Hope in Hell (An Adam and Eve Thriller Book 6)

by Mark Ayre

  Instead of running, Delilah tried approaching Omi. Hattie grabbed the girl’s hand but could not pull her daughter away. Rising to her knees, Eve looked to them. With a flick of the wrist, she shoved Delilah, giving Hattie the impetus to drag her daughter down the corridor, away from the mayhem.

  Bullets continued to smash Echidna’s chest but caused little pain. The only damage Eve could see was a tiny cut dead centre. Graham must have seen the same. He dived upon the creature’s back and bought his hands to the wound, trying to dig his sharp nails inside.

  Despite the lack of a mouth, the beast squealed. One arm grabbed Graham’s left wrist. One grabbed the right. The third got the throat and squeezed, tighter and tighter. Graham tried to roar, but only a wheeze escaped. His hands went loose around Echidna’s torso, prompting her to release his wrists.

  With all three hands, she threw him from her back, into the far wall. He landed in a heap and did not move.

  Eve was standing. The whole bout had taken mere seconds.

  Omi’s gun ran dry. He searched for a clip, but the creature shot towards him, grabbed him by the throat, lifted him into the air.

  Now the guard hung above the creature. She pointed his face to her white mask; began to lower his helpless body.

  Eve spied the hole in the monster’s chest. Graham had made it a little wider. Green blood seeped out and ran in a line down the bare torso.

  Omi’s face touched Echidna’s mask; he screamed.

  Eve pointed at Echidna’s chest. The beast howled. For a couple more seconds, she held Omi, then her hand unclasped. Omi fell.

  She turned to Eve.

  With one hand, she covered the hole in her chest. That wasn’t enough to stop Eve who used her mind to pull at the edges, ripping the flesh wider and wider, releasing more and more blood.

  Despite the pain in which she must have been, Echidna began towards Eve. From somewhere, a low growl left the beast. Because of the ever-widening wound, she moved more slowly than she had. Still, if she reached Eve, it would be over.

  The wound became a gaping hole, but wouldn’t kill her quickly enough. Already, Eve was backed to a wall. In twenty seconds, Echidna would arrive.

  Eve put all her energy into tearing apart the wound.

  It still wouldn’t be enough.

  Another growl. Because Echidna had no mouth, and it was impossible to tell where the sounds she made came from, Eve first assumed this was another noise from the monster.

  No, the sounds came from further away. Eve could not chance a look in its direction. As the growl became a howl, she knew Graham was up and rearing to fight.

  Echidna paused. The wound grew wider.

  Graham’s feet crashed across the metal floor.

  He was on her. Roaring, pounding at her chest, trying to rip out her throat. The beast had no choice but to deal with this menace. All three hands came to grab him, to pull him loose.

  The distraction was all Eve needed. Walking forward with purpose, she raised her hands and screamed with the force of her actions.

  Echidna got a hold of Graham and once more tossed him from her back.

  And was torn in half by Eve.

  The two halves of the fearsome creature slumped to the ground, sending waves of green blood in all directions. Thankfully, Eve was outside of the blast zone.

  By the wall, Graham clambered to his feet. Omi, too, was moving. Delilah, Sandra and Hattie had gone. From behind the desk over which Echidna had hit him, Doc rose.

  “Did we win?”

  Eve was moving around the dead monster to a body in which she was much more interested. She dropped to her knees beside Cassandra; felt for a pulse though she knew it was pointless. Shot in the head from point-blank range, the eighteen-year-old elderly woman had died before she hit the floor. Eve could not bring herself to answer Doc.

  Pandora could.

  “No, you didn’t.”

  Eve looked up. During the battle, Pandora had crossed unnoticed to the red room and opened the door, through which Eve could see two bodies. Dead, but not skeletonised like most in the vicinity.

  The bodies though, were not what drew the eye.

  On one wall, what appeared to be a whirlpool of flames span with incredible ferocity. Eve recognised it. She had seen many such spinning, cascading disks of fire in her time. On walls like this but also on ceilings, in the sky, in the ground. They always appeared before Eve tumbled into hell.

