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 al
lowed 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.
Hell on Earth- the Complete Series Box Set Page 59