Hell on Earth- the Complete Series Box Set

by Iain Rob Wright

  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?”