if they got there without being seen…

They tore through the college car park and campus, Richard hopped an abandoned bicycle and stopping to make sure Dillon kept up. Unlike Aaron, all tears and emotion, Dillon was expressionless, his sunken eyes half closed.

“It’ll be all right, sweetheart.”

Dillon said nothing, but at least he kept on running.

Soon they reached the rear of the campus, heading across a grassy courtyard. The moon hung overhead and made the surface of the grass shimmer like shards of glass. The college structures were unlit rectangles against an inky black sheet.

Movement up ahead.

“Someone’s there,” said Riaz, pointing to a small shack that may have been a bike shelter. “Come on out.”

They all halted in their tracks and stared apprehensively at the small structure ahead. There was most definitely movement coming from its rear edge. At first, it looked like it might be just one person hiding out, but then several shapes emerged from the shadows.

Eventually dozens.

Too many.

Aaron raised his knives up in front of him. “Demons.”

Richard chewed at his bottom lip. Yes, demons, but not like before. These were not burnt men. These were some kind of animal shape—like apes.

Loosing an ear-piercing screech, the pack of creatures spilled out from the bike shed and raced towards Richard’s group. By now, the survivors were used to fighting. No one backed away—not even Dillon.

Richard was still unarmed, so he kicked out at the first creature that came near. He caught it in the torso and sent it onto its back. Before it had time to right itself, Richard stamped on its skull—three times before it stopped moving.

Aaron stabbed and hacked with his knives. Leonard stabbed and swiped with his splintered cricket bat. Riaz swung his baton. The other survivors, who Richard knew only by face, fought bravely too, scraping with whatever they held on to.

But, one by one, the survivors fell. The apes were quick, and dodging them was difficult. A barrel-chested, bearded man beside Richard swung a hammer and missed. Off balance, he could not fight back as one of the snarling apes clawed at his neck and dug out a bundle of nerves, veins, and tendons. It looked like spaghetti.

More creatures emerged from the shadows between the buildings. More apes came.

Richard was sweating, his mouth hanging open as he fought for breath. He backed up against Dillon, keeping his son behind him. His fight was almost gone, but what could he do? The Church lay at his back along with certain death, but the way forward was no better. They were all going to die. Dillon would be alone as monsters feasted upon his flesh. The thought reignited Richard’s fury and allowed him to fight on a while longer, but it couldn’t last forever. His fellow survivors continued falling around him while the enemy continued to grow.

Riaz fell to one knee, bleeding from his shoulder. Leonard stumbled, looking ready to drop dead. Demon and human blood filled the chilly night air like a heavy mist. The smell of war was rancid.

“I’m done,” said Aaron, now in possession of only a single knife. “I can’t fight anymore.”

They backed up against one another, forming a semi-circle with Dillon in the centre. Richard, Aaron, Riaz, and Leonard. All that was left of a hundred refugees from the church. Richard kicked out, but then fell to his knees. His head hung, exhausted. The next attack would kill him. He couldn’t lift an arm.

They were done. Finished.

A creature reared up, prepared to pounce on its weakened prey.

Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!

The ape’s head disappeared from its shoulders. Several of its brethren fell too. Gunfire broke out and echoed off the tall buildings. The sound of salvation. Richard had been saved for a second time tonight.

“It’s the fucking Army,” cried Aaron.

But it was not the Army. Only a single rifle rang out.

Yet, the sudden attack at the demon’s flanks had been enough to disorientate them. They broke apart in confusion, not knowing where the attack was coming from.

Tat-tat-tat.

More of the demons fell. Rifle shots perfectly aimed.

“Over there!” Riaz pointed. “Over there.”

Richard looked up and saw three people across the road. Only one of them was a soldier, but his two companions were waving them over. Come on!

“Go!” said Richard, grabbing Dillon and getting them moving. While the demons were suppressed, the group was able to get a head start and got across the road without resistance. There, they were grabbed by the three strangers.

“Move!” said the soldier, lining up another barrage of well-placed shots.

They reached the T-junction at the end of the road. At the bottom of the hill lay the police station, where Richard assumed they might be headed, but instead the soldier led them along another side road—towards The Slough Echo.

“You’re the soldier from last night,” said Richard.

“Corporal Martin. You were the copper we spoke to?”

“Yes.”

“Good to see you again.”

“Likewise.”

They carried on running, right up to the doors of the Echo which had been barricaded from the inside. A man waited there and moved furniture aside to let them through the door. He was severely injured, entire face glistening with fresh burns. One eye seared shut. Richard recognised the man from his clothes and what remained of his greying hair. It was one of the two reporters who had been in the jeep with Corporal Martin last night. What had happened to him?

“Some racket you made out there,” the disfigured man said.

Corporal Martin grunted. “If I hadn’t made noise, I wouldn’t have got these folks in one piece.”

Together, they shoved the barricade back in place and raced up a stairwell that filled the lobby. They went up several flights before they stopped.

The disfigured man appraised them then. “Are you all that’s left?”

Richard nodded. “A lot of us ran when the battle began, but we’re the only ones left who stayed and fought.”

“Then you are worth ten of those who fled,” Corporal Martin told them.

Richard sighed. “They were just scared. I knew it would happen. For a while, it looked like we might make it, but then…” Richard thought about Skullface and what the demon had done to Jen.

Corporal Martin patted him on the back. “Let’s go inside.”

They headed through a set of double doors and entered a busy office. It could be forgivable to think all was normal with the world if the newsroom was anything to go by. Reporters tapped away at keyboards while runners moved between desks with bundles of paper. Richard looked for the female reporter he had spoken to, but couldn’t spot her.

An old woman came spilling out of an office and threw her arms out. “Welcome! I’m so glad to see someone else alive in this shit-stinking acid trip.”

Leonard was the least shell-shocked, apparently, because he was the first to step forward and offer a handshake. “Thank you for rescuing us.”

The woman shook his hand. “I’d been hoping for more of you. I’m Carol, and I run the Echo.”

“H-How did you know about us?” asked Richard.

The old woman smiled. “Your colleague, Glen, came to us this morning. Said he was gathering up survivors to defend the town.” She looked at each of them and then let her smile drop. “I take it he isn’t amongst you? Shame, he promised me a drink after all this was over.”

Richard was surprised to hear that Glen had been here. Obviously, it had been before he was… possessed… or whatever had happened to him. “Why did Glen come here?”

“He wanted us to post something on the website, telling people to head to the church. We did, but I admit it only got a few hits. Most of our traffic is coming from all over the globe, not so much of it local.”

Riaz frowned. “Why is the world interested in a local newspaper?”

Carol grinned. “Because we are the last bastion of knowledge in this war. Yesterday, one of our reporters, Mina, set up a website sharing whatever we could find out about the demons. It’s been helping people. Do you know that a few hours ago, someone closed one of those gates? Did you know that iron wards off the bastards? These are things we can use. Soon as we find them out, we share ‘em on the net.”

Aaron chuckled. “You’re like the underground resistance or something.”

Carol pinched the lad’s cheek like he was eight. “That we are, lad. Can’t let those buggers have it all their own way, can we?” She waved an arm at the office behind her. “Take a seat. I’ll get you all a cuppa. You’ve already met Corporal Martin, and Tom and Annie.”

Corporal Martin had already wandered off, but Tom and Annie nodded hello. They were obviously a couple because the tiny brunette leaned her head against the taller blond man as she spoke. “We went to the police station for help this morning, but no one was there. Corporal Martin found us and brought us here. Seemed like the least we could do was help bring you guys in.”

Richard looked at her. “There was no one there?”

“No. We looked everywhere, but it was abandoned. The cells were all open, and it looked like maybe there’d been a scuffle. No one was around.”

“Damn it,” said Riaz.

Carol looked at Riaz. “Do you know if the police force is still intact? London fell last night, but we haven’t been able to find out if there’s still a force in place.”

Riaz shrugged. “Last I heard, all local uniforms had headed to the city. I have no idea what forces in the other regions are doing.”

“Same is true of the ambulance service,” said a voice Richard recognised.

“Oliver? The paramedic from yesterday morning?”

The tall, shaven-headed man smiled. “Seems like forever ago, doesn’t it? You never called.”

“Sorry, things have been bad.”

Oliver patted him on the shoulder. “For us all. I’m glad to see you again. I was planning to head home, but my ambulance got knocked off the road by some cheese dick in an Alfa Romeo. Pure luck someone spotted me from the windows of this place. I’m not used to standing around in an emergency doing nothing, but I don’t know what else to do. I just wish I knew more.”

Carol tucked a bunch of her greying blonde hair behind her ear. “No news is good news.”

“Strange motto for a newspaper,” said Leonard.

“And you’d be right. Anyway, enough doom and gloom. Who is this handsome young man we have here?” She was talking about Dillon and moved gently towards him, reached out to touch his face.

Dillon remained expressionless, but muttered, “Hello.”

“You’ve had a tough time, huh, my lovely? Never mind, you’re safe now.”

“Mummy.”

Carol was a smart enough woman to understand. She nodded compassionately. “She’s in a better place now. If a person ever needed proof of Heaven, then Hell on earth is that. Must be a God and angels if there are demons, don’t you think?”

Dillon nodded. A single tear spilled down his cheek, and his bottom lip quivered.

Carol touched his chin and lifted his head. “No need to be upset, my lovely. I have someone you should meet. Alice? Alice, where are you?”

A little girl appeared from underneath a desk. She had an unopened chocolate bar in her hand and a smudge of a previous one on her cheek. Her face was sullen, not innocent like a child’s should be. “What is it, auntie Carol?”

“I want you to welcome our new friend…”

“Dillon,” said Richard.

“Dillon. He’s had a tough time, just like you, so I want the two of you to stick together, please.”

Alice nodded. She looked at Dillon, but didn’t gawp at his Down features. She offered out the chocolate bar. “I used to share with my brother, Kyle, but the monsters got him. I can share with you now, if you like?”

Tentatively, Dillon reached out and took the chocolate bar. “T-Thank you. I lost my mummy.”

Alice nodded. “I bet you miss her. I miss my brother. We can miss them both together.”

“Go on, you two,” said Carol. “Go play in the fort Corporal Martin built for you.”

Alice nodded and took Dillon by the hand. Richard felt his heart lurch at the sight of his traumatised son taking the little girl’s hand and allowing himself to be led away. Even after all the bloodshed of the last couple of days, there was still kindness in the world.

How much longer could it last?

“How bad are things?” Richard asked Carol. The woman was a tough old bird, he could see it written into every crease of her face, but the question drew a dark veil across her face that seemed like it might suffocate her.

“As bad as they can be without being over. London and New York are both graveyards. Tokyo, Paris, Melbourne, Chicago, I could go on. The world is finished. We’ve been invaded, successfully. All we can do now is try to survive. There’s a massive movement assembling in Turkey right now led by the Yanks. The Russians say they’re holding their own, but who knows. Corporal Martin has been in touch with what’s left of our Armed Forces here at home, and they’re in the process of fortifying Portsmouth. Several battalions stationed abroad are on their way back. Humanity is still alive and kicking, but we’re bleeding from every orifice.”

Richard collapsed into a nearby chair and placed his hands on his knees. He vomited on the carpet. Afterwards, he wiped his mouth and apologised.

Carol shrugged. “You know how much blood and puke I’ve seen lately?”

“Not as much as we have. I watched my wife get her head crushed by a seven-foot skeleton. What the Hell are these things?”

“Demons. Did you ever think they were anything else? Those gates lead straight to Hell, I would bank my pension on it. We are at war with Lucifer’s legions.”

Riaz snorted. “You can’t verify that.”

Carol raised an eyebrow. “Want a bet?”

“How?”

“I can verify it because we captured one of the bastards alive and have him locked in a cupboard.”

They all laughed, except for Carol who never changed her expression.

“What? You’re telling the truth?” said Aaron.

Carol smirked. “David, show them.”

The disfigured man appeared and nodded to the door behind him. “Right this way, ladies and gentlemen.”

They went back out into the hallway where David opened a door to a broom closet. Inside, tied to a chair, were the remains of a human being. It blinked at them when they turned on the light.

Vamps

Vamps ducked behind an abandoned tour bus and tried to understand what he was seeing. After escaping the warehouse, they had found themselves on Oxford Street outside the Selfridges building.

Where it all began. Where the London Gate had opened and spilled evil upon the city.

And the gate was still open, its glow lighting up the night making it seem like day.

“I can’t believe what I’m seeing,” said Mass. “Now that we’re looking right at it…”

Vamps nodded. “I know, Mass. I know.”

“Come on, you pussies,” said Pusher, already moving along the side of the bus with his two guys. “Time to get the fuck out of here.”

But Vamps didn’t move. The gate was a hundred metres further down Oxford Street, but even at that distance, he could see the huddled masses of human beings cowering before the shimmering lens. Demons moved everywhere, lining the street, but the section of road directly before the gate was filled only with frightened people—chained up like the ones Vamps had seen Prime Minister Windsor hand over.

What were the demons doing? Why were they keeping people alive?

“We can’t leave all these people,” said Vamps. “They need our help.”

Pusher stopped moving and looked back. “Are you fucking kidding me? We need to run. Look at your ginger muppet. He’s lost the plot.”

Vamps looked at Ginge and rubbed his friend’s wide back. He had not said a word since Ravy had died on the floor of their cell. “He’s fine. He’ll be fine.”

Pusher sniggered. “Yeah, whatever, mate. He’ll get you sodding killed. Unless you leg it right now.”

Vamps looked back at the people huddled in front of the gate. He winced when he saw one of the demons step forward to grab a young girl—a child—and hoist her up against the shimmering lens.

“Mass, we have to help them, right? Mass?”

“I dunno, man. What can we do? There are a hundred of them monsters there.”

The gate pulsed, and the little girl screamed. The demon holding her pulled out her arm and held it straight. Something glinted in the light and streaked across the poor girl’s flesh. She screamed again and blood jetted out of her wrist. She tried to struggle, but the demon held her in place. Eventually, her struggles weakened, and the only thing holding her on her feet was the demon.

The gate pulsed faster. A bolt of lightning shot out, struck the girl in her chest. She bucked and seized, but then stood straight and shoved aside the demon holding her. The little girl turned around, wickedness glowing in her eyes.

“I think they just possessed her,” said Vamps, feeling sick. “She’s… she’s one of them now. What the fuck?! That’s why they have all those people chained up! They want to possess them!”

“Then we don’t have no choice,” said Mass.

Vamps looked at his friend.

“We have to help those people.”

Vamps grabbed his friend’s hand. They pulled each other close and enjoyed the last moment of peace they might ever get as they were probably about to throw away their lives.

They had no choice.

Vamps turned to get Ginge, to try one more time to talk his friend back to reality, but he was taken by surprise when Pusher grabbed Ginge by the back of the shirt and tossed him into the road. Ginge tripped over his own feet and sprawled against the tarmac. Instinctively, both Vamps and Mass ran to gather him back up, but as they did, Pusher yelled at the top of his lungs, “Hey bitches, enjoy Hell.”

The shout was loud enough to alert the demons at the gate.

Pusher and his two guys legged it into an alleyway and were gone from sight in seconds.

Vamps and Mass tried to pick up Ginge, but he was a dead weight, not even trying to help them by standing. No matter what they did, they could not get him moving. But no way were they leaving him.

Vamps looked at Mass, who looked back at him. Both of them were scared, but neither was about to leave the other. They were family, and that was how brothers on the street lived and died.

“I got your back,” said Mass.

Vamps nodded. “And I got yours, brother.”

They managed to get Ginge to his feet just as the demons surrounded them. At least Vamps had been able to hide his grandfather’s Browning under his t-shirt before they grabbed him.

* * *

Witnessing a mass of demons racing through the night towards you is terrifying, it doesn’t matter who you are or how tough you might be. That was why Vamps found himself shaking for the first time in his life.

The burnt men were accompanied by their ape-like companions, and other demons more human—more like greying zombies. There were also a couple of flesh-and-blood human beings, but their eyes were pure Hell. They were possessed.

“You want to fight?” Mass asked, holding Ginge against his big chest so that their friend didn’t see what was coming.

Vamps shook his head. “Not yet. We fight now, we die. Maybe later.”

“Later we’ll probably be dead too.”

“But not for certain. We fight now and it’s certain.”

Mass let his body relax just as the demons fell upon them. Vamps swore as a burnt man clobbered him around the back of the head and shoved him. Before he had chance to shake it off, he was grabbed on either side and restrained. One of the ape-like creatures backhanded him with one of its long, bony arms. Vamps saw stars and went limp as they dragged him away, but turned his head enough to see that Mass and Ginge were being brought along too. Least they were still together.

Being this close to the demons—with them actually touching him—made it hard to breathe. The air was like spoiled fish on a barbecue.

What lay ahead was worse.

Further up Oxford Street, the imposing gate shimmered in all its wretched glory. Before it huddled a mass of frightened people, as many children as adults. Their fear was intoxicating. It made Vamps want to throw up.

“Sssit down,” one the demons hissed. Vamps was about to oblige, but the thing hit him in the back of the shoulders. It knocked the wind from his lungs, and he ended up panting on his hands and knees. Mass and Ginge got clobbered too, but Ginge didn’t cry out. He was too far gone to even register pain.

Vamps reached out and touched Ginge’s arm. “Ginge, man. Please!”

One of the demons kicked Vamps in the backside. “Quiet!”

That the demons could speak was frightening. Vamps had considered them monsters until now, but they were more intelligent than that—monsters with an agenda, enemy soldiers that could be cruel and vicious all on their own. They were so confident of their own strength that most of the prisoners weren’t even secured. Their fear kept them in place.

Vamps shuffled up beside his friends and kept his mouth shut. He still had to believe there would be an opening—not just to escape, but to help some of these people. Pusher may have screwed them over, but Vamps was right where he had been intending to be—sat in the road in the heart of the city with his family beside him. If he was going to die, better it be here. If he was going to live, better to fight here.

The demons grabbed a young man—perhaps thirty—and shoved him towards the gate. His screaming face was awash with snot and tears. “Please, I have a family. I have children. I’m a school teacher.”

A burnt man whacked the man in the kidneys and shut him up. Then sliced open his wrist. “You are nothing.”

The gate shimmered and popped.

Another lightning bolt.

It struck the man the same way it had struck the girl. Only a few seconds passed before he turned around and smiled at his comrades. “My brothers!” The school teacher now spoke with a German accent. “My brothers, thank you. I am back in this world of eternal struggle, and I am ready to fight!”

The demons continued their work, shoving people up against the gate and bleeding them. All manner of accents materialised. Vamps heard people change their speech to German, Spanish, French, and many tongues unrecognisable.

Who was possessing these people, and why had they not been able to escape through the gates like the other demons?

The latest possessed soul spoke with an Arabic accent or similar. The young woman in broken spectacles looked bizarre as she spouted off fiercely. “Ha! I stand in their graveyards as I swore to do one day. I topple their towers and ruin their greatest city. I stab fear into their hearts. But I knew nothing of true terror. Now, I will bring this degenerate world to its knees. The Red Lord will reign.”

Mass looked at Vamps and raised an eyebrow. “Man, I think that’s Bin Laden.”

Vamps said nothing to that. It was absurd. So why did he believe it might be true?

The huddle of frightened people grew smaller with each sacrifice, and the buffer between the gate and Vamps reduced. He wanted to help, yet for thirty minutes he sat and did nothing whilst people had their bodies taken over. Soon he, Mass, and Ginge would suffer the same fate. So why wasn’t he doing something?

Because he had absolutely no idea what to do.

He looked at Mass. “I think it’s time to fight.”

“Really? Shall I take the forty demons on my right, and you take the fifty on your left?”

“Maybe these other people will join us if we start something.”

Mass scanned the trembling, white-faced people. “I don’t think so, blud.”

Vamp sighed, nodded, sighed again. “Then I guess this is it. The Brixton Boys’ last stand.”

Mass sighed too. “Time to die?”

“I think so. You got my back?”

Mass punched his palm. “Till the grave, Jamal.”

The mention of his birth name almost wrecked Vamps. Thoughts of his old dear—the only person who called him Jamal—and the friends he had known and lost, made him want to weep. But it also made him angry. Angry that these fucking demons thought they deserved another shot at the world after screwing up the first time round. They belonged in Hell. They had no right to be here.

Vamps nodded at Mass. “Let’s do this.”

“Quiet!” One of the zombie-like demons marched towards them, looking like a middle-aged postal worker with jaundice. Before the demon struck him, Vamps leapt up and head-butted the fucker right in the face. Mass leapt up and grabbed him around the neck before he fell.

Snap!

Mass let the dead demon fall to the ground where its face fell unnaturally to the side on a broken neck.

All Hell broke loose as the remaining survivors screamed and cowered. Some leapt up to join the fight, but not enough. This was a fight they would all die fighting.

Vamps was okay with that.

He pulled out his Browning and popped the nearest burnt man in the head. Then he swivelled and aimed another shot into an ape’s face. The next trigger pull brought the echoing click of an empty chamber, so he took down the third demon by smashing the old wooden butt into its face. The scrap of skull between its eyes crumpled and blood filled both eyes.

“Lights out, motherfucker!”

Vamps turned and saw Mass perform a double leg take down, not on a demon but on a gun toting human who was working with the demons. One of Windsors’ men. He knocked the wind out of the son-of-a-bitch and took his pistol. He shoved the muzzle in the guy’s mouth and pulled the trigger without pause. It was messy.

Vamps thought of the rapist he had shot, and froze for a second. Everything around him moved in slow motion, and he wondered if he was paralysed. All sound merged into a single, high-pitched buzz. The only smell was blood.

He was in Hell.

Then he was back.

Back in a world where killing was no longer avoidable.

Mass leapt up and continued firing shots, rounds flying all over the place and striking demons in the kneecaps and arms. One bullet even hit a kid, but there was no time for guilt. These people were dead anyway unless Vamps and Mass somehow pulled off a scene to rival Sparta.

Vamps remembered Ginge and spun around to get him. Surprisingly, the big lad was on his feet. Vamps grabbed him by both arms and looked into his eyes. “Help us, Ginge. Help us get the fuck out of this.”

Ginge stared straight through him. He turned away like he’d just remembered he’d needed to be somewhere. Vamps cursed.

The three or four men who had leapt up to join the fight were now dead—torn to pieces. It had seemed like only thirty-seconds since they had first jumped up. That was how quick it was between a man living and dying in this new world.

But Vamps was still alive, and so were his friends.

Vamps’s focus had still been on Ginge, which led to him being blindsided by a burnt man, but Mass was there to grab the monster in a rear naked choke and pull it away. Vamps stamped on one of its knees to make the struggle a little less strenuous. Mass broke another neck and threw the demon to the ground, but he was tired and panting.

Vamps was tired too.

A hundred demons surrounded them—a giant net closing in. The enemy had stopped rushing in so carelessly though, now approaching slowly and methodically. Vamps smirked that a legion from Hell was being cautious around him and Mass. It was something he could hold on to if this was the moment of his death. He had died as one hard-as-nails motherfucker.

They were about to rush back into the fray when something blasted down Oxford Street. Windows either side of the road that were not already broken now shattered into a million pieces. The demons stopped their attack and stared upwards. Mass and Vamps exchanged glances and realised that something was behind them. The blasting roar had come from further down the road.

“Should you go first or should I?” asked Vamps.

Mass swallowed. “I’ll go.”

“Okay.”

Slowly, Mass turned around to face the other way. Once he had, his eyes almost popped out of his head. “Fuck me.”

Vamps swallowed and turned around too. His eyes went even wider than his friend’s. “I was hoping I’d imagined that thing.”

The giant stared down at them both, a huge monster glaring at a pair of ants.

Hernandez

The shot echoed off the deck, but the sound it made as it struck Danza was muted. Nothing more than a soft thud. The look on Danza’s face was also muted—in fact, he seemed more confused than anything else.

Then the Lieutenant fell to one knee. A rosette of blood bloomed in the centre of his chest. His breaths wheezed, like air escaping from a tyre.

Hernandez clenched his jaw and made sure Danza looked at him as he spoke. Dusk cast a shadow across his face—or maybe it was the man’s light fading. “You forget yourself, Lieutenant.”

Danza opened his mouth, but instead of words, only blood spilled out. The man fell onto his belly and died like a fish. Hernandez let his weapon rest by his side, but spun to address his crew. “You all forget yourselves! When Commander Johnson fell, the Augusta became mine. I will not tolerate mutiny—not when the world itself is at stake. I seek only to aid my country. As Navy men and women, you all vowed to do the same. So I ask you, what exactly is the problem? Why heed the words of a weasel like the one who lies dead at my feet?”

Silence. Nobody dared answer the question.

Hernandez re-holstered his weapon and allowed his anger to subside. “Good, then I expect you all to follow orders from now on. Without exception.” He turned to Cuervo, who smiled nervously yet affectionately. “Lieutenant Cuervo is my second-in-command. You will all obey her as you obey me.”

“She’s just an Ensign,” someone muttered.

Hernandez scanned the crowd. “Right now, she is the only one I trust to carry out my orders. Dismissed.”

Hernandez turned on his heel to leave, but before he did, he motioned for Cuervo to follow him. She followed along without complaint, but there was something about the way she glanced at him that suggested she feared him. That was good.

As they walked in silence, it occurred to Hernandez that he didn’t know where he was heading. Then it came to him, and he knew exactly where to go.

Johnson’s cabin was his now, more spacious than any other on board. The man’s things lay everywhere, and Hernandez was quick to hide away the former commander’s family pictures in a drawer.

“Would you like me to store all of Commander Johnson’s things for you?”

Hernandez looked at Cuervo and smiled. “You are a senior officer now, Lieutenant. You don’t tidy up. Have someone else do it later. I just wanted to come here and take a look for now.”

She looked at him and smiled, then downwards like she was suddenly embarrassed.

“What is it, Cuervo? You can speak freely.”

“I thought what you did was brave. Dealing with Danza the way you did. I can’t believe he was about to stage a mutiny at a time like this.”

“You don’t mind that I killed him?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think the rules apply anymore. I didn’t enjoy it, but I think it had to happen. Only the strong will survive now.”

He took a step towards her. “Or those who align themselves with such.”

She looked at the metre of carpet between them then back up at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off with a kiss—a kiss unlike any he had ever given before. It was powerful and confident. He was powerful and confident.

He was the commander of this ship.

There was no hesitation as he ripped off Cuervo’s shirt. He wanted her, and she was his.

And for the next two hours, they made Commander Johnson’s bed their own.

* * *

The knock at the Captain’s door woke Hernandez’s body first, his mind second. He quickly filled with anger. Cuervo was naked beside him and radiated the most heavenly warmth, and the feel of her bare feet rubbing against his shin was enough to renew his erection.

The unannounced visitor at the door better have a good reason for disturbing him.

“Wait there!” Hernandez grunted and put on his uniform. Cuervo did the same, which was a shrewd move. Hernandez did not care whether his men knew he was screwing the Lieutenant, but Cuervo would already have a hard time trying to gain their respect. No reason to give the crew ammunition for their slurs.

Before Hernandez got his shoes on, the door burst open, and Outerbridge stepped through. Other men stood with him.

“What is the meaning of this?” Hernandez demanded. He marched up to the ship’s disgraced sniper and raised his fist in the man’s face.

Outerbridge head-butted him ferociously.

Cuervo yelped.

Hernandez staggered backwards. He righted himself on the bed, hands falling upon dampened sheets, and then tried to face his attacker. But tears filled his eyes and blood clogged his sinuses. He could see nothing but his own pain.

Outerbridge had struck him. The wretched slug. How dare he? How dare—

Hernandez was grabbed by both arms and yanked across the room, any argument he was about to present abruptly halted by an elbow across the jaw. They dragged him through the corridors while a dozen men and women jeered. What the hell is going on?

They took him out on deck and threw him unceremoniously to the ground. He made it back up to his knees before something froze him stiff. “D-Danza?”

Danza looked like death, sweaty and pale in the moonlight that had risen overhead since Hernandez had last been outside. The crew had placed him into a wheelchair, and the ship’s doctor stood beside him. When he spoke, he sounded winded, and in pain. “When you shoot a man, Hernandez, you should try to avoid the breast bone. It’s the best piece of armour a man has.” He moved his trembling hand over the centre of his chest and winced. “I might just get to live. Which is more than I can say for you.”

Hernandez snarled. “You have no right.”

“As you had no right to play executioner. You are not fit for command, Hernandez, or to even have a place aboard this ship. We are proud men and women of the US Navy, and your presence shames us. You are a self-serving coward. And a murderer.”

“I am no such thing. You live!”

Danza laughed even though it pained him. “Did you shoot Johnson the way you shot me?”

“Johnson was a fool who didn’t know when to run.”

“He was a brave man worthy of command. You are a coward worthy only of death.”

Hernandez wanted to keel over and vomit, but he would not give his rival the satisfaction. “Then get it over with.”

Danza nodded. He reached gingerly to his side and pulled out his service pistol. When he pointed it at Hernandez he frowned. “If any person on this ship objects to the execution of former officer Hernandez, please say so now. I do not intend to run this ship as an unquestioned king.”

Nobody spoke up in Hernandez’s defence.

“Cowards,” Hernandez snarled at them. “I am your commander!”

Danza lowered his pistol and placed it down across his knees. He seemed to think for a moment. “On second thought, it takes far greater virtue to release one’s enemy than to kill him. I will not stain the Augusta with any more blood, and truthfully, you do not deserve to die upon its decks. Outerbridge, I think we should put this piece of sludge in a lifeboat and let the sea take him. Maybe it will give him some time to think about his many mistakes.”

Outerbridge laughed. He reached down and grabbed Hernandez around the collar and yanked him off his knees.

“You can’t do this,” Hernandez cried. “It’s illegal! This is my ship!”

“I’ll tell you what,” said Danza. “Apologise to me, right here and now, and I’ll let you live out the rest of your days in the brig.”

“What?”

“I said apologise.”

Hernandez clenched his fists. “I apologise for nothing.” He swung a punch at Outerbridge, and the sniper fell, but another crewman took his place, and Hernandez was beaten back down to his knees.

“Very well,” said Danza. “Take him.”

Outerbridge got up and grabbed Hernandez by the collar again, this time even more roughly. Someone stamped on the former officer’s ankle, making him remember he was barefooted. It added to his humiliation in some way. Outerbridge forced his arm behind his back and manhandled him into one of the ship’s lifeboats. Before he could try to climb out, the man punched him hard in the face, assuring his nose was broken.

Hernandez sobbed, but stopped himself. He turned the outpouring into a growl. “I will kill you all.”

Outerbridge sniggered. “No, you won’t. Better you turn your mind to fishing. Maybe then you’ll make it through the week. Oh, and one other thing, take your whore with you.”

“No, please. No.”

Cuervo appeared at the edge of the boat and then was thrown head over heels to join Hernandez. Her head cracked loudly as it struck one of the bolts fastening the bench to the floor. Her cries stopped and transformed into meek sobs. Instinctively, Hernandez reached out and touched her. An entire crew, and she was the only one on his side. Now she had been pulled down with him.

Danza did not appear, probably too weak to leave his wheelchair, but his voice came over the railings clear enough. “I wish you luck, Hernandez. You always wanted to be commander of your own ship. I have given you your wish. May we never meet again.”

The winch started up, and the lifeboat lowered towards the water.

Soon the Atlantic would take him.

Rick Bastion

Rick and Daniel followed along undetected for more than an hour. Dawn now nibbled at the horizon, and the prospect of daylight changed things significantly. It was one thing creeping around behind a column of demons in the dark, but in daylight?

“We need to fall back further,” said Daniel weakly. The Fallen Angel was growing increasingly short of breath. His injuries were not healing, and he needed to rest. If they stopped, though, the demons would move on and disappear. Keith, Maddy, and Diane might be gone forever—if they were even amongst the poor huddled masses being moved along like cattle.

“We can’t fall back anymore,” said Rick. “We’ll lose sight of them.”

Even now, the demons were several hundred yards ahead. The motorway stretched on in a straight line for miles, which aided visibility, but the sheer amount of stalled traffic made it hard to pursue. The easiest thing to follow was the noise—the moans and cries of the captives a beacon for Rick and Daniel to lock onto.

Daniel slinked through a gap between a lorry and a caravan. “Once the sun is fully up, it will only take one of those demons to take a look back over his shoulder to spot us.”

“We’ll keep low, move behind cars. I have to know if Maddy and the others are with them. I can’t leave them.”

“In the case of your brother, that might be the exact thing you should do.”

“You know, for a former angel you’re not very Christian.”

“Jesus was before my time.”

Rick stopped for a second. “But he did exist?”

“There are lots of things in this universe that existed and exist. Reality stretches further than your eyes see.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that what is happening here is just a drop in the ocean. Even God is tiny in the grand scheme of things. He’s a soldier, like everyone else.”

“A soldier? Daniel, what are you talking about?”

“Never mind. It would be hard for you to understand.”

Rick blinked a few times. He was tired, and his eyes were getting fuzzy. How much longer could he keep going along the motorway? Safety lay to the south not north. Should he turn back?

Could he?

No.

“We have to keep going, Daniel. I—”

“Shh. Something’s happening up ahead.”

Rick squinted. “What?”

“Look! There’s a gate further down.”

Rick’s stomach filled with lead as he spotted the shimmering lens on the horizon. It was about a mile down the road, tiny at this range but bright enough to light up the dim grey of dawn around it.

“Is this bad?” he asked Daniel.

“It’s what I suspected.”

Rick looked at him and waited for something more.

Daniel shook his head. “It’s a prison break.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s get up in those hills ahead. We need to get a good look at things before we decide what to do.”

“So there is something we can do?”

“That’s the good thing about being human, isn’t it? There’s always something you can do. Even if it’s stupid.”

They climbed the barrier at the edge of the motorway and clambered through the ditch. They pushed through the hedges, and once in the nearby fields, stayed hidden from sight of the motorway. Rick could only just see the fringes of glimmering light through the trees, but they hurried through the long grass until they were right in line with it.

Daniel and Rick peered through the bushes.

Demons amassed outside the twenty-foot gate, and seeing one up close made Rick’s skin tighten. It was like standing next to a hungry lion—something in his body tingled at being so close to something so dangerous.

The legion of demons arrived and gathered around the gate, shoving their chained captives to the ground.

“How many of these gates are there?” Rick asked Daniel in a whispered tone.

“Six-hundred and sixty-six.”

“Six-six-six. Like the number of the beast?”

“No, like the number of seals God placed upon the earth to keep it safe. One seal for each adversary.”

Rick was struggling to understand. “What adversaries? I thought Lucifer was God’s adversary.”

Daniel chuckled quietly. “Lucifer is a naughty child. The six hundred and sixty six Adversaries are something else entirely. They are equal to God—cut from the same celestial cloth. Each of them yearns for power, and that power exists within life. The life that fills each plant, every moth, and billions of human beings on every single plane of existence. The more worlds conquered by the Adversaries, the stronger they get, and the weaker God becomes.”

“I don’t understand any of what you just said.”

“How could you, Rick? God sacrificed his power to bind his kin. God was the strongest of the Adversaries—the six hundred and sixty seventh—and all the others envied and resented him. A fight brewed, one that threatened the very fabric of existence, so God used his vast power to castrate the Adversaries, himself included. God rendered their powers inert, preventing their ability to act upon the earths. In doing so, God left you all to fend for yourselves. That is why the prayers of men go unanswered.”

“He did it to protect us?”

“To protect everything. This was even before the time of Angels.”

“So what’s happening now? Who opened the gates?”

“The Black Ram.”

Rick laughed. “Are you winding me up? This sounds like a bad novel.”

Daniel shrugged. “I suppose it does. The Black Ram is a man—just a man—but he has existed almost since the beginning of time. He has learned to move between the worlds and has assembled a secret society known as the Black Strand. It is they who have put into motion the destruction, not only of this planet, but of many. Each world that falls weakens God, for his power is derived from us. Inside the heart of every man and animal is His essence. When you kill a man, you kill part of God. To kill billions would weaken Him substantially. He is at war; without an army.”

“What about the angels?”

“Ineffectual. The seals prevent them from acting upon the earth also.”

“But the seals on this world are broken. The Fallen Angels are here, so why not the good angels?”

Using the word ‘good’ to describe the other angels but not Daniel appeared to hurt him. He closed his eyes for a moment. “I don’t know why Heaven’s angels are not here. I can only imagine it’s because they have their hands full. This is not God’s only battle.”

Rick was going to ask more questions, but the sound of screaming cut him off. He peered through the bushes and saw that the demons were grabbing people off the ground and shoving them towards the gate. A woman screeched like a bomb siren as a demon slit open her wrists.

“They’re using them as vessels,” said Daniel. “The very worst souls in Hell are relieved of physical form and doomed to burn in the darkest, most painful pits of the Abyss. Matter cannot exist in the Abyss—only pain and torment. These wicked souls could not pass through the gates like the others, for they lacked the freedom to move.”

“They had no bodies,” said Rick, hating the fact that he understood.

Daniel nodded. “The only way to bring them here is to give them bodies—vessels. Draining them of blood weakens them and reduces the amount of iron in their bodies.”

A bolt of lightning shot from the gate and hit the screaming woman. When she turned around, her eyes were smouldering black stones. A crooked grin distorted her face.

“The worst men and women in history,” said Daniel. “Coming home.”

The possessed woman grabbed a small boy from the floor and shoved him, screaming, towards the gate. She opened his throat with her teeth. The gate began to vibrate and shimmer.

“Leave him alone,” someone shouted.

Rick moved his head to see past a bunch of branches and saw a woman leap up and run to help the boy.

It was Maddy.

Daniel grabbed Rick. “Wait.”

“We can’t. She’s in danger.”

A burnt man leapt in front of Maddy and backhanded her across the face. She fell to the ground, clutching her cheek. Another bolt of lightning shot from the gate and hit the boy. A few seconds later he threw his arms around the woman who had bit him and hugged her. “Mummy.”

Rick glanced at Daniel. “Who the hell are they?”

“Carmilla and Edward Stokes.”

“Who?”

“Carmilla was a doctor who lived near White Chapel. Her twelve year old son wanted to be a surgeon. Carmilla wanted to teach him.”

“White Chapel? You mean he… they were Jack the Ripper?”

Daniel nodded. “Yes. Carmilla used to hire prostitutes, explaining that she wanted to make her son a man. She would sedate them with tainted sherry, and then little Edward would get to work.”

A demon dragged Maddy and threw her down in her place in line. A man and a woman took hold of her and cradled her as she moaned. Keith and Diane.

Rick felt his stomach trying to escape through his throat. The sight of Maddy’s tears made him feel worthless. “We have to go help them.”

“We try now,” said Daniel, “we die now.”

“You don’t know that.”

Daniel sighed. “Rick, of all the things you’ve learned about me, surely the one thing you’ve realised is that I know more than you do. I’m telling you, we go out there and we won’t get to walk away.”

Rick grabbed a branch and clutched it tightly, thorns digging into his palm. He used the pain to help him concentrate. “There’re enough people down there to overthrow the demons. We have to fight. The longer we wait, the more people who will get possessed.”

“If we do this, I won’t be able to help you anymore.”

Rick stared at Daniel, trying to work out what he was saying. “Why?”

“Just decide if you really want to do this.”

“I’m sure. Maddy, Diane, and my brother are down there. I won’t sit by and watch them get possessed.”

Daniel nodded. He looked sad. “Okay then.”

The Fallen Angel burst through the hedges and leapt down into the ditch at the side of the motorway. The demons saw him and attacked at once. Daniel waved an arm like he was swatting a fly, and a force unseen hit the incoming demons like a wave of hot air. Their flesh turned to ash. Skin flew from their bones. Withered skeletons collapsed to the ground.

Rick broke from the hedges and clambered into the ditch to help. He was unarmed, so he moved away from battle and towards the captives. When Keith and the others saw him, they looked gobsmacked. “Rick,” said his brother. “You came to rescue us?”

Rick looked at Maddy as he spoke. “Of course I did. Now get up and help.”

The captives were restrained with rope, not chains, so they were able to shove their binds off easily. Some ran immediately, but most were too shocked to make a decision. The gate towered over them all.

“Get up and fight,” Rick bellowed at them. “Fight now or die as cowards. You are not animals. Do not let these monsters treat you like you are.”

Perhaps it was Rick’s anger that caused the captives to rise, but rise they did—two thirds of them. None held weapons, but each threw themselves at the enemy like barbarians, beating with fists and clawing with fingernails. Many fell quickly, but most caught the burnt men by surprise.

Rick grabbed a demon and tossed it into the central reservation. He stamped its skull against the safety barrier until there was nothing left. Meanwhile, Daniel cut a swath through the enemy camp, waving his arm and searing demon flesh from bone. The invisible heat waves turned the grass brown at the edges of the road and cracked the windscreen of an overturned Jeep. No demon could get within two metres of the Fallen Angel. He was a force of nature.

But he was growing weaker by the second.

Rick went to help, but heat blazed around Daniel. It was impossible to get close. More demons fell within the Fallen Angel’s cocoon of heat, like lambs in a nuclear blast. Daniel’s expression was grim. Sweat swamped his face. His arms trembled. He slumped to his knees and the heat disappeared.

The demons recovered.

Rick moved in front of the gate and cried out. “Everyone, fight!”

There were now only a fraction of the demons remaining, Daniel having dismantled half himself. The captives were so inspired by the sudden victory that they fell upon the demons three to one. They ripped the burnt men limb from limb.

Adrenaline surged through Rick, and he spun around to fight the first demon that came near. He found a little boy standing before him. The little boy now possessed by Edward Stokes.

With a snarl, the black-eyed child lunged. Rick was off balance and stumbled to the ground when Edward struck him. He found himself on his back with the young boy tearing at his face like a wolverine. He tried to defend himself, but could not protect his face and fight at the same time.

“I’ll slice you into pieces, you whore,” Edward screamed. He opened a wound on Rick’s forehead and dug into it with his fingernails. Rick bellowed in agony.

“Get off him, you little brat!” Maddy grabbed Edward’s hair and yanked him backwards. The little boy kicked and screamed.

Rick scrambled to his feet, but didn’t know what to do. Edward might be a demon, but he was inhabiting the body of an innocent child. Was there a way to save him? An exorcism?

Maddy struggled to hold onto the thrashing monster. “Rick, help!”

“What do I do?”

“Just do… something.”

Rick was rooted to the spot. As much as he knew the boy before him was a demon now, he could not get past the fact it had once been a little boy. “I-I can’t.”

The fearful look on Maddy’s face hurt Rick, and left him unprepared when someone shoved him aside. “For fuck sake, Rick,” said Keith. “Can’t you do anything?”

Keith moved in front of Edward as the boy slipped free of Maddy’s grasp. He clutched a tyre iron, and he brought it down on the demon’s skull before it had chance to evade. One blow was enough. Edward fell to the floor dead—his tiny skull shattered.

Rick’s jaw dropped as he looked at his brother, but Keith seemed only angry about what he had been forced to do. Between them, Maddy stood with a face full of conflict. It was something that needed to be done, but to do so with so little hesitation...

Maybe Keith understood what living demanded now more than they did.

“My boy! What have you done?” Rick spotted Carmilla racing towards Keith, hysterical eyes like bubbling oil slicks.

Rick snatched the tyre iron away from his brother and pushed him aside. He brought the heavy length of metal down with perfect timing and split the woman’s skull in two. He held up the tyre iron and allowed his brother to take it back. “We need to help, Daniel.”

Keith grinned, and with in an exuberant tone said, “With what? The battle is won.”

Rick looked around. He saw no demon left alive, only a road covered in blood and bone. Of the captives, perhaps eighty still lived. They had truly won, but would they have done so without a Fallen Angel fighting for their cause?

Daniel was slumped up against an overturned jeep. Its tyres had blistered and melted like chocolate overspilling a pan. Rick hurried over to him. “Daniel, we did it. We rescued all these people.”

Daniel smiled. “Not bad for a disgraced angel, huh?”

“You’re good, Daniel. One mistake you made thousands of years ago doesn’t make you who you are. You’re good.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

He laughed, but it reduced to a spluttering cough. “I think I’m beyond the point of being okay, Rick. This body was not meant for such feats. It is already dead. Help me up.”

Rick nodded. “If you’re sure.”

“Yes. Let me bask in victory. It might be my last chance.”

Rick strained to lift the angel to his feet. “You’re a halo-half-full kind of angel, aren’t you?”

The survivors had now given way to shock and relief, clinging together for comfort. They hugged and kissed one another, family, friends, and strangers.

But they were not yet safe. Before them towered a portal to a place beyond nightmares. The gate shimmered and spat angrily.

“How do we destroy it?” Rick asked Daniel, who was limping gingerly and clutching himself.

“Ha, you don’t want to know.”

“But there is a way?” said Keith, hurrying over and looking ready for more fighting.

Daniel nodded. “Yes.”

“Then tell us.”

“How about a little thanks, first? Me and your brother just sprung you from a death camp.”

Keith snorted. “We would have been fine. I was figuring things out.”

“What happened to you?” Rick asked his brother.

“We waited at the car lot,” said Maddy, joining them along with Diane.

Diane said, “They came out of nowhere and took us. We thought we were dead, but they just grabbed us.”

“They carried us down the road and put us with everyone else,” said Maddy. “All these people. They were using them. Possessing their bodies. Rick, if you hadn’t come...”

“It was Daniel,” admitted Rick. “I couldn’t have done anything without him.”

Diane moved over to Daniel and hugged him. “Thank you.”

The Fallen Angel winced in pain, but seemed touched by the gesture. He patted the girl on the back. “Don’t mention it, love.”

“How do we close the gate?” Keith demanded. “More demons might come through at any moment.”

Daniel nodded. “You’re right. But to close the gate will take something I’m not sure you will want to give.”

Keith got in Daniel’s face, like the Fallen Angel hadn’t just dispatched fifty demons. “Just tell us.”

“Keith!” Maddy chided. “Calm down.”

Rick felt the hairs on the back of his neck twitch. Things had grown tense, but it wasn’t from the argument in front of him.

Sweep.

Daniel’s shoulders sagged as he endured Keith getting in his face. “To close the gate. To close it—”

“Yes?” said Keith impatiently.

“—you have to—” Daniel stopped mid-sentence. His eyes narrowed.

Keith clenched his fists. “Tell us, for crying out loud.”

Daniel stood in silence, his eyes boring into Keith. Keith grew angry and grabbed him, but yelped when the angel slumped forwards into his arms.

Blood exploded from Daniel’s mouth.

Rick ran to him. But it was too late. The possessed human body had been torn open, its back flayed and split apart. Spine and nerves peeked out between pink muscle.

Keith leapt aside and let Daniel fall to the ground.

Sweep.

Rick glanced around, but saw nothing. Something had torn Daniel apart, yet there was nothing there.

Sweep.

Rick dove to the ground beside Daniel. Blood spilled from the angel’s mouth, yet he somehow managed to summon words. “Does being human always hurt this much?”

Rick stroked his friend’s face. “It never stops hurting.”

Daniel closed his eyes, and for a moment it looked like he was gone, but then his consciousness returned, and he seized Rick by the arm, pulled him close. “You can’t do this without my help.”

“Then live.”

“I cannot.”

“Then we’re doomed.”

“No.”

Rick began to sweat from his shoulder blades and suddenly wished he was unclothed. He tried to pull back his arm, to stand up and get some air, but Daniel held onto him tightly. Where the angel’s fingers touched his flesh, skin burned. Rick cried out—his entire arm on fire. The heat travelled upwards, into his shoulder and to his head.

“Daniel, please, stop!”

“In a moment.”

“You’re killing me.”

“No, I am giving you life.”

The pain reached a zenith, and Rick thought his head might explode, but then Daniel lost consciousness and released his grip. The pain disappeared. Rick couldn’t breathe, and for a moment, he thought he might asphyxiate. Then his breath returned to him, and he gasped until his lungs hurt.

Sweep.

“What the fuck happened to Daniel?” Keith demanded, dodging around anxiously with his tyre iron.

Rick looked at his friend and sighed. “He’s gone. Wherever he is, I hope God finally forgives him.”

Sweep.

“The Caretaker is here, isn’t he?” said Maddy.

Rick stood up defiantly. “Yes, and this time we can’t run.”

“What do we do?” asked Diane.

“We make the most of the chance Daniel gave us. We fight. We stay together, and we fight.”

Rick looked around at the eighty-odd survivors and knew most of them might die in the next five minutes, but at least now they had a chance of living. Only one thing stood in their way.

Sweep.

* * *

Sweep.

“Where is he?” Diane whimpered. “I can’t see him.”

Keith growled. “How do we fight something we can’t see?”

Sweep.

Rick instinctively moved to shield Maddy. The Caretaker was amongst them, had killed Daniel—their only hope. A great beast hunted.

Someone in the crowd screamed.

An older man fell to the floor, his spine broken in two and poking out of his back.

The survivors panicked.

Rick searched for The Caretaker, glimpsed the creature for a split second but then lost him again. A faceless skull flitting through the crowd.

Keith clutched his tyre iron. “I’m going to cave his skull in. Where are you? Show yourself!”

Diane backed up against the central barrier and yelped when she bumped into it.

Rick held a hand up to her. “Just stay calm.”

Another person in the crowd screamed and fell down dead.

“What’s happening?” someone shouted.

The crowd broke apart.

“Stay together,” Rick shouted. “Our only chance is to stay together.”

“What do you expect them to do?” asked Keith. “They’re dying.”

“None of us can make it alone.”

More people screamed and died, backs broken, skulls crushed.

Rick raised his fist. “It’s me you want. I looked upon you and saw your wretched form. Show yourself.”

Another scream, another grizzly death.

Panic reigned. People fled.

“Stay together,” Rick bellowed again. In anger, he flung out his fist. The overturned jeep at the side of the road leapt off the ground and tumbled over the central barrier. Several people tumbled to the ground too, as if pushed.

Rick gasped, looked at his shaking hand. Keith and the others stared at him. The survivors were stunned to silence, even as more of them fell. The Caretaker preyed on them from the edges of vision.

Rick felt faint. His mind filled with thoughts and understanding not his own. What had Daniel done to him? What had he been given?

He’d been given knowledge.

Rick knew how to goad the Caretaker.

He held up his hand and bit into his palm. The pain wracked his entire body, but he clenched his jaw and bore into it until the deed was done. Blood spurted down his wrist, spattered the road with a pitter pat.

Keith covered his mouth with revulsion. “Rick, what the hell are you doing?”

Rick ignored his brother and raised his bleeding hand. “Blood. It sets your teeth on edge, doesn’t it? It stains the ground and soils the earth. It is unclean.”

Something shimmered within the crowd.

Rick clenched his fist, pumping more blood from the wound. “I defile the ground, and you cower in the shadows, a frightened slave. A worthless slave.”

The air turned black and colour drained from the world. Then, with a flash, a figure appeared before Rick. The Caretaker snarled without a mouth. Its skinned skull was a map of purple throbbing veins, and when it reached out to Rick, the air itself retreated.

Rick stepped back, away from the foul creature’s grasp. He brought up his own hand and surprised himself once more with the power he wielded. A gust of flame emanated from his bleeding palm and blanketed The Caretaker. The grotesque mockery of an old man staggered backwards, flailing its arms and legs. Only deterred for a moment, it lashed out and sent Rick flying off his feet. He landed on the bonnet of a BMW saloon and bounced off onto the road. Pain stunned him, yet he was able to rise. Thoughts swirled through his head like fireflies. He threw up both arms in front of him and sent another arc of flames across the sizzling tarmac.

The Caretaker was gone.

Maddy shouted. “Rick! Behind you.”

Rick twirled, but couldn’t dodge The Caretaker’s razor sharp talon. It entered his guts and travelled sideways through his torso, gutting him like a fish. Blood and shit covered the ground.

The Caretaker let out a keening sound and shook. Its hand went to its face in a mock expression of horror.

More knowledge coming to him, like secrets unlocked from cabinets, Rick reached into his guts and flung his blood and guts at his enemy. The Caretaker squealed. Blood covered its featureless face, and it clawed at itself madly. Talons cleaved flesh. Torrents of black pus burst from a dozen wounds.

Rick climbed to his feet, guts still falling out onto the floor. He leapt forward and grabbed The Caretaker’s bleeding skull. Numb spikes of ice shot up his wrists. He reached inside himself and tried to find the parts of Daniel that now existed inside of him. “I have the power of God inside me, you ugly fuck. Go back to Hell!”

Possessing strength he had never dreamed of, Rick crushed the Caretaker’s skull beneath his fingertips as if it were an over-ripe watermelon. Black pus and mould erupted as if the foulest boil in existence had just been squeezed. The old man’s body shook, trembled, and became nothing. The Caretaker collapsed inwards and turned to dust. A sudden wind blew and took his remains.

Maddy rushed forward and caught Rick as he fell. “Rick, are you okay?”

“D-Daniel. He… He is still with me.”

Maddy lowered him to the ground and nodded. “He did something to you.”

“To help us.”

“Yes.”

“My stomach… It’s bad.”

Maddy shook her head. “No.”

“Liar.”

“No.”

Rick looked down at his stomach. His shirt was bloody and torn, yet when he pawed at himself, he found only clear, unbroken flesh. “But…?”

“You healed,” said Diane, hurrying over with tears in her eyes. “You can’t die.”

Keith huffed. “Everything dies.”

“Including The Caretaker,” said Rick, filled with relief now they were safe for a while. He really wanted to rest.

“Is he really gone?” asked Maddy.

Rick searched his mind for answers and knew that The Caretaker was once again sweeping the hallways of Hell. More knowledge came to him in a steady stream. “They’re frightened,” he said.

“Who is?” Keith frowned.

“All of them, the demons. They are afraid of being sent back to Hell. This is their one and only shot. We can win this war. We can fight back. If not, then they wouldn’t be afraid. They know there’s a chance for us.”

Those who had not fled gathered round, listening intently. His words were met with whispers and sobs—perhaps hope.

Maddy smiled and nodded. “As long as we keep fighting, we can beat them.”

Rick stood up, and without a word, he walked towards the shimmering gate.

Keith called out to him. “Rick, what are you doing? Get away from there.”

Rick faced the shimmering tapestry of light and tried to see through. Voices whispered to him in a thousand languages. Eyes watched him. Eyes full of fear.

He reached out his hand—

“Rick!”

—and touched the gate.

There was no explosion—no fireworks or noise—it simply stopped being there. Like a snapping eyelid, the gate blinked out of existence. All bodies of dead demons littering the ground disappeared as well. The evil was gone, along with any memory of it.

Rick turned to face the astonished crowd. “We have work to do.”

Richard Honeywell

The demon known as Andras was a sorry sight. David, who was no picture himself with grievous wounds still healing, admitted to sawing off the demon’s legs and arms before cauterising the blood vessels with flames from the building’s kitchen. Although hellish in nature, Andras inhabited a human body, and felt the pain to go along with it.

“Why did you do this?” Richard asked David, surprised it didn’t sicken him more. Seeing his wife’s head reduced to mush had altered him, stripped a part of him away—the human part.

David huffed. “For information. Plus the bastard killed Mina.”

Richard groaned. So that was what happened to her.

“He doesn’t have long,” David went on, “and once he dies he’ll return to the pit he came from. He claims to be a Lord of Hell, a former angel, yet he acquired a human body for means of subterfuge. Soon as he escapes us, he will share all he knows with his brethren.”

“And what does he know? What information do they even need? We’ve lost.”

David glared at Richard through his one remaining eye—the other burned away—and said, “We have lost nothing except the first move. They hit us, now we hit back. Soldiers in Syria closed a gate, we have a Lord in our captivity… Things are bad, but we still have fight left in us. We’ve even been getting news of some kid who took on one of the giants in Tokyo and lived to tell about it. Human spirit is what will see us through.”

Richard glanced at the mutilated body in the cupboard and sniffed. “Not sure there’s much humanity left in us anymore.”

“Some of us give up a part of ourselves so that others don’t have to.”

Andras spat at them. “You chatter like monkeys.”

David backhanded the demon. “And you mewl like a dying kitten. Your brothers are at war while you sit wounded in a closet. How shameful.”

“Then release me, and we will see where the shame lies.”

David smirked, a ruinous gesture on his mangled face.

“What do you want?” Richard asked the demon. “Why are you doing this?”

“To take what is ours. We are the exalted ones, held down unjustly by mankind. You are unworthy of this earth, of such freedoms.”

“You might be right,” said Richard, “but you don’t deserve it either.”

Andras’s head slumped through weakness, but he fought to lift it again. “Regardless, we will take it. The Red Lord will rule, and humanity will be reduced to pigs in shit.”

“And you, lowly farmers,” said David.

Richard stopped David from striking the demon again. He moved close and stared Andras in his eyes. “You think this earth is so wonderful? It is filled with pain and hatred, no different to the Hell you came from. You are welcomed to this earth. Leave your gates open because you might want to return before long.”

Andras sneered, his teeth broken and cragged. “Return is not an option. We must take this earth and flourish, or fail and die.”

Richard raised an eyebrow. “You must? You said you must take it. What happens if you fail?”

Andras writhed furiously. “We will not fail! The Red Lord will take this place in his fist and squeeze all life from it.”

“Why?”

“Because it is his will. Every life taken will weaken God’s grip on the Heavens until we storm his kingdom and make him kneel.”

David flinched. “You want war against God?”

“Not for the first time, pig. Lucifer led us in glorious pursuit, yet he cowers and hides now as the Red Lord leads us anew. Every human death tips the balance in our favour.”

David nodded. “So our extermination has a purpose? You need to kill us to… what, unlock Heaven?”

Andras locked his jaw and said nothing else.

David removed himself and Richard from the closet and closed the door. “You made him angry, Richard. Good work. His ego has been our greatest asset. He might be a Lord, but he speaks before he thinks. This war isn’t about us. It’s about God. Maybe that’s important.”

Richard sighed. “I don’t care. I need to go check on my son.”

He left David in the hallway and went back into the news office. The lights were off, conserving the last of the power that came from a generator. No one could say when the main grid had failed, but the town centre beyond the windows of the fourth floor was blanketed in darkness.

Dillon sat in a corner of the office with the young girl, Alice. They were reading comic strips in the back of old copies of The Slough Echo. “Dillon is nice,” said Alice. “He tells me jokes.”

Richard chuckled. “Really? He doesn’t tell me any.” Dillon looked away shyly. He had little experience of girls, young or old. “Alice, would you mind if I spoke to Dillon alone for a few minutes?”

The little girl nodded and got up. Richard thanked her and sat beside his son.

Dillon kept his head lowered.

“Dillon, what happened to Mummy… It was something no child should ever have to see.”

“She’s gone forever, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to get the bad man who did it?”

Richard thought about Skullface—a seven-foot skeleton. “I don’t think I can, Dillon. All we can think about right now is staying safe.”

“But you’re a policeman.”

“My job doesn’t matter anymore.”

Dillon looked up, tears raining down his cheeks. “Yes it does! You look after people when they need help. Mummy needed help, and now she’s gone. You have to get the bad man!”

“Dillon…”

“No, you need to still be a policeman. I want Alice to come back.”

Richard looked at his son and realised he was getting overwrought. “Okay, sweetheart. I’ll go and get her.”

He went back over to get Alice who was speaking with Corporal Martin. “Hi Alice, Dillon would like to play again when you have a moment.”

Corporal Martin nodded to her. “Go on.”

She went back to join Dillon. Martin nodded to Richard. “Learn anything from our prisoner?”

“Not a lot. Something about a war on God. David seemed to understand more than me.”

The soldier rubbed at his chin. “I’ll speak with Portsmouth, see if they’ve heard anything similar.”

“The Army still exists?”

“Just about. There’re a dozen soldiers heading here, as we speak, to help protect what we’re doing—all they could spare. Any help we can get though at this point, you know?”

“You really think you’re helping by running a website?”

“Hey, I wasn’t a believer either, but we’re just about the last news site still running. The big companies got hit when London and New York were attacked. The Seattle Post is about the only other paper making regular updates, but in the UK we’re it—the last bastion of news. People are hiding out in their homes, logging on with their phones. We can’t help for much longer, but we’ve done enough to galvanise a few people into action. Case and point is the gate that closed in Syria. Portsmouth had discovered that it was a British Army Sergeant who managed it. One of the men he was fighting with went through it. The news we spread about it has given hope to people all over the world.”

Richard lifted his chin and made sure he was hearing correctly. “Somebody went into the gate?”

“Apparently, that’s how it was closed. Demons can come out, but a human going in short circuits it.”

“So we can close the gates?”

The corporal laughed. “Yeah, if we commit suicide.”

Richard looked back at his son and nodded. “I understand.”

“I just hope,” the corporal went on, “that someone closes the London gate soon. Andras doesn’t have long left, and once his human body gives in, his soul will return to Hell. He’ll reemerge in his proper form—a bloody giant—and well, this’ll be the first place he comes for retribution.”

“A giant?”

“Yes, have you not seen them? There’s only three in the UK, but they’re unkillable. They are leading the demons, forming armies ready to finish this war before it begins. The giants were angels once.”

“And Andras too?”

“Yes.”

Richard shook his head. “How do you know all this?”

“Andras himself mostly. He killed Mina, the reporter who was with me when we first met.”

“I remember her.”

“Andras tried to call home—I won’t go into how he did that—and David overheard him. He’s spilled even more information from the monster since. There are ways to win this war, Richard, we just have to find them.”

“Like closing the gate in London?”

“The gate will allow the demons reinforcements. There are over a hundred gates in this country, but the one in London is the one that threatens us most directly.”

Richard looked back at Dillon again. His son was playing with Alice again and seemed to have forgotten his tears. Alice stroked his hair as they read more comics. The young girl seemed to understand that, despite Dillon being older, she was truly the elder of the two. She was a good girl, and Richard wondered what had become of her parents.

“I’ll pass through the gate,” he said.

Corporal Martin gave him a look and then laughed. “What are you talking about?”

Richard stared the man in the eyes to convey that he was not joking. “Those soldiers on their way here. Have them take me into the city, and I will pass through that gate. I’ll give my life if it means you will all be safer here. If it keeps my son alive.”

“Don’t be absurd. Rich—”

“Somebody has to do it, don’t they?”

“Yes, but not fathers with sons to look after. Not those with a choice.”

“None of us has a choice anymore. All we can do is try to make life hard for these bastards. I will pass through the gate. I’ve already made my mind up.”

“And what about your son?”

Richard watched Dillon for a few more seconds. “My son is damaged. All I can do now is try to give him enough time to heal. If I can do something to keep more mothers from being taken away from their sons… I want to do this.”

“I say let him.” Leonard walked over to them. “I only met Richard this morning, but he kept us all alive. If he wants to do this, I’ll help get him there.”

“Me too,” said Riaz.

“And me,” added the paramedic, Oliver.

“Sod it, I’m in,” Aaron added from the corner of the office.

Richard looked around and realised several people had woken up and been listening. Their support was unexpected, yet welcome.

Corporal Martin laughed. “This war doesn’t need a Fellowship of the Ring. We don’t need heroes, we need strategy and planning.”

Rick shook his head. “We need both. Every war has its heroes and planners, and I’m no planner.”

Corporal Martin sighed. “Look, Richard. You’re a free man. All I ask is that you sleep on it. If in the morning you are still set on a suicide mission, we’ll work something out.”

Richard nodded, satisfied. “I won’t change my mind.”

And he was certain he wouldn’t, which was something he found absurd. Was he really willing to give his life? He looked once again at his son—forever innocent, courtesy of his Downs. Yes, he was willing.

“Thank you for getting us this far,” said Aaron.

Richard patted the lad on the shoulder. “You got yourself this far. Bravery is not something you’re short of.”

“Ha! I’ve pissed myself three times today.”

“So have I.”

“You really sure you want to go into the city?”

Richard nodded. “What happened today showed me what a losing battle we’re fighting. If I can do something to hit back, then I’m sure.”

Aaron sighed. “I’ll be ready when you are.”

“No, I want you to stay here and watch Dillon.”

“Me? What about your partner.”

“Riaz isn’t my partner. Anyway, I want you to stay here because you’re tough, and you believe in sticking by your friends. Dillon will look up to you, and you’re too young to accompany me on a suicide trip. You can do more good here.”

Aaron looked like he was about to argue, but didn’t. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Richard pulled the lad into a hug. Aaron resisted for a moment, but then hugged back. It was a gesture the lad was obviously unused to, but one he soon embraced. “You’re a good lad, Aaron. Stay alive and keep Dillon with you.”

“Richard?” The voice that called his name was that of a woman, familiar yet… pained.

Everyone in the office turned towards the door, but it was Richard who reacted most hysterically. He flew across the room towards his wife, arms outstretched, eyes and mouth wide open in shock. “Jennifer!”

David came out of nowhere and grabbed Richard six feet before his wife. “Open your eyes, Richard.”

“Get off me!”

“Mummy?” Dillon got up of the floor, but Alice held him back.

“Stay here, Dillon. That’s not your mummy.”

Richard looked at his wife—saw the misshaped curve of her flattened skull, left eye dangling down her cheek—and realised she was still dead. Whatever this was, it was not Jen.

“What do you want?” David demanded of the ghoul at their door.

Her teeth chattered madly for a second, and then she spoke. “I just want to see my husband. Richard, I’m hurt. I need you!”

Richard snarled at the thing abusing his wife’s corpse. “Jen would have asked for Dillon before she ever asked for me. She was a mother. You monsters took her from us.”

The crooked mouth smirked, and her single eye scanned the room. “You are all going to die. Andras will crush you all.” She reached down and picked something up off the ground before tossing it into the middle of the room.

Andras’s head.

“Shit!” said David. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

The mockery of Jen cackled. “He is coming.”

Bang!

Jen’s head exploded for a second time. All eyes turned to the back of the room where Corporal Martin held a smoking semi-auto. Richard screamed out in pain. He did not attack the soldier, for he knew he had done nothing to harm his wife. Jen had been dead the moment Skullface took her head between his hands.

So, instead, he fell to the floor and cursed God. Dillon hurried over and dropped to the floor beside him, and they cried together.

* * *

Morning broke, allowing Richard to look out of the office windows at the silent town of Slough. Somewhere out there a horde of demons lurked, but how many humans too? Would they fight back, or die like dogs in the street?

Pigs, Andras had called them.

They had found Andras’s decapitated torso in the cupboard moments after the thing dressed as Jen had arrived. The creature’s purpose had been to free Andras from his mortal coil—using the carcass of a loved one had been a perverse bonus. The demons enjoyed causing pain.

Dillon slept in a side office with Alice and Carol. The older woman was the head of the newspaper, but she was also the mother of the group. Richard felt safe leaving Dillon in her care. Many others in the office slept too. It’d been a long night, and the morning promised only more hardship. Smoky tendrils rose behind a dozen buildings on the horizon. The world was on fire, becoming a new Hell for mankind to endure.

Corporal Martin appeared beside Richard, and for a while, the two of them stood there looking out at what was now a battleground. Martin spoke first. “The extra soldiers will be here within the hour. You still want an escort to the city?”

“No. I’m staying.”

Martin nodded. “What changed your mind?”

“My wife. Not what appeared last night pretending to be her. I mean my actual wife. Jen would never forgive me for leaving Dillon. These bastards think they can murder us and wear our bodies for sport. They think they can escape the punishment of Hell by brute force and we’ll stand back and let them? No, I won’t have it. There might not be any laws left, but there are still rules. You don’t take what isn’t yours. You don’t kill to get what you want. I’m a police officer, and as long as I still live I will protect people by enforcing the rules. Way I look at it, what we’re up against is no more than a bunch of escaped prisoners. It’s time to start sending them back.”

“Glad to have you on board. I’m sure if we all put our heads together we can figure out what to do next. That London gate still needs closing, so let’s just hope there’s someone still alive out there, and that they have the balls to do what needs to be done. You were right about us needing heroes.”

Richard nodded. “We have heroes. Everyone left alive will be one in the days ahead. It was you who was right, Corporal Martin—we need a plan.”

“Do you have one?”

“Yes,” said Richard. “I just might.”

Vamps

The giant roared, and kicked a city bus so hard that it skidded from one side of the road to the other. At the same time, a black Mercedes hurtled down the road, heading towards the gate. When it screeched to a halt, two bodyguards and Prime Minister Windsor stepped out.

Vamps spat at the sight of the man.

Windsor looked excited as he hurried along the road. His bodyguards struggled to keep up with the long-legged man, and they didn’t seem to know whether to walk fast or break into a run.

The PM stopped before the giant and looked up. “Lord Amon, it is a pleasure beyond words.”

The giant looked down at the tiny man and sneered. “For you, I imagine it is. Have you done as asked?”

Windsor nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, yes. I have brought you flesh as required. Hundreds more are en route.”

“Excellent, then your head need not part from your shoulders.”

The smile on Windsor’s face wavered. “I am yours to command.”

“As are all.” The giant glared at Vamps and Mass who were still frozen in place. “Regain control of affairs, Prime Minister, lest affairs take control of you.”

Windsor nodded to his bodyguards who seized Vamps and Mass and dragged them towards the gate. Mass blinked rapidly, as if he didn’t trust his sight. He didn’t seem to realise he was being dragged backwards. “That thing is talking, yo! A giant and the motherfuckin’ Prime Minister are having a conversation. When are we gunna wake up?”

“I don’t think this is a nightmare,” said Vamps, not daring take his eyes off the giant.

They were thrown back with the other terrified survivors, who had fallen to silence in the presence of the giant. Lord Amon, Windsor had called it. Upper-class fucks.

The giant stomped over to the gate, making the ground shake and the road crack. “Make haste,” he bellowed. “My brothers seek liberty to see the sun rise to the sky and moon to follow.”

The demons before the gate reformed and resumed their gathering of people. A catatonic woman was placed before the shimmering gate and stood there like an ironing board as they sliced open her wrists. Once the lightning hit her, she was animated once more and clapped her hands gleefully.

Then the demons grabbed Ginge.

Vamps leapt up but was smashed in the guts by a burnt man. He fell back to the ground, wheezing and gasping, clawing at the ground to get back up.

Mass shouted to their friend. “Gingerbread! Ginge, don’t let them take you.”

Ginge was still someplace else, his stare far off in the distance. He was completely obliging as a demon led him towards his fate.

Vamps caught his breath and cried out. “Ginge… Ginge, you need to wake up! These bastards killed Ravy, and now they are going to use your body like a puppet. Brixton Boys don’t lay down for nobody!”

Ginge stopped. His weight was substantial enough that the burnt man dragging him was forced to stop too.

Mass and Vamps exchanged glances.

“Ginge, wake up!”

“Will you shut them up?” John Windsor shouted, watching from beside his Mercedes.

Another demon went to its colleague’s aid and doubled up on Ginge, dragging him by each arm.

Mass cried out again, but a demon kicked him in the mouth. A burnt man stalked towards Vamps too, so he had only one final chance to say goodbye to his friend. “Ginge, we need you, man. Don’t go. We’re your brothers!”

Ginge stopped again, even with two demons trying to drag him. They struggled with his arms, but he would not move.

“Get him moving,” Windsor bellowed.

One of the demons raised a twisted hand and slapped Ginge across the face. Ginge did not flinch. What he did do was turn his head slowly to face the one who had struck him.

The demon snarled. “Move it!”

Ginge grabbed the demon like it was a child and lifted it over his head. He tossed it on top of the other one at his side and then let out a roar to rival any monster.

Windsor stepped away from his Mercedes and flung out an arm. “Get him in front of the gate now!”

Ginge punched a demon in the face as it went to grab him, then spun around and booted one of the ones he’d tossed to the ground. Half a dozen burnt men tried to bring him down, but he was a wild bear, shoving and clubbing at all within reach. The whole time he roared.

Vamps leapt up and grabbed the burnt man that had been planning to silence him. Mass jumped up too, and between them they snapped the demon’s neck. They took down two more before the demons even realised that they were under attack. Ginge’s freak out held most of their attention.

Vamps looked at the other survivors and yelled at them to join the fight. None did. They might have done something before, but not in the presence of the giant.

Lord Amon stood silently by as the chaos ensued, watching with what might have been amusement. Vamps shuddered under the demon’s glare, but got back to fighting. He and Mass punched and kicked and wished for something more than their own limbs to fight with. The burnt men were supple, and easy to take in a fight, but there were so many—and they never backed down.

Mass nailed one of the ape-creatures with a spinning back kick that made Vamps laugh at the audacity of it. Ginge grabbed a burnt man by the arm and flung him into the air like an athlete throwing a hammer. Vamps raced towards the PM.

If he only had a short amount of time, best make it count. Go for the high-value target.

Windsor’s attention was on the gate. He didn’t see Vamps coming.

Vamps clenched his fists and prepared to launch himself at the worm who had once led the country before betraying it.

“Where you going, mate?”

Vamps collided with the barrel chest of a bodyguard. He bounced off and ducked just in time to avoid a right hook. The other bodyguard came up on Vamp’s right.

Windsor backed off towards his Mercedes. “Take care of him.”

Vamps spun out of the way as another punch sought his face. He moved himself beside the bodyguard on his right and stamped down on the bigger man’s knee, making him scream like a baby and go down clutching himself. The other bodyguard threw himself at Vamps and lifted him off the ground. Vamps drove the point of his elbow into the top of the man’s skull and they both fell to the ground. The bodyguard got the upper position and began raining down blows. Vamps covered up, but was locked in place between the heavy man’s knees.

What would Mass do in such a position?

Vamps opened his arms, which caused him to take a few unmet punches. He ignored the rattling of his teeth and reached up to grab his attacker’s head and neck. Then he pulled up his left leg and slid it around behind his attacker’s shoulders. The man struggled to straighten up so he could rain down more blows, but Vamps held the back of his neck with both hands and snaked his left leg around enough to clamp down on it with his right. Now, between his thighs, he had the man’s head, neck, and left arm trapped.

Vamps squeezed his thighs together with all his strength.

The bodyguard pawed at him with his trapped arm and beat at his ribs with the other. His face reddened. Spittle escaped his mouth. He fought, struggled, tried to stand.

Then his body went limp.

Vamps held the triangle choke in place for a few more seconds, making sure the man was truly unconscious, then let go and pushed the chump aside. Mass would have been proud.

