The Gates: An Apocalyptic Novel

by Iain Rob Wright

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.”
r />   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 locust, 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.