Extinction: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel (Hell on Earth Book 3)

by Iain Rob Wright

  But there was no way to save him.

  Richard would at least get them both a little payback. He threw his body through the air, knife out in front of him. The bellow spilling out of him sounded like it came from a bear.

  Skullface raised an arm to protect himself, but it was too late. Richard had the force of a broken man behind him, and he would not be denied his vengeance.

  Something struck Richard in mid-air, knocking the wind from him and sending him into a spin. A demon appeared in front of him and tackled him to the ground while another set upon his wrist and wrenched away his knife. Within a single second, he was being held down by the arms and legs, a demon crushing every limb.

  Skullface glared at him and cackled. “You’re just in time. Say goodbye to everything your son ever was.”

  Richard fought and wept, wept and fought.

  From up on the grassy hill, the screams from the van had stopped.

  Everyone was dead.

  25

  GUY GRANGER

  The earth shook and the pouring rain formed vibrating puddles on the ground. Guy wondered if the explosions coming from Portsmouth were the drumbeats of humanity’s last moments. Was this the end of the End?

  Alice? Where are you, girl?

  Rick snatched the radio from one of the soldiers and tried to get through to someone on the other end. Wickstaff answered. “Bit busy right now, chaps.”

  Rick seemed surprised to get an answer, and it took him a second to answer. “W-What’s happening?”

  “The buggers are storming the walls, what does it sound like?”

  “Do we need to turn back, come join the fight?” asked Guy.

  Silence… Then: “We’re holding our own, for now. They might have the numbers, but they’re as thick as shit sandwiches. Our big guns are flattening them. We’re not out of the woods, but—” a massive explosion rumbled in the background, “— but our tactics are working. What you chaps need to do is close that sodding gate and let us kill Lord Amon. He’s keeping his distance, but—” another explosion “—but once he joins the fray, we won't be able to do anything to stop him. Close that gate, Rick. Be the rock star you were in a previous life.”

  Guy’s eyes went wide. “That’s why I recognise you!”

  Rick waved his hand at him irritably. “We’re a little stuck at the moment, General. The demon horde coming your way formed up around us and we had to go to ground in an old cinema building.”

  “The Trescott?”

  “Um,” Guy looked up at the scaffolding; he thought he spotted a faded sign. “The name is covered up by construction at the moment, but I think I see a picture of a popcorn carton.”

  “Yep. I know where you are,” said Wickstaff. “Hold on to your arses, chaps.”

  The radio clicked and hissed. Rick lowered it and frowned at Guy. “She cut off the call.”

  “Maybe the enemy broke though. The fighting sounds bad.” It was an understatement. Gunfire, explosions, and screams mingled like a clash between dragons. Or gods. The urge to go back and join the fight was persuasive, but Wickstaff had been clear. She wanted that gate closed.

  And Guy wanted his daughter.

  “Incoming!” One of the soldiers in their group shouted.

  Guy glanced up and saw a streak in the grey sky.

  The ground leapt beneath their feet, and a soul-rattling roar obliterated their hearing. Fire leapt up in the distance, visible over the palisade walls. Every man and woman hiding out at the cinema tumbled to the ground.

  Rick covered his ears as he lay face down in the mud. “What the Hell?”

  “She’s buying our escape,” said Guy, understanding what Wickstaff had meant when she said to hold on to their arses. “She’s pointed some of Portsmouth's artillery our way.”

  “She'll bloody flatten us,” said Keith, lying nearby. His hair had slipped, exposing an impressive bald spot.

  “No,” said Guy, shouting over the din as another shell hit nearby. “She knows the area. The shells won’t hit us. We need to leave while the enemy is distracted.”

  Rick climbed onto his knees, sweat beading on his temples. He didn't look good. “Keith's right, we'll die if we go out there.”

  “What other chance will we get?” Guy stood up and brushed himself off. Disturbed air buffeted his untucked shirt. “Everyone get to your feet, we’re getting out of here, right now. Keep your heads down and pray.”

  Nobody looked happy, but nor did anybody argue.

