Hell on Earth- the Complete Series Box Set

by Iain Rob Wright

  “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 choke-points 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!” Thi
s 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.”