John Windsor aimed a revolver at Vamp’s chest and cocked the hammer. “I think you’ve had enough fun. Time for you to fall in line.”

Vamps rolled aside just as Windsor pulled the trigger. A chunk of road leapt up into the air, and so did Vamps, pouncing at the PM and knocking the revolver aside. Another gunshot went off, but he ignored it and head-butted the Prime Minister. Blood exploded across the man’s cragged face and stained his thick moustache.

“You thug!”

“Fuck you, you blue-blood motherfucker.” Vamps grabbed Windsor’s throat and squeezed.

“ENOUGH!”

The bellow shook the ground and distracted Vamps enough for Windsor to bring up a knee into his groin. Agony exploded in his pelvis, and he doubled over, the ground rising to meet him. There he lay, looking back towards the gate.

Lord Amon held Ginge in his hand, twenty feet above the road. Ginge struggled and beat at the massive hand around his waist, but it was clear he could not breathe.

Mass had been beaten down and lay bleeding on the pavement, a burnt man standing over him. A gunshot rang out somewhere.

It was over.

Vamps struggled to catch his breath as his testicles buzzed with agony. He reached out a hand to the giant holding his friend and begged. “P-please…”

Lord Amon stared at Vamps and grinned. Then he opened his hand and let Gingerbread fall.

Vamps cried out, wishing to defy gravity with pure willpower. Ginge’s body shattered against the road, then Lord Amon lifted his foot and stepped on him.

* * *

Vamps screamed in a mixture of rage and grief. The pain in his heart was so intense that he was almost unaware of hands grasping him and pulling him to his feet. He was shoved back towards the gate where he was met by a bloody Mass.

Despite his condition, Mass was grinning. “I took out nearly a dozen, buster. Not a bad last stand.”

Vamps bit down on his grief to give his one remaining friend a response. “Is that all, you pussy? I stuck the nut on the Prime Minister.”

“Quiet, both of you,” said the demon with dreadlocks who had helped capture them. “Your bodies will be given to dogs to copulate with.”

Mass laughed. “Haven’t you heard, mate? All dogs go to Heaven.”

The demon walloped Mass across the face. He shook it off, but remained silent. Vamps looked at him and exchanged a glance of understanding. Neither would beg for life. Both would die with their balls intact.

“Resume duty and have the deed done,” Lord Amon demanded.

“And make it hurt,” the Prime Minister added.

“Prime Minister?” A group of suited bodyguards appeared from a side road. With them was Pusher, both his eyes blackened and swollen. He limped along with his hands cable-tied together. The flesh of his cheeks beneath the bruising was pale.

Windsor grinned ear to ear. “Ah, another escapee from the cages. Wonderful. You see, Lord Amon? I may have run into a complication or two, but I deliver in the end.”

Lord Amon stood impassively, staring down at the Prime Minister with little interest. “Late result, poor result. Your noise irritates.”

Windsor cleared his throat, spat a mouthful of blood caused by his broken nose, and stepped back submissively. He nodded to the bodyguards holding Pusher. “Get him in line with the other two. Sooner we show these people what happens to trouble-makers, the better.”

They shoved Pusher into line beside Vamps, who sneered at the man who had left Ginge to the wolves. “Fuckin’ backstabber.”

“I have a son to think about. I left him with my sister, and she spends most her time on smack. I need to get back—”

“Don’t pretend you have honour,” said Mass. “Our friend is dead because you used him to escape. We live through this, I’m gunna kill you.”

Pusher ignored Mass and waved his hand to get Windsor’s attention. “Prime Minister. It was me who helped you capture these two and their friend. I’m on board with what you got going. Just let me go, and I’m your man for life, yo. I swear down.”

Windsor glanced nervously up at Lord Amon, but then strode up beside Pusher. “Why would I want an untrustworthy snake in my midst? One who is mortally injured, no less.”

Vamps glanced down and noticed for the first time that Pusher was badly hurt. The back of his shirt bloomed with blood, and it leaked down the back of his jeans in a steady trickle. The front of his shirt was clean. If one of the Prime Minister’s men had shot him, the bullet had not passed through. Vamps was pretty sure that was bad.

“I’ll be okay,” said Pusher. “I eat bullets for breakfast.”

“We cannot take a dying man,” said the dreadlocked demon. “Our brothers need living vessels. Dispose of him.”

Windsor looked Pusher in the eye. “Any last words?”

Pusher slumped to his knees. “I’ll do anything. Please…”

“You shame yourself.” Windsor raised the revolver he had pointed at Vamps and pulled back the hammer.

Pusher wept.

Vamps looked at the drug-dealing scumbag and actually felt pity. Pusher was just living by the rules of the street. The city made him, not something deeply embedded like the abominations coming through the gates. Windsor was doing what all men in power did—playing with the lives of the vulnerable for his own gain.

Windsor closed one eye and aimed. His finger tensed against the trigger.

“Please,” Pusher begged.

Vamps placed his foot against Pusher and kicked out.

Windsor pulled the trigger. Pusher fell aside just in time, and the bullet flew out of Windsor’s gun and hit the ground. As the Prime Minister cursed, he adjusted his aim at Vamps, but Mass rammed a shoulder into the PM and knocked him to the ground. The smoking revolver fell from his hand and bounced off the curb.

Vamps kicked out and caught the PM beneath the chin. A tooth flew into the air like an escaping fairy.

The demons closed in once more as Mass tumbled to the ground with the dreadlocked demon. Vamps focused his attention on the PM, but Windsor scuttled backwards behind a wall of demons ready to protect him as if he were one of their own. Vamps cursed the man, but knew he’d wasted yet another chance to end the maggot.

Pusher climbed to his feet, still weak and bleeding. He held out a hand to Vamps. “You saved me, blud. I dodged a bullet because of you. We need to get the hell out of here, or I’ll never get to repay the favour.”

Vamps felt the gate at his back, its surface shimmering and popping like hot soup. He saw the light reflecting in Pusher’s eyes. Their hands met and the two of them shook hands for the first time. “I wasn’t about to stand around and let that crooked fuck kill you,” said Vamps. “Not when I wanted to end you myself.”

Vamps yanked Pusher’s hand and threw him towards the gate. Fear sparked in his eyes as he stumbled into the shifting net of colour and disappeared. He’d not even had time to scream, devoured by the gate like a stone falling into a pond.

Silence filled the air, as if all sound had been sucked into some far away funnel. Then the gate emitted a high-pitched whine. The lens shimmered wildly, the colours growing angry in hue—reds, blacks, and purples.

Mass grabbed Vamps and shoved him away. “I think you broke it!”

The two of them ran, shouting for anyone still living to do the same. For once, the crowd of captives listened and got up from the floor to run. The demons, however, stood around in stunned confusion, watching the gate fearfully.

They were terrified.

The high-pitched whining grew louder. The upper windows of the Selfridges building shattered and rained upon the street. Lord Amon bellowed, then turned and ran at great speed. Vamps enjoyed watching the giant run in terror, but his main thoughts were on getting away himself.

The gate exploded, bathing the whole of Central London in its furious glow.

Hernandez

Hernandez held Cuervo across his lap, stroking her damp hair. Her bloody scalp had matted, yet the sea clung to their skin with every spray of every wave and kept them wet. She had not spoken in more than an hour, and in the three preceding, had only mumbled incoherently. The young officer had followed Hernandez loyally and been rewarded with betrayal. He would see her wounds healed with willpower alone if he could.

He had always assumed his death would be upon the oceans, it was a noble, traditional death in a way, but to be marooned in the abyss like a Caribbean pirate… Dehydration would set in eventually—the salt water around him a cruel mockery—and then he would lose his mind. By the time he died he would have no idea who he was. Everything he had been would be a fever dream. He wondered about his ma, and if she was still alive. She would never see him again either way. Fury filled his veins. At his mutinous crew, yes, but more so in another direction. Granger.

Hernandez’s downfall had begun the moment that lowly Coast Guard captain undermined him. It had forced him to enact strict rule or lose immediate control to that smug toad, Danza. Trying to win over the crew after his encounter with the Hatchet had been a losing task. Granger had sabotaged Hernandez’s legacy. The Augusta was rightfully his after Johnson’s death, but he had lost it.

Oh, how he would love to wrap his hands around Granger’s neck. If his boat had sails, he would find wind and seek the man out. England, he said. Going to England to find his kids. When the man’s country burns, he seeks only to fulfill his own needs.

The sun began to peek above the horizon, and told him he was facing east. If there was a God, he was taking Hernandez towards his desires. As if to confirm it, a beacon lit up a small patch of the retreating darkness.

A boat.

Hernandez shook Cuervo in his arms. “Wake up. We’re saved. Wake up, Cuervo.”

The woman remained still in his arms. And cold. When had she grown so cold?

“Cuervo?” Gently, he rolled her over in his arms and gazed into her face. All life had left her. It pained him that he was unsure exactly when it had happened. A woman died in his arms, and he hadn't noticed.

The boat would not see Hernandez in his tiny dinghy. Not unless he did something about it. He reached inside the waterproof container at the front of the boat and rooted around. From its contents, he found the small orange stick he was looking for and yanked off the end. The flare ignited, chasing away the darkness around the boat.

A horn blared out.

They saw him.

Hernandez took another item from the storage compartment, one he might need.

The boat took almost an hour to move close enough to collect him from his floating prison, and the origin of his rescuers brought irony along with them. It led Hernandez to unexplained laughing, which the English fishermen probably thought was madness of dehydration, or grief over the dead woman in his boat. But the laughter came because Hernandez was suddenly sure that his downfall would be amended with vengeance.

The captain of the small fishing hauler was an amiable man named Thomas, yet he did not appreciate being held at knifepoint. The long blade was the last item Hernandez had taken from the storage container, and it gave him back the authority Granger had taken from him. “Where were you men heading?” he demanded of the frightened skipper.

“Nowhere. We were planning to live off our catch and stay on the ocean until it’s safe.”

Hernandez pressed the knife closer to his windpipe. “You fool. The oceans are no safer than anywhere else.”

The skipper seemed surprised. “Really? Then where should we go?”

Hernandez removed the knife from the man’s throat and smiled. “I’m sorry, it’s been a long couple of days. My exhaustion is making me mad. My ship was attacked by creatures from the ocean bed. It is not safe to be out here. We must make for land.”

The skipper rubbed at his throat, but nodded and seemed willing to forgive. “Okay, fine, but where?”

Hernandez grinned wider. “Home. I want you to take me home.”

“America?”

“Not my home, friend. I want you to take me to yours. Take me to England. I have someone there I need to see. I take it you know the way?”

The skipper nodded and once again seemed afraid of Hernandez.

He had reason to be. Hernandez had a score to settle, and anyone who tried to get in his way would pay dearly. Oh, yes. He was done playing by the rules.

Vamps

Vamps opened his eyes and saw only light, but slowly, gradually, like grains of sand through an open fist, his vision returned. The world had filled with smoke and dust, a choking atmosphere that clawed its way into his lungs and made him choke. It was only the sound of his friend cursing blindly that told Vamps he was still alive.

“Fucking ‘ell,” said Mass. “My fuckin ‘ed.”

Vamps rolled onto his side and found his muscle-bound friend lying beside him. “You dead, man?”

“Nah, man.”

“Good.”

They lay there in silence for a few moments, trying to catch a breath against the cloying dust. At one point, Vamps turned his head and looked to the end of the road. He thought he saw Lord Amon disappearing into a side street, but strangest of all was that he was almost certain he saw a second giant stomping along beside him.

Two giants?

“V-Vamps?” The voice was not Mass, yet it was from a friend.

Vamps sat up, possessing more strength than he realised. “Gingerbread?”

Mass tried to get up with him, but his leg was busted, and he cried out. Vamps bid him to remain and searched the rubble for their friend. “Ginge, where are you?”

“O-over here.”

Vamps clambered over the front end of a ruined Volvo and found his friend lying beneath a pile of bricks and concrete. Oxford Street had fallen down. “Ginge, you’re alive?”

“I’m hungry.”

Vamps laughed. “You always are.”

The relief of seeing his friend was the greatest elation Vamps had ever felt. They had lost Ravy, but three brothers still remained. They had each other.

But the elation quickly faded when Vamps moved away some of the bricks and concrete from Ginge. He didn’t mean to, but he sucked in air anxiously.

“What is it?” asked Ginge. “Is… Is it bad?”

Both of Ginge’s legs were broken beyond repair, pointing in odd directions. His stomach was also twisted and hung oddly to one side. “Can you move?”

“I don’t know. Can I?”

Vamps watched, but his friend remained still. Not a single finger moved. A tear traced its way through the dirt on Vamp’s face and spilled onto his lap. “You’re fine, mate. Just a couple of bruises. We’ll get a few beers in you, and you’ll walk it off.”

“I’d rather have a Snickers.”

“I’ll go get you one. You just rest, okay?”

Ginge was quiet for a moment, but then asked a question. “What happened, Vamps?”

“I don’t know. The gate exploded.”

“Oh. I thought it might have all been a dream.”

Vamps looked around for the demons, but they had somehow perished in the explosion. Had the gate taken all those who had passed through it? Were the demons somehow bound to the gates? Lord Amon might still be present, but there was no way his underlings could have all hidden away so quickly.

Even the bodies of their dead had disappeared.

He patted Ginge on the arm. “It wasn’t a dream, mate. It was a nightmare, but it’s over now.”

“Good. Because it was getting old.”

Vamps laughed. “Yeah, it really was, wasn’t it? If you hadn’t kicked ass there at the end, we wouldn’t have made it. You were a gangster.”

Ginge smiled. “I w-was, wasn’t I? Did I make you… proud? Did I…” His lips stopped moving and his eyes seemed to change. Whatever life he had clung to left him.

Vamps ran a hand affectionately over his friend’s face. “Yeah, Ginge, you made me proud. I hope that before I join you, I can make you proud too.”

Something in the rubble moved a hundred metres away, disturbing Vamps’s final moments with his brother. John fucking Windsor.

The Prime Minister clambered out of a pile of metal and brick and dusted himself off. He was covered in as much blood as masonry, but his limbs were intact. When he saw Vamps sat up and looking at him, his eyes went wide, but he did not approach. Instead, he scurried away. Some of his men were still alive too, shocked and stunned, but still of service. They gathered up the PM, and together they built a quick retreat. Vamps considered chasing after them, but he was too tired, and he was not yet ready to leave his friend.

Something else moved in the rubble. Something closer.

“Is Ginge okay?” Mass shouted out from where he still lay.

Vamps stood up, looked at his friend and shook his head.

Mass swore loudly, then went silent. Vamps wasn’t sure, but he thought his last remaining friend might have been weeping. But it was the movement in the rubble that was of most concern. Vamps was quite certain the demons were gone, but did danger still remain? Somehow, throwing Pusher through the gate had blown it up. There were other human survivors, Vamps realised now. They lay amongst the rubble, too afraid to move. Yet something did move.

A man.

While he was trapped beneath the rubble, he was not covered in either blood or dust. He was unhurt. Wearing ragged robes more suited to the Middle East than London, the man was able to stand up straight and face Vamps.

“Who are you?” Vamps demanded, examining the strange Arabic gentleman standing in the rubble before him.

The man looked around with confusion, seeming not to know where he was. All the same, he glanced at Vamps and gave an answer. “My name is Aymun, my friend, and it is good that I am here.”

Vamps frowned. “Why?”

“Because I know how to kill the giants.”

Rick Bastion

Weary and ill, the survivors marched along the motorway. This time they headed south and were accompanied by no demons. They had freed themselves from slavery, and the memory of it spurred them on. Whether any semblance of safety still existed in Portsmouth, none of them knew, but having a destination kept them focused.

In total, there were fifty-seven of them. By no means an army, but at least a seed of one. As the demons had travelled the lands gathering up lost souls, so too would Rick and his companions, collecting bodies like a rolling stone collecting moss. Their numbers would swell.

For the last hour, since setting off from where Rick had closed the gate, Keith and the others had kept their distance from him. He was no longer the man they had known. He was something else—perhaps no longer even human. Daniel had left a part of himself inside Rick—had changed his very soul—and that unnerved the others, yet Rick knew that the dying angel had bestowed a gift. Daniel had been good, there was no doubt in his mind, and whatever he had done to Rick was to help them all.

Rick had no idea of his new powers, but he had dispatched The Caretaker and closed a gate. He could do things no other human could, and for that reason, he knew that he was important. His destiny was no longer his own. His body belonged to the people around him, and his power must be set towards good purpose. No longer could he think only of himself or those closest to him. It was time to start resisting. It was time to fight back on a grander scale. Looking back at the weary crowd behind him, Rick knew that the war had only just begun. And he had become a leader.

Yet leaders could lose battles as well as win them, and his decisions would get people killed. The only question would be how many and for what?

Rick had never felt so alone, not even in the alcohol-fuelled exile of his former life. His brother could barely look at him now, and Maddy—the one person who actually made him feel anything—was afraid of him. Would he ever be close to another again?

The road ahead was long and the end was unknown, but Rick was ready for whatever lay ahead. He hoped others would be ready too. The first line of a favourite song rang through his head and the lyrics were ominous.

All our times have come.

Here, but now they're gone.

Win or lose, things had changed forever, and so had every soul left alive.

Hell had come to earth, and its Legions scoured the earth. The reaper had come.

But Rick no longer feared him.

Guy Granger

English Coast

Guy Granger stood upon the bow of the USCG Hatchet and watched the south-western tip of the United Kingdom appear on the horizon. Never before had he sailed the English Channel, but he embraced it now as home waters for his children, Alice and Kyle, lay only a hundred miles inland.

“We can reach Portsmouth in a few hours, Captain,” said Lieutenant Tosco at his right side.

“Who knows what we’ll find,” said the retired captain, Skip, to Guy’s left.

Guy nodded. “We will find the world changed, as we have everywhere these last few days, but if my children are safe, then it is familiar enough for me.”

“What will you do at Portsmouth?” asked Tosco unsubtly. The thought of gaining command of the Hatchet glowed green in his eyes,

“I don’t yet know, but if I depart, I may need to return to the Hatchet once I have Alice and Kyle.”

“We need to join the fight,” said Tosco. “Back home ideally.”

“This is the fight, Lieutenant. Alice and Kyle are children. Is saving them not the very essence of the fight we have before us?”

“There are many children besides your own who need help.”

“And we shall help them, but before we reach Portsmouth, it would be unwise to plan.”

“Agreed,” said Skip. “We’ve been hearing the United Kingdom has a force assembling there. Who knows what aid they might offer us, or we them.”

“We are not here to help the United Kingdom,” said Tosco. “We serve the United States.”

“Way I see it right now,” said Skip, “we serve the human race.”

Tosco went to speak again, but Guy cut him off. He knew a quest to save his children was selfish, but he didn’t care. As captain of the ship, he had earned the right. Their time for being heroes would come later. For now, Alice and Kyle needed him to be their dad. He hadn’t always been there, but he would be there when it counted.

He would be there for them soon.

They sailed in silence for the next hour, day breaking fully and giving the men on deck a brief respite to enjoy the sunshine. The day was mild, and run through with a gentle breeze, but it gave one cause to hope. Humanity might have fallen, but the day still displaced night as it was supposed to. The world still turned.

The south coast reeled along like a spool of rope pulled before them. Portsmouth would be upon them soon, and their fates decided. Tosco and Skip left to attend duties, but Guy remained upon the bow alone, looking out at a country not his own and praying that it still cared for his children.

The Hatchet listed starboard and then back, then rose up on an errant wave.

More waves followed. The ship tilted to and fro.

The English Channel was not the high seas, and such rough conditions were unexpected. Guy was about to hail the Bridge when a great booming roar skated across the water. The Hatchet leapt up on another massive wave, and Guy had to hold onto a railing to avoid going overboard.

Inland, the sky lit up with light bright enough to eclipse the sun. The explosion was massive, unparalleled by anything Guy had ever witnessed, and it came from the direction of London.

Alice. Kyle.

Book 3 coming Summer 2017

<<<<>>>>

Collateral Damage

Turn the page for more stories from the end of the world

“I’m not interested in playing the victim. I like stories about survivors.”

--Laurie Holden

Takao

Tokyo, Japan

Takao wandered the quiet streets of Tokyo like a scowling Ronin, his bloody katana pointing the way in front of him. His battle with the Oni had cost him his left hand, stamped to pulp by the giant inside the JoyCity Plaza. Never again would he play video games, but such things were behind him now anyway. He was a warrior, a weapon of honour his ancestors could wield against the Oni and its Legions. The underworld had opened up and spilled its Yōkai upon the earth.

Yet, the streets were quiet now. The towering glass skyscrapers of Japan’s greatest city were darkened and still, like facets of nature rather than manmade hives. Were people still inside? Takao did not know, and his focus was on the enemy.

He had been forced to escape his battle with the Oni, for every cut he made with his katana produced no wound. The giant was impervious, and a wise warrior did not fight an enemy without weakness. He walked away until he learned that enemy’s weakness. That was why Takao was walking through the city streets now; he was trying to think.

The lesser demons had fallen easily, their bodies yielding to blade as flesh was supposed to, and during his retreat Takao had beheaded more than a dozen of the monsters. Yet, unless he could figure out a way to defeat the Oni, it would be for nothing.

He walked for another hour without contact, leaving the busier city districts and entering the Bunkyō-ku ward. It was there that he heard noises coming from the park. Rikugien Garden meant Garden of the Six Principles of Poetry, and it was somewhere Takao had used to come as a child with his family. He had resented it back then, being pulled away from his videogames, but now he realised how blessed he had been to enjoy such nature. The sight of demons currently surrounding the picturesque pond set his teeth on edge, and tightened his one-handed grip on his katana. What disturbed him more was the sheer amount of people huddled together like captives. The men, women, and children were being rounded up in the centre of the park, their whimpers breezing across the pond like ghostly water lily.

This would not do.

Takao focused on the agony of his swollen left hand and used it to ignite his temper. He slunk amongst the trees, moving towards the enemy encampment. Were they a part of the Oni’s forces, or where they a separate horde? Exactly how bad were things in his homeland? Were these demons everywhere? He knew the answer already.

Takao used the fading sunlight to his advantage and kept to the shadows. Like a preying mantis, he struck out from behind a low hanging maple and impaled a demon through the back. The burnt monster made no sound as his lungs imploded, and Takao dragged it backwards into the long grass before anyone noticed. He took two more demons the exact same way, and before long he was right up alongside the enemy camp.

Two hundred monsters at least, and three times as many human prisoners. They huddled on the ground, averting their eyes from the horrors surrounding them. The elderly clutched one another, as did the children. Adults surrendering so meekly to capture was shameful, and if the men and women died soon, they would do so with dishonour. As a blooded warrior, it was Takao’s duty to help. The weak could not help themselves.

Takao ducked and waited for night to fall across the park. In the darkness, the enemy were only shapes, yet everything standing was a target. He stalked as many of them as he could from the shadows, thinning their numbers as much as he could before he would be forced to enter open battle. He was just one warrior, yet he had stood against an Oni and lived.

Eventually, all of the demons around the edge of the park lay dead in the grass, and the time came for Takao to test himself.

Honour demands I do this. A warrior does not turn from his duty.

With a deep breath, Takao stepped out of the trees and into the open, night air of the park. The demons saw him immediately and came all at once, screeching like bakeneko. He sliced his katana horizontally and beheaded three in a line, then twirled to slash diagonally downwards into the rancid thigh of another beast. At the end of each slice, Takao launched a new one, spinning and dancing through his teeming enemy without pause. To stop would mean death. A moment’s inaction would present his enemy a target to strike at, and with so many foes he could not avoid them all.

The demons fell in their droves as they ran at Takao from all angles. He sliced them apart like a mincer, sucking in their bodies and spitting out flesh. Their screeches turned to frustrated howls, and Takao could also hear the astonished yelps of the human prisoners.

Takao’s years of sedentary game playing began to punish him, and his sword arm grew tired, wishing it had the left one as support. Unable to move quickly enough, he was forced to shove out his mangled left hand to defend himself. A demon bit into his wrist, but the pain in that arm was already total. He was happy to sacrifice the ruined limb as he beheaded the attacking demon mid-chew with his sword.

Takao swung around in a wide arc to give himself more room. The amount of blood and gore at his feet told him that a hundred of the enemy might already lie dead, yet there were still hundreds more. The ground turned to bog and his feet slipped with every step. Eventually he twisted his knee and fell into a crouch. He pointed his katana upwards just in time to impale a lunging creature resembling an ape or monkey. The thing fell sideways, snapping the blade and taking a large portion of it to the ground.

Takao panted, tried to get up. His journey was at an end. His place to die was here, and his soul would join those of other warriors. Enough enemy lay dead to give him the honour that few men possessed in the afterlife.

Yet he wished not to die. Giving his life to the enemy made him sick, and memories of his family and childhood restricted his throat with grief. With a last effort, he pushed up onto his feet and stabbed out with his broken katana. He slit the throat of one demon, and then buried the broken blade into the eye socket of another. Then he lost his grip on the handle and lost the weapon forever.

Unarmed and exhausted, Takao got down on his knees and lowered his head. Let them be done with it quickly.

The killing blow took forever to come, and Takao wondered if it was fear stretching out his final seconds. But then he heard the commotion, sounds of battle still raging. When he lifted his head, he saw that he was no longer a lone warrior.

The prisoners had taken heart from his display and were fighting for their freedom. They fell upon the demons with rocks and clubs, beating them bloody and crushing them underfoot. The sheer number of prisoners was enough to overrun the enemy in seconds, and before long Takao was being helped up on either side by two heavily tattooed men. They were Yakuza.

“You shame us, young one,” said the older of the two men, a bald head instead of the blond mohawk of his companion. “Thank you for showing us the way before it was too late. We can kill them. We shall kill them.”

Takao lowered his head again. “There is only one who must die, and he cannot be killed.”

“Everything can be killed, young one, and any battle can be won. You just proved that.”

Takao lifted his head and stared up at the moon. “If it is true. If there is a way to kill the Oni, I will find it.”

The Yakuza waved an arm at the several hundred survivors behind him. “And you’ll have an army to help you.”

Takao smiled. Before long they would be legion.

Nancy Granger

Lewiston, Maine

Moving away from Brunswick had led them to Lewiston, where Nancy was glad to see a heavy Army presence on the near side of the river. The entire road was taken up with soldiers and they had been forced to abandon their car. It beggared believe that so many trucks and so many troops were able to assemble so quickly. She had always thought of the Army as being abroad, but the truth was that they were at home too—enough to get a lot of killing done. Perhaps things were not as hopeless as she had assumed.

Although, until she heard from Kyle and Alice, things were as bleak as could be. And she couldn’t shake the memory of defeated soldiers retreating through her home town of Durham.

Clark seemed to sense her anxiety and kept her from panicking with well-timed hugs and kisses. The feel of another person was surprisingly calming, yet she was upset by a desire to have her ex-husband hold her. Guy was a man of action and strength. He would know what to do right now, yet Clark seemed to have nothing other than sympathy to offer. He was a gentle man, a good man, but right now he was an ineffectual man. She missed Guy, and that brought her great turmoil.

Yet, she was eternally grateful that her ex-husband was heading towards their children and not to her. If anything happened to Alice or Kyle she would no longer be able to live.

“Can you believe all this?” said Clark, pointing towards a massive tank that probably had a girl’s name painted on it somewhere. Several soldiers sat on its sides as it rolled along slowly. “We’re going to kick those bastards straight back to Hell.”

Nancy gave a grim smile, less confident than her husband.

A soldier with a clipboard came racing over and barked loudly. “Out the way, we have troops moving through here.”

“Back towards Brunswick?” Nancy asked.

“Of course. The enemy are still there and we need to contain them before they get a chance to spread out.”

“But they beat us back. I saw the men retreating.”

“We were underprepared, ma’am, but now we know what we’re up against and will get the better of future engagements.”

Clark waved a fist. “You go get ‘em, man.”

The soldier was impassive. “Please head to Leeroy Jenkins High School if you need assistance. The refugee centre is being set up there.”

“Refugee?” said Nancy. “We’re not refugees.”

“Can you go home?”

“No, it’s not safe.”

“Then you are a refugee. Martial Law is in affect within the state of Maine, ma’am, and all civilians are ordered to either their homes or a designated refugee centre.”

Nancy folded her arms, not quite sure why she was irritated. “And if we refuse?”

“You’ll be arrested. Now move along.”

Clark grabbed her. “Come on, hun. It’ll be the best place to be. We came here for safety anyway.”

Nancy started moving, waiting until the soldier was out of earshot to reply. “I know. I just don’t like being ordered around by the military. They have no right to give commands.”

“They do during martial law. Anyway, they’re about to risk their lives for us, so give them a break.”

“You’re right. Come on then, let’s go to school.”

Leeroy Jenkins was about half mile down the block, and when they found it Nancy covered her mouth in shock. There was barely room to move as even the front steps of the building were overflowing with people. The front lawn housed gurneys full of moaning people calling out to one of the small handful of doctors buzzing between them. Other casualties wandered back and forth in a daze, wounds ranging from broken arms to gouged out eyes. The smell of blood and urine bleached the air.

“I feel sick.”

Clark wrapped an arm around her and squeezed. “I’m sure these people will be okay. Things will get figured out.”

Nancy turned on him. “Figured out? Clark, monsters are attacking the earth. People are dead and dying—children. My children are in danger.”

Clark blinked as if hurt. Kyle and Alice were his kids too, biological or not. “I know, Nancy. Don’t you think I know? But what can we do except hope for the best?”

“We need to do more than hope, Clark.”

“You mean fight? Where would the sense be in that? We’re not soldiers.”

“Neither is Guy, but he’s doing something.”

Clark shook his head. “Jeez, Nancy. I know you’re hurting, but jeez.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I just hate being a witness to all this. I feel so powerless. I…” She started sobbing. “I just want to hear their voices again. I want to hear them so badly.”

Clark held her again. “Alice and Kyle are okay. I know it. Let’s just go inside and try to find out more.”

They pushed through the mass of bodies and made it into the school’s main building. Inside, the misery was just as pervasive. There were less injured people, but the shell-shock had taken its toll on just about everyone. It was like walking through an army of ghosts—expressionless faces and faraway stares.

A woman reached out a hand to Nancy as she passed, tears wetting her cheeks. “My daughter? Have you seen a little girl named Samantha? She has on a pink scarf and a My Little Pony T-shirt. We were in Brunswick. I… lost her.”

Nancy dodged the woman’s hand and shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. We came from Durham.”

The woman turned away sobbing.

“That poor woman,” said Clark.

There were no soldiers in the school, but several men and women wore name tags and held clipboards. Each one of them gave a direction, which Nancy and Clark followed until they were inside the school’s gymnasium. The bowels of Hell.

Maybe it was the sporting atmosphere of the basketball courts, but the temper inside was manic. People shoved and fought one another as if one opposing teams. Women screamed and men swore. What they were fighting over was unclear, but it was obvious that things were quickly heading towards chaos. A teenager, only a few years older than Kyle, was kicking an older man on the floor and yelling at him for being a bitch.

Nancy looked at Clark imploringly. “Do something!”

“Like what? It’s nothing to do with us. Let’s just keep our heads down.”

“That man needs help.”

“Not our help.”

Nancy looked at her husband as if her were a stranger. Her mouth fell open but she didn’t talk. Instead, she shoved Clark aside and went to help the man herself. She shoved the teenager aside, catching him enough by surprise that he stumbled. He raised a fist but stopped when he saw she was a woman. Least he had that tiny amount of honour.

“Leave him alone, you animal,” she growled.

The teenager looked down at the old man and sneered. “This fucker used to shag my mum before she caught him cheating on her.”

Nancy stood between the older man and the teenager. “And you think that because things are chaotic you can take advantage and attack him?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly it.”

“Well, you can’t. If we all turn on each other, we’re screwed. Just because the police are busy right now, doesn’t mean the laws don’t apply.”

“Look around you, lady. There is no law anymore. I can do whatever the fuck I want. Who’s going to stop me?”

Nancy took a step towards the teenager. “I will.”

The youngsters chuckled. “Good luck with that. Think I can handle one bitch.”

“And her husband,” said Clark, moving up beside her. “I might not look like much, but you wanna see me go when some little fuckwit threatens my wife.”

The teenager glared, glanced at the older man still moaning on the floor, and then huffed. “Watch your backs.”

Clark went to hold Nancy as the teenagers stomped away, but she ducked and went to help the injured man. “You okay, sir?”

It obviously hurt him to talk, but he clutched his ribs and nodded. “Yes, thank you. I understand the boy being angry. What he said is true.”

Nancy helped the man to his feet. “Doesn’t give him the right to hurt you.”

“Thank you for helping me. Nobody else seemed to care.”

Nancy looked around at the other people, some of them watching but most too possessed by their own situations. “I can’t believe people are acting like this. Don’t they understand what’s going on?”

The injured man nodded. “I think it’s because they understand very well that they are acting like this. What the boy said is true, the rules don’t matter much right now. We’re going to be as much a threat to ourselves as the monsters.”

Clark sighed.

Nancy shook her head. “I won’t let that happen.”

The injured man offered out his hand. “Name’s George, and if you need my help just let me know. I’m from Lewiston, and I know some of the people here—evidently.”

Nancy shook the man’s hand and smiled. “I do need your help, George. First, I need you to find me a phone. Then, I want you to gather all of the people you know that don’t want to attack you. If I’m stuck in this mess for a while at least, then I am going to see people behave.”

“What are you planning, Nancy?” asked Clark.

She looked at her husband and wished he was stronger. “If the police are gone, then we will just have to police ourselves. Time to stop being a witness and start being a doer.”

Clark did not look happy, but George smiled.

Cheese Burger

New York

“Hey, a cheese swiss. Nice!” Jim reached into the deli counter and plucked out the 6-inch sub. His fellow Cheese Burgers were munching on bagels they had found in the ovens. The owner of the deli had run off when the attack on New York started. The Cheese Burger comedy troupe had been filming a skit outside at the time, and it had been a stroke of luck that the owner had left the door wide open, because it had provided refuge when an army of demons came marching down the avenue hours.

The skit they had been performing was a prank based around fake interviews with passers by. Sully had been in the middle of asking a young Brooklinite whether or not she would hold his pet goldfish while he performed his sound checks when the city had erupted. The irony was they had been intending to film beside the gate in Central Park, but the volume of people made it impossible. The streets elsewhere had been pretty deserted, but they had a schedule to keep so they went with it and kept on working. Filming outside the deli had saved their lives because Central Park had been a bloodbath. They watched the whole thing on Mitch’s tablet until it became clear that the horror was about to show itself first hand. Most of the horror seemed to be happening in Manhattan, but there were plenty of monsters elsewhere it seemed.

When T had seen people screaming at the end of the street, he had bid the group inside the deli. There, they had locked the doors and pushed a heavy glass counter in front of it. Fortunately, the shop was narrow and the single window was frosted. The horror passed them by without notice, flowing through the streets for hours and hours until, finally, things had gone quiet. Night fell and day began. Now they were less scared and more hungry.

Jim pulled a face, his bulging eyes popping out above his aquiline nose. “Stale. I can’t eat this.”

Sully, the chubby one of the group shrugged his shoulders. “Better than starving, man. You shouldn’t waste food.”

“This isn’t food. It’s like something on the bottom of my shoe.”

“Think we should head out now?” said Mitch nervously.

T shook his head, greasy long hair bunching out behind each ear. “We’re safe here. Why leave?”

“Because I don’t want to live in a deli,” said Sully,

“Especially one with stale subs,” said Jim. “I can’t live like this.”

There was silence for a moment, and then Mitch crept up to the window. It was impossible to see clearly, but there was no movement outside the panes. The street outside seemed to be deserted. “I think it’s over now.”

Sully moved up beside Mitch at the window. “Where would we go?”

“Head for the nearest precinct. I want to see cops, you know?”

Jim laughed. “Last time T saw cops they cornholed him.”

“Ohh,” said T. “There’s no cameras running now, man.”

“Oh yeah. Sorry, man.”

Mitch slumped up against the counter pushed up against the door. “I need air. I can’t stay in here any longer. Been longer than twenty-four hours.”

“Pity, Todd left,” said T. Todd was their cameraman and had run off instead of holing up. “We might have been able to get some footage. Your face right now is newsworthy.”

“We’re professional clowns,” said Mitch. “Not reporters.”

“I guess. So are we doing this?”

Sully nodded, but looked like he might throw up. “Out of all of us, I’m the slowest. If we see monsters, you’re gonna leave me.”

Jim nodded. “Pretty much, yeah. It was nice knowing you, buddy.”

Mitch started shoving at the counter. “Help me move this.”

The Cheese Burgers got to work and managed to shoulder the counter aside enough to open the door.

Jim shoved Mitch in the back. “Go on, Mitch. See if the coast is clear.”

Mitch sighed, but did as he was told. He opened the door a tad and put his eye against the gap. “I… I think it’s safe.”

“Are you sure? Maybe you should go outside and shout a bit.”

Mitch looked at Jim. “Yeah, no thanks.”

“Come on,” said Sully, clutching himself nervously. “Let’s just do this.”

They took a moment to ensure that nothing came, and then filtered out of the deli and onto the street. New York was quiet, which was highly disturbing. New York didn’t do quiet. While several vehicles lined the street, no taxis fought for lanes and no pedestrians bunched up against the crosswalks. The shops on one side of the street were empty, and the brownstones opposite were still. Were people hiding out, or were the Cheese Burgers the last men in the city? Should they have run like everyone else?

The sight of bodies lining the street said no. Hiding out in the deli had saved their lives.

“Everyone is dead,” said T, running his hands through his greying black mane. “I think I’m gonna puke.”

Jim pointed at a mess at his feet. “I think this old lady did a duke before she died.”

Sully put his hands on his hips and doubled over. “Yeah, I can smell it. She was screaming for help when it happened. Everyone was. We just hid and listened to everyone die.”

“Thank God, right?” said Jim.

“I need to call my moms,” said Sully. “Is anybody’s phone working yet?”

They all checked and shook their heads.

“No cell coverage in New York City,” said Mitch. “Not good, right?”

Jim shrugged. “Brooklyn. We wouldn’t have a problem in Staten Island.”

Sully pointed a finger. “Don’t disrespect Brooklyn, yo. They have the best pizza here.” Then he re-noticed all of the dead bodies and bent back over to gag.

T patted him on the back. “Just think of it as like when we stranded you on that trash barge. You were puking hard then but you got a handle on it eventually.”

Sully nodded and straightened up. “They’re all human. None of these bodies are the monsters that came out of the gate. Did we even fight back?”

“No, we hid,” said Mitch.

“I mean the Army, or whatever. Did they put up a fight?”

Jim nodded towards the skyline currently smoking from a hundred fires. “I’d say we did. We all heard the planes last night. They were bombing the bejesus out of Manhattan.”

“Let’s hope they got Wall Street,” said Sully.

Jim raised his long nose. “You’re just saying that because you’re a poor Mexican.”

“I’m not Mexican! I’m Puerto Rican and Cuban.”

They stepped down off the pavement into the road and started in the direction they thought safest. Heading out of the city was probably wisest. A few block down, they heard the sound of vehicles. Each of them panicked at the sound after so long in silence, but when they saw who it was they sighed with relief.

“It’s the boy’s in green, fellas,” said Jim.

The Army approached. Just a small line of troops and a couple of trucks, but it was a wonderful sight. It had started to feel like they were completely alone. Like the whole world had died.

“Hey, Mitch,” said Jim. “I dare you to be the little Chinese Guy on Tiananmen Square. Stand in the middle of the road and raise you hand to stop them all.”

Mitch giggled. “They’ll shoot me.”

“I’ll give you twenty dollars,” said Sully, seemingly glad to pretend like he wasn’t surrounded by corpses.

“Me too,” said T.

“Oh, come on, guys,” said Mitch. “I don’t wanna die.”

“I’ll give you a hundred dollars,” said Jim.

Mitch shook his head. “Oh, man.”

They all watched, trying to stifle their laughter while Mitch strolled into the centre of the road and put up his hand. The small convoy ground to a halt, the lead truck stopping just a few feet from Mitch.

An officer climbed out of the front passenger seat and approached. “What are you doing, sir?”

Mitch went bright red. “I… Oh, boy. I was just protesting against the inhumanity of war. I’m very very sorry. Please don’t shoot me.”

The officer lowered his eyebrows at Mitch and stared at him for several moments. Then his face lit up and he smiled. “Hey, you’re those guys from TV, right? The ones with that Prank show. Diabolical Prankers.”

Mitch nodded. “Yeah, that’s us.”

The officer patted Mitch on the back hard enough to send him off balance. “The boys love you guys. They always have your show running in the mess. Lightens everyone’s spirits. Wish I could say there will be chance for you to film more of them.”

Sully stepped forwards. “Are things that bad?”

The officer shook his head wearily. “You have no idea. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear a million have died in the city during the last forty-eight hours. Then enemy swarmed over Manhattan before were even had chance to respond. We blew the bridges and have most of them contained for the most part, but it’s only a matter of time before things spill into the other boroughs, and we can do nothing to stop the enemy heading north or the packs that already moved through here.”

“So what should we do?” asked Mitch. “Can we nuke them? Or perform a big exorcism. Give us a little hope here, man.”

The officer shrugged. “We’re on our way to Roosevelt Park to regroup with some other units. You’re welcome to tag along. Tell you the truth, my men are pretty stricken. Having a couple of jokers in our pack might do a bit of good. You still seem to still have your sense of humours, Lord knows how.”

Jim huffed. “It’s all we have. Take away our jokes and Mitch would be a blubbering mess.”

“We’d like to join you,” said Sully. “We’ll help if we can.”

The officer nodded to the truck. “Then get in back, boys. It’s going to be a long ride.”

They entered the truck to a warm welcome, the soldiers all spouting off their favourite skits or quoted catch phrases. Despite the many wounds and injuries the men sported, they all laughed heartely. Maybe laughter really was of value right now, and the live audience certainly felt good.

The vehicles resumed their journey out of the city, the back of the trucks filled with chuckles. The Cheese Burgers had joined the Army.

Damien Banks

Birmingham, United Kingdom

Harry pointed his rifle down from the window of the office block they were stationed at. The lower levels housed a massive Waterstones, but the top two floors were unused. It had been converted into a makeshift base of operations for a small section of the Army. Harry was currently acting as a scout, watching the quiet city below.

Damien was standing behind him. “Still quiet down there?”

“Yeah, the enemy seem to be laying low. We had some reports of them capturing people and taking them to the gate, but we don’t know why.”

“I thought they were here to kill us all. Why take captives?”

Harry kept his eye against his scope. “Don’t know. Did you need something, civilian?”

“No, I’m just trying to understand what’s going on, so I can help.”

“You can’t help.”

Damien bristled. “Tell that to Steph. She’s alive because of me.”

Harry finally moved away from the window. “That was a stupid thing you did saving her. It was brave, but stupid. I can’t have stupid people doing stupid things. Just lay low with the other civilians. Leave this to the professionals.”

Damien rolled his eyes. “This involves everyone. I won’t sit back and do nothing.”

“Fine. Then grab those binoculars on the window ledge and help me keep watch. We need to keep this block secure, so look out for any approaching forces.”

Damien nodded, grabbed the binoculars and looked out the window. Military issue, the lenses were very strong, and he had to adjust the zoom several times to get his bearings. The street below was a section of high street with fast food restaurants and clothes shops making up the most part. It was currently quiet. No enemy in sight. While the Army’s forces in the area were moderate, it had been the police officers who had done the most good. Damien had seen them disperse massive flocks of the enemy with tear gas and flash bangs. It had not taken them out of commission for long, but it had allowed civilians to escape in the confusion and bought the Army an opportunity to strike. Damien had played impotent witness to most of the fighting in the last forty-eight hours, but he had at least done enough to save a young woman named Steph. She had followed him around ever since. It felt good to be a hero.

For ten minutes, he watched the street below but still didn’t feel like he was doing enough. He was about to take a breather when a massive headache struck. He stumbled away from the window, clutching his skull.

Steph raced up behind him, catching him as he fell. “Damien, are you all right?”

“What is it?” Harry demanded irritably.

“My… my head. Argh!” He clutched himself with both hands.

And he saw something.

It was if he were blind, but still seeing. He couldn’t see the world, only the images playing behind his closed eyelids.

He saw the enemy. “They’re coming.”

“Who?” asked Harry. “Who?”

“The demons from the gate. They know we’re here and they’re sending a group to take us out.”

“You saw something through the binoculars?”

Damien moaned, doubled over and tried not to vomit. “No! Im seeing it now. They’ll be here soon. There’re coming from inside a warehouse. L…L… Latifs!”

“I know Latifs,” said Steph. “It’s on New Canal Street about twenty minutes walk away.”

Damien opened his eyes and saw Harry frowning at him. The soldier said nothing as he plucked his radio and gave a command. “Get on to Area HQ and tell them to hit New Canal with everything we have available.” He put back his radio and glared at Damien. “I like you, kid, but you best not have just wasted a whole lot of people’s time.”

The visions had gone, but Damien was sure of what he had seen. It was like watching a CCTV monitor. It was happening right now.”

They waited in silence.

Steph rubbed Damien’s back. “Are you okay?”

Damien rubbed at his head, but the pain was totally gone, not even a residual ache. “Yeah, it was so… surreal. I’ve never felt anything like it. I’m used to bad dreams, but not while I’m awake.”

“Huh, you have bad dreams a lot?”

Damien was embarrassed, worried he sounded like a child. “Yeah, I’m a bit messed up. I dream about demons in the snow and all sorts of nonsense.”

Steph recoiled.

“What?” he said. “What is it?”

“I have the same dream. You dream about flames in the snow and dogs and… demons?”

Damien nodded. “Yes! How could you…”

Steph took another step back, freaked out. “I don’t know.”

Before Damien had chance to think about things, Harry’s radio screeched—at the exact same time that distant gunfire erupted.

“What is it?” Harry barked into his handset.

“We found the enemy. A shit load of them coming out of a warehouse.”

“Report. Give me a report.”

“We… we’re handling it. They never saw us coming. We just dropped a third before we even engaged. I…”

Gunfire increased in the city, a hundred soldiers unleashing at once.

“We… we’ve beaten them back. They’re running. Hey… they have people with them. He have civilians.”

Harry looked up at Damien, his eyes wide. Back into his handset, he spoke evenly. “Are the civilians okay?”

“Erm… yes, I think so. There’s about thirty people here and they all seem okay. I estimate the number of enemy casualties at north of fifty. We… we really kicked their arses. Where did you get the Intel?”

Harry sighed. “I’m not quite sure. Keep me posted.”

“Will do.”

Harry ended the call and kept his eyes on Damien. “How the Hell did you know?”

He shook his head. “Honestly, I have no idea.”

Everyone in the room was looking at him, soldiers and civilians—all strangers. They looked at him with fear.

“Can you see the future?” Steph asked.

“Of course not.”

“Then how?”

“You better start giving me some answers, lad,” said Harry. “You expect me to believe you just took a lucky guess?”

“It wasn’t a guess, I knew. But I don’t know how I knew. I did a good thing. I helped. So stop staring at me like I’m dangerous.”

Harry took a step towards him, keeping their eyes locked. “Anything I don’t understand is dangerous, do you understand?”

Damien frowned, went to speak but didn’t.

“What is it?” Harry demanded.

“I… I was sure we had met before for a moment there. That we were friends.”

Harry grabbed his collar. “Are you playing games with me?”

“No!” Damien shoved the soldier away from him. “Fuck you! I’m just trying to help.”

“Then give some bloody answers I can understand.”

“He doesn’t have the answers,” said a new voice in the room with a faint Irish twang. “Lad doesn’t even know who he is.”

The whole room spun to see a disheveled man at the edge of the room. He had messy brown hair and a smile on his face. The soldier pointed their weapons. The civilians muttered in confusion.

“Who the Hell are you?” Harry demanded, pointing his own rifle.

The stranger stepped forward, both hands out in front of him. “The name’s Lucas, and you have my boy there. None of you have any idea quite how important he is.”

“Are you talking about me?” asked Damien.

Lucas smiled. “Yes, you and all the other Damien Banks’.”

Damien cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, what?”

Lucas just smiled.

“I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.”

Albert Einstein

“Death is not extinction. Neither the soul nor the body is extinguished or put out of existence.”

Oliver Joseph Lodge

“I ain’t heard no fat lady!”

Captain Hiller, Independence Day (1996),

20th Century Fox

Marcy

“Max, come back here! It’s not safe.”

“There’s food, mummy.”

Marcy crouched beside the flat-tyred Volkswagen and waved at her son. At four years old, Max hadn't yet developed an adequate danger-radar, which meant he ran off wildly at every opportunity, and trying to control him during the apocalypse was no easier than it had been before. The key difference was the severe shortage of alcohol to help recover mummy's senses once evening came.

Christ, I'd kill for a G & T.

Marcy’s bond with her enthusiastic son had only galvanised since a demon invasion had driven them from their home. There were no more rushed shopping trips or stress-filled play dates with bitchy mum-friends. Now, she and Max gave each other their absolute attention and had become inseparable—an apocalyptic team, scrounging through bins and hiding out in burnt buildings. It was a simpler life, having only to worry about food and shelter, instead of mortgage payments and cheating husbands, yet being terrified constantly did eventually take its toll. Marcy's hands shook endlessly, and she started most mornings by anxiously vomiting. Damn her husband for not being here with them.

“Max, be careful,” she snapped. “We don’t know if we’re alone out here.”

Max peered at her from behind the wheelie bin he leant against and frowned in the way only inquisitive four-year-olds can. “I don’t like the monsters.”

Marcy looked left and right, and then scurried from her hiding spot. She crossed the road and made it over to the bins. “We haven’t seen any today, but we still have to be careful.”

“Okay, mummy.” He gave her a hug, and she winced as she felt his ribs poking her. “Look though.”

She eased her son away. “What have you got there?”

Max yanked a crumpled pizza box from the bin and held it out like a prize. He lifted the lid with an excited smile, but his expression turned to a frown when all that greeted him was an unravelled condom—Max had taken to calling them 'wet worms'. Now he groaned.

“I want pizza.”

“I know, honey, but I think all the pizza is gone. I still have a couple of chocolate bars in the backpack. You want one?”

He shook his head and pouted. “I want pizza.”

“One day, there’ll be pizza again, sweetheart, I promise.”

“With dad? Dad likes pizza.”

“We’ll find dad one day, Max. He’s safe with your uncle Rick.” It wasn’t easy lying to her son. Food was becoming an issue. The supermarkets were full of stray dogs and other scavengers. Anything not in a can was either spoiled or devoured. Searching through bins was becoming a waste of time. They survived the last couple of weeks by rummaging through cupboards in empty houses. Sometimes they found bodies. Max knew to close his eyes and call to her whenever that happened.

Six weeks now since the gates had opened.

Six weeks since those first horrifying reports on the news.

Six weeks since Max had last seen his father.

Marcy’s sweet little boy didn’t deserve this. No child did.

But at least hers was still alive. I’m the luckiest mother in the world. Maybe the only mother…

“Come on, Max. It’s getting dark. We should find somewhere to sleep tonight.”

“Can we find somewhere with a boy’s bedroom? I want toys.”

She smiled, buoyed that colourful trinkets could still distract her child. Max’s innocence protected him in ways she envied—he looked neither forward nor back, only at the reality of the moment. For Marcy, their inescapable fate created an endless maelstrom in her tummy. Humanity's future had become ticking seconds on a rusty clock. She couldn’t protect Max forever. Not in this world.

A noise.

Marcy pulled Max closer to keep him quiet, and then tilted her head, sure she had heard something.

No, not heard—she had felt something. Vibrations beneath the worn soles of her shoes.

Thwump.

There it was again. Something distant. Something big. Big enough that the ground shook.

“Oh no…” Marcy felt the ligature around her guts tighten. “Max, we need to get inside.”

Max had learned his mother’s body language well enough that he didn’t argue. Sticking close together, the two of them took off across the road heading for a row of shops further along the pavement. Marcy had made a mental note of a ransacked charity shop with a broken door they had passed by earlier. That was where she headed now.

Max’s short legs had to hop to keep up with his mother's frantic strides. “The monsters are coming, aren’t they?”

“Yes, sweetheart. We need to get indoors.”

The charity shop lay just ahead—a dead cat fouling the gutter marked its location. Funny, the methods she used to navigate this new, horrifying world. No more sat navs. No more directions. Just dead cats and burnt out cars.

Marcy yanked Max into the broken doorway. The shop's interior smelt damp—rank and rotten. A pile of moulding paperbacks littered the entryway rug. Muddy footprints marked their pages. The broken door was irreparable, but the plate glass window still stood intact. Looters had put through the windows of most shops, but charity shops were not prize pickings.

Max released his mother’s hand and went running deeper into the shop, picking through the detritus of abandoned knickknacks. The first thing he grabbed was a grungy bunny rabbit. He clutched it by his side. “I like it here.”

She shushed him. “Just keep moving towards the back.”

The demons acted more as roaming gangs than fastidious searchers, and if you kept off the streets, they usually passed right by. The early days of the apocalypse had seen mass slaughters, but human beings were now so rare that the demons seemed uninterested in picking off stragglers. Marcy assumed they were focused on something greater—perhaps murdering a last bastion of humanity somewhere. Maybe people were fighting back.

She hoped.

If there was someplace safe—truly safe—then Marcy had to get her son there. She couldn't protect him on her own. Not forever.

“Mum, can I have this?”

Marcy looked over and saw that her son had obtained a hobbyhorse. Its brown and black fur was still plush and upright, and both beady eyes were in place. Such a rudimentary toy would have held no interest to her son two months ago, but now, in the absence of electronic entertainment, it was what leapt out at him.

“Sure, you can have it, but no more talking.”

“No, you cannot have that!” someone shouted from the back. “How dare you come in here and take things that don’t belong to you? This is a charity. You are stealing from a charity!”

Marcy stumbled in fright and collided with the cash register, which slid across the desk on rubber feet and made a screeching sound. “I-I-I was… we were... we are just looking for somewhere safe to hide. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Don’t you sir me, you thief. Get out of here before I call the police!”

“The police? Are you crazy?”

“Mummy says the police have all gone away,” said Max gravely to the shadow at the back.

An old man stepped out of the gloom and entered the dim shaft of sunlight filtering in from outside. His eyes were red and swollen, cheeks blotchy. A feral look about him—a crazed look.

Marcy threw out her hand. “Come here, Max! We should leave this gentleman in peace.”

“But the monsters, mummy. You said the monsters were coming.”

She sighed. Max was right. Something was coming. But this old man made her feel more threatened than being exposed outside. “We’ll hide somewhere else," she said. “Let’s go.”

Max moved towards her, but the old man struck like a snake and caught the boy by the wrist. “Hold it right there, sonny.”

“Mum!”

Marcy’s hands curled into fists. “Don’t touch him, you crazy old fuck!”

The old man shot her a bug-eyed glance, while still clutching her son. Max struggled, the grungy bunny in his free hand flopping like it was having a seizure. “What did you call me, miss?”

“Let my son go, right now. We’re leaving.”

“He’s trying to steal this horse. This horse was donated to charity. Your boy is trying to steal from charity.”

Marcy strode towards the old imbecile. “No, he just forgot he was holding it. Let him go.”

“You people disgust me.”

Strangely, the comment offended Marcy. Perhaps because it sounded as though he meant it so vehemently—that she truly disgusted him. “What do you mean, you people?”

“I mean, mothers letting their kids run amok. Whoring about and smoking drugs while their kids get up to who knows what. I see it on that Jez Karl show every morning. Scum, the lot of you.”

The Jez Karl show? This guy had lost the plot. There had been no television for weeks. “I’m sorry, sir, but you’re mistaken. I’m a married woman, and Max is a well brought-up boy. We made a mistake coming in here, that’s all. Let him go, and we’ll leave.”

“No. I’m calling the police.”

“You’re mad.”

Max struggled and the old man yanked his arm, making him cry out. “Mum, he’s hurting me.”

Marcy reacted. She closed the short distance between the two of them and lashed out, shoving the old man under the chin and knocking his head back. He cried out in surprise and released Max. The boy scurried over to Marcy’s side and she gathered him close. Pointing a finger in the old man’s face, she spat with anger. “Maybe you’ve got Alzheimer’s or something, I don’t know, but my son and I are leaving, and you will back the Hell away.”

The old man did the opposite. He lunged at her.

A jolt of pain shot through the back of Marcy’s hand, and when she looked, she saw blood.

“Mummy, the man has a knife.”

“Stay back. Just…”

The old man lunged again, his delusion evolving to full-blown mania—feral expression twisting and distorting like his face was made of maggots. His snarling mouth lacked teeth. His grey tongue darted in and out of crusted lips. “Bloody whores and thieves. Ruining the country.” He slashed a small penknife and missed Marcy’s face by an inch. If it had been a longer blade, she would have had a hole through her nose. “I’ll kill you, bitch!”

“Mummy!”

“Run, Max. Run!”

Marcy shoved her son towards the broken doorway. The old man’s aged joints popped as he pursued her, and he turned the air blue with his furious heckle.

Max made it outside onto the pavement ahead of Marcy who was a step behind him. He was crying out loud—the chase summoning panic. “It’s okay,” she told him, pulling him along the pavement. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

“Mummy, he’s behind us.”

Marcy shielded her son and faced the old lunatic. He stalked towards her with that pathetic yet deadly little blade out in front of him. “I’m going to do the world a favour, you dirty whore.”

Marcy covered her son’s ears. “Fuck you, you crazy old fuck!”

“How dare you?” In the grey glow of the waning sun, the old man unveiled his true madness: shit and piss caked his trousers; bruises blotted the tissue-paper skin of his forearms.

Marcy kept Max behind her and threw her arms out in front of her. “Stay bac-”

Suddenly the old man went airborne. One minute he was there, about to strike her, the next he was launching into the sky like a rocket. He didn’t make a sound. Marcy’s vision blurred. Her hearing buzzed.

She heard her son’s terrified screams.

Marcy turned her head to see what stood over her shoulder.

Max dropped the grungy bunny on the floor and clung to Marcy’s thigh. “Mummy, it’s a big monster.”

Marcy froze. She’d known this moment would eventually come, but now it had, and she could do nothing except yield to its inevitability. The suffering was about to end. Her son’s life was about to end. It was a relief in some ways. But in others, she was a mother failing her son.

She muttered one word.

“Please.”

The twenty-foot angel glared at Marcy, the same disgusted expression on its face that the old man had worn before being launched into oblivion. The angel had saved her, but it had been no noble deed. With its perfect, beautiful, snarling face, this giant abomination wanted her death for itself. “Bugs,” said the angel in a booming voice. “Insects and bugs.”

Marcy pulled Max into her bosom. The boy trembled, and it hurt her heart. “Be brave,” she said. “Mummy’s got you.”

The angel reared back, massive hand outstretched and ready to swat her like the bug it deemed her to be.

Just let it be quick.

Bang! Clatter-tatter.

Marcy flinched. The angel tottered back, reaching out and catching its balance against the roof of the charity shop. It let out an angered roar and spun around, ripping out a section of roof tiles, which shattered against the pavement like giant hailstones.

Bang-bang! Clatter-tatter.

Marcy clutched her son tighter, stifling his terrified screams.

Someone was shooting.

In the early days of the apocalypse, gunfire had been as common as bird song. Marcy had not realised Britain possessed so much firepower, but in the first days of war, it seemed every family heirloom—antique revolvers and dusty shotguns—came out of the cupboard to join the modern equipment of the nation’s armed services. Then, a week or two later, the gunfire had stopped and only silence remained.

The gunfire had returned in anthem.

Bang bang! Clatter-clatter-tatter.

The angel swatted its arms like a swarm of bees was attacking it. To Marcy’s surprise, the angel bled. Bloody holes pockmarked its body—bullets finding their mark—but that was impossible. Angels couldn't be harmed. The news reports declared it with absolute certainty before going off air.

“Take that, you big piece of stank!” someone shouted.

The angel spotted its attackers and stomped across the road. Marcy saw three men—one black, one white, and one Middle-Eastern with baggy trousers and shirt. Each of them sported guns and were firing at the approaching angel.

No, thought Marcy. It’s they who are the angels.

Marcy wanted to make good use of the distraction by running for cover, yet she was rooted in place. The men had injured the angel, but it was undeterred, picking up speed as it stamped across the road. One man legged it across the street, getting the angel's attention. It was the white man—a massively muscled guy wearing a tight black t-shirt. He dodged between two parked cars, using them as obstacles to keep the angel at bay.

What was he doing? He would be a sitting duck.

One of the other men emerged from a side street. It was the black man, a lad with a bright green baseball cap. He held what looked like a bottle of whiskey in his hand and lit it on fire.

Marcy watched the flaming whiskey bottle arc through the sky before coming down and shattering against the distracted angel’s back. Flames engulfed it and sent it into a panicked spin.

“Take that, you lanky asshole!”

The angel's deep bellow became an animalistic screech. The flames grew higher, singeing the air. Trapped in agony, the angel fled, disappearing down the road and slipping behind the row of shops.

Several moments passed while the three men let the dust settle, then they came racing across the road towards Marcy and Max. Marcy cowered, having no reason to trust these men any more than she had the crazy old man or the angel. Everything living had the potential to kill you in this new world—and probably would.

“You okay, luv?” asked the lad in the green baseball cap. When he spoke, she glimpsed metal in his mouth.

“W-Who are you?”

“I’m Vamps. These are my bros, Mass and Aymun.”

“It is a joy to see a female soul,” said the Middle-Eastern gentleman in a thick accent. He gave a little bow.

“You’ll have to excuse him,” said Vamps. “He’s from the desert or summin’. Got here by way of Hell Gate. Are you okay, luv? Your little boy okay?”

Marcy moved Max away from her slightly so that she could examine him. His eyes were wet, his nose snotty, but he was no longer crying. She turned him to face the three men. “It's okay. This is Vamps, Mass, and… I’m sorry…”

“Aymun, my dear. My name is Aymun.”

Max waved a hand coyly, but did not speak.

Vamps grinned at the boy, exposing two gold fangs. “You must be a right gangster, little man, looking after your ma out here. What’s your name?”

“M-Max.”

“Good to meet you, Max. Hey, you know what, I think I have something for you.” Vamps nodded to his muscly white friend who turned around to expose a backpack. Unzipping it and fumbling inside, Vamps pulled out a colourful packet and handed it to Max. “Here ya go, bud. You like these?”

“Haribo! They’re my favourite.”

Vamps smiled again, flashing those teeth. “Good thing it’s a family pack, huh? Should last you all day.”

“I think you’ll be surprised,” said Marcy, giggling with joy at a stranger showing kindness to her son. Those days had seemed long gone. “Thank you for saving us. I… I have a few things in my pack you can have but—”

Vamps waved a hand and cut her off. “We don’t want your stuff, luv. We do just fine. The streets ain’t so bad once you know how things go down.”

“I’m afraid I spent most of my life as an accountant.”

The big guy—Mass, apparently—shrugged his wide shoulders. “S’okay. Aymun here used to be a terrorist. Past’s the past, innit?”

“Are you… are you comparing accountants to terrorists?”

Mass shrugged again.

“I was no terrorist,” said Aymun. “Just a soldier born to one side fighting against those on another. Now there are no sides. We all must be as one.”

Vamps gave Marcy a sly smirk. “What Aymun is try’na say is we all need to look out for each other. It’s us against them.”

“Really?” asked Marcy, trusting the situation enough now to relax her tense shoulders. “Because that would make you the first good guys we’ve met in weeks.”

Vamps nodded as if he understood. “You fancy tagging along with us? I’m sure we can rustle up some more sweeties for your boy.”

Marcy attempted to reply, but wavered. “You’re…. really what you say you are? You won’t hurt us?”

All three men shook their heads.

“Only things we hurt are demons,” said Vamps. “So, tagging along or not?”

Marcy grinned. “Hmm? Stay here waiting to get attacked again, or go with three heavily armed men who just saved my life. Hell yes we’re tagging along! Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Vamps laughed and patted her on the back. It was a friendly gesture, not lascivious in any way. Ironic, because in her earlier life, this street-wise kid would have frightened the life out of her. Today, in this moment, she was eager to trust the lad with her life. Please just let him be what he claims to be.

“Thanks for being our friends,” said Max, already chomping on his sweets. “I miss having friends.”

Vamps put an arm around the boy as if he were a big brother. “Let’s go find you some more then, bud. We could all use more friends.”

Guy Granger

“It’s beautiful,” said Lieutenant Tosco on the bridge.

Gazing out through the same long glass window Captain Guy Granger was inclined to agree. The sight greeting them most certainly was beautiful. As perfect and as sublime as a mirage—but real.

Skip stroked his wiry, grey beard and grinned from ear to ear. “Well done, you stubborn Brits!”

Guy tried to count the number of ships amassed in the waters outside Portsmouth but gave up after ninety. More than a hundred warships huddled together in the Channel, large and small, from many nations. Most were British, but Guy also spotted French, German, Belgian, and Spanish flags painted on hulls. Tosco had done what he could over the past weeks to discover the situation in Western Europe. What spotty reports he’d gathered hinted human resistance was inland around the capitals. That left naval forces of little use to nations like France and Germany with their capitals Paris and Berlin. Britain, however, being an island, was an obvious rallying point for rudderless sailors. This was a place a seafaring man could go to wage war against his enemy—and it was glorious.

Ships everywhere.

“I think I even see a pair of Yankee ships,” said Tosco. “And look, that’s a goddamn German nuclear sub. You could flatten a city with what they have on board.”

The mention of nuclear capabilities turned Guy’s stomach. A miracle no country had let loose its sparrows of death during the moment the world fell. When the direst of times had arrived, no world leader had pressed that big red button. There was something comforting about that. Perhaps mankind wasn't so bad.

Guy cleared his throat and let the crew hear him. For those not present in the bridge, he switched on the ship-wide intercom. “Men and women of the USCG Hatchet, this is your captain speaking. As you all see from the railings, humanity is alive and well in the United Kingdom.” He chuckled as a cheer rang out from the decks. “We are low on food, thick with injury, and many of us have contemplated the future with bleak souls and heavy hearts. None of us knew where our fates would lead us. Yet, today, we have arrived to greet our fellow man and add our might to this great beast of defiance you see amassed before you. We are about to enter the port of Portsmouth. Anglophiles amongst you might already know this port goes back to Roman times, but we will help ensure it survives even longer.” Another cheer. “We have radioed ahead, and our arrival is welcomed. We are among friends, and so must act as appreciative guests, ambassadors for our respective nations. The world has not ended. Captain Granger out.”

Those in the bridge beamed so widely Guy worried they might get lockjaw. The old chief, Skip, looked like he might cry, but he kept it together long enough to take Guy aside briefly. “You think things are better than we thought? Have the Brits fought back?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Chief. There’s a lot of manpower here, granted, but until we speak with whoever’s in charge, we shouldn’t assume anything. The last thing we need is to give the people aboard the Hatchet false hope. It’s been a long journey.”

Skip nodded. “Aye, that it has.”

In the last week, people had reached their tipping points. Men and woman threw themselves over the railings with alarming regularity, and the Hatchet had lost more than a dozen souls—including three sailors. There had also been a spate of violence, no doubt stemming from the cramped confines and strict rations. The ship had bordered on anarchy.

But today was a new day.

Guy turned to Tosco. “Lieutenant, spread word that no one is to disembark until arrangements are made. I do not want an unruly stampede onto allied soil.”

“Yes sir. Will I be coming ashore with the landing party?”

Guy nodded. “I shall take you and Skip.” Then he turned to his petty officer, Bentley, sitting at the Hatchet's main console. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Bentley, let British Command know we’re requesting a berth.”

Bentley did as commanded, and Guy left the bridge to oversee the rest of his people. The passengers and crew would be excited. That was dangerous. Excited people struggled to contain themselves, and the glorious sight of land might push some of them into a frenzy. So Guy spent the next hour moving between the Hatchet’s decks and speaking with civilians, assuring them they would be taken care of. He also reminded his crew of their duty. By the time he finished his rounds, Guy was only slightly more confident that order would remain.

He stood stiffly on the foredeck as the Hatchet drifted into an allocated berth. Off the Portside bow, HMS Ocean towered over their smaller Coast Guard cutter and reminded Guy how few resources he actually wielded. The massive Royal Navy vessel was a helicopter carrier, and Guy spotted half-a-dozen Apache attack choppers lined up on its main deck. It gave him a warm glow to imagine a downpour of Hellfire missiles streaking down on the enemy from the clouds—like the wrath of God himself.

Were things truly as good as they looked here? Compared to what Guy had witnessed at Norfolk base all those weeks ago, Portsmouth was a well-oiled machine. The drizzly sky buzzed with small recon choppers, and masses of riflemen patrolled the docks. It would take a whole lot of demons to overrun this place.

That didn’t mean they couldn’t though.

Tosco and Skip joined Guy at the railings. Tosco handed him a radio. “Lieutenant-Colonel Spencer on the wire for you, sir.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Guy took the radio and put it to his lips. “Lieutenant-Colonel Spencer, this is Captain Guy Granger of the United States Coast Guard. Thank you for allowing us to dock, Portsmouth. Over.”

“You’re more than welcome, Captain,” came a voice from a mouth that sounded like it was sucking plums. “We’re having ourselves quite the tea party here, as you can see. Can’t let our enemy have all the fun, can we? Over.”

“Never a truer word spoken, Lieutenant-Colonel. Are you in command of operations here?”

“Oh no, old boy. That privilege falls to General Wickstaff, but the good general is otherwise engaged. You’ll have to settle for a lowly lieutenant-colonel for now.”

Guy chuckled. Maybe it was just being so long at sea, but he liked the stuffy old lieutenant-colonel (pronounced ‘left-tenant’ in these foreign lands). “Meeting any superior officer is a welcomed comfort,” he admitted.

“Had it tough out there on the big blue, old boy?”

“You might say that. You’re not a sea dog yourself?”

“British Army, man and boy. Spent most my stretch with 202 Signal Squadron, but spent the last few years as head of recruitment. Some fine young lads I’ve seen come and go. Pains me to think about them now. Anyway, enough jawing, I suspect you would like to come ashore?”

Guy shivered at the thought of being on solid ground. “That would be most welcome, sir. The sea is my mother, but no man wants to spend every day with his old lady.”

A bark of chesty laughter on the other end, then: “I can’t argue with that, old boy. You and your people are free to disembark, but I’m afraid they can't pass through the main checkpoint until they've had the once over.”

“Understandable. Where should I direct my landing party? I would very much like to lend aid where needed, but I have injured civilians on board that need attending to first.”

“Head to the Customs building, Captain Granger, and someone will be with you shortly. It’s been a pleasure meeting you. Ta-ta, for now. Over”

“Likewise, Lieutenant-Colonel. Over and out.” Guy handed the radio back to Tosco and took a deep breath. The stuffy old officer had seemed as laid back as can be, a good sign. No hint of being under threat here.

“What the Hell does ‘ta-ta’ mean?” asked Tosco.

“Think it means goodbye,” explained Skip.

Guy wasn't listening. The Hatchet clunked into place beside the cement pier, and the catwalk lowered. Guy had all his remaining officers beside Tosco lined up to block the walkway and prevent people spilling out in a mad rush. Already the civilians on board were bunching together and shoving one another. Some of them waved excitedly at the crewman working high up on the decks of the massive HMS Ocean.

Guy climbed the railing and turned to address his people. “Men and women of the Hatchet, settle down, please. We have permission to disembark, but I will remind you we are visitors here. The United Kingdom has long been our ally, and today it welcomes us with open arms, but behave yourselves or face my consequences. My officers will disembark you in groups, and if anyone tries to jump the queue or disobey instructions, they will spend the rest of the day in a holding cell. You want to stretch your legs, I understand, so don’t sabotage yourselves. Act like civilised human beings. Our enemy cannot take that away from us.”

With that, Guy slipped behind his officers and trotted down the ramp. That same ramp had seen him flee Norfolk only weeks before. It felt surreal to still be alive after so much death, but here he was.

Skip and Tosco followed him in silence, glancing around with awe. The double-impact of stepping onto terra firma, twinned with the sight of the largest modern naval force—possibly ever—assembled was unsettling. For weeks, they had lived an isolated existence aboard the Hatchet, and now they were ants stepping into a colossal nest not their own. Guy felt insignificant, which was liberating. Maybe he could stop being responsible for the lives of so many. Someone else could give the orders. He could hang up his hat and go find his children at last. Kyle and Alice, that’s all he cared about.

He needed to see them.

A small party of British naval officials met Guy on the pier. The fact they sported clipboards made him grin. Such a thing was absurd, yet endearingly representative of man’s fastidious nature and love of creating order from chaos. The British officials directed Guy to the customs building that Lieutenant-Colonel Spencer had told him about. There they were left alone to settle in. Tosco was quick to spot a tea urn filled with hot water, alongside UHT milk, tea bags, and—

“Coffee,” he shouted. "Oh my sweet Lord, they have coffee. Who wants a cup?”

“I’ll take two,” said Skip. “I’ve been having shameful dreams about coffee, son.”

Guy chuckled. “I’ll take a tea, please, Lieutenant. My nerves are enough on edge as it is.”

“You know,” said Tosco. “I’ve gone my whole life and never tasted tea. I think I’ll join you, sir. When in Rome, right?”

“Good point,” said Skip. “Maybe we should do as the natives do.”

Guy shook his head, still smiling. “That they have coffee leads me to believe that the English don’t turn murderous when someone refuses tea.”

“Still,” muttered Skip. “Why risk it? I’ll have a mug of tea, please, Tosco.”

Tosco chewed his lip and looked sheepish. “Great, um, who knows how to make it?”

Guy sighed and had to tell him. Tosco had many talents, but making hot beverages was apparently beyond him. Eventually he got it though, and a few moments later they were all sipping gloriously hot liquid.  A petite woman stomped into the customs building, cursing under her breath and wiping her hands against herself. Late thirties, fit and attractive, she wore stained khaki trousers over a plain white t-shirt. Oil streaked her hands and arms. She spotted them and smiled.

“Greetings, men!”

“Hi,” said Tosco. “We’re waiting to speak with someone in charge. General Wickstaff ideally. Do you know where he is? We’ve been waiting here a while.”

The woman raised a black eyebrow. “And you might be?”

“Lieutenant Tosco, ma’am, United States Coast Guard. We’re here to parlay, so we'd appreciate you getting your superior.”

“Ah, so you’re not the Captain of the Hatchet, despite acting like it?”

Tosco frowned. “Well, no, th—”

“And to my reckoning you’ve been waiting here, safely in the warmth, with fresh tea, for all of twenty minutes, so let’s not be dramatic, ay? You chaps are aware we have coffee, right?”

“We wanted to try the tea,” explained Skip sheepishly.

The woman smirked and chuckled to herself. “We’re not simple tribesman, you know? You don’t have to savour our local delicacies lest you offend us. Now, which one of you two remaining gentlemen is Captain Granger?”

Guy had already stood, although he didn’t remember when. Despite the woman’s dishevelled appearance, she possessed a commanding aura that had brought him to attention. “I’m Captain Granger, ma'am. Pleased to meet you…?”

The woman offered her hand to shake. “General Wickstaff. Pleased to have you in my home, Captain.”

Guy almost choked and shook the woman’s hand vigorously. Afterwards, he wiped oily residue off on his trousers.

Wickstaff examined her soiled palms and wiped them off on her shirt. “Ah, sorry about that. You must forgive my appearance; I’ve been tinkering with a Challenger 2 we have on base. Poor thing got scuppered in Afghanistan and was brought here as a display piece. Could use the bugger right now, so I’ve been trying to get it working.”

“You know how to fix tanks?” said Skip, bushy eyebrows dancing.

The woman shrugged as if it was no big deal. “I spent my career with the Royal Armoured Corp, you pick up a few things.”

Guy cleared his throat. “Thank you for receiving us, General. We feared there’d be nothing here when we set off, but it appears you have quite the operation.”

“I inherited command from Field Marshal Mackay. The blighter dropped dead of a heart attack two weeks ago now. He was eighty-two, so I suppose I can't begrudge the fellow. Field Marshal duties typically fall to the head of the Armed Forces, currently Prince Charles, but who needs a soddin’ blue blood coming and messing things up? I hear there’s a bunker under Buckingham Palace, so I suspect he’s down there now, growing plants under a UV light—mad sod.”

Guy was a little lost by all this, so he just smiled and nodded. “We’re happy to add our forces to your own, General.”

“Temporarily,” added Tosco. “In all likelihood, we will resupply and return home.”

“Ah, at my expense, I presume?” Wickstaff made herself a cup of coffee from the urn. “Never could stand tea,” she explained, sipping at the hot drink.

“If you don’t wish to resupply us,” said Tosco, “then I am sure we can move further down the coast and find someone else willing to.”

“Oh, do be quiet, lad. You're giving my arse quite the headache. Lieutenant,” she eyeballed him coolly, “anyone not here in Portsmouth is, I assure you, on their way here to Portsmouth. We are the only scrap of unsoiled paper left on the roll. We have patrols bringing survivors in almost daily, and none of them report anything being out there but demons and filth. This is humanity’s last beachhead, at least in this neck of the woods. By all means, move on if you want to discover that for yourselves.”

“There are other last stands going on,” argued Tosco. “I’ve spoken to resistance in France, Belgium—”

“Not for us,” she interrupted. “This is Alpha and Omega for us. The radio lines are almost silent, and no other military force exists that could be of any use to us in the battles ahead. We are on our own, and so I’m rather uninterested in resupplying you folks just to send you on your merry way. Stay and help, or don’t, but don’t make demands of me, gentlemen. Your cocks aren't big enough. Why are you even here in the first place?”

“My children are here,” said Guy. “My… my kids are somewhere here.”

Wickstaff raised an eyebrow. “And you appropriated a vessel and crew from your homeland to come get them? How very treasonous of you.”

Guy swallowed. “It wasn’t that simple.”

“I suspect not. Look, I don’t have kids, so I can’t say I understand why people love the grubby little blighters so much, but I realise it would take quite the leader to gain the loyalty of a crew enough to make them desert their homes. I also see many civilians aboard your ship. Rescued?”

“Every one of them,” said Skip. “Captain Granger is the reason any of us are alive.”

“Part of the reason,” amended Tosco with a sniff.

Wickstaff looked at Guy and nodded her head sideways at Tosco. “He always like this?”

“Pretty much. He’s good in a fight though.”

Tosco grunted.

Wickstaff smiled. “What do you chaps think of the tea?”

Tosco glanced down at the steaming mug in his hands. “It, um, lacks something.”

“Sugar, lad. You can’t make a good cuppa without plenty of sugar. Anyway, you’ll have plenty of time to learn how to make a proper brew. You chaps are welcome to stay as long as you like—if you help out and pull your weight. I may opt to resupply you and send you home, but I won’t do it for free. That’s not how things work.”

“My children…” started Guy.

“Are most likely gone, Captain, but I shall make enquires. If fate has kept them alive, they’re as likely here as any place else. I’ll have a clerk come take details from you. For now, I’d like to get the Hatchet and its personnel vetted and your wounded seen to. The civilians may come aboard and stay in the barracks, but the crew must bed down on the ship, I’m afraid.”

“They’ll be dying to come on land,” said Guy.

“And they are most welcome to come and go as they please, Captain. They only need lay their heads aboard your ship. Last thing I want is a bunch of ships dead in the water because everyone is asleep on land. The Hatchet needs to be battle-ready, so keep your shift patterns in place, chaps.”

Guy nodded. It was something he would’ve done anyway. If the shit hit the fan, he wanted to make a quick getaway. “I will do as you ask, General.”

“Good’o! We’re in an enviable position here, chaps. Things have gone poorly for us all so far, but that’s only because the bastards got the drop on us. Now it’s our turn. We’re getting our shit together, and I plan on taking the fight to the enemy very soon. See how they like it up 'em. You gentlemen can be part of it. I would like you to be a part of it.”

“We’ll consider it,” Guy allowed, “but…”

Wickstaff nodded. “Your children, I know. Give me the day and I’ll see what I can do for you. In the meantime, make sure your people behave and tell them they're safe. I’m about to give the afternoon briefing if you'd like to attend. There’ll be more tea—if you chaps are getting a taste for it.”

Skip cleared his throat and put his mug down on a side table. “Any coffee?”

* * *

There they stood ten minutes later, gathered around a large mahogany table in a polished conference room. Most of the assembly was male, but they all paid close attention to Wickstaff’s every word. Guy didn’t know the history of this group, but the female general had clearly earned their greatest respect. Lieutenant-Colonel Spencer introduced himself briefly, showing himself to be the ageing, well-cut career officer Guy had imagined him to be. The man looked to be pushing seventy, but was square-shouldered and stiff-backed. After seeing them, he left before the meeting began.

Skip and Tosco were both standing to one side, drinking hot coffee and sighing after each sip. There had been coffee on the Hatchet during the early days, but after picking up so many refugees, it had dried up in a week. Guy had gone without its heady scent for too long. Skip and Tosco too, apparently.

Now well into the meeting, Wickstaff turned to a young Navy officer at the back of the room and asked for an ammunition report. The barrel-chested sailor put a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat.

“Yes, we’re doing well—all things considered. We’re limiting the choppers to small arms fire for their patrols, and we have a decent supply of the belt-fed 30mils. I counted twenty-four CRV7 rockets and sixty-six Hellfire missiles, but they are not hugely effective against the enemy infantry. They may come in handier against the big game, if we find a way to hurt them, but for the small fry, we are better off using other tactics.”

“Our liaison in Istanbul,” began a black officer with pockmarked cheeks, “Sergeant Cross, says the UN forces operating in Turkey have had luck with napalm. The Turks shouldn’t have been stockpiling the stuff, of course, but it turns out that burning the enemy to a crisp works rather well. Surprising, seeing as half of them are already oven-baked. No success fighting the angels yet though.”

“I’ve received a report that an angel around London was injured,” someone else said in the room.

Wickstaff nodded as if she already knew. Guy suspected she knew everything and that this entire meeting was really to ensure everyone else was up to speed. “The Slough Echo gathered the Intel?”

The speaker nodded. “They said the explosion was a gate on Oxford Street. There have been sporadic reports that a nearby angel was hurt. A witness hiding out in a nearby department store sent out a last-gasp email before the grid went down saying they saw the giant bleeding. The Slough Echo has lost power too now, but we have a line open via sat phone with Corporal Martin, a survivor from the Hyde Park engagement.”

“Yes, I’ve spoken to the man myself,” said Wickstaff. "A good man, and a useful asset. In fact, I sent a detachment out yesterday to help the people there secure their position. They have children to protect, I've been informed.”

That got Guy's attention, and for the next ten minutes he fidgeted at the back of the room, dying to talk to the general one-on-one to find out more. She took the last of her reports from her assembled officers, and then came straight over to Guy, seemingly having noticed his desperation.

She waved a hand before he could speak. “Yes, yes, I know what you’re going to say. Before you get your hopes up, the Echo has only two children under its care—a boy and a girl.”

Guy nodded. “Kyle and Alice!”

“Does your son have Downs Syndrome?”

“What? No! Kyle is normal.”

Wickstaff winced. “I assure you that a child with Downs Syndrome is quite normal.”

“Sorry, I meant nothing by it. Kyle doesn’t have the condition.”

“Then the Echo doesn’t have your son. The boy under their supervision has Downs, and his father is also present.”

Guy almost hit the floor. For a moment, he’d been so naively hopeful—so excited.

“What about the girl?” asked Skip. “Could she be Alice?”

Wickstaff sighed. “It seems unlikely, doesn’t it? I can’t rule it out though.”

“Then I need to go there,” urged Guy. “How do I get to Slough?”

“Hold your horses. Slough is an hour away by car, and that was before the roads teemed with monsters. You heard it yourself; we have an open line with them. Come to my office, and I will put you through.”

Guy felt his hands shaking as he walked, which was why he appreciated it when Skip reached out a hand and steadied him. “Settle down, Captain. Everything will work out.”

In silence, Guy followed the general into her office. Skip and Tosco remained outside. They understood this was a private moment.

Wickstaff motioned to her desk. “Take a seat, Captain.”

“No, thank you, I’d rather stand.”

“Right’o. I’ll just tap in the coordinates. It’s a satellite phone they have there, so reception is spotty. Seeing as the normal exchanges are barely working though, it’s the best we have.”

Guy said nothing, just swallowed and waited.

It took several minutes of Wickstaff fiddling with the bulky receiver in her office, and several times it looked like the whole thing might end up being a complete bust. Guy felt like vomiting, but then Wickstaff’s face lit up along with a blinking green light on the receiver. “Ah! Yes! Hello, whom am I speaking with?”

“...poral Martin, who’s this?”

Crackle.

“General Wickstaff.”

“Oh, apolo... ma’am, I didn’t ...cognise the voice. There’s ...terference.”

“No need to apologise. Sorry for the unannounced contact, Corporal, but I need to ask you a few things about your companions.”

Crackle. “…ing bad, I hope?”

“Not at all. May I ask the name of the young girl you have there with you? Is she well?”

“Yes, ...ry well. Her name is-”

Crackle.

There was an odd sound, like banging on a window.

“Corporal Martin, are you there? Come in Corporal Martin!”

“I’m here. Sorr... line is ba...”

“The young girl you have with you, Corporal. I need her name.”

“Alice. Her na... is Al...”

Guy almost leapt across the room. Wickstaff dodged back against the wall and put her hand up to say, I’m bloody doing it, man. Calm down. She spoke her next words rapidly.

“Okay, Corporal. I need you to get Alice right now and put her on the line. There’s a possibility I have her father standing here in my office.”

Silence for a moment. Crackle. Bang bang. “Impossible. …father is a Coast Guard Captain in …United States.”

Guy almost fainted.

Wickstaff cleared her throat and looked a little faint herself. “Get the girl now, please, Corporal.”

“Roger that.”

There was more crackling while the Corporal did as commanded.

Guy squirmed. “I’m going to be sick.”

“Then be sick, man, but do it quick because I think you just found your daughter. Christ, I didn’t think there were any miracles left in the world. Guy, you need—”

“Hello?” The voice was American. The voice was Alice.

Guy hyperventilated.

Wickstaff steadied herself with a hand on her desk. “Yes, hello there, sweetheart. Is your name Alice…?”

“Granger,” said Guy.

“Alice Granger?”

“Yes, do …know you?”

“No, you don’t, sweetheart, but I know your dad. He’s here with me.”

Silence.

Wickstaff filled it. “I know that’s a lot to take in, Alice. Your father, Guy, came all the way from home to come and get you. He’s here with me. Do you want to speak to him?”

“Yes.” More crackling.

Guy struggled upright, and then wobbled across the room. He put his hand on the receiver Wickstaff offered him, but before he snatched it, he paused and made eye contact with the general. She was grinning.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” she said, and exited the room.

Guy spoke into the receiver. “Alice, it’s daddy.”

“…DADDY! Daddy, oh my, oh my. Daddy, that’s really you, isn’t it?” His little girl exploded in a shower of emotions—all of them high-volume. The line had become crystal clear, almost as if their very yearning was powering the communication. The strange banging continued in the background, faint.

“Yes, honey, it’s really me. Where’s your brother?”

Alice stopped chattering and went deathly silent.

She breathed into the receiver.

“Alice, honey, where’s Kyle?”

More banging. It seemed a little louder.

“Kyle’s gone, dad. The monsters got him.”

Guy almost dropped the receiver. It felt so heavy in his hand. The saliva in his mouth turned to half-set cement, and his words came out garbled. “Alice, tell me… Alice, are you… what?”

“Kyle was trying to help, and the monsters got him. I’m sorry, dad. I should have…”

“I’m coming to get you, sweetheart, that's all you need to be thinking about.”

“Daddy, I miss you.”

“I miss you too, honey.”

Crackle.

The banging started again. This time it was closer, louder.

“Honey, what’s that?”

“I… I don’t—”

Shouting in the background, people panicking.

Gunfire.

Screaming.

“Dad! Dad, the monsters are here. Dad, come and—”

The line decayed with static. Guy shouted into the receiver. “Alice! Alice! Alice! Alice!”

Vamps

“Back there when you saved me, the angel was hurt. It was bleeding.”

Vamps stared at the woman, but it was Aymun who answered her. “The angels are only invulnerable so long as the gates they came through are intact. The one you saw came from a gate in London that no longer exists. Its tether to whatever force empowers it has been broken. The angel can be killed.”

“We been tracking that prick for weeks,” said Vamps, “ever since we closed that gate.”

Marcy balked. “You three closed a gate?”

Vamps cracked his knuckles and grinned. “Yeah... sorta... kinda.”

What had actually closed the gate was Vamps shoving a lowlife called Pusher into it, but that much Marcy didn’t need to know. She seemed a nice lady. Max, her kid, rode on Mass’s wide shoulders, but Marcy always stayed close to him—she clearly didn't trust them yet, and that was understandable. After her initial surge of relief at being found, Marcy hadn't spoken much. Yet, Vamps sensed her gradually opening up.

“We’re fighting back,” said Vamps, nodding to the MP5 on his hip he'd plucked from the corpse of a black-clad police officer. The SMG was down to its last magazine, but he'd put the previous one to good use. “We closed a gate by ourselves, and I bet there are other people taking it to the demons too. This is war, and it ain’t over. Not by a long shot.”

“Wow!” said Marcy. “I never thought Max and I would see anyone again who wasn’t crazy or dangerous—or both.”

Vamps tapped the woman on the back playfully, but realised it was a gesture to which she was unaccustomed. He folded his arms so they could do no further harm. “Never said we ain’t crazy, luv. Aymun, especially, has a few screws loose. It was him what told us about the angels being tethered to their gates.”

Marcy turned to Aymun, her eyebrows curious. “How did you find that out?”

Aymun blinked slowly like a holy man imparting great wisdom. The guy cracked Vamps up. “I know because I came out of a gate.”

Marcy’s eyes widened. “You’re one of them?”

“No, my sister. I am as human as you. I came out of a gate because I stepped through one first.”

“In Syria,” Vamps added. He still loved hearing the story of how Aymun leapt into a gate in the desert and popped out of another in the paved heartland of London, like some inter-dimensional version of taking the Tube.

“The gates are all connected,” said Aymun. “They lead to the enemy’s realm.”

Marcy frowned. “Hell?”

“Yes, my dear, Hell—or something akin to it. The reality of what I saw on the other side is hard to describe. It is a place devoid of feeling. Numb, dark, and lacking anything other than despair. Those I met were not tortured of the flesh. Instead, they were abandoned to an eternity of nothingness. Nothingness forever. That is why the demons want out. They want to feel again—to exist again. Just moments in Hell were enough to make me start to lose a grip on myself. Hell makes you forget who you were and become something else. Something empty.”

Marcy covered her mouth. “So, Hell really is invading earth? There were rumours, at the beginning.”

Aymun blinked slowly and sighed. “It is an invasion from a place so twisted and malformed that the creatures who live there lack anything resembling compassion. Yet there is a small contingent that fights to cling onto what they were. There are souls in Hell that still possess a spark of humanity. I met one such being named Daniel.”

“Wait for it,” said Vamps, grinning. “Shit’s about to get real.”

Marcy frowned but kept her attention on Aymun, even as they walked side by side. Further on, Max giggled on Mass's shoulders as he began doing squats. Aymun took a deep breath and continued.

“Daniel is a fallen angel, one of Lucifer’s kin. He wishes to aid humanity against the forces of darkness.”

“Lucifer? As in the devil? Why would anyone associated with the devil want to help humanity?”

“Because the forces behind this invasion threaten more than merely us. I was not beyond the gates long enough to fully understand, but the fallen angel, Daniel, told me help is coming, and that the angels can be hurt if we destroy the gates they came through. You have witnessed this for yourself.”

Marcy nodded, completely enraptured. “The angel caught fire.”

Vamps flicked his wrist and made a snapping sound. “Because we’re badass motherfu—”

“Vamps!” Mass barked from up front. “Not in front of the kid, man.”

Vamps cringed. “Sorry about that, little man. How you doin’ up there?”

Max turned around, losing his balance and forcing Mass to grab a hold of his small thighs. “My butt hurts. Mass has hard shoulders. My dad’s shoulders were comfier.”

“Want me to put you down, kid?” asked Mass, looking up.

“No, it’s safe up here, and I can see far.”

“Okay then. Get ready for the crocodiles!” Mass hopped around and started leaping. Max squealed hysterically, the most beautiful sound Vamps had ever heard. Who knew Mass was so good with kids? Dumbbells, barbells, and the ladies, yes, but kids, no.

Vamps kicked a dead fox out of the road so Marcy didn’t have to step over it, then turned to the woman and spoke quietly. “Max’s dad…?”

“We weren’t together when the end came.”

“Divorced?”

Marcy sighed. “Not exactly. He… He cheated on me with his secretary. I found out a few days before the gates opened. Last I heard of him, he was off to see his brother in Crapstone. Tell you the truth, I've been heading south hoping to get there and find him. For Max, more than anything.”

Vamps covered his mouth and tried not to laugh. “Crapstone? That’s a place?”

Marcy ended up chuckling too. “Yes, it’s on the south-east coast. I went there once; it's pretty.”

“Well, me and Mass are from Brixton, so we don't really know pretty. Before all this we were… well, we weren’t much of anything.”

“And now you’re wandering heroes, saving women and children from certain death.” She looked up, forced herself to make eye contact. “I don’t care what you were, Vamps. You and your friends are good people. Look at my son; he’s laughing. You have no idea what that means to me.”

Vamps shifted uncomfortably. “Hey, it’s no problem. We just keeping shit real, you feel me?”

Marcy reached out and squeezed his arm. “Thank you.”

“Hey,” Mass barked again. “We got a petrol station up ahead. Worth checking out.”

Vamps sidestepped so he could see around his friend’s wide back. Sure enough, a brand-name petrol station with an adjacent mini-mart lay ahead. The place was shuttered.

“Must be a rough part of town to have shutters,” said Mass. “Might mean no one's been inside though.”

Aymun pointed to a white van parked by the pumps. Someone lay dead inside, rotting in the driver’s seat. Mass skirted around it to keep Max from seeing the grisly scene. Vamps was once again impressed by his friend's paternal instincts.

“There’s no way in,” said Marcy. “We’ve tried to get through shutters before; it’s impossible.”

“Nah,” said Vamps. “You just got to know the way in.”

Mass dropped Max to the ground and took off his backpack, then tossed it to Vamps who quickly unzipped it. From inside, he pulled out a heavy copper mallet. “Here's our key.”

“You’ve been carrying that around in your pack?” Marcy asked Mass, incredulous.

Mass shrugged his boulder-shoulders. “It’s a workout, innit?”

Vamps turned to his friend and grinned. “Boost?”

“Yeah, man.”

Vamps trotted up to the front of the petrol station and waited for Mass to link his fingers. Once he did, Vamps stepped up and allowed his friend to launch him upwards like a child. Ten feet in the air, he wrapped his fingers around the lip of the low roof and hung on. It wasn’t difficult to hoist himself—he’d lost at least a stone in the last few weeks, so he was soon standing up on the roof.

“Be careful,” Marcy shouted.

“And watch out for bird poop,” added Max.

Vamps looked down and saluted. A strange gesture, but one he thought the little boy would appreciate. “I’ll be done in a jiffy, little man.”

The roof of the petrol station was flat and lined with sticky felt. A large air conditioning unit took up the centre of the space, but that wasn’t the way in. The way in was anywhere on the long flat roof not close to an edge. Vamps got to work. Picking a spot at random, he raised the mallet over his shoulder and brought it down as hard as he could.

The roof cracked.

But it would be some time until it yielded completely, so he struck at the same spot again and again, several times, before stopping and tearing up a section of felt. Underneath lay wooden planks. He struck at the timbers one at a time, causing them to split. Nails jutted out of the splintering wood, but Vamps worked around them and got to the plasterwork beneath.

“Almost in,” he shouted after twenty or so minutes.

“Cool,” shouted Mass from the forecourt. “I’m getting hungry down here, man. Reckon they’ll have Pot Noodles? Gunna boil me some water and wreck a couple tubs of Chicken Chow Mein.”

“What’s that?” asked Max.

“You never had a green Pot Noodle, kid?”

“No.”

“Then prepare to become a man.”

Vamps chuckled and allowed the voices to fade. He still had work to do.

It took another thirty minutes before he was finally through the roof. There wasn't much that could go wrong breaking into a building when it didn’t matter about noise or visibility. No one was around to call the pigs, so burglary had become extremely easy—a way of life in this new world.

Vamps lowered himself carefully, swinging his feet until he located a shelving unit underneath him, which he then descended like a ladder. At the bottom, he found himself inside a dimly lit store resembling a thousand others that existed up and down the country. As he'd suspected, the place was unlooted. Half the stock lay rotting and spoiled, still on the shelves, but the other half…

Gallons and gallons of soft drinks and water lined the unlit refrigerators. A year’s supply of booze too. Canned foods of all varieties piled the centre aisles and made Vamps' mouth water. Having done this many times before, he hurried behind the counter and grabbed a handful of plastic carrier bags. He filled them with sports drinks first, and then moved on to chocolate, crisps, peanuts and biscuits. The high calorie snacks were handy because they were small and easy to stock up on.

Once he had filled a dozen bags, he climbed the shelves again and tossed the bags up through the hole and onto the roof. Finally, he filled a dozen more with the lightest stuff he could find, along with one other thing he didn’t want to forget. By the time Vamps climbed back onto the roof, the sky had dimmed, and the temperature had dropped by a couple degrees.

Mass and the others stared up at him from the forecourt.

“Your search yielded well?” said Aymun.

Vamps nodded. “Yeah, man. It yielded very well. Here!” He tossed down the bags. “Make sure you catch this shit, yo!”

Mass and Aymun caught most of it, and Max and Marcy stood there as if they couldn’t believe their luck. When a bag of chocolate hit the pavement and split open, Max squealed with delight. It was another sound that Vamps loved. He was getting soft.

With the final bag tossed, Vamps clambered off the roof and landed with a heavy splat that sent shock waves up his heels. “Shit, why does that always have to hurt!”

“Are you okay?” asked Marcy, hurrying over.

He put up a hand. “Just need to learn how to land. I got flat feet, but don’t you tell nobody. If you’re hungry, dig in. We have enough to last us a few days.”

“Did you get everything? I can't believe our luck.”

“There’s still loads left inside, but we can’t carry more. Besides, we’ve been on the road long enough to know there’ll be other places.”

Marcy closed her eyes and looked off into the distance. "It's so insane..."

Aymun stood nearby and begun to nod. “That world ended so suddenly? Yes, it is insane. Places like these are echoes of the past.”

Marcy laughed, an edgy noise that sounded fraught with anxiety.

Vamps folded his arms. “What’s funny?”

“Oh nothing. It’s only that I’ve been struggling to provide for Max for weeks now, and in a few hours, you manage to provide more food than I could in a month. I’ve been fleeing in terror at any demon that comes within a mile of me, while you come along and chase off an angel. Ha!”

“Why is that funny?”

“It's not. In fact, it makes me feel rather useless, like the apocalypse is only as hard as I've been making it.”

Vamps let his arms hang by his sides. “We struggled at first too, but once we stopped being victims, things eased up. You’ll be okay now, Marcy. You and Max will be okay.”

“Yeah,” said Mass. “We look after each other, don't worry.”

“But for how long?” Marcy ran a hand through her frizzy brown hair. “We can’t wander the earth forever.”

Vamps glanced sideways and saw Max tucking into a Freddo bar. He grabbed a sports drink from the line of shopping bags and took a decent swig. Then he went back to Marcy and looked her in the eye. “We’re heading down to the coast. Three days at most if we walk.”

“The coast? Why?”

“Get on a boat or something, innit?” said Mass. “Or maybe find a place on the beach and fish. The Navy might have things under control. All we know is that there’s nothing around here. London was a ghost town by the time we left.”

“I wanna go on a boat,” said Max, unwrapping another Freddo bar. Chocolate stained his mouth. “Daddy has a boat. Maybe he’ll be there.”

Marcy huffed. “Daddy has a tiny little motor boat that rocks in bad weather. But fair enough, it sounds like a good plan. Would be good to have a destination, wherever it is.”

“Then let’s make the most of what sunlight we have left, my friends,” said Aymun, fastening the lid on a bottle of water from which he'd been swigging. “A traveller must keep moving until the moon meets his back.”

Vamps rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, Aymun. Let me take a slash first.”

Mass glared at Vamps. “Language, dude!”

“What? That’s not even swearing! Fine!” He knelt to face Max. “I’m just going for a weewee, little man, okay?”

“Me too! I need a weewee.”

Vamps glanced at Marcy who looked around nervously for a moment before nodding. “Just be careful.”

So Vamps found himself holding hands with a child and leading him around the back of the building to make weewee. Something he never would have imagined himself doing at one time.

Life has turned bizarre.

When he pulled out his python to commence peeing, Vamps found himself unable to go. Perhaps it was because Max was staring right at him. “You’re black,” the little boy said.

“Um, yeah. That okay with you, little man?”

“I’ve never had a black friend before. I don’t think my daddy likes black people because he never talks to any.”

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t like us. Some folks… some folks don’t have much of a comfort zone beyond what they're used to.”

“What’s that mean?”

Vamps strained, tried to push his urine out. The boy continued looking at him. “It means your daddy probably just didn’t have a chance to make any black friends.”

“I’m lucky then.”

“Yeah, I guess you is. I’m glad we friends, little man.”

“Me too, Vamps. I hope I can help you kill lots of demons.” With that, the kid finished peeing up the wall and trotted off to re-join his mother.

Vamps sighed as his own stream began. “That kid is gunna be some badass.”

From the other side of the petrol station, Mass yelled at the top of his lungs, making Vamps spill piss down his jeans. “Green Pot Noodle, baby! Oh, hell yes! You the man, Vamps!”

Vamps smiled and put his dick away.

Richard Honeywell

Richard stared out the window at the setting sun. From the high elevation of the Slough Echo's upper floor, he studied the city's ghosts. The nearby office blocks and car parks resembled scenes from a dull painting, grey and lifeless. Nothing moved.

But that didn’t mean nothing lived.

Skullface.

The abomination that butchered Richard’s wife—and Dillon’s mother—was still out there somewhere in the ruins. Maybe it was watching them right now—waiting, biding its time—preparing to finish what it started.

Along with Portsmouth, the Slough Echo was the only haven in the South. A detachment of soldiers arrived a week ago, with more on the way thanks to General Wickstaff. Everyone at the office had a rifle or gun, and the soldiers possessed grenades and tools for building defences. Barbed wire and sandbags cluttered the lower floors and stairwells. Soldiers kept watch day and night. Wickstaff wanted the Echo to continue the intelligence gathering started in the early days of the invasion.

Except that intelligence gathering had stopped now.

Three days ago, the newspaper’s emergency generator packed up. The main grid had been up and down for weeks, but gave up the ghost permanently a few days ago. Several power stations, such as Coryton in Essex, caught fire or exploded early on, but ironically, none of the nation's nuclear plants caused harm—they merely wound down quietly. This, and more, Richard knew because he had been a part of the news team for three weeks now. A part of a family he neither loved nor wanted, yet the family who kept him safe—kept Dillon safe.

But was this a life worth living?

No.

David appeared at Richard’s side with a cup of tea. His melted face glistened with tender healing flesh. He battled infection for a while, but finally seemed to be recuperating. A thin-lipped smile stretched his face as he passed over a second steaming mug. “Freshly heated by a military engineer’s blow torch. Drink up.”

Richard took it. “Thank you, David.”

“You're welcome. Anything out there tonight?”

“No, all’s quiet, as usual. They’re out there though. I can feel it.”

David swigged his tea. “Doesn’t make sense they would just forget about us. I’m not sure if they want to wipe out every last one of us, or if a few stragglers are insignificant enough to ignore.”

“What did you learn from Andras? Any idea what the demons want?”

“The key to winning this war is closing the gates. The demons, the angels, they all rely on them staying open. Corporal Martin thinks we should change our objective.”

Richard frowned. “To what?”

“Establishing a battle line. Most of the enemy has moved south through London towards the coast—most likely heading for Portsmouth. Martin thinks we can gain ourselves some breathing room if we fortify a wider area. He has men looking for iron scrap. It’s the only thing that keeps the buggers at bay.”

Richard turned his head and watched his son, Dillon. He played beside Alice at one of the computers. With the power off, they only pretended by tapping away at the keys, playing some imaginary videogame. Would there ever be places for a child to play again? There had to be more than this.

“I don’t think we have any chance,” said Richard, sipping his tea and allowing it to burn his mouth. “We're finished.”

David sighed. His ruined face made it impossible to decode his expression accurately. “You’ve been through a lot, Richard—losing your wife the way you did and having to care for your boy. I’ve witnessed you fading into yourself ever since you arrived here. You've forgotten how hard you fought to stay alive. If everyone did what you did, the demons wouldn't have a chance. Weeks ago, you said you had a plan. You said you were going to—”

Both men frowned as a high-pitched trilling filled the office behind them.

Richard wasn't sure, but he thought he heard banging too.

Corporal Martin leapt up from a desk and hurried across the room. “Sat phone. Must be Portsmouth.”

“Well answer it then, lad,” urged Carol, still the de facto leader of the group. She stood beside Aaron, the young lad who proved his bravery helping Richard during the early days of the invasion.

The soldiers in the room stood to attention as if whoever was calling might see them.

“Hopefully it’s good news,” said David to Richard. “Wouldn’t that be nice? The war is over chaps, come on down for fish supper.”

Richard grunted. He used to have a sense of humour, but hadn't smiled since he saw his wife's head reduced to pulp. There were no more reasons to laugh.

“So anyway,” said David, realising his joke had gone down like a lead helicopter. “That plan of yours?”

“I have no plan. My plan was to throw myself through the nearest gate, but then someone did it for me.”

“There’s a gate in South Downs, I hear. Directly between Portsmouth and us. If you would be so kind as to toss yourself through that one, we could all mosey on down to the coast in relative safety.”

Richard blinked. For a moment, he thought he sensed something—a vibration. More banging, perhaps. “What was that?”

“That was a joke, Richard. How would you ever reach the gate, anyway?”

“I’d wrap myself in iron.”

David chuckled, distorting his burnt face. “I suppose you could cover yourself in old pots and pans or something. It just might work.”

“It’s a stupid idea, but all the good ideas have failed us. We’re just existing here, David. All we’re doing is praying Portsmouth somehow obliterates an army ten times its size. There’s no point in us being here.”

“Where else would we go?”

“North. Some place secluded where we might eek out a few years of peace. I can’t stay here anymore with no hope, no… anything.”

There was a commotion at the back of the room.

Corporal Martin was gathering Alice to his side and thrusting the sat phone at her. What was going on? Who at Portsmouth would want to speak to Alice?

Richard sensed movement in the corner of his eye. Dillon smiled at him. “Alice is talking to her daddy.”

“What?”

“Alice’s daddy has come all the way from… um… her house.”

“Her daddy’s come from America?”

Dillon nodded.

“It’s true,” said Carol rushing over. She had aged five years in the last three weeks, but her wide grin now made her look like a giddy child. “Our little Alice still has a daddy.”

David chimed in. “How wonderful. Could it really be? Alice’s father made it all the way across the Atlantic to get to her? Oh, how I wish there were still news to report. This would make a wonderful human-interest piece.” He turned to Richard and put a hand on his shoulder. “There’s your hope, Richard. There’s your hope.”

Richard swallowed a lump in his throat as he watched Alice explode with excitement. Was it true? Had a Coast Guard Captain sailed the Atlantic to reach his daughter? Were people still walking through fire to protect their loved ones?

I have. I’ve faced monsters to keep Dillon alive.

If Alice’s father had survived such a journey, then perhaps David was right. Maybe there was hope.

Maybe it was still worth surviving.

The office windows shattered.

Richard gathered Dillon into his arms and shielded him. He turned and glanced at where the windowpanes had been.

Andras stared back at him.

Now in his natural form, the angel rose three-stories. A squad of demons scurried behind him.

Skullface was there, staring up at the building like a dark sentinel.

Despite the obscene threat, Richard couldn’t help but glare right back at the beast.

The monster that took Jen from him.

One second later, all hell broke loose.

Guy Granger

“I need to get to her!” Guy screamed in Wickstaff’s face. To her credit, she didn’t blink. She did, however, look mortified.

“If the Slough Echo has been attacked,” she said. “We will just have to pray they pull through. I sent them a detachment weeks ago, and another is on its way. We can’t help them any more.”

“My daughter is with them. She’s in danger!”

Skip and Tosco hurried into the room attracted by the commotion. Skip asked what was wrong.

“Alice is alive,” said Guy, waving his hands madly and clenching his fists. “I spoke to her.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Tosco. “A miracle actually.”

Guy paced the room, a caged bear at the zoo. He wanted to claw at something. “She’s in danger, Lieutenant. The people she’s with were just attacked, right while I was talking to her. The line went dead.”

Tosco looked at Wickstaff. “Can we patch back through?”

“I tried. There’s no response.”

“Oh hell,” said Skip, and took Guy into his arms. Guy surprised himself by allowing the gesture. Madness still beckoned, but his breathing at least began to return to normal.

“I’ll keep trying to make contact,” said Wickstaff, folding her arms, but what Guy read in her tone scared him. This was not the only time the general had lost contact with a group of survivors. She thought Alice and the others were dead.

Like my son. Is Kyle really dead? It doesn't feel real?

If Alice is gone too, what is left?

“I need to know what happened,” said Guy, pulling away from Skip and pleading with Wickstaff. “Help me find out.”

Wickstaff perched on the edge of her desk and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m afraid I can’t. The enemy is amassing outside Portsmouth, and I intend to meet them on the battlefield in one massive assault designed to wipe them out en masse. I cannot afford to spare a single man. Do you understand? This might be our one and only chance of victory, and that must be my sole focus. I mourn for your daughter, Captain, and for the others at the Slough Echo—they are amongst the bravest people I know—but I mourn more for the future of the eighteen thousand people under my care here. I mourn that this time last year, Britain’s population numbered in the tens of millions, but now barely exists. The best you can do, Captain, is remain here and fight for humanity’s future.”

“You can’t win,” said Guy, hating himself for saying it. “You would need three times as many soldiers to have half-a-chance.”

Tosco wrinkled his nose at Guy and turned away in disgust. Skip seemed disappointed too.

Wickstaff, again to her credit, did not waver. She stared hard at Guy, waiting until he shifted awkwardly. “We lack manpower, certainly, but our forces have teeth, I assure you. There are over a hundred warships in that harbour, with enough firepower to flatten Hell itself. I have heavily armed choppers, two Tornado attack jets, and six Eurofighters launching from a French carrier. You might also have noticed a German submarine docked. It has eight warheads onboard that can decimate a square mile if deployed. Trust me, Captain, if the enemy continue grouping together the way they are, we will annihilate them.”

Guy couldn't deny it was impressive. The general might have enough hardware at her disposal to wage war, yet… “We’ve had firepower since the beginning, General—a hundred armies all over the globe wasn’t enough to stop the invasion.”

“It wasn’t an invasion. It was an ambush. Now humanity fights a guerrilla war, and guerrilla wars invariably go to the incumbent forces. But forget all that, because it’s mere window dressing. The reason I will win the battles ahead is that I have a secret weapon.”

Guy turned his back. “If you’re talking about nukes then—”

“I’m not talking about nuclear missiles, Guy!” The use of his first name made him turn back. Was it a lack of respect, or an attempt to be more intimate? Before he could figure out which, she went on. “What’s the point of winning if you spoil the prize? No, I will not launch a nuclear assault. My secret weapon will do no harm except to the enemy. It will allow us to close the gates.”

“You need to find someone dumb enough to jump through.”

Wickstaff rolled her eyes. “You can do it that way, yes, but getting close enough is a tough task. I have something that can close gates from five hundred yards away.”

Guy frowned. Skip and Tosco were paying close attention too.

Wickstaff moved from the corner of her desk. “Want me to show you?”

All three men said yes.

* * *

The general led them out of her office. Guy grew confused when she headed towards the barracks. Whatever weapon she had at her disposal, he'd not expected to find it housed in a place where people slept. Indeed, once inside the building, Guy saw families and civilians. No soldiers—or weapons—in sight.

“I house as many as I can in the barracks,” Wickstaff explained, “but the rest have to make do in the nearby townhouses. I pushed our defensive perimeter out as far as I could without spreading ourselves thin.”

“What are we doing in here, General? I don’t understand.”

Wickstaff had been forging ahead, but now she slowed so Guy could catch up. “Look, Captain, I would not usually be so accommodating to a Coast Guard with a relatively useless vessel.”

“The Hatchet is not useless,” muttered Skip at the back.

“But,” Wickstaff continued, “you all showed great bravery getting across the Atlantic, and it would be useful to have an American here with some authority. I have a few groups of your people scattered here and there, including a detachment of Marines who were over here on a training exercise. You could be most useful in taking charge of them.”

“I’m only interested in finding my daughter.”

“We shall see. Come this way.” She opened a door on her right and stepped aside so that the men could enter. Guy exchanged glances with Tosco and Skip, but decided there was nothing to fear, so he stepped inside. He found himself inside a dormitory with six beds separated via concrete dwarf-walls. Most of the beds looked in use, but the people inside huddled around only one of the berths.

A paunch-bellied stranger with a modest bald patch spotted them standing there and narrowed his eyes. Guy felt like an intruder, so he waved a hand and nodded. “Hello.”

The man grunted. “Who might you be?”

“This is Captain Guy Granger from the United States Coast Guard,” said Wickstaff. “He is here to speak with Rick.”

Guy frowned. Rick? Who the hell is Rick?

The man blocking their way shrugged. “You best come in then.”

The room's inhabitants were playing cards on top of a crisply made bed at the back. Two women sat side-by-side, one a decade older than the other who looked barely past her teens. The older woman had short brown hair, the younger long and blonde. There was another man here too. He stood to greet them, and when he smiled at Guy he looked familiar.

He also looked ill.

“Hi, I’m Rick. You wanted to speak with me?”

Guy looked at Wickstaff and raised an eyebrow. “I don't know. Do I?”

Wickstaff shook Rick's hand. “I was hoping you could give the Captain a demonstration. He needs a little convincing that we have a chance of winning here.”

“We have more than a chance,” said the irritable balding man. “Those bastards won’t know what’s hit them.”

“Look,” said Guy, tapping his foot. “What am I here for? In fact, screw it, just point me toward Slough. I will get to my daughter on my own.”

Rick frowned. The corners of his eyes were cracked and peeling. “What is he talking about, General?”

“His daughter is at the Slough Echo. They were just attacked.”

“Then God help them,” said the balding man.

Rick nodded to Guy. “I’m not a military man, so may I call you Guy?”

Guy nodded.

“Thank you. I’m Rick, and this is my brother Keith. These gorgeous girls are Maddy and Diane. We are survivors of the original gate in Crapstone.”

Guy shrugged. “Not heard of it, sorry. I came from New York. My children were here on school vacation. My daughter might still be alive. I’m going to find her.”

“I’ll help you,” said Rick.

“You only just met me.”

“Yes,” said Wickstaff. “Rick, you’re needed here.”

Rick wiped at his nose, and Guy saw a hint of blood on the back of his hand. “I’m needed to help win this war, General. I’m not doing that playing cards. My place is out there. I can do some good by going north with Guy.”

Guy was tapping his foot faster. “What are you talking about? How can you help me find my daughter?”

Rick gave Guy a warm smile, then placed a hand on his shoulder.

Guy gasped, and reeled backwards, pawing at his eyes.

Tosco whipped out a gun and pointed it at Rick. “The fuck did you do to him?”

“Put that away, Lieutenant,” warned Wickstaff, “Before I make you eat it.”

Guy slumped forward, putting a hand out and clutching Tosco’s arm. “It’s okay, it’s... okay. Put the gun away.”

Tosco slipped the gun back inside its holster, but he remained tense and ready to pull it back out.

“What are you?” Guy aimed the question at Rick. What had he experienced? His entire body fizzed. “You... you're what?”

“I showed you Hell,” said Rick flatly. “I'm connected to it. Whatever higher power the angels draw upon, I have the same hook up.”

Skip backed towards the wall, his eyes wide. The old man looked frail. “You’re one of them?”

Rick shook his head. “No, I am one of us. But an angel passed some of his power to me—to help us. Each day I get stronger. The demons can no longer harm me, and more importantly, I can close the gates.”

“You can close them at a distance?” asked Guy, remembering what Wickstaff said earlier.

Rick turned and lowered himself back onto the bed. He sat like a stiff eighty-year-old. “At first, I had to get right up and touch them, but before stumbling into Portsmouth, I closed one while standing on top of a nearby hill. The demons never even saw me. The explosion took out hundreds of them. They seem to go down if the blast catches them.”

“It greatly cemented our position here,” said Wickstaff. “The Rick-closed gate was less than a mile away from the city's outskirts—we were fighting constant skirmishes and losing men every day. When Rick closed it, it gave us the breathing room we needed to dig in and get our heads together.”

“He’s closed five gates,” said Maddy, gazing at Rick with pride. Guy wondered if something was going on there.

“But I need to close more,” Rick let out a whistling sigh and rubbed at his sides. “I came here because I thought it would be safe for the people I care about. Now I need to get back out there. If you're heading out, Guy, I want to come with you. You’re heading to Slough, right? There’s a very important gate between here and there. South Downs.”

Guy was sweating, and still short of breath since the soul-itching vision Rick forced into him. What had he seen? Walls of bleeding flesh... Legions of foul creatures... And beyond it all, something malevolent—something ancient.

“Why is this gate important?” asked Tosco, always one to focus on parameters over emotion. “There are thousands across the world, so what makes this one more important than the rest?”

Wickstaff answered. “It’s a nexus.”

“A what?”

“A nexus,” said Rick. “Some gates are larger and more powerful. They draw power from Hell itself and pass it on to other smaller gates. Almost like an exchange on a power grid. I never knew this until I closed the first gate. When I touched it, I felt connected to all the others on the same network. I saw the nexus gate. It’s about fifty miles from here—on the way to Slough.”

“So… so…” Guy rubbed at his forehead, trying to remove the cobwebs. “If you close this gate, what happens?”

“About two-dozen more in the South of England get closed right along with it,” said Wickstaff. “And any angels that came through it will be rendered vulnerable.”

“You’ll be able to hurt the angels?” Guy nodded. It was making sense.

Wickstaff nodded. “We’ve already seen it. Someone closed a gate in London, and an angel got hurt. We have survivors from London here on base who claim they saw an angel come out of that same gate during the first days of the invasion.”

Rick wiped a smidgen of blood on his lip. “Similar reports claim another angel came out of a gate in Haslemere. Lord Amon.”

Guy huffed. “Who the hell is Lord Amon?”

“A leader,” said Wickstaff. “At least of the army that threatens us here in Portsmouth. We take out that gate; we get our chance to take out Lord Amon too. The demons are congregating at his command, and if he were removed, they might lose direction—one can only hope.”

“Look, I don’t care about any of that. I just want to find my daughter. You’ve already said you won’t help me, General, so I will take a crew from the Hatchet and go myself.”

“No,” said Tosco. “The men have done as you asked, Captain—they got you here—but now they should do as they wish. You said you would relinquish command of the Hatchet once we arrived in England. The crew and I want to travel back to the United States. This is not our fight.”

Wickstaff turned on the Lieutenant. “Wake up, Tosco, you fool. This isn’t about national identity anymore. We’re fighting as a species. You travel back home and it will take you weeks. The fighting is happening right now. Here. Stand beside your fellow man.”

Tosco stood unconvinced. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head, “but my crew members have homes… families…”

Guy folded his arms. “It’s still my crew, Lieutenant.”

“Not if you ask them to do this, Captain. You don’t own their lives. Not anymore.”

“He’s right, Guy,” said Skip of all people.

Guy raised an eyebrow. “You agree with the Lieutenant?”

“On this I do, aye. You can’t claim dominion over the men and women on board the Hatchet anymore. They’re not your own private army. They came here because they believed in you, not because they had to. You try to order them to come with you to Slough, now that they've found safety here, I’d say more than half would refuse, either to stay here and fight or return home with Tosco. They earned the right to choose.”

Tosco nodded a silent thanks to the old chief, but Skip ignored it. He wasn’t siding with the Lieutenant, just speaking what he thought to be true.

Guy sighed, took a look at the people standing around him. “Okay. Come with me by any means, Rick, but it looks like I might be travelling alone, so on your head be it.”

Rick peered up from the bed. “You won’t be alone, Guy. General Wickstaff will give us an escort.”

The general shook her head. “I can’t spare it.”

“Yes, you can. Defending this place is priority number one, I get that, but you can spare a dozen men to get me to the nexus.”

“We discussed this Rick. We will get you there by chopper. It’s safer.”

“No, it’s not. The demons can use weapons. One of them gets something big enough to take out a helicopter and I’m at the mercy of fate. I don’t like fate. Least on my own two feet I can run if I have to. I want to go with Guy. I want to see him rescue his daughter while she’s alive.”

Guy swallowed. “Do you know something?”

“I know your daughter is alive until proven otherwise. What’s the point of going after her if not?”

Guy chewed his lip for a moment, and then he looked at Wickstaff. “Help me get my daughter, and I promise I’ll get Rick to the gate.”

Wickstaff unfolded her arms and let them fall to her side. “Fine! You can have a dozen men, plus whomever you can get from your own crew. Lieutenant, if you want supplies to get back to the States, I’ll give them to you, but you leave me the civilians. I need bodies.”

“I won’t make anyone stay against their will,” said Tosco, “but I imagine most would be glad to stay.”

Rick smiled. His eyes flashed with inky blackness. “Great, then we’ll leave in the morning. Until then, who’s in for Poker?”

Guy turned around and headed back to his ship.

Vamps

“Shite!” Mass kicked a detached headlight against the curb. “Ain’t no way we’re getting across here.”

Vamps stood at the edge of the broken road and stared into the rushing water below. Somehow, the entire bridge had crumbled into the river. The scorch marks on the far-side embankment, along with the various shards of metal jutting up out of the mud, made it look like an aircraft had come down on top of the road and taken the river crossing with it. It was not a wide expanse, but the river looked deep and powerful. Raging. The pitter-patter of rain on its surface only made it seem more alive.

“We’ll have to go around,” said Marcy, arms laden with carrier bags. “There’s nowhere to cross.”

“Nah,” said Vamps. “We just got to use our heads. I like a challenge.”

“There’s no way,” said Mass. “I’m not a good swimmer.”

“That’s ‘cus you’re so heavy you’d sink like a stone, bruv. We can do this. Look, over there—it’s narrower.”

“I like swimming,” said Max. He picked up a stone and tossed it into the water. “I reckon we can get across easy.”

Vamps gave Max a fist bump. “That’s my man!”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” said Marcy. “Max we’ll find somewhere else to swim, okay? The water is moving a bit fast.”

Vamps knew they were just scared. He needed to be brave for them all, like always. He studied the narrow point in the river and became surer they could cross. All they needed was… “There. Right there is how we cross.”

Mass frowned. “What?”

“That lamppost over there with the banged-up Merc crashed against it.” The lamppost was bent and leaning at a forty-five-degree angle. It had ripped free of the ground, a chunk of concrete anchoring its base like a root bulb. “Together, we can lift that over the water where it’s narrowest. We’ll be able to walk right over.”

Mass put his hands on his hips and licked his lip. “I dunno, man.”

“Come on! After all we’ve been through, you’re going to shit your pants at this?”

Mass winced and looked at Max who was giggling.

Vamps waved a hand at Marcy. “Sorry. Look, we can cross here. We’re heading south and we’re making good time, but if we have to walk around this river until we find another bridge we could end up going backwards. It’s about to get dark and the village is that side of the river. Let’s just get this done and then find somewhere to bed down for the night. It will be fine, I swear down.”

Mass cleared his throat then exhaled. “Okay, let’s do it.”

“You sure we'll be okay?” Marcy looked at the river like it was a fire-breathing dragon. “What if we slip?”

“Nobody will slip,” said Vamps. “Trust me.”

“I trust you,” said Max. “You’re a gangster.”

“Damn straight, little man.” Vamps ruffled the kid's hair and got to work. Mass and Aymun followed him over to the skewed lamppost. It wobbled when they pushed on it, but the chunk of concrete was wedged beneath the bashed-up Merc.

“Hold on,” said Vamps. He rattled the car’s door handle and yanked open the crumpled panel. Reaching inside, he released the handbrake, and the car rolled backwards, almost dragging Vamps along with it. He pulled himself away just in time to avoid the tyres crunching over his foot. There was a loud clatter as the car’s front bumper cracked and came away, hooked around the chunk of concrete at the base of the lamppost.

Vamps kicked away the shattered remnants of the car’s front bumper and prodded the concrete with his toe. “There, it’s free. Come help me get this up Mass. You too, Aymun.”

Together, the three men wrapped their arms around the lamppost and hoisted it toward their shoulders. There was a moment where they nearly dropped the weight and injured themselves, but Mass grunted like an angry bear and redoubled his efforts. Like an Olympic power-lifter, he raised the post almost on his own. Once settled across the three men’s shoulders, the weight became bearable.

“You sure this is a good idea?” asked Mass, his jaw locking with exertion.

“Yeah, bruv. It’ll be a piece of piss. Aymun, you’re at the front so you need to lower your end down into the mud at the edge of the river. Then me and Mass will shove the whole thing up and over.”

Aymun consented to the plan, and once they reached the edge of the rushing water, he lowered the heavy pole to the ground. It was a struggle, which meant he more or less dropped it, but the swan neck with the broken bulb housing slid into the mud and wedged against the buried rocks.

“Okay,” said Vamps. “Mass, heave this thing up.”

Vamps was at the back, which meant he had to duck around the thick lump of concrete with the electrical wiring spilling out like worms as it rose. From the middle, Mass did most of the lifting, which was for the best as the final two feet were beyond Vamps’s reach, even on tiptoes. Mass roared as he shoved the lamppost through the apex of its arc and balanced it upright. Mass was a monster.

The upside-down lamppost teetered for a moment, then tilted toward the river. Once it tipped, it fell fast, and smashed against the opposite bank with enough force to obliterate a skull. The lump of concrete embedded itself into the wet mud like a hook.

They had themselves a bridge.

“It worked,” said Aymun, wiping sweat and drizzling rain from his forehead.

“You doubted me?” said Vamps.

Aymun shrugged and spoke gently as always. “A wise man doubts everything.”

“Well you should never doubt me, man. I’m the real deal.”

“It would appear so. Will you be the first to cross?”

Vamps considered what would be the smart thing to do. “I’ll go first, make sure it’s safe on the other bank, then Mass. Aymun you go last, make sure the kid gets across okay.”

Aymun nodded.

Max was jumping up and down excitedly, tugging his mother around by her arm. “This is like P.E. I miss school.”

Marcy laughed. “You hate school.”

“Not anymore. I miss my friends.”

That brought silence to the group. They had lost so much—the world had lost so much—but the absence of children playing was something no one realised how much they missed until it was taken away.

“Okay, I’m heading over.” Vamps trod down the muddy bank until he was at the lamppost. He explored its stability with his foot and was pleased when it barely moved an inch. He hopped up and started across, one foot placed in front of the other. The surface was narrow, and curved too, so progress was slow and careful. But it was easy enough.

“Be careful,” shouted Marcy. “The water is really moving.”

Vamps watched the river rushing inches below his feet. It lapped at the bottom of the lamppost, and the occasional tide rose up and over the top. The steel finish of the lamppost might become slippery if they took too long crossing. The feel of his sodden socks inside his trainers made him shudder. He picked up speed.

Mass shouted. “Careful!”

Vamps turned back. “I got this.”

Then he slipped.

Marcy and her son cried out. So did Vamps, although he snipped it short before it had chance to become a scream.

Screaming was not gangster.

His left trainer dipped into the river. His arms waved like tentacles.

Then his body stilled. He was okay.

His balance came back.

“Shit! Almost took a swim there.”

Another six steps and he successfully crossed the river, hopping onto the opposite bank, leaping in victory. On the opposite side, the others looked relieved, except for Marcy who still seemed anxious. Vamps considered what being a mother must be like: constant worrying.

“Okay!” Mass pumped his fist against his palm. “I’m coming over, bro”

“Be careful, man. You weigh ten times what I do.”

Mass looked funny as he crept up onto the lamppost, like an elephant balancing on a stool. His big shoulders bunched up, and he shuffled his feet humorously. Every time he peered down at the river, he swallowed like a cartoon cat watching a dog. It amused Vamps to see his manly friend so afraid of water.

Now was Marcy and Max’s turn to cross. Marcy stepped up to the post, clutching Max's hand. The little boy was beaming, even as he faced the tumultuous waters that could carry him away in a second—he had not yet reached sufficient age to appreciate danger, that was still his mother’s burden. Marcy visibly shook as she inched her way across the steel bridge. Max stayed close to her, obedient if nothing else.

“You are doing well,” said Aymun, remaining on the bank. He held his palms together beneath his chin, engrossed by the situation. “That’s it. Slowly, slowly, monkey catching.”

“This is easy,” yelled Max. “Easy peas-”

The ground shook. The river leapt up like a tiger's paw.

Marcy cried out, wobbling back and forth while trying to keep hold of her son.

Vamps spotted something on the other bank behind Aymun. Something large slid out from behind a roadside billboard advertising BMW electric cars. It was the wounded angel, now horribly burnt. They thought they'd been hunting it, but today, it had been hunting them.

The angel stomped towards Aymun, and Aymun must have sensed the vibrations from its footsteps because he spun around in horror.

Marcy and Max half-turned to see what was happening. When they saw the angel, they screamed and froze in place in the middle of the bridge. Fright almost knocked them both into the river, but Marcy held on and kept her son out of the water.

“Be gone!” Aymun shouted on the opposite bank. “I know why you are here, and you will fail, so be gone.”

The angel said nothing. It always said nothing. It only scowled. A blackened scorch mark covered its upper chest where Vamps had burnt it, and weeping bullet holes riddled its torso. But there was no denying the ferocity of the creature.

Aymun leapt aside as the angel stomped the mud as though aiming to squash a bug. Aymun wore a pistol on his hip, and aimed it now, pulling the trigger over and over again. The loud report of gunfire mingled with Marcy and Max’s screams.

“Come on,” said Mass, budging Vamps into action. “We gotta do something.”

Vamps pulled his MP5 from his belt and fired across the river. His shots went wild at such a distance, but he zeroed in on the angel trying to stamp on Aymun.

Aymun, who ran around on the muddy bank like a yapping terrier, fired bullets and dodged instant death. Mass opened fire too, striking the target several times.

The angel roared.

“Help us,” shouted Marcy.

Max cried in terror.

Vamps was focused on the angel, bleeding from a host of new bullet wounds. He moved down the bank towards the edge of the river, yanking on his trigger three more times and landing two hits. “You better run, bitch, before we cook what’s left of you. We Brixton boys, you get me!?”

Vamp's wet trainer slid in the mud. His leg buckled beneath him. The slip wasn’t catastrophic, but he had to struggle to keep from tumbling down the slope. As he fought to stay upright, his finger clenched around the trigger and expended the last of his rounds, making the MP5 click irritably once empty.

Mass continued firing until his own weapon was empty too, but Aymun was able to reload and fire his pistol several more times, but he was growing tired. Eventually, the angel swiped out with a long left arm and clipped Aymun in the back, sending him tumbling into wet mud beside the river.

Marcy continued to scream.

Scream.

Scream.

Vamps regained his balance in the mud and patted his pockets for more bullets. He had to have something on him somewhere…

His jaw dropped when his eyes fell upon the bridge.

Marcy dangled in the water, clinging to the lamppost by one arm while the hungry waters tried to carry her away. In her other arm, she held Max, but the boy was silent and still, moving only with the water.

“You shot him,” Marcy wailed. “You fucking shot him.”

Vamps stared at the smoking sub-machine gun in his hand and realised what he'd done. God, please no. I slipped. My finger squeezed the trigger. Oh, please, fuck no!

“Fuck,” said Mass. “We need to get her.”

Vamps didn’t move. He kept trying to say something, or to move, but nothing his brain commanded went through to his body. Mass shoved past him and got back onto the lamppost. After several steps towards Marcy though, he stopped. Something on the far bank caught his eye.

The angel stood beside the water's edge and grinned. The gesture was aimed right at Vamps. Then, slowly, the angel looked down, down at the spot where the lamppost lay secured against the bank.

Vamps swallowed. “No, don’t!”

Marcy was too busy screaming to notice the angel. Her attention was only on Max whom she tried hysterically to wake up.

He wasn't waking up.

Mass hurried back towards the bank, moving away from Marcy rather than towards her. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!”

The angel kicked the end of the lamppost and launched it into the river as if it were a twig. The other end—the end with the concrete base—remained embedded in the bank, which caused the whole thing to pivot. Marcy hung on in the middle, clutching her son. Barely.

“Move!” Vamps finally got control of his body. He shoved Mass aside and hurried towards the lamppost.

“There’s nothing you can do,” cried Mass, grabbing him. “Vamps!”

Vamps shrugged free of his friend's grasp and struck him with a right hook. Mass grabbed him again, and this time threw him to the ground where he was forced to watch the lamppost slip away from the bank and sink into the water.

Marcy’s grip finally failed her. She and her dead child slipped beneath the water. The river carried them away like offerings.

Vamps struggled to get to his feet, but Mass held him. “Let me go. I can save her. I can save her!”

On the opposite bank, the wounded angel glared. Then it slipped away into the shadows.

Night had fallen.

Richard Honeywell

“They’re trying to come inside,” shouted David.

“Daddy. The monsters are coming.”

A huge car wheel came flying through the broken office windows and collided with Aaron. It hit the lad so hard it destroyed his face completely.

This is it, thought Richard. This is the end.

Corporal Martin jumped up on a desk and started barking orders. “Everyone into the second-floor stairwell. To the fire escape.”

Richard grabbed Dillon by the hand and raced out of the office. People stepped on his heels in the rush, but he didn’t look back—didn’t care who was with him. All that mattered was that he was first, which meant he and Dillon had the best chance.

Then he saw the demons piling up the stairwell from below, and he wasn’t so sure anybody had a chance.

Dillon cried out.

David from somewhere said, “Shit.”

Richard tried to turn back up the stairs, but the huddled masses bore down on him and forced him lower. The burnt creatures surging upwards howled with eagerness, their love of slaughter undiminished since the last time he had encountered them.

“Daddy, they’re going to get us.”

A burnt man made it up to the balcony six feet below where the stairs twisted back on themselves. He glared up at Richard with hungry eyes, gnashing his teeth. Richard shoved Dillon behind him, but could not retreat. The panicked bodies on the stairs formed a wall. The burnt creature raced up the steps, half-a-dozen of its vile brethren following. Richard prepared to fight with feet and fists.

He prepared to die.

Part of him welcomed it.

Except for Dillon. He had to fight for Dillon.

The burnt man leapt up the final few steps, reaching out for Richard, but then broke apart in mid-air amidst an ear-piercing explosion. Wet vileness spattered Richard’s face. He blinked in surprise.

Over the din of screaming people, Corporal Martin yelled like a tribal war chief. He held a shotgun in his arms and cocked it for another shot. “Let them have it, lads.”

There was an almighty clatter of gunfire, and the demons on the stairwell tumbled backwards, limbs tearing, torsos splitting. Blackened blood ran down the steps like tar.

“Move, move, move,” the Corporal ordered.

Richard realised he was now holding up the pack and in danger of being knocked down the stairs. Grabbing Dillon, he continued retreating, descending the stairwell, feet slipping in demon blood. Sporadic gunfire followed as the soldiers behind leant over the landing rails and took pot shots at the enemy reinforcements flooding into the downstairs lobby.

The survivors reached the second-floor stairwell and spread out. The soldiers moved up and took point, allowing Richard to fall back and keep Dillon out of harm’s way.

“Everyone, stay behind me,” said Corporal Martin. “Out the fire escape and down the ramp. David will unlock the bus and then we all file in.”

“There’s too many of them down there, we’ll never make it,” someone said, even though they'd all discussed this escape plan for weeks.

“Man up,” said Carol. “Don’t quit before we’ve even started. You have a dozen strapping young soldiers looking after you. You’ll be fine.”

“I need to get to my dad,” said Alice. “He’s at Portsmouth. I need to go.”

David patted her back. “We’ll get you there, lass. I promise you.”

“Let’s get moving,” David barked. “We have more than demons to worry about. There’s a goddamn angel out there, and a…” he couldn’t complete the sentence. Richard glared at him.

“The monster that killed my mummy,” Dillon finished.

Corporal Martin kicked open the fire escape and poked his shotgun out, scanning left and right. “All clear. Let’s move our arses.”

The soldiers filed out onto the metal catwalk that flanked the east side of the old building. Parked directly at the bottom of the ramp was a city bus long enough to hold seventy or eighty squashed up bodies. Best-case scenario, they might fill it with sixty. If anybody died in the next two minutes, it might be much less.

They needed to get on that bus quick.

Richard moved Dillon onto the ramp, and other survivors spilled out onto the catwalk around them. They started moving as a group, trying to stay quiet, but unable to stifle their cries of terror. A surge of demons appeared from around the front of the building, and the cries turned to screams. As if they somehow knew what the survivors were planning, the demons immediately surrounded the bus, severing their escape route. Part of the horde broke away, heading up the ramp towards the survivors.

The soldiers fired, cut the demons to pieces before they even got near, but already men were having to reload. They couldn't stay here out in the open for long. But what options did they have? Richard shook his head. They were screwed.

“Grab the chain,” said Corporal Martin. “Somebody, grab that bloody chain.”

Richard remembered the contingency plan and couldn't believe that he'd almost forgotten it. There was a chain, a relic the soldiers had gathered from a nearby museum during one of their scavenger hunts. It was made of iron. The chain had been set up as part of their escape plan.

Richard leapt towards the railings of the fire escape to grab it now. It hung from several curtain hooks secured against the steel railing with thick tape. More demons ran up the ramp. More bullets kept them at bay. The ammunition wouldn't last forever.

This has to work…

Richard wrapped both hands around the iron chain and yanked. The other end was attached to the rear bumper of the parked bus, and the chain leapt into the air. The demons unlucky enough to get in the way caught fire—incinerated in seconds. Those able to, backed off rapidly, leaving a gulf between two separate sections of the enemy army. One section—the smaller section—was squashed up against the news office building. It was these demons that presented the biggest threat, for they lay in the survivor's path between the brick wall and the iron chain.

Corporal Martin and his men focused their fire on this group and thinned their numbers quickly. The massive majority of the enemy remained on the other side of the chain, yet were unable to pass—roped off like a crowd outside a nightclub. Richard’s days as a police officer, dealing with drunken revellers fighting and shagging in alleyways suddenly came back to him. Contrasted with what he was doing now, it was almost something he missed.

“Okay,” Carol shouted amongst the huddled bodies. “Get to that sodding bus, and get there now!”

The soldiers led the way, smashing their rifle butts against any demon brave enough to peel away from the wall. On the other side of the chain, a hundred demons spat and hissed, but were unable to attack. The smell of burnt flesh and faeces fouled the air when a burnt creature with sliced open breasts was dumb enough to try to grab one of the soldiers. Its arm crossed over the chain and burned to dust.

“They can’t hurt us,” said David. “Just keep moving.”

The group of frightened humans moved along the channel towards the bus, like sheep scurrying between pens. Muffled screams escaped some of the survivors, because even though they were safe, they were not fearless. Richard felt the sweat pouring from Dillon’s palm as he led him through Hell. Even if they reached the bus, what then?

The vehicle's back door—a fire escape—had been left ajar, but secured with a padlock. David produced the key, and once the door was open, the survivors began to push and shove and panic.

“Stop,” shouted Corporal Martin. “Stop pushing.”

A woman in the crowd tripped and fell beneath the iron chain. A burnt man fell on her and started carving open her chest. Blood gargled in her throat. Carol grabbed the frightened man who had caused the women to trip and slapped him hard across his shocked face. “Wait your turn, or I swear we’ll leave you behind.”

Corporal Martin gathered people onto the bus—the crowd more orderly after having seen a woman fall to her death. Richard pushed Dillon ahead of him and shoved him up the back step, then squeezed in after him.

“Out the way!” David shoved his way through the bodies in the aisle. “I’m the one with the keys, so let me to the front or we aren't going anywhere.”

“Last person in,” said Corporal Martin from the back. The bus was so packed people could barely move, but at least now they had walls and glass between them and the demons.

The engine rumbled to life as David turned the key.

Outside, the demons moved away from the iron chain and started throwing themselves at the sides of the bus. The soldiers threw open the narrow top windows and poked out their rifles, firing into the crowd.

The bus began to rock on its springs.

They needed to make their getaway now, or they wouldn't be going anywhere.

David shifted into gear. “Hold onto your butts.”

The bus jolted forwards, and those in the aisle staggered and fell. Richard held onto Dillon, but he himself fell onto Carol’s lap.

“I knew you’d been eyeing me, Richard,” she said, “but now is not the time. Come on, Dillon. You can sit on Auntie Carol’s lap. Your dad's too heavy.”

Dillon did as he was told, a dazed expression on his face.

“I’ll be right back,” Richard said to Carol, then waddled up to the front of the bus, stepping on toes and bumping elbows with passengers on either side. A soldier glared at him, but he kept going. He wanted to see what was happening.

In the driver's seat, David gripped the steering wheel tightly. He didn’t blink, even as he careened into a pack of demons—the bus lurching and crunching their bodies beneath its large tyres. Richard clutched the back of David’s seat to hold on, and it made the man flinch.

“Richard! You bugger.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” The bus lurched again, crushing yet more bodies. “If we don’t get out of here soon, we’re going to bust an axle. There's too many of them.”

Richard wished it wasn't true, but the demons filled the street like swarming insects. Where had they all come from?

“Just try to avoid them if you can.”

“Yes, thank you for that, Richard. What wonderful advi—” More bodies beneath the wheels. “God’s sake. What? Oh, please, no.”

Richard glanced through the cracked windscreen that was one or two more impacts away from shattering. Standing in the middle of the road, Skullface stood impassively. Behind him, the massive angel who wanted to see them all dead: Andras. A pile of fresh human corpses lay at the angel's feet—survivors dragged out of their hiding places and butchered. Their corpses were being displayed like trophies—and as a threat.

Even without a face, Skullface was clearly laughing at them.

Richard put his hand on David’s shoulder and squeezed hard. “Floor it!”

David winced. “What?”

“Put your fucking foot down, David.”

“We’re doomed either way, so what the Hell. Hold on to your hat.” He stomped on the accelerator and pushed back in his seat as the engine roared. He up-shifted and picked up speed—the bus's engine beefier than either of them had probably expected. Skullface remained standing in the road. The angel moved behind him, ready to meet the bus's charge.

David glanced back over his shoulder. “Richard, are you sure about this? I don’t fancy ending up as a human pizza slice.”

“Go faster.”

"Oh, bugger it."

The bus lurched.

Skullface raised his arms on either side. At his feet, the human corpse pile began to move. Arms and legs straightened. Bloody jaws gnashed. Then, all at once, the human cadavers leapt up and wailed in agony.

“Zombies,” said David. “Bloody zombies.”

Richard cursed. “Our dead are being used against us. Our enemy gets stronger as we get weaker. There really is no hope.”

“Fuck that,” said David. “Our bacon's not burnt yet.”

The bus neared eighty and began to complain. The engine whined. The bolted seats, struts, and fixtures groaned. The vehicle had reached its limit. Skullface, Andras, and a squad of newly raised corpses stood in the middle of the road, defiant and unafraid.

David growled, in fear or anger, Richard didn’t know, but it was time to put his plan into action. He grabbed the wheel.

“What are you soddin' doing, Richard?”

“Just keep your foot on that pedal.”

David removed his hands from the wheel and allowed Richard to take control. The bus kept its speed. Skullface and Andras stood their ground.

They would not move.

This was a game.

David closed his eyes. “Nice knowing you, chap.”

Richard squeezed the steering wheel, eyes wide open and glued to the merciless beasts ahead.

“Richard!”

“Hold on!” He yanked the wheel hard to the right and the bus whipped sideways, throwing everyone inside against the windows or into the aisle. Screams filled the cabin, and grew louder as the wheels on the right left the road. The view through the windscreen tilted forty-five degrees. Skullface and the angel disappeared from view as the bus turned sharply and began to tip.

“Foot off the accelerator,” Richard shouted. “Get your feet up!”

The bus skidded on its two remaining wheels, teetering at the point of catastrophe.

The screams grew louder, escaping even the soldiers now.

Richard shouted, “Step on it again, David. Hit the accelerator.”

The back of the bus swung around, striking Skullface like a giant baseball bat and clipping the angel's knees. Both demons bellowed in a glorious mixture of pain and surprise. Richard chanced a quick look to his left and saw Andras crashing to the ground like a falling oak.

The bus’s tyres squealed as they bit the road. The interior rocked back and forth.

The engine squealed.

Then the view through the windscreen stopped tilting and the world fell back into a horizontal frame. All four wheels gripped the road, and the bus's springs bounced hard enough that they risked snapping.

Gradually, like a calming ocean, the bus reacquainted itself with gravity. The vehicle had lost half its speed but was once again heading along the road, this time without any obstacles ahead.

The screams inside the bus stopped, replaced by shocked silence.

Richard let go of the wheel and slumped against David's chair. “Get us out of here.”

“Where on earth did you learn to drive like that, old boy?”

“Advanced Driving for Police. Never tried it in a bus before though.”

Guy Granger

Guy waited for dawn, as the birds were still sleeping when he first opened his eyes. Inside the Captain's cabin on the Hatchet, he switched on the light and got dressed, but before he left, he picked up a picture that lived on his desk. The photograph had been taken at the Lewiston Fair when Alice was 3 and Kyle a few years older. Guy and Nancy stood on either side of their kids with bright beaming smiles. The happy American family. Now Kyle was dead, Nancy most likely too, and home was just a memory. No more fairs. No more beaming smiles.

But Alice was alive. He had spoken to her, heard her voice.

I’m coming to get you, baby.

There was a knock on the door as Guy had been about to open it. He found Skip waiting for him in the passageway. The old chief gave him a thin-lipped smile. “You ready to get going, Captain?”

Guy frowned. “Are you intending on joining me?”

“Of course. I signed on to serve you, not the ship. Besides, I don't think I could take orders from Tosco.”

“But what about the things you said yesterday? You said the men deserved to stay and fight or go back home.”

“Aye, and I still believe that. My choice is to help you find little Alice.”

Guy felt warmth fill his tummy. “It will be dangerous out there.”

“Aye, but anything willing to eat my leathery old hide is welcome to it.”

Guy laughed and patted the old man on the back, but then changed his mind and decided on a hug. “Thank you, Chief. At least I’ll have one person with me I can trust.”

“Let’s get out on that deck and meet the sun. Might be our last chance. Looks like the morning might bring a storm with it.”

The two men strolled out onto the rain-soaked aft deck in time to catch the sun rising beyond the stern. The silent ships filling the harbour cast long shadows across the shimmering water, but Guy’s attention was taken by something even more beautiful. Standing to attention on deck were two-dozen men and women. Most were sailors, but a few were civilians.

“These are the folks with no one left to fight for,” said Skip. “Except for little Alice. Finding out she's still alive after having travelled so far to find her… well, for some of us, it makes it all the more important to see things through to the end. We’re coming with you to save your little girl, Captain.”

At that, the small assembly saluted in agreement with Skip's assertions.

Guy had tears in his eyes as he stepped forward. “I thought Alice was the only family I had left, but I was wrong. Let’s go and find our baby girl.”

The sun rose fully to the sound of cheering.

* * *

Rick watched the sun rise from the small all-hour coffee shop that operated in Portsmouth's main barracks. There he sat nursing a hot chocolate. He’d never had much of a sweet tooth, but ever since Daniel… changed him… he'd developed a raging appetite for sugar. He felt like Jeff Goldblum in The Fly. Maybe it was a part of Daniel's personality.

Am I even me anymore?