  A glance at Doc was enough to indicate this one was different. Everyone could see it.

  “Cassandra died for nothing,” said Pandora. “Hell is here.”

  And, through the whirlpool of flames, they heard the screams of triumph.

  For nearly three decades, Sandra had given everything to protect her elder children. They’d never understood.

  There was a time, when they were five or six, Sandra had considered walking away. Having woken in the early hours in another dank and dirty hotel, Sandra had left the hard, stained mattress and crossed to the camp bed her children shared. For a while, she had watched them sleep. They were so beautiful. She considered walking away. She knew if she left the room and never returned, she could have a happy life. The organisation might continue to pursue her. There was no chance they would devote the time and resources to finding her that they did to finding her twins. Effortlessly, she could avoid them.

  Because, despite herself, she loved the twins, she had stayed. Because she loved them, she had risked her life returning into the red room. Surviving that encounter, she had sold her soul to climb the ranks, reach the top, all in aid of improving the lives of her eldest daughter and son. So many awful acts perpetrated, and yet it was in the most heroic act she would ever commit she forever forfeited her chance of being a part of kids lives.

  Who would have thought it?

  Upon spying Eve’s gun on the floor, a sense of purpose had overcome Sandra. Cassandra had been facing the other way. As Sandra rose and turned, the fortune teller had faced her. There had been resignation in the girl’s eyes. Even as Sandra pulled the trigger, some lost part of her soul had screamed at the finger to stop.

  Then Cassandra was dead.

  Sandra had fled, not for fear of for her life, but because, in her moment of triumph, a desperate, miserable fury had overcome her, for Cassandra and for the life she, Sandra, had lost.

  She would never see her children again. Adam would kill Lucy, or Lucy would kill Adam. Either way, this was their end. She wished she could say goodbye to her younger daughter. She had never been able to love Lucinda as she loved Eve. A result, no doubt, of Lucinda’s fast ageing and constant body switching. It was like having a hundred daughters you only saw once, rather than one you saw repeatedly.

  Probably, Sandra was the only person who remembered the original Lucinda. All scars and grey skin. Malformed bones and no teeth. Doctor Mahir told Sandra her daughter would soon die. Lucinda had taken the hand of the man who had delivered her death sentence, and that was it. He had died, and she was he; a forty-three-year-old, tall and proud. She had never looked back.

  No point thinking about them now. About the rights and wrongs. Sandra had wasted the majority of her life, but it wasn’t over. She would escape and start again. She would forget her children. She would focus on how she had saved the world. She would try to be happy.

  She reached her office and stepped inside. Someone or someones had plundered her drinks cabinet. The fridge in which she kept an assortment of juices was open. Most the juices remained. They had probably spoiled.

  A dead body lay beside her desk; another on the sofa.

  The first was a man named Titus. A long time member of the organisation who never knocked. Someone had shot him three times. For an infraction better or worse than entering an office uninvited, Sandra did not know.

  It was much harder to look at the body on the sofa—a girl, barely out of her teens, beautiful in a washed-up runaway kind of way. Sandra had plucked her from the latest red room trial and escorted the haple
ss thing to her office. She was to be a present for Lucy, who had been unhappy as Bethany, vein as she was. She would have enjoyed the runaway’s form, Sandra was sure.

  At least one person had enjoyed the girl’s form. Her clothes had been ripped from her body. Her skin was bruised all over. Her swollen neck suggested her end had come via strangulation.

  Shaking as though drunk, Sandra stepped over the dead man and sat at her desk, which faced the sofa on which lay the dead girl. Sandra could not stand to look at that beaten body and could not look away. Given the work the organisation did (or had done) they hired more than their fair share of despicable humans. It did not surprise Sandra to learn that one or more of them had taken a detour from fleeing a terrifying monster to rape and murder this innocent girl. It repulsed her, though she had been planning a painful demise for the girl herself. She wished she could find the men and make them pay for what they had done. Too late; they’d be gone.