  Guy knew he would have to be the first out of the parapet, so he approached the wooden palisade and started stripping away the barricade the men had built. His hands turned to ice beneath the onslaught of icy rain that had come back with a vengeance in the last hour, and his fingers were clumsy and numb. Rick came to help, and together they shoved the obstacles aside moving the wooden panel they had placed over the gap.

  Fire and brimstone awaited. The world was flame and screaming beasts ran rampant.

  A demon leapt at Guy standing in the gap. Rick threw up his hand, and the creature blinked out of existence.

  Guy stared at Rick in awe. “Neat trick.”

  “Tricks are for kids. What I have is moves.”

  “Nice moves, Rick Bastion.”

  Rick groaned, but he smiled too.

  Keith collided into the back of them. “Move your arses!”

  The group put their heads down and piled out into the road. Nearby, concrete curled up in a flaming crater and a single-story garden centre collapsed in on itself. If another shell hit within fifty metres of them, they were done for. More demons lay in their path, but the creatures were shaken and confused. Some burned to death on their knees. Wickstaff’s reign of fire was enough to terrify the minions of Hell. The woman was a force.

  Soldiers opened fire and Guy had his sailors—now marines—do the same. Combined, they cut a path and moved onwards.

  Another shell exploded. The air grew hot and whipped at them. Burning demons squealed like Guinea Pigs.

  Keith laughed, popping off shots from a revolver. “Enjoy your agonising death, you fuckers.”

  “Come on,” Guy urged. “We have to be gone by the time the demons recover.”

  Everyone moved. Ahead lay the countryside, farmland separating Portsmouth from the next towns over. If they could just get to the tree line…

  More demons formed up ahead, reinforcements coming from outside the blast zone. Unlike their shell-shocked brethren, these creatures still had their wits about them.

  “Form up,” Guy said to his marines. The soldiers readied themselves, too, happy to take orders.

  The demons approached slowly. Their black eyes smouldered. Rancid hides slick with rain.

  Guy raised his hand, then dropped it. “Fire!”

  The demons screeched. Gunfire replied. They danced frantically as bullets tore up their bodies, but they moved forward relentlessly, bodies piling up in a carpet. As soon as one demon fell, two more would clamber over its corpse. It was a surge, an enveloping wave that could not be held back.

  “They keep coming,” said Keith, firing endlessly from his large revolver, which he reloaded after every six shots. For a civilian, he was rather adept. “We can’t hold them off.”

  Keith was right, and Guy hated to admit it. More demon reinforcements were arriving and seemed to have no end in sight. Soon, the soldiers would run out of bullets. Guy glanced over his shoulder, searching for a retreat, but the demons scattered throughout the blast zone had started to recover.

  Guy breathed heavy. They were surrounded.

  I’m sorry, Alice. I wish I could leap into the sky and fly to you, but instead, it looks like I will die right here.

  The explosions had stopped, not just nearby, but at Portsmouth too. The fighting had entered a lull, as prolonged battles often did. But the men at Guy’s side continued firing whatever rounds they had left.

  They would go out fighting.

  “I’m out of bullets,” said Keith, turning his revolver sidew
ays so he could use it as a bludgeon. “Nice plan, Rick. We almost made it ten miles out of Portsmouth.”

  Rick glowered at his brother. Instead of firing a weapon, he waved his hands like a magician, and demons cartwheeled as if struck by invisible wrecking balls. “Stop being so negative, Keith. For once in your life.”

  Keith huffed. “What’s there to be happy about? We're about to get torn apart by monsters.”

  “Good point.”

  The soldiers ran out of ammo, one by one. Each now held their rifles like clubs, ready to fight till the end. It wouldn't be long now. They looked at one another, bracing themselves.

  A shadow fell over them.

  The rain turned sideways as a mighty wind displaced it.

  Guy glanced up and saw a roaring beast.

  A dragon had left Portsmouth.

  And the dragon spewed fire.

  The duel rotary guns mounted beneath the Apache attack chopper’s wings unleashed a swarm of hornets at the ground, spitting up dirt and cement, and beating two dancing trails towards the enemy.