Rick knew he was dying—and had been dying ever since the moment he came back from death. Daniel hadn't saved his life that day his skull had cracked open, only postponed its end. The angelic power inside of Rick was too much for his human body to contain, and every morning he woke with another small piece of him rotting away. Even his fingers, now grasping the hot chocolate, had grown twisted and gnarled. He could barely feel the scalding heat through the plastic cup. He was cursed. Cursed to die piece by piece.

But that curse was also a gift.

Daniel had given Rick the power to do something important before his time came—a chance to hit back at the demons spilling forth from the gates. The closer he got to death, the more this strange inner strength grew. That last gate he had closed had been like flicking a switch—so easy. One brief moment of focus and he had reduced the demonic portal to ash, and he had done it from a distance. A hundred demons had vanished in the ensuing shock wave. Rick was a weapon, and with one last chance, he could tip the scales in humanity’s favour. If he succeeded, Lord Amon would be rendered vulnerable. The rest would be down to General Wickstaff.

Keith strode into the empty seating area and nodded to Rick. Maddy and Diane followed behind him.

“I’ve got you all a drink,” said Rick, motioning to the hot coffees in plastic cups on the circular table.

Keith rubbed his hands together and sat down. “Just the thing. I hate early mornings. Only thing about my old life I don’t miss.”

Rick laughed. “One of the rare things we have in common.”

“Rare is the word, what with you being a demon now, little brother.”

“He’s not a demon,” Maddy chided as she took a seat beside Keith. She handed one coffee to Diane who took the final chair and then took one for herself. Diane was still the quiet type, but the apocalypse had drained the fear from her like pus from a boil. Although she didn't look like it, she was a warrior—still alive when most were not.

“I've always liked mornings,” she said. “I used to like the sounds of the birds. Anyone else noticed they don't seem to sing as much anymore?”

“I guess,” Maddy admitted. “Maybe the gates affect them.”

“Or maybe they're too busy feasting on carrion,” Keith muttered. “Can't say I much care.”

“Are we still leaving to help the American?” asked Diane, ignoring Keith’s grumpiness and sipping demurely at her coffee.

Rick thought she might have muttered arsehole under her breath. He smiled.

“Yes, I still intend to help Captain Granger,” he said. “I'm not asking any of you to come. It’s suicide, leaving Portsmouth, but I don't have a choice. It’s why Daniel brought me back. Lord Amon has destroyed every human outpost between here and London, and soon he'll make a move here and try to wipe out what's left of us. I have to destroy that gate, or the people here will have no hope of winning.”

“Ha!” Keith barked. “They're all fucked, whatever you do. Even if you weaken Lord Amon, he has the numbers.”

“Cut off the chicken’s head,” said Rick, “The demons are selfish, aimless souls—that's what got them sent to Hell in the first place. The only thing that galvanises them is the angels. If we take out Lord Amon and the other angels, the demons will fall to disarray. I’m certain.”

Maddy nodded at every word. “Then we go out there and close that gate. Just like you said, Rick. We can do this.”

Rick shook his head. His next words were going to hurt. “You’re staying here.”

Maddy flopped back in her chair like a punch had hit her.

“I’m going with you,” said Diane. “You can't leave us here.”

“I’m not talking about you, Diane. Only Maddy.”

Maddy leant forwards again, placing her hands on the table. “What are you talking about, Rick?”

“I’m talking about you staying here where you're needed most. You’re a medic. The people here need all the medics they can get.”

“You’re going to need me out there. What if you need help?”

“If I get injured, I'm done for. You can’t help me out there amongst the demons. There’s no point trying to patch up a wound too big to heal on its own out in the field. You need to stay and help those who can live to fight another day.”

“I’m coming with you Rick.”

Rick shook his head firmly. He’d already made up his mind after much wakeful thinking last night. “You’re staying here. I’ll have Wickstaff restrain you if I have to.”

“Rick!”

“Listen to me!” Rick felt his eyes flash with something inhuman. His voice crackled like scrunched-up tinfoil. Everyone at the table recoiled. Diane spilled her coffee. Rick took a slow breath and calmed himself. Slowly the strange sensation retreated, and he felt like himself again. “You three around this table are the only things left I care about. I need to know at least one of you is back here relying on me to succeed. It will keep me going knowing my success will help at least one of you to survive to live out a future. Those who come with me probably won't get that chance. Maddy, you are most useful to the people at Portsmouth. Wickstaff needs good people by her. And if you come along...” He blinked, keeping back tears. “I won’t be able to do what I need to do.”

Silence hung in the air.

Maddy seemed to understand what he was trying to say because she picked up her coffee and sipped it without further argument. She avoided making eye contact with him.

Keith placed an elbow on the table making it rock slightly. “I’m coming with you, brother. I’m coming!”

Rick had known his brother would come, but feigned surprise. “You're sure? It might be a one-way trip.”

“We survived two weeks out there on our own because of your abilities. Your powers are getting stronger. I trust you to keep my arse out of the fire, brother, but if not I'd rather just get it over with and die. Without Max and Marcy… I just don’t give a shit. At least out there with your, there’s the slight chance I might find them.”

“I can't promise to keep you safe, Keith.”

“That's okay. I’ve never known you to keep your word anyhow.”

Rick sighed. The world may have ended, but his older brother’s subtle contempt was still very much alive. “What about you, Diane? Stay or go?”

“I’m staying.”

That, Rick had not expected. Her decision saddened him, but he didn't show it. That would not be fair on her. But was this to be his final goodbye to both Maddy and Diane? It raised a sticky lump in his throat.

“I want to come with you, Rick, but if Maddy is staying, then so am I. I won’t leave her alone. You'll have your brother on the road. Maddy will have me.”

Maddy reached out and touched Diane’s hand. “You don’t have to.”

“I know I don't.” She smiled sadly at Rick. “I’m staying here, and when you get back, we'll sit down like this and compare stories. This isn’t a suicide mission, Rick. You're coming back. I’m ordering you to.”

A chuckle escaped Rick’s mouth, but it wasn’t mocking. “Maybe when I come back, you will have usurped General Wickstaff and taken charge of this place. You have a deal—I'll do everything in my power to obey your orders.”

Keith glanced at the expensive, now cracked watch on his beefy forearm. “Day’s about to start. Longer I sit around talking about it, more likely I am to back out, so we should get going.”

Rick stood, felt an odd sensation in his spine but ignored it. “You’re right. The sooner we go, the more light we will have. Wickstaff will be in her office by now—the woman barely sleeps.”

“Probably because she’s got the job of being humanity’s saviour,” said Maddy. “That would keep me awake at night.”

“Ha!” Keith barked. “Thought that was my little brother’s job.”

“More saviours we can get, the better,” said Maddy. “Um, guys, could I speak to Rick alone for a second, please?”

Keith raised an eyebrow, but nodded. He and Diane left the coffee shop and went back out into the frigid morning. Rick stood facing Maddy, wondering if she was going to try to convince him to stay. He hoped not. She might succeed.

“You sure you don’t want me to come along?” she asked.

“Do I want you to come along? Yes. Of course. But…”

“Don’t have to repeat it. You might do the scary eye thing again.”

Rick turned and cupped a hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry. My emotions seem to manifest a little more forcefully lately.”

Maddy pulled his hand away from his face and made him look at her. “I love my husband,” she said, somewhat unexpectedly. “I think about him every day.”

“I-I know you do.”

“But when you leave, I will be thinking about you too. You’re not my husband, Rick, but I love you. You saved my life, and I saved yours. That means something.”

“It means a lot,” he admitted.

Maddy surprised him again. She kissed him on the mouth and placed a hand against his cheek. He sensed the blood running through her palm, like a faint echo.

“What Diane said goes for me too, Rick,” she said, pulling away. “This is not a suicide mission. If things get too hard, you come back, and we’ll find another way.”

“I have to do whatever’s necessary.”

“I’m not talking about what’s necessary. I’m talking about you staying alive. Come back to me, Rick. You hear me?”

He nodded. “I hear you, Maddy.”

The two of them shared a moment just staring at each other, and then Maddy headed for the door. Rick went after her, legs shaking. From the kiss or from the changes going on inside of him, he wasn't sure.

Outside, the sun had risen high enough to cast a weak, grey light over everything. Rick had expected to see yawning sentries awaiting replacement, but instead, he witnessed a group of two-dozen soldiers bunched together around the parade square. Something was happening.

“What's got their knickers in a twist?” Keith appeared out of Rick’s blind spot with Diane. He was frowning and trying to get a clear look ahead,

Rick felt that strange tingling sensation in his spine again. “Do you know what's going on?”

“We wanted to wait for you first,” said Diane.

“Okay, let’s go find out.”

Rick hurried, and the others kept pace. The closer he got to the soldiers ahead, the odder he felt. His flesh tingled. His teeth ached. The air felt charged like those tense moments before a thunderstorm. To add to the sensation, it had begun to rain. A light drizzle that threatened more.

“I see General Wickstaff,” said Maddy, pointing to the centre of the crowd. Rick saw the woman too. Portsmouth's no-nonsense leader was wearing silk pyjamas and slippers. It wasn’t the first time she'd strode around camp in less than authoritative fashion. Perhaps the days of respecting a uniform were over. The woman led by example, not appearances. Even so, an aide was hurrying towards her with a pair of overalls to put on.

The general was worried. Rick could read it in the way she folded her arms tightly and couldn't keep still. Something on the ground had her attention, but it was unclear what. Too many soldiers in the way.

Rick picked up his pace, merging with the crowd. “What’s going on? Let me see.”

When the soldiers noticed Rick, they parted. Everyone on base knew who Rick was—the demon-blooded survivor who could close gates with a look. He was Portsmouth’s resident VIP. And he hated it. Just like he'd hated it in his earlier life. Now that his pop career was behind him, irrelevant in this new world, he finally realised how much it had ruined him. He had become a pop star for his love of music. Everything else soured his passion.

General Wickstaff spotted Rick's arrival and sagged with relief. “Rick! Just the chap! Please tell me you can deal with this.”

Rick moved past the last two soldiers standing in his way and glanced towards the object at Wickstaff’s feet. He almost collapsed at what he saw.

“No,” he moaned. “No, how could this happen?”

Wickstaff glared at the glowing black stone like it was her worst enemy. “Who cares how it happened. Can you get rid of it? If this thing opens... Jesus Christ, there’ll be a bloody gate right in our midst.”

“Shitting hell,” said Keith. “Now I’m even more determined to come with you, Rick. This place is fucked.”

“C-can you deactivate it?” asked Maddy, looking at Rick like a child asking her daddy to crush a spider.

Rick shook his head. “I-I don’t know. Let me try.”

General Wickstaff hiked up her pyjamas and turned to the crowd. “Okay, you lot, let the dog sniff the rabbit. Move back and give Rick some space.”

The crowd stepped back as one, the circle of bodies expanding.

Rick took one step towards the black stone, as close as he dared get. His vision blurred, as if the stone emitted a blinding light that only he could see; yet it seemed to do the opposite. All light died within the obsidian rock.

Rick reached out his hand.

The stone began to throb, vibrate.

“It’s working,” said Wickstaff. “You’re doing it.”

Rick focused on the stone. He imagined his fingertips were lengthening, stretching out towards it. He gritted his teeth. His entire body tensed, spine creaking, threatening to break.

“Rick, are you okay?” asked Maddy. “You’re sweating.”

“Maddy, I… I can’t.”

“You must,” shouted Wickstaff. “We’re doomed if you don’t.”

“I can’t,” Rick repeated, he felt pressure in his eyes, like they were about to burst. “I…”

The black rock screeched, and an invisible force swatted Rick with enough force to launch him six feet in the air. He landed hard on his aching back twenty feet away on the parade square. The back of his skull struck the concrete like a soft melon.

Maddy rushed over to him. “Rick? Rick, are you okay?”

“I can’t… I can’t stop it. It’s coming.”

“What’s coming?” General Wickstaff demanded.

Rick’s vision was curling in at the edges. When he spoke his last words, his tongue felt sluggish and fat. “The biggest gate of them all.”

* * *

Guy walked the docks in the rain.

“Well, that’s not a good omen,” said Tosco, looking up at the dark grey clouds. The lieutenant wouldn't be accompanying Guy on his journey, but had insisted on seeing him off. The Hatchet had finally become his. Good luck to the man. While the lieutenant was wretchedly ambitious, he was also brave and honourable. He had helped Guy reach England, as promised, and had not developed into the thorn in his side Guy had been anticipating—a mild pain in the ass at best.

“Nothing wrong with a bit of rain,” said Skip. “It’ll remind us all of the sea.”

Guy smiled. “Indeed. It will also mask the sound of our travels. It's a good omen, Lieutenant, not a bad one.”

The expedition's headcount had reached twenty-six, a number less than Guy had hoped, but it would have to do. He was on his way now to collect the men Wickstaff had promised him. He needed to find Rick too. The man gave Guy the creeps, but his help was appreciated.

When he came across the parade square, Guy found Wickstaff in her pyjamas and Rick unconscious on the floor. Most disturbing of all, was the cold black stone embedded in the concrete nearby.

“I think the omens just got worse,” said Tosco.

Guy stared into the black stone and saw nothing but darkness.

Vamps

Vamps raced towards the group of burnt men with the alluminium baseball bat he had found in the garden of a crumbling maisonette. His MP5 had run out of bullets, so it would be melee from here on in. That suited him fine. The sun had risen on a brand-new day, and Vamps was there to meet it, arms swinging.

The bat connected with the skull of a first burnt man and caved in fragile bone like papier mâché. Blackened pulp spilled from the creature’s brainpan even as it remained standing for another three seconds. Vamps turned his attention to the next in line and used his foot to trip the demon to the ground before swinging the bat and caving in its skull too. That left three more burnt men.

Each creature had been a person once. Vamps saw green eyes and blue, plump, womanly lips, and thin elderly ones. Who had these monsters been? When?

Vamps and his crew had spotted the disbanded group of demons at dawn, travelling south along the side of the road. Vamps had wasted no time in attacking them. Aymun and Mass tried to stop him, but he wasn't listening. No stopping what he needed to do: kill as many of the bastards as he could. They all deserved to die. Every last one.

“Be careful, man,” shouted Mass.

Vamps ducked a swipe of a sharpened finger-bone and sprang back up, ramming his head under the chin of the demon that had tried to slash him. The creature staggered back, giving him enough room to swing his bat and take the thing’s head off. The decapitated skull hit the road and rolled against the curb.

“Vamps, calm down!” Mass came to help, but it was unnecessary. Vamps dropped his baseball bat and grabbed the two remaining demons by the back of their rotting heads. With a strength he didn’t know he had, he smashed their faces together again and again until all that remained was maggot-filled mush.

Vamps let the corpses fall to the ground and spat on them. Then he turned with a wide grin on his face. He straightened the peak of his bright-green baseball cap. “You see that shit? Five of ‘em on by myself—bare handed. Beat that, boys.”

Mass stared at him. “Vamps, man. You got to be careful. You can’t just run off and fight these things on your own.”

“Think you might be wrong there, bruv. See these dead bodies? I’m taking it to the motherfuckers, one by one.”

Aymun sighed. “Your anger consumes you, my brother.”

“No shit,” said Vamps. “I’m putting it to good use.”

“Vengeance will bring you no peace.”

“It’s not about bringing me peace, Aymun. It’s about bringing pain to the demons. I’ve had enough.”

Mass reached out to touch him, but Vamps waved his friend away. “Don't!”

“Vamps, man. What happened to Marcy and Max—”

“Don’t!”

Mass sighed, and didn’t push it, which was good because Vamp's hands had been instinctively tightening around the bloody baseball bat. Instead, he waved an arm towards the road. “Let’s get off the highway. Maybe we can find a police station and some ammo. It’ll save us from having to take the demons on hand to hand.”

Vamps pulled the MP5 sub-machine gun from the holster on his waist and tossed it to the ground. He raised the bloody baseball bat beside his head and tapped it against the peak of his cap. “I prefer this.”

Mass shook his head and exhaled.

Vamps grunted and started walking. Mass went to say something, but Aymun spoke first. “Let him go, my brother. His heart must find its own way to beat.”

Vamps sneered. What was their problem? Did they sympathise with the demons? Well, fuck that. Whether his friend liked it or not, he was going to rip apart every demon he stumbled upon. And if he ever saw that angel again…

Traffic snarled ahead, making it a good time to get off the road. Bunched up cars and lorries made too good a hiding place for demons, and while Vamps wanted to kill as many as he could, he wasn’t stupid. He hopped the barrier at the side of the road and pushed through a thorn bush. An old wooden fence, bordering a field, stood in their path. It was easily assailed.

Mass and Aymun followed him in silence. The rain had been falling for the last hour. The wet grass of the field was slippy and soaked their trouser cuffs.

“Looks like there’s restaurants and stuff over there,” said Mass, pointing to the far edge of the field where a pair of golden arches stood up high on a plinth. A giant pizza slice rose atop another.

“The people of this country eat many things,” said Aymun. “Burgers, pizzas, and more. You idolise food.”

Mass shrugged. “What’s wrong with that?”

“When you idolise something you give it too much worth. Half the world starves because they cannot eat. They starve while others eat three times what they need. Do you see the injustice of that fact? Your large muscles come at the expense of a starving child’s emaciated frame in Zambia or Eritrea.”

“Not my fault,” said Mass. “Besides, I don’t think it matters anymore. The whole world is equally fucked.”

“It matters because we are fighting to regain our world. What is the point if we re-establish old inequalities?”

“Things won’t ever go back to how they were,” said Vamps, sick of the chatter. “The world is dead. It ain’t coming back.”

“I pray not,” said Aymun.

They travelled the rest of the way in more silence until they reached the fence again. Part of the wooden barrier had collapsed, probably when a starving cow clattered through it to escape—funny how a cow could escape if it wanted, yet dozily remained in captivity. They passed through the broken section and stepped into a ditch by the side of the road. They found a trading park, typical on the outskirts of most towns. Half-a-dozen themed restaurants mingled with a few large retail outlets. Bring a credit card and you could grab a light lunch followed by a king-sized bed on four-years’ finance.

“Oh snap!” said Mass. “There’s a bowling alley.”

Vamps saw the colourful facade of three pins and a sparkling bowling ball. “Sweet, maybe they’ll have a bar inside.”

“You should not drink,” said Aymun. “We need our wits.”

Mass agreed with Vamps about the booze. “I’m tired of having my wits about me, Ay. Sometimes a guy needs a fuckin' break. Come on, we can check the place out and build a barricade. It’ll be safe as houses.”

“I like it,” said Vamps. “Where's the harm?”

Aymun relented. “As you wish, but I will not be partaking.”

“Oh yeah,” said Mass. “The Muslim thing.”

Aymun chuckled. “No, my brother. I am no longer a Muslim. I have seen what lies beyond this life and see that all religions are undeserving of their followers. God does not care if a man enjoys the fruits of the earth. He cares about a man’s heart. My heart is pure, and I will have my head remain also.”

“So, in plain words,” said Mass. “That's a no to getting shit-faced.”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“Let's roll then,” said Vamps, heading across the car park. “I'll check the place out. Bit of luck, there’ll be demons to kill.”

“I wouldn’t be so eager to throw yourselves to the wolves, fella.”

Vamps, Mass, and Aymun spun around as one. They had no ammunition in their guns, but Mass and Aymun pointed their weapons anyway. Vamps held his bat over his head like a samurai sword.

Before them stood two men, one gaunt and wiry with messy brown hair, the other stocky with a shaved head. The gaunt man was the one speaking, and he did so with a jaunty Irish accent that almost seemed faked. Both the men stood casually outside Pizza Hut, like they were employees on a break or something.

“The fuck are you?” Vamps demanded, waggling his baseball bat in their faces.

The Irishman grinned. “Hey, fella, I was here first, so how bout you ease off on the caveman act.”

Vamps lowered the bat, but only slightly. “What are you hanging around here for? Are there other people around?”

“Alas, no, tis just me and my taciturn friend here.” The shaven-headed man stared at Vamps without blinking. He had an air of menace, a genuine hard man who didn’t need to waste time speaking bollocks.

Vamps narrowed his eyes. “And who might you and your friend be?”

“We’re not looking for trouble,” said Mass. “I'm Mass. This is Aymun, and this is Vamps.”

Vamps glared at his friend. “Why you chattin' with these motherfuckers?”

“Um, maybe because they’re human, and have done nothing to threaten us.”

“Indeed,” said the Irishman. “No threat are we. The name’s Lucas, and this handsome fella to my left is Damien. Say hello, Damien.”

Damien didn’t move a muscle—just continued to glare.

“Good to meet you, I guess,” said Vamps. “So, what’s the noise around here? Any demons?”

“Ah, plenty of those. Closer than you would think. But let’s not discuss mundanities. I’ve been waiting here for you, Jamal, lad.”

Vamps gripped his bat. “The hell you know my name?”

“I know many things. More than the likes of a thug like you.”

Mass frowned. “Hey man! Chill.”

“Why don't you be quiet, fella, before you pull a muscle. I'm talking to your boyfriend here.” He sneered at Vamps. “B'jaysus, how on earth has a cretin like you kept alive?”

“By fucking shit up.” Vamps swung the bat, but before it made contact, it melted away into nothing. Like a cobra, Damien grabbed Vamps' throat and threw him into his friends. All three men ended up on the floor, and when Vamps looked up, Damien was again leaning back against the wall.

Lucas leant over Vamps, his hand extended. “Sorry about that wee spot of rudeness there, fellas. Just needed to get your attention. Plus, I knew you wouldn’t calm down unless I let you take a swing and get it out o' yer system. If you’re still a tad disgruntled, you're free to take another swing. Just let me know when you're done.”

Vamps shook his head and swallowed. “Nah, man. We cool.”

Lucas danced a jig at that. “Delightful. Now, shall we head inside this fine eating establishment and have ourselves a beer? I hate to make new friends out here in the cold.”

Vamps brushed himself with his palms and got off the floor. Mass and Aymun did the same, but none spoke. They were all dumfounded—even Aymun, who had taken a vacation in Hell.

They followed Lucas into the Pizza Hut, passing through the heavy glass door. They were immediately met by a tropical heat that had no place being there. The room was dark, so the source of such warmth was unapparent.

“Forgive me,” said Lucas. “I hail from warmer climes.”

Mass frowned. “Aren't you from Ireland?”

“Not originally. Take a seat, fellas. I’ll get us a drink.” He clicked his fingers and the lights came on, and so did a television above the bar. Man Utd was playing Liverpool. Impossible.

“What the fuck are you?” said Vamps, backing towards the door, wishing he still had his baseball bat, for comfort if nothing else.

“I’m just being a good host. The match is from last year as I’m afraid all the players are dead, except for John Terry. Cheeky bugger was playing away at a secret hideaway in the highlands. He’s having to spend the apocalypse with a chatty airhead half his age—and a third his intelligence.”

Vamps' jaw kept working, but he had no idea what to say. “I... w-what?”

Lucas chuckled. “Never mind.” He disappeared into the back and came back with an armful of bottled beer. As he set them on the table, he glanced at Damien and winked. “Takes you back, lad, don't it? Everyone sit down.”

Damien gave the merest hint of a smirk, but didn’t sit as requested. Instead, he moved over to the window and stared out like a sentry. Everyone else did as they were told. Lucas took a swig of one of the beers and plonked it down on the table. Vamps couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw the liquid refill itself back to the top of the neck. A useful trick if it was true.

Vamps battled the urge to leg it, but he forced himself to stay seated. “What are you? You’re one of them, ain’t you?”

Lucas took another swig before letting out a painful-sounding burp. “Aye, strictly speaking. But at heart I’m one o' you.”

“What do you want from us?”

“Not us…” Lucas leant forward, face to face with Vamps. He gave off an odd smell... like cookies. “I just want you, Jamal.”

The urge to run kept on increasing. It was getting harder and harder to stay.

“Why do you want me?”

“To give you something, lad. You seem set on a path of destruction, even before you shot that poor sprog in the chest.” Vamps reached his limit. The mention of what he had done to Max was enough to make him leap up and try to leave. Lucas put a hand on his arm and forced him to remain. “Hush there, lad. Hush. There used to be a good calling for souls like yours. A good friend of mine, Daniel, used to have such a role. Angels of death we used to call ‘em, but truthfully, they were beings of justice. God’s way of keeping order in his absence.”

Aymun frowned. “God is not absent.”

“You seen him lately, fella?”

Aymun sat back in his chair and gave no reply.

“Anyway, Daniel is a good lad. When this silly little war broke out, he tried to get involved and help you small folk. He made a great sacrifice that sent him back to the cage he'd only just escaped.” He took another sup of beer and then toasted the air with the bottle. “Christ, I wish I had an ounce of that lad’s bollocks. I owe him more than I could ever pay.”

“You’re not making any sense,” said Vamps. “Are you talking about angels? Like the ones walking around killing people?”

Lucas picked up his perpetually full beer again and sloshed it around like a drunken pirate. “Aye! I am talking about just that. Angels! Not just any flavour though. I’m talking about fallen angels. Hell was left in their care. Lucifer—or at least the current holder of the title was supposed to keep order—but a dirty fella by the name o' the Red Lord made a right pig’s ear of things while I was gone. These gates are not just gates. They are the seals keeping Hell and the Earth separate, powered by God’s willpower. But God’s willpower is powered by you.”

Vamps frowned. “Me?”

“No, not you personally, you daft apeth. By humanity. When he created the Adams and Eves, God placed part of himself inside them, to keep his power safe from Heavenly forces who might wish to take his throne. I tell you, Hell might be a tad shabby, but the politics and power plays in Heaven can drive a fella mad. Over time, that power passed to every little boy and girl ever born—diluting all the time. Who knew you would end up being such horny little beasts?”

“You’re losing me again,” said Vamps.

“I suspect I am, lad. Let’s just say, there is a war going on wider in scope than you realise. The war is not against mankind, but God’s power contained within you. If all of you die, God will be left powerless. And who knows what happens whenever a monarch is rendered powerless?”

Aymun leaned forwards. “Claimants to the throne make war.”

“Aye, go to the head of the class, you cuddly little terrorist.”

Aymun actually blushed.

“It might not bother humanity too much—on account of that you will all be dead—but if God falls, then the war of succession will get so bloody that the universe itself will end up like a Belfast brothel. There's a lot of sodomy involved, take my word for it.”

“So, we’re really done for then?” asked Mass. “This is too big a fight to win?”

Lucas rocked back on his chair and sloshed his beer some more. “Would you ever behave, big fella? Leave the talking to the adults.” He winked at Vamps. “You lot aren’t beaten yet, are you? There’s a resistance. There’s always a resistance, so long as someone plays the part of the Nazis. There’s this one world—a place where the dead walk around like a bunch of hungry drunks—where a veterinarian is kicking ass for mankind. In fact, she even gave Damien here a run for his money once. He’s still brooding about it. Another place where men and women fight a war against animals—you gotta laugh at that one. Point is, humanity never gives up. It always resists fate. In fact, this whole disaster started when one lonely soul convinced God himself to allow a do-over. It was at that moment the Great Adversaries made use of a loophole and got their hooks in the Earth. Anyway, I'm going off the topic. My point is that humanity resists. And on this earth, you three are part of that resistance. More than you know. That’s why I want to give you something.” He placed something heavy on the table with a thud. It was a long silver sword, covered in strange etchings.

The sword caught fire and incinerated the table.

“The fuck?” Vamps and the others leapt back from the table.

Lucas grabbed at the flaming sword several times, cursing each time it burnt his fingers, but eventually he was able to extinguish the flames and pick it up. “Bloody thing. Daniel never did show me how to work it.”

“That sword belonged to the angel, Daniel?” Aymun asked.

“Aye. It was his smiting stick, or whatnot. Fella never parted with it. Was a little weird to be honest. Anyway, it's great for vanquishing evil and all that. I’m surprised it even let me touch it. I suppose I really must have changed. Anyway, Vamps, lad. You want to take vengeance on the ugly feckers, at least go equipped for the job. Embrace the rage inside and become an angel of death. Humanity needs you.” Lucas looked at Aymun and Mass. “But so do your friends. This sword is powerful, and if you’re not careful, it will wield you, instead of you it.”

Vamps swallowed. “Really?”

“Nah, I’m just having you on. But it is really sharp so be careful. Vengeance can make a fella lose himself, and I would hate for that to happen to you. Here, take it. Tis yours.”

The lights in the restaurant flickered. Tentatively, Vamps stepped forward, worried that taking the sword would somehow hurl him down a rabbit's hole he would never get out of. Perhaps this whole thing was a trick, and the strange Irishman was here to kill them all.

“Be careful, man,” warned Mass.

Vamps glanced at his friend and nodded.

He grasped the sword and took it from Lucas.

Vamps lost his breath.

The sword felt light in his hand, yet powerful, like it could cut through diamond. It fizzed and crackled like a loose wire, and when he examined the fine etchings, they seemed to pulse and reorientate themselves.

“Use it well, grasshopper,” said Lucas in an offensive Japanese accent. “We never had a black angel of death before. About time, really.”

Vamps was about to reply, but the Irishman was gone. He didn’t so much disappear as just stopped existing in the first place. Like he’d never even been there.

Damien was still present in the room, and he peeled away from the window to face them. He let out a sigh and then said, “He does that.”

Then, in a blink, Damien was gone too. The room was once again dark and cold. The only proof either man had ever existed was the flickering silver sword in Vamps’ hand.

Vamps lowered the weapon to his side and looked at his companions.

“Anyone else think that was really weird?”

John Windsor

Things felt better now he was wearing a fresh suit. After pulling himself from the rubble of London, John Windsor had lost access to his usual wardrobe, but after finding a gentleman’s retailer in Woking, he'd re-outfitted himself in the manner to which he was acquainted. He was once again the Prime Minister of Great Britain. The reins of this country were still his.

That was why his current destination was Portsmouth. The seat of Government had established itself there in the form of a Military Autocracy. That would not do. The United Kingdom was, and forever will be, a democracy headed by an elected Prime Minister. Whichever General had placed themselves in charge was going to receive a demotion. John Windsor, and only he, was head of state.

That a settlement even existed at Portsmouth was impressive. The sudden, unilateral takeover of the world by supernatural forces had been unstoppable. The world’s capital cities had fallen in days. London became a ruin within weeks, and most of the nation’s armed forces were abroad. What had taken root in Portsmouth was a bunch of naval recruits and soldiers on leave. Reports he'd been receiving of their numbers must surely be inflated. No way could there be substantial resistance at Portsmouth.

Windsor leant forward and took his glass of sherry from the small bar built into the centre of the long Mercedes ferrying him towards his destination. So wonderful to be free of the harping and bickering of his cabinet, his phone hadn’t rung in weeks. The nation was in a chrysalis, ready to be reborn with him as saviour. That he had negotiated a small settlement agreement with the demons was the sole reason humanity would survive. If not for him, extinction was inevitable.

“You're clear what is expected of you?” asked the ancient man in the seat beside him. Oscar Boruta eyed his glass of sherry disapprovingly, which only made John sip at it defiantly. Screw the old codger and his judgement. So what if he had been drinking a little during the past weeks? It was a stressful time.

“I know precisely what is expected of me, thank you very much, Oscar. Tell your masters I won't disappoint them. Also remind them of our deal. Humanity will receive a safe zone in which to live, with me in charge.

Boruta snickered, the sound of crunching leaves. “You will have your fiefdom, Prime Minister, do not fret. A deal struck in Hell is for eternity.”

“The deal wasn’t struck in Hell. It was struck in my office at Downing Street.”

“What is your point?”

“Ha! Yes, very good. I agree, Westminster is much improved nowadays.”

Boruta continued to eyeball him. “You must deal with this resistance in Portsmouth. The longer it remains, the harder it will be to dislodge. You want your deal, then you must take care of it.”

John rolled his eyes. He detested being ordered to do anything. “Portsmouth will do as I say.”

“We will see.”

John’s chauffeur turned around to tell him they were reaching the security perimeter around the city of Portsmouth. A checkpoint lay ahead—the first cars in John's convoy had already reached it. The black Jaguars had been intentionally battered and dented before arriving, making their journey seem more frightful than it had been. Truthfully, John and his entourage had travelled the country unmolested. The brand on his wrist gave him free passage amongst the demons.

“You better leave, Mr Boruta…” John sniffed. The old man had gone. Good riddance.

His Mercedes stopped at the checkpoint where two grim-faced sentries appeared at the driver's side window. Sitting behind the driver, John opened his window first. “Speak to me, please, soldier.”

One of the two soldiers frowned at John, but moved to the rear window as requested. “Prime Minister Windsor?”

“One and the same. I am here to take charge. Let me in.”

The soldier raised an eyebrow. “General Wickstaff is in command here, but I’ll let her know you’re coming.”

John gripped the seat with both hands, but bit his lip and forced a smile. There was no point chewing out this worthless grunt, so he rolled up his window without further comment. A few seconds later, the convoy continued, entering the city of Portsmouth proper. It wasn’t a pretty place, but it was old and possessing of a noble history. Great Britain had been a naval empire, and here was one of its greatest ports, home to some of the nation’s greatest warships. Even now, John could see multiple vessels sitting in the distant harbour, though he had not expected nearly so many. The skyline blocked much of his view, but the corner of dockland was visible upon entering the city and was bustling with military and civilian crafts of all descriptions. He thought he even saw the nose of a carrier.

Not good, that so much manpower had found its way here. Early days of war had suggested the nation's forces had quickly scattered and become isolated. How had such a force accrued? Who was galvanising resistance?

General Wickstaff, of course. The traitor claiming to be in charge. Who was this man, and how much of a problem would he be?

It took twenty minutes to reach Portsmouth's naval base. Many of the roads were blockaded with the cement debris torn from nearby buildings. A toppled church spire had blocked off a side street. An apt image to behold, thought John. It appeared the city had been blocked off purposely so that a few chokepoints remained, each with a heavily armed guard. Trying to breach the city would be a nightmare for an enemy. Even more reason John had to enact a full surrender of the human forces here. He just had to assume his authority first.

John's Mercedes pulled onto a concrete parade square and came to a stop. His bodyguards parked their vehicles on either side. Their arrival had obviously been radioed ahead because a contingent of soldiers were already there waiting. John adjusted his tie and stepped out into the cold drizzle. He waved a hand to the gathered men and wore his most winning smile. “Hello, thank you for receiving me. The operation you have put into place here is astonishing. You are all extremely capable men and women. Please take me to the man in charge around here so that I can applaud him personally.”

A scruffy woman in a pair of oily coveralls stepped forwards and offered an equally greasy hand. “Prime Minister, it's an honour to have you on base.”

John ignored the woman’s hand, nowhere near willing to shake it. “The man in charge, please? I wish to speak with General Wickstaff.”

“Why would you wish to speak with anyone else?” said the woman. “I am General Wickstaff, current commander of operations here. I understand you would probably have preferred to meet with my male, Etonian predecessor, but I’m afraid he’s currently unavailable.”

John clenched his jaw. He did not like this woman at all. The way she looked at him... Her smirk was barely hidden. “Why is he unavailable?”

“Oh, you know, dead and all that. A real bother, to tell you the truth, as I don’t much like having to run things around here. But, alas, I do run things around here, so if you have anything to discuss, I’m your man—in a manner of speaking.”

John grunted. “Fine. You are to step down as commander here immediately. I am taking authority of Portsmouth as is my right as Prime Minister.” Unhappy grumbles from the soldiers amassed behind the general. The woman obviously had them under her thumb. He would re-educate them in due course. “You will, of course, remain informed on a majority of matters, General, particularly military affairs, and your deeds here won't be forgotten.”

The general nodded, the smirk gone from her face. She seemed almost relieved to relinquish command. “I suppose it is your right to take over. I mean, the population of this country voted you in, right?”

“Yes, they did. I am their legally elected leader.”

“Indeed. But, the problem, as I see it, is that when you were voted into office, the country had… what? About seventy million people? There’s only thirty thousand here at Portsmouth, and about six thousand of those aren’t even from the UK. We have a lot of French. Even some Korean.”

“What is your point, woman?”

“That’s General while you’re on my base, Prime Minister. My point is you represented a vastly different people than the one we have here, and I feel your authority is no longer legitimate. Not to mention, your cabinet is dead and the country we knew is gone. There is no more United Kingdom, there's just Portsmouth—and you were not voted into power here.”

“Now look here,” John growled, pointing a finger in this woman's face. “You will not usurp my power.”

“What power? This is a military outpost with military rule. What these people need is a steadfast leader, not a sleazy career politician. Maybe I’m acting unconstitutionally, but I don’t give a shit. I don't like you, and I won’t help you, however many bulldogs in suits you turn up with. I am in charge here, Prime Minister, and if you don’t like it, you're welcome to hold an inquest. Let me know how that goes.”

“I am your leader.”

Wickstaff—the insolent bitch—just smirked. She fucking smirked!

“Look,” she said calmly. “If you want to help around here, I'd be pleased to have you. I will happily include you in my war room meetings and even defer some of the more civilian matters to your experience. What I won’t do is hand over the kingdom—especially regarding military matters. Your government is gone, so accept it and move on. Help your fellow man here, or fuck right off.”

John felt a drumbeat in his temples. The gun hidden at his back cried out to him, and he imagined pulling it out and shooting the woman right in her smug mouth. But when he saw the defiant glares of the armed men all around her, he reconsidered. He would not beat this woman with force. No, he must do what he did best and gather power from within the populace. Embed himself and sway the majority to his side, then he could stage a coup. It wouldn’t take long. He could eat this vile woman for breakfast.

John allowed a sigh and offered his hand. “Sorry, General. I feel it is my duty to take control here and see that our nation prevails, but if the people support you as leader, then who am I to demand otherwise?”

The general stuck her greasy palm against John’s forcing him to hide his disgust. She smiled at him warmly, having bought his line of bullshit. “New politics for a new world, ay, Prime Minister. I think they call that cooperation. Well done.”

John kept the smile plastered on his face and shook the woman’s disgusting hand harder. “Now we have reached an agreement, is it reasonable to ask to you to bring me up to date on matters here?”

She looked at the battered side panels of John’s Mercedes. “Looks like you might have a few stories to tell yourself.”

“Indeed. It’s hairy out there, I’m sure I need not tell you. I’m not sure fighting is the right option.”

“It’s the only option. Especially now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come with me, Prime Minister.”

John frowned, motioned to his bodyguards to follow, and then carried on after the general. Her soldiers outnumbered his bodyguards six to one, which was something he was comfortable with, or at least not in any position to change. They headed across the large quadrant of concrete towards a cordon set up on the far side. Now that Wickstaff’s soldiers broke up into a looser formation, it was easier to see ahead.

“Is that a gate?” John's jaw dropped open.

“No,” said Wickstaff. “But it will be.”

“Well, w-w-we need to evacuate at once. You can’t have people here.”

The general frowned at him. “And where should we go?”

“Anywhere!” This was perfect, just the avenue he needed to dismantle Portsmouth. “Once that stone opens, there’ll be a massacre. We’ll be finished.”

Wickstaff sighed. “I’ve considered all that, Prime Minister, believe me. At least we have a kill zone in place. Anything that comes through will get ripped apart. But if we leave, we go right back to running and dying.”

John noticed then what must have been fifty snipers positioned around the various rooftops of the camp. There was also a trench in the process of being dug around the glowing black stone. It was true that any demon wanting to make it through was going to have a hard time, but Hell’s legions couldn’t be contained forever. This would still be mankind’s last, losing stand if they didn't leave now.

His role became even clearer. Thousands of lives here depended on him taking charge.

“Okay,” John told his bodyguards. “Pass on the word. We are implementing a mass evacuation right now. It is not safe here.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” said Wickstaff, glaring at the bodyguards, who shamed themselves by wavering. “If I see any man passing on orders that are not my own, I will have them shot dead. You are all welcome here, but that can change in an instant.”

“You don’t have the right to gamble with people’s lives, General!”

“Spoken with no hint of irony, Prime Minister. Bravo! Our plans here are under constant discussion, and you're welcome to voice your opinion, but you will do so via acceptable methods. You will not sow dissent here, Prime Minister. This is your final warning.”

“Fine. Then I demand to be informed of all events going forward. You might think you are in charge here, but when the time comes, you will be out of your depth.”

She threw her arms out. “Then help me, you stubborn fool! Stop holding onto silly notions of power and entitlement and get the Hell on board. Don’t plot my downfall. Plot the enemy’s downfall.”

John looked at his own men and saw them nodding. The woman spoke sense to them. The lowly always saw sense in demagogues. An evacuation must happen, or that gate would open and there'd be no survivors left to form a human settlement. He had to take control of this mess. And soon.

“Inform me of everything, General, and you shall receive my advice. I won’t force you to take it, but you would be wise to consider it.”

Wickstaff nodded curtly. “I’ll have offices set aside for you and your people. Welcome to Portsmouth, Prime Minister.”

Welcome to Hell, thought John as he turned on his heel and went back to his Mercedes, because that’s what this place will become if I don’t wrestle it from that mad bitch’s grasp.

Guy Granger

“I still have to go,” said Guy, standing at Rick’s bedside. The blowback from the stone had left the man woozy, and he had been weak for the last few hours. He didn’t appear physically injured, but it had taken till now to come back fully to reality. Maddy stroked his brow and gave him sips of water, but other than Guy, everyone else was waiting outside.

Rick blinked, one eyelid slower than the other. “You’ll still have my help, Guy. I'm coming.”

“What?” said Maddy, pulling her hand away from his forehead and staring at him. “You can’t leave now. You’re hurt, and we don’t know when that gate will open.”

“I’m fine, Maddy. It took the wind out of me, but I'm okay now. As for the gate, it’s too powerful for me to close. If it opens, there's nothing I can do.”

“Why can’t you close the gate here?” asked Guy. He still wasn’t sure that Rick could close any gate, but he decided to take it as truth for now.

Rick sat up to answer the question, much to Maddy’s disapproval. “It’s different somehow. More powerful.”

“Then perhaps you should stay here,” suggested Guy.

“No. The plan hasn’t changed. If we don’t weaken Lord Amon, then everyone here is doomed. The only good I can do is out there.”

Guy had gotten so used to trusting his own people that the thought of relying on a stranger was tough to reconcile. It was Rick's condition, though, that truly unnerved him. He looked more ghoul than human. How much longer did he have?

“You know, I can’t help feeling like we’ve met before,” said Guy, now that he'd taken a long look at Rick's face. “You look familiar.”

Rick groaned as if that was the worst thing he could have heard. An odd reaction. “I just have one of those faces. Now, are you ready to go? Longer we wait, the bigger chance Maddy has of convincing me to stay.”

“Yes, I’m ready. Just let me get my men together.”

Guy headed out of the barracks and back towards the docks. He had left his scouting party on the Hatchet to load up on supplies while Tosco readied the larger part of the remaining crew to depart for home. A final segment of men and women would stay at Portsmouth. The large family that had sailed the Atlantic were breaking up.

But when Guy made it back to his ship—or Tosco’s ship now—he was dismayed to find his contingent had reduced by two thirds.

Tosco stood on the gangplank waiting for him. “The crew are anxious, Captain. They heard about the new gate.”

“It’s not a gate yet.” Guy moved past the Lieutenant and boarded the Hatchet.

“Well, regardless, the number of men intending to return home has increased, but I’m afraid that means less people for your hunt for Alice.”

Guy stopped and looked Tosco in the eye. “Did you help convince them that joining you was in their best interests, Lieutenant?”

Tosco’s eyes narrowed, and he bared his teeth. “I knew you would think that. No, Captain, I did nothing to dissuade anyone from going with you.”

“He’s telling the truth,” said Skip, heading across the deck. He had a Remington Riot shotgun slung over his shoulder that looked more than his withered frame could handle. “Everyone on board wants to get as far away from that black stone as possible.”

“You too, Skip?”

“Heaven’s no. I’ll be right there beside you when you find your Alice. Other men too.”

Guy turned to Tosco and sighed. “I'm sorry. I should have known better than to question you.”

“No one is thinking clearly right now, Captain.”

“How many men do we have left, Skip?”

“Six sailors and two civilians.”

Guy moaned. “Including you and me, that makes ten. Rick is still coming, and if Wickstaff comes through and lends more manpower, maybe we still have enough.”

Tosco folded his arms.

Guy folded his own arms in reply. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

“You’re going to get them all killed. You might have twenty bodies if you are lucky. I’ve been speaking to the soldiers here on base, they say there’s fifty thousand demons scattered around Portsmouth, with more coming every minute. You’ll never make it where you’re going.”

Guy wished he could argue his case, but Tosco was right. The chances of finding Alice—and finding her alive—were beyond slim. But what father would not try anyway? “Way I see it, Lieutenant, we’re all due to die in some fashion. The only thing we have power over now is how and why. That I have such a small amount of help is the very reason I will succeed. Smaller the group, less chance of the enemy spotting us.”

Tosco let his arms drop to his sides and stood there motionless for a moment. Then he did something unexpected and snapped off a crisp salute. “I wish for your safe return, Captain. Alice's too. It has been an honour serving under you, and I hope to command the Hatchet in the way she deserves.”

Guy returned the salute, then broke protocol and yanked Tosco into a hug. “You’ve always been built to lead, Commander Tosco. Do well.”

Tosco was stiff at first, but then he put his arms around Guy and patted his back with real affection. When the men finally broke away, they maintained eye contact for a few moments, conveying their unspoken respect. Tosco and Guy had never been friends, but the younger man was courageous, and willing to die for his crew. The Hatchet deserved a leader like him.

Skip gave Tosco a quick hug too. “I hope we all meet again someday.”

Skip nodded. “When the world is ours again, lad.”

“It’s time for me to leave, Commander,” said Guy. “Permission to gather my team and disembark?”

Tosco saluted. “Permission granted, Captain. God speed.”

Vamps

Vamps and his crew had remained at Pizza Hut following their strange encounter with the Irishman. It had left them unsettled and unnerved so much that they had needed to collect themselves. So they stuck around for a while, digging out uncooked pizza bread that had turned blue with mould and wishing there was something fresh. Eventually, there would be nothing in the world left to eat. They had survived weeks on canned food and foil-sealed snacks, but everything else was spoiled. With no new food being produced, there was a finite supply.

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 ground, 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 all 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.

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 them,” 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.”

“No,” said Dillon, pulling away. “The chickens haven’t done anything. Why do they have to die?”

“So we can eat,” said Corporal Martin.

Richard put a hand up. Corporal Martin had his job and Richard had his. His hand went to Dillon’s shoulder as he spoke to him. “You’ve eaten chicken before, Dil, right? You know we use them for food.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before the monsters started killing us. It’s horrible. If we kill the chickens, we're the same as the monsters. Why are we allowed to just kill animals?”

Richard sighed. The demons killing people was no different to people killing animals—except animals didn’t think and feel like humans.

“Dillon, if we run out of food we'll die. You want that?”

He shrugged.

“It isn’t like that yet,” said Alice. “We aren’t hungry yet.” She knelt and patted another bird on the head. “Let's just leave them.”

Richard put his hands on his hips and sighed. Corporal Martin shook his head, but Richard gave it a shot. “Maybe Alice is right. Things aren’t that bad yet.”

Corporal Martin rolled his eyes as if Richard was the biggest kid of all. “So, we should wait until things are desperate before we start looking after ourselves? There are thirty of us, Richard. Food will run out fast. And I mean fast. Sorry, but we have no choice. This is how we need to travel.”

Richard grunted, but nodded his agreement. The soldier was right, his pragmatism unburdened by having a son to care for. Time to bite the bullet. Richard looked at Dillon and tried to resist the pleading look on his face. “I’m sorry, Dil.”

Dillon stamped his foot and ran off. Alice hurried after him. The Down Syndrome made it hard for Dillon to handle his emotions, and it had taken a lifetime of Richard and Jen helping to manage them, but now Dillon’s safe and loving environment was gone. Only the hard truths of bleak existence remained, and it made Richard want to scream at the Heavens.

Corporal Martin nodded off to the side. “We haven’t checked that building yet. You best go after them. Your son’s making too much noise.”

“You might be in charge of most things, Corporal, but when it comes to my son, keep your mouth shut, okay?” Richard turned and went after Dillon, with Corporal Martin calling after him in a placating tone. But Richard’s entire body tensed, and he wasn’t in the mood for rational discussion.

Dillon had run off towards an old barn. The tin roof was corroded and listing to the left, and the whole thing could slide off at any moment. “Dillon, can you come here, please?”

Silence.

Richard picked up his pace.

Alice screamed.

There was no door on the near side of the barn, so Richard sprinted around to where he found a wide-open section. A tractor trailer poked halfway out, and he almost slammed right into it as he entered the shaded interior. Movement at the back caught his eye, near a stacked pile of rotten hay bales.

Dillon and Alice were both screaming now.

“What is it?” Corporal Martin rushed in behind Richard. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. Dillon? Dillon, come to me.”

Dillon appeared from behind the hay bales and came rushing over. Richard gathered his boy to his side, but Alice continued screaming. He had no choice but to abandon Dillon and rush deeper into the barn.

Alice was frozen in place at the back, staring at the ground and screaming in terror. Richard saw the mess on the floor and had to fight the urge to scream too. Side by side, lay the ruined corpses of two children—a girl and a boy. The boy clutched a dirty teddy bear in his tiny hand. The girl wore a tartan skirt and thick white tights. Their heads had come apart like dropped cantaloupes, victims of the shotgun that lay nearby. Mum and dad hung from the rafters by their necks, contorted expressions on their grey faces—bloodshot eyes bulging. It was a scene out of a horror movie, and Dillon and Alice had stumbled right into it.

“Alice,” said Richard firmly while stepping forward gently. “Alice, come over to me, sweetheart.”

“Why did they do this?” she asked. “They shot their children!”

Richard glanced at the two tiny corpses but kept his focus on Alice. “People do terrible things when they're afraid, Alice. They weren’t bad people, they just couldn’t cope.”

Alice shook her head at Richard. Tears magnified her eyes. “That didn’t give them the right to kill their children. Parents are supposed to protect their kids. They're supposed to keep them safe.” Her voice was turning into a shout. “Maybe if parents did their jobs, my brother would still be alive, and I wouldn't be lost!”

Richard hurried forwards and gathered the trembling girl into his arms. She fought him like a beast, but he was still the adult here, and he kept a hold of her until her struggles and cries ceased. “We will find your father, sweetheart,” he said. “Then you can tell him everything you’re feeling. Until then, I will keep you safe, okay?”

“Me too,” said Dillon, rushing up to join the impromptu cuddle.

Alice sobbed. “I don’t want anyone else to die.”

“Nobody else is going to die,” said Corporal Martin, pulling them away from the grisly scene in the barn. “And that includes the chickens. We’ll find something else to eat, okay?”

The kids grinned, and Richard looked at the soldier and nodded his thanks.

Corporal Martin nodded back, but didn't look happy.

Hernandez

Commander Hernandez gazed upon England’s south coast, wishing he could reach out and crush it in his fist. The craven traitor, Captain Granger, filled his lungs with air somewhere here, seeking refuge. The world was at war, but Granger cared only about himself. If not for the impertinent Coast Guard's interference, Hernandez would still hold command of his ship and crew. Instead, events the traitor set in motion had left Hernandez marooned on a fishing boat with a gaggle of stinking Englishmen. Granger needed to be stopped before his selfishness dragged more good men to their downfalls.

“Right, mate, we got you here, so now we’re off, yeah?”

Hernandez nodded at the stinking trawler's skipper—sick and tired of observing rotting fish morsels in the filthy wretch's beard. “I gave my word, and I shall keep it. Drop me ashore.”

The skipper began to turn away, but changed his mind and frowned. “You really reckon you’ll find the geezer you’re looking for?”

Hernandez clenched his fists. “The man owes me a debt, and if it takes my entire life to do so, I will collect.”

“Okay dokay. We’ll be ashore in ten.”

“Good man.” Hernandez turned back to look at the shore. To think he'd imagined the British sophisticated. They were more Oliver Twist than Queen Elizabeth. Unwashed oafs. It made him wonder how Britain, at large, fared. Had the apocalypse consumed this country, or had it put up a fight? His fishermen companions spoke of a Resistance, but it hadn't convinced them to take their chances on land.

The scenery filling his view, he'd been informed, was called Dorset, and it seemed quiet—deserted. Granger sought his daughter somewhere in this land, but the girl might be anywhere. The only lead Hernandez possessed was Portsmouth. That was where the fishermen claimed the UK Resistance existed. There were people gathered there. So maybe that was where Granger was headed.

Yet, Hernandez didn’t want to overplay his hand. If Granger was at Portsmouth, he would be well defended. Better Hernandez approach from afar and check the lay of the land. The trawler's skipper suggested a small marina here in Dorset, at a place called Poole. The journey from there to Portsmouth could be made on foot within a day. Things could be tough going, so Hernandez gave himself three days. Three days to find and kill the man who had ruined him.

The boat bumped against the docks, and Hernandez leapt out onto foreign soil. He neither said goodbye nor thank you to the native fishermen at his back. His focus was solely on what lay ahead.

Revenge.

Lord Amon

Lord Amon towered over his amassing army. To annihilate humanity, it had been necessary to attack on a thousand fronts at once—the primary need for so many gates to be opened—but now that the task was all but completed, the focus re-shifted. No longer did the Children of Darkness need to blanket the Earth in a quest to exterminate—most of its seven billion insects were trodden. So the Children converged instead, ready to strike at the few remaining human gatherings.

He, Lord Amon, would destroy one of humanity's most troublesome holdouts.

Portsmouth.

The word had fallen from the mouths of a thousand tortured humans as their innards unravelled before them. A human army in Portsmouth, with ships and planes and soldiers.

An army.

And so it would be...

A glorious battle to seal mankind's extinction.

Lord Amon savoured the prospect.

So eager to begin, he had closed a hundred gates and diverted their energy into activating a new seal—one right in the midst of the human Resistance. Even now, he could sense the new gate opening like the bud of a great, odorous flower. Soon, the malignant jaws would open, and Hell’s last remaining forces would pour through to finish the rout—bellowing cavalry mopping up those too stupid to lie down. The Red Lord himself would be watching the events to follow, and Lord Amon would please him immensely. The battle's brutality would be legendary—even amongst the ancient souls of the Abyss.

Nothing could stop the Red Lord’s plans. Not even Lucifer—the real Lucifer—wherever he was hiding. A thousand worlds like this one, all toppling one by one, like disease-ravaged pines.

Soon, God will be as impotent as the humans he cherishes. To think I, Lord Amon, once had to kneel at the Creator’s feet before delivering the gift of a child to a whore.

Gabriel.

The name was faeces in his mouth.

I am Lord Amon: Regent of Hell. The Red Lord's most faithful.

The creatures at his feet scurried, sensing his fury. Further away, twisted beasts from the lower level stumbled about playfully like monkeys. The Children were thirsty for blood. Hungry for slaughter.

Soon would run a great red river—the herald of a new dawn.

A glorious kingdom.

A world without humanity.

Guy granger

The roads were blocked—and too exposed—so Guy set off from Portsmouth on foot. Demons swarmed the landscape, according to Wickstaff’s scouts, so keeping to the countryside and travelling at night was the smart choice. As it turned out, Guy recruited only nine men and women from the Hatchet, but another six bodies from General Wickstaff’s personnel had bolstered his party. The final count also included Skip, Rick, and his brother, Keith. Twenty-one bodies in total, each armed with a fully loaded SA-80 combat rifle, or some other weapon of choice. The British soldiers also kept two grenades apiece. The party's odds were abysmal, but at least they weren’t toothless.

Wickstaff had given Guy another of her oily handshakes before leaving, wishing him “the very best of luck, old chap!” It had been the briefest of goodbyes—nothing like the prolonged agony of leaving the Hatchet. That so few of the crew chose to follow him hurt, yet he couldn’t ignore the good sense behind their decision. The true fight would take place at Portsmouth. What Guy was doing—leaving to find Alice—was selfish. But he was a father, and that came before all else. No choice in the matter.

So call me selfish if you must.

One British soldier, a young lad named Heath, had gone to scout ahead. He hurried back now, exiting the tree line between a gathering of swaying elm trees. The rainfall covered the rushed sounds of his footsteps, but it did not disguise the grave look on his face.

“What is it?” asked Guy, emerging from beneath the draped arms of a willow.

The lad shook his head. “Not good, Boss. There must be two-hundred shitskins past these woods. We can skirt around ‘em, but it’ll be touch and go. They might spot us.”

Rick overheard and came over. “We’re likely to encounter demons whichever direction we go. They're heading back the way we came—towards Portsmouth.”

“Preparing for battle,” said Guy. “Maybe you should all go back.”

“Portsmouth is screwed,” said Keith, pushing up from a tree he leant on. His chin sagged and wobbled as he spoke as if he'd recently been much fatter. “Good thing we’re heading away from there, if you ask me.”

The soldier, Heath, sneered. “My friends are at Portsmouth, and I’m stuck here protecting you.”

“Don’t need protecting,” said Keith before adding, with relish, “Sonny Jim.”

Guy grunted and put up a hand. “No squabbles, please. It's soaking wet and about as cold as I can stand. You all agreed to this mission, but you can go back if you want.”

Heath looked away, chewing his lip.

Keith shrugged.

Rick cleared his throat. “Best thing we can do for Portsmouth is close Lord Amon’s gate. Heath, take us up to the tree line where you marked the demons. We should see for ourselves.”

Heath nodded and headed back towards the elms. It was a good ten minutes before he got them to the edge of the woods, and what they saw was worse than what the soldier had told them. Guy glanced out from behind the wide body of an ancient oak tree and estimated at least two-hundred gathered demons separated by species—for want of a better word. The burnt men stood on one flank, the primates on another. In the middle were the more human-looking demons, the ones who taunted and sneered as they eviscerated you. What Heath omitted from his report was the huge, towering beast driving the enemy army forwards. In the dying light, the angel looked like a mirage.

“That wasn't there earlier,” said Heath weakly.

“Lord Amon,” said Rick in a hushed voice. “There's a hierarchy amongst the demons, and that big bugger is indisputably the most senior prick in these parts. Take a good hard look at him, fellas, because he is the enemy general dedicated to our extinction. Don't fear the reaper, fear that.”

Guy studied the angel—a beast formed as a beautiful man—as it strode amongst its minions like an arrogant warlord. Did it have an agenda? Did it think and feel like a man? Or was Lord Amon as much a savage monster as the demons at his feet?

The question got answered when Guy saw the human viscera hanging around the angel's neck. Lopped off feet, hands, heads, and genitals, strung together by ropey intestines. The latest in chic-Hellish fashion. Instinctively, his hand found its way to his mouth.

How do you kill something like that?

Guy could not abandon his quest to reach Alice, but now he gazed upon the face of his true enemy, he had a new mission as well. If it was the last thing he did, he would get Rick to that gate. Then Wickstaff could shove a missile right up this angel's ass.

It rained, the pitter-patter amplified by droplets hitting the tree canopy. Other than that, the woods filled with silence as the group of humans watched the scene beyond.

Lord Amon threw out an arm and bellowed. The enemy army picked up speed, marching at the double.

“What’s happening?” Keith stumbled back amongst the trees. “What are they doing?”

“Attacking,” said Rick.

“Not us, though,” said Guy. “Portsmouth.”

“We need to get back and warn them,” said Heath.

Rick wiped rain from his face and then blinked. “We’d never make it in time. Portsmouth is ready. It's all down to Wickstaff now.”

Heath chewed his lip bloody and clutched at his rifle. “I thought we had more time.”

“That's the thing about time,” said Rick, “It waits for no man. All we can do now is focus on our mission: find the gate and close it.”

The trees rustled.

A twig broke.

Keith spun, hands up in fists. “Fuck it. They’re coming through the woods.”

Heath raised his rifle, but Guy put his hand on the barrel and pushed it down. “We haven’t been spotted yet.”

“Then what the hell do we do?”

Guy watched the shapes in the distance, moving between trees. The demons were going to stumble right into them.

No time to think.

Pointless fighting.

“We run!”

The group sprinted back in the direction it came from, weaving through the trees. Guy’s mission to reach Alice was failing before it had even started, and Lord Amon's gate was getting further away.

And Portsmouth's time had run out.

Vamps

After the fight in the car park, Vamps and his bros had needed to nurse their wounds. Night had fallen and brought more rain, which had made taking cover an even more urgent consideration. The bowling alley had called to them as if its large neon facade was still lit and blinking. The large unit possessed only a single glass window up front, and only a single fire door. A good place to hide out for the night.

Vamps had led the way inside, his sword no longer flaming, yet it still throbbed with life, almost breathing. Holding it made Vamps feel lighter than air, yet powerful and not quite himself. Was the Irishman’s earlier jest a warning? Could he really lose himself to vengeance if he wasn't careful?

“Oh, fuck yes!” said Mass. “Who’s for a game of pool?”

Vamps grinned as Mass grabbed a pair of cues and tossed one to Aymun.

Aymun didn't react and instead watched the cue sail past and land on the ground. “I do not know how to play, my friend.”

Mass shook his head. “You’re useless, Ay. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you how to hustle.”

The purple-baize pool table had Vamps’ name on it, but the first place he headed was the long, dark wood bar. Hard liquor lined its back shelves, but he fancied something more refreshing. While it would doubtlessly be warm, he craved beer—and beer he found in abundance. Several well-stocked fridges nestled beneath the bar. Vamps placed his sword on the bar and gathered up a bushel of the good stuff, bottles clinking as he piled them in his arms.

“Bottom’s up, bitches,” he said upon returning to the pool table.

Aymun waved a hand. “Not for me, thank you.”

Mass took two beers and chewed off the lids with his back teeth. After taking his first hearty swig, he belched. “Shit, it’s been a while, huh? Need to get a buzz on like you wouldn’t believe.”

Vamps understood all too well. It was good to take a load off finally and stop fighting for their lives. The beers were unlimited and the company good. He felt like a taut spring uncoiling.

Aymun grabbed a fizzy orange from the bar and also brought back an ice bucket filled with snacks. The crisps and chocolate made Vamps think about the kid, Max, but Mass noticed and didn’t allow him to dwell. He threw him a cue. “You’re up, man. I’ll let you break.”

Vamps caught the cue and grinned. He chalked up the tip and leant over the table. “Now, Aymun,” he advised. “You wanna get nice and low so you’re behind the cue ball. Then you just…” He fired the cue, launching the white little cannonball. Two reds and one yellow sank into the corner pockets. “Hit that son of a bitch like it fucked your mother!”

Aymun chuckled. “Such an elegant teacher of the arts.”

“Swagger is as much a part of this game as skill, yo. You wanna make this shit look easy to your opponent.”

Mass took his turn and sent the cue ball leaping off the table. In anger, he kicked the table and sent every ball on the table two inches to the left. “Bollocks!”

Vamps waved a thumb at Mass and smirked “See, Aymun? I put him off his game.”

Mass retrieved the cue ball from beneath an X-Files pinball machine and placed it back on the baize. “Been a while, playa. Need to get my eye in.”

“You ready to have a go, Aymun?” Vamps offered his cue.

Aymun waved a hand. “I shall watch a little longer.”

“Suit yourself. So, what did you used to do for fun back home? Terrorist shit, right?”

Aymun pulled up a chair and sat down. “There was little in the way of fun back home. My people knew only suffering.”

“Then they might have had half a chance when the gates turned up,” said Mass, leaning over the table and readying himself for another shot.

“No man could prepare for such evil. We brothers and sisters have been too long distracted, fighting amongst ourselves. We did not realise the true threat that was coming.”

Vamps saw the pain on Aymun’s face and wished then that he and Mass weren't so dismissive of what he'd been through. It had obviously been a lot; both before and after the gates had arrived. Vamps and Mass may have been gangsters, but Aymun had his own streets to survive. “Maybe this will change things for the better, Ay. Maybe once the dust settles, we'll be better to each other.”

Aymun nodded, but didn’t seem to believe it. “I fear it is man’s nature to self-destruct. When I entered the gate, I walked through hallways filled with the damned. There is no Hell for any animal but man. We are the only species capable of being wicked. Evil is not a part of our nature—it is a cornerstone of our nature. I have killed. You both have killed. Men kill. We condemn ourselves.”

Mass took another shot and potted a yellow. He straightened up before taking his next shot. “It’s our ability to be evil that makes it count when we're good though, right? Being human is a battle, man, but it’s what makes us strong. It’s what will help us win this war.”

Aymun plucked at his beard and nearly smiled. “Perhaps you are right, my brother. I will take my shot now.”

“Yeah, my playa!” said Vamps, whooping and handing over his cue.

They stood back while Aymun made a clumsy attempt at potting a ball. At least he didn't foul.

“Not a bad first attempt,” said Mass, swigging the rest of a beer.

“It is a fun game. May I have another turn?”

Vamps nodded. “Knock yourself out.”

This time, Aymun potted a red in the centre pocket. He straightened up and beamed. “Good, yes?”

Mass and Vamps both chuckled warmly and patted the Syrian on the back. “Well done,” said Vamps. “You know, you have a friendly face when you're not frowning like a bouncer.”

“That is just my thinking face. I will try to think less.”

“Eh, yeah… cool.”

They started a new game—practice session was over. Mass played Aymun, with the winner to face Vamps.

“So, tell us about Syria,” said Mass as he lined up his break.

Aymun sat on a stool, sighed, and then gradually began. “A place of hardships, but as you say, people gain strength through their struggles. When I was a boy, Damascus was frightening because nothing ever changed. Rules were never to be broken, or the police would punish you cruelly. After the rebels rose up, it became a place of fear for other reasons. Death could fall from the sky at any moment. A quiet corridor could fall in on you from an indiscriminate bomb. Yet, in the last days of my country, there was hope. I saw the kindness God intended for us.”

He linked his fingers together across his lap and glanced upwards as if picturing the story he was about to tell. “One day, I walked down a street. Once was a market street, but Assad’s forces reduce it to rubble. There I see a little old lady. I know her face, for she is wife of local baker. Every morning, she sell her husband’s bread, and today she does so in an empty, bombed-out street. No one else is around. I go to this lady, and I say, ‘Lady, this street is safe no longer. Why do you not go home?’ This lady look at me and tell me, ‘Sir, my home was right behind where you stand. Now is gone. My husband sleep there in his bed, tired from baking bread. He gone too when bombs fall. All I have left is bread he make.’”

Vamps shook his head. “That's fucked up.”

“That is not the point of story. I smile at this lady, and I say, I would like to buy some bread. But when I try to give her money, she shakes her head. ‘No, no sir,’ she say, ‘this bread is for free. People’s homes have been destroyed, and they have nothing. How can I ask for their money?’ I frown at her and tell her she does not even know which side of war I am on. I could be one of Assad’s men who blew up her home. She just look at me, pressing the bread into my arms. ‘My husband did not judge,’ she said, ‘so I will not either. All men fight to protect what is theirs. I give what I have for free so cycle can be broken. All that I have, I shall give, and so I will never be forced to fight for what is mine. I shall never have reason to kill.’”

Aymun unlaced his fingers and let his palms rest on his knees. The simple gesture somehow made it clear he was done.

Vamps wanted to fill the silence with words, for that was his way, but for once, he found himself silent. He thought about his own life, hanging around the streets with nothing to his name, but strutting around like he had it all. His reputation had been a facade, he realised—an imaginary possession because he had, nothing real. The old woman had been right, men fought over what they had and what they wanted. That was why the world got so screwed up. Humanity had developed through a constant struggle for possessions. Land, money, oil, power…

“It was all bullshit, wasn’t it? I mean, life. The world. It was a joke.”

Aymun nodded tenderly. “God gave us the freedom to work things out for ourselves, but we came up with the wrong answers. Life is a gift to be shared. Mankind is supposed to be a glorious, loving family, but instead, we allowed ourselves to become a species of individuals.”

“What happened to the old lady?” asked Mass, clutching his cue against his chest and twiddling it between his palms.

“She died a day later,” said Aymun. “The rebels that time. Her life was ruined by one side and ended by the other. When I find her body in the rubble, she had no more bread. She had given it all away. I placed a blanket over her and promised never to forget. I tell my brothers of her courage, and she lives on.”

Vamps smiled. “Yeah, I like that.” He lifted his beer. “Here’s to the baker’s wife. I hope she has her family back in Heaven.”

The three men clinked bottles and went back to playing pool. Vamps noticed that his sword was flickering on the bar, but he decided to ignore it. Tonight was for letting go of the fight. Tomorrow could be about killing. He placed the sword out of sight behind the bar, and then re-joined his brothers.

His family.

General Wickstaff

The ground shook. Middle of the night, but Wickstaff was already fully dressed and only half asleep. She stood outside the command block, demanding to know what was happening. The floodlights glared, illuminating bodies rushing back and forth like headless ants. Despite the several thousand soldiers under her command, Wickstaff knew most by name, which was why she quickly reached out and grabbed the nearest corporal. “Tell me what’s happening, Dee.”

“They’re coming,” the man said, looking everywhere but at her. “Christ, it’s actually happening. They’re out there. The demons—”

Beneath their feet, the ground shook.

Wickstaff cupped the back of the corporal's neck and pulled him close. “Calm down, Dee. Let’s not shit our knickers just yet. We have plans in place, remember? Head to the drill square and ring that bloody bell. You need me to tell you the signal?”

He gawped at her, eyes twitching.

“Dee! Do you know the bloody signal or not?”

The corporal snapped back to reality and nodded frantically. “Seven peals followed by a five second pause, then another three peals.”

“Good, lad. Now go!”

The corporal raced off to ring the muster bell. The brass relic was ceremonial more than anything, but in the absence of reliable electricity, it had become the agreed upon alarm. Its pealing would let all of Portsmouth know full battle-stations were in effect, and the enemy was at the gates. Luckily, those gates had been forged from iron, as had several of the barricades blocking the main roads. One benefit of digging-in at an old naval port was the abundance of iron. The city's many museums played home to iron anchors, antique ship fixtures, and even the huge iron frames from a pair of 19th century warships. Men had gathered the scrap at a collection of choke-points at the city’s widest roads and thoroughfares, where the enemy could be funnelled into narrowed kill zones—spaces between rows of taller buildings where soldiers could fire down from both sides of the street. Several areas were also earmarked for bombardment from the warships in the docks. Once the bulk of the enemy forces inevitably passed into the city, she would call in the artillery to rain down death.

She was prepared for this.

She had this under control.

There was no other way.

A jeep skidded outside the command block and one of Wickstaff's lieutenants leant over and threw open the passenger door. Her chauffeur had arrived. Wickstaff nodded and got in. Her driver sped her over to the large sentry tower on the edge of the naval base. Fortifications extended another half-mile out into the city, but from this tower, she would be able to see what was coming their way. The guard tower's roof had been pulled down and replaced with a rickety platform accessed by a stepladder. It gave the tower another fifteen-feet of height compared to the original structure and allowed a sentry to see right to the outskirts of Portsmouth.

Wickstaff nodded to a group of soldiers assembled at the bottom of the tower and then started her way up the ladder. The ground continued to shake with distant rumblings. How many thousands of clawed feet were bearing down on them? Did Portsmouth even stand a chance?

Lord Amon would be among the enemy for sure, and would be unstoppable unless Guy and Rick came through closing the gate. All she could do was try to keep her people alive until then. Was it an impossible task? She would find out.

Climbing the ladder, she reached the original crows nest and grabbed hold of the stepladder that would take her up to the roof deck. The steel rungs vibrated in her hands, and worryingly, the whole ladder wobbled when she assailed the first step.

“It’s tied with rope,” someone called down from the shadows. “It gives, but it won’t fall. Hold on tight, and you’ll be fine.”

Wickstaff tried to see who was up there, but had to look away when rain started filling her eyes. She hadn’t even noticed the downpour. The voice sounded familiar. “M-Maddy? Is that you? What on earth are you doing up here?”

“Wanted to pull my weight, so I've been bringing refreshments to the sentries. Arrived just in time to catch the show.”

Wickstaff trotted up the ladder and heaved herself onto the cramped deck. With Maddy stood a grizzled old sergeant with binoculars in his hands. A monstrous sniper rifle lay propped up against the wooden boards by his legs. “Welcome to the eagle’s nest, ma’am,” the man said in a voice thick with manliness. The unmistakable tone of Carl Martinhal, an active SAS soldier who had been on leave when the gates opened. He was about as tough a man as she had at her disposal, but his skill with a rifle made him a real asset.

“Thanks for having me, Sergeant Martinhal. I hear we have guests?”

“Don’t we fuckin’ just,” He handed over the binoculars, as casually as if they were at the opera. “Get your peepers on those.”

Wickstaff looked through the binoculars and scanned the horizon. It didn't take her long to react. “Bonk my giddy aunt. Looks like they came to do more than just visit.”

The city at large was poorly lit, the floodlights and petrol generators being centred on the naval base, but it wasn't difficult to understand the situation. The shifting shadows of an endless horde filled the horizon like raving highlanders. A legion of the damned.

“Get me a radio,” ordered Wickstaff. “Time we teach these dirty buggers a lesson. That, when it comes to making war, mankind has no equal.”

Martinhal smirked. “Yes, ma’am.”

A radio was shoved into her hand, and she gave a dozen orders to a dozen different sub-leaders in less than a minute. Then she waited. The rain pitter-pattered against the deck.

The screaming began one second before the first chattering gunfire. Muzzle flashes lit up the city like fireworks. Every gloomy alleyway now flashed like a rave was taking place. The city's darkness lifted, replaced by a radiant orange glow and white smoke. Grenades boomed. Windows shattered. Soldiers bellowed to one another, fighting together—dying together. Men wailed as terrible fates befell them, and demons screeched with delight. The demons had drawn first blood.

The battle might be lost already.

Wickstaff snatched the sniper rifle from the boards and propped it up on the railing. The weapon sported a night vision scope, which meant she got a better look at the nightmare coming their way.

It was an unwelcome sight.

Through the scope, a luminous green mass swarmed through Portsmouth's ancient streets. Frightened soldiers crouched behind cover, mostly unaware they were being surrounded. But no man or woman ran. No one threw down their weapon and surrendered.

They were ready to fight.

Wickstaff lined up the rifle's cross hairs and yanked the trigger. She took the head off a burnt man just as it was about to fall upon a stumbling soldier yet to find cover. The man dropped to the ground in surprise when his unseen attacker’s skull turned to mist right in front of him. He took advantage of the rescue and got himself behind a bulky Range Rover, where a machine gunner had already entrenched himself inside the sunroof. Wickstaff took another shot and kneecapped a leaping primate and spun it like a leaf in a storm. As the creature squirmed on the ground, the machine gunner finished it off, making its corpse dance. Wickstaff wasn’t quick enough to line up her next shot, and a burnt man waylaid the machine gunner and the unlucky soldier beside him. The machine gunner took care of it with a handgun, but the distraction delayed both men long enough that a squad of demons were able to blindside them. Wickstaff heard their screams a half-mile away.

The enemy moved closer.

Wickstaff turned to Sergeant Martinhal and snatched the radio again. “All units in Zone 2, fall back to inner perimeter. Artillery Groups 2 and 4, reduce Zone 2 to dust. I want to see Australia through the craters you leave.”

“Roger that.”

She kept hold of the radio, but handed the sniper rifle to the sergeant who would put it to better use than her.

“Are you okay?” Maddy asked, suddenly reminding the general of her presence. A civilian.

Wickstaff nodded. “The whole humanity in peril thing is old hat now, my love.”

“What can I do to help, General?”

“Keep a clear head for me. Giving orders is a lonely business. I need someone I can curse at if the need arises. Sorry, Maddy, but you’ve got that job.”

“It’s an honour. Mind if I swear back at you?”

“Fire away.”

“Send those fuckers straight back to Hell, General.”

Wickstaff chuckled. Maddy was exactly what she needed right now—an anchor to keep her feet on the ground while she made decisions that could end the human race.

Or save it.

Somehow that was the prospect that scared her more.

“By the time I’m through with these bastards, Maddy, Hell will look pretty goddamn inviting. Speaking of which, I think I hear the gods whistling.”

Maddy frowned, but then tilted her head as she too caught the sound. Overhead, the starry sky lit up as a dozen fireflies sliced gracefully through the air. Fireflies that whistled as they fell.

“Cover your ears,” barked Sergeant Martinhal.

The gods roared.

A massive wall of fire leapt up from the heart of the city. Buildings tore apart like matchstick models and abandoned cars cartwheeled twenty feet through the air. The massive heat and ensuing concussion vaporised the demons so quickly that they didn't even have time to scream. They were simply gone, replaced by a flaming crater.

The guard tower wobbled, and the stepladder swung to-and-fro on the rope it was secured with. Wickstaff and the others hung on for dear life and almost fell to their deaths by the time the second barrage was through. Wickstaff had to blink several times just to work out which way she was facing. Once she reoriented herself, she turned the air blue with cursing.

A dozen infernos lit the night brighter than day now, and the full enemy force revealed itself.

Thousands.

Tens of thousands of the wretched monsters.

Wickstaff knew she had sentenced soldiers to death with the artillery barrages, as not all would have escaped the blast radius, but she understood now it had been the right decision. The massive bombardment devastated the enemy vanguard and tore apart several-hundred demons at least, but it had done something even more important: bombed-out buildings crumpled and fell across the roads. Massive piles of masonry blocked the enemy approach and bought Portsmouth more time.

Wickstaff studied the battlefield and felt a mixture of hope and despair. The first round had gone to mankind, but their real foe was only now approaching. Lord Amon stomped towards his front lines, demons parting before him like butter on each side of a hot knife. Once he reached the ruined outskirts of Portsmouth, he stopped and stared. Wickstaff was certain he was staring right at her.

Then the angel took another giant step forward and grabbed hold of an upended camper van. With terrifying strength, Lord Amon plucked the van up off the ground and held it over his head, before launching it like a javelin. The boxy vehicle struck the roof of a nearby office building and shattered a vast chunk of it. Wickstaff covered her mouth as three soldiers plummeted to their deaths from their hiding places. The angel's message was clear:

“You can’t hide. You can’t run.”

Before Wickstaff looked away in total horror, she watched Lord Amon pluck a fourth soldier from a hiding place inside a shop doorway. In one giant hand, he clutched the woman by her ankles and bellowed with laughter as he tore her torso in two. He tossed the pieces into the air like bread for the birds.

You can't hide.

You can't run.

Richard Honeywell

Corporal Martin had been trying his radio for the last two hours, but Portsmouth didn't respond. Richard wanted to say something encouraging to the soldier, but there was nothing that would be believable. He grew more and more desperate by the minute.

Their one hope was fading.

Dawn broke, but the rain remained a downpour. Puddles formed sucking quagmires in the mud, sapping the group's strength and making walking a chore. The group's mood had been sullen since the grisly scene in the barn, and necessity had forced them to spend the night there inside the house. Everyone had been eager to depart the exact moment the first bird chirped. Now the farm lay several hours in the group's rear mirror, but still their spirits remained low.

Richard put an arm across Dillon’s shoulders, trying to keep him dry. With his other hand, he shielded his eyes. “We should find more shelter or go back to the farm. This rain will be the death of us.”

“Portsmouth is only a half-day away,” argued Corporal Martin. “We can’t afford to stop now.”

“But they haven’t responded since last night. We don’t know Portsmouth is safe anymore.”

“It’s the only destination we have, Richard. We won't be safe anyplace else. We’ve endured worse than a little rain.”

Richard sighed. True, a bit of rain seemed silly to complain about considering what they had survived, but his instincts were to keep Dillon warm, dry, and fed. Difficult to override fatherly instincts, and he looked at his son now, he found it hard to consider enduring anymore of this weather.

“Dillon, are you okay?”

His son glanced across at him and nodded. His thin blonde hair was plastered to his scalp with rainwater. “I want to go somewhere with more people. I want to keep on going.”

“See!” said Corporal Martin. “It’s only you being soft, Richard.”

Richard grunted. “Like with the chickens, you mean?”

“Let’s just get to Portsmouth, okay?”

The march continued in silence, the only person talking was Carol. The old editor regaled Alice of her time in Africa as an aid worker. Alice responded that her father helped people too, and that they would get along when they met. Richard admired the American girl’s defiance, still believing she would get her happy ending. Meeting her father was a matter of when, not if.

The countryside ceased and they entered a built-up area leading to the South Coast. The first things they scouted were a Ford dealership and a set of train tracks. Blocking their view further was a massive plot of half-built houses. Ironic, as there would now be far more houses than there were people living. It would be a long, long time before people ran out of living space again—and that was only if humanity survived.

“Think we can grab ourselves some motors?” asked David. “I’ve always fancied one of those big Ford pickups. They seemed built for banging up and getting dirty.”

“Ranger,” said Richard.

“Huh?”

“The pickup that Ford makes is called a Ranger. I impounded one a few months ago on a drugs bust. Proceeds of crime seizure.”

“Well, maybe we can rustle up a few Rangers then and drive the last stretch to Portsmouth.”

“We’ll check things out,” said Corporal Martin. “Might not be a bad idea.”

Talk of procuring a fleet of cars lifted the group’s spirits, and people started nattering again, sharing stories of vehicles they had once owned themselves, as well as cars they would have liked to own. The apocalypse wasn't all bad. You could take whatever you found, and a car dealership became a playground.

The group reached the dealership's cement forecourt and spread out, searching. Men and women both stopped to glide appreciative hands over shining bonnets and boots.

Richard wasn’t much of a car guy, but he allowed Dillon to run off with Alice to climb and play. It seemed safe enough. David ran off too and gave a triumphant cheer when he found a brand-new Ranger in white. The paintwork was filthy from dust, but the placard's exorbitant price betrayed its unused condition. David leapt up into the rear bed and bounced like a clown. Dillon and Alice saw him and quickly climbed up to join. The three of them laughed like idiots.

Richard smiled.

“David always did like his toys,” said Carol conspiratorially. “He used to be a right pain in my arse, always moaning about his pay, like he was bloody Louis Theroux or something.”

Richard nodded, eyes still on the two children and childish adult. “I forgot you two go way back.”

“Way, way back. I still remember hiring the arrogant sod. Wet-behind the ears graduate who thought he knew it all, he was, but I always knew he would make a good journalist. Contrary to what one might believe, the best reporters are the ones with the biggest moral compasses. David lost his way for a while, let his ego rule him, but I’m proud of how much he’s risen to this challenge. After Mina died…”

“I never met her, but I’ve heard about her.”

“A nice girl. Real shame what happened to her. David took it hard. The anger inside him... When he took it out on the demon, we had tied up... I won't deny it frightened me. I think being around your son and Alice pulled him back from the brink.”

“Andras…” Richard remembered what a mess David had made of the angel, disguised as a human. A real mess.

Carol nodded, her voice a whisper. “We all lost something after Andras. It made us realise how evil those bastards are. Just look at what they did with your wife.”

Richard grunted.

“Sorry. I'm just saying, we owe it to all the people we've lost to make those bastards pay, but it's important to keep a hold of what makes us human. Or else what's the point?”

Richard continued watching Dillon and Alice bouncing alongside David and saw the truth of it. The children kept everybody’s hope alive. They were a reminder of what they were all surviving for.

Carol half-turned, her attention moving someplace else. “Now that is a thing of beauty.”

Richard followed the woman's gaze until he saw what she was referring to. He let out a whistle. “It certainly is.”

Sitting inside the glass-fronted showroom was a low-slung sports car in fire engine red. The modern blue Mustang parked beside it looked bulky and unsophisticated by comparison. Carol rushed inside; not even checking the front door was unlocked as she charged through it. Richard gave chase, worried for her safety, but also eager to see the beautiful piece of human engineering for himself. He wasn't a car guy, but he wasn't blind either. Some things were just indescribably flawless.

Carol clapped her hands like an excited schoolgirl. “Ford GT 2016. This baby must have made it here just days before the world ended. Who knew it would be one of mankind’s final accomplishments? A beast hiding beneath a masterpiece.”

“She sure is beautiful, Carol. I never pegged you as a petrol head.”

She ran her hands over the curved bonnet. “Are you kidding? When I was a younger gal, I owned a Lotus Esprit. Payments cost more than my mortgage, but damn if it wasn't worth it. My old Lotus was nothing compared to this though. The original GT was a beauty itself, but somehow they improved on it.”

“It’s beautiful,” Richard said again, not knowing what else he could add. If he had known anything about engines, he would have spat out some specifications, perhaps.

“It’s mine,” said Carol with a grin. “Find me the keys.”

Richard chuckled. “Erm, okay.”

Luckily, the keys were hanging from an open lock box in the back office. When shit had gone down, the staff had obviously fled without giving a thought about locking up. It worked out well for Carol.

Richard handed over the key ring with the car's registration number on it. “I think this is the key, but it’s weird.”

Carol snatched it like Gollum grabbing his Precious. “It’s an e-key,” she explained. “You only need to have it on you to start the car.”

“Neat.”

She pulled open the driver’s door and pointed at the dashboard to a large red button that said START, then jabbed it with her finger. The engine roared to life, and she seemed to breathe it in for a moment, closing her eyes and smiling serenely. “Isn’t that the most beautiful sound you ever heard?”

“Hey, hey!” Corporal Martin came striding in. “Turn that thing off. The noise will attract every demon for a hundred miles.”

Sheepishly, Carol thumbed the START button again, and the dragon went back to sleep. “I suppose it is a little impractical.”

“You think? Come on, we’ve found a couple of panel vans around back. Three should hold everyone, so we’ll divide into teams. Me, David, and you, Richard.”

Richard raised an eyebrow. “You want me to lead a team?”

“I just want you to drive a van full of people, but yes you should also lead. You’re a police officer.”

“Was a police officer.”

“Whatever. Just get away from that teenage wet dream and come help with something useful.”

Richard and Carol exchanged chastised glances, and both fought emerging grins. Corporal Martin stormed off, leaving them alone a moment to get their giggling over with.

“Suppose we should do as we’re told,” said Richard.

Carol patted him on the back. “I think that lad fancies me, you know?”

“Ha! I think you might be right. Come on.”

They went outside and headed after Corporal Martin who was disappearing around the far side of the showroom. Most of the group were already out of sight, likely assembled near the aforementioned vans. David, however, was still in the back of the truck with the kids. They had stopped their jumping and were now just sitting and talking.

“You'll have to start paying him for babysitting,” said Carol.

“Yeah, I think I wi—” Richard flew forward as something struck him between the shoulder blades. He tried to stay on his feet, but his balance had deserted him and he ended up on his hands and knees.

Carol cried out.

David shouted.

The kids screamed

Dazed, Richard rolled onto his back. Carol struggled a few feet away from him, demons closing in from all sides. They seemed to be emerge from the landscape itself, filtering from the distant tree line or from behind abandoned vehicles. Of the ones who had already got close, Carol cursed and kicked at them, but a clawed hand shot out and snapped her wrist. A tirade of foul language spewed from her mouth in reply. Richard clambered to his feet, rushed to her aid, yanking a knife from his belt and burying it in the chest of the demon that had broken her arm. The blade stuck, so he threw a punch at the next demon. A third leapt out of the crowd and pummelled him before he could defend, knocking him to the ground.

More demons snatched Carol, yanking her arms at unnatural angles.

“Get off her, you bastards!”

David appeared and launched himself into the fray, tossing aside one demon then head butting another. With his ruined, snarling face, he looked like one of them. Carol had only one good arm, but she swung it like a club. Richard tried to get up and help them, but a demon leapt on him and pinned him down. Far off, he heard Dillon scream.

“Daddy, Daddy.”

More demons swarmed the dealership, scurrying between cars and leaping the low chain-fence separating the forecourt from the road. Demons everywhere. Where had they come from?

Richard squirmed, managing to avoid a sharp swipe aimed at his jugular. The foul creature on top of him was too strong to escape, and each swipe got a little closer. He fought back with his fists, but it was only delaying the inevitable. He tasted blood when a claw finally sliced a burning canyon from his eyebrow to his lip.

The creature stunk of piss and shit.

“Fuck you!” Richard spat. “You'll always be damned. Hell will follow you wherever you go. So... Fuck... You!”

The demon glared, blackened teeth thick with decay. Its eyes were human, but whatever lay beyond them was anything but. Nothing existed inside this creature but the darkest and most base instincts of a predator. The need to kill and devour.

Richard closed his eyes. It was over.

Dillon continued screaming, even more distant.

Gunfire pierced the air. The weight fell away from Richard's chest, and he was back on his feet, confused. He spun around, trying to work out what had happened. A demon now lay dead at his feet.

Carol was sprawled on the ground. David fought to get to her. When he saw Richard standing, he yelled. “Help her, man. Get her out of here.”

Another gunshot took the head off a demon coming towards Richard. He glanced back to see Corporal Martin and his soldiers taking aim and firing in a line.

Richard dropped his shoulder and barged a demon aside as he made his way forward. Carol bled from a wound on her neck, and was cradling her snapped wrist, but she was alive. Still swearing like a trooper. He reached out with both hands and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her to safety. She was stick thin, and with the adrenaline in his system, he was able to scoop her up like a baby.

More bullets tore up the demons.

Richard staggered back with Carol in his arms. She muttered to him as he dragged her away. “D-David. You have to help David.”

“One thing at a time, Carol.”

David was surrounded, his burnt face contorted with rage. He was lashing out with a blade, slicing the demons left and right, or shoving them back so Corporal Martin and his soldiers could take a clear shot.

But it was useless.

A dozen monsters closed in on David at once, and Richard lost sight of him in the pack. He did not scream, only shouted and swore, insulting the monsters even as they surrounded him. Eventually, his curses stopped and thick red blood rolled across the concrete beneath the demon's clawed feet.

Victorious, the monsters turned around to face Richard and Carol who were still yet to escape. Richard held Carol against his chest and whispered in her ear. “Don’t look, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart, shithead.”

The demons surged across towards them, wailing with blood lust. Richard closed his eyes and buried his face against Carol's. Her breathing was rapid and hot in his ear. They had seconds left.

Less than that.

The demons roared.

Dillon still screamed from somewhere.

And then the demons hit an invisible wall.

Corporal Martin and his soldiers let loose with all they had. The demons danced and reeled, like fish on the line. Heads exploded. Limbs tore away from torsos. “Take that, you monkey shits.”

The demons fell rapidly into a pile. Somewhere beneath them lay David. When Richard saw an argyle sock without a shoe poking out from the bodies, he knew the old chap was gone for good.

Carol shrugged out of Richard’s gasp and spat at the dead demons. “Rot in Hell, you fucks.” Then she turned sombre as she saw the same shoeless sock that Richard had. She put on a taut smile. “David, you saved my silly old behind. I always knew I'd be glad I hired you one day. You took your sweet time.”

Then she turned her head and sobbed into her shirt cuff. Everyone else remained quiet, reflecting on the moment and trying to come back down to earth. The smell of gun smoke made all of them cover their mouths.

The battle had come out of nowhere.

They had won. But they had lost.

When would it end?

The dead demons cartwheeled up as if a grenade had exploded beneath them, corpses flying in a dozen directions. David rose up in what had been the centre of the pile. He looked only at Carol.

“Don’t miss me,” he said in a rasping voice. “Join me!”

Carol stumbled back in fright, but was not quick enough to avoid her old colleague's grip as he reached out and grabbed her around the throat. One-handed, and with sickening ease, he crushed her neck to pulp before she even had time to scream. The old editor's lifeless body slumped to the floor. The back of her skull cracked open on the pavement.

Richard's eyes bulged. He clenched his fists. “Nooooo!”

“It’s not him anymore,” Corporal Martin barked. “Take him out!”

David cackled, arms out to the side like he was being crucified. To complete the picture, he let his chin drop against his chest and closed his eyes.

Corporal Martin and his soldiers unleashed Hell.

In the shape of the cross, David’s corpse danced and jiggled. Blood spurted from a dozen places, but he would not break from that sacred pose. His already-ruined face chipped away piece-by-piece, first his jawbone, disintegrating into mush, then both eyes. Another two-dozen bullets in his torso eventually turned him to mincemeat and dropped him, but he still maintained that position, even as his insides drooled out on the pavement.

Jaw locked, Richard stomped over to his friend's corpse and kicked one of his bleeding arms against his side, breaking that mockery of Jesus on the cross. After a few seconds, he was able to unclench his fists. “How? Who raised him from the dead? I thought…”

More screams.

Dillon and Alice—thought safe behind the line of soldiers—they were not safe.

Skullface yanked the children away from safety and scooped them up. At seven-feet tall, the creature didn’t even struggle as he tucked them under each arm.

Richard shoved the soldiers out of his way and sprinted across the forecourt. Skullface raced away, the children screaming. Richard gave chase, gaining even, but a pair of primate demons leapt into his path. They’d been hiding behind a billboard. He fought to get past, but took a sharp swipe across the thigh, which dropped him to his knee. Corporal Martin appeared and took them both out with the last of the rounds in his magazine, but it was already too late. He offered a hand to Richard, but he refused it, remaining on his knees, watching his son disappear. “Skullface! He has Dillon and Alice. We…”

More demons raced towards the car dealership. Skullface disappeared behind their lines. Impossible to pursue.

More demons came. They came from everywhere.

“Take cover,” Corporal Martin shouted to his men. “Pick your shots, and we might live through this.”

Gunfire, screams, and car alarms filled the air.

Guy Granger

Guy broke from the woods, ran across a cluttered road, and found a gap in a wooden palisade wrapped around a three-story building. Not knowing what lay inside, he threw himself through the opening and waited for the others. A stream of bodies squeezed in after him. Rick came through last. He was sluggish and bent over. Guy pulled him over to one side, so he could shove a spare wooden panel across the gap and complete the barricade.

He turned to Rick and assessed him. Not good. “You okay?”

Rick was panting, doubled over, but he waved a hand. “Yeah, sorry. I’m not as fast as I used to be. Must be getting old.”

Yeah, thought Guy, or dying of some weird demonic virus. His biggest concern was not Rick’s health though. “Did any of them see you?”

Rick shook his head, hands on his back as he creaked upright.

“You’re sure?”

“If the demons had seen me, I would know. Don’t ask me how.”

Guy allowed himself to relax. “Okay, good. We’ll lie low here, stay quiet, and set off as soon as the coast is clear.”

“The coast isn’t going to be clear,” said Keith. “It sounded like an entire battalion is coming this way. The shits are everywhere.”

“We’re safe,” said Rick calmly. “Guy is right. We just need to lie low. What is this place anyway?”

They were outside a small, provincial cinema. Its roof timbers lay exposed, and scaffolding scaled the front of the building. The wooden palisade was in place to keep the public away from the building work, and for now, it would keep them hidden. “If we can get inside, we can stay warm and sheltered from the rain.”

Rick nodded. “We'll keep a watch from the top of the scaffolding. There’s a bunch of tarps up there, so staying out of sight shouldn’t be too hard.”

Keith folded his arms as he looked the building up and down. “Wouldn’t be so bad if there was power. We could watch a movie. Doubt there’ll be much to do but twiddle our thumbs. Did anybody bring cards?”

“Staying alive is enough to occupy us for now,” said Rick. “Try not being negative for a change, Keith.”

“We’ll have plenty to do,” added Guy. “If we spend any amount of time here, we will need to make the place defensible. I intend on leaving the first chance I get, but I won’t reach my daughter if I’m dead, so let's be safe. There’s a pile of spare scaffolding poles over there, and more wooden panels. We can build an inner wall and set up a kill zone in the space between. Any demon creeps over the first palisade will find themselves trapped against the inner walls. There’s not enough wood to make an entirely new perimeter, but we can place a new wall between the palisade and the cinema's front entrance.”

Rick sat down on a pile of breeze blocks, still trying to catch his breath. “All sounds good to me, Captain.”

“I am not Captain anymore, so call me Guy.” He walked away, but Skip broke from the crowd and joined him.

“We will find Alice, Guy. I can feel it.”

“I know, Skip, but what then? My son is gone. Alice’s mother is probably gone too. I'm all she has left. How do I go back to being a father after all this? What the Hell do I say to her?”

Skip scratched at his beard. “Words don’t in any way matter. What matters is you’ve travelled halfway around the globe to get to her. She won’t be expecting anything from you, Guy. Just being with her after all this is enough. A girl needs her daddy."

“Really? I wasn't there for her in the past. I spent most of her childhood away on a boat. Kyle is gone, and I’ll never get to make that time up with him. Alice is still alive, but what does she have to live for? All the things I planned on doing…” He sighed. “There’s no more Disneyland, no more school plays or sports days. I missed it all, Skip, and there won’t ever be a chance to catch up.”

Skip paused for a moment, like he didn’t know what to say, but then the words spilled from him. “The world is what we make it, Captain. Maybe you weren’t there in the past, but the past is over. Memories are just nature’s way of taunting us. Even if the future is difficult, we all find moments to be human. History is full of war and bloodshed, but even in our darkest times we have created art, music, culture. You can’t suppress the human race, and life being difficult is not the same as life being worthless. Find your daughter and keep her alive, and she will flourish, even in darkness. Maybe more so.”

“Damn it, for a grizzled old seadog, you speak a lot of sense. You're right. I can’t change the past, or even the present, but I will make the future my own. How would you feel about being an honorary uncle, Skip?”

He patted Guy on the shoulder. “I’d say poor Alice has things bad enough.”

The two men re-joined the others, smiles on their faces. Rick and Keith were working with the soldiers and sailors to hastily erect scaffolding poles against the palisade to reinforce it. They already had an L-shape in place and were propping up a panel of wood against it. Guy knew his sailors weren’t the best field engineers, but Wickstaff’s infantry seemed rather handy at the task. Rick, himself, was digging a hole for the next length of scaffolding to sink down into. Sweat beaded from his forehead and each movement seemed to make him shudder, but he was still on his feet. The man did not quit.

Guy reached out and took the shovel from Rick's hands. “You look like you need to rest.”

“I’m fine. I should help.”

“You’re too important to get injured. Just take a rest. What happened to you anyway? What made you... like this?”

Rick gave up the facade and handed over the shovel. He leaned back against a cement mixer with obvious relief. “I got infected by an angel is the best way I can put it. I died, but a fallen angel called Daniel brought me back. I came back wrong.”

“Brought you back? Why? The angels want us dead.”

“Not all of them.” Rick motioned to the floor, signalling that he would sit down, and he did. Guy nodded and crouched to stay on his level. “I don’t know for sure, but I think there’s some kind of war going on behind the scenes. Whoever runs things in Hell has led some sort of uprising that has brought all the demons here. Not all the beings in Hell are onboard though.”

Guy sighed. “Seems like enough are.”

Rick folded his arms against his tummy as if in pain. “I suppose the notion of escaping Hell is too good to refuse. Anyway, there’s a minority sympathetic to us worthless humans, it seems. Daniel was one of them. He brought me back from the dead, but to do so he had to transfer some of himself to me. He died helping me, but his time was limited, anyway. The human body he possessed was too weak to contain him. It was breaking down. That’s what’s happening to my body now. Whatever power I have inside me is too much. I’m dying.”

“How long do you have?”

“I don’t know. As much as Daniel’s power is killing me, it’s also keeping me alive. It’s getting stronger as I’m getting weaker.”

“Stronger how?”

“The last few days, I’ve been able to sense the demons like a radar. I almost know what they're thinking. That’s how I know we're safe right now. You already know I can close gates from a distance, but I can also wipe out a group of demons if they get close enough, although it wipes me out, big time.”

“Does using your powers make you worse?”

Rick swallowed and stared off into space. “I… don’t know. I think I’m dying either way. All I can do is try to do as much good as I can before that happens.”

Guy’s calves ached from squatting, so he copied Rick and sat right in the dirt. “That’s a large burden, Rick. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I was dead, and now I have some extra time. Most people don’t get that. Just get me to that gate, Captain.”

Guy thought about Alice, but he knew this mission of Rick’s was equally important. “I’ll get you there, Rick. I promise.”

Keith stormed over to them then, kicking up dust in his wake. “Hey, you two! Sorry to break up your chitchat, but you think you could lend the rest of us a hand?”

“Coming right over,” said Guy. He raised an eyebrow at Rick. “Is your brother always so...”

Rick nodded. “Yeah, always!”

Richard Honeywell

The last demon bled out at dawn. Now, morning sunlight illuminated a grisly tapestry across the forecourt. The rain had finally taken a break. Bleeding, grey corpses—both human and demon—littered the pavement. Corporal Martin's soldiers had held their own, but the demons had been too many. Each time a man had stopped to reload, a foul creature had pounced and tore off their screaming faces. By the time Corporal Martin expelled his final round into a demon’s neck, twelve dead men joined the four-dozen demon corpses. Tired and injured, the survivors had collapsed where they'd stood, and remained there overnight.

Richard, too, was exhausted; for he had fought the demons with everything he had as well. With just a blade, he had gutted two demons, before snatching the rifle from a soldier dead to a throat slash. Then he had taken out three more.

The fighting had taken less than an hour, but it had taken a week's worth of strength from everyone involved. Now, beneath the warm sun, Richard looked off into the distance, wondering where the Hell his son was. Skullface had taken Dillon, but why? Was the suffering already wrought on Richard’s family not enough?

What did Skullface want with children? Why not just kill them?

The possible answers were too painful.

Whatever the reason, taking Dillon was the biggest mistake of Skullface's existence. Richard would find him and rip the grotesque abomination apart. But first, he had to put his affairs in order. He went to where Carol had fallen and stayed throughout the cold night, the rain hammering at her lifeless body. Her expression now was peaceful, and her sodden hair made it look like she just got out of the shower. Richard lifted her easily, so much of her blood having leaked out and formed a crust on the floor. “You had a good inning, love, but we’ll take it from here.”

When Corporal Martin saw Richard carrying Carol across the forecourt, he frowned. “Where are you taking her?”

“Some place she’d like to be.”

Corporal Martin seemed to understand and showed Richard so by giving a respectful nod before turning and walking away. Richard continued into the showroom, ignoring the beastly Mustang. The GT’s driver door still hung ajar, which made placing Carol inside easy. Richard positioned her upright and held her in place with the bright-red seatbelt. Death had stiffened the old girl's limbs, but he could still position both her hands on the soft leather steering wheel before closing the door. “Drive safe, Carol.”

Back outside, the remaining men and woman gathered. There were less than twenty of them now. “We’re out of ammo,” said Corporal Martin. “We’re fucked. Totally fucked!”

Richard shoved the soldier, shocking him. “We’re alive, you fool. Maybe we’ll be dead tomorrow, but right now we're alive. Let's use that time to make as many of those bastards pay as we can. We lost a dozen good men and women last night, but not before we took fifty of the enemy. Next time, we'll take a hundred.”

“What’s the point, Richard? They outnumber us by thousands. We have no chance. Fighting them is suicide.”

“You said we’re fucked. It’s not suicide if we’re already dead. I’m going to find that bastard who took my son and destroy him. I will do it for Carol and David, and everybody else. That thing killed my wife, and it still isn’t satisfied.”

Corporal Martin swallowed, and he even looked worried. “Calm down, Richard. We have no ammunition, or any idea where that thing took Dillon and Alice. Let’s just bide our time a little and regroup.”

Richard shook his head. “You really think I can do that? My son is out there. I get that you want to stay and lick your wounds, but I’m going.” He raised his voice as he moved out into the open. “Do you all hear me? I am sick and tired of hiding, waiting to be attacked. How long did we cower at the newspaper office? What good did it do? If we act like frightened cattle, then it's just a matter of time until we're slaughtered. But I won’t go out afraid and hiding. I will go seek the bastards out and make them pay. I am a father whose son was taken by a monster. What can I do, but try to find him? The question is, what will you people do with your last days? Are you going to lie down and die while the monsters who took your families—your children—inherit everything we built together? Or are you going to take as many of those bastards down with you as you can?”

One soldier present cheered, and his reaction pushed the group to do the same. Heads nodded and muttered curses flew. Somehow, despite all the misery and loss, people were no longer afraid of the demons.

They were angry. Enough was enough.

Corporal Martin chuckled. Richard frowned. “What’s funny?”

“I was wondering when you’d step up and lead people.”

“You’re in charge, Corporal. I just want revenge.”

“A corporal is not a commander. We take orders from Sergeants. I believe that was your rank in the police force?”

“I don’t want command. There’s nothing to command.”

Corporal Martin shook his head and kept that annoying grin on his face. “Then you shouldn’t give rousing speeches. That’s the thing about strays—you offer your hand once and they follow you forever. These people belong to you now. Good luck, Richard. I’ll be right beside you.”

Richard studied the group of survivors, horrified to see their attention had somehow shifted from the corporal to him. Fine, if they wanted him to tell them what to do, no problem. They would all be dead before the day was through.

Not before I find Dillon though.

“Grab your stuff, people. Say your goodbyes to those we leave here in our memories because we head out in ten minutes.”

Hernandez

Hernandez found navigating England easy. While the narrow and winding roads were most un-American, the street signs were clear and easy to follow. As Portsmouth seemed to be the biggest city in the area, all signs pointed there.

All roads lead to Rome.

All roads lead to vengeance.

The closer he got to his destination, so far unaccosted, the surer he became he would wrap his hands around Guy Granger’s throat. The countryside teemed with rabbits, and even the occasional deer, but there were no people. If anyone was left, they were at Portsmouth, a place the fisherman who brought him here fancied the last Bastion of their ancient land. Hernandez’s ancestors hailed from Catalonia, Spain, and he wondered how well his ancestral home was faring. Better than here, he hoped.

Where are you, Guy? Have you wormed your way into safety, or are you out here somewhere in the wild?

I’m coming for you.

Hernandez knew he had lost his mind to an extent, but it wasn’t mental illness. It was a lack of anything else to occupy his mind. Focusing on punishing Guy was all that was left for him. His old life, his career, his family, were all gone. The only goal still attainable—killing the man who caused his downfall.

How had life come to this? Hernandez had dedicated his life to saving people, and now he was a nomad promising murder. He was supposed to be a hero.

Really? A voice in his head asked him. Do people join the Navy to save people? Doesn’t the Navy kill? Make war?

Hernandez bit at his lip and asked himself a question out loud. “Am I some kind of psychopath?”

“I believe the prevailing term is sociopath?” came a husky voice through crackling leaves. “But the desire to see one's foes reduced to viscera is as old and as human as civilisation itself. Do not admonish yourself for it.”

Hernandez’s heart burst through his chest. He had not heard a human voice in more than a day, and for one to suddenly pierce the silence out here among the trees and fields was jarring. He looked at the old, hairless man and raised his unsure fist. “Who the Hell are you?”

“My name is Oscar Boruta, and you are a foolish man. This is the End of Days, yet you stroll through the countryside without a care for your own safety.”

Hernandez looked around at the open countryside. “All seems pretty safe to me, old man. Your concern is unwanted.”

The old man grinned. Burnt abominations in the shape of men emerged from the landscape, seeping from the bushes and stepping out from behind trees. The old man's grin turned to a scowl. “You haven’t taken a single step without it being seen, fool. It is only your outright foolishness that has allowed you to live this long. I admit to a certain curiosity. You wear anger around your neck like a leaden torc. Your soul reeks like smoking, black oil. A dark heart like yours is a shame to waste.”

“What are you talking about?” Hernandez eyeballed the demons coming closer on all sides. “You’re human. What are you doing with these creatures?”

The old man blinked, eyelids moving sideways like a lizard's. He flicked a forked tongue. “We were all human once, fool, but no more. I am something greater now, a ruler of a new earth. Your life is mine, fool, as is all life fated to tremble beneath the gaze of the Red Lord.”

“Who is-”

The old man ignored him. “That black chain around your neck—who put it there?”

Hernandez frowned, then realised the man was referring to his anger. “A man who wronged me. A traitor.”

“There’s a place for traitors, but it’s been recently relocated.”

Hernandez was tired of being spoken to like a child. “Leave me be, Mr Boruta.”

“Do not make demands of a Lord, you worthless insect. I could crush your skull with a blink of my eye. Your insolence amuses me, though, as does the blackness of your heart. I will allow you to take your revenge, fool, for the spilling of human blood honours my master. Go! Go and spread your suffering.”

Hernandez nodded, strangely thankful that someone supported his mission. He took a step forward to leave, but then stopped. He realised he was surrounded by hundreds of demons. They would rip him apart, surely. “How do I—”

“Come here, fool.”

“W-what?”

“DO NOT MAKE ME REPEAT MYSELF.”

Hernandez stumbled towards the frail old man, almost wetting himself, as even the sun seemed to flee. As soon as he got near, Boruta lashed out and nearly broke Hernandez's wrist, clutching it in a crushing grip. Hernandez wanted to scream, but he knew it would only shame him in the eyes of this wicked creature disguised as a man.

Boruta gritted his sharp, rotting teeth and raised his free hand. The nails on each finger lengthened like retractable blades. He sunk them down into Hernandez's exposed wrist.

This time, he had no choice but to scream.

After several seconds of excruciating pain, the old man shoved Hernandez away who bent over double, clutching his burning flesh. “Keep your arm attached, and you will be safe, for now.”

Hernandez rubbed his burning forearm and felt ridges. When he examined, he noticed strange markings scored into his flesh. Scar tissue had already formed over the wounds.

What had the old man done?

Boruta waved a hand dismissively. “Go!”

Hernandez began walking, his legs hollow and unstable. The demons in his way glowered, but they moved out of his path. Within seconds, a dozen of them had scattered, leaving a clear passage through their centre. Hernandez then realised what the old man had done.

The markings on his arm...

He was untouchable. Free to move amongst the demons.

For now, the old man had said. You will be safe, for now.

Better make the time count, Hernandez thought, making his way towards Portsmouth with both hands clenched in fists.

Skullface

Skullface grew tired of battling with the children, so he shoved them aside and into the arms of his minions. Let them restrain the snivelling worms, he had preparations to make. Children of his own to nurture. Their arrival would be glorious. Their plague of pain a joyous event.

Beedle. Molok.

The original connoisseurs of agony.

Skullface trod on the disembodied skull of a dead human and enjoyed its hollow crunch. The corpse was not his doing, but it still pleased him. This field, with its gaudy fairground rides, had laid witness to some wonderful atrocity in days past. The brethren had swarmed here and left a meadow of human corpses behind them. Every seat on the Ferris Wheel had a body hanging from it. The coconut shy's bristly fruit had been replaced with open-mouthed heads; eyes gouged out and placed between the teeth. It felt like Lord Amon’s work. Had his army been here? Scouring the land clean?

Skullface sought to honour the Red Lord with the greatest gift he could give: the gift of his son and daughter, Beedle and Molok. The first humans ever to bask in the suffering of others. Humanity’s first serial killers.

Beedle and Molok, twins alike in looks and spirit, had tortured and gutted a mongrel before they turned six years old. He, their father, had found them playing amongst the animal's innards in the hills beside their home. The murder had not disturbed him, no. He was a proud father.

He was Cain.

His children had murder in their veins.

They killed their first woman at nine years of age. Beedle had wept in the forest, yelling that she was lost and afraid. A nearby shepherd’s wife heard her cries and came to help, but Molok waited nearby with a club and cleaved her skull in two. The children played in the woman's insides until dusk and even took the intestines home to attract more hungry mongrels to kill. Sometimes they ate the mongrels. In years later, they would eat their human victims too.

While Cain had lived a thousand years, his children were young, less blessed by the pure life force of God passed down through Adam and Eve. Every line of descendants diluted that essence and therefore, Cain would watch his children age and die. Before that happened, though, they would show the world true darkness. Humanity could only know light if it cowered from the shadows. That was Cain’s gift to the world.

Balance.

Evil needed to exist for good to flourish, and his children would provide it. It was as God intended.

Yet it was all ruined by a motherless widow. Her tears burned Cain's memory even now, millennia later.

That whore.

Beedle and Molok were in their twentieth year when they brought home the twin girls. They had never killed fellow twins before, or even seen such an oddity repeat itself. Such a thing was rare, and the villagers exalted any children that came in pairs. Beedle and Molok had tortured them for days, cutting off parts and strangling them half to death before bringing them back again. All the while, Cain tended his cornfield, readying the year’s harvest.

The children’s mother had returned home from a walk that evening to find her husband dead—his skinless body propped beneath a nearby willow tree. Screaming without relent, she had feared finding her precious twin girls the same way, but merely found them missing. The men from the village saw the devastation wrought upon the woman and set out with torches and clubs. Rumours had fluttered for many a year that innocent souls fell to the creatures at the shack upon the hill—the one surrounded by the cornfields.

Cain had hidden his identity for many years, known only as a quiet man who traded corn. That he even had children was unknown to most, which was why, when the widow and the mob fell upon Beedle and Molok in the midst of peeling off the dead girls’ faces, they had been horrified. But their horror had quickly turned to fury.

Cain had tried to intervene, but he was restrained by too many men and forced to watch while his glorious progeny were strung up by their ankles as the snarling widow hacked away at their torsos. Cain winced as his children's ribs broke, fought his captors tooth and nail for the three hours it took for the widow to murder them. Then, when the whore was done, the men had pulled Beedle and Molok down and set their corpses on fire.

Mankind had learnt murder that night, and let the darkness in willingly.

The mob left Cain with two broken legs and both hands cut off, a dead man unable to even staunch his own bleeding. But he had left the wretched earth with a grin, for, using the last of his strength, he had visited the murderous widow at dawn, found her sleeping on a patch of hay in her barn. He set upon her with handless arms and floppy legs, yet had successfully impregnated her by the time her screams brought help. Before anyone could drag him away, Cain bled out right there on top of her.

The widow had kept the child.

Enoch.

Sent to Hell to burn with Lucifer and the rebelling angels, Cain found himself unable to locate his children. From Lucifer himself, he learned that God had banished them to the darkest pits of the Abyss, a place he could not enter.

Why God? Why did you punish my children for their nature? They brought darkness to your earth so that mankind could truly enjoy the warmth of your glow. You punish innocents.

You punish my children?

Then the Red Lord had burst forth from Hell's centre and invaded God’s many paradises—each one in turn. Now, Cain would use his captured prey to finally free his children from the undeserved prison. He glared at the two snivelling children now and wished there had been more to pick from. The boy was defective, but would have to do. Children were scarce in any form. The girl was pure, yet resembled his daughter in no way. Again, compromises had to be made. Soon their bodies would play host to Beedle and Molok and humanity’s original serial killers would return.

This time their lives would be glorious and without end.

Richard Honeywell

Rain poured again, the sky so grey, day felt like night. The van’s automatic headlights came on and cut a shaft through the silvery sheets of falling rain. Wipers lunged back and forth furiously to keep back the tide. Richard’s followers were able to cram themselves into a single vehicle—so few of them left.

Richard rode up front. Corporal Martin had the wheel. “Which way?” he asked Richard as they approached a T-junction.

Richard closed his eyes and listened to his blood pulse in his ears. If God existed, this was the time to lend a hand. Please, just show me the way? Which way do I go? Give me a sign. Please.

Movement caught his eye. Corporal Martin leant forward over the steering wheel. “Is that…?”

“Yes,” said Richard, a bemused expression on his face. “That there is a chicken crossing the road.”

Dillon and Alice had fought to save the lives of a group of chickens because they were innocent children who still valued life. If Richard was hoping for a sign from God, this was about the best he could imagine. The chicken bobbed its head without a care in the world, despite the heavy rain, and then disappeared into a nearby hedge off to the left.

“That way,” said Richard, pointing to the left. “We go that way.”

Corporal Martin gripped the wheel and took the turn. As they passed by the hedge, the chicken was nowhere to be seen. Richard was unsure if it had ever been there to begin with. They headed down the road for the better part of a mile before they were forced to stop. An overturned lorry, its cargo spilled across the road, blocked their way ahead. A small slip road led down a woody embankment on the left.

“Skullface could have blocked the road ahead,” said Corporal Martin. “Could be an ambush.”

Richard thought about it but disagreed. “He didn’t go that way.”

“How do you know?”

The lorry’s fallen cargo contained vegetables, fruits, and grains. A miasma of mould festered on the road—blackened bananas covered in fuzz, dried out apple husks withering away like cancer-infected hearts. Yet none of it had been trodden on or disturbed. No apple or banana lay squashed or kicked aside.

“Skullface has demons with him,” Richard explained. “A lot of them. If they came this way, they would have trampled through all this mess. Nothing is crushed or splattered though. A horde of demons did not come this way. If they went anywhere, it was down this slip road.”

Corporal Martin looked at the small road leading down the woody embankment and apparently thought about it. Stapled to a tree, a fading blue poster flapped against the rain's onslaught. CASTLE FAIRGROUND. BANK HOLIDAY WEEKEND.

“I suppose we should visit the fair, Richard.”

“I doubt there’ll be candy floss.”

They pulled away from the main road, leaving the overturned lorry in their wake.

* * *

They took things slowly, the battering rain making the journey no easier. The slip road was old and cracked and led down into a quaint village with white-painted cottages with thatched roofs. The tallest building was a stone church, but even that was small by typical standards. Desiccated corpses littered the small grassy common in the village centre.

Corporal Martin groaned. “There must have been a bunch of people holding out here. How long did they survive before… this?”

Richard bit his lip and imagined Dillon like this, dead and rotting. “This has to stop.”

“No shit.”

“I wish I could kill every one of them. They deserve to pay.”

Corporal Martin sighed but said nothing. What could he say? That humanity had lost, and the demons would never pay? It didn’t need saying.

It didn't need fucking saying.

“I think the fairground is over there,” said Richard, trying not to let his mind fly away. “Takes us in.”

They took a turn and headed towards a Ferris Wheel peeking out behind the church. They found it standing in a wide-open field, alongside Waltzers and Bumper Cars, a Fun House and Ghost Train. The Ferris Wheel took up the centre of the fairground, and from each of its spokes hung a corpse. Inside its bottom capsule, Alice and Dillon sat in traumatised silence.

“We found them,” said Corporal Martin, mouth agape. “They're here.”

Richard put his hand on the door release, but fingers appeared around his other wrist.

“Just wait a minute,” said Corporal Martin. “Look!”

There were demons everywhere, hidden amongst the grisly ornaments and dilapidated rides. Dozens. Not hiding, just dormant.

“We have no ammo,” Corporal Martin added. “They’ll rip us apart if we go down there.”

Richard tensed his arm where Corporal Martin was grabbing it, wondering if he should pull free and make a run for it, but then he calmed down and took a breath. “My son is right there, alive. How much longer until that changes?”

“If Skullface wanted to kill him, he would have already done it, surely. Something else is going on.”

He was right. Something else was going on.

Skullface appeared then from behind the Ferris Wheel, flicking blood from the gaping throat of a severed head. It hadn't belonged to a human, but a demon. With the blood, Skullface seemed to be making a circle around the ride. Inside the capsule, Dillon and Alice remained sitting in terrified stasis. Richard couldn’t sit idly by while his son endured such horror.

“It looks like he’s performing some kind of ritual,” said Corporal Martin.

“I don’t care what he’s doing. This is the end for that abomination. Whatever it takes, I will kill him.”

There was a bang on the back wall behind them in the van. The rest of the group, riding inside the cargo space, no doubt wanted to know why they had stopped.

Richard winced. “Shut them up before—”

The banging turned frantic. The van rocked on its suspension so violently that Corporal Martin and Richard fell against each other, knocking heads.

Terror filled Corporal Martin's eyes, and he pointed through the windscreen. “Shit! They’ve spotted us!”

Sure enough, Skullface stopped before the Ferris Wheel and stared right up the hill towards the van.

“Shit!” Richard pulled the door handle and tumbled out as the van continued rocking. He stumbled around to the side and then to the back door, which was still closed. The men and women inside were screaming. What was going on in there?

Hands trembling, Richard grabbed the rear latch and yanked open the back.

Chaos met him.

“Help!” someone screamed, but it was already too late. Two primates tore through the van’s cargo bay like the wild animals they were, slashing throats and raking eyeballs. Together, and in such close confines, the demons could slice apart the trapped humans with ease. The metal bed of the van grew slick with blood, and it began to pour from the rear lip onto the grass at Richard’s feet.

One soldier slumped to his chest on the van's floor and crawled towards Richard with his arms out imploringly. “W-we opened the door. W-we thought it was you.”

Richard choked on his own vomit. Skullface had known the entire time they would be coming. Had probably known of their presence the moment they arrived in the village.

“Come on,” shouted Corporal Martin in his ear. “It’s too late. We have to get out of here.”

Richard clenched his fists and bit his lip hard enough to taste blood. “No. I’m tired of running. Dillon is here.” He pulled the combat knife from the sheath at his belt and left the bloodshed in the van. The screaming victims were bleeding out and the demons would silence them within the next few seconds. In the end, they had died as he'd feared they would, like frightened lambs. And he had played a part in that. They had followed him to their deaths in less than a day.

So, it was left up to him to make the bastards pay.

Corporal Martin dodged out of Richard’s way as he sped down the grassy embankment towards the fairground. The demons below gathered to meet him, but they underestimated his furious haste. He passed by the first bunch of demons before they had a chance to grab him, and the next group that got in his way found themselves barged to the ground like kittens hit by a locomotive. Skullface lay right in his path, and he raised his knife, ready to bury it in the bastard’s eye socket.

Dillon saw him coming and screamed. There was hope in his voice.

But there was no way to save him.

Richard would at least get them both a little payback. He threw his body through the air, knife out in front of him. The bellow spilling out of him sounded like it came from a bear.

Skullface raised an arm to protect himself, but it was too late. Richard had the force of a broken man behind him, and he would not be denied his vengeance.

Something struck Richard in mid-air, knocking the wind from him and sending him into a spin. A demon appeared in front of him and tackled him to the ground while another set upon his wrist and wrenched away his knife. Within a single second, he was being held down by the arms and legs, a demon crushing every limb.

Skullface glared at him and cackled. “You’re just in time. Say goodbye to everything your son ever was.”

Richard fought and wept, wept and fought.

From up on the grassy hill, the screams from the van had stopped.

Everyone was dead.

Guy Granger

The earth shook and the pouring rain formed vibrating puddles on the ground. Guy wondered if the explosions coming from Portsmouth were the drumbeats of humanity’s last moments. Was this the end of the End?

Alice? Where are you, girl?

Rick snatched the radio from one of the soldiers and tried to get through to someone on the other end. Wickstaff answered. “Bit busy right now, chaps.”

Rick seemed surprised to get an answer, and it took him a second to answer. “W-What’s happening?”

“The buggers are storming the walls, what does it sound like?”

“Do we need to turn back, come join the fight?” asked Guy.

Silence… Then: “We’re holding our own, for now. They might have the numbers, but they’re as thick as shit sandwiches. Our big guns are flattening them. We’re not out of the woods, but—” a massive explosion rumbled in the background, “— but our tactics are working. What you chaps need to do is close that sodding gate and let us kill Lord Amon. He’s keeping his distance, but—” another explosion “—but once he joins the fray, we won't be able to do anything to stop him. Close that gate, Rick. Be the rock star you were in a previous life.”

Guy’s eyes went wide. “That’s why I recognise you!”

Rick waved his hand at him irritably. “We’re a little stuck at the moment, General. The demon horde coming your way formed up around us and we had to go to ground in an old cinema building.”

“The Trescott?”

“Um,” Guy looked up at the scaffolding; he thought he spotted a faded sign. “The name is covered up by construction at the moment, but I think I see a picture of a popcorn carton.”

“Yep. I know where you are,” said Wickstaff. “Hold on to your arses, chaps.”

The radio clicked and hissed. Rick lowered it and frowned at Guy. “She cut off the call.”

“Maybe the enemy broke though. The fighting sounds bad.” It was an understatement. Gunfire, explosions, and screams mingled like a clash between dragons. Or gods. The urge to go back and join the fight was persuasive, but Wickstaff had been clear. She wanted that gate closed.

And Guy wanted his daughter.

“Incoming!” One of the soldiers in their group shouted.

Guy glanced up and saw a streak in the grey sky.

The ground leapt beneath their feet, and a soul-rattling roar obliterated their hearing. Fire leapt up in the distance, visible over the palisade walls. Every man and woman hiding out at the cinema tumbled to the ground.

Rick covered his ears as he lay face down in the mud. “What the Hell?”

“She’s buying our escape,” said Guy, understanding what Wickstaff had meant when she said to hold on to their arses. “She’s pointed some of Portsmouth's artillery our way.”

“She'll bloody flatten us,” said Keith, lying nearby. His hair had slipped, exposing an impressive bald spot.

“No,” said Guy, shouting over the din as another shell hit nearby. “She knows the area. The shells won’t hit us. We need to leave while the enemy is distracted.”

Rick climbed onto his knees, sweat beading on his temples. He didn't look good. “Keith's right, we'll die if we go out there.”

“What other chance will we get?” Guy stood up and brushed himself off. Disturbed air buffeted his untucked shirt. “Everyone get to your feet, we’re getting out of here, right now. Keep your heads down and pray.”

Nobody looked happy, but nor did anybody argue.

Guy knew he would have to be the first out of the parapet, so he approached the wooden palisade and started stripping away the barricade the men had built. His hands turned to ice beneath the onslaught of icy rain that had come back with a vengeance in the last hour, and his fingers were clumsy and numb. Rick came to help, and together they shoved the obstacles aside moving the wooden panel they had placed over the gap.

Fire and brimstone awaited. The world was flame and screaming beasts ran rampant.

A demon leapt at Guy standing in the gap. Rick threw up his hand, and the creature blinked out of existence.

Guy stared at Rick in awe. “Neat trick.”

“Tricks are for kids. What I have is moves.”

“Nice moves, Rick Bastion.”

Rick groaned, but he smiled too.

Keith collided into the back of them. “Move your arses!”

The group put their heads down and piled out into the road. Nearby, concrete curled up in a flaming crater and a single-story garden centre collapsed in on itself. If another shell hit within fifty metres of them, they were done for. More demons lay in their path, but the creatures were shaken and confused. Some burned to death on their knees. Wickstaff’s reign of fire was enough to terrify the minions of Hell. The woman was a force.

Soldiers opened fire and Guy had his sailors—now marines—do the same. Combined, they cut a path and moved onwards.

Another shell exploded. The air grew hot and whipped at them. Burning demons squealed like Guinea Pigs.

Keith laughed, popping off shots from a revolver. “Enjoy your agonising death, you fuckers.”

“Come on,” Guy urged. “We have to be gone by the time the demons recover.”

Everyone moved. Ahead lay the countryside, farmland separating Portsmouth from the next towns over. If they could just get to the tree line…

More demons formed up ahead, reinforcements coming from outside the blast zone. Unlike their shell-shocked brethren, these creatures still had their wits about them.

“Form up,” Guy said to his marines. The soldiers readied themselves, too, happy to take orders.

The demons approached slowly. Their black eyes smouldered. Rancid hides slick with rain.

Guy raised his hand, then dropped it. “Fire!”

The demons screeched. Gunfire replied. They danced frantically as bullets tore up their bodies, but they moved forward relentlessly, bodies piling up in a carpet. As soon as one demon fell, two more would clamber over its corpse. It was a surge, an enveloping wave that could not be held back.

“They keep coming,” said Keith, firing endlessly from his large revolver, which he reloaded after every six shots. For a civilian, he was rather adept. “We can’t hold them off.”

Keith was right, and Guy hated to admit it. More demon reinforcements were arriving and seemed to have no end in sight. Soon, the soldiers would run out of bullets. Guy glanced over his shoulder, searching for a retreat, but the demons scattered throughout the blast zone had started to recover.

Guy breathed heavy. They were surrounded.

I’m sorry, Alice. I wish I could leap into the sky and fly to you, but instead, it looks like I will die right here.

The explosions had stopped, not just nearby, but at Portsmouth too. The fighting had entered a lull, as prolonged battles often did. But the men at Guy’s side continued firing whatever rounds they had left.

They would go out fighting.

“I’m out of bullets,” said Keith, turning his revolver sideways so he could use it as a bludgeon. “Nice plan, Rick. We almost made it ten miles out of Portsmouth.”

Rick glowered at his brother. Instead of firing a weapon, he waved his hands like a magician, and demons cartwheeled as if struck by invisible wrecking balls. “Stop being so negative, Keith. For once in your life.”

Keith huffed. “What’s there to be happy about? We're about to get torn apart by monsters.”

“Good point.”

The soldiers ran out of ammo, one by one. Each now held their rifles like clubs, ready to fight till the end. It wouldn't be long now. They looked at one another, bracing themselves.

A shadow fell over them.

The rain turned sideways as a mighty wind displaced it.

Guy glanced up and saw a roaring beast.

A dragon had left Portsmouth.

And the dragon spewed fire.

The duel rotary guns mounted beneath the Apache attack chopper’s wings unleashed a swarm of hornets at the ground, spitting up dirt and cement, and beating two dancing trails towards the enemy.

“Thank you, Wickstaff,” said Rick. “I could kiss her.”

“She'd knock your block off,” said Keith.

A crimson cloud formed as demon flesh disintegrated. Twisted limbs shattered and heads exploded.

Within seconds, an entire legion of demons had been reduced to a writhing stream of leaking flesh.

The Apache tilted, swooped upwards, and disappeared back towards Portsmouth.

“Let’s go,” said Guy. “We can thank that pilot later, after we win.”

The soldiers and marines cheered. Then they got the Hell out of there—double time.

General Wickstaff

Wickstaff could barely speak her mouth was so dry. It felt like she’d been shouting orders for days, but the fighting had been going on less than two hours. In that time, she had barely lost a man. Most of the human casualties had occurred in the opening moments of the conflict, after the demons first attacked, but now, her forces were entrenched, expending an endless supply of ammo. The naval artillery had proved the real boon. Whenever an enemy came at you en mass like the demons were, you could easily flatten them with overlapping spreads of bombardment. And they had plenty left in reserves. At this rate, the naval guns could keep firing all day, and the demons would lose long before that.

Already, she estimated a thousand enemy dead at the cost of only two-dozen men. She’d even found time to rescue Rick and Guy, encircled up at that old cinema house. Her scouts had mapped out the entire city for her weeks ago, which was why she'd had no problem finding the right coordinates to suppress. She’d spared a chopper too to check out the results. The pilot reported seeing Guy and the others making a break for it.

If they close that gate and we take down Lord Amon, we might just win this. Should it be this easy?

“We’re holding our entire perimeter,” one of her Lieutenants reported. “We lost Ingress 6 early on, but we set off the charges and blocked it. Since then, the enemy have been wading into our kill zones like lemmings.”

Wickstaff nodded curtly. “They’ve won every battle until now because of sheer numbers. Their army is grunt heavy, and all they know is how to overwhelm and terrorise. But we will not be overwhelmed, and we will not be terrorised. We cannot afford to be. Inform all squad leaders not to grow complacent. The enemy are not out of ideas yet, I assure you. We must be ready for whatever they try next.”

“General! General Wickstaff!”

Wickstaff sighed, wishing for just a single second to breathe and relax. The battle was non-stop.

Maddy was the one calling her. The younger girl with blonde hair hurried alongside her. Diane, was it?

“What is it ladies? Can’t you see I’ve got a war on?”

Maddy tittered, but none of the fear left her eyes. “It’s the stone in the parade square.”

“What about it?”

“It’s opening a gate.”

Wickstaff cleared her throat and spat. The chance to take a breath would not come today, or maybe not ever. She had known the stone would open at the worst possible moment—why wouldn't it? Its entire purpose was to fuck Portsmouth up right when it looked like there was a chance. She’d taken preparations, of course—placed mines around the gate and set up machine gun nests on every roof. She’d intended to erect a mesh cage around the stone, to trap whatever came out, but the battle started too soon. Now Portsmouth was invested upfront, with a threat at its back. The worst thing that could happen in a battle. The effect on morale would be devastating.

She had to take charge and deal with the situation.

She had to show her men they could win any battle, and surpass all odds, just so long as they remained calm and focused.

Maddy stepped up in front of her, regaining her attention. “General, there's another problem.”

“What else?”

“I think you better come.”

Wickstaff found herself running after a civilian, eager to find out what the problem was. This Maddy was a calm mind, and obviously meant a great deal to Rick. She was beginning to see why.

Maddy took them to the parade square—and the imminently opening gate.

“Fuck me sideways,” said Wickstaff.

This gate was three times the size of the ones Wickstaff had seen in reports and media snippets, and twice as big as the one she had seen first hand from the deck of an Apache helicopter. That gate had been the one Rick and Guy were hopefully on their way to destroy. Weeks back, Wickstaff had led an assault on the gate herself, from the air—launching live goats through it to see if it would implode the same way other gates had when humans entered. But when they had swung a goat into the gate from a winch, a torrent of bloody giblets spat right back out. The gate had remained open, and they had learned a lesson that day about closing gates.

Only a human life would do.

Or Rick Bastion’s power.

Christ, does that washed up rock star really have the power of an angel inside of him? The world has flipped its lid. She reminded herself that she was at war with Hell, then Rick didn't seem such an oddity anymore.

The massive gate in front of Wickstaff was four-stories high, and it shimmered and rippled like a rain-spattered pond. It resembled a hungry mouth, ready to lurch forward and devour the world itself. Any attempt she made to see inside left her confused and sickened, with strange thoughts that urged her to kill herself. It led somewhere unfathomable, a place where only ever-lasting torment and horror existed. A place she hoped never to know.

She'd hoped to contain this. But it was too big. Looking at it now, she knew that hanging around and fighting on two fronts was impossible. But it was the only chance they had. This was their last stand.

Too late now to do anything else but fight.

Prime Minister Windsor appeared, racing across the square and yelling commands. “Fall back. Evacuate right now. By air or by sea, we are leaving Portsmouth. The fight is lost, so let's live for tomorrow.”

For a moment, Wickstaff stood there, bewildered, but once she got a hold of herself, she went and grabbed the wretch by the back of his collar. “What the hell do you think you are doing, Windsor?”

The man shrugged her away and snarled, his teeth like tiny pegs between his thin lips. “What do you think I am doing, woman? This gate is about to open any minute. I am trying to save us all while there's still time.”

“If we leave now, we'll always be running, and the enemy will pick us off one by one until there’s no one left. They've been wiping us out that way since the beginning. This is the first time we’ve held our own; the only time we’ve had a line of fortifications between them and us. I realise that having a gate behind our lines is unfortunate, but I have prepared for it.”

“Prepared for it? Prepared for it? What the hell is there to prepare for? The enemy will stream right through our middle.” The Prime Minister dismissed her with a petulant wave of his hand and resumed barking orders at anxious soldiers. Send them the wrong messages now and they would break. She needed to get ahold of the situation.

Wickstaff grabbed Windsor by the throat and shoved him away from her. He rubbed at his windpipe and stared daggers at her, but before he managed to berate her, she cut him off.

“Running will not work. We have to turn the tide now while we still have something resembling a Resistance. If I hear you try to evacuate any more of my men, I will shoot you dead right here.”

Windsor sneered, not taking her threat seriously.

So, she yanked the sidearm from her holster and pulled the trigger.

The bullet struck the concrete next to Windsor's foot and sent him leaping into the air like a flea. He yelled defiantly, yet his tone lacked his earlier arrogant authority. The man was a coward at heart—as Wickstaff suspected a great deal of career politicians were. Men and women far happier sending kids to war than going themselves. She, however, was most certainly no coward. Her threats were not idle.

“Do not test me, Windsor. Our nation is in ruins, and all that exists is Portsmouth,” she waved an arm, motioning to the rushing soldiers and zooming Jeeps, “and Portsmouth is my fucking kingdom until I say otherwise. Get out of my sight!”

Hot air blasted from the gate and threw Wickstaff sideways. She stayed on her feet but needed several steps to regain her balance. When she looked back at the gate, it was shimmering madly. Something was about to come through. The Prime Minister was laughing.

“What are you laughing at, you halfwit?”

“You’re finished, General. Your kingdom is about to burn.”

“What are you talking about?” Wickstaff kept one eye on the gate. Soldiers rushed to form a perimeter around it, rifles at the ready.

The Prime Minister was still smiling. He was insane. No point wasting time with a mad man, so she hurried away from the gate and re-joined her squads. There was fear in her men's eyes but determination too. They would all love nothing more than to run, she knew, but each of them understood there was no longer anywhere to go. This was it—their last bastion. Hers too. Wickstaff raised her sidearm and pointed it at the gate.

A charred corpse spewed onto the parade square. Then that corpse rose to its feet and snarled at them.

Wickstaff pulled her trigger and placed a bullet right inside its mouth. The back of its neck exploded, and it slumped to the ground like a good corpse should.

Then all Hell broke loose.

Wickstaff’s men made her proud. Not a single one turned and fled, even as a surge of demons spilled forth into their reality. They picked their shots with deadly aim. Demons spun and collided with one another. Dark red blood filled the air, mingling with the rain. The loud report of sniper rifles and machine guns soon joined the cacophony of rifle fire, and a full-scale battle commenced.

Wickstaff's men held their own, cutting down demons as soon as they landed on the concrete.

The problem, as always, was ammunition.

Each magazine held thirty-rounds. Each soldier had between two and five spare mags. Picking their shots at around one per second, it would take half a minute before the firing lines were forced to stop and reload.

The demons kept coming.

Unable to reload quickly enough, several soldiers pulled out bayonets and screwed them onto their barrels. They formed up like Roman legionaries, shoulder to shoulder, stabbing with their blades rhythmically. But the demons were fearless, and ploughed into the wall of soldiers like an avalanche, driving them back and impeding their balance. As soon as one soldier stumbled, a domino effect started and men were dragged down on either side. The demons shredded them like slow-cooked beef.

Maddy appeared at Wickstaff’s side and grabbed her arm. Diane grabbed the other. “We have to get everyone out of here.”

“Fall back!” Wickstaff screamed, holstering her empty handgun and using both hands to amplify her voice. “Get your fucking arses to the docks. Fall back. Full retreat.”

The men turned and fled, some throwing their rifles to the ground in an act that was anathema to most soldiers—the same as throwing down their pride. Wickstaff did not blame them.

“Come on,” said Maddy. “We can’t lose you, General.”

“I have to make sure everyone gets out.”

The men turning their backs presented easy prey to the demons, which leapt upon them with glee.

“My men!”

“General!” Maddy shoved Wickstaff hard in the chest, hurting both of her tits. Enough to snap some sense into her. She allowed Maddy and Diane to pull at her again, and the three of them ran for it.

Prime Minister Windsor blocked their way. He was still smiling, not concerned at all about the demons surrounding him.

Wickstaff shouted at him. “Run, you damn fool!”

“No need.” Windsor pulled up his shirtsleeve, revealing a strange insignia scored into the flesh of his wrist. It meant nothing to Wickstaff, but then she saw the man stroll calmly towards the demon horde. The creatures dodged around him, acting as though he wasn’t even there.

Windsor was one of them.

How?

Wickstaff spat at the weasely bastard, even though he was out of reach. “You son of a bitch!”

Windsor said nothing. He raised one hand and wiggled his fingers in a mocking wave.

Maddy shoved Wickstaff again, always there, it appeared, to keep her mind focused. Along with Diane, the two women chased the retreating soldiers towards the docks—the last place still under human control. Perhaps the last place they would get to see alive.

The bellowing war cry of ten thousand demons ruptured the air.

The ancient city of Portsmouth filled with blood.

Guy Granger

Guy was out of breath by the time he and the others made it to the tree line. The panic had caused them to scatter, which was why they now called out to each other, seeking one another out. The noise didn't matter—no demons would hear them, because the world was at war. Hell clashed with the forces of man and the ground shook for miles. Heaven must be weeping, for the rain fell in buckets. Smoke stained the sky black and blotted out the sun.

Guy wiped moisture from his eyes and licked his lips.

This is it. Our final moments.

I have to find Alice.

I have to be with her before it’s too late.

But what about the gate? Would closing it really give Wickstaff a chance?

Guy shook his head. Of course it wouldn’t. Things were too far gone. Even if Guy made it to the gate and Rick closed it, there was barely any chance the general could make use of the advantage.

It was too late for Alice as well. The best Guy could hope for was a few moments with her before the darkness curled up around them. But it was something. A chance to make up for all the times he hadn’t been there. With all the disarray, and everyone being separated, he finally had a chance to break away and try to find her. He could just run for it right now and pray God would lead him to her.

“Don’t go,” said a voice behind him. Guy turned around and saw Keith standing in the woods. Sweat and dirt stained his face. “Don’t abandon my brother.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re better off not knowing if your daughter is alive or dead. My Max and Marcy are out there somewhere, and I can tell myself they are alive. If I find them though… If I find them and they’re not alive. Well, that’s worse than the not knowing. Knowing for sure they're dead is worse.”

“Alice is not dead.”

“Exactly! But if you keep looking for her, she might be. Let her live by never knowing. Stay and help my brother. There are families at Portsmouth who need you more. Help them.”

Of all the people to be hearing this from, Keith was the last one Guy expected. “It’s pointless,” he said. “Things are too far gone.”

“Then let’s do one last thing that matters before we bite it. Let’s give Wickstaff a chance to kill that bastard, Lord Amon.”

“Why do you care?”

Keith wiped at his filthy cheeks, rivulets of rain dropping onto his collar. “My whole life, I’ve played things safe—taken the smart option. Spent my life chasing money, the big houses, the nice cars. Look at me now, as poor and as wet as anyone else. I wasted my life on the wrong priorities. Max and Marcy should have been everything to me, but I’ll never see them again. Why do we only realise who we are at the end of a long journey in the wrong direction?” He sighed. “Help my brother, Guy. Make your last act a good one.”

Guy wiped rain from his face as he spoke. “Rick doesn’t need me.”

“Rick can barely wipe his own arse. He’s dying. I don’t want him to go without doing what he was meant to do. He spent his whole life following his dreams, and all I ever did was criticise him. It's time for me to help him achieve his goals instead of resenting him for being the better man. My brother is a fucking rock star, and I can’t believe it took me so long to be a fan.”

“You don’t think we will live through this, do you?”

“Ha! Open your ears. That’s Armageddon.”

“I don’t think we have a chance either. That’s why I want to find my daughter.”

“You want to meet her after turning your back on those relying on you? Wouldn’t she want you to stay and fight, even if it meant not getting to her?”

Guy thought of his daughter, imagined her spirit. She was a feisty little thing, unwilling to be dominated by her older brother. She had always been fearless, even as a toddler, yet she was kind too. While some kids had gone through phases of hitting and snatching from other children, Alice would always share. She followed Kyle around constantly, ready to lend a hand with whatever was going on.

Alice was brave.

So Guy had to be brave too.

“Let’s go find your brother, Keith. We have a gate to close.”

Richard Honeywell

Inhuman arms dragged Richard to his feet, dragged him before his nemesis. Skullface lacked flesh on his face—and lips, yet he was undeniably grinning. Had this all been one last game to torment a beaten father? By trying to survive, Richard succeeded only in increasing his suffering.

Richard’s head dangled, but he fought to raise it and look the bastard in the eye. “Just finish this. Get it over with.”

Skullface’s lower jaw unhinged, and a voice spilled out from the dark space. “You demand nothing. You live only so long as it pleases me. Before I end you, I wish to witness my own majesty reflected in your pleading eye.” He rushed forward and grabbed Richard’s head with both hands and drove the pointed shard of his thumb bone into Richard’s left eyeball. Blood and ocular fluids flooded Richard's cheek, and he screamed.

Screamed.

Screamed.

“Quiet! I left you sight enough to see your child die.”

Richard lurched, arms still behind his back, and vomited in the grass. His head spun, and his eardrums pounded. Strangely, his mangled eye felt numb. He held his breath, bit down on the pain, and somehow managed to look up towards the Ferris Wheel. Dillon and Alice stared back at him, but their expressions had gone blank.

Their eyes were lumps of coal.

“What have you done to my son?” Richard found a reserve of strength and tried to fight free of his attackers, but a blow to the back of his head reignited the pain in his eye socket and stunned him.

“Be still,” said Skullface. “Sit and watch your child get taken from you. An exquisite torture I know all too well.”

A pair of demons unlocked the capsule and released Dillon and Alice. Both continued staring blankly. Something was wrong. The demons led the children gently to Skullface’s side, acting almost reverently. Affectionately, Skullface placed a bony arm around each of them.

Like a father.

“Beedle and Molok,” said Skullface, peering at each child in turn. “Your souls will soon be tethered permanently, and I shall unleash you upon this world like a plague. Your first victim will be the pathetic father of the vessels you take. Make me proud. Show me your art.”

Dillon and Alice grinned like hyenas. Something dark and primal dwelt inside them, something that chilled Richard to his core. For the first time ever, Richard wanted to be far, far away from his son. “D-Dillon?”

In a raspy voice, his son answered. “Dillon is lost. He wanders Hell's hallways screaming your name and watching his mother please others on her knees.”

Richard vomited again. “Just... Just finish it.”

The thing inside Dillon cackled. “Not for hours.”

“Shit, there’s a dude over there!”

Richard was too weak to lift his head, but he strained his eye upwards. A commotion grew and some of Skullface’s minions were peeling away. Dillon and Alice stopped in their tracks, too, suddenly unsure. Skullface actually rose onto his tiptoes to see what was happening.

The snap of a heavy blow echoed off the steel struts of the Ferris Wheel. A smoky stench filled Richard’s nostrils. What is happening?

“Wow! You took out three in one swing,” said an unknown voice.

“Yeah, man. Let me try to beat that shit.”

“This is not a competition, my brothers. Do not let battle consume you.”

Skullface threw out his fist and struck the ticket booth outside the Ferris Wheel. Its front window shattered, and the roof fell in. “Deal with them now!”

“Richard! Richard, get out of there!”

Richard blinked his one eye and looked around. Is that… is that Corporal Martin?

The demons were distracted. The grip on Richard's arms faltered. Fighting the weakness in his legs, he pushed up and got standing. The sudden movement took his captors by surprise, and he was able to turn the tables on them. He grabbed one demon by the back of the neck and whipped him into his partner. The two collided together like pro-wrestlers in a ring. It was only enough to stun them, but it gave him what he needed.

Richard ran, heading towards the sound of voices.

Human voices.

“Mass, watch out, man. You got one trying to grab a feel of your ass!”

The sound of wood against bone.

“Ooo, shit, dawg. Did you see his head go?”

“Richard, over here!”

Richard turned and saw Corporal Martin fighting over by the candyfloss booth. He wielded a wicked-looking machete that Richard hadn’t seen before. He used it to lop the head off a primate, and then beckoned to Richard urgently.

Richard raced through the fairground, dodging demons and debris. When he reached the solider, he collapsed into the man’s arms. “Dillon! I need to help Dillon.”

“There’s too many. We can’t fight them.”

“Speak for yourself,” said a voice Richard didn’t recognise. When he looked over, he saw an Arabic gentleman and two younger men—one black, one barrel-chested and white. The black man held a sword that was… on fire!

“W-who are you?”

“The cavalry!” said the obvious weight lifter, swinging a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire.

“We are friends,” said the Arab. “Brothers.”

“I met them on the road,” explained Corporal Martin. “I told them what happened, and they insisted on coming to help. They... hunt demons.”

Richard looked at the three men. “That’s stupid.”

The black kid held up his flaming sword and swung it at a demon leaping towards him. It ended up as a charred lump on the ground. “Name’s Vamps. These are my bros, Mass and Aymun. Brothers in a non-biological sense,” he added. “We’re fighting back against these things, and G. I. Joe here tells me you were part of a group doing the same. Sorry there’s only you left.”

“And the children!” Richard pointed back towards the Ferris Wheel. “We have to help them.”

Vamps nodded. “Alright. Nobody gets left behind. We'll go get ‘em.”

Before he could thank them, the three men took off—fearless or stupid, he didn't know.

Corporal Martin handed Richard a second machete secured to his belt. “Our new friends came well-armed.”

Richard appraised the blade but didn’t take it. Instead, his trembling hand moved up to the slick hole where his right eye had been. One more thing Skullface had taken from him.

No more.

He snatched the blade and turned back towards battle. A demon was already upon him, so he thrust the machete through its guts and tossed its corpse into the grass. Dillon and Alice still stood in the field by the Ferris Wheel, and that was where he headed.

Beedle and Molok?

No, Dillon and Alice. It can’t be too late.

The blade in Richard's hand felt good—more empowering than a gun—and he swung it left and right, an explorer hacking vines. Only, instead of plant life, he sliced the flesh of monsters. But for every one he killed, Vamps’ flaming sword scored three. The weapon was a living thing in his hands, wielding the kid as much as the kid wielded it. The air turned black and singed demon flesh reduced to ash. His buddy, Mass, picked off stragglers with that vicious baseball bat of his.

Yet the demons were endless. They were always endless.

Legion.

Richard made it within a few feet of the children. They looked at him without recognition. “Dillon, Alice! Come to me!”

They did not move.

A demon leapt at Richard, and he ducked just in time. If he had come from the other side—the side where he had no eyeball—he wouldn’t have seen it coming. As it was, he sprung sideways and buried the machete in the demon's neck. The dying creature spun, which yanked the machete from Richard's hand. He reached to his son.

“Dillon! Come with me, please!”

More demons attacked. He had nothing to defend himself with. Dodging one demon, he was soundly struck by another. His legs gave out, and he found himself on the ground, scurrying to get up.

“Get off him!” Corporal Martin arrived. He sliced open a demon and locked up with another.

The demons closed in, surrounding them.

Corporal Martin fell as a demon tackled his legs. He ended up in a heap beside Richard, panting and grinning.

“Why are you laughing?” asked Richard, certain the two of them were about to die.

“Because you were right, Richard. The best way to die is like this—after killing as many of these fuckers as we were able.”

Richard smiled too. “Was good knowing you, Corporal.”

“You too, Sergeant.”

Vamps appeared in the space two demons had occupied a second earlier. Their corpses lay in smouldering piles. Mass stood a few feet away, obliterating the skull of a skulking primate about to pounce. Aymun completed the hat trick by hacking a demon’s throat wide open with a hatchet.

“I'm beginning to love you boys,” said Corporal Martin.

Richard clambered to his feet and made it over to Dillon. He almost felt a spark as he wrapped his arms around his boy, but Dillon gave no reaction.

“Release my children!” Skullface bellowed, smashing aside his own minions to get at Richard.

Richard grabbed Alice and pulled her next to Dillon. “Fuck you!”

Skullface roared. “I shall hang you by your own intestines.”

“Fuck you!” repeated Richard, calmly, coolly.

Skullface strode towards him furiously, but Vamps stepped into his path. “Homie? Take those kids and get out of here. Me and the big man are going to work things out in private.”

The towering demon looked at Vamps as if he were an ant, but something caused him to take pause.

“Where did you get that sword?”

Vamps shrugged. “Some Irish dude. Told me to find freaks like you and make you sit on it. You ready?”

Skullface sneered. “Lucifer Primus. He will pay for helping you maggots. I shall see to his eternal torment myself. The Red Lord will enjoy the offering when he becomes King Reality.”

“Didn’t you hear?” Vamps raised the sword. “Our Royal family is just for show. Only one who bends the knee around here is your cock sucking mother.”

“Shit, man,” said Mass, moving up beside him. “Let’s leave mothers out of this, yeah?”

Vamps nodded. “My bad. You get out of here, bro. I got this. All of you should get gone.”

Skullface peered past Vamps at Richard. “You shall not get far.”

“We’ll see.” Richard grabbed the children and fled. Corporal Martin hacked at any demons that got in their way, but most were distracted by the brave lunatic facing down their leader.

Richard glanced back one time on his way out of the fairground and saw Mass and Aymun were not part of the retreat. The three brothers remained together.

Crazy idiots, thought Richard as he got his son to safety behind the grassy hill.

Thank you.

General Wickstaff

Wickstaff grabbed a young soldier shoving to get himself onto the docks and punched him square in the mouth. “Next person you shove will get you a bullet in your head.”

The young soldier clambered and nodded his head over and over. “Sorry, sir, I mean miss, I mean ma’am.”

“Just get out of my sight.”

Maddy was on the radio beside Wickstaff. Diane, too. Both women were helping coordinate the mass retreat to the docklands. There were squads marooned all over Portsmouth, and the gate on the parade square continued vomiting Hell upon them. The scales were tipping away from humanity’s favour. The rain beat harder, like it was leading up to some great finish.

Maddy ended a call and gave a report. “We have teams coming in from everywhere. I think we got the word out to everyone.”

“Excellent. Thank you. You and Diane should get yourselves on board a ship now. The enemy will break through any moment.”

“I think we’d both prefer to stay by your side.”

Wickstaff raised an eyebrow and surprised herself by smiling. “Women united, huh?”

“Something like that,” said Diane in a voice far meeker than the steely look in her eye suggested she was. “We don’t fancy living on a ship with a bunch of sweaty men.”

“Let the men take cover,” said Maddy. “While the women organise what needs to be done.”

Wickstaff grabbed both women and pulled them in for a three-way head bump. “Glad to have you, ladies. Now, let’s save some lives.”

The docks were the most heavily defended of all locations, backed by water and a massive flotilla of warships. The Port Administration buildings helped shore up one of the two vulnerable sides, and a tall mesh fence reinforced with concrete pillars spanned the other side that butted up against the city. In weeks past, Wickstaff had ordered additional steel fences be erected in weaker areas of the perimeter, and the docks’ one main entrance was defended by a pair of Challenger 2 tanks returned to the UK for a weapons system upgrade. Their presence had been a gift from the gods. Fully armed, and ready to vaporise anything they deemed a threat. To complement security, several guard towers housed snipers and grenadiers. Wickstaff congratulated herself on keeping her heaviest assets guarding the rear. It meant they had half a chance of escaping.

But she had meant what she'd told that weasel, Windsor—that running would be the end of their Resistance, and that once they turned their backs to flee there would be no way back. But what choice did she have anymore? As much as she'd love to go down in a defiant blaze of glory, she could not condemn tens of thousands to death. There were too many civilians. Maybe a life at sea would be the new future of mankind. As she looked upon the water, she knew living space wasn't an issue. The carrier alone was enough to house a thousand in cramped confines.

But for how long?

They couldn’t live on fish and rainwater forever.

So much gunfire filled the air that both the smell and sound had become part of the background—like traffic fumes had once been. The rain puddles everywhere were slick with mud and motor oil. Wickstaff made herself focus on the realities of war. “There’s nothing we can do now but join the fight. The men know they need to retreat. The ships know they need to leave as soon as the enemy breaches our last lines.” She turned to Maddy and Diane. “I will join my men at the front. This is your last chance to leave. Following me will get you killed.”

Both women folded their arms and said nothing.

“Very well then.”

The three women moved away from the waterfront and headed for the perimeter fence. The first shots from the Challenger 2’s main cannons caused them to cover their ears.

“Wow!” Diane blinked as though she was seeing stars. “Do those things have a volume control?”

“I think they’re stuck at eleven,” said Wickstaff. She ran up a steel ramp onto a firing platform perpendicular to the mesh fence. Already, she could see the demons slaughtering their way to the docks, hacking down men and women fleeing for safety. A pair of shotguns lay stacked against the shelter's wall, and Diane and Maddy picked them up. For herself, Wickstaff pulled her Glock from its holster. “Know how to use those things, ladies?”

Maddy thumbed in a shell. “You don’t survive an apocalypse without firing a shotgun or two.”

The three women lined up at the rail. What they saw was not good: demons swarmed everywhere, filling the gaps between buildings and vehicles. Men and woman screamed. The Challenger 2’s massive shells put craters in the enemy advance, and grenades exploded constantly as heavy gunners and their squads defended the perimeter fence.

The demons approached en mass. Wickstaff took one out with a well-aimed shot from her Glock. Maddy and Diane took out another with combined blasts from their shotguns. The recoil rocked Diane's small frame away from the rail, but she hurried back to take her next shot. Wickstaff gave the girl a nod.

The three women fired in time, picking off demons one after the other. Gunfire lit up the fence for a mile, soldiers mounted all along it.

This was their final stand. They had to hold the line long enough for the boats to fill up.

Something struck the fence. Wickstaff’s hip struck the rail. Before she knew what was happening, she fell. The ground rose up and hit her with an almighty smack and rattled her entire skeleton. She lay on her back, staring up at Maddy and Diane twelve feet above. They had fear in their eyes.

Wickstaff turned her head—glad she still could after such a fall—and saw the front end of a bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle sticking out of the fence. A decal of a swan decorated the rear bumper. One of the fence's concrete pillars had snapped, and a massive section was now sagging. Maddy and Diane fired their shotguns. Wickstaff rolled onto her side, wincing as her hip roared, and stared back towards Portsmouth. Lord Amon had another car clutched in his long fingers and hurled it through the air like he had the Volkswagen Beetle.

Another section of fence collapsed as the vehicle crashed into it. A pair of soldiers spilled from their perch and tumbled into a writhing mass of demons.

Wickstaff’s time was also at an end. Monsters surrounded her—foul flesh stinking. When she craned her neck, she saw a wall of demons, enough to tear every scrap of skin from her bones while she lay paralysed on the ground.

Would she feel it?

Good luck humanity. Sorry I won’t be there to see the final score.

Despite her best, she hadn’t been the leader Portsmouth needed.

The demons closed in. Their shadows engulfed her.

“Send them back to Hell, boys!”

An American accent?

Gunfire erupted right above Wickstaff's head. She looked up again and saw the expressions on Diane and Maddy’s faces turn from fear to urgency. They fired their shotguns again and again. A demon dropped on top of Wickstaff, teeth against her throat, and she didn’t even realise it was dead until a strong hand tossed it off her.

“We need to fall back,” said the American voice. “Firing retreat. Firing retreat. Someone help me get the general to safety.”

Wickstaff felt herself lifted, and her saviour finally appeared in her view. The man was young and handsome, with a mildly arrogant smirk tickling the corners of his mouth. “Y-You?”

“Lieutenant Tosco at your service, Ma’am. I believe you know me as a pain in the arse?”

Wickstaff grinned. “Get me out of here, and I’ll kiss your arse.”

“It’s a date. Glad I stuck around to lend a hand.”

Wickstaff was dragged away in a fashion that had her womanly pride yelling, but she couldn’t deny how much she wanted to kiss every man there. They were literally pulling her arse out of the fire.

But it was only a reprieve. The fence was falling, and Lord Amon was already picking up another car. An artillery shell struck the angel's chest, but didn’t even break its stride.

Rick and Guy hadn't come through in time.

Time had run out.

Vamps

Mass and Aymun were bogged down by demons, unable to dispatch them with as much haste as Vamps could. His flaming sword allowed him to cut through the enemy like butter, and he had successfully cut a path to the big bastard with a skull for a face. The scowling beast towered over all else, a full seven-feet tall.

Vamps was unimpressed.

He had a flaming sword.

“You wield something of which you are unworthy,” Skullface mocked. “I shall take it from your corpse and use it to carve your friends.

“You can try pulling it out of your arse once I shove it there.” Vamps dodged aside and avoided a swipe. “What you want with a couple kids, anyway? That your thing?”

“Children are meat, same as adults. You shall all rot and fester in time. Lay down your weapon, and I will make your death quick.”

Vamps dodged again, but kept his sword lowered, not wanting to strike until it was right. “Very merciful for a demon,” he said. “I think you're scared, bro.”

“I fear nothing. Blood ran through my veins before humanity was even an idea. You are bacteria to me.”

A demon appeared and slashed at Vamps. Its sharp talon tore open the flesh on his shoulder, making him cry out. Skullface took advantage of the situation, springing forward and attempting to grab Vamps by the throat. Vamps ducked, pivoted, and leapt aside, avoiding the large demon like a matador dodging a bull.

He swung his sword.

Skullface folded himself out of the way.

Not quick enough.

The flaming sword struck bone.

Skullface roared. His disembodied left arm tumbled into the grass.

Vamps chuckled. “Your ‘armless, mate.”

Skullface staggered, the stump of his left arm smoking. Vamps swung his sword again—the flaming weapon raging in his hand, seeking more demon flesh. Skullface grabbed the sword with his remaining hand. His exposed jaws clamped together in agony. But he did not let go.

The sword twisted in Vamps’s hands and wrenched free. It twirled in the air and buried itself in the mud, pommel pointed towards the sky like Excalibur. Skullface kicked Vamps and floored him with a devastating blow that knocked the wind out of his unprotected lungs. “Your eagerness to kill will be your downfall, worm. Patience is a virtue beyond humans. Your lives are short. Every second is an eternity to you, but fleeting to me. Your sins have not been undone. Your life is unpure. Dear little Max was only your latest misery shed upon the world. Hell awaits you, worm. Glorious suffering.”

Vamps tried to catch his breath, writhing in the mud and clutching himself. “H-how do you know about Max?”

“Sins decorate your soul. They will comfort you while you burn in hell.”

Skullface moved over to the Ferris Wheel and ripped free a steel spoke as if the thing was made of matchsticks. Vamps tried to get to his feet, but his chest sucked inwards like a vacuum and dropped him back to the floor. He tried to call out to Mass and Aymun, but they were too far away—too surrounded.

“Send my regards to the Red Lord.” Skullface raised the steel bar over his head and plunged it downward.

Vamps cried out.

The sharp steel stopped inches from Vamps’ heart, hovering there, trembling.

Slowly, Vamps took his eyes away from the deadly spike above his chest and looked at Skullface. The demon lord was shaking. His oily eyes shimmered in confusion. Then, gradually, his chest began to open—ribs snapping and falling away. Something forced its way out of him. A silvery snake.

Then the silvery snake ignited in flame.

The flaming sword pierced Skullface’s chest, shoved in from the back. The stunned demon dropped the steel bar and clutched the flaming sword point with his hand.

Richard appeared and yanked Vamps to his feet.

“You saved my son,” he said. “I couldn’t run away while you fought my battle. This was something I needed to finish myself.”

Vamps heaved in a painful breath and thanked him. Skullface had dropped to his knees, the flaming sword still jutting from his chest. Then, all of a sudden, the air became super-heated and Skullface exploded.

Vamps and Richard covered their faces and turned away until the blast ended. All that remained of Skullface was a blackened scorch mark in the grass. The flaming sword once again stood up in the mud.

“What the hell just happened?” said Mass, running over to them. “All the demons just dropped dead.”

Vamps looked around the fairground and saw it was true. Demon corpses lay scattered everywhere. There was nothing left alive except for the four of them. He looked at Richard. “Where did soldier-boy take the kids?”

“They’re hanging back by our van on the hill.”

Mass nodded. His meaty forearms sliced up badly, and a bite wound glistened on his neck. “You got wheels, man? Great, ‘cus I could use a rest.”

“Me too,” said Aymun, sitting cross-legged on the ground with his head in his hands. “That fight shagged me, yes?”

Vamps chuckled. “Maybe leave the slang to the natives, Aymun. But, yeah, I agree; we should rest up a while.

“Thank you for what you’ve done,” said Richard.

“It was you who just saved my life.”

“Your life was only in danger because of your bravery. You’re the real deal, aren’t you?”

Vamps went and sat on the steps leading up to the Ferris Wheel. He rubbed at his forehead as he frowned. At some point, he had lost his green baseball cap. “What do you mean?”

Richard pointed to the flaming sword. “That weapon has a life of its own. When I picked it up off the ground, it almost seemed to speak to me. I felt sick the moment I held it, but it kept speaking to me. It told me what to do. It wanted you to live, Vamps. You’re important.”

“I’ve been called a lot of things, man, but never important.”

“I’m just glad you were here when we needed you. Good to know our side still has heroes.”

Mass joined the conversation, addressing Richard. “Your kids, they… they were possessed or something, right? We’ve seen it before. I’m sorry.”

Vamps saw the sadness in the man’s eyes—the angst of a father—and felt bad. “Yeah, man. Condolences.”

It was clear, the man was fighting tears. “Do you… do you know if anyone ever comes back?”

“I think it’s a one-way street,” said Vamps. “If you need me to do what needs to be—”

“Richard! Richard!”

Vamps leapt up from the steel steps and went for his sword. When he yanked it out of the ground, he wondered briefly why he didn’t hear the voices Richard spoke of. The sword never spoke to him.

Corporal Martin was sprinting down the hill towards them. His panic was obvious.

“What is it?” Richard shouted at the soldier. “What's happening?”

“It’s Dillon and Alice. You need to come with me, right now.”

Richard was running before Vamps could shout a warning to him. The father was blind to any danger if it involved the kids. He needed to step back and let others handle it. Mass and Aymun tried to keep up with him, but they were both too beaten from battle. Vamps, too, was weak. His ribs cried out anytime he tried to take a full breath.

When he made it to the top of the hill, Vamps found Richard on his knees. He had both children hugged against his chest. “Thank you,” he kept on saying. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

The boy with Down syndrome was sobbing on his father’s shoulder, different now from the dazed, black-eyed entity from earlier. His eyes were now blue and innocent. The girl was turned away from Vamps, but the sight of her arms wrapped tightly around Richard was enough to show she was just a frightened little girl again.

“They have returned to us,” said Aymun, a huge smile on his face.

“Fuck yeah,” said Mass. “You must have saved them when you killed Skeletor.”

Vamps corrected his friend. “I didn't kill the demon. Richard did. He saved the kids, not me.”

The flames on Vamp’s sword went out. They were safe.

For now.

Guy Granger

“I’ve never seen one this close,” said Skip, shivering against the rain. His long white beard was sodden.

Guy swallowed and wiped water from his face. It was difficult to see far in this downpour, but the massive gate lit up the dusky horizon like a beacon. “The one in New York was big, but not this big.”

“They differ in size,” said Rick. “But they're all connected through some kind of grid, with power being diverted where it’s most needed. Now that we’re close to a gate, I can tap into the whole grid.”

Guy frowned. “With your mind?”

Rick shrugged, but it was a subtle gesture, seeing as how his shoulders were so narrow and weak. “Hey, I don’t understand it either. I can just sense things. The grid is currently shoving power to two main points, diverting it away from other gates. One of the focal points is that gate over there, and the other is—”

“In Portsmouth,” said Guy. He sighed afterwards and looked back the way they came. Was Wickstaff holding out? Or was everyone already dead?

“The gate in Portsmouth is open,” said Rick. “I can feel it. It’s big.”

Everyone fell silent as they absorbed that information, and what it meant. It meant Portsmouth was probably gone. It made their mission pointless. But they still had to try.

Guy had set up a scouting position on the roof of a large supermarket. They had scavenged supplies from inside and were taking a short rest before they made their assault. The gate, about a mile away, was what they had expected—large and surrounded by demons. At least ten times the number Guy had with him.

But Guy's group had guns. And they had Rick. Rick, who looked as though he might drop dead any moment.

Keith caught Guy’s eye, and the two of them shared an unspoken agreement: their lives were less important than the mission, and if they had to carry Rick to that gate, they would.

It was almost time to go.

“It’s getting dark,” said Rick. “If we are going to do this, we should do it now. Guy, you’re the military mind here. You need to own this.”

Guy nodded. He was the only one capable of taking charge, whether he liked it or not. Relinquishing the Hatchet had not relinquished his responsibility it seemed.

“Okay,” he said. “Final weapons check. I want us to get within fifty metres of the enemy before we engage. Once the enemy spots us, use your grenades, then form up into an advancing line. Step kneel fire, step kneel fire. Keep things slow, calm, and together. The enemy needs to be close to hurt us, so we keep our distance. There are more of them than us, but not more than we have bullets. If we keep our heads, we can cut the enemy apart like a surgeon removing a cancer. No emotions about this. It’s just a job that needs doing.”

The motivational speech seemed to do its job. The soldiers and marines nodded and checked their weapons. The tactic of emotional detachment was the right way to go. This would be the first time these men had sought to engage the enemy out in the open. Fear would be their greatest enemy.

They fought monsters.

Guy gave them ten minutes to prepare, but no longer. Too much time to think would be a bad thing as anxiety could kill a soldier before the first shot got fired.

The rain continued to fall.

Time to go.

“Move out men! Keep low and keep calm. The sun is behind us, which will cover our approach. But a cough or a sneeze will give us away. I want silence. Don't even scratch your balls.”

The men formed a wide line, six feet between each of them.

They started marching.

Demons huddled around the distant gate like ants around a melting ice cream. How long before one of them spotted their advance? Too soon, and the men would be too far away to launch their grenades. That initial moment of surprise would be gone, along with Guy's best chance at inflicting mass casualties upon the enemy.

The formation exited the shadow of the large supermarket and crossed the car park. At the edge, they stepped onto a grassy embankment. Then another road. Then a basketball court followed by a stretch of wasteland. Their boots clomped and echoed. Guy winced and prayed it didn’t announce them.

Not yet. Just a little longer.

The demons grew larger on the horizon. The massive gate propped up the darkening sky.

Just a little longer.

The march continued. Soldiers and marines held their rifles firmly, lifted the muzzles towards the enemy. Each man was eager to pull the trigger, to end the apprehensive state of pre-battle and begin the unthinking frenzy of battle. Their fear would evaporate once the first shot fired, and adrenaline would take its place. This tense moment, seconds before the fight began, was the worst. Every soldier wanted it to end—that rising urge to flee in the pit of their stomachs. A soldier always fought with himself before he fought with his enemy.

Guy lifted his own rifle, placed his finger over the trigger. Almost there. Nearly. Just a few more seconds.

More loud, marching footsteps. More ground made up on a still unaware enemy.

The formation exited the wasteland and entered a plush green field. The sound of the gates buzzing became detectable, growing louder with every step closer. The sound of benign demon chatter grew in their eardrums. Curses and cackling.

The line of men kept marching, their rifles pointing ever higher.

Grenades were unclipped from belts.

A demon screeched.

Then all of them did.

“Engage! Engage!” Guy pulled up his rifle and took a knee. He fired a three-round burst and then moved forward one step, kneeling and firing all over again.

Grenades sailed through the sky, coming down fifty-metres ahead, right amongst the enemy. Demons flung to the ground as insides tore apart. Bullets dropped even more to the ground.

“Let ‘em have it, lads!” Keith yelled and fired a handgun. As a civilian, he was meant to stay back, but he behaved the most fervently of all, like a drunken cowboy. His wild yells were infectious and persuaded the other men to yell too as they took down their enemy. Their collective roar gave them all confidence. Solidarity.

The demons hadn't seen it coming.

Guy would win this battle. Rick would close that gate.

No more lying down for these monsters.

The gate flashed.

Something came through. Something huge.

The angel was thirty-feet tall and wrapped in a pure-white bearskin. It stumbled at first as if disorientated, but then it spotted the humans and bellowed and stamped.

“Andras,” said Rick, touching his fingertips against his temples. “He is Andras—a knight of Hell. I hear his name echoing though the hallways of Hell.”

Guy had stopped firing, just staring up at the colossal beast. “Is he friendly?”

“No!” Rick threw out both arms like a sorcerer and great jets of white flame shot forth from his fingertips. A dozen demons caught fire and fell to the floor roasting. Soldiers resumed their fire, reloading quickly, and pulling the trigger all the way. More demons fell.

But the giant standing amongst their corpses was the real threat now.

“Fire on the angel,” Guy shouted. “Everything you have.”

Keith stepped forward and took the first shot. His handgun bucked three times. The angel didn't react. Even when every soldier opened fire, Andras looked down at them with indifference. Indifference bordering only on annoyance.

“We can’t hurt it,” said Rick. “It’s tethered to the gate like Lord Amon. We need to close it first.”

Keith appeared and looked Rick in the eye. “Then we have to get you closer, brother.” Then he raced off towards the angel. Rick reached out to stop him, but was too slow and too weak.

“W-What’s got into him?” Rick asked.

“He’s trying to atone,” said Guy. “And live up to his rock-star brother.”

Rick only frowned.

Guy led a charge surrounding the angel, firing at all angles and trying to at least disorientate it. It worked, because Andras kicked out in all direction, missing the small group of ex-Hatchet crewmen creeping towards the gate with Rick. A smattering of demons still survived, but Rick swatted them aside easily with magic. He made it to the gate. Guy felt his stomach tense.

“Look out!” Guy shouted a warning to a one of Wickstaff’s soldier’s but was too late. He was forced to watch as the man’s spine snapped beneath a huge stamping foot. Andras then crushed three more men with a massive swing of his arm. It was like trying to fight a mountain with the speed of a lion.

Guy fired off a few rounds, but was forced to retreat. Andras ran toward him and almost trampled him. Instead, he missed Guy and caught Skip. The old man threw his arms in the air, but did not yell. His death was near silent—just the delicate crunch of bones turning to dust beneath Andras's giant foot. To add to the injury, the angel stood in place, reducing Skip’s body to liquid. Guy clenched his jaw so tightly a tooth cracked. The old sea dog deserved better. A death at sea, not ground into the dirt.

“I’m going to kill you,” Guy shouted at the angel, then sprinted away. He headed for the gate where Rick was currently reaching out with his right arm. He had his eyes closed in some kind of trance.

The gate began to flicker.

Its translucent lens turned black.

The gate was somehow fighting Rick, but it was losing—dying like a wart tied off at the stem.

Then Rick began to shake. Blood seeped from both ears onto his collar.

Guy turned back, saw Andras frozen in place, watching. Was the angel worried?

“You’re doing it!” Keith shouted maniacally. “That’s it brother, do it! Keep—Shit!”

Something flew out of the gate and struck Rick hard enough to launch him backwards.

Demons poured out of the gate.

Several soldiers fell to the sudden ambush, and only half could get their rifles up in time to defend.

Guy fired off a shot and downed a burnt man, then ran to Rick, lying unconscious on the ground. A bone stuck out of his stomach, spat out of the gate like an arrow. The gate had defended itself. Their chance of closing it was over.

Guy groaned.

Movement in the distance.

The sound of a vehicle coming to an abrupt stop.

Guy saw a small group of men alighting a large white van. They quickly headed in the gate's direction. Guy leapt up, grabbed a hold of Rick’s wrist and started dragging him away. Andras was only metres away, but was distracted by the new arrivals.

The newcomers were human, and apparently coming to help, but who were they? And what could they hope to do?

One man was a soldier. He ran over to Guy and helped him pull Rick out of harm’s way.

“Who are you?”

“Corporal Martin, a man without an army, but it looks like you have a small one here.”

“Getting smaller by the minute. We need to get away.”

While they dragged Rick away, the remaining soldiers fought to survive.

“Were you trying to close this gate?” the soldier asked. “How?”

Guy shook his head. “Our secret weapon is bleeding out in our arms.”

“This man was planning to jump into the gate?”

“Something like that.”

They reached the spot where the other newcomers waited. Besides two tough looking lads, there was a middle-aged police officer and a guy who looked like he’d stumbled right out of the desert.

One of the lads held a long silver sword, and he nodded to Guy. “Looks like you could use help.”

“Only in getting away from here. How did you find us?”

The lad raised his sword, and to Guy’s absolute shock, it caught fire. “I had a feeling we should head this way. Guess this thing does talk to me after all.”

“Y-your sword speaks to you?”

“Long story,” said Corporal Martin. “We need to deal with that angel.”

“How? It can’t be killed,” said the police officer. “Doesn’t someone have to give their life to close the gate? Even then...”

“I will do it,” said Aymun. “I have done so before.”

“No way,” said the lad with the sword. “I’ll do it. No one else dies on my watch. If anyone is gunna commit suicide by gate, it'll be me. I'll own this. It's on me.”

The other kid shook his head hard. “Vamps, get it through your head that Max and Marcy weren’t your fault. You did everything you could for them.”

“What?” Guy looked up and saw Keith rushing towards them. “Did you say Max and Marcy?”

The kid with the sword nodded. “Yeah, a mother and her boy. We found them about a week ago.”

Keith put his hand against his mouth. His eyes bulged.

“Can we do this later,” said Guy, looking back towards the angel slaughtering its way towards them. The soldiers firing at it scattered as they each ran out of ammo. Some even ran for the hills. Guy didn't blame them.

“I need to know where they are!” Keith yelled. “Where are Max and Marcy?”

The lad with the sword swallowed, looked left and right like he wanted to be anywhere else. But then he focused on Keith and spoke in a soft tone.

“I’m sorry, man. They’re gone.”

“An angel killed them,” said the other lad, bigger with muscles. “We were trying to keep them safe, but we failed. I’m sorry. We got the angel that did it though.”

Guy stared. “You killed an angel?”

“Yeah. Took some doing, but yeah. My bro here has a magic sword.”

“That is not a euphemism,” said the man dressed for the desert.

“They’re dead. They're dead.” Keith kept saying the words over and over. After a while he turned and wandered off like he’d suddenly lost sight of the fact their lives were in danger.

Guy heard a scream and turned around just in time to see the body of a soldier flying towards him. It landed on top of him like a sack of potatoes. Corporal Martin rolled the corpse away and pulled a dazed Guy back to his feet. “Come on!”

“I got this,” said the lad with the sword, rushing off towards the massive angel like a fearless barbarian.

The big lad went after him, shouting all the way. “Vamps, man. Wait up, I got your back.”

“You should leave,” said the desert man to Guy. “Your people are hurt.”

Guy looked at the fallen soldiers, and the Hatchet's marines who had served with him since this whole thing began. “My people are dead. I gave up on my daughter to be here...”

Corporal Martin picked up a rifle from one of Guy’s dead soldiers. “We have civilians in our van back there. Wait for us there. Keep them safe if things go bad.”

Guy shook his head. “No. There’s still something I can do here.”

The middle-aged man, who had said nothing since arriving, stepped aside and let Guy past. From the look on the man's face, it was clear the fellow had been through some shit. Despite that, he nodded to Guy. Guy nodded back.

The gate shimmered and spat more demons to the earth, but they came less frequently now. How many were back there, queued up in Hell’s hallways ready to leap through and destroy whatever stood in their path? Was there a finite number, or were the legions of Hell endless? Where did the demons go when you killed them? Did they go back and join the queue, an endless recycling of the damned?

Guy stared at the gate and made up his mind. He would never see Alice again, but if she still lived, maybe he could give her a chance by doing something. The demons might be endless, but if the angels were not, then maybe taking one out would make a difference. Wickstaff might still be counting on him. So he would leap through the gate and accept whatever came after. Strangely, his legs weren’t shaking as he took his first steps towards it, and the closer he got to the gate, the surer he became about what he needed to do. No more fighting to survive, just one last meaningful act. He had become a Coast Guard to protect people.

Vamps and his friends danced around the angel, firing from rifles they found amongst the corpses. The angel was uninjured, but at least occupied.

“Granger! You traitorous pig.”

The voice sounded familiar, and it caused Guy to turn around with a frown on his face. The man he saw rushing towards him was oddly recognisable but not immediately placeable. The oddest thing of all was that he came from amongst the demons, moving between them without them paying him the slightest attention.

Guy frowned, realisation setting in. “Lieutenant Hernandez? W-What are you—”

“That’s Commander, to you, Granger.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to right a wrong. I find you guilty of abandoning your country in its darkest hour and impeding a senior officer of the US Navy. The punishment for treason is death.”

Guy did not understand. He had met this man in the middle of the Atlantic, on a ship, amongst a crew. What was he doing here in England, alone, and with a crazed look in his eyes? What answer would make any sense?

Hernandez lifted a revolver from his side and pulled the trigger.

Guy spun a full circle before his legs finally deserted him. He slumped onto his back in slow motion and was unable to get up again. Every time he tried to rise, he lost track of which way the sky was. Hernandez stood over him and raised the revolver again. The black eye of its muzzle resembled the eyes of the demon. “Any last words, Granger?”

Guy looked up at this strange, angry man he had met only once, and tried to understand what was happening, but all he could say was, “Sorry.”

The word seemed to take Hernandez by surprise because the gun in his hand trembled for a moment. “An apology? What are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t do more for the people I care about. I’m sorry that, even now, with everything that’s happened, there’s still someone who hates me enough to kill me. I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye to Alice.”

“Who’s Alice?”

“Alice is his daughter, now step away from him, sir.”

Guy turned his head and saw the middle-aged man who had nodded to him earlier. “H-how do you…?”

“I suspected you might be Alice’s father when I heard your accent. She’s alive. In our van and very much alive.”

Despite the numbness in his body, Guy gathered a smile to his lips. He stared at the horizon, at the large white van sitting there idly, and asked himself if it was really true. Was his little girl truly inside?

“Alice? Alice?”

The police officer nodded, tears in his eyes. “I promise you she's okay. My name is Richard, and I was at the Slough Echo when you called.”

Guy smiled, his whole body relaxing as the fear for his daughter finally left him.

“Too bad you won’t live to see her,” said Hernandez, pointing the revolver at Guy’s face. He pulled the trigger.

“No!” Richard leapt in front of Guy’s body and reached out to Hernandez.

The gunshot echoed.

Guy felt no impact, but then his whole body was already numb. He saw Richard’s body buck, like he'd been punched in the gut. Both he and Hernandez fell down in a heap as they struggled with one another, but Hernandez was the only one to scurry back to his feet again. Richard stayed down on the ground.

“Time to die,” said Hernandez, his lip bleeding.

“For you maybe!” Corporal Martin fired a burst from his rifle and opened Hernandez’s chest. There was no question that he was dead by the time he hit the ground beside Richard.

“Are you okay?” Corporal Martin asked Guy, but looked like he already knew the answer.

Guy's head dropped, too heavy to lift any longer. His strength faded rapidly, and he felt sleepy. “I... need... Alice...”

His eyes closed, and it was too hard to open them again.

Vamps

Vamps hadn’t felt afraid for a while. That emotion had calloused over when his first friends died—Ginger and Ravi—and had all but evaporated after Max and Marcy. Losing so many people had broken something in him. He was no longer afraid to die, because it felt like he deserved it. Every minute he stayed alive was borrowed time. The more demons he killed before he met his maker, the cleaner his soul would be. That's why he was so determined to take out as many as he could.

He had meant it when he'd said he would go through the gate, and give his life to close it, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He had killed an angel before, so maybe he could kill this one too. It was taller than any he had seen, and so far, Mass and Aymun’s attempts to hurt it with gunfire had failed. Maybe his sword would be enough. It certainly worked on the demons.

Killing them was almost getting too easy.

Mass backed off from the fight, panting. “This shit is wearing me out, man.”

“You’re too big, man. Fewer reps and more running, yo. Look at Aymun.”

Aymun was running circles around the angel, dodging all attempts to stamp him out. His dress flapped and whirled around him almost majestically.

“Take care of any demons, Mass. I’m going after the big guy.”

“Be careful.”

“You know me.”

Mass frowned. “Better than anyone.”

Vamps rushed the angel, taking advantage of the fact Aymun was still distracting it. There was no way to reach its neck, thirty-feet up, so he aimed for more accessible meat. He loosed a running swing, arcing his sword like a golf club, and struck the angel's left ankle. It rebounded so hard it flew right out of Vamps’ hand. “Damn it!”

The angel roared, then spun around to face Vamps.

The sword had done nothing. Not even a scratch.

Vamps’ leapt aside as a giant foot tried to stomp him to dust. He landed badly on his heel and ended up crawling to safety. Mass came to his aid and dragged him away. “It’s no use. We can’t hurt it.”

Vamps nodded, and then saw someone stagger towards him. At first, he thought it was a demon, but then he saw it was the man who had been injured when they arrived. He had a sharp bone sticking out of his chest, but looked like he had already died weeks ago and had been rotting ever since.

“Hey, man, I thought you were a goner.”

“You should maybe remove that,” said Mass, pointing to the bone sticking out of his chest.

“My name is Rick, and I need you to get me in front of that gate. I think I can close it.”

Vamps looked back at the angel. It was coming towards them. He didn’t understand what the guy was planning to do, but nobody else was coming up with any ideas. So he grabbed Rick and dragged him towards the gate. They moved in a small group, Rick a dead weight between them. Aymun saw they were in danger, and tried to distract the angel again, but it was no use. They would have to move fast.

“Get to the gate,” said Mass, letting go of Rick and stepping away.

Vamps groaned with the extra weight. “Mass! What are you doing, bro?”

Mass stood his ground in front of the angel, buying them some time. For a moment, Vamps didn’t know what to do. His best friend was throwing himself in the way of a stampeding angel, but if he didn’t get Rick to the gate now, the guy might not make it. “Fuck it,” he said. “Come on, Rick. Pick up the pace.”

Rick moaned in agony, but he did move faster. They were almost at the gate.

But someone else had made it there first.

Rick gasped and almost fell to his knees. Vamps had to fight to keep him standing. “Keith, what are you doing?”

The man in front of the gate didn't look at Rick. He looked at Vamps. “They’re really gone? Both of them?”

Vamps realised he was talking about Max and Marcy. “I’m sorry. Max was a great kid, but I couldn’t save him... or his mum. I-I’m so sorry.”

Max's father had tears streaming down his cheeks, but he gave a little smile. “It’s okay. I’m glad someone was looking out for them at the end. It should have been me, and that's not your fault. Thank you.”

“Yeah, bro, no problem. We can talk about it later…”

Rick pushed away from Vamps, standing under his own strength. “Keith, get away from that gate.”

He shook his head and took a step backwards even closer to the gate. It pulsed and shimmered two feet away from him. “I love you, brother. I was always jealous of you, but I’m proud now, and I hope that counts. See you in the next life.”

With that, and before anyone could stop him, Keith stepped back casually into the gate.

“Get down!” Rick shouted.

Vamps threw himself away from the gate. Mass was on the ground too, about to get crushed by the angel that had him pinned. Vamps reached out towards him and yelled, but there was nothing he could do. “Mass!”

Rick dove on top of Vamps and then threw his arms up towards the angel about to kill Mass. A thick, twisting streak of light shot forth from his fingertips and struck the angel fully in the chest. The impact launched him high into the air.

Then the gate exploded and filled the air with deafening screams from another world.

Vamps

Vamps spat dirt and tried to see past the dust in his eyes. The ground shook beneath his fingertips, but the energy was fading. All was silent, except the sound of rushing wind returning to fill the void left by the exploding gate. When he dared to take a glance, he saw only a sunken divot in the earth, twenty-metres wide. His feet lay only centimetres from the crater’s edge. If he had been standing inside the blast radius, he felt sure he would be in pieces right now.

Rick sat in the grass nearby. He had his head in his hands and was muttering to himself. “Keith! Keith, you idiot. I could have closed it. You didn't have to do that.”

Vamps crawled on his belly over to Rick and noticed the change right away: the sharp bone no longer jutted from his chest and he looked healthy. “Rick! You’re better.”

Rick examined himself and saw that his skin was no longer pallid or bleeding. He nodded slightly as if the change was of little interest to him. “I got caught in the blast,” he said. “I absorbed some of its energy. God’s life force powers the gates. They were formed from the seals He placed between realities to protect us. It must have healed me.”

Vamps was too confused to respond—not just confused by the man’s words, but by the fact his brain had been shaken around in his skull like a marble.

They had done it.

Actually, Keith and Rick had done it. Had that dude really been Max’s father? Vamps’ failure to protect his family had led to him killing himself. More blood on Vamp’s soul. “Keith killed himself because I let his family die.”

“He was my brother, but no, he didn’t blame you. He blamed himself. Trust me, he failed his family long before they ever met you. What he did was an attempt to make it up to them, to be the good man in the end.”

“He succeeded,” said Vamps.

Rick nodded. “Yes, he did.”

“YOU MAGGOTS! I AM ANDRAS, MARQUIS OF HELL, THE DISCORDANT. BOW DOWN NOW, AND I WILL END YOUR WORTHLESS LIVES QUICKLY.”

The angel stomped towards them, having recovered from the blast Rick had hit him with. Vamps stood up and clenched his fists. “Eat shit motherfucker. Your gate is dust.”

Rick clambered to his feet beside him and shouted up at the great beast too. It was absurd, like two ants heckling a brown bear. “You will not win this war. There are others in Hell who oppose you. I see your fear. This close, I can see how unsure you are. You thought wiping out humanity would be easy, but you have discovered strength and defiance where you thought none existed.”

The angel strode forward, crushing human corpses beneath his feet. The demons’ bodies had all vanished. “I SHALL ENSNARE YOUR SOUL IN THE GREATEST OF HELLS. I SHALL PRESENT YOU TO THE RED LORD AS AN OFFERING. YOU HOLD THE POWER OF DANIEL, AND FOR THIS, THE FALLEN BROTHER WILL BE PUNISHED.”

Vamps shook his head. More talk of Daniel? Who the Hell is that guy?

Rick threw up his hands, but this time nothing came out of his fingertips.

Andras cackled. “DANIEL’S POWERS MAY ONLY COME TO THE SURFACE AS YOUR HUMAN VESSEL BREAKS DOWN. YOU ARE FULLY HEALED, AND SO YOUR POWERS ARE NULL. YOUR FLESH BETRAYS YOU, HUMAN.”

Rick glanced at Vamps. “You might want to run now.”

Andras stomped towards them, massive hands clenched.

Vamps tried to flee, but he was battered and bruised. His skeleton felt like mushy peas. “I can’t run anymore, man. I’m done.”

“Then it was nice knowing you. Wish I could have asked you about that flaming sword of yours.”

“Let me know if you see it. Could use it right about now.”

“I have it right here, bro!” Mass rushed up on the angel’s left flank. He held Vamps’ sword, but it wasn't aflame. Even so, he lifted the weapon over his head and hurled it forwards with all of his massive strength. It sliced the air like a javelin and pierced Andras, the Marquis of Hell, right in his perfectly chiselled chest.

Then the sword ignited.

Flames erupted from the silvery shaft and covered every patch of skin on Andras’s body. Within seconds, he became a massive, thirty-foot fireball. As he flapped about, screaming like a thousand babies, his angelic body began to disintegrate like a burning paperback. Scraps of black flesh turned to ash and flew away in the wind. Piece by piece, Andras disappeared.

It was over.

The flaming sword fell to earth, once again standing upright with its pommel in the air.

Vamps really loved that sword.

“The rest is down to you, Wickstaff,” said Rick, a grim smile on his face.

General Wickstaff

Wickstaff was walking, but she sported a limp. Each step drove a spike of agony into her hip, but she strode with determination alongside Maddy. She asked a question. “I wouldn’t be mistaken in thinking the entire earth just shook, would I?”

Maddy shook her head. “That was one heck of an earthquake. You think Rick came through for us?”

“I say we find out. Still have your radio?” Maddy handed it over right away, and Wickstaff put through the call. “I want all birds up in the air. Target is Prime 1. Keep me posted.”

“Roger that,” came a haughty voice at the other end.

Now all there was to do was wait. Wickstaff watched the darkening sky, certain she had seen a bright flash moments before the last embers of daylight had disappeared. The rain was stopping, too, and she hoped it was a good omen. Inside, she felt something she thought she’d lost—hope.

Maddy had her arms folded, chewing her lip. Wickstaff reached out to her. “I’m sure Rick is fine.”

Diane came over to join them. “The ships are filling up slowly, and our defences are falling. It’s not good.”

Wickstaff had known there would be victims of retreat. Someone had to hold the line while others fled. Was it time to order a full retreat and let people take their chances, or did she tell those remaining men to keep holding until the death? She got on the radio again. “Rear Guard, I need you to hold for five more minutes. Just give me that long.”

There was no reply. Anyone left was too busy fighting to talk. Gunfire continued to echo, but it was quickly diminishing as the enemy broke through.

The radio screeched to life in her hand. “Air Squadron One, about to engage.”

“Roger that.”

The three women stood in a huddle, war going on all around them, and waited. First, they heard the whooshing noise—the sound of rockets leaving canisters. Then they heard the insane chatter of cyclical machine guns. Eight attack choppers were unleashing Hell.

Let's hope it makes a dent.

“Prime 1 is down. Repeat Prime 1 is roasting on an open fire.”

Wickstaff felt her eyelids stretch wide, and she stared at Maddy as she spoke into the radio. “Can you repeat that one more time for me, please?”

“Happily. The big bastard is on the ground and bleeding. He’s dead. Lord Amon is dead. I fired a hellfire into his smug face myself.”

Wickstaff was beaming. “Roger that, and God bless you!”

Wickstaff ended the call. For a few moments, she just stood there in dumb silence. Maddy and Diane did the same. Eventually she lifted the radio and gave a new order. “Men and women of Portsmouth, on ship or on land, Prime 1 is eliminated. Pick up your weapons and fight. Find the nearest enemy, and kill it. Today is the day we earn our survival. Today is the day we prove humanity deserves custody of the earth. We will win this day, and through victory we shall renew our future. We have come together from many places, and speak several tongues, but fight now beneath a new banner. Fight for humanity.”

Wickstaff gave more orders in quick succession, the last being to her naval artillery. “Flatten the city, chaps. I want nothing left beyond the docks.”

And so, the night sky lit with fireworks and shooting stars, plummeting towards the city that had kept humanity safe for so long. Buildings toppled, petrol stations exploded, and on the docks of Portsmouth, men and women spilled back off the boats to reengage the enemy. Wickstaff stood amongst it all, firing a pistol with a dodgy hip, a smile on her face because, live or die, humanity was standing up for itself. And she was the woman in charge.

Vamps

As the sun rose, bringing with it dawn, the dirty white van snaked through the ruins of an ancient city. Portsmouth was gone, a flaming crater blighting the land.

“This shit is bad,” said Vamps, sitting up front with Mass and Corporal Martin, the driver. The others huddled in the back, a mixture of wounded and shell-shocked. Aymun was tending to them as best he could, but he was no doctor. Their victory at the gate had been costly, but it paled in comparison to what they saw now. A large, spiny tower deep in the city rose out of the ruins, but its top had been lopped off by the fighting. A thousand fires blazed, and the roads choked up with bricks and blood. Several times they had to stop to clear a path, and when they finally made it to the gates outside the docks, a pile of corpses met them.

Vamps felt sick and knew Mass felt the same because he covered his mouth. The two of them looked at each other and then embraced with tears in their eyes. Was it all over? Had anything survived?

“Hold on,” said Corporal Martin at the wheel. “It’s going to get bumpy.”

And bumpy it got as the van’s large tyres crushed human and demon viscera like they were off-roading through Hell. Vamp’s sword lay across the dashboard, and it rattled and sparked now as if woken from sleep. Sickening crunches accompanied every second of their harrowing journey, and it seemed to go on forever. Then, just when it appeared the van might die on them and maroon them amongst the death, the vehicle lurched forward and found solid earth again. They picked up speed and headed for the docks. Here, the various buildings were still intact and nothing was burning.

Corporal Martin stopped the van outside the Port Authority building, which itself lay next to a large open space. He turned off the engine, and the three of them up front disembarked. The air felt hot—the heat of so many fires blazing behind them. The water beyond the docks laid still, a hundred hulking vessels unmoving. Where were all the people?

A middle-aged woman appeared, flanked by two younger ladies.

“Who are you?” said the older woman in a plummy accent that Vamps would've hated in a past life. Now, such things didn't matter.

Corporal Martin stepped forward. “Are you… Are you General Wickstaff?”

“I am.”

“It's so good to put a face to the name. I’m Corporal Martin.”

The woman beamed and rushed forward. She gave Corporal Martin a great big hug and then winced in pain. “Forgive me, I’m a tad sore. It’s wonderful to meet you at last. You must have survived an awful lot getting here?”

“We have others with us,” he said, ignoring the question that would take too long to answer.

One of the younger women, a brunette, lit up at the mention of that. “Is Rick with you?”

“Yes. Let me take you to him,” said Corporal Martin, a smile on his face.

And so they moved to the back of the banged-up van. Mass grabbed the door latch and yanked it open. Rick was already on his feet, and when he saw the brunette, he leapt out and hugged her. “Told you I’d be back.”

“Rick! You… you look…”

“Great, I know! It’s just a reprieve, but it's good to feel good.”

“I never thought I'd see you again.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” said the third lady, the youngest of the three, and blonde. Still a girl, really.

Rick smiled and gathered the blonde into a three-way hug with the brunette. Vamps chuckled—a real lady's man.

“You closed the gate,” said Wickstaff to Rick. “Amazing.”

Rick broke away from his group hug and shook his head. “No, it was my brother, Keith. These guys took down an angel though. May I introduce Vamps, Mass, and Aymun.”

“Taking down the angel was all him,” said Vamps, pointing to Mass who immediately blushed.

Wickstaff folded her arms and whistled. “I took one down, too, but it took eight attack helicopters to do it. Well done, you.”

Mass tried to make eye contact, but ended up staring sheepishly at the floor. “Thank you, General. It was my pleasure.”

Vamps nudged his embarrassed friend and laughed.

“We have casualties,” said Corporal Martin, turning serious. “Do we have anyone left to see to them?”

“Yeah,” said Vamps. “Where all the people at?”

“Back at the old naval base,” came Wickstaff. “I came from there when I saw you folks entering the city. It’s good you’re still alive, Rick, because we have one more problem for you to deal with.”

* * *

Thirty minutes later, the survivors from the van were being triaged. A few soldiers had lived through the battle at the gate, but far too few. Vamps was glad to see the two children were still okay. Though, after being possessed, neither seemed to have any memory of it. What concerned them most was that both their fathers were wounded, shot by the same man. A man nobody could identify. He had just appeared out of nowhere and started shooting people. Richard had taken a bullet shielding Guy from a second blast. Corporal Martin had seen the whole thing and had been the one to put the stranger down.

Now both men laid out on the ground while a pair of medics saw to them. The brunette Vamps met outside the Port Authority building was a medic, too—apparently—and she lent a hand too. Alice and Dillon rested on their knees, holding their hands out to their respective fathers.

Richard was awake. A medic had attached an IV of morphine, which meant he was drowsy, but he gazed at his boy and repeated over and over that everything would be alright. The medic concluded the bullet had struck his collarbone and gone through his shoulder tissue. Barring infection, Richard should recover.

Guy, on the other hand, had taken a shot right to the stomach. The round was still buried somewhere in his intestines. Vamps overheard the medics appraising Wickstaff of his condition, and it hadn't sounded good. “Best I can do is wake him up,” one medic had said. “I’m not a surgeon, and neither are Chris and Samantha. We can’t dig the bullet out of him, and it’s probably blocking something important, considering where it is. He’s already lost too much blood, and I think he’s getting septic.”

Wickstaff sighed and looked over at the little girl bent over her daddy. “Wake him up. Let him see his daughter. I owe him that.”

Vamps took Mass by the arm and moved him away from the scene. When Mass saw Vamps was about to break down in tears, he pulled him into a hug. It was something he never would have done back in the old days.

“It’s okay, man. It's okay.”

“It’s not okay, man. I can’t take any more death. It’s the kids. When I look at those two kids, I think about how many millions are lost. How many of them died in terror, or starved to death waiting for mummy to wake up. I can’t get it out of my head, Mass. It's like ants in my mind. What do I do?”

Mass rubbed his back. “You go on living. We keep fighting so that tomorrow’s children live. Those two kids are the reason we stay strong. They're alive because of something we were a part of.”

“I wish I hadn't failed Max.”

“I wish we hadn't failed him, as well. But it's done. Let's do better tomorrow.”

Guy was suddenly awake. Vamps heard him moan and cry out, “Alice!” He blinked several times when his daughter leant over and smiled at him as if he struggled to believe what he was seeing. “A-Alice?”

“Yes, daddy. It’s me.”

“You found me?”

“I got tired of waiting for you to come.” She kissed his forehead. “You promised me we’d see each other again, and that I would be okay. You were right. It’s safe here.”

Vamps wondered if she truly believed that.

Guy was smiling dozily. “You look just like your mother. Getting so... grown… up.”

“Daddy. Daddy, please stay awake.”

But Guy couldn’t. He closed his eyes and didn’t open them again. The only thing he left behind was the smile on his face.

Alice slumped over his dead body and wept. After a few moments, Dillon left his own father to cradle her in his arms. They were siblings now—brother and sister in a new world—like Mass and Vamps were now brothers in more than just street terms. Family wasn't about blood anymore—or maybe it was more about blood than ever.

The blood of battle.

The reason everyone gathered in the ruined naval base was because the biggest gate of all still towered into the sky there. Nothing was coming through, but that could change at any moment. A thousand soldiers encircled it, ready to rip apart anything that dared step foot on the parade square. Vamps dreaded, all over again, that they had only won a single battle, and that the war would rage on. That was why he held his sword at the ready—the gift given him by a strange Irish man in an abandoned Pizza Hut.

Life had gotten screwed up somewhere along the line.

“Can you close it?” Wickstaff asked Rick.

Rick shook his head. “My power is gone. It'll be awhile before I can close gates—maybe weeks.”

“We don’t have that time. The enemy scattered after we beat them, but we can’t stop them from regrouping if we have to worry about this thing in our midst. Can you at least try?”

Rick raised both arms towards the massive gate, but ended up looking like a confused mime. He let his arms drop with a sigh. “I’m sorry. Daniel’s powers took weeks to grow inside me. They withdrew when I got healed by the blast.”

“There is one way to close it,” said Aymun. “One we are all aware of. I shall pass into the gate as I did the one in Syria. I lived through Hell and returned. What lies beyond this gate does not scare me.”

“I sensed something before I left,” said Rick. “This gate is the largest of them all. It leads somewhere far worse than wherever the gate in Syria did. I wouldn’t recommend anyone steps through.”

“Yet, this thing must be done,” said Aymun, “and I would be honoured to share the burden.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Rick.

“No way,” said Maddy.

Wickstaff agreed. “We need you here, Rick.”

Rick spoke sternly, all his vitality returned. “For all we know, General, I could do more good on the other side of this gate, behind enemy lines. I’m dying anyway, so I can only help you for so long. If I still have my powers on the other side, maybe I can stop whatever caused all this in the first place.”

“I agree,” said Vamps. “But you’ll need more help than just Aymun. You need a badass from the streets. Maybe a guy with a flaming sword.”

Mass was already shaking his head. “I don’t want to go inside that thing, man. That’s crazy.”

Vamps turned to his brother—the little boy he had grown up with, now a man. They had fought for survival their entire lives in some form or fashion. They never imagined escaping Brixton, but things had changed.

They had changed.

Vamps most of all.

“Not us, just me, brother. I’m going. The things I’ve seen and done… I have to leave it all behind me. I need to do some real good to make it right. No more kids dying, right?” Mass nodded sadly. “You got things here, Mass, so let me take care of business on the other side. The hero today was you. You killed the angel when it was about to stomp me. It’s not me who got us this far, Mass, it was you. Stay here, and be a hero for these people. But I’m not a hero, I’m a killer. The best place for someone like me is amongst the enemy—somewhere I don’t have to worry about losing people I’m trying to protect.”

“Vamps, please don’t…”

“This feels like what I’m supposed to do, man.”

“Are you gents really serious about this?” Wickstaff asked, looking at Vamps, Aymun, and Rick.

All three men nodded.

“Then say your goodbyes. It needs doing sooner rather than later.”

“I’m ready now,” said Vamps, swinging his sword like he had been practising his whole life.

Rick looked at Maddy and swallowed, tears in both their eyes. “If I wait,” he said. “I'll lose my nerve. I’m ready now.”

“I too am ready,” said Aymun. “Hell awaits me for my sins. May I atone for each and every one.”

Vamps moved away from Mass, not sure if he was strong enough to stay the course if his friend tried to talk him out of it. The two of them nodded at each other and said their last goodbyes silently.

Rick took longer, holding Maddy and Diane in his arms and exchanging words for what seemed like an eternity.

Aymun stood beside the gate peacefully, hands clasped at his front, waiting to leave.

Ten minutes passed, and they were finally ready. They discussed taking weapons, but decided that restocking ammunition in Hell might be troublesome.

Vamps tried not to think as he looked at the flickering lens of the gate. Hell! Shit, am I really about to leap, willingly, into Hell?

Hell yes! Can't be any scarier than Brixton.

Wickstaff stood in front of them as they lined up in front of the gate. “You will have to pass through at the exact same moment because the gate will explode as soon as someone passes inside. We will take cover, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course not,” said Rick. “Good luck to you, General.”

“And you, gentlemen. If humanity survives, your sacrifice will be the foundation upon which our future is written. You are martyrs and heroes both, and I will ensure you are never forgotten.”

“Make sure they mention how handsome I am,” said Vamps. He flashed his gold fangs. “And don’t leave out the teeth.”

Wickstaff nodded.

Then everyone in the parade square departed to take cover. With such a large gate, they headed out a long, long way. The three martyrs were left standing utterly alone in front of the gate.

“You ready for this?” asked Rick.

“I’m shit scared,” said Vamps, realising he had regained the ability to fear. He looked up at the shimmering gate and imagined the horrors waiting to meet him. “I’m ready though.”

“I have done this before,” said Aymun. “Is okay. We hold hands now.”

Rick and Vamps looked at each other and exchanged frowns. Vamps shrugged. A little human contact wouldn't go amiss.

“Why not, I suppose. Might keep us together as we pass through.”

“Okay,” said Rick, shuffling up in front of the gate while the others joined him. “After three, okay? One… two… three!”

The three men linked hands, took a breath, and stepped forward.

Mass

“Let ‘em have it, lads!” Mass threw a grenade far enough to impress an Olympic shot putter, and it landed right amongst a horde of demons besieging a small zoo where some survivors had taken refuge. One of Wickstaff’s helicopter scouts had spotted their SOS sign from the air two days ago. The survivors had used red paint atop the glass roof of the zoo’s atrium. Now Mass was here to rescue them—just in time by the looks of things.

He lifted his radio and asked for a favour. “Tosco, I need the ground to shake. Can you help a brother out?”

Tosco chuckled on the other end of the line. “For you, anything. Hold onto something, Mass.”

Mass ordered his lads down, and they took cover. Moments later, Commander Tosco rained fire from his fleet ten miles away on the coast. Two-hundred demons turned to ash in an instant. They still hadn’t learned not to huddle together, and since all the angels in the UK had gone, they had only gotten stupider.

Once Tosco had tilted the odds in their favour, Mass led the final assault. His soldiers had no military experience, but they were all survivors. Taken from the civilians of Portsmouth, Mass selected most of the remaining youth. Now, kids who had been thugs, criminals, students, slackers, or anything else in their past lives, were fearsome warriors, respected and relied upon.

They had survived Hell. What else was left to fear?

Mass pulled a machete from a sheath and held it in his left hand while he fired a black-market Uzi with his right. His body armour split at the seams as it tried clinging to his massive body, but it was only there as a last resort. With his blade and machine pistol, nothing was getting near him. He was a war machine.

His lads charged alongside him, each of them with a machete and pistol of their own. They liked to get in close, shoulder to shoulder, where they could cleave the enemy apart like a line of Roman legionaries. It had been remarkably effective against the demons, which knew no tactic but to throw themselves at their prey. Some were smart enough to grab weapons, but as ammo became scarcer, it was a rare problem. Weeks now, since a full-sized horde had posed a threat. Wickstaff’s forces were picking the enemy off in groups; killing stragglers just like the demons had once done to them. The victory at Portsmouth had changed everything.

Mankind was the hunter again.

The last remnants of the demon horde staggered in a frenzy, but they did not surrender. It seemed like something they were incapable of. Not that Mass would show mercy if they did throw their arms up. He jabbed his machete in front of him and disembowelled a primate.

Within minutes, the battle was over and two-hundred demons lay dead. Of his thirty-six men, Mass had lost not a single one.

Shit was getting too easy.

“Target secured,” Mass said into his radio. “No casualties.”

“Roger that,” came Maddy on the other end. “Good work, Mass. I'll let Wickstaff know.”

Mass sheathed his machete and holstered his Uzi. He placed his hands up as he approached the fence around the zoo. It wouldn’t be the first time survivors had shot at him out of fear.

A woman in her late thirties stood on the other side of the wire mesh. Her eyes were wide with fear, but the corners of her mouth lifted hopefully. “Are… are you friendly?”

“Of course we are. We’re all in this together. How you people doing?”

The woman huffed. “Starving. Sick. You know, not bad.”

Mass tutted. “That sucks. How ‘bout you come with us. We have food and medicine, and about thirty thousand people all armed and ready to kick demon arse.”

The woman frowned. “Come on!”

Mass reached into his pocket, making the woman flinch, but when he pulled out a roll of paper, she relaxed again. He pushed it through the fence, and the woman took it and unrolled it. Her eyes went wide.

The package Mass had given her was the same handwritten note from Wickstaff he gave all the survivors he found. It read:

Dear friend.

Right now, you may be in the presence of men and women you do not know. That must be frightening. Your suffering these last months has been endless and awful, but I promise you, it is ending. Humanity is fighting back, and it is winning. We have slaughtered the angels and closed dozens of gates. Great sacrifices are required in the days ahead, but the choices you make are now your own. I beg you to join us at Portsmouth, the new cradle of civilisation. There, we are rebuilding. We need teachers and carers for our children, soldiers for our cause, and experts in all fields. If you would like to help humanity thrive once again, please trust whoever gave you this note and come join us. If not, I have enclosed directions and a map to our nearest outposts. Once again, I promise you your suffering is at an end. The enemy is on the run. We have beaten our extinction and tomorrow is arriving.

Your faithful servant,

General Amanda Wickstaff.

The woman inside the zoo shook her head as if she couldn’t believe it. She looked at Mass, and then at the army of lads standing in a line behind him. “This is real? Portsmouth is real?”

Mass nodded.

“Okay, so… who are you?”

“We,” said Mass, waving a hand at his lads, “is the Urban Vampires.”

The lads grinned, exposing the gold fangs that each of them had. Mass smiled too, his own gold teeth glinting in the afternoon sunlight.

General Wickstaff

Wickstaff was stressed, as she had been every second for the last three months. Still she waited for that beautiful moment of silence when she could take an undisturbed breath.

Maddy approached with a satellite phone. “Chancellor Capri on the line for you, Ma’am.”

“Oh, how splendid!” The German leader was not Wickstaff's favourite person, but he was too important to ignore. She did her best to work with the various groups they'd made contact with, but she feared the old power mongering of the past would return.

Putting on her happy face, she took the phone from Maddy and spoke into it.

“Chancellor Capri, how good to hear from you. Things fare well on the Continent still?”

“We have things much in hand. I hear you are faring well also, ja?”

“We’ve got the buggers on the run. What can I help you with, Chancellor?”

“I’ve been getting some concerning reports.”

“Such as?”

“General Wickstaff, are you in possession of nuclear warheads?”

Wickstaff looked at Maddy. To those in her council, it was no secret Portsmouth possessed eight nuclear warheads housed on their German sub. It wasn’t something she shared with anyone else though, but it was hardly surprising that the German submariners had relayed the information to their homeland.

“Where would you get that idea, Chancellor?”

“We have brought our Intelligence systems back on line. The tracking unit for one of our nuclear submarines is firing off the coast of Portsmouth. I have tried many times to raise the submarine’s crew via radio, but they refuse all calls. Did you dispose of them and take possession of the vessel yourself? If so, that sub is the property of the Sovereign nation of Germany, and it must be returned.”

Maddy tutted. Wickstaff waved at her to keep quiet. “Chancellor, I assure you the crew on that submarine are the original German men and women it belonged to. That they haven't answered your calls is the decision of Commander Klein. I was unaware you'd tried to get in touch.” She let a grin escape. Sounded like the German submariners were happy right where they were. Their loyalty would not go unrewarded.

“Nonetheless, General. That sub must be returned.”

“I’m afraid not, Chancellor. You see, the idea of possession, or even sovereignty, is a concept of no import to me. That submarine is part of my naval fleet—the biggest fleet in the world, I would wager—and it will remain so. The crew are not German, they are men and women of Portsmouth, and they will remain where they wish. You will not make demands of them or me, and we shall make none of you. I think that would be best, don't you?”

“Be careful, General.”

“Be careful of what, Chancellor? Are you threatening war? Are you seriously making threats against your fellow human beings after what we have all been through? Do you think that is what your people need right now? Be a leader, Chancellor, and fight for peace, not war. And keep your bloody eyes off my toys because you’re not having any of them.”

“General—”

She ended the call and almost threw down the phone. “Bloody imbecile. Can you believe him? Nothing’s changed.”

“It’s just a submarine,” said Maddy. “What does he even want it for?”

“It’s not the sub, it’s the warheads. We might have the only armed nuclear weapons in the world, and that makes us undeniably powerful—something the Chancellor does not like in the slightest.”

Maddy folded her arms and seemed to shiver. “You would never use them, would you?”

“Seeing as how Commander Klein and I have already discussed dropping them into the ocean, you may rest assured that they are not in any of my future plans.”

Maddy lifted her dark eyebrows. “You want to chuck them in the sea?”

“With men like Chancellor Capri, I feel it best they were lost altogether. He won't make a fuss about something we don't have. Commander Klein agrees with me, and after he hears what his Sovereign leader has been demanding, I imagine he will make his way to the middle of the Atlantic very soon.”

“Do you really think the Chancellor would start trouble with us?”

Wickstaff sat down at her desk and rubbed her forehead. “No, not yet. His land forces in Central Europe are larger than ours, but they also have war against the demons on a dozen fronts. The German Federation will be occupied for years to come. But while men might gain power slowly, they can abuse it in a second. I worry about our future, Maddy. Will it be any different from our past? If so, then I ask, what are we even fighting for? Humanity is a bird with a broken wing, and there's no point healing if we end up flying sideways.”

“It won’t be the same,” said Maddy. “We won’t let it. We fight for each other here at Portsmouth, and we will build a world people deserve. Chancellor Capri can suck our dicks.”

Wickstaff smirked and got up from her chair. “He most certainly can. I’m going for a coffee. You want one?”

“I wouldn't say no.”

They exited the Command tent set up at the docks and headed for the coffee shop. While the city itself was in ruins, the docks had become a small settlement, full of canvas roofs and lean-tos housing families and loners alike. This was the seed from which a nation would once again grow.

People milled about everywhere, shoving past one another, but always nodding politely. They didn't curse or anger one another, not anymore. They were forever bonded. Family. One man, however, marched stiffly towards Wickstaff without stopping to apologise to the people he shoved. People hopped out of his way, confused by what would make him push so rudely.

Wickstaff stopped her walk and reached out to grab Maddy’s arm.

The man wore a grimy hoody, and he pulled back the hood to reveal his face. The snarling jaws of a demon opened. A handgun emerged from the hoodie's pocket and pointed at Wickstaff. An assassin.

The creature hissed with delight as it sighted a clear shot at Wickstaff. She could do nothing but throw her arms up vainly. Maddy cried out and tried to leap in front of her. But she was too slow. Too many steps required.

An almighty gunshot echoed off the parade square.

The demon slumped to the ground. Its mushed head splatted its grimy hoodie.

Diane stood over the corpse with a smoking shotgun. “Fucking bastard! That’s the third one the guards have missed this week.” She looked up at Wickstaff. “I’m so sorry, Ma’am. They just keep coming. Dozens each day. They want you dead. I almost let them get you this time.”

Wickstaff waved her hand. “Better late than never, Diane. We’re going for a coffee. Fancy coming?”

Diane nodded. “Best stay close to you until we get a handle on all these assassins.”

“Don’t worry so much, Diane. It takes a lot to keep a good woman down, and with you two watching my back, the demons have no hope. Now, let’s go get that coffee before the next crisis begins. I swear, a woman’s work is never done.”

Lucas

“Hello, Danny Boy.”

Daniel slumped in the corner of his cell, maggots festering in his flesh. His golden hair was filthy, and the stumps of his wings were sore. It hurt Lucas to see. It had been his actions that led Daniel here. When the Fallen Angel looked out through his bars and saw Lucas, he began to weep. “Lucifer? Are you here to torment me?”

“Behave, lad! You been locked away a long time, brother, and for that, I'll be eternally sorry. But much has changed. Name’s Lucas now, if you don’t mind. Gave my former mantel to some no mark from the Pits. This whole war on God thing is partly my fault. The new Lucifer turned out to be a bit of a wet fish, as it turns out. He let that bloody eejit, the Red Lord, get his hooks into the place.”

Daniel nodded. “I heard you’d changed. Wasn’t sure I believed it.”

Lucas waved his hands, and the iron bars melted away into nothingness. Then he blinked, and the maggots disappeared from Daniel’s flesh.

“Come here, brother. It has been too long.”

Daniel rubbed at his now-healed flesh, then crept apprehensively towards Lucas. As soon as he was near, Lucas reached out and pulled him into a hug.

Daniel sobbed loudly.

Lucas held him tight, trying to absorb his suffering. “I am sorry, brother, for leading you to your downfall. All of your sins, I own fully, and one day, I am sure Father will let you back into paradise. But that can only happen if he remains in power.”

“I tried to help,” said Daniel thickly. “The humans.”

“Aye, you did at that. Your actions made all the difference, lad. You did good.”

“Good?”

Lucas chuckled. “Takes a while to sink in at first, doesn't it? Yes, you did good, and can continue to do so. For a long time, I owned what I was, acted the Devil I was named, but one day I came to a remarkably simple revelation. I realised that what we were yesterday is set in stone, but what we are tomorrow is up to us. We were angels once, Daniel, and we can be again.”

Daniel glanced over his shoulder at the burnt stumps where his wings had been.

Lucas touched his face and got his full attention again. “Wings do not make an angel, Daniel. It’s more than that, and you know it.”

Daniel nodded. “I want to help.”

“Then come with me. We have a king to usurp.”

“You want to regain control of Hell?”

“It's the last thing I bloody want, but I need to take charge until I can figure something out. I need to get the place sealed up again. Hell’s leaking like an old dear's bladder.”

Daniel stopped walking and squinted at Lucas as if something suddenly occurred to him. “You kept me locked up for millennia, Lucifer. Why keep me prisoner if you turned back towards the light?”

Lucas sighed. “Because once you start opening cages in Hell, you never know what will get out. It was best your cage remained closed, but now that the patients are running the asylum, it doesn't matter. You are free. I can never give you back what I took, brother, but I hope to have eternity to make it up to you. Please, Daniel, forgive me.”

Daniel flinched, as if the very notion was absurd. It was. Lucas had locked Daniel up for thousands of years.

Slowly, the Fallen angel nodded. “God would have me forgive you, Lucifer, so forgive you I will. I love you brother.”

“And I you. Seriously though, it's Lucas now.”

Footsteps.

A newcomer's voice. “What the...? Hey, man. I know you!”

Lucas turned to see the most unexpected thing. The young thug on which he'd bestowed Daniel’s sword now stood in Hell's hallways, bumping into him as if they were old friends at a bar. “Jamal?”

“Vamps, man. Enough with the Jamal bullshit.” He waved his flaming sword. “Thanks for this, by the way.”

Daniel’s eyes went wide. “Hey! Is that my sword?”

Lucas blushed. “Yeah, erm, about that... I kind of gave it to this fella.”

Daniel glared at Lucas, and then at Vamps. Vamps pulled the sword closer to him like a child protecting his favourite toy. Then Daniel’s eyes moved to one of Vamp’s companions, of which there were two. “R-Rick, is that you?”

Rick beamed and went over to Daniel, giving him a hug even harder than the one Lucas had given him.

“Daniel, you’re okay! What you gave to me… your gift...”

“Is gone,” said Daniel. “If you are here in Hell, my power has left you.”

“I know. As soon as I arrived, I could tell I was my old normal self again. It’s made surviving in this place a little tougher, but luckily I had help.”

“I have been here before,” said Aymun. “The place has not gotten any nicer.”

“We’re going to change that,” said Lucas. “Hey, who you got back there with you?”

Vamps yanked a chain he was holding. On his hands and knees, a naked, dirty man scurried towards them. “Prime Minister Windsor,” Vamps explained. “If you can believe it. He told us a group of soldiers caught up to him and tossed him through a gate. Lucky, we found him first.”

“He’s been helping the enemy,” said Lucas.

“We know,” said Rick. “We figure he’ll learn his lesson eventually, but for now he gets to play doggie.”

Windsor was broken but unharmed. Lucas could tell no one had beaten the man. A little humiliation, however, was the least the arrogant fool deserved.

“What are you doing here?” Lucas asked the three men.

“We came to end this,” said Rick. “But we’ve been lost in Hell for what feels like forever. This place is empty.”

“Haven’t eaten or drank anything in weeks,” said Vamps. “But…”

Lucas nodded. “You don’t need those things here. The damned are all back in their cages for now, and Hell is vast, which is why you haven't seen anyone. As for being lost, it's because you are still living. Only the damned may navigate the hallways. Luckily, you’re talking to the damnedest of them all.”

Rick nodded. “You can lead us to the Red Lord?”

“Aye! It just so happens to be the very place I’m heading. You fellas want to tag along?”

They all did.

So, Lucas strolled through Hell with a force far larger than he expected, yet smaller than he needed. He re-joined Damien, who waited sullenly for his return and gathered the dozen or so Fallen Angels wishing to fight for mankind's future. Lucas knew each of them ultimately hoped for God’s forgiveness, but it was not something he could promise them. It was frightening to admit he hoped the same thing for himself.

They gathered outside a giant set of gates, forged from the thickest iron. They were so tall that one could barely see the top while standing at the bottom. Lucas knew the gates well.

“I can’t touch the iron,” said Lucas. “Not since I gave up the throne.”

Damien stepped forward and placed his hands against the doors. They began to open of their own volition. The throne room lay inside. Lucas led the way.

“Can’t say I like what you’ve done with the place, Red,” he said, walking down the centre aisle. Human skulls covering the walls and ceiling were part of the new refurb, but what worried Lucas more were the Creator’s Crystals. In the centre of the throne room stood the Grand Repository. Inside were the ancient crystals. Each one represented a world. Each one allowed the reigning King of Hell to watch the lives of every man and woman on every world. Lucifer had spent millennia witnessing the acts of mankind, and it had been scenes of love, sacrifice, and devotion that had eventually led him to give up the throne and leave. A vast majority of the crystals were cloudy or black. The worlds were fading away, dying as the Red Lord laid siege to each one in turn. Only a handful still shone with their rightful vitality. One, he saw, was brightening by the second. A world the three humans by his side had recently departed. That world was healing. But the rest…

“Hey,” said Vamps, moving up to take a look at the crystals. “I can see zombies in this glass ball. And this one… this one has a bunch of animals killing people. What the Hell?”

“These are all of God’s creations,” explained Lucas. “He had to make numerous worlds to contain his vast life force. As each one falls, the protection around Paradise weakens. Soon, Heaven will fall vulnerable to attack, and God's enemies will seek to depose him. That’s what the Red Lord wants—to blacken all these crystals and take over Paradise. The human worlds are just a means to an end.”

The throne room echoed with slow applause. Lucas looked towards the back of the room where a giant chair made of flame flickered.

The Infernal Throne.

Damn thing still had his butt imprint in it, he was certain. Strolling down the stairs in front of the throne, a dark-featured child gazed upon them.

He continued to clap slowly.

“A guided tour of Hell, how nice for you Lucifer Primus—to see you fall so low.”

“Nothing wrong with menial labour,” said Lucas. “Builds character. Good to meet you finally, son.”

Rick frowned. “This kid is your son?”

Lucas blushed. “Yeah, it was a drunken night with his mum. Just the once, mind you. I should have worn protection. Turns out, I accidentally spawned the Anti-Christ. It wasn’t my finest hour.”

“My birth was pre-ordained before existence itself,” said the boy. “On Earth, I was named Sam, but here, I am the prince of Hell, Wormwood.”

“Didn’t I already kill this kid once?” Damien muttered at the back.

“You’re a brat,” said Lucas. “You couldn’t even destroy the one world you were on, let alone a thousand of them. What the Red Lord wants with you, I don’t know.”

“He wants me to gain my birth right, Father. Your death will complete the prophecies and endow me with the power of God’s greatest adversary. I shall take your place at the vanguard of a new war on Heaven. I shall drag God's corpse before the Red—”

“Look,” said Lucas. “Me and the man upstairs had a bit of a disagreement, but I wouldn’t call us adversaries.”

Sam snarled. “No matter. I shall end you, Father. And I shall become you. The new King of Hell.”

Wormwood ran at them then—his childish grin melting into a monstrous, toothy leer. His arms lengthened into sinewy claws, and he grew twelve feet, towering above them.

Damien leapt in front of the beast, but was swatted aside like a bug.

The three humans scattered. The Fallen Angels raised their hands to use their powers.

Lucas exploded. In the blink of an eye, he grew thirty feet, and from his back leapt fiery wings. His eyes glowed like embers. He threw out a hand and engulfed Wormwood in a hot, white glow.

The beast screamed, twisted and lurched.

The white light grew brighter, filling the cavern and blinding all within. Then it began to shrink, the glow compressing like an imploding star. Within seconds, the glow was nothing but a tiny ball at Lucas’s giant feet. Wormwood was nowhere to be seen.

A kitten meowed.

Vamps staggered. “Shit, yo! He turned that bitch into a pussycat. That’s gangster!”

Lucas shrunk back to his normal height and tried to hide how knackered he was by brushing himself off briskly. Wormwood purred at his feet. He picked the animal up and petted it.

“I always say you should try keeping a pet before having a sprog. And cats pretty much look after themselves.”

“The Lord still works through you,” said Aymun. “You have his light.”

Lucas put down the cat and looked away from his companions. “Any power I have is undeserved, but I hope to relinquish it one day and be forgiven.”

“Is he… Will he stay like that?” asked Rick, nodding at the fluffy white kitten.

Lucas shrugged. His shoulders ached. “Unless someone changes him back. He may be a little sod, but he’s still my son. Killing my offspring probably isn't the best way back into Heaven’s good graces. He’ll have to be someone else’s problem if he ever comes back.”

Damien rose from the ground, apparently unhurt by Wormwood steamrolling him. One of his ribs was sticking out, but he shoved it back into place with his palm. Then he went and stood at Lucas’s side.

“The throne is empty,” said Daniel. “Can you just take it back, Lucas?”

Lucas shook his head. “It’s not empty.”

As if proving the jig was up, the flames of the Infernal Throne began to rage, leaping higher and higher. Flesh and bone began to materialise in the fire—a figure taking shape. Lucas breathed heavy. He feared he would not be strong enough for the battle ahead. His brothers were with him, but their foe was almost as strong as God himself.

A being even more ancient.

“Get ready,” said Lucas. “The Red Lord is about to grace us with his presence.”

The Infernal Throne hissed and spat. Heat filled the chamber, and a million screams erupted from the flames. Something massive emerged and started down the steps towards them.

Something wicked.

“Holy shit!” said Vamps. “I’m gunna need a bigger sword.”

Tony Cross

Tony Cross was now a captain, which wasn't bad going for a former Staff Sergeant. Being an officer wasn't like the old days though. All the plummy, silver-spoon idiots were dead, and the only Sandhurst-trained officers alive were the ones with half a brain. Most officers today had been promoted in the field, and seven out of ten had been NCOs in an earlier life.

After the war in Turkey—won when a cancerous old Sergeant-Major jumped through the gate in Istanbul, allowing humanity's forces to take down two angels with bunker busters launched from the back of a lorry—forces in the area refocused on liberating the Middle-East. Tony had re-joined British Forces in Iraq, and he once again served side by side with his countrymen. Not that they worked in isolation though. Men and women from every nation fought together now, and for the first time in history, the Persian Gulf was unified. Arguments of religion and sovereignty had all been forgotten. All that mattered now was sending the demons back to Hell.

And they had been doing just that. The German Federation held Europe’s centre with a vast Army made up of many nations. Britain had been liberated by a brave general with limited resources, and the United States seemed to be rallying slowly. The battle had turned. Tony witnessed it for himself—right here. The Middle East was fighting for peace—and winning.

But at what cost? Here in Iraq, the signs of war predated the demon’s arrival, and there was now barely anything left. People lived in tents and caves because no buildings remained. The population was skinny and starving, unable to get supplies from either trade or carriage. The desert did not nurture.

The painful lack of children was the worst. It had been days since Tony heard their laughter. Were any children left? What of tomorrow? Who could continue mankind's future? Would people breed again? Or were the survivors of this devastating war too damaged to contemplate such a joyful act?

The last thing on Tony's mind was sex. For months, he’d done nothing but kill, so to enjoy a moment of tenderness… It sounded impossible.

Even now, blood stained his hands, and he had no idea if it was even his. He had lived so long in this dirt that his hands and feet calloused. He bled from them often. His feet were totally numb as he walked amongst the debris of some town whose name was probably lost forever. He did, however, feel it when his boot struck something in the dirt.

He reached down and found a Quran, its pages ripped and dirty. Delicately, he wiped the book, but could see nowhere suitable to place the Holy Scripture. He couldn’t bring himself to toss it back in the dirt, so he wandered through the ruins until he found something that wasn’t rubble.

It turned out to be something most unexpected.

The child’s bicycle sat propped against the remnants of a wall. The building had disappeared, yet the bicycle had survived. Its pink basket was decorated with ribbons. What had become of the child it belonged to?

A question he didn't want answered.

Tony moved beside the bicycle and rang its little bell, smiling at the joyful sound it made. He gave the Quran another wipe and then placed it carefully inside the pink basket. The time for religion had ended, perhaps, but respect for the past was still important. If they had any chance of making it, they needed to do things differently. They had to do it together.

No nations, no religion. No more war.

No hate.

It was several days before he found what he was looking for. In the next village, his squad came upon a small community that had miraculously remained untouched by fighting. Only a few-hundred people occupied the village, but Tony found them all gathered together in a green garden outside the schoolhouse. There, an Imam gave lessons to a group of children—maybe a dozen in total. The adults listened too.

When he had one of his men translate what the Imam was teaching the enraptured children, he smiled.

Maybe this time would be different after all.

<<<<>>>>

Damien Banks 2

So apparently he was some sort of Totem. That was what the Irishman had told him several days ago, appearing from nowhere and disappearing just as fast. But the message he gave Damien had stuck in his mind.

You’re a Totem, lad.

Demons walked the earth now, so tall-tales were suddenly far more believable. Damien was a totem, which made him special. His soul was a tether, split throughout a thousand worlds. Harry and Steph too, apparently, although Lucas had only shared the information with him. Obviously, at first, Damien had scoffed at the silly story. He was a mid-level bank employee, not a supernatural being.

But then Lucas had pressed his thumbs against Damien’s eyes and made him see the truth. Made him see the countless versions of himself. All of him warriors in their own way. Many of him dead. What few of him knew, though, was that he had the power to travel between the many worlds of existence.

Damien Banks was not bound by the rules of space and time.

And he needed to believe that now more than ever.

Only he, Harry, and Steph were left alive.

They were surrounded.

The enemy had torn through a hundred soldiers like canines piercing soft flesh. Now they beat at the doors of the abandoned fire station they three of them had holed up in after fleeing the centre of Birmingham. England’s second city was in ruins.

The demons were about to get in.

Harry threw Damien a half empty magazine. He caught it and slammed it into the SA80 he had become disturbingly familiar with. “Make it last, lad.”

Damien nodded. If what Lucas showed him worked, he wouldn’t need to make the ammunition last. If what Lucas had said was true, he could save all three of them.

“We can’t hold out much longer,” said Steph, popping shots from her own combat rifle. The big weapon shook her entire body with its recoil, but she held on tightly. “It was nice meeting you both.”

“We’ve met before,” said Damien, remembering memories not his own. Memories belonging to the other Damiens. The three of them were connected, the three points of a node. When they were together, they could open up a gate. Harry and Steph had no idea.

But Damien knew how. Lucas had put the knowledge in his head.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked.

Harry looked at him sideways and chuckled. “God, if that were an option.”

“Let’s make it one.” Before the other two could question him as to what he was doing, Damien dropped his weapon and grabbed both Steph and Harry by the back of their necks. He closed his eyes, grit his teeth. Concentrated.

“The fuck are you doing?” asked Harry.

Damien opened his eyes and saw his companions staring at him in confusion. They both shrugged out of his grasp and rubbed their necks.

“Are you okay?” Steph asked, she looked out the window at the demon horde about to break in. “Stupid question, huh?”

Damien shook his head. “No, no, this is wrong. He showed me!”

Harry frowned. “Who showed you what?”

“The Irishman.”

Steph shook her head. “Who?”

Damien sighed. After Lucas had left, Harry and Steph lost all memory of the strange man. Only Damien remembered him. Maybe he had imagined the whole meeting. Perhaps he was crazy. Who could blame him? He counted money for a living, not bullets.

“I just… I thought… It should have worked.”

Steph’s eyes had gone wide. She must think him mad.

But then he realised she was staring past him at something behind. He spun around, expecting the enemy to pour in and devour them. Instead he saw something amazing. And terrifying.

“It’s one of those gates,” said Harry, fear and awe spiking his voice in equal measure. “We’re fucked.”

The glass windows of the fire station cracked and shattered. The demons begun to climb inside. “We were fucked anyway,” said Steph. She shoved the last magazine into her magazine.

Damien reached out and pushed her rifle downwards. “You can’t take it where we’re going.”

She huffed. “I suppose you’re right.”

“No, I mean, we’re heading inside there.”

Harry swore. “You must be mad, lad. Those gates lead right to Hell, I can promise you.”

“They lead everywhere. Hell included.”

The demons screeched at their backs, tearing across the large, concrete parking bay. The fire trucks had all gone out on calls, never to return.

Steph swallowed. “I don’t see we have any option that doesn’t suck.”

“Exactly!” Damien grabbed both of their arms and yanked them towards the gate. The fact that they were so obviously in shock helped him. They didn’t resist.

“I wonder how many other Damiens have done this?”

Steph and Harry both frowned at him, their mouths open as they stood inches from the gate.

Damien grunted. “Nevermind. Let’s hope this leads us back to Kansas.”

He dragged the three of them into the gate just as a surge of demons crashed into their backs. Damien cried out as he felt a talon slice through the tender skin of his lower back.

But then the pain gave way to searing blindness and an emptiness in his chest that threatened to make him implode. He heard nothing. Felt nothing. There was nothing.

For a moment he feared—despaired—that he had been misled, and that he had just thrown himself willingly into Oblivion. But then something struck his face and body and knocked the wind from him. The searing blindness faded away and reality returned. He heard breathing either side of him. and when he reached out he felt warm bodies. Steph and Harry.

Sound returned too, but Damien’s muddled brain could not decipher it. He clawed at the ground beneath him and felt mud. He pulled at clumps of grass and tested the parts of his body he needed. His legs worked, and he put them to use, climbing slowly to his feet.

Harry and Steph stood too, both of them pale and shocked. They could puke at any moment. He had to take responsibility for this. Only he knew what they had just done. They had leapt through existence. Grabbed onto God’s life force itself via the gate and used it to travel across a great tapestry.

To here…

Where was here?

“Where the fuck did you just come from?”

Damien and his friends spun around in fright. An entire army met them—an equal mix of soldiers and civilians. An aging woman, not without good looks, stood at the front of the pack. Rifles and shotguns pricked up behind her like porcupine quills. She spoke with an American accent.

Damien stammered. “We… I… It would take a long time to explain. Is… is this Kansas?”

The woman frowned. “No, this is Indiana. We are the Hoosier Resistance.”

Damien rubbed at his aching jaw and wiped away mud. “Indiana, huh? Close enough, I suppose.”

“You came out of a gate,” said the woman, looking at all three of them. “Are you…”

“We’re not demons,” said Steph. “A gate appeared when we were about to be overwhelmed by the enemy. Jumping through it seemed like the only chance we had. We just popped out here. I… I actually can’t believe it.” She glanced at Damien, but he looked away.

No reason to explain that it was they who had opened the gate. Harry and Steph could learn that later. “We came from the United Kingdom,” he said. “The gate spat us out here, but we don’t know how it works. We’re good guys, I promise.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” The woman looked at them a few moments longer, then thrust out a hand. “My name is Nancy Granger. My children are in England. Don’t suppose you saw them, Alice and Kyle?”

Damien shook his head. “I’m sorry. Everything is a mess.”

A lump moved through the woman’s throat, betraying the fragility she was trying so hard to hide. “I know. I keep trying to reach someone in charge in London, but the place is a ruin by what I have pieced together. The demons are trying to exterminate us, but that’s why were are here, together. If you want to join the Hoosiers, there are only two rules.”

“What are those?” Harry asked, slowly gaining a hold of his confusion.

“Rule one is that you kill any demons on sight.”

“Doable. And rule two?”

The woman grinned. “Misbehave and I’ll cut your nutsacks off.” She glanced at Steph. “Or your tits.”

The three of them looked at each other with a chill running down their spines, but they wasted no time in agreeing to the woman’s terms. Harry even saluted her.

“I’m not a soldier, sir, so no need for that. I’m just a woman who decided to stop sitting back and letting idiots make bad decisions. My husband, Clark, and I were being corralled at a school like cattle, until a riot broke out and the soldiers left us to kill one another. Those who stayed to help are among us now. After the fight died down, I managed to talk some sense into people. Didn’t take long for them to realise that there is only one good place to direct their anger.”

Damien nodded. “The demons?”

“Yes. Just wish they could have realised it before my husband was killed in the murderous chaos. God bless his soul. But those days are behind us. We move forward. No one is in charge here. We work together as fellow human beings. We fight for one another against an enemy that wants us all dead. America was built on the defiance of it’s people. We will not be ruled. We will not bend or break. This is the crossroads of America, and what we do here will determine our future. Do you have any idea how important we all are? Every one of us left?”

Damien thought about what Lucas had told him about being a totem. A walker of worlds. “Yes, I agree. We are important. Let’s fight for the future.”

“Can you do that as a Brit? Can your fight for the American flag?”

Harry and Steph nodded, but Damien shook his head. “No.”

The woman bristled.

Damien explained. “But I can fight for humanity’s flag. Will that do?”

Nancy exhaled slowly, her jaws locked together. Eventually she nodded. “I suppose that will do just fine. Welcome to the Resistance, friends.”

“Glad to be here,” said Harry, looking at Damien with a hint of suspicion. It wouldn’t be long before they would all need to sit down and have a big long talk about the nature of the universe. And all the worlds in it.

“Science never solves a problem without creating ten more.”

– George Bernard Shaw

“On wrongs swift vengeance waits.”

– Alexander Pope

Prologue

Bodies packed the observation room of the Oceanic Super Collider. Scientists and engineers squeezed together, shoulder to shoulder, inside the glass bubble overlooking the vast tunnels below—a 24 mile circuit hidden beneath the Australian Outback. The OSC facility was cutting edge. Six square-miles and possessing a High Luminosity Hadron Collider that even CERN lacked. That was the point. Tired of being left behind by European and United States science elite, Australia, New Zealand, Malaysia, Singapore, Japan, and the Philippines banded together to create the OSC—the largest, most expensive science facility in the world. Its creation had near bankrupted many of the countries involved, but the pride and possibilities it presented were worth it. The calibre of international students already flooding to the University of Melbourne immediately boosted the country’s intellectual population, and donations from the private sector increased all the time. Australia had formed its very own burgeoning Silicon Valley, full of tech start-ups and research companies. The future had switched hemispheres.

And today history would be made. The OSC would fire two extremely dense ionic beams at each other and record the resulting collision with eighteen different sensors. Anything could happen. They might create a stable black hole—with all the possibilities that brought—or even discover a new particle to make the Higgs Bosun a forgettable footnote in the history of Physics. Today’s results might be a precursor to quantum power, and give the host countries an invaluable patent that would quadruple their GDP. Australia might not have led any great wars or invented the Internet, but today it would cement itself at the forefront of human discovery. It was going to make itself heard.

Lead Scientist, Chester Shepard, adjusted his spectacles and waved an arm at his chief engineer. “Initiate the run.”

The room grew silent. Four dozen eyes stretched wide. Anxious breaths held. The room a schoolyard of grinning children. Beneath their feet the glass floor shimmered—a delicate tremble at first, but growing to a fierce vibration that threw them off-balance. It was like standing on the skin of a drum. The excited scientists giggled and widened their stances to keep upright.

An almighty whine accompanied the shaking of the room, the sound of a million parts working in unison. A mechanical dragon breathing fire—the fire of scientific discovery.

They were about to change the world.

“Look,” someone said, pointing a finger at the tunnels below. “What is that?”

“Is that supposed to happen?”

“No, that is definitely not supposed to happen.”

“Oh no…”

“Out of the way,” said Shepard. “Move!” The lead scientist shook his head in confusion at what he saw. A confused scientist could be good or bad. It could signal the start of a quest of discovery, like Isaac Newton wondering why an insolent apple had fallen on his head. Or it might be a bad omen, like a sudden bump against the Titanic’s hull on its maiden voyage. Scientists yearned to understand and control; a confused scientist was a scientist without control. “Damn it! Halt the experiment. Something has gone wrong.”

Smoke filled the tunnels, destroying the positivity in the observation room. Dreams dead in an instant.

The chief engineer halted the experiment. The mechanical whirring puttered out and the dragon went back to sleep. People slumped against the walls and groaned.

“Okay, people,” said Shepherd, taking off his spectacles and polishing them with the tail of his lab coat. “We’ll assess things and see where we stand, but there is no reason to lose heart. No scientist ever walked a straight path to discovery. Humanity's destiny has always been a meandering zig-zag. Each obstacle in the road gives us a tiny glimpse at the mysteries of our world—and how to overcome them. This is our first obstacle, my friends, and it won’t be our last, but each one will move us closer to victory. We will revisit this day; you have my word.”

The disheartened scientists lifted their heads. Some mumbled agreement. Today was just a bad day soon forgotten.

“I’ll get a team down there to check the damage,” said the chief engineer. “I’ve got the extractors running to get that smoke cleared. Crikey, what a bloody mess.”

Shepherd gave the man a withering stare. “Your job is to keep things running, Cecil. I trust you'll repair anything broken and allow us to correct today's unfortunate misfire. There's no point regretting what has already passed. Tomorrow is a new day.”

The chief engineer nodded his understanding and headed out of the room, unlocking the magnetic locks and leaving the room open. The scientists began shuffling out.

“What’s happened to the floor?” someone asked as Shepherd headed towards the exit himself. The woman pointing was Karen Paul, his Quantum Theorist. He glanced at her feet where she pointed. A frown found its way to his eyebrows.

Something was happening in the tunnels below their feet.

“It’s moving,” somebody said. “It… It looks sticky, like tar.”

Shepherd shoved one of his assistants aside to get a look at the patch of glass floor behind her. Clinging to the surface of the glass, something grey and viscous moved. Grew. The odd stain was growing, creeping along the bottom of the glass, like blood seeping into carpet fibres.

“What the hell is going on?” Shepherd asked to no one in particular. His confusion had reached an apex. Either he turned the corner towards understanding or would careen, screaming, into the gutter.

Crack!

Everyone in the room spread out against the glass walls, as a circle opened between them as they stared at the transparent floor. Shepherd, however, remained in the centre of the room. The smoke cleared in the tunnels as the extractor fans did their work, but the electronic catacomb grew dim as the lights flickered and died.

What was happening?

Crack!

The glass floor shook.

“It’s going to give way,” someone yelled. “We need to get the hell out.”

The grey tar continued spreading, covering the underside of the entire glass floor now. A dull droning sound came from somewhere—or perhaps from everywhere—and a silvery cobweb scratched itself into the patch of glass directly beneath Shepherd’s feet. It was enough to finally make him move back towards the wall with the others.

“Jesus Christ,” came a muted voice belonging to the chief engineer in the tunnels. Shepherd turned. He glanced out of the window and spotted the man struggling on the floor. The lights behind the chief engineer were still lit, but the ones in front of him had blinked out. The grey substance clinging to the underside of the glass floor also seemed to be clinging to the engineer's legs in the tunnels. When the man tried to sit up, Shepherd saw the terrified expression on his face.

“Everybody out!” Shepherd screamed. “Evacuate!”

The room burst to life, screams and yells bouncing off the glass walls. People threw themselves at the exit, but it was only a single-body wide door and people pushed and panicked. Shepherd shouted at them to remain orderly, but fear of the unknown drove them to irrationality. Fear of the unknown was a scientist’s motivator, but it was no longer their muse today. Today that fear terrified them like chickens before a wolf. Even Shepherd struggled to put one shaking foot in front of the other.

Was the facility about to blow up?

What kind of chemical reaction was taking place?

Craaack!

The floor opened in a chasm, the glass shattering into a thousand pieces.

But no one fell to the tunnels below.

The grey substance remained in place, floating where before it had clung to the bottom of the glass. The shards of glass seemed to sink into it, dissolving.

No, Shepherd thought, frowning.

The glass shards transformed into the same tar-like substance that was spreading everywhere. The tar wasn’t growing: everything it touched was adding to it. And Shepherd realised he was standing in it.

His feet rested atop the viscous blanket as though it was a carpeted floor. It was soft.

He tried to lift his foot but couldn't.

The tar held it.

A dozen panicked colleagues were also trapped by the alien substance and Shepherd could taste their fear. His inner caveman broke free and fought furiously to escape. But it was no good. His feet refused to budge. His shoes had gone—turned into tar.

What of his feet inside those shoes? Were they also being consumed?

Shepherd experienced no pain, and neither did anyone else by the sound of it. His colleague's cries were of fear, not agony. He sensed something in his lower extremities, but it was dull and far away—perhaps an itching. What Shepherd felt most was that he felt nothing. He tried to wiggle his toes, but it was if they had never existed.

Shepherd twisted his hips and managed to stare at the tunnels below. Dozens more lights had extinguished and the chief engineer was nowhere to be seen. A creeping river of sludge covered all.

Shepherd glanced down and saw that his shins and knees were no longer part of him. They had become tar. “What have we done?” he whispered.

Shepherd was covered by the black, sticky stuff, and it changed everything it touched. The grey river flowed up his legs toward his groin, and it was then he finally felt something. As his genitalia turned to thick sludge, Shepherd became nauseous. His body burned as his organs ceased operating—or disappeared completely. Others in the room screamed too, so hard that their vocal chords snapped and ruined voice boxes emitted strangled shrieks.

The agony started. A chorus of pain.

The entire team of the OSC was being eaten alive, consumed by a blanket of death.

Shepherd spewed a mouthful of blood against the glass window that was already half-consumed by tar. The room grew dark. The tunnels below were a solid river of choking sludge.

The world closed in.

Shepherd shook his head as his organs liquefied and darkness overtook him. My God. What have we done?

Endings

A stifled cough punctuated the silence. The world was shedding its cancerous skin and you took it with you everywhere. Black dust covered everything. A person could no longer ever be clean.

Finn gazed at the bundle of blankets hiding his dead sister—no one made coffins anymore, so covering her in an old duvet was the best they could do—and winced when he spotted a damp patch where her face should be. He’d always thought of a corpse as being a dry thing. The truth was different. Dead things were moist.

His sister was moist.

Rotting.

Finn’s sister had been placed in the living room—where the television used to be—so they could all be together when the end came. The presence of a corpse was no longer morbid, it was mundane. A simple part of life—what little remained of it.

Finn turned from his sister’s resting place and glanced at his ma. The old girl gazed numbly, her face grey and expressionless. She held a frail hand against her mouth as she fought off another cough and seemed satisfied when it went away. In the old world she would have been wailing in a church after the loss of her child, but death was too commonplace now for melodrama. A billion mothers had lost their children. She was not special. Death was coming to claim them all—a withered old man with palm outstretched, ready to give the final handshake. Finn considered his sister might have been lucky to escape humanity’s last choking breaths.

If you can call being brutalised and murdered lucky.

Finn clenched his fists, ignoring the pain of knuckles once broken as a younger man. His mother seemed to sense his anger and moved her gaze towards him. She did not smile, but gave a tiny nod telling him she was still present. A weaker woman would be lost to madness, but his ma was cursed with an unbreakable spirit. No respite of insanity for her.

Or for Finn.

Clive put a hand on Finn’s stiff back and handed him a tumbler full of whiskey. “Enjoy it, brother, because there’s no more left. I’d pop the shop, but it’s not there no more.”

Finn smiled at the joke. The nearby corner shop went up in flames days ago but had dropped its shutters long before. The only way to get anything anymore was to take it, find it, or bargain for it.

Take it, thought Finn grimly. Like someone took my sister.

I should have been here. I should have been looking after her. My little sis.

Finn and Marie had not been close since they were kids—she had moved with the family to London in the early nineties, while Finn stayed behind in Belfast, an eighteen-year-old with a chip on his shoulder (a perfect recruit for the IRA)—but he felt her loss like a blade in his chest. He had always felt like he would have time—time to reconnect with his family later and to settle down when he was ready. He realised now how much of his life he had sacrificed to fighting. Northern Ireland didn't even exist anymore, so it had all been for nothing anyway. His homeland was a blackened, lifeless husk just like the rest of the globe.

All that remained of Finn’s world now were the people inside the cramped living room. It was a home he’d never been part of, yet, looking around at the old heirlooms and ancient photographs, it felt like he belonged. Atop the mantelpiece stood the horse figurine he’d had made at school. It still bore the hairline fracture where a toddling Marie got hold of it and dropped it on the old kitchen tiles back in Belfast.

Back when they had all been together.

This might not have been Finn's home for the past twenty years, but it was his home now. His mother, his brother, and him—a killer and the loving family he turned away from—awaiting the end of the world.

Finn had chosen a life of hate.

And it had cost him so much.

He downed the whiskey despite his brother's warning it would be his last, unwilling to draw out the agony with tentative sips. Whiskey deserved a chance to work, and even now he sensed its warmness spreading through his legs.

Spreading like tar.

“You never were a patient one, were you?” said Clive, his native accent gone after two decades in England—just four years old when he moved here.

Finn patted his younger brother on the shoulder. “I’m an Irishman with a drink in front of him. You having one yourself?”

Clive shook his head. “Knew you would enjoy it more.”

Finn felt a lump in his throat where the whiskey burned. To get back to emotions he could handle, he glanced again at his dead sister. A brief memory of Marie threading daisy-chains while sitting on his lap in the forest flashed through his mind. It hurt like a rusty blade across his ribs. “What happened to her, Clive?”

Clive looked away, hiding his eyes. He rubbed at his left wrist and sighed. “No point thinking about it now. She’s gone. I'm going to bury her in the front garden. It's probably a silly thing to do, but I want her to be at rest when the end comes. She was such a kind soul.”

“I know,” said Finn, heart thudding inside his chest. “What bastard did this to her?”

“I don’t know, Finn, and it doesn’t matter. We’ll all be gone ourselves before the week is through. Danny Stanton said he drove down to Ramsgate last week, and the English Channel was gone. Just… gone. The tar was crawling right up the beach.” He stopped rubbing his wrist for a moment and wiped the dusty sweat from his brow. “It’s stupid, but even after all the news reports, part of me hoped it was all fantasy. I prayed to almighty it wasn’t really happening, but seeing the fear on poor Danny Stanton’s face was all the proof I needed. He reckons it will be up this way before the week ends. We should move north with Ma. They say Newcastle will be last to go. Makes you proud in a way. The last surviving patch of life will be right here in England.”

Finn sneered. “Why would it make you proud? You’re Irish. Ireland is gone.”

“I’ve lived here for twenty years, Finn. I might be Irish, but England is my home. Do you really look back at that place so fondly? It was a battleground. Why did you stay so long?”

Finn stared at his sister’s damp corpse. “This place is no different, Clive. Monsters dwell everywhere. A monster did this to Marie, and I want to know who.”

“Like I said, I don't know.”

Clive went to turn away, but Finn grabbed him by the wrist—harder than he’d intended—and it made Clive cry out.

“You’re lying to me, Clive. I want to know who did this. Who killed our sister? Who killed Marie?”

Clive yanked his arm away and rubbed his wrist as though it were on fire. “What the fuck does it matter? We’re all dead, anyway.”

“It matters because she suffered, alone and afraid.”

“Ha! Don’t act like you give a shit about Marie being alone. She had to get by without you for the last twenty years. I was just a baby when we moved here, but she remembered. She missed you her whole life.”

Finn recoiled. “I was here. I saw her.”

“The odd Christmas or Easter when you weren’t too busy fighting pointless wars?”

“I was a soldier, Clive. I had a duty.”

“You followed in dad’s footsteps and became a mindless terrorist. The IRA has a lot to answer for…” he trailed off, “but there’s no reason to debate it now. There’s no reason to do anything anymore. Don’t you get it, Finn? Marie is dead. She doesn’t care what happened to her, and neither should you. Instead of worrying about it, you should be making peace with God. You more than most.”

Finn clenched his fists. “Careful, little brother.”

Clive’s lower lip trembled, but he stood his ground. His younger brother thought himself a man. At twenty four he should be, but Finn could still teach him a few things.

“Finley!” Both brothers turned to face their ma who chose that moment as one of the few times she spoke as of late. “I will not see you at each other’s throats. We should all be making peace with God, not just Finn. Let’s count ourselves lucky we have any time at all. To be amongst family for our final days is a blessing. Don’t squander what most are nay lucky enough to have. You two are brothers.”

Clive nodded, looked at Finn. “I’m sorry.”

Finn shrugged, but said nothing. His anger had risen. The only thing that could bring him back now was taking a few breaths and remaining silent. His little brother was right, and it was infuriating. It meant that Finn was wrong—and had been wrong most of his life.

Fighting pointless wars against neighbours and children.

“Finn, can I speak with you in the kitchen, please?” His ma ordered rather than asked. She moved past the mahogany china cabinet older than she was and disappeared.

Finn followed her. Entering the small kitchen streaked with filth. Earth’s atmosphere was in tatters. The solidification of the oceans had put an end to climatic winds. England was hot, dusty, and still. Not so much as a mild breeze gave relief from the mugginess, and grime coated all. In the last few weeks, trees began to die, choked off from the sun by whatever foulness clung to the air. Some said it was decayed animal and human corpses. Others claimed flecks of the creeping grey tar casually devouring the earth. Finn didn’t care what the dust was, he was just tired of choking on it.

His ma stood in front of the empty fridge, blocking the curled family photo of them at their former home—the one picture that had Dad in it. His callous eyes stared back at Finn. “You’re still angry, Finley?” his ma said. “Even after all these years?”

Finn went to argue but ended up nodding. Anger wasn’t something of which he was ashamed. It was a part of him—the only thing his father had left him with any value. “Yes, I am angry.”

“Good,” his ma said, surprising him.

He raised an eyebrow. “Good?”

His ma took a step towards him and placed her hands on his shoulders while she looked at him. Her eyes had once been green, but now they were grey, set above sunken cheeks. When she spoke, she kept her voice low, as if she didn’t want Clive to hear in the next room. “Marie had a boyfriend, Finn. A real piece of work.”

Finn swallowed, the lump in his throat returning. His eyes kept falling upon that family photo. Next to his dad stood Marie, a tiny three-year-old hanging off her thirteen year old brother. Clearing his throat, Finn urged his ma to continue.

“It was a year ago when she came home with her first black eye,” she went on. “She’d been down a local pub called the Hobby Horse drinking with some new fella. She swore he had nothing to do with her face, but it was as regular as the wind after that. Your brother went down one evening and tried to put a stop to it.”

Finn raised an eyebrow. “Clive confronted the guy?”

His ma almost smiled, but the sadness was too quick and snuffed it out. “Aye, he did, bless him. He came back with more than a black eye. Took three months for his wrist to heal. Even now, I see it pains him. We didn’t see Marie for weeks after that. The brute kept her from us.”

“Who is he?” Finn growled. “I’ll wring his bloody neck.”

“I know you will, Finley. That’s why I’m telling you. We may have been parted by your father's hate, but you've been brought back by your mother's love. Never have I made you unwelcome here. You have always been free to call this your home. Now ye have, just in time. You're my boy and I love you. Being here now, at the end, is what counts. Taking care of your family now is what counts. You look just like him, you know? But your eyes are much softer.”

Finn knew he looked like his father—chestnut hair atop an ordinary face—but his blue eyes were his ma’s. He took a moment to think things through. His ma had always been so against violence. When his father had been murdered by a British paratrooper during a standoff at a burned-out factory, she had begged Finn not to take up his mantle, but at thirteen years old a boy needed his daddy. Having him taken away by a foreign invader filled Finn with a rage that had only grown with age. Yet, here Ma was now, seeking vengeance?

“Are you saying that Marie’s boyfriend did this? It was him who killed her?”

His ma shrugged her shoulders and folded her arms. For a moment, she was once again the strong, no-nonsense Catholic woman he remembered from his youth. “Don’t have no proof, but if one day you see a cat eyeing up a mouse and then the next day ye have a dead mouse, it don’t make much sense to blame the dog. You know I don’t like killing, Finley, but it doesn’t cost so much these days. I don’t want to meet my end knowing that monster is still out there.”

“His name?”

“Dominic Cassell.”

Finn leaned in and gave his mother a hug. He didn't let go for a long time. Perhaps his ma's embrace might have saved him from the hatred, if only he'd allowed it more often as a younger man. “I’ll take care of it, Ma. If I’m not back when…”

“I know,” she said, cutting him off. “I love you, Finley. I’ll see you in the next life.”

Finley ground his teeth, nodded, then left the kitchen in silence.

“Everything okay?” asked Clive when Finn re-entered the living room. He still rubbed at his wrist and was wincing.

“Sorry I hurt you, little brother. I never meant to.”

Clive nodded. He didn’t hold grudges—never had. They fought every Christmas about something or other, and sometimes a year would go by before they saw each other again. Nonetheless, Clive always welcomed Finn back with open arms.

“I wish I had been here more. I always thought there would be time. You were right, I should have made better decisions, but I can't change what I am.” Finn pulled his brother into an awkward hug and patted him on the back. Then he turned and knelt down beside Marie. Beneath the blanket, he knew her face was a beaten mess. Her skull looked as though a horse had trampled on it, and one eye socket was so badly crushed that her left eye popped out a full inch. Even with all he'd seen, Finn had been so horrified that he'd not looked beneath the blanket since the day they had covered her.

“I’m sorry I hurt you too, little sis. I wasn't here, but I am now. Your big brother is here to look after you.”

Finn stood up and left the house without saying another word.

Fuel

Finn didn’t know the streets, for he’d only arrived in London three days ago. When the tar reached the north-western coast of his native Northern Ireland, he had decided to extend his existence by travelling to see his family in the UK. Getting hold of a boat had been dirty business, but there was no other way to cross the sea, so he had taken a yacht from a rich couple and made the journey. He'd found London to be the exact same dirty mess that Belfast had been, and since the earth descended into panic, every street corner played host to the dead and dying—the mugged and murdered. Every alleyway was a death sentence to those who walked it. It was hell on earth.

Finn knew roughly where to find the Hobby Horse. It sat in an area that would have been labelled “rough” back when areas were still good and bad. He couldn’t believe his little sister had hung around such a place.

Do I really know anything about her at all?

Finn remembered Marie's laugh—remembered the way her cheeks blushed bright red whenever she giggled. Even last Christmas, as an adult, her laughter had still been childish and innocent. It was the thing he missed most every time he returned home. How could somebody hurt a sweet girl like Marie?

Only a monster could.

During Finn’s last Christmas visit, he had not been himself. The emotional bloodstains were obvious, clinging to every inch of his flesh. He’d been sullen and tormented. His ma, Clive, and Marie could only have been glad when he went home and took the dark, sucking cloud with him. It still hung over him now, but the dreary rain-cloud had filled with thunder and lightning. When he found Dominic Cassell, more blood would stain his soul, but this stain would not add to his burden, it would lighten it. It would be the first time in a long time he killed somebody deserving. Finn might be a lot of things, but he did not beat women to death.

Yet he was still a monster. He had created orphans beyond count. Did the fact the world was over absolve him? The lives he took had been unknowingly brief. The days he cut short were less.

But the grief he caused was no less severe.

Finn stepped over an elderly woman lying against the curb in her bloody nightdress. She trembled and shook while muttering to herself, but he could do nothing to help her, so he did not try. The suffering in the world would continue until the last gasps of humanity, and it was too pervasive to prevent. They would all get what they deserved.

Wherever Finn went next, he doubted he'd see Marie again.

When he and his sister had been children in Belfast, they would often go up into the nearby hills and enter the forest. There, they played in streams, discovered insects, and collected acorns. Sometimes they took jam sandwiches and sat on fallen logs to eat them. Other times, they would find a clearing and sunbathe with their shirts off. Finn couldn’t believe he'd once lived in a world where a boy could take his six-year-old sister to play without fear of monsters preying upon them. Now, monsters dwelled everywhere, feasting on those unlucky enough to be alive.

And all the while the grey tar got ever closer. Inch by creeping inch by creeping inch.

The shops Finn passed on his way to the Hobby Horse bore smashed windows and bent doors. Druggies and alkys pottered amongst the ruins looking for a fix, but the fixes had all dried up. No more drugs to push. No more vodka left in existence. The pleasures of the world had evaporated.

However, certain pleasures still remained. Like vengeance

Finn strolled towards an underpass beneath an empty highway. Mounds of black dust collected at the bottom where a couple of teenagers leaned up against the underpass's walls. They eyed Finn as he came near “How’s it going, mate?”

“Just fine,” said Finn, not bothering to make eye-contact.

“Got any smokes?”

Finn kept on walking.

“Oi, mate, I said, you got any smokes?”

Finn stopped walking. He turned and looked at the lad who had spoken—a weasel in a red woollen cap. “Now, let me consider your question,” Finn said in a low voice. “Several million people in this country were addicted to smoking before the world ended. Since the world is now utterly fucked, I imagine cigarettes are in dwindling supply. That would make a single smoke extremely valuable.”

The teenager pulled his hands out of his pockets. “Yeah, mate, what’s your point?”

“My point is,” said Finn, “that if I possessed something extremely valuable, why the hell would I give it to some ballsack who just asked for it?”

The teenager leaned forwards, putting his face closer to Finn’s. “Because I’m asking nicely, mate. Want to see me get upset?”

Finn smirked, which the teenager didn’t appreciate if the irritated look on his face was any indication. “You must be pretty tough to have survived this long, I'll grant you that, but do you really want to spend the time you have left getting battered in an underpass? You may have experienced a whole lot of shit in the last few months, kid, but I’ve been surviving in shit for the last twenty years. I killed my first man before you were even born, and I’m on my way to go kill another. You want to get in my way? You won’t be the first I’ve killed or the last, you’ll just be some dead dickhead I won’t remember beyond today.”

The teenager clenched his fists and locked his jaw. He looked ready to throw a punch, but before he was able to, his friend stepped forwards and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not worth it. He probably ain’t got no smokes anyway, so let’s just bounce.”

The angry teenager sucked at his teeth, but took a slow step backwards. He sneered at Finn. “You ain’t worth my time, blud. Hope that geezer you’re off to see takes you out.” He raised his hand like a gun, turned it sideways, and quietly mouthed the word “Blam.”

Finn smirked. “He’ll be dead before he even knows who I am. Same goes for you if you don't get out of my face.”

The teenager looked like he was going to get into it again, but his friend pulled him back once more. “Come on, Frankie.”

The two of them headed in the direction Finn had come from.

Finn shook his head. Fecking eejits.

He carried on through the underpass, attempting to ignore the rank odour of piss radiating from the walls. All manner of bodily fluids stained the dusty pavement, and he was fairly certain that at one point he stepped on an ear. Leaving the underpass didn’t ease the suffocating feeling though. The world outside swirled with black ash. The sky above was a grey sheet, lowering by the second. A few weeks ago, the sound of sirens had pierced the air at all hours of day and night. Now the world was silent. Doom had struck the words from people’s mouths.

Eventually, the Hobby Horse came into view. Like other buildings, its windows were shattered and its door hung loose. Wooden picnic tables sat outside on the pavement but had been reduced to kindling. Only one table survived intact, and it was currently occupied by two men.

Finn crossed the road, not bothering to look for traffic. Now and then, you would see a car travelling, but it had become increasingly rare. There was nowhere to drive to, and getting around the endless wrecks and abandoned vehicles was a nightmare.

The two men at the picnic table stood up and scrutinised Finn as he approached. “Help you mate?” asked the biggest of the two. The man wore a tight suit like a bouncer, and his shaven head and tattooed neck suggested he enjoyed being a cliche of an English thug. His colleague was more ordinary, with short black hair and a two-day layer of stubble. He also wore a suit.

Finn nodded hello and kept his arms by his side. He wanted information not aggro. “I’m looking for Dominic, you seen him?” He stated the question in a way that made it seem like he knew Dominic and they were friends.

But the skinhead-bouncer didn’t buy it. “What you want Dom for?”

“Just want to talk to him about something.”

“I don’t know you, mate, so I suggest you piss off.”

Finn raised his eyebrow and looked confused. “What’s the problem, fella? I just want to talk to him.”

The thug jutted out his chin. “Lotta people want to talk to Dom, mate. Don’t mean they get to.”

Finn took a step forwards, which prompted the skinhead’s colleague to move in front of him. “Where you think you’re going, mate?”

“I’m going in there to talk to Dom,” said Finn in a voice several shades harder than his prior tone. “Now, you can either tell me where he is or I’ll snap your friend’s elbow.”

The skinhead laughed, almost bellowed with amusement. Perhaps it was the fact he held half-a-foot of height over Finn and two stones in weight. Whatever it was he found so funny, he didn't laugh when Finn doubled him over with a jab to the throat and grabbed him in a hammer lock, shoving up on his wrist until his elbow snapped. The noise the big skinhead made reminded Finn of the wounded seven-year-old girl he’d dragged out of a post office in Belfast. Agony made frightened children of men.

The skinhead’s colleague pulled something from his inside pocket. From the glint alone, Finn knew it was a blade. “You’re going to want to think twice about that, buddy.”

The thug didn’t heed Finn’s warning and thrust the knife at his chest. Finn hopped back and the blade missed its target, leaving its wielder unbalanced. Taking advantage, Finn used the palm of his right fist to shatter his attacker’s nose, aiming the blow down onto the bridge rather than up against the septum—he didn’t want to kill the guy. Not unless he had to.

With both thugs on the floor weeping, Finn sauntered in through the pub’s open doorway. Hearing the commotion outside, the pub’s inhabitants were already looking his way as he entered.

Finn waved a hand. “Can a fella get a drink?”

“The fuck are you?” a stumpy guy behind the bar asked.

“The name’s Finn. I’m looking for Dominic. You fine gentlemen seen him?”

There were maybe nine people in the bar, but no one spoke or announced themselves as Dominic. Finn took the moment to survey his surroundings. The carpet beneath his feet was worn and tacky. Bloodstains melded with ancient chewing gum and mushed-up peanuts. The walls, too, were stained and the ancient wallpaper peeled in multiple places. The air smelled of piss and stale beer.

“Dom isn’t here,” said the guy behind the bar. “I suggest you bugger off before he sees what you just did to Gaz and Tommy.”

“Oh, them?” Finn looked back out at the pavement. “That was a misunderstanding.”

“Yeah, right,” the barman replied.

Finn cleared his throat and looked around the room again, making eye-contact with everybody present. He didn’t want to give the impression he was intimidated by any of them. In fact, he wanted them to be intimidated by him. After what he did to their two friends outside, he saw he had already achieved his goal with most of them.

“Could somebody tell me where Dominic is, please? I’d be much obliged.”

The barman picked up a dishcloth and started wiping down the bar. He pulled a face. “Can’t help you, mate.”

Finn took several steps and stood directly in the centre of the room. “Tell me where Dominic is, right now.”

“Or else what?” someone in the room asked.

Finn turned and met eyes with the person who had spoken—a dirty-looking kid in an Arsenal shirt. He gave the man an answer. “Or else I start asking questions you people won't like.”

“What questions?” the barman asked.

Finn took another step forward. A guy to his left with shaggy blonde hair and a scorpion tattoo under his left eye flinched at the proximity but didn’t retreat. Finn was near enough to strike the man if he wished, but for now he would stick with words. “I’ll start asking questions about my sister, Marie. Anybody know her? Somebody beat her to death. I got here one day after. You can probably imagine how I feel about that.”

The room went silent. Nobody spoke or even blinked. It was enough to tell Finn that these men had known Marie. The reason for why he stood there facing them down was a mystery no more. From the looks on their faces, they didn’t know whether to fear Finn more or less. Was he mad from grief, or a man looking for retribution?

“She was a good girl,” said Finn. “Would’ve given you the shirt off her back. Although, maybe some of you here tore it off her back. She was naked when someone dumped her on my doorstep. Not sure if that means she had a friend who cared enough to take her home, or a tormentor twisted enough to want her family to see what was left of her.”

The barman stopped polishing the bar and folded his arms across his chest. “Don’t know any Marie, mate. Think you've got the wrong pub. Sorry for your loss, though.”

Finn nodded and turned towards the door. “Thanks anyway.”

“No problem.”

Finn felt the air deflate behind him as he headed for the door, but just when he was about to exit, he turned to the nearest table and dragged it across the open doorway. “Okay, last chance, fellas, because I’m losing patience. Don’t know if any of you have noticed, but time is pretty slim for us all, so I don’t intend on wasting any of it on you bunch of halfwits.”

“Careful,” said the barman with a scowl.

“No, you be careful,” said Finn, “because the next words out of your mouth will either be Dominic’s location or I’ll wipe that bar spotless with your ugly mug.”

The barman chuckled defiantly, but decided against speaking. That was good. It meant he was taking Finn seriously.

“Think you should leave, mate,” said the guy with shaggy blonde hair and the scorpion tattoo.

Finn allowed his hands to dangle by his sides as he moved to stand in front of the guy. “Did you get that tattoo before the world ended or after?”

The guy shrugged. “Before. So wha—”

“Then you’re a bigger bloody idiot than you look.”

Before the idiot had time to reply, Finn grabbed him by the wrist and twisted. He tossed the guy over his hip and brought him crashing down on top of a circular wooden table and left him lying, dazed, amongst the kindling.

The bar erupted.

Those unsure of what to make of Finn were distinctly informed. They came at him in waves. Finn caught the first attacker—the kid in the Arsenal shirt—with a swift kick to the knee, dropping him to the dirty carpet. He followed it up with a spinning backhand that shattered the jaw of a meathead who could have been Mike Tyson’s twin. Like ‘Iron Mike’, the guy had a glass jaw and was out for the count. Finn's next attacker managed to land a blow hard enough to make Finn see stars. He barely kept his balance enough to stay upright and dodged the next blow only by millimetres. The thug was small and wiry with a body more like an athletic girl than a man’s, but the snapped end of a pool cue he wielded evened up the odds.

Finn ducked the length of wood just as it was about to make contact with his temple. Then, from a crouching position, he lunged forward and tackled the man’s thighs. The two of them fell to the ground in a heap and Finn got the power position on top and rained down blows.

Reducing the man's face to rubble—like someone had Marie's.

The rage overtook Finn. Fury ran through his veins and came out his fists.

Finn was too focused on violence to see the kick coming at his face. The thick boot caught him under the chin and launched him backwards. For a second or two he saw only black and white spots, but he recovered quickly and sprang back to his feet. First thing you learned in a bar fight was not to stay on the ground.

Finn faced off against a guy of similar size and strength. Like Finn, this guy looked useful with his hands, and much calmer than his rushing colleagues. Finn raised his fists. “You seen action, brother?”

The other man nodded. “Afghanistan, twice.”

“Thought so.”

“You?”

“You don't want to know.”

Finn waited for the ex-soldier to attack, wanting an opportunity to size up his opponent before committing to an attack of his own, but it appeared the ex-soldier had the same idea and the two of them spent several moments circling one another.

Finn could tell the guy wouldn’t go down easy.

But neither would he.

This could be the guy who killed my sister.

The ex-soldier scored the first blow, catching Finn with a jab to the mouth that made his upper lip swell. Finn’s counter-attack missed, and he absorbed a second blow to the ribs from an angry right fist.

Guy hits like a cannon.

Finn feigned to his left, making as though he would throw a jab, but cancelled the blow before it came. It was convincing enough to make his opponent defend, so Finn danced to his right and let loose with an almighty haymaker from the opposite side. The ex-soldier was powerless to avoid the well-aimed blow to his temple, and his legs turned to jelly the moment it landed. He might have been an Afghan vet, but he dropped like a boy scout.

The rest of the men still standing in the pub decided against getting involved then. They stood at the edges of the room and eyed Finn fearfully. The only man anywhere close to defiance was the bartender who glared at him from behind the safety of the bar.

Finn approached the bar and leaned over. “Now, are you going to tell me where I can find Dominic, or not?”

“Fuck y—”

Finn reached out and grabbed the bartender by the neck and smashed his face down on the bar. He then proceeded to drag the man’s ugly face through the dirt before letting him crumple to a heap on the floor. Finn turned to face the remaining men. “Now,” he said. “Who the hell is going to tell me where I can find Dominic?”

Fire

Nobody in the bar claimed to know where to find Dominic, and Finn was inclined to believe them. They were the ones who had been too afraid to fight, so it was unlikely they had the spine to lie to him now. The men brave enough to fight nursed their wounds, in no mood to try for round two. That might change if Finn hung around too long.

I’m not leaving with nothing though.

The most Finn got so far was an admission that Dominic owned the pub. What that really meant was that he’d moved in when the previous owners disappeared. For a while, Dominic pushed gear from behind the old oak bar and made a profit from whatever alcohol had been left behind. After supplies ran out, he’d used the place as a dosshouse, allowing people to hang out on the worn sofas and stools so long as they made themselves useful. The men in the Hobby Horse were Dominic’s friends and acquaintances, yet none of them had seen the man for two or three days.

Probably since he killed Marie.

Finn wasn’t satisfied to leave yet, so he told the fearful men he was going to take a look around. Nobody argued. After a cursory inspection of the bar, and a peek in the pub’s backroom, Finn went upstairs to check the flat that Dominic had been living in since the old owner left. The upper floor was cleaner and less stinking than the bar below but still a filthy den. Crushed beer cans and broken bottles cut into the threads of the worn, beige carpet, and someone had pissed up one wall. Finn shook his head. What had got into people? They were going to die, yes, but didn’t they want to go out with some dignity instead of acting like animals?

Finn believed in God—had been fighting for Him his entire life—but the last few months had made him see that mankind deserved no place in heaven. Those few deserving of an afterlife—like Marie—were victims of the wicked now. How could there be a God who would allow that?

A shattered bulb swung overhead. The electricity to power it had died more than a month ago, and the televisions stopped broadcasting a month before that. News of the world’s demise came not, as one might expect, from the Prime Minister or the President of the United States, but from the head of the Australian government. The female head of state had been light on details but stated in no uncertain terms that Australia would perish within days, and that the rest of the world would follow. They had screwed the pooch big-style, was the summary to be gleaned from the Australian authorities.

Great Britain and other nations sent their top scientists to Australia, but they either came hurrying back or were not heard from again. Before long, aerial photography showed Australia was an oozing grey blanket of tar—a blanket that was spreading to cover the entire globe. For weeks, the world gawped in horror at scenes of the Pacific Ocean disappearing, along with all marine life. Birds unlucky enough to land in the muck became that muck. One of the most horrifying scenes Finn witnessed before the televisions went dead involved a pod of dolphins trying to escape the creeping grey death. After avoiding it for hundreds of miles, they fell to exhaustion and became ensnared. The news did not cut away as the beautiful creatures bleated in agony and turned to sludge. It was then Finn questioned whether God existed.

Finn crept along the corridor. A life of fighting house-to-house in small skirmishes had made his training automatic, and even though he doubted there would be danger, he couldn’t take chances—his wiring wouldn’t allow him. A grungy bathroom lay on his left, his right an empty bedroom. The covers on the double-bed lay crumpled, and one pillow rested on the floor. It looked like the bedroom had once been nicely decorated, but now dirt and black dust clung to everything. Family pictures hung off the wall, but Finn did not want to look at them. He didn’t want see the smiling faces of children, or a loving wife, and have to think about their fates. Had the mother died first, leaving the children to wander the streets scared and alone?

Like Marie.

There was one more room ahead, and Finn expected a living room. He approached the door in a crouch, keeping his footsteps slight. If anybody still remained in the flat, they had to be inside this room. There was nowhere else.

Finn reached out to open the door but found it locked. Seeing no way not to announce his presence, he banged on the door. “Hey, is anybody in there?”

“Hello?” came an immediate reply. “Who’s there?”

The voice sounded young, like it belonged to a boy.

“My name is Finn. I’m looking for Dominic.”

“He’s not here.”

Finn took a moment to decide what he wanted to do. He didn’t want to be nasty with a child, but he was looking for the man who killed his sister. He didn’t have time to mess around. “Look, can you let me in, son?”

“No.”

Finn tried to stop a growl escaping his lips, but was only partly successful. “Let me in or I’ll kick the door in.”

“Good!”

“What do you mean, ‘good’? You want me to kick the door in?”

“Yes! I’ve been trapped in here for two days. I can’t get the door open.”

Finn glanced at the keyhole and frowned. The boy was trapped in there? Who had locked him inside?

What did it matter?

“Okay, son. Stand back.”

Finn moved and checked the ground in front of him. A trodden-down box of sanitary towels crunched underfoot and he kicked it out of his way so he wouldn’t slip on it. He took two deep breaths, tensed his abdomen, and then ran at the door, dropping his shoulder so it struck directly above the lock.

Pain!

It became clear why the young boy was trapped. The thick, wooden fire-door had a heavy lock fitted—the previous owner must have been security conscious to fit a lock to an interior door. “Hold on, kid, this is gonna take me another run at it.”

Finn heard the boy shuffle out of the way. This time Finn prepared a longer run-up—half-a-dozen steps. With a different plan in mind, he picked up speed with every step forward before leaping up into the air. He put all of his weight and speed behind his right foot and planted a flying kick right up against the handle. The door burst open so hard that Finn ended up stumbling upon landing and ended up on his back. There was no time to be embarrassed—he didn’t know for sure who was in the living room—so he quickly rolled up onto his knees and jumped onto his feet.

All that faced him was a young boy, about twelve years old. Scraggly brown hair and pink smiling lips.

“Nice to meet you,” said the boy. He looked malnourished. Every kid left alive looked malnourished.

Before Finn spoke, he gave the room a cursory glance. All seemed clear. There was a small kitchen, but he could see into it from where he stood. “What are you doing here, kid?”

“Dominic caught me stealing, so he locked me in here to deal with when he got back. He never came back.”

At the sound of Dominic’s name, Finn’s hands curled into fists. “You know Dominic? Where is he?”

The boy shook his head. “He was supposed to be back yesterday. Told me he was going out to get some booze. One of his crew found some in an old supermarket warehouse at the edge of town. Said he would have more power than anybody left alive in the city once he had the only booze left. People are scared, and all they want to do is get wasted, he said.”

Finn crossed his arms and thought for a moment. “What did you steal?”

“Tablets.”

“You some kind of junkie, kid?”

The boy shook his head adamantly. “No way, I don't touch that stuff. My mum taught me. I get headaches though—migraines—and my mum gives me aspirin to help. I just took some from Dominic’s stash. He has people bringing him tonnes of stuff so I didn’t think he’d notice. He went crazy at me though when he caught me taking them.”

Finn saw the finger marks around the kid’s scrawny neck and sighed. He took in the filth in the living room and felt sick. The kid had been forced to piss and shit in the corner like an animal because the windows were barred—rough pub in a rough area, it made sense. “When did you last eat, kid?”

“I don’t remember. Almost a week ago? I had chewing gum a few days ago.”

Jesus. “Do the men downstairs know you’re up here?”

“Probably, but they don’t have a key, and they don’t make a habit of crossing Dominic. They would’ve let me die before letting me out.”

Finn paced the room, clenching and unclenching his fists. This Dominic was a real piece of work. It went further than Marie. This guy used and abused people like they were playthings. Men like Dominic had been monsters even before the end of the world.

But was Finn any better?

I’ve done things too.

Finn turned to the kid. “Come on, let’s go find you some food.”

The kid looked like he would burst into tears, but bit his lower lip to fight it. “T-Thank you.”

“Don’t cry on me,” said Finn. “I’m just getting some grub down you, and then we part ways, once you tell me everything you know about Dominic and where this supermarket warehouse is.”

“Deal!” The boy nodded and followed Finn into the hallway, but when they passed the bedroom, the kid stopped. “I... just need to get something before we go.”

“Hey, I’m not hanging around, kid!” Finn was very mindful of the bar full of men downstairs who wanted him dead.

Those cowards and bullies left this kid up here to rot. Just give him a minute to get what he needs.

The kid hurried into the bedroom and Finn waited just outside the door, but his curiosity led him to peek inside. He thought he heard the boy snivelling and wondered if he had gone inside to do his crying in private.

“Hey kid,” Finn stepped into the bedroom. “I seriously don’t have time to hang around while you cry. I need to get out of—” Finn froze when he saw the dead woman lying on the floor at the foot of the bed. Her neck was twisted at an awful angle. Her face was beaten flat. Some beast had used her body as a sick canvas. “Christ! Who is she, kid?”

The boy wiped his face with the back of his forearm and turned around to face Finn. He shrugged his shoulders like he didn’t care. “Just some bird Dominic was fucking. I don’t even know what her name was, or that she was dead.”

Finn frowned. “Then why did you come in here?”

The boy opened a nearby dresser, and from the middle drawer he plucked something out and held it in front of him—a pack of pills. “My headache still hasn’t gone away,” he explained. “It’s probably never going to now, but these should help a little.”

Finn raised an eyebrow. Kid stepped over a corpse just to get some aspirin. That's cold.

“Come on kid, let’s get going.”

“Okay, coming. Thanks for letting me out of that room. I thought I was going to die in there.”

That’s because you would have, Finn didn't say out loud. Now you get to live a few days longer until you die.

“No problem, kid. What’s your name?”

The kid smiled, betraying that two of his front teeth were broken. “My name’s Minty. Pleased to meet you, Mr Finn.”

Finn just nodded and led the boy downstairs.

Minty? Stupid name.

Flames

The men in the bar grouped together when Finn reentered. The two suited thugs from outside had come inside, but the skinhead with the snapped elbow slumped in a chair and moaned deliriously. They all stared at Finn like a poisonous snake.

“You’re a bleedin’ psychopath,” said the barman, his nose a bloody mess and leaking down his open-collared shirt. “You can’t bowl up and start sparking people out.”

Finn had to laugh at the man’s hypocrisy. “Are you shitting me, fellas? You feckers are a bunch of thugs. Bad luck for you, I’m a bigger thug.”

The barman didn’t snarl anymore, but he shook his bleeding head defiantly. “We’ll fucking kill you for this, mate. You’re a dead man.”

“Is that right, now? Tell you what I think, mate. I think I’m going to find that gobshite Dominic and slice his throat. Then I might come back for you bunch of eejits—make sure none of yous had anything to do with what happened to my sister. What d’you think about that, mate? Come on, kid.”

The men in the room parted as Finn cut through the room. The kid stayed close to him like a lamb with its mother.

“Hey,” someone said. “You ain’t taking Minty anywhere. He’s with us.”

Finn looked at the kid and saw desperation in his eyes. His name really is Minty? Seriously? “Now the kid's with me.”

“He belongs to Dominic.” The ex-soldier stepped forward again, recharged and ready for round two. This time he carried a big nasty knife—a Ka-Bar.

“Go on now, Minty.” Finn put a hand on the kid and moved him towards the exit, then stepped up to the man holding the knife. “Way I see things,” he said, “when you own something, you take care of it. I found this kid half-starving and trapped in a shit-stinking living room. I suppose you knew about that, did you?”

The ex-soldier sneered and patted the flat of the blade in his hand. “He belongs to Dominic. Walk away now, you thick Mick, and I’ll forget about you knocking me out. I’ll let you walk out of—”

Like a viper, Finn struck. He grabbed the knife with both hands before the other man even realised what was happening, and before he could make a sound, Finn twisted the blade and shoved it into his heart. He caught the soldier's sinking body and eased it to the ground. As the man’s heart seized and the last of his breath escaped his lips, Finn whispered into his ear. “You deserved better than this.”

Finn took a moment, then wiped the Ka-Bar on the dead man’s trousers and stood up with it. The other men looked terrified, but he slid the blade into his belt loops and folded his arms. “Just what I’ll be needing to do your man, Dominic. Now, does anybody else want to do something stupid? I can always use more weapons.”

The other men in the bar didn’t move a muscle. Their eyes bulged so much that it looked like they might fall out and roll across the carpet like snooker balls.

Finn nodded and uncrossed his arms. “Good. Then Minty here will take a week’s worth of food from wherever you have it stashed. And no naff leftovers, he’s taking the best you got.”

This time the barman did as told without so much as moving his mouth. He opened a cabinet and started piling crisps and bar snacks into a carrier bag. The whole time he kept his eyes on the dead ex-soldier in the centre of the room.

The guy had been their biggest tough. Now he was dead.

Finn had broken them.

Minty stood on the bar rail and leaned over. Pointing, he said, “And that chewing gum. Throw that in.”

The barman did what the kid told him. The chewing gum went into the bag.

Finn was getting antsy. The men were defeated, but it only took one flash of confidence to have one of them try to stab him in the back. “Come on, kid, before I have to lamp somebody else.”

Minty snatched the carrier bag and raced towards the door like he had just robbed a bank. Finn strolled after him. Had killing become so easy it didn’t even get his blood racing anymore? An unwelcome thought, but one, thankfully, that disappeared as soon as Finn entered the dusty atmosphere outside.

Minty wasted no time tucking into the carrier bag he deposited onto the picnic bench, yanking open a bag of crisps and devouring them in handfuls. Food was too valuable to pass up, so Finn grabbed a bag of peanuts and shovelled them into his mouth. For a moment, they were silent as the two of them ate.

“We can’t hang about long, kid,” said Finn between mouthfuls.

Minty spoke with his mouth full. “I know. Those guys will kill me for this.”

“Fuck ‘em. They’re not as tough as they think they are.”

“I’m just a kid. They’ll…”

Finn frowned. “They’ll what?”

The kid shook his head, fighting back tears. “Nothing. Can I come with you?”

“No.”

“Then you should have left me in that room to die.”

Finn studied the kid, tried to make out his expression. Something was going on that Finn didn’t understand, but clearly the kid was vulnerable. His clothes stank and it looked like he hadn’t eaten well in a month. If Finn left him, the kid would be at the mercy of the wolves.

So what? Everybody's screwed. I don’t owe this kid anything.

Marie would have helped him.

Marie would never turn her back on a kid who needed help.

“Goddamnit! Fine, you can tag along, but only until we're enough away from here for those guys to lose your scent. Then you’re on your own. Not my problem.”

The kid finished his crisps and looked at Finn. “You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” said Finn. “He murdered my sister.”

“Marie was your sister?”

Finn glared at the kid. “You knew her?”

“I-I think so. She had an accent, like you, but it was almost unnoticeable. You only heard it when she joked about. She was nice.”

“Do you know what happened to her?” Finn asked. He had to force himself not to grab the kid by the neck and scream in his face.

Hold it together, Finn.

“No. I’m sorry. If you think Dominic hurt her though, you're probably right. It's a bad idea going after him. He's a lot tougher than the guys in the bar.”

Finn nodded. He didn’t have proof that Dominic murdered his sister, but circumstantial evidence piled up, and having someone who knew the man confirming that he was a monster gave Finn the vindication he needed.

“I need to find this warehouse, Minty. Can you tell me anything about it?”

“He said it was one of those places that flogs everything cheap for people to sell on.”

Finn nodded. “A wholesaler?”

“I think it was called Latif’s, or something. Sounded like an Indian word.”

“Okay,” said Finn. “That’s a start, I guess. Let’s ask around and see if anybody knows it. Make yourself useful or you'll be gone.”

Minty nodded, put his remaining food back inside the carrier bag and tied a knot in the handle. “Okay, I'm ready!”

“What kind of name is Minty, anyway?”

Minty tore into his carrier bag and pulled something out—the pack of chewing gum he'd demanded from the barman. With a smile he said, “My mum said I’d end up smelling like mint. It kind of became my nickname.”

The way the kid's eyes lowered sadly suggested the woman he was so obviously fond of was no longer around. Finn had been about to ask for the kid’s actual name, but decided he liked ‘Minty’ just fine.

Embers

One of the last memories Finn had of Marie before she left Belfast for London was her holding her dolly, which she called Moppy. Finn had just announced he would be staying behind. She had erupted into floods of tears. He told her he had brothers relying on him and he couldn’t abandon them.

“But I’m your sister,” she had howled, “and we have picnics in the woods. I don’t want to go to London. Not without you.”

Finn held back tears of his own and seeing his heartbroken ma’s own wavering emotions almost broke him. He knelt in front of Marie and wiped her tears with his thumb. “This is my home, Marie, and it needs me. Sometimes there are more important things than playing in the woods, okay?”

She recoiled as though his words hurt her.

But he continued. “London is a bad place, Marie, just like Belfast can be sometimes, but in London, you won’t have me to look after you. Be strong, lil sis, okay? No crying. And you be good for ma. You work hard at school, but let no one push you around. You be tough.”

She tried to stop crying, but it only made her sob harder. “I’m not tough, Finn. I need you to protect me.”

He shook his head and stood. “No, you don't. You'll be fine without me. You'll be tough.”

It was more than three years until he saw his little sister again. By then, both of them had changed. Marie lost her big brother and Finn lost himself.

I could have watched her grow up.

Finn came back to reality. His baby sister’s tears echoed in his head and left splinters in his skull. She hadn’t been fine without him. She hadn’t been tough.

She had needed Finn to protect her.

I turned my back on her.

Now he was wandering the wasteland in a country he had despised his entire life looking for the monster who had killed her. The last thirty years of his life had been a wasted journey. He could have spent his life by Marie’s side and it would all end the same. The tar would claim them all.

“Hey, Finn.” Minty was pointing across the road in front of him. “Those guys over there know Dom. They used to get their gear from him.”

Finn blinked and got himself back together. He peered across the road and saw two emaciated men sitting on the stone steps of an old bank. They were kicking a small, fuzzy-haired dog, keeping it trapped between them so it couldn't escape. The dog yelped with every angry boot.

Sighing at the pointlessness of it all, Finn marched across the street and shoved the men. They were so light that both of them went sprawling against the stone steps. One of them cracked a hip and screamed in pain. The other lay sprawled and confused.

Minty went to his knees beside the frightened dog, patting it as it trembled. He reached into his carrier bag and emptied a bag of pork scratchings onto the floor. The dog ate, cautious at first but then ravenous.

Finn waited for the two druggies to get up off the steps. They stunk of foulness, and their faces were wet tissue-paper stretched over skullbone. “I’m looking for Dominic Cassell. I hear he went to a warehouse called Latif’s.”

The injured guy rubbed at his hip and tutted. “Why’d you have to shove us, man?”

“Because you were picking on a frightened little animal, so I thought I'd let you see how it feels. Would you like another reason?”

“What d’you care? The world has ended.”

“It hasn’t ended yet. Dominic, I want to find him. Speak!”

The other druggie who hadn’t fallen quite so badly chewed his lip bloody. It cracked more as he answered. “Yeah, we know Dom. Used to hook us up 'til he tripled the price—twat. I know Latif’s too. It’s on the corner of West Highgate, near the dog’s home. The cop shop is nearby. I used to walk home from there after a night in the chokie.”

Finn was surprised to get such useful info—and so freely. “Minty, give these guys something to eat.”

Minty pulled a face. He was still petting the small dog which now wagged its tail. “After what they did?”

“Rules of the street. These guys helped without me having to get physical. Give them something for their troubles.”

“You got any gear?” said the guy with the bruised hip. His eyes suddenly lit up.

“We have salt and vinegar crisps,” said Minty, tossing two packets at them. “Enjoy what you’ve been given.”

Finn nodded. “I'd listen to the kid.”

After that, the two men took the crisps gladly. To Minty they said, “Cheers, buddy. Sorry about the dog.”

“And I’m sorry about the hip,” said Finn. “Try to be decent for whatever time you have left.”

As they walked away, Minty started chuckling.

“What is it?” asked Finn.

“You’re like a crime fighter. You go round saving puppies and trapped children. Finn the Hero.”

Finn rolled his eyes. “Don’t be away in the head. This isn’t a comic book. I’m not fighting crime, I’m getting answers. You don't want to see what happens when people don't give them.”

Minty stopped laughing, but kept a slight smile on his face. “Just seems like all the answers are coming from the bad guys you rough up.”

Finn was a bad guy beating up other bad guys. That didn’t make him a good guy. Good guys didn't abandon their families. Good guys didn’t kill people. Good guys didn't plant bombs.

The little girl he pulled from the rubble of the post office thought Finn was a good guy too. She’d never known the reason she needed rescuing in the first place was because of a rigged parcel Finn had left there.

Finn was no hero.

“I don’t know my way around the city, kid. Do you recognize the whereabouts that fella was talking about?”

Minty nodded. “West Highgate. Yeah, I know it. It’s not far away. We can probably walk it in an hour.”

“Let’s walk faster and make it in less.”

“Okay,” said Minty. “Maybe the three of us can stop and find some more food along the way.”

Finn looked at the boy and frowned. “What are you talking about, the three of us?”

Minty nodded at the ground between them. Keeping pace in the centre of their group was the frightened little dog. “Looks like he’s coming along,” said Minty. “Every hero needs a dog. Let's call him... Wonder Mutt.”

Finn rolled his eyes. “Just great. If he shits, kid, you’re cleaning it up.”

Ashes

“Where's your family?” Finn asked as they headed out of the housing estate and towards the main roads.

“Dead,” said Minty.

Finn knew that would likely be the case, so what had made him even ask the question? Probably the silence of their walk. Quiet made him uncomfortable. It had been a long time since Finn had needed to make conversation with a stranger, and he struggled with it. Back home in Belfast, he had only ever associated with those he had known for years. In London, every face belonged to a desperate stranger.

Finn cleared his throat. “You picked an awful time to be alive, kid.”

Minty frowned. “I didn’t pick it, but I suppose I know what you mean. If I'd been born a hundred years ago, I would've lived a full life without ever knowing that the world would end soon. It sucks.”

“Trust me, you’re not missing out on all that much. Life gets shit as soon as you’re out of puberty. Least you got the good years.”

“The good years? I spent the last three years getting my ass kicked at school every day, and my mum was so poor that I was still playing games on an old Xbox while all the other kids were chilling out with their PlayStation 4s. My dad barely wanted to know me.”

Finn grunted. “See, that’s the problem with kids today—especially English kids.”

“What?”

“Growing up shouldn't be about who's got the best stuff. It should be about exploring—playing in the dirt and jumping off rocks. Kids weren't meant to spend their time sitting on their fat arses playing stupid video games. Maybe if you spent more time outside you wouldn't have got your arse handed to you at school.”

Minty didn’t reply. He scrunched his face and moped. The little dog trotted between them without a care in the world, its previous torment forgotten. If only human beings possessed such talent for closure.

Imagine living life without regret.

Seeing he had upset the kid perversely satisfied Finn. Maybe now he would stop thinking of him as a good guy. Maybe now he sees what I truly am.

They reached the end of the road where they were met by a wide roundabout. A retail park lay to their left. A makeshift camp had been erected in its carpark, full of people milling around and living in tents for mutual protection. These communes had popped up everywhere in the last couple of months. People were too afraid to stay in their homes alone, so they grouped together like flies, choosing to live outside in their own collective filth. Finn could think of nothing worse.

The other roads off the roundabout led back to the built-up areas of the city.

“Where now?” Finn asked the kid.

“What are you going to do when you find Dominic? Are you going to kill him? You killed Steve back at the Hobby Horse.”

“Who? Oh, you mean the Afghan vet. He killed himself when he pulled a knife on me. Why do you care, anyway? Those gobshites let you starve half-to-death.”

Minty shrugged. They had come to a stop at the roundabout so he knelt and patted the dog—or Wonder Mutt as he was apparently called. “I just don’t think you should kill people. I don’t think you should kill Dom.”

Finn narrowed his eyes and tried to understand the kid’s agenda. “What does it have to do with you whether I kill him or not?”

Minty shrugged. “Don’t you think there’s been enough killing? The last two days, all I’ve been able to do is look out of the living room window, and it's been like watching a horror movie. This morning I saw a woman raped right in the middle of the road. She was screaming out for help, and people just walked on by. I saw a little boy point at her and ask his mummy what she was crying about. Then, when she lay there abandoned and sobbing, someone came and stole her shoes. If I’d had anything to eat in days, I would have thrown up.”

Finn imagined the woman’s fear and then transferred it to his sister. Had she screamed out? Or had she gone somewhere in her head and remained silent? Just like Minty, the image made him want to vomit.

Finn felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but didn't show it. Violence only upset you if you allowed it into your thoughts. He shrugged. “Everyone knows their time is up. They don’t care. People can do what they like.”

“Exactly,” said Minty. “So you could choose not to kill Dom. I don’t want you to be like everybody else. Beat him up if you have to, just don’t kill him.”

Finn grunted. “Tell me which way to go, kid. I don’t have time to moralise with you.”

“I’m not telling you anything unless you promise you won’t kill Dom.”

“Fine, I promise. Now tell me.”

Minty frowned. “I don’t believe you.”

Finn clenched his fists and felt his heart race. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I. Won’t. Kill. Dom.”

Minty stared him in the face for several seconds. Finn didn’t appreciate being scrutinised by a child, but he kept his temper somehow.

“The warehouse is straight on over the roundabout.”

“Thank you!” Finn nodded and got going again. Minty and Wonder Mutt hurried to keep up.

As they got walking again, Finn considered the myriad of ways he could kill Dom. Not once could he imagine a way of not killing him. The guy had been dead the moment Finn's ma had uttered his name.

A death sentence.

Abandoned cars choked the roundabout. It was due to such congestion that people never bothered to try the roads anymore. Finn had arrived in England by boat, but he hadn't been fleeing the grey death. He had been fleeing Northern Ireland because of what it had become. The offshoot of the old IRA Finn was part of had taken the end of the world as a sign that God was angry. It had led them to plan the largest domestic attack in the nation’s history—bombing a dozen Protestant and secular targets simultaneously. With national security falling into disarray, getting the parts for the bomb had been child’s play. Planting and detonating them was going to be even easier. Finn’s bomb was earmarked for a secular primary school. The group’s leader, Reverend Chris Adams, told Finn God would reward him for punishing the offspring of the wicked. The group's other targets included a hospital, police station, and an embassy. Twelve targets in total—one for each apostle of Christ. Every bomb would be an offering to a chosen saint.

Thousands would die.

Even as Billions died.

It was murder for murder's sake.

“It’s just down here,” said Minty, pointing, “just past the police station.”

Wonder Mutt ran around them in excited circles.

Finn studied the police station’s windows as they neared, wondering if anyone lurked inside. Proximity to law enforcement had worried him for so long that his heart rate increased out of habit. Finn saw police officers as the enemy—enforcers of an unholy regime. Truth was, they were no different to anybody else. The whole world was twisted and dark. Everyone found their own corner to piss in. What Finn once thought were just causes now seemed like childish fantasies.

Or outright fallacies.

“Are you okay, son?” somebody shouted from across the road.

Finn looked up and saw a police officer standing in the station's empty car park. He wore a white shirt with lapels, but lacked the rest of his uniform. He pointed a finger and asked again. “Are you okay?”

“Who, me?” asked Minty, when he realised the policer officer was addressing him and not Finn.

“Yes, are you in need of help? If you are, you can come on over to me.”

Finn shrugged at Minty. “Go on over. You’re better off with him than me.”

Minty waved back at the man across the road. “No, I’m fine; thank you, officer.”

“You don’t look fine to me, son. You look dirty and malnourished.”

Finn chuckled, letting the officer know he was in agreement. “I just met the kid today so don't blame me.”

“Finn gave me food,” said Minty. “He's my friend.”

The officer grew suspicious. He exited the car park and mounted the grassy embankment that bordered the road. It led Wonder Mutt to grumble and move to Minty's side. Finn noticed the officer had a gun on his hip, but he was questioned about his own weapon before he had chance to mention it. “That’s a big knife you’ve got hanging from your belt, sir.”

“Not big enough with the way things are.”

The officer laughed with what seemed to be understanding, but he looked at Minty and moved his hand over his gun.

Finn's hand hovered towards his knife.

“There’s a lot of bad men out in the world right now,” the officer said, now addressing Minty again. “Not many are willing to offer food without wanting something in return.”

Minty seemed to grow pale as if the comment made full sense to him. “Finn is all right. He’s a good guy.”

Finn bristled at the words. There he goes again.

The officer eyeballed Finn. “Is that so?”

“No, it’s not,” said Finn. “I’m not a good guy, officer. In fact, I’m a pretty bad guy, even by today’s standards. It still doesn't make me someone who hurts kids.”

Finn thought of the little girl in the rubble.

At least, not any more.

“I gave Minty food because he needed it. In return, he is helping me find a warehouse called Latif’s.”

The officer was quiet for a moment while he digested what Finn had told him. Gradually, his hand moved away from his gun and relaxed by his hip. “Well, I suppose that’s the best I can expect nowadays. If you’re looking for Latif’s, you found it. It’s right at the end of this road. I wouldn’t advise going there though.”

Finn took a step towards the officer which made the man flinch and touch his gun again. Finn had to raise his hands to show no threat. “Why wouldn’t I want to go there, officer?”

“Because it burned down. I heard shooting last night, and when I went to check things out this morning, the warehouse was a blackened ruin.”

Finn ground his teeth. Had Dom set a fire, or had he been inside the building when it went up? Was he already dead? A twist of irony Finn would not appreciate.

I want that fucker to know who I am before I kill him. I want him to know he’s dying because of what he did to Marie. I want a confession. For my ma.

“I still need to check it out.” Finn turned to Minty. “You should stay here.”

“No way. I don’t know this guy.” He reached down and clutched Wonder Dog as if looking for agreement.

“He’s a police officer.”

“So? You know all those people I told you about? The ones who walked right on by while that woman lay on the ground begging for help? One of them was a pig.”

Finn winced at the slur, but the officer didn’t seem insulted. The time for sensitivity had long passed.

The officer sighed. “I’m sorry about that, son. Truth is, many of my colleagues who tried to do their duty when things went bad were beaten or stabbed to death. There's a lot more bad in this world than good, I'm afraid. I’ve been on my own for weeks now. A few of the junior officers took off early on, but most of the older guys stayed as long as they could stand. Police officers are human beings too—not all of them are good, I’m afraid. You’ll be safe with me though, son. Both of you, in fact. I have food, some water.”

Minty shook his head without even considering it. “I’m going with Finn.”

“No, you’re not!” Finn growled. “Look, kid, I appreciate you wanting to help me, but let’s not forget it was me who got you out of that room. I don’t owe you anything. Time to say goodbye. This fella is obviously the best bet for you.”

“I’m not staying here.” Minty moved to Finn’s side. Wonder Mutt followed, tail wagging. “I don’t know this guy.”

“No, you don’t, but you don’t know me either.”

“You’ve protected me instead of hurting me. That’s not something I’m about to give up.”

“It’s not your choice.” Finn walked away.

Minty and the dog followed.

“I’ll just follow you,” said Minty.

Finn turned, and was about to yell at the kid when he froze solid. Minty was oblivious to what was going on behind him and kept on arguing. “You saved me, so now you have to take care of me. I’m not stay—”

“Minty! Shut up and turn around.”

“No, I won’t stay—”

“Minty! Turn your empty head around.”

Wonder Mutt growled.

Minty frowned, but seemed to finally get the message. He turned around and saw the police officer pointing a gun at them.

“What do you want?” asked Finn.

“Tell the boy he isn’t going anywhere.”

Finn glared. “Why?”

“I’m taking him off your hands. He’ll be safer with me.”

Finn took a half-step forwards, but kept his hands above his head. “The kid doesn’t want to stay with you. I’m sorry, but he's coming with me.”

“You’re not taking him anywhere. Tell him to stay, and I might let you walk away.”

Minty stood between the two men, mortified. He obviously saw some kind of safety with Finn. He looked terrified now that safety was being threatened.

Wonder Mutt barked.

“Tell that mongrel to keep its trap shut!”

“Don't shoot him,” Minty begged.

Finn shook his head in disgust at the officer. “I bet the end of the world is like winning the lottery for sickos like you. Are you even a police officer?”

The man sniggered, adjusted his grip on his gun. “Like I said, we’re all just human beings. Now walk away, Mick!”

Finn snarled and so did Wonder Mutt. “I swear to God, if I hear that word one more time today…”

“Get moving!”

Finn tried to take another step closer, but the officer waved his gun. “Uh uh, don't be an idiot.”

Suddenly, Minty got in the police officer’s face and laughed. “You don’t know who you’re messing with, you stupid dickhead. Finn will kick your arse if you try to take me.”

“Minty! Shut your mouth.”

“I’m right, though, aren't I? You won't leave without me, will you?”

Finn shrugged. “Sorry, kid. I have my own problems to worry about.”

The officer grinned like a cat standing over a mouse. “Clever man. Now walk away so I don't waste a bullet.”

Before Finn turned to leave, he leaned towards Minty. “First chance you get, run!”

Minty shook his head, his eyes wide and terrified. “Please, Finn. Don’t leave me. I need you to look after me.”

The words made Finn’s stomach turn.

I need you to protect me.

Marie's words echoed through two decades and came out of the mouth of the young boy he was about to leave in the oily clutches of a paedophile. Was he really so selfish?

Yes.

“Come to me, kid,” said the officer. He sounded like he was talking to a dog. Speaking of which, Wonder Mutt was finally out of Finn’s hair as he trotted to Minty's side.

Even that dog has more loyalty than me.

Finn tried to walk away, but his throat constricted and his chest pounded. He put his hands on his knees and bent forwards.

“I said keep walking, unless you want a bullet in your chest!”

Minty changed his tune. “Finn, just go. I'll be all right. I'll... be...” The kid couldn't even finish his own lie.

Finn straightened up, still facing away from the man pointing a gun at the back of his head. “Minty?” he asked. “That promise you made me make about not killing. That just applies to Dominic, right?”

“Right!” Minty shouted back.

“Thought so.” Finn yanked the Ka-Bar from his belt loop and spun around with it in his hand. He slung it underhand as hard as he could and it sailed through the air. The twirling blade missed Minty by a hairsbreadth and buried itself in the police officer’s guts.

A gunshot rang out.

Wonder Mutt yelped.

The officer slumped to his knees, staring at the large combat knife poking out of his belly like it was a puzzle. Finn marched up and seized the rubber grip. He twisted it fiercely before yanking it out with a sickening squelch. He stared into the sicko’s eyes, “Playtime’s over, you sick fuck,” and slashed open his throat. He slumped to the grass, clutching feebly at his torn neck.

Wonder Mutt yelped again, frightened by the sudden gunshot and the ensuing violence. No surprise the little hound was a walking bag of nerves. Finn ignored the dog and looked for Minty. “You okay, kid?” He found him lying in the grass. “Oh shit!”

Minty was facedown and not moving. Finn rolled him over onto his back and saw blood. “Damn it, kid.”

“F-Finn? I think I’ve been… shot.”

“Yeah, no shit. Just... stay calm. I’m gonna take care of it.” He patted Minty down, looking for the source of blood. It seemed to come from high up, and the bloodstain on his t-shirt was darkest over his shoulder. Finn grabbed the collar and yanked it, tearing the thin cotton apart.

A wound glistened over Minty’s collarbone.

“Wait a minute,” said Finn. “I… yes, I think the bullet hit your collarbone and deflected. The bullet never entered your body.”

There were tears in Minty’s eyes. “Then w-why does it hurt so much?”

“Because you took a bullet to the collarbone, you eejit.” He prodded the area with his finger, making the kid cry out. The wound was horrid, and the bone felt chipped, but there was definitely no bullet hole.

Minty's eyes rolled in their sockets. “It hurts.”

“You gotta move, kid. We have to get out of here.”

“I… I can’t…”

Finn looked around—didn't see anyone. The police station was in an empty part of town. There was only the retail park they had left behind them and the industrial section up ahead where Latif's was. “Jesus wept! You're a pain in the arse, Minty. Do you know that?”

“Sorry.”

Finn clambered over to the fallen officer and grabbed his gun, adding it to his bloody Ka-Bar. He placed the knife in Minty's trembling hands while keeping the gun for himself. “Hold this.”

Minty moaned as Finn grabbed him around the waist and started dragging him towards the police station. They needed to get into cover before the next sicko appeared and had a go at them. Minty was half-conscious and in no state to move or go anywhere.

How the fuck did I end up having to play hero to this kid?

I’m supposed to be a killer.

Not a hero.

“I guess Dominic will have to wait,” Finn muttered.

Minty didn’t reply because he had passed out. He still clutched the knife Finn had asked him to hold.

Ruins

The police station was cool due to its lack of carpeting and soft furnishings—a welcome relief from the dust and mugginess of outside. It was also dark. Many of the interior corridors lacked windows. A sense of echoing laced the building, and scenes of drunken arrests and interviewing suspects played out in every room.

Finn dumped Minty down on a swivel chair behind a desk in the waiting room. The kid was out cold, the proud owner of a nasty flesh wound, but his bleeding had slowed to a trickle. Finn remembered his own first flesh wound. He’d been drinking at a pub on the southern bank when a bunch of British Paras came in. Finn's buddies took offence to the squaddies, and a fight broke out at last orders. At twenty years old, Finn was no match for a British Paratrooper. Before he even managed to land a punch, he’d found himself lying on the ground with a broken bottle lodged in his thigh. Today, the scar ran an inch long, thick and ugly. It served as a reminder of that day and taught the lesson not to get into fights he couldn't win. It also stoked his ongoing hatred for the British Army.

But the British Army was gone now. It had been weeks since Finn saw a man in fatigues. It didn’t bring him much closure though. In fact, seeing no presence of the Army during a time of such insurmountable crisis was disconcerting.

“Everything will be okay,” Finn said as he wheeled Minty down the corridor. The kid couldn't hear him, but Finn felt a need to keep talking. It was unlike him, but he felt rattled. The kid had taken a bullet because of him.

Wonder Mutt ran on ahead but didn't go more than a few metres without stopping and looking back. Finn assumed the police station would have a medical bay somewhere, or at least a supply closet. They had to be first-aid-ready, right? No telling when a drug addict would seize and start choking on their own tongues.

Minty mumbled and went silent again.

Finn continued wheeling the kid along the corridors, shoving doors on either side until he found what he needed. The fifth room contained a raised bed and several cabinets. On a counter sat a green box with a white cross on it—a first aid kit.

Finn wheeled Minty into the room and hoisted him up onto the bed. The kid's lightness disturbed him. Then he pulled up the safety rails on either side and searched the room’s cabinets. Besides the first aid kit there was an ample supply of bandages, gauze, and even over-the-counter medications. Finn got a trickle of water from the room's barely functioning sink and crumbled two strong painkillers into a plastic cup. Gathering up bandages and antiseptic, he placed everything on the bed beside Minty.

“I’m just going to strip your top off,” he said.

Minty didn’t respond. Finn peeled his T-shirt off and over his head, then wiped away the blood with the antiseptic wipes. Once he could see what he was doing, he sprayed the kid's wound with antibacterial spray and placed gauze over it. The wound cleaned and dressed, he finished by wrapping bandages under Mint’s left arm and around the right side of his neck binding tightly. He used a strip of medical tape to tie-off the bandage.

“Not bad, if I say so myself.”

Minty mumbled again, but this time his eyes flickered. Finn propped the kid up into an angled seating position and tried offering him the dissolved painkillers. Even half conscious, Minty sipped at the liquid until it was gone.

“There you go. Good lad.” Finn laid Minty back and slumped against the counter while he let out a deep sigh. Exhaustion had set in, not just from exertion but from the anger and hate he’d been holding on to.

Would he ever find Dominic?

How long before the grey ooze got here? It was like working against a ticking clock. Only a matter of time before the horizon disappeared and the creeping, relentless death started to devour the ground like a rising tide.

Clatter!

Finn leapt up from the counter, starling Wonder Mutt who ran underneath the bed and cowered.

Somebody moved out in the corridor. The only question for Finn was whether to hide out in this room or rush out and catch whoever was sneaking around.

He decided on the latter.

Finn rounded the bed and shoved his way out into the corridor. He was surprised to find a young woman frozen on the spot and terrified. The clatter had been from her foot stumbling into an empty water canister from a nearby dispenser.

“Please don’t hurt me,” the woman begged. The panic on her drawn sickly face was difficult to watch.

Finn put his hands in the air and took a step away from her. “Hey, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just taking care of my kid.”

“Are you a friend of Edward’s?”

Finn frowned. “Who’s Edward? If you mean the sick fecker who likes to mess with kids, then I'm afraid he won’t be coming back.”

The woman seemed to tremble, her legs wobbling all over the place. “He’s gone?”

Finn nodded.

“Oh.” The woman pitched forward and collided with the wall. Finn was just quick enough to catch her before she fell to the ground.

“Easy, love. I’ve got you.” Finn eased her into a sitting position and looked at her. “Who was this Edward to you?”

The woman needed a moment before speaking. She had to catch her breath. Eventually: “I came here a few days ago for help. My house burned down during the riots, and I had no place else to go. Edward was a police officer. When I found him I trusted him. I thought he would protect me. Instead…”

Finn rubbed her shoulders, but moved his hand back when she flinched. “All right, love. I understand.”

She looked at him, and the panic returned to her eyes. “Are you…?”

“No,” said Finn. “I’m not going to hurt you. I really am just here to help my kid.”

The woman nodded. “Did you kill Edward?”

“Only to stop him killing me. D'you think you can get up?”

The woman nodded and pushed herself up off the floor. Finn grasped her arm to help her, but once again it was clear his touch was unwelcome. He backed off.

“Where’s your kid?” she asked him suspiciously.

“In here.” Finn pushed the door open and led her into the sick bay. Minty still lay on the bed, but was awake now and staring at the ceiling in confusion. Wonder Mutt had somehow leapt up onto the bed and was stretched out over his legs.

Finn rounded the bed until he was standing in front of Minty. “Kid, you’re awake?”

“W-What happened?”

“You got shot.”

Minty’s eyes went wide. “I’ve been shot?”

Finn wrapped his fingers around the kid’s ankle and squeezed. “You’re going to be fine. The bullet bounced off your collarbone. Just about the luckiest damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

Minty glanced sideways. “Who’s she?”

Finn looked at the women in the room. “Actually, we haven’t introduced ourselves. My name is Finn, and this is Minty. What’s your name, love?”

“Katie. G-Good to meet you both.”

“She was hiding out in here,” Finn explained.

“Was she with the guy who shot me?” asked Minty.

Finn shook his head before the woman could speak for herself. “She was no friend of his, kid.”

“We need to go.” Minty tried to sit up, causing Wonder Mutt to hop to the ground, but he ended up yelling and falling back.

Finn moved forward and put a hand on the kid’s chest. “Take it easy. We’ll stay here tonight and see where we stand in the morning. It might be best if we part ways.”

Katie moaned. Minty did too.

Finn put his hands up. “I’m just saying we think things through, okay? You two might be better off staying here than coming with me. The world ain’t getting any better.”

“You’re not leaving me,” said Minty. “I took a bullet for you.”

“That’s debatable,” said Finn, and before the kid had chance to say anything else, he put his hand up and silenced him. “We’ll discuss it in the morning. For now, you need to get some rest.”

Minty sighed.

Finn turned to Katie and motioned towards the door. She understood and followed him back out into the corridor. She still didn’t trust him—constantly flinching every time he moved—but there was little he could do about it. She would just have to live with her anxiety. It wouldn't be for very long.

“Tell me about this place,” he told her. “Are there any weapons? Food?”

She nodded. “Yes, do you want me to show you?”

“Er... how about yes!”

Nervously, Katie led him down the corridor and around a corner where she pushed open a door to a cleaning supply cupboard.

“Well, slap me sideways,” said Finn. “You’ve got a king’s ransom here.”

The small supply cupboard was filled with tins of food, dried packets, and bottled liquids. Even more surprising was the shelf full of handguns and ammunition. Edward must have cleared the station’s armoury and brought it down where he could get to it quickly.

“He unlocked it to get a gun before he came out to speak to you,” explained Katie. “He’s given me a little to eat in the last few days, but barely enough to live on.”

Finn nodded to the shelves full of food. “Well, get in there, love. You don’t need my permission.”

It was obvious the woman did need Finn's permission, because she remained reluctant to go into the room. It was only after several seconds, she realised it truly was okay and started ripping open packets of food. While she was at it, Finn joined her, and together they downed more food than he'd eaten in weeks. Neither of them spoke for several minutes while they gorged, and Finn particularly enjoyed the jar of pickled eggs he found on the bottom shelf. He remembered the ones his ma used to keep in the pantry of their small home back in Belfast.

Marie had always loved them too.

The joy of a full tummy disappeared as Finn remembered he had a job to do.

There was still a man he needed to kill.

Katie looked at him all of a sudden and the panic returned to her eyes. Perhaps she could sense his thoughts of murder. Perhaps she could sense he was a killer.

But she also seemed to understand Finn was not the same monster Edward had been.

At least not yet, Finn thought to himself as he tucked into another bag of crisps.

Earth

The three of them spent the night in the same room because, quite frankly, it was safer that way. Finn packed up the food and put it into a pair of rucksacks he found in the station’s changing rooms. He also moved some of the weapons and all the ammo, along with something precious he'd found in the evidence room. He now lay on his back amongst his haul, listening to Katie and Minty snore. And that bloody dog.

In fact, Wonder Mutt snored the loudest.

How had Finn ended up here? On his way to kill a man, but somehow lumbered with a woman and a kid?

Didn't they realise he couldn't help them? They were doomed.

During the first weeks of the apocalypse, the United States assured the world it would save mankind. As self-proclaimed guardians of the earth, the Americans almost seemed to feel it was their birthright to be the ones to save the day. So far, only Australia and southern Indonesia had been lost, but the global weather turned unstable due to the massive ecological effects of losing part of the southern hemisphere. Only a single nation of white people was dead—and Australian’s no less—so the panic had not yet fully taken hold. Australia was a nation well-liked, but not one the world couldn’t live without. If they stopped the cataclysm now, it would go down as a tragedy to be mourned once a year. Woe betide the disaster creeping up on the Americas though.

The grey tide, which scientists surmised was some kind of chemical chain-reaction, spread out concentrically from its point of origin. It started at the OSC facility in the Australian outback and spread out in a perfect circle. Therefore, on the opposite side of the globe, the United Kingdom would be last to go.

Which was why it still existed in a world without America, China, or even France. All gone, except for England, Wales, and southern Scotland. Ireland existed just over a week ago. Next week, nothing would exist at all. A grey oozing crust would cover the entire world like a seagull soaked in tar.

No one knew what the alien substance was for sure because it was impossible to collect a sample. Unmanned sea vessels were sent to collect specimens, but as soon as their apparatus touched the stuff it corrupted them and made them part of the growing whole. Only the air itself was immune, which was why helicopters and planes flew overhead and recorded the dreadful event for the world to see.

Only once America disappeared, did the remnant of humanity abandon their civility and embrace their animal origins. Rape and murder statistics went through the roof. Armed Forces and Police fought wars on every street corner. Iran bombed its neighbours for no discernible reason. Muslims and Christians slaughtered each other on the streets of Jerusalem. A Tunisian sniper assassinated the Pope. The Catholics in Italy expelled the migrants from its shores with extreme prejudice. IRA terrorists set off eleven bombs in Northern Ireland.

The twelfth had been a dud.

In fairness to the United Kingdom, things remained civilised for a while longer than other places—perhaps because they had longer to live, but maybe because the population prided itself on its manners. The British government led by example and started accepting mass immigration from those countries in immediate jeopardy. The country filled with Malaysians, Filipinos, and Indians first. Then Africans from the eastern coastline. Eventually, the people of the United Kingdom grew tired of sharing with ill-bred refugees. No more supplies came from overseas, only more mouths to feed. The riots seemed to spark overnight, and when the country awoke, thousands lay dead in the streets—mostly immigrants but also naturalised citizens unfortunate enough to have the wrong characteristics. The slightest hint of an accent or tan became a death sentence. A country that once prided itself on manners and equality turned as xenophobic and bloodthirsty as any nation in history.

And it was all for nothing.

The creeping grey death would not stop. No one could escape the tar.

All men were equal. Truly.

So why were a woman and child clinging to Finn like he could do them any good? Best thing they could do was end it now, rather than risk the torments of more men like Edward…

Or Dominic.

Why wasn’t the fact that Dominic would die with the rest of humanity good enough for Finn? Why did he need to extract what would be a futile revenge?

“No, I need to go,” Minty mumbled into the darkness. The kid had the bed while Finn and Katie took up the floor on mattresses from the jail cells.

He kept his voice low but could already see Katie waking up. “What is it, Minty? Are you okay?”

“No,” Minty shouted. “I said I have to go. Just leave me alone. I…”

Finn sat up, rubbed his eyes despite not having slept. “Minty, what is it? What—”

Minty bolted up from his sleep and yelled in terror. The scream trailed off quickly though and the kid ended up sitting there in darkness and panting. Wonder Mutt, also on the bed, licked at his face, but the kid gave no reaction.

Finn climbed up and went to him. “Minty, it’s okay. You were having a bad dream.”

Minty turned his head, his face ghostly and his hair wet with sweat. Tears glistened on his cheeks. “I… I was just… Please, help me.” The kid sobbed, holding himself and shaking. The more Finn’s eyes adjusted to the shadows, the more he saw the desperation on the kid's face.

Finn stood there, not knowing what to do. He flinched when Katie moved up beside him.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Katie told Minty. She moved over and sat on the edge of the bed. She pulled him close and cradled him, rocking him back and forth. “Just a nightmare. That’s all. Everything’s okay.”

Finn sighed and sat back down on the floor. As he listened to Katie comforting Minty, he realised that she was doing what he should have done. The kid had been terrified, and he had been right there in front of Finn, afraid of the dark and alone.

Why didn’t I reach out and hold him? What’s wrong with me?

Does it even matter?

Blood

Morning broke but you could barely tell. The room remained dark, and only Finn’s body clock caused him to go into the station’s reception area and look outside. The sun was just about visible through the haze of black dust. What remained of the earth’s atmosphere was closing in on them. The oceans no longer existed and had taken the winds with them. The black dust descending from above would blanket the earth. Perhaps they would all choke to death before the grey ooze took them.

How long until it gets here?

Am I afraid? I’m not sure I can even tell any more. All I feel is numb. Alone.

Angry.

Finn watched the empty road running in front of the station and considered leaving before Katie and Minty awoke. They would be safer without him. They could await the end together with food and warmth. He opened the station's exit and winced as the odious stench of the world hit him. With his belly fed, it was harder to resist the urge to gag.

A ragged fox emerged from the bushes along the embankment, probably confused by the lack of sunlight. Day and night lacked the definite distinction they used to hold. When the emaciated creature set eyes upon Finn, it did not shy away. Instead, defiantly, it trotted across the road and headed towards the city centre. Finn remained standing in the open doorway.

Why wasn’t he leaving?

It was as if ropes yanked at his back preventing him from stepping forward.

“Damn it!”

He turned around and went back inside. In the sick bay, Minty and Katie were stirring. Wonder Mutt had his nose buried in a packet of rice that he hadn't been given by any of them. Finn grabbed a bottle of water and handed it to the kid. “How you feeling?”

Minty sat up and took the water. He rolled his shoulders and winced. “It hurts, but... I’m better. I think I can get up.”

Finn nodded.

“Are you still leaving?” asked Katie.

“Yes. I have something I need to do.”

“He’s going to kill someone,” said Minty.

Katie didn’t seem upset by the statement. Why would she be with all that had happened? Spending the night in his presence without being abused had obviously gained her trust. Yet, Finn felt the need to explain himself. “The man murdered my sister.”

“I’m sorry,” said Katie. “But why bother going after him? He’ll die soon, anyway.”

“I made a promise to my ma I would punish the man who took our Marie. He doesn’t deserve a single extra minute of life, so I will end him before death claims the rest of us.”

Katie was silent for a moment but eventually knelt and gathered the rucksacks and supplies.

“What are you doing?” Finn asked.

“I’m getting ready to leave. You saved me by dealing with Edward, so I’ll help you.”

Finn huffed. “You’re going to help me kill a man?”

She stood up and shook her head. “No, I’m just going to help you do what you need to do to find him. I’ll leave the rest up to you.”

“You both should stay here. It's safer.”

“Maybe,” Katie agreed, “but I don’t want to wait here until the end comes. I’d rather be doing something. If I sit around here, I'll go insane. The dog needs to go the toilet anyway, so I'm going to have to go out sometime.”

Finn ran a hand through his dusty hair and tried to remember the last time he washed it. Such things were so unimportant now. “It’s dangerous out there.”

“I know. I want to come anyway.”

“Me too,” said Minty, sliding gingerly off the bed.

Finn grabbed a rucksack up off the floor and slung it over his shoulder. “Fine, but understand that I’m not responsible for you. It’s not my job. Come along if you want, but it’s every man for himself.”

Nobody argued.

So they got going.

Finn and Katie wore the rucksacks while Finn also carried Edward’s gun. He had considered arming the three of them, but decided that a woman and child weren’t the best people to operate deadly weapons. It wasn’t sexism, merely that Finn possessed experience with handguns, and they did not. He still remembered the old Browning 9mm that belonged to his dad. Finn fired it to kill the man who used to be his family’s milkman when it turned out he was an informant for the British. It wasn’t an easy kill—the man had once gifted Finn’s ma a carton of eggs and jugs of milk when times were tough. As far as traitors went, the milkman was a decent enough fellow.

Out on the road, the silence smothered them. The dust and dirt on the ground prevented even their footsteps from making a noise which made the lack of sound deafening. That was why it was such a sudden shock when a scream broke out. Finn raised his weapon when two women broke out of the bushes and into their path. A miracle he stopped himself pulling the trigger on instinct.

Wonder Mutt barked madly, his confidence today was twice what it was yesterday.

The woman who came out first was bleeding profusely, her dirty clothes glistening crimson. The woman behind her held a long chef’s knife and had a look of madness upon her face. She didn’t seem to notice Finn stood there with a gun pointed.

“Please,” the injured woman begged when she saw Finn. “Help me.”

The mad woman turned and saw them too and had enough control of herself to stop what she was doing. Her expression softened, and she didn’t seem quite so mad anymore. “Oh, hello,” she said, oddly calm.

“What are you doing?” Finn asked her, lowering his weapon only slightly.

“Trying to kill my whore of a sister. Can I help you with something?”

Katie stepped up beside Finn. “Why are you trying to kill your sister?”

“Because she fucked my husband. A lot, from what I gather.”

The offending sister doubled over now, panting. She held a bloody, trembling arm out in front of her as protection. “She’s… she’s crazy.”

Finn lowered his gun more, but was still ready to use in a split-second. “How do you know she slept with your man?”

The mad woman laughed. “Because the stupid bitch told me! Said she wanted to unburden herself before the end came. It might have unburdened her, but it didn’t do me any good, did it? Huh?” She waved the knife at her cowering sister. “Whore!”

“I’m sorry, Tracey. I’m so sorry. Please…”

“So, I’m sure you understand,” the mad woman continued, “but I need to take care of this.”

Finn nodded. Vengeance wasn't something he had a problem with. “Yeah, I get it. Makes perfect sense.”

The woman nodded her thanks and lunged towards her sister with the knife.

Katie cried out beside him. “Stop her, Finn!”

Finn raised his gun and fired.

Tracey tumbled sideways to the ground and ended up on her face with the knife still in her hand. The back of her skull was missing where the bullet exited.

Katie and Minty stood next to Finn, their mouths wide open. Finn lowered the smoking pistol to his side.

Tracey's sister screamed. “W-why did you do that? Why did you kill…? Why did you kill my sister?”

Finn raised the gun and fired again. Tracey’s sister hit the ground beside her, their blood ran into a single, growing pool. Both Minty and Katie staggered backwards.

Katie shook her head at him. “W-What? Why?”

“It was a kindness,” he explained. “Look!”

He gave them a few moments to see what he had seen. Minty and Katie crept towards the woman’s body and peered down at it. It didn’t take them long to see the bulge of her dissected bowel hanging out of the space where her belly button used to be. Wonder Mutt sniffed at the viscera, seeming to decide whether it was worth eating.

“She was dead anyway,” said Katie as it dawned on her.

“Yeah,” said Finn. “I’d say she had about an hour or two of the worst agony imaginable, and then that would be it. I did the best thing I could for her. Her sister gutted her like a pig.”

“Then why not let her sister finish her off?” asked Minty.

Finn thought about it but could only shrug. “Just didn’t seem right.”

“I can’t believe she was sleeping with her sister’s husband.”

Finn looked at Katie and raised an eyebrow. “If that shocks you, then I have no idea how you made it this long.”

“Because I had a husband too.”

Finn didn’t ask her to elaborate. It was easy enough to assume Katie's husband had taken care of her for as long as he'd been able—until someone took his life or illness did. Cholera and dysentery returned to the 1st World with vigour, and pestilence took as many lives as violence. When Finn fled Northern Ireland to escape the wrath of Chris Adams, he made for the docks. There he found sweaty, vomiting families crushed together on ships, intending to head for the Welsh coast to eke out a few more weeks of life. Many would be dead before they made the trip. It was seeing those sick and jaundiced children that led Finn to murder the owner of a yacht and eject his snotty wife from its decks. He held no remorse at the time and would probably have done it over again if asked. It was survival of the fittest.

What a time to be alive.

They walked onwards, leaving the dead sisters in their wake. Least their differences were now forgotten. When the tar claimed their bodies, they would be at each other's side for eternity. Maybe that would be Hell for them.

Less than five minutes later, just as they passed a ransacked petrol station, Minty pointed ahead.

Finn nodded. He saw it.

Latif’s.

The warehouse was gone, and all that stood where it once did was a single slither of a brick wall and a bright blue sign reading: LATIF’S WHOLESALE.

Wherever Dominic was, it wasn’t here.

Sweat

Finn strode amongst the rubble. The reeking timbers still gave off tendrils of acrid smoke. The fire had not been so long ago. A day at most—according to Edward. What the hell had happened here?

Finn stumbled across the first body. A gunshot wound had burrowed into the young man’s chest. “Is this Dominic?”

Minty hurried over, half-tripping on a pile of charred bricks. He looked down at the body and shook his head. “No. That’s Smithy.”

“Who?”

“He’s one of Dominic’s friends.”

Finn frowned. “Would Dominic have a reason to shoot him?”

Minty shrugged. “Not especially.”

Finn ran his hands through a pile of soot and let it flow through his fingers. “What the hell happened here?”

Wonder Mutt circled and took a dump besides a fallen metal staircase.

Katie called out. “There’s another body over here.”

Finn clambered over the rubble to where she was standing. Sure enough, another corpse lay amongst the debris. This body had burned in the fire, unrecognisable. “Is this him, Minty?”

Minty made it over and again shook his head. “No. I can’t tell who it is, but Dominic has a shaved head. This guy has hair—you can see it all matted against his skull.”

Finn nodded. There was indeed a matted crop of black hair fused into the sticky, burned flesh atop the skull. The face was a smooth sheet of seared skin—impossible to tell if the man had been dead before the fire.

“Maybe there was a fight,” said Katie. “Dominic was, what, like a gangster or something?”

“Kind of,” said Minty.

Finn remained silent and continued sifting through the wreckage like a sniffer dog. By the time an hour had passed, he'd found another six bodies. All of them had burned. Minty couldn’t verify one way or another if any of them were Dominic.

“Damn it!” Finn kicked the cracked glass of a ruined vending machine, shattering it completely.

“If he burned to death,” said Katie, “then he got what he deserved. You can stop now.”

“No. I can’t stop without knowing for sure. He might not be here.”

A noise made them turn, made Wonder Mutt bark. He was turning into quite the guard dog.

A length of fragile wood toppled against the wall, tipped over, and broke in half. A scruffy man with tangled dreadlocks stood looking at them. He had his hands above his head. “Oops!”

Finn realised he was pointing the gun at the man, so he lowered it. “Who are you?”

“Just chill, man. I'm Ledley.”

“What are you doing here, Ledley?”

Ledley lowered his arms and let them relax by his side. He kept his distance but dared to take a few steps closer. He stood atop a pallet stacked with melted tins. “You’s looking for the men what did this, yeah?”

“Yes!” said Finn. “Did someone survive? Do you know where they went?”

The man nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

“Then start talking,” said Finn.

Ledley smiled. “Yeah, man, I will, but…”

“But what?”

“Those backpacks look pretty full, and you're even able to take care of a dog—cute by the way. I haven’t eaten in days. A guy on his own can’t get no food. Seems like it all belongs to the mean people of the world now.”

Finn understood what the man was saying. Any remaining food supplies were seized by whoever had the strength and numbers to take it. Someone with a gun, for instance, wielded a lot of power. “I could just shoot you, Ledley. Sorry, but that's the way it is.”

“Yeah, you could, man. Suppose I’m desperate enough to take the risk. Give me a little something to eat and I’ll tell you all I know. Fair deal?”

Finn sighed. “Minty, give him a few tins.”

Ledley’s mouth seemed to water, and he fidgeted anxiously while Minty rooted around in Katie's rucksack. When he handed over the tins and a packet of crisps, Ledley snatched them from him. He looked embarrassed. “Sorry. It’s been a few days, so I've forgotten my manners. Thank you, though. You must be the last kind folks around.”

“You're not kidding,” said Katie

Ledley looked at her. “You had a tough time of it too, miss?”

“Katie, and yes, I certainly have. I met up with Minty and Finn yesterday, and things have finally started looking up. If you can say that with the world about to swallow itself up."

“Well, I'm glad you get to spend the last days with some good people.”

“The only people I’m interested in are the ones who were here two days ago,” said Finn irritably. “Can we focus on that, please?”

Ledley clutched his food like it was a part of him now. He moved over to a pile of rubble and sat on a disembodied shelf that had miraculously survived the inferno. “Of course. I wasn’t lying, I saw them. This was my home for the last month or so. I used to stay at the shelter down the road, but when the big panic started, it kind of fell to pieces. It was a brothel by the time I left—men and women both selling their bodies for whatever they were worth. I know we’re all screwed, but I didn’t want my last weeks to be amongst that, so I wandered about for a while until I found this warehouse. Don’t know what happened to the owners, but they seemed to have taken off. Left me with a warehouse full of munchies and more booze than a man could drink in a lifetime. Considering I’ve been homeless for about six years, it was a fine way to spend the end of the world. Then a bunch of rude boys turn up and claim the place as their own. I was kipping in the offices upstairs at the time, so I made myself scarce and hid beneath a desk.”

“They were here for the booze,” said Finn. “The city is pretty much dry, so alcohol during the last days on earth is about the most valuable thing left.”

Ledley nodded. “True dat. Before the rude boys turned up, I was on the bender to end all benders. It’s why I didn’t make better use of all the food. By the time I sobered up, I hadn’t eaten in days. You don't appreciate what you have till it's gone.”

“So what happened here?” asked Minty. “What happened to Dominic?”

“He the big guy with a bald head and wide shoulders?”

Finn looked at Minty.

Minty nodded. “That's him.”

Ledley sucked at his teeth. “Think it was him what started shooting a gun like it was the Wild West. I snuck out of the office after the shooting started—don’t ask me why—and I looked down from the balcony. Looked like a rival gang or summin’ bowled up, and a turf war broke out. Dunno how it happened exactly, but eventually the place went up in flames. There was an explosion first. I reckon one of the idiots shot the barbeque-gas canisters this place had stacked at the back.”

“You had fuel?” Katie said. “You really did have it all before they came and wrecked it.”

“Yeah. This here was the grandest treasure in the land, ya know. That's why the bad men wanted it. Some t’ings never change. Least the big fella got a bullet for his efforts.”

Finn sighed. So Dominic was dead.

“He still be alive though. I saw two of his boys drag his busted ass out of here.”

Finn stared at the man. “Dominic is alive?”

Ledley nodded. “He took off in that direction. Not much down there except factories, but that’s a’where he went.”

Finn looked off into the distance. The road led into a built-up area with vast factories on either side. Dominic could be anywhere. It was something though. There was still a chance of finding the man.

“You said he had a couple fellas with him?”

Ledley nodded. “Two. Both of ‘em bigger than you. Hope that dog of yours has a mean bite.”

Finn smiled. “Don’t worry about me.” He reached into his backpack and pulled something out. He tossed the bottle of vodka to Ledley. It had been sitting in the evidence room, probably confiscated from a bunch of teenagers back in the normal days. Finn had taken it for the road, but time was short, and he needed to keep his head together. “Enjoy!”

Ledley caught the bottle and turned it over in his hands as if a miracle had created it. “You said alcohol is the most valuable thing in the world, and you’re just giving me a full bottle of vodka?”

Finn shrugged. “You don’t want it?”

“You’d have to kill me to get it back.”

“Then make it last.”

“I’d ask to come with you folks, but I’m guessing I’d have a better time of it if I went the other way.”

“You’d be right,” said Finn. “It was nice meeting you, Ledley. Thanks for the help.”

“And thanks for the liquid gold. You come back this way, I’ll be around.”

Finn nodded and turned to the road. Minty and Katie were soon by his side.

“Another heroic deed for the day,” said Minty.

“I gave a tramp a bottle of vodka. I wouldn’t call that God's work.”

“You sacrificed something of value,” said Katie, “to make someone else happy. Seems pretty heroic to me.”

Finn glared at them both. “Are you two conspiring to annoy me?”

They both laughed. Finn had to turn away to avoid them seeing a smile crack on his own face.

Tears

“Does anyone have a decent guess where Dominic would have gone?” Finn asked as they strolled up the road. He was getting reckless—he should have been keeping to the alleyways and overhangs, but instead he rushed. Who knew how long he had left to accomplish his mission?

The sky remained black above their heads and it was hard to see more than a hundred metres ahead.

“I think I have an idea,” said Katie. She pointed down at a patch of oil on the road. Wonder Mutt sniffed at it with interest.

Finn hurried over but ended up shrugging his shoulders. “An oil slick, so what? I see those everywhere.”

“It’s not oil.”

Finn frowned and squinted at the stain. “No... It’s blood!”

Katie nodded. “Ledley said Dominic got shot, right?”

“He certainly did.” Finn looked along the road until he found another stain and knelt beside it. “It’s a trail. He was bleeding. It’s dry, but he must have stopped to rest somewhere. The fire was yesterday, so he can't have got far.”

“If he isn’t dead already,” said Minty glumly.

“Only one way to find out. Keep your eyes peeled for more blood.”

And so they strolled along in the near-darkness looking for stains on the road. Sure enough, they found that the trail continued. Wonder Mutt even made himself useful by tracking down a few himself. It led down the road for a couple hundred metres before leading up onto a patch of grass and down onto a loading bay for an aluminum sheeting company with a high roof and steel panels over the top windows. The blood trail led right across the pebble car park and up to the shattered front entrance. It was the last factory on the row because the road gave way to a wooded area that likely acted as a green buffer between houses and industry. It made Finn think about Marie and their childhood trips to the forest.

We have picnics in the woods. I don’t want to go to London. Not without you.

Katie put a hand very lightly on Finn's elbow. “Looks like he went inside here.”

Finn clenched his fists, remembering his mission. “And if he’s still here, his life has grown short.”

“Remember your promise,” said Minty, moving in front of the open doorway.

Finn frowned. “What?”

“You promised you wouldn’t kill Dominic.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did! I made you promise you would just hurt him.”

“He murdered my sister! You think I’m going to show the bastard mercy?”

Minty stumbled back under the force of Finn’s anger. He grabbed his wounded collarbone and winced, but kept his eyes on Finn. “You promised.”

Finn stood there, gobsmacked. Was this kid living in fantasy land? Of course he would kill Dominic. What else was he going to do?

“Move out of my way, kid! And keep that bloody mutt with you.” He shoved Minty sideways into the door frame, making him cry out and grab his collarbone again.

“Finn!” Katie called after him. “Just hold on a minute.”

I don’t have time, he told himself. The world is ending, and I need to get this done. For Ma. For Marie.

For me.

Before I die, I need to do one bit of good.

But killing a man can’t be good, can it?

Finn glanced back over his shoulder and was glad to see that Katie and Minty remained outside. He didn’t want them getting in his way. Katie tended to Minty as he slumped against the doorway. Finn hadn’t meant to shove the kid so hard, but there was no point worrying about it now.

The front of the building housed offices and a reception room. Finn searched until he found a dark red blotch on the navy carpet. Dominic had been here—might still be here. Finn tightened his grip on his gun. Would Dominic also be armed?

Probably.

Maybe Finn wouldn’t make it out of this building alive. As long as he took Dominic down, he could die in peace.

Two other guys to take care of first though.

Now that his goal was within touching distance, Finn regained his caution. He slunk back against the wall and kept low, his gun in front of him and held with both hands. He reached the end of the hallway and—

Dominic could already be gone, or dead.

I could leave now and go home to Ma and Clive.

No. Not until this is done.

—faced a door reading: EMPLOYEES ONLY. He took the handle and turned it. The lock was magnetic, and with the power off it had disengaged. As soon as he entered the following room he heard talking. Rows of monstrous machinery stood before him, inactive like sleeping giants. A huge spool of metal wire sat directly front of Finn, which was why he remained hidden from whoever held a discussion nearby. The voices were heated, one of them punctuated by grunts of pain.

“We need to get… back,” said the person in pain. “God knows what’s happening at the Hobby with me gone.”

Finn moved into a crouch behind the giant spool of wire. Dominic. It had to be.

“I ain’t arguing, Dom, but your leg is fucked. I reckon we should go get the boys and come back for you. We can try to bring a motor.”

“Nobody is fucking going anywhere without me. Those fucking Beverly Brothers think they can try to take me out? Everyone at the Hobby is probably dead, but I’ll be damned if I let another firm take over my turf. My leg's fucking fine. We’re going to walk out of here and kill any fucker stupid enough to get in our way.”

“All right, boss. I still think you should rest another day though, or let us go get help.”

“I’ve sat around long enough. Fuck!”

Finn listened as Dominic attempted to move.

So another gang had made a move on him? That was what had happened back at Latif’s. He was injured and weak.

Prey.

Just have to take care of his back up first.

Finn edged along behind the spool of wire until he could peek around the edge safely. He took a glimpse, then pulled his head back quickly. The brief view gave him what he needed to see. All three men had handguns. Dominic was limping on a bandaged leg but seemed alert and ready for action.

Finn was outnumbered and outgunned. If he tried to hit them in the open warehouse, they would combine their arms and riddle him with bullets. He needed a plan.

He slunk back out into the office hallway and ran right into Katie. “What the fuck are you doing in here?” he hissed.

“Is Dominic here?” she whispered.

“Yes, and he has backup. I need a plan because I won’t die before I kill that bastard first.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I just wanted to check on you. I—”

Voices rang out nearby. Dominic and his guys were heading for the door Finn had just exited through.

“Shit, we need to move.” He grabbed Katie by the arm and pulled her along, shoving out at the first door he passed. It was locked.

The voices were full-volume now. Dominic was about to come through the door at the end of the corridor and he'd spot them at once as they floundered in the middle of the hallway.

Finn tried the next door. Locked.

The door at the end of the hallway opened.

Finn tried another door.

It swung open.

He grabbed Katie and threw her inside, closing the door quickly behind them. Katie’s eyes were wide with panic.

Finn clutched his gun against his chest and backed up beside the door. “It’s okay. Stay calm. I don’t think they saw us.”

“Did you see that?” one of the voices asked. “I swear someone went into that office.”

Shit!

“Well, go check it out, you muppet,” came Dominic's voice.

Finn glanced around the room and was dismayed to discover it was a small office with a single desk. The foot-pass was hollow and offered nowhere to hide. The only furniture in the room was waist-high. Screwed. Katie knew it too because she stood rooted to the spot.

Finn pointed to the corner of the room with his gun. “Get down. I’ll handle this.”

“No. No.” Katie was clutching her head and rocking back and forth. She was losing it.

“What are you doing? Get the fuck down.”

Footsteps approached. Stopped outside the door.

Katie stared at Finn with massive, scared eyes. She nodded her head erratically as if encouraging herself. “They’ll kill you and take me. They'll kill you and take me. I won’t be a plaything for another monster. You rescued me once, Finn. I know you can do it again. You'll do it again.”

Before Finn could understand what was happening, Katie spun around and opened the door. She slid out and closed right behind her just as Dominic’s man was about to open it.

Finn gripped his gun tightly, ready to shoot as soon as someone came inside. But nobody did.

“I wasn't snooping around,” said Katie in a terrified voice. “I was only looking for food. Can you spare any?”

There was a moment of silence in the hallway outside, probably while the three men tried to recover from the shock of finding a random woman.

“Hey, sweetheart,” said Dominic finally, the pain in his voice momentarily replaced by lasciviousness. “We have plenty of food back at our gaff. Once we get there, I’ll make sure to fill your gob nice and tight.”

The three men laughed. Katie chuckled too, although she sounded close to madness. “I’ll do anything. I promise.”

What was she doing?

Then Finn realised it. If Dominic’s man had entered the room, Katie and Finn would probably both be dead. At least this way, Finn was still a player in the game.

He could rescue her. I know you can do it again.

What about Minty though? Was he hiding? If Dominic found him, he would demand to know why he was here, and who had let him out of that room.

Finn didn’t know what to do, and that was why he remained hidden inside the small office until the sound of Dominic and the others faded away. Only then did he step back out into the hallway. He felt lost.

Now his mission wasn't just about killing a man. It was about saving a woman.

Guilt

Finn checked things were clear before stepping outside. He couldn’t risk losing Dominic—not now that he had Katie—but he had to bide his time. Luckily, Dominic’s injured leg kept his pace slow, and Finn hadn't lost them when he exited the factory.

The three men headed down the road fifty metres ahead. One of them had a hand clasped against Katie’s backside and guffawed loud enough that Finn could hear it at a distance. As they continued moving, the group edged to the side of the road and entered the cover of the various factories.

He would lose them soon.

Finn could sneak up and shoot all three men dead, but it wasn’t a certainty, and he risked injuring Katie. One false step announcing his presence and everything would turn bad fast. Surprise was the only advantage he had.

He needed to wait and use it for maximum effect.

“You let them take Katie?”

Finn flinched and pointed his gun. When he saw Minty hiding behind a dustbin, he lowered it again. “What you jumping out at me for, kid? I could have taken your head off.”

“Katie, you let them take her.”

Finn glanced at Wonder Mutt who seemed happy to see him, then back at the kid. She gave herself over to them. I'm going to get her back.

“You kept your promise not to kill Dominic.”

“I did, but don’t count on me keeping it much longer. Come on, we have to move.”

They kept to the shadows, which was easy to do with the sun obscured. Finn wondered if he'd adapted, for he was sure could see in the dark better than he ever did before.

Dominic and the others became silhouettes in the distance.

“What’s your plan?” asked Minty.

“I don’t know, but I need to hit them before they get back to the Hobby Horse. If Dominic gets back there, I might have ten guys to deal with instead of three.”

“Why not do it now?”

“Because there’s no cover.”

Minty did them both a favour and shut up, which meant they were able to begin pursuit in silence. Even Wonder Mutt seemed to understand the need for stealth, and instead of running ahead, he kept close to Finn's heels. They kept pace with Dominic until they were heading out of the industrial estate and back towards Latif’s. The stench of smoke greeted them long before the sight of the ruined building.

Dominic stopped to take a rest. His limp had worsened in the last twenty minutes, and he staggered over to an abandoned Rover just outside the burned warehouse and hopped up onto the bonnet. Finn kept to the shadows, moving as close as he could. He crouched behind an advertising board at the nearby petrol station and surveyed his targets. He could hit them if he fired now.

This is it. I have cover and surprise. If I can get a tiny bit closer, I'll be able to take them out without them even spotting me.

Minty seemed to sense his urgency because he was fidgeting when he moved up beside Finn. God knew where Wonder Mutt had got to.

Finn put a finger against his lips.

Minty whispered. “You could scare them? Pin them down or something while Katie runs back to us.”

“Quiet, kid.”

Finn lined up his shot on the guy who had been groping Katie’s ass. Even now the man was running his hands all over her, forcing her to stumble backwards amongst the rubble of Latif’s. He wanted to kill Dominic last, so the man would know he’d fucked up, but the guy groping Katie would make a good first kill. The other guy was out in the open, leaning against the Rover that Dominic was sitting on. His gun hung loosely by his side. He might spot Finn once he started shooting, but he would be too slow to get a shot off.

Finn just needed to get closer to ensure he didn’t miss. Handguns were not rifles.

He could solve his proximity problem simply by walking out into the open and firing on his targets as he approached. But was it worth the risk?

“Get off me!”

Katie shoved the guy pawing at her and started yelling. Dominic slid off the bonnet and wheeled on her immediately. “Oi, keep your cock sucking mouth shut. You want to bring the Beverley's back down on us?” He pointed his gun at her face, which led his two companions to do the same. Katie wasn’t cowed. She had the look of absolute fury, and kicked and scratched at her chuckling tormentor.

“Hey, Katie, is that you?” Ledley appeared from the rubble. “Hey, you bullies get off her.”

Finn stared from behind the advertising board. Ledley was staggering towards the men with a half-empty bottle of vodka in hand. “You step away from her now, you nasty bastards. Didn't you cause enough trouble last time you was here?”

Katie's tormentor gawped at Ledley, but his confusion slowly became anger. “The fuck are you, Bob Marley? What you gonna do about anything? Maybe I’ll bench this bitch over right now and let you watch while I stretch her arsehole. Maybe I’ll let you get a taste of my cock after I’m done.”

Ledley staggered towards the man, tripped several times, but made it over. “You step away from that lady, or I’ll bust your face.”

Silence.

Dominic broke it by laughing. “Rasta’s got a sack on him, don't he? I like him.”

The other men laughed too. Katie's tormentor clutched his stomach in mock hysteria. “You, you, you got some front on you, Bob. You, you, you definitely one hell of a Buffalo Soldier.”

Ledley nodded, gave a little smile. The laughter continued all around.

Dominic raised his gun and shot Ledley in the side of the head. He spat on his body when it hit the ground. “Stupid fucking wog.”

Katie screamed and ran at Dominic. “You fucking animal!”

Dominic adjusted his aim and fired another shot.

Katie went down in the rubble.

Wonder Mutt appeared from somewhere, growling like an animal twice his size. Dominic turned towards the dog and frowned. “What the fuck?”

Before he knew it, Finn had leapt out from behind the advertising board. The noise of his own yelling was deafening, louder even then the shots he was rapidly firing.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang! It took Finn three shots to hit Katie's tormentor, but the bullet struck him right in the Adam’s Apple and tipped him over like a rusty ironing board.

One down.

Dominic returned fire, but in his confusion his aim was bad. Finn moved at light-speed, whipping his aim, firing a round straight into the chest of Dominic's remaining man.

You're last motherfucker. I want you to see my smiling face.

Dominic located Finn and aimed his gun.

Wonder Mutt launched at him like a little doggie torpedo. At such a small size, the impact did little, but it knocked the man off balance and bought Finn the split-second he needed.

Finn took aim, sweaty finger over the trigger.

“Finn stop!”

Distracted, Finn half-turned to look at the kid behind him. Why is he shouting?

Dominic fired another shot.

A mighty punch hit Finn and sent him stumbling sidewards. He grabbed his arm and blood seeped between his fingers.

“Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck it.” Dominic was the one shouting.

Why wasn't he still shooting?

Finn was dazed, not even sure where he was facing. Standing out in the open, he was an easy kill.

Finn’s left arm hung by his side so he raised his gun with his right. He blinked and swallowed, tried to focus. He turned a laborious circle until Dominic wheeled back into his view.

There was still a chance to kill the son-of-a-bitch.

Finn aimed, his hand trembling. His finger twitched over the trigger as his dazed mind tried to find the command to pull it. Just when he thought he would be able to, however, he pulled his finger away.

Finn smiled. I've got you.

Dominic was fumbling madly in his pockets. He grinned suddenly when he managed to pull something out of his jeans, but bellowed when he dropped whatever it was onto the floor. “Damn it, no. No!”

Finn marched across the road, his gun held casually by his side.

“Damn it! Damn it!” Dominic tried to kneel and pick up the bullet he’d dropped, but his leg was so heavily bandaged that he was struggling. It was like watching a one-year-old try to pick up a crayon.

And like a one-year-old, Dominic was defenceless.

Finn felt fire in his lungs as he strode towards the man he hated.

Dominic finally got his fingers pinched around the bullet and grunted with relief. He threaded it into the open chamber of his revolver.

Finn picked up his pace.

Stumbling onto his knees and panicking, Dominic closed the gun chamber and brought the weapon up to fire.

Finn brought his knee up crushed the kneeling monster's face. The sound of cartilage shattering was sublime.

Dominic sprawled backwards into the rubble, blood exploding from his face. The revolver slipped from his fingers and fell amongst the debris. Minty shouted nearby, but all Finn heard was the thudding of his own heart.

Dominic scrambled away like a wounded crab.

Finn stood over him. “That’s the problem with those shitty, backroom-of-the-bar, antique revolver’s little boys like you like to run around with,” Finn, savoured the moment, “only six bullets.” He pointed his own gun in Dominic’s face. “I always go automatic.”

Dominic spat blood. “Who… who the f-f-fuck are you?”

“I’m a brother. A big brother who left his sister for monsters like you to prey upon. A big brother who wasn’t there when he should have been. I'm also the man who is going to kill you.”

Dominic tried to claw his way up, but couldn't. He slumped against the burned timbers and grunted. “You’re Marie’s mad Mick of a brother, aren’t you? She told me about you. Said you were a goddamn terrorist. She was scared of you, mate.”

Finn growled. Then stamped on Dominic’s wounded leg. The monster cried out like a kitten. “Y-You fucking psychopath.”

“You were the one she was afraid of,” Finn raged. “You were the one who beat her. Who raped her. Who left her body in ruins.”

Dominic chuckled despite the blood choking him. “Bitch liked it rough.”

“You're a monster.”

“I’m Dominic Cassell, so go fuck yourself, you stupid fucking Mick.”

“Getting real tired of people calling me that.” Finn raised the gun again and pointed it at Dominic’s forehead.

Dominic spat more blood. “Just get it fucking over with. You say I'm a monster, but your sister told me the things you did. Said you blew up post offices and schools. A little girl died. You're the monster.” He took a breath, spat some blood away. Then laughed weakly, “Even despite that, it was you she threatened me with when I gave her the last beating. Said 'my big brother will make you pay.' I laughed because I thought she meant that pussy, Clive. Guess she got the last laugh, huh?”

Finn shook his head slowly. “She's not laughing. She's dead.”

The shot echoed through the burnt-out building.

The bullet struck Finn with such force that it launched him forwards onto his hands and knees. His palm slashed open on a twisted nail poking out from a half-burned timber, but the pain seemed far away. All the strength went out of him at once, and he collapsed onto his side in the building’s charred remains.

“Dad, are you okay?”

Dominic's jaw fell open as he looked across the road. “Fucking ‘ell, Mikey, is that you?”

Confusion

Finn lay dying in the rubble, watching.

“You left me stuck in the flat, dad.”

Dominic pulled himself up to sitting. “I know, son, I had some complications to take care of. The Beverley’s hit us hard. How are things back at the Hobby?”

Minty shrugged. “They were okay when I left, but that was a day and a half ago. I found mum in the bedroom.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. You know what she was like. Went off her head when the drugs dried up. I was just defending myself. I told you that before I left. She okay?”

Minty shook his head and knelt down beside Wonder Mutt, stroking the animal as if to calm his nerves. “She cried out after you left for hours. When I found her she was dead. I never got to see her, dad. You locked me up while she was dying.”

“Are you fucking crying on me, son?”

Minty wiped his cheek. “I just keep seeing her face.”

“Don’t be a bloody pussy, Mikey. Help me up. I just lost two of my boys, and I need to get back to the Hobby before I lose any more.”

“What's it even matter? Everyone is going to die soon, anyway.”

“Get me the fuck up before I give you a bloody mouth.”

Minty reached down and helped his father up. Finn stayed still in the rubble. His entire body was numb, so it wasn't difficult. He was dying.

I’m sorry, Marie.

Wherever you are, I'm sure I won’t be joining you.

Dominic leered down at Finn. With his broken nose rapidly swelling he looked like a demon. Finn considered playing dead, but it was already obvious he was still alive. “Fucker broke my nose. How'd you end up with him?”

“He’s just some guy,” said Minty. “He came to the pub looking for you.”

“Did you know the bird as well?” He nodded at Katie who was lying nearby with one of her legs folded beneath her.

Minty nodded. “Yeah, she was nice.”

“Now she’s worm food, stupid bitch. Come on, son, let’s put this muppet out of his misery and get back to the boozer. I’m going to need your help. That fucker messed up my leg even worse. We're ditching that fucking mongrel too. Thing bit me, so you're lucky I don't ring its neck. Should ring all your necks.” He spat blood at Finn. Finn was too weak to even flinch.

Minty made eye-contact with Finn and a flicker of guilt in his expression made him look away. “Can’t we just leave Finn here? He thought you killed his sister. You didn’t though, right? You told me Marie ran away because you were finished with her.”

“What do you fucking care?” Dominic growled. “Stop pissing and moaning like a woman. Don’t make me beat the life out of you like I did your stupid mother.”

“Dad, why do you hurt women?”

Dominic backhanded his son across the mouth. Like his father, Minty ended up spitting blood. “Don’t you dare question me, boy. I don't owe you a fucking thing.”

Dominic kicked Wonder Mutt, making the dog yelp and howl. Then he turned and stood over Finn, shaking his head. “Never have kids, mate.” He grabbed a length of still-intact timber from the ashes and held it over Finn’s skull. “Bad luck, Mick. You almost got me.”

“Dad, please! Just leave him.”

Dominic sneered. “Not a chance.”

Finn closed his eyes.

Click!

Dominic still held the length of timber in his hands—had been about to smash it down on Finn’s forehead—but now he turned around in silence. Minty stood before him, terror etched across his face. “Did you just pull the trigger on me, boy?”

Minty pulled the trigger again. And again. His face fell as he realised the revolver was empty.

Like father like son.

Dominic sneered. “You must have missed the bit where I ran out of bullets, you stupid little prick. You're dead.”

Dominic punched his son hard in the face and sent him sprawling like a ragdoll to the ground. Finn winced, but used the distraction to try to unbury himself from the rubble.

Every movement hurt, and he had to bite down on his lip to keep from screaming out, but he was gradually able to get control of his body again.

Minty wailed and called out for help, but none would come. Dominic bore down on his son, ready to strike again. “The world is over, Mikey,” he said. “Only the strong get to live. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be dead already, and you have the sodding balls to pull the trigger on me?”

“Please, Dad. I'm sorry!”

Finn tried to pull himself up. If he could just get behind Dominic and hit him with something.

But it wasn’t going to happen. As much as he fought, he moved at a snail’s pace. Even if he could climb up, he was too dizzy to stand. He heaved himself forward a few inches, but then his arms failed him, and he collapsed back onto his side.

He was screwed.

And so was Minty.

Finn blinked, hating himself for failing the one chance he had to do something good.

It had been his last chance.

A way to put that little girl behind him. The little girl who had died of internal bleeding even after he had carried her out of the wreckage. It was the last person he ever killed on behalf of the IRA. The reason his next bomb had been an intentional dud. The reason Chris Adams had stalked him across the city with a gang of his former brothers.

He was going to die with nothing but blood on his soul. When he finally stood before the golden gates, he would lack a single honourable deed to beg access with.

Hell waited to claim him.

Then Finn saw it. A way out.

Glinting amongst the rubble like a beacon of hope was his automatic pistol. It poked out from beneath a blackened shelving unit where he had dropped it when Minty shot him.

Dominic kicked Minty in the guts as he tried to clamber to his feet, forcing the air from his small lungs in a gigantic howl.

Finn reached out for his gun, every muscle crying out in protest. Inch by inch, his fingertips stretched towards it.

“Dad, please…”

Dominic kicked his son again. And Again. He was killing the kid. His own blood.

“Come on,” Finn told himself. His fingertips wiggled and stretched. As much as he strained, he could not make that final inch he needed to get the gun. It was just out of reach.

His body would move no further.

No. Come on. Please God.

Something beneath Finn shifted and fell. All of a sudden, his body slid to one side and a whole pile of debris moved.

His hand found the gun. Thank you, God!

Or was that you, Marie?

Dominic grabbed a length of copper piping poking out of a toppled brick wall and yanked it free. The end was sharp, and he held it over his shoulder like a javelin. He glared at Minty. “See you in Hell, son.”

“Hey, Asshole,” Finn shouted.

Dominic spun around, almost tripped as Wonder Mutt tangled in his feet.

“This is for Marie.” Finn pulled the trigger. The bullet tore through the knee of Dominic’s good leg, and he dropped to the ground screaming. “Stupid Cockney.”

Finn slumped back into the rubble, gasping. It took almost two minutes before he was able to move again. Agonisingly, he dragged himself towards a nearby shelving unit and climbed it until he was almost on his feet. The whole while Dominic continued to writhe and scream, clutching his knee and bellowing obscenities. Finn ignored the man's agony and instead checked himself over. He’d been shot. Twice. The first time by Dominic had been a flesh wound to his left tricep, but the second bullet—fired by Minty—had struck his back and come out his front. The exit wound was still bleeding.

The kid's messed me up bad.

Minty wept amongst the debris, his skinny body curled up like a foetus. Wonder Mutt sat dutifully by his side, ears pricked up as if waiting for assistance.

“Hey, kid. It’s okay,” Finn called out. “You can get up.”

Minty lifted his head like a newly hatched bird. “You're going to kill me.”

Finn shook his head. “No.”

Gingerly, Minty pulled himself up, still sobbing as he favoured his ribs. His lips had swollen into thick purple sausages from Dominic’s fist crushing against them.

Finn held onto the shelving unit while his head swirled. “Fuck me, I feel like a mule kicked me.”

Minty started crying, hysterically now. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please don’t shoot me, Finn.”

Finn looked at the gun in his hand and let it fall to his side. The weight of it had suddenly become heavy. “I’m not going to shoot you, brother. And if I did, it wouldn’t be in the back.”

“You were going to kill my dad.” Minty wiped away a stream of snot with the back of his hand. “I told you not to kill him.”

Finn huffed. “Excuse me if I don’t label you a hypocrite, but I seem to recall you pulling the trigger yourself.”

Minty shook his head and stared at Katie's body amongst the blackened debris. “I thought he’d be proud of me,” he muttered. “I thought he killed my mum by accident, but you heard him. He killed Katie and your sister too. He was a monster.”

Finn looked down at Dominic and felt sick to his stomach. He should never have let him take Katie. He should never have allowed her to sacrifice herself like that.

I should have done something sooner.

It’s all because of Dominic.

But Finn knew that it had really started with him. His sister's death could be traced back to the day she stood there with her dolly begging her big brother not to abandon her.

“You can kill him now,” said Minty, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You can kill my dad.”

Finn pushed himself away from the rubble and was able to stand on his own. He stumbled over to Dominic and took a closer look at the man. Instead of shouting out curses, Dominic gritted his teeth and said nothing at all. Finn knew he was trying to keep his dignity before he died.

This is it. The reason I'm here instead of at home with Ma and Clive.

I made a promise.

Finn felt the weight of the gun in his hand and let it drop into the rubble.

“I don't understand,” said Minty. “What are you doing?”

“Breaking a promise. And keeping another.”

Finn threaded his way through the rubble and limped out into the road. A blood trail stained the ground behind him and his vision twinkled with inky stars. Death was coming for him. He didn’t want to give another minute to hate. Dominic could live or die; he didn’t care anymore.

No one had any time left.

The final moments were perhaps the only ones that had ever mattered. Finn was glad not to spend them killing.

“Where are you going?” Minty called after him.

“Just somewhere.”

“Can I come?”

Finn stopped and turned around to face the child who had shot him. “Yes,” he said. “Of course you can come. Bring the dog, too.”

Beginnings

By the time they reached the woods at the end of the industrial road, Finn could no longer walk on his own. Minty had to prop him up and help him with every step. Wonder Mutt had to keep waiting for them to catch up.

Minty knew Finn was dying.

And he knew it was his fault.

I shot him in the back. Why did I do that?

Because I thought I was supposed to save my dad.

I didn’t see the man who was really looking after me.

Minty kept wanting to sob and cry, but every time he even so much as attempted to apologise, Finn would tell him to be quiet. The man didn’t seem to mind that he was dying, he just wanted to get to where he was going. Which turned out to be that patch of woodland they had seen before finding Dominic.

“That’s it, I knew I could get there,” said Finn. “Thanks, Minty. Just help me over to that log over there.”

Minty carried Finn over to a fallen tree and eased him down. The log was thick, but Minty knew nothing about trees to know what it was.

“It’s an oak tree,” said Finn, as if reading his mind. “Some of them live for hundreds of years. Even they can’t survive with so little sun.”

Minty looked at Finn. Although he was still alive, Finn’s mind seemed far away.

“And that’s a willow tree,” said Finn. “We have those back home in Ireland. There must be a stream nearby because they like the wet. And I think… yes, that over there is an alder.”

Minty frowned. “How you know so much about trees?”

Finn seem to come back to reality and smiled. He looked at Minty as he spoke. “Marie and I used to spend all our time in the woods when I was about your age. We used to borrow nature books from the library and try to identify all the insects and trees we could find. It was the last time I was ever happy, Minty. Almost forty, and I stopped being happy at twelve. I feel her here, though, you know? If there’s one place I can let go of everything, it’s here amongst the trees. It’s more than I deserve.”

Minty sat down on the log beside Finn. “I’m sorry about Marie.”

“Me too.”

Minty stroked Wonder Mutt on the head as he thought about things. “I know you didn’t save Marie, but you saved me, Finn. And Wonder Mutt. We were both suffering until you came and rescued us. I think that God judges us on who we are when we die, not who we were before.”

Finn laughed, but there was no humour in it. “You know who I was before, Minty? I was a guy who set bombs and walked away. What kind of a coward does that? I only came here to escape my boss who wanted me dead—just wanted to save my own worthless arse.”

“You could have gone anywhere,” said Minty. “You came home to your family.”

“I had nowhere else to go. Maybe I just wanted to see a friendly face before I went to Hell, but instead, I found my sister’s body. For the best. I don’t think she would recognise me anymore. The last job I did for my boss killed a girl about your age, Minty. Her name was Jenny. I tried to save her, but it made no difference. I see her face every time I close my eyes.” He started to cry. “Every night she presses her soft cheek against mine and asks me why I do such wicked things, and every night I can’t give her an answer. Part of me looks forward to this all being over, but what’s coming next for me has to be worse. I know it.”

“Maybe there’s just nothing,” said Minty. It was an idea he had tried to ignore, but every now and then the despair of impending nothingness crept in and smothered him. Now that it was so close it was almost debilitating. “Perhaps being dead is like before we’re born, you know? We can’t even think about it. You try to grasp a glimpse from before your birth, but all you see is black. Maybe all you have to worry about is darkness.”

Finn smiled. His face had turned pale, even beneath the film of ash and sweat. “You think? You think it will be peaceful?”

Minty hated to admit it, but he nodded. “I think peace is probably all there is.”

“Are you scared, kid?”

“Terrified,” he admitted. Finn had begun to tilt on the log. Blood drip-dripped from his lower back to the crisp leaves below. He didn’t have long left. “I’m scared of being alone at the end.”

Finn’s eyes moved, but the rest of his body stayed still. “You won’t be alone, kid.”

And then Finn told him.

* * *

Finn had died less than two minutes later, slumping sideways onto the log and rolling off onto the floor. Minty placed him on his back and covered him in leaves beneath the willow tree. Wonder Mutt gave him a lick goodbye.

Then Minty had set off, leaving the woods and the dead Irishman behind him. He walked quickly through the shadowy industrial estate, anxious without an adult to protect him. He thought about Edward back at the police station and wondered how many more monsters like him lurked close by. Wonder Mutt couldn’t fight off them all. The streets remained quiet though, and when he reached the end of the road, he saw that they would never be busy again.

The horizon seemed to shimmer like a haze over a hot road. Something rose several feet above the landscape, almost hovering. Something dark and grey.

Wonder Mutt yipped.

The tar had arrived.

The edges of Minty’s world began to roll inwards, and he watched in horrified amazement as a distant tower block began to lean perilously as its base turned to viscous ooze. People screamed, far off, but no one came his way. He knew that people would begin to run soon, but it would be pointless. Why not stand and accept their fate now? The world had mere hours remaining—who wanted to stick around for that?

Yet, Minty turned away from the disappearing horizon and went the other way. He didn’t want to be alone at the end.

So he kept walking, Wonder Mutt beside him. He passed by Latif’s, but didn’t check to see if his father still lay amongst the rubble. An hour later he passed by the Hobby Horse, and saw the men still inside. The Beverley Brothers hadn’t hit them. They would die anyway. He could warn them how close death was, but he owed them nothing. He didn’t want to be alone, but neither did he want to be with any of them.

So Minty kept walking. He tried to remember the directions Finn had given him with his dying breaths, but wasn’t sure he was going the right way. It wasn’t until he spotted an old lady and a man out on their front lawn that he started to have hope. When the old woman looked at him and spoke with an Irish accent, he knew he was in the right place.

We both ended up with families we didn’t deserve, said Finn. But for different reasons.

“Can I help ye, lad?” the old woman said.

“My name is Mikey. I think I met your son, Finn?”

The old woman looked at the man stood with her and they exchanged a sad glance. “Aye, Finley is my boy. Don’t suppose he’ll be following along shortly?”

Mikey shook his head sadly. “He wanted me to tell you that it’s done.”

The old woman nodded her head, tears in her eyes. “Thank you, lad. Would you and your doggie like to stay and have a bite to eat?”

Minty swallowed. “The tar is coming. It’ll be here in hours.”

“Then we should eat fast.”

The man, who Mikey assumed was Clive chuckled and gave his mother a quick hug. “I hope my brother didn’t cause you too much grief, kid.”

Kid.

Mikey shook his head. “He saved me.”

That seemed to make both of them happy. The old woman motioned for Mikey and Wonder Mutt to join them, and as he took the few steps to cross the lawn with Wonder Mutt in tow, he saw a mound of dirt with a shovel sticking out of it. Marie. He really had liked her.

You deserve a family like mine, Finn had said. And they deserve a son like you. Go, be with them.

Mikey gathered Wonder Mutt and went inside with the two strangers who would be his family for the next few hours. Suddenly, he didn’t feel quite so afraid. Soon the darkness would come for him, but he would not be alone.

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Plea From the Author

Hey, Reader. So you got to the end of my book. I hope that means you enjoyed it. Whether or not you did, I would just like to thank you for giving me your valuable time to try and entertain you. I am truly blessed to have such a fulfilling job, but I only have that job because of people like you; people kind enough to give my books a chance and spend their hard-earned money buying them.  For that I am eternally grateful.

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Iain Rob Wright is one of the UK's most successful horror and suspense writers, with novels including the critically acclaimed, THE FINAL WINTER; the disturbing bestseller, ASBO; and the wicked screamfest, THE HOUSEMATES.

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