The Gates: An Apocalyptic Novel

by Iain Rob Wright

  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 forced 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 aro
und 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 h
is 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.”