  She had been planning to leave. She had come here only to gather a few bits. It made no sense to dawdle, not when the facility remained so dangerous.

  Unable to move, she sat at her desk, fists clenched. She felt the rage build and build until she could hold it no more. Exploding, she stood screaming and swept everything from her desk before pounding the wooden surface. In the company of a dead guard and dead girl, she slumped back into her chair and dropped her head to the table. Unable to hold the misery at bay, she began to cry.

  For what felt like an age, she remained this way. When no tears remained, she rose from the table and glanced one last time at the girl. The plan had been to go. Now she knew she must return to Eve, no matter the consequences. Drying her eyes, she stepped from behind the desk as someone appeared in the open doorway.

  Taking a deep breath, refusing to let her voice quiver, Sandra said, “Hattie, what do you want?”

  For a few moments, the teenager stared at Sandra. Only when the older woman moved did the teen seem to snap out of her reverie.

  “I know what you asked of Yacob,” she said. “You were going to use me to capture Delilah then murder Omi and me.”

  Sandra cocked her head, examined the girl. This hardly seemed the time to be discussing such concerns. Sandra tried a smile, though it felt hollow.

  “There is a monster nearby,” she said. “I assume Omi has sent you and Delilah away to keep you safe, so you should continue. Get to the surface before it’s too late.”

  “You were one of us,” said Hattie, ignoring Sandra’s advice. “You were supposed to understand.”

  Sandra said nothing. The words hit hard. Already in a state of misery and self-loathing, Hattie’s outburst was another blow. Sandra needed the silly girl to leave. She had places to be.

  “Don’t you have anything to say?” said Hattie.

  Sandra had been around Hattie’s age when she had arrived in this hell hole. She had been lost and alone but she’d had a life. The organisation had taken that. Nearly thirty years later they had done the same to Hattie, with many more in between. Sandra had been in a position to do something about it but never had.

  She almost told Hattie sorry, though it would mean little. She was saving such sentiment for her daughter, and Adam or Lucy, depending who survived their encounter. Hattie would have to go on without Sandra’s apology.

  “I did what I had to do,” she said, hating herself for it. “Now get out of my way.”

  Hattie did not. She said, “You’re despicable. A foul, evil woman. I hate you.”

  “I’m sure you do,” said Sandra and tried to push past the teenager.

  Hattie pushed back, shoving Sandra into the wall. Sandra tried to speak but felt the blade slide between her ribs; looked down to see the hilt in Hattie’s rapidly reddening hand.

  “I took this from Yacob,” she said. “I didn’t want to use it. All I wanted was for you to say sorry.”

  Sandra opened her mouth, but no words escaped. All over, she felt cold. Hattie met her eye. Neither woman looked away until they heard feet outside the door.

  “Mumma?”

  “I’ll be there in a minute, sweetheart,” said Hattie.

  She looked at the door, then once more at Sandra.

  “My daughter,” she said. “All you had to do was be a mother.”

  She left the blade as she turned away. Said nothing more as she swept from the room.

  Sandra remained against the wall as though the blade had nailed her to it like a photo frame. She clutched the hilt as Hattie had. She stared across the office at the sofa on which a dead girl lay.

  She thought I want to be a mother.

  Alone but for the dead and her regret, she began to cry.

  “Let us do a quick health check on our merry band of heroes,” called Pandora from the open red room door. “Three runaways, one maimed, one dead, one ancient. That leaves two, you and your pet Grendel, to defeat our father’s army. Do you feel confident?”

  Eve stood from Cassandra’s side. She wished there was something she could do for the precognitive teenager, but there was not. Behind her; a growl.

  “His name’s Graham,” said Eve. “And he’s not my pet. He’s an ally and friend.”

  “How touching.”

  “In answer to your question,” Eve continued. “We’re confident we can defeat our father, if that is what he is, and any army he has to offer.”

  Pandora burst out laughing. She turned to Doc, as though he might join in. Doc was too busy testing his broken leg to partake with either side. He screamed and collapsed into a heap of bones.

  “Your cause is hopeless, dear sister,” said Pandora. “You’ve met our father many times. Has he ever told you about himself? Do you understand why he wants to enter this world?”

  “He never told me,” said Eve. “Didn’t have to.”

  “No?”

  “No. It’s obvious there’s no wifi over there, of course, ‘daddy’ wants to escape. Unfortunately, it’s not okay to invade another world purely because one is unable to stream and binge their favourite boxsets.”

  “You’re funny,” said Pandora, though this time she did not laugh. “I think your humour, though, is born of your fear, and your fear, I can tell you, is warranted.”

  “Is that so?”

  Pandora nodded. The woman, who had left forty behind and was swinging towards fifty, was bouncing on her toes like a kid. She wanted to talk. Wanted to explain. She was beginning to annoy Eve.

  “I’ve always found our father to be the quiet type,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me about him?”

  Pandora clapped. Her smile was delightful. Almost enough to make Eve forget what a vile create she was.

  “Our father was once human,” said Pandora said. “But brilliant, and through his brilliance, he discovered the secret to creating life.”

  Pandora paused for effect. Eve rolled her eyes.

  “The secret to creating life,” she said. “That would be sex without protection. Sorry, I guess you’re too young for the birds and bees talk?”

  The smile dropped. “You know what I mean.” Eve’s sarcasm was starting to spoil it for Pandora. The frustrated woman forced herself back on track.

  “He created life, as God supposedly created life. But regardless of which, if any, religious belief set is correct, God is a jealous, possessive being, and cruel too. For his genius, father was punished, kicked from this reality into a world created just for him.”

  Eve looked at the burning whirlpool behind Pandora; the gateway to another world.

  “If that’s true,” said Eve, “then this God is too benevolent. What’s wrong with the death penalty?”

  “How about that,” said Pandora. “It seems you’re smarter than this supposedly omnipotent, omniscient deity. Because in this new world, father was God. With nothing but time and space with which to work, he forged an army of creatures boasting powers which far surpass those of my two children who you have today faced.”

  It was near impossible for Eve to keep her expression
clear of terror; to act as though Pandora’s words did not bother her. She did not even trust herself to speak. Luckily, Pandora was happy to carry the conversational baton.

  “They’ll be here soon, and all will fall.”

  Eve shook her head—forced loose the words.

  “I’ll kill him.”

  Pandora snorted and turned to the red room. As she did, Eve dropped to her knees beside Omi. Fear filled the ex guards eyes. She took his hand, which was brittle and wrinkled in a way it had not been before his bout with Echidna.

  “I can hear them,” said Pandora. “Across our father’s world his forces charge, each aiming for one of millions of doors, with each of these doors connecting to only one this side. That door—” she pointed at the whirlpool. “Thousands will arrive before he steps through. You won’t survive long enough to take a shot at this God.”

  Omi was trying to squeeze Eve’s hand. Now seemingly over one hundred years of age, it took some time for him to find the strength to draw her attention. When she looked his way, he nodded at his gun. The simple action seemed to take almost all his energy.

  Taking his meaning, wishing she could offer him comfort as she had wished she could do something for Cassandra, Eve took his gun and rose.

  “Fine, then I’ll step through your door and kill our father on his home turf.”

  This threat did not appear to frighten nor alarm Pandora. As did so many things, it made her laugh. The laugh caused Eve’s finger to tense upon the trigger.

  “Please,” said Pandora, “step on through.”

  She waited, hand out, smile on. If this was some kind of bluff, it was a good one. Only when Eve took a step forward did Pandora speak again.

  “Of course, given there are millions of doors, the chances of stepping into his chamber, or even within a couple of miles of his stronghold, are infinitesimal. His world is smaller than yours, and there are no seas. Still, likelihood is you will be a long walk from where you need to be and in possession of very little time to get there.”

  Eve’s jaw worked. Behind her, Graham growled. She knew where she went, he would follow. Perhaps this was what made her pause, consider.