Legion (An Apocalyptic Horror Novel) (Hell on Earth Book 2) (5 page)

“Men like me
and
you,” the paramedic corrected.

Richard frowned. “Sorry?”

“It’s men like me
and
you who need to look after the innocent. It was good of you to care for this old lady. I haven’t seen a police officer all day. What are you all doing? Things are completely out of control. No offence.”

“I think we’re stretched pretty thin. Most of us are on high alert to go into London, but that might already have happened. I’ve been here all morning, and I haven’t been able to get in touch with my order-givers. Apparently, the whole country is under attack.”

“S’what I’ve heard. Those gates are everywhere.” The paramedic closed the ambulance doors and shook Richard’s hand. He also gave him a card with a phone number. “Name’s Oliver. You keep ‘em safe, and I’ll come get ‘em if I can. The switchboard’s a mess, so I figure it would be useful if us guys on the ground kept in touch.”

Richard put the card in his pocket. “My name is Richard; I’ll keep in touch.”

They shook hands one last time. Then Oliver got in behind the wheel and reversed out of the shopping centre. Richard turned a quick circle, taking in the remains of the precinct. It felt like one of those snapshots in history—a scene to be played out on the news ten years from now. A haunting reel of shocked stares and broken windows. Only, Richard dreaded that what had just happened in Slough was a byline at most. Oxford Street was the headline.

Monsters.

He got on his radio and called in again, but not to Dispatch. He hailed the other officers in the area. Riaz came back. “We’re assembled in front of the church.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you there.”

Richard did not want to go to the church. He wanted to go home and check on his family. Jen and Dillon must be terrified. But it was to the church he went.

St Paul’s C of E was right outside the shopping centre, and true to his word, Riaz was standing right there with two other officers beside him—Saunders and Jameson. Jameson was sitting on the ground.

“Where’s the rest of the team?” asked Richard.

“Your guess is as good as mine. I’m just hoping they’re not hurt. Jameson has a twisted ankle.”

Jameson shrugged, embarrassed.

Richard looked around and saw that the church was acting as sanctuary for the injured and afraid. A vicar milled about, offering tea and biscuits to the various refugees—many of them children. Some people had been trampled so badly that they sported dusty footprints on their clothing.

“We’re getting everyone out of harm’s way,” said Riaz, but the worst seems to be over. “It was the initial panic that did most the damage. It’s calmed down now. In fact, the town is deserted.”

“Calm before the storm,” said Richard. “Soon as the sun goes down, kids will be out for a good time. Unless we get our act together first that is. Have you heard anything from Dispatch or Command?”

“Not for the last half hour.”

“You spoke to Dispatch half an hour ago?”

Riaz shook his head. “No, I got through to Command.”

“I haven’t been able to get a hold of them. What did they say?”

Riaz didn’t answer. In fact he looked away and scanned the crowd of shellshocked people.

“Riaz, what did they say?”

“It’s bad, Sarge. They say this is happening everywhere.”

“Rioting?”

“No. Not rioting. The attacks. They’re happening all over the country. Everywhere there was a stone. They’ve all turned into gates.”

Richard had to steady himself on a nearby wall.

Riaz nodded. “I know, it’s hard to imagine.”

“What did Command want us to do?”

Riaz waved an arm towards the church and the people gathered around it. “This. They want us to keep a police presence in the town centre. Everyone else has been called in to man a task force headed for London.”

“So we’re on our own,” said Richard. He ran a hand through his hair and realised he was sweating.

“Hopefully, the other guys will turn up to help, but I’m guessing they might have panicked along with everyone else. Michaels has only been on the job a few months. I’ll have his nutsack if he’s done a runner.”

“Let’s not count them out yet. We need to wait for the dust to settle.” 

Riaz rolled his eyes and turned away.

Richard went over to the vicar. “Any tea left for a shaken police officer?”

The holy man smiled. A subtle smear of blood stained his chin. “Of course. Let me grab you a cup. Here you go. Thank you for all your help today, officer. It’s times like these when strong men have duty.”

Richard took a sip of piping-hot tea and chuckled.

The vicar seemed bemused. “Did I say something funny?”

“No, it’s just that I was saying something very similar not so long ago.”

“Then you agree? Those of of us who can must do what is needed. We all saw the scenes from London. We understand what is coming.”

“And what is that, Vicar?”

“The end. Perhaps not of everything, but certainly of what we know. Hell itself came through that gate today—it could have been nothing else.”

Richard said nothing.

“You’re sceptical, Officer? Many are these days, I’m afraid. I don’t begrudge you for it, but whatever you believe—something evil has arrived, and this is just beginning.”

Richard put his teacup on the wall. “Well, we’re in agreement there, Vicar. I hear the Army is going into the city. People won’t know what to do. They won’t cope with fighting in the streets.”

“They will cope, Officer. You may trust in that.”

Richard sighed. “These people are lucky to receive your help, Vicar.”

“Please, call me Miles. And my help is but a drop in the ocean. As I said, we all must do what we can.”

Richard nodded. “Yes. If you’d excuse me.”

The vicar nodded and went back to making tea.

Hell, as a metaphor, was something Richard could grasp well enough, but as a real place…? Believing that demons, or something else malevolent, had come to earth…? It was a struggle for him to accept such ideas, but then what
did
he make of what he had seen? Camera tricks? A conspiracy? Maybe the media had been hijacked, and what everyone saw was mere trickery? That was more plausible than Hell falling upon them.