  “Thank you, Wickstaff,” said Rick. “I could kiss her.”

  “She'd knock your block off,” said Keith.

  A crimson cloud formed as demon flesh disintegrated. Twisted limbs shattered and heads exploded.

  Within seconds, an entire legion of demons had been reduced to a writhing stream of leaking flesh.

  The Apache tilted, swooped upwards, and disappeared back towards Portsmouth.

  “Let’s go,” said Guy. “We can thank that pilot later, after we win.”

  The soldiers and marines cheered. Then they got the Hell out of there—double time.

  26

  GENERAL WICKSTAFF

  Wickstaff could barely speak her mouth was so dry. It felt like she’d been shouting orders for days, but the fighting had been going on less than two hours. In that time, she had barely lost a man. Most of the human casualties had occurred in the opening moments of the conflict, after the demons first attacked, but now, her forces were entrenched, expending an endless supply of ammo. The naval artillery had proved the real boon. Whenever an enemy came at you en mass like the demons were, you could easily flatten them with overlapping spreads of bombardment. And they had plenty left in reserves. At this rate, the naval guns could keep firing all day, and the demons would lose long before that.

  Already, she estimated a thousand enemy dead at the cost of only two-dozen men. She’d even found time to rescue Rick and Guy, encircled up at that old cinema house. Her scouts had mapped out the entire city for her weeks ago, which was why she'd had no problem finding the right coordinates to suppress. She’d spared a chopper too to check out the results. The pilot reported seeing Guy and the others making a break for it.

  If they close that gate and we take down Lord Amon, we might just win this. Should it be this easy?

  “We’re holding our entire perimeter,” one of her Lieutenants reported. “We lost Ingress 6 early on, but we set off the charges and blocked it. Since then, the enemy have been wading into our kill zones like lemmings.”

  Wickstaff nodded curtly. “They’ve won every battle until now because of sheer numbers. Their army is grunt heavy, and all they know is how to overwhelm and terrorise. But we will not be overwhelmed, and we will not be terrorised. We cannot afford to be. Inform all squad leaders not to grow complacent. The enemy are not out of ideas yet, I assure you. We must be ready for whatever they try next.”

  “General! General Wickstaff!”

  Wickstaff sighed, wishing for just a single second to breathe and relax. The battle was non-stop.

  Maddy was the one calling her. The younger girl with blonde hair hurried alongside her. Diane, was it?

  “What is it ladies? Can’t you see I’ve got a war on?”

  Maddy tittered, but none of the fear left her eyes. “It’s the stone in the parade square.”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s opening a gate.”

  Wickstaff cleared her throat and spat. The chance to take a breath would not come today, or maybe not ever. She had known the stone would open at the worst possible moment—why wouldn't it? Its entire purpose was to fuck Portsmouth up right when it looked like there was a chance. She’d taken preparations, of course—placed mines around the gate and set up machine gun nests on every roof. She’d intended to erect a mesh cage around the stone, to trap whatever came out, but the battle started too soon. Now Portsmouth was invested upfront, with a threat at its back. The worst thing that could happen in a battle. The effect on morale would be devastating.

  She had to take charge and deal with the situation.

  She had to show her men they could win any battle, and surpass all odds, just so long as they remained calm and focused.

  Maddy stepped up in front of her, regaining her attention. “General, there's another problem.”

  “What else?”

  “I think you better come.”

  Wickstaff found herself running after a civilian, eager to find out what the problem was. This Maddy was a calm mind, and obviously meant a great deal to Rick. She was beginning to see why.

  Maddy took them to the parade square—and the imminently opening gate.

  “Fuck me sideways,” said Wickstaff.

  This gate was three times the size of the ones Wickstaff had seen in reports and media snippets, and twice as big as the one she had seen first hand from the deck of an Apache helicopter. That gate had been the one Rick and Guy were hopefully on their way to destroy. Weeks back, Wickstaff had led an assault on the gate herself, from the air—launching live goats through it to see if it would implode the same way other gates had when humans entered. But when they had swung a goat into the gate from a winch, a torrent of bloody giblets spat right back out. The gate had remained open, and they had learned a lesson that day about closing gates.

  Only a human life would do.

  Or Rick Bastion’s power.

  Christ, does that washed up rock star really have the power of an angel inside of him? The world has flipped its lid. She reminded herself that she was at war with Hell, then Rick didn't seem such an oddity anymore.

  The massive gate in front of Wickstaff was four-stories high, and it shimmered and rippled like a rain-spattered pond. It resembled a hungry mouth, ready to lurch forward and devour the world itself. Any attempt she made to see inside left her confused and sickened, with strange thoughts that urged her to kill herself. It led somewhere unfathomable, a place where only ever-lasting torment and horror existed. A place she hoped never to know.

  She'd hoped to contain this. But it was too big. Looking at it now, she knew that hanging around and fighting on two fronts was impossible. But it was the only chance they had. This was their last stand.

  Too late now to do anything else but fight.

  Prime Minister Windsor appeared, racing across the square and yelling commands. “Fall back. Evacuate right now. By air or by sea, we are leaving Portsmouth. The fight is lost, so let's live for tomorrow.”

  For a moment, Wickstaff stood there, bewildered, but once she got a hold of herself, she went and grabbed the wretch by the back of his collar. “What the hell do you think you are doing, Windsor?”

  The man shrugged her away and snarled, his teeth like tiny pegs between his thin lips. “What do you think I am doing, woman? This gate is about to open any minute. I am trying to save us all while there's still time.”

  “If we leave now, we'll always be running, and the enemy will pick us off one by one until there’s no one left. They've been wiping us out that way since the beginning. This is the first time we’ve held our own; the only time we’ve had a line of fortifications between them and us. I realise that having a gate behind our lines is unfortunate, but I have prepared for it.”

  “Prepared for it? Prepared for it? What the hell is there to prepare for? The enemy will stream right through our middle.” The Prime Minister dismissed her with a petulant wave of his hand and resumed barking orders
at anxious soldiers. Send them the wrong messages now and they would break. She needed to get ahold of the situation.

  Wickstaff grabbed Windsor by the throat and shoved him away from her. He rubbed at his windpipe and stared daggers at her, but before he managed to berate her, she cut him off.

  “Running will not work. We have to turn the tide now while we still have something resembling a Resistance. If I hear you try to evacuate any more of my men, I will shoot you dead right here.”

  Windsor sneered, not taking her threat seriously.

  So, she yanked the sidearm from her holster and pulled the trigger.

  The bullet struck the concrete next to Windsor's foot and sent him leaping into the air like a flea. He yelled defiantly, yet his tone lacked his earlier arrogant authority. The man was a coward at heart—as Wickstaff suspected a great deal of career politicians were. Men and women far happier sending kids to war than going themselves. She, however, was most certainly no coward. Her threats were not idle.

  “Do not test me, Windsor. Our nation is in ruins, and all that exists is Portsmouth,” she waved an arm, motioning to the rushing soldiers and zooming Jeeps, “and Portsmouth is my fucking kingdom until I say otherwise. Get out of my sight!”

  Hot air blasted from the gate and threw Wickstaff sideways. She stayed on her feet but needed several steps to regain her balance. When she looked back at the gate, it was shimmering madly. Something was about to come through. The Prime Minister was laughing.

  “What are you laughing at, you halfwit?”

  “You’re finished, General. Your kingdom is about to burn.”

  “What are you talking about?” Wickstaff kept one eye on the gate. Soldiers rushed to form a perimeter around it, rifles at the ready.

  The Prime Minister was still smiling. He was insane. No point wasting time with a mad man, so she hurried away from the gate and re-joined her squads. There was fear in her men's eyes but determination too. They would all love nothing more than to run, she knew, but each of them understood there was no longer anywhere to go. This was it—their last bastion. Hers too. Wickstaff pulled her sidearm and pointed it at the gate.