But the stones were real. Richard knew because he had colleagues who had encountered them first hand. An old lady had died beside one in the village of Crapstone, and Michael Bray, the local coroner, used to play squash with Richard before moving south. Michael Bray had described the stone that had killed the woman.

Unmovable, and unknown.

One stone of several thousand.

If not an invasion from Hell, then what? Aliens?

Richard wobbled and again had to steady himself against the nearest wall. It was too much to process.

“You okay?” asked Riaz.

“No, Riaz, I am not okay, but that’s not my main concern.”

“What is then?”

“My family. I need to go check on them, but I can’t leave you—”

“No, you can’t.”

Richard looked at the man. “What?”

“Everybody here is afraid, and they are relying on our presence to keep them safe. You can’t leave.”

“Riaz, you do not give me orders…”

“No, but I know that your orders will be to remain here.”

That he was being told what to do by a subordinate made him even more determined to do as he pleased. “Riaz, I will be gone thirty minutes at most.”

“Thirty minutes when anything could happen.”

“I need to check on my family.”

“And so do others.”

Richard clenched his fists. “I’m going. You hold the fort while I’m gone.”

Riaz rolled his eyes. “Fine. Just get back as quickly as you can.”

Richard took one last look at the mess he was leaving his colleagues in—maybe fifty people sat on the floor outside the church, or on whatever perch they could find. Children crying. Moms sobbing. Fathers sombrely staring into space. He would need to come back. The vicar was right about him having a duty, but his biggest and most important duty was to Jen and Dillon. How could he protect others before he protected them? He needed to know they were safe.

Richard found his squad car and climbed in. He took off at speed—the street ahead eerily abandoned.

The calm before the storm.

* * *

R
ichard leapt
out of his squad car and raced up his drive. His house was a semi-detached dormer, but the long hedges on either side of the driveway made it appear to stand alone. Jen stared out of the front window, almost as if she expected him. 

“Oh, Rich, I’ve been so worried,” she said when he passed through the door.

“I should have called. I just wanted to get here.”

“You’re here now.” She held him tightly—a strong woman with the extra pounds she’d put on over the last few years. He was so exhausted that her grasp knocked the wind out of him. “Are you okay?”

“No. It’s been a tough morning. Did you see the news?”

She eased away from him and looked him in the eye. “How could I not have? Every channel got interrupted. They cut into Dillon’s cartoons.”

“What? Did he see?”

She pushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and sighed. “He’s in the kitchen. I put a DVD on for him.”

Richard pressed his forehead against hers, too tired to do anything else, and then headed into the kitchen. Sure enough, Dillon sat at the table watching a Disney film. From his fidgeting alone, Richard could tell he was agitated.

“Hey, Dillon. Daddy’s home. What you doing?”

“Watching Lion King.”

Richard smiled and gave his son a hug. Dillon was always affectionate, but could be withdrawn if worried. That was why he returned the hug, but did not look at his father. 

“Is everything okay?”

Dillon nodded, but still didn’t look away from the television. Despite being twenty-three, he was no less innocent than a eight year old.

“Dillon? If you saw something frightening on the TV, that’s okay. Sometimes programmes can be upsetting, but you’re safe. Nothing is going to hurt you.”

“Monsters,” Dillon muttered. “Monsters can hurt me.”

“There are no monsters here, Dillon. Just me and your mum.”

Dillon finally made eye contact. The Brushfield spots in his irises—a characteristic of his Down’s Syndrome—glistened beneath a film of tears. “Will you stay here, Daddy?”

“I… I can’t Dillon. I have to go to work.”

“Are you going to fight the monsters?”

Richard leaned in and hugged his son, patting his back at the same time. “No, sweetheart. I just have to make sure everybody behaves. You know my job is important.”

Dillon nodded. He normally idolised Richard for being a policeman, but today it seemed to bring him trepidation. Richard wondered if his son understood the danger his job now involved.

“I don’t want you to go, Dad. I saw the monsters on the TV. They were hurting people. Don’t go out.” His bottom lip quivered.

“Sweetheart, everything is fine. I’m not leaving for ten minutes, so watch your film while I go talk to Mummy.”

“I don’t want to watch the Lion King,” he said. “I want you to stay here.”

“Dillon…”

“Maybe he’s right,” said Jen, entering the room and looking like she needed a stiff drink. Pity they didn’t keep alcohol in the house.

“I’m still on the job, Jen. I only snuck away to make sure you were both okay. I’ll be lucky to get away with this as it is.”

“You never signed up for what I saw on the television just now, Rich. Will you have to go to London?”

“I don’t know.”

Jen blinked and tried to keep her tears at bay. She had to turn away as she spoke. “I’m not having you risk your life. Your job is to arrest abusive husbands and confiscate wacky backy. It’s just a stupid job.”

Richard was taken aback. Never had he thought of his occupation as a ‘job’. A vocation perhaps, but really, he considered it his calling. He’d been doing it so long now that it was part of who he was. “It’s not a stupid job, Jen. I have a responsibility to protect the people. If I abandon my duties, what does that make me?”

“A husband. A father.”

He sighed. Some arguments could not be won. “Look, before I do anything, I need to see what’s happening. Things are all over the place right now. Is the news still running?”

“It hasn’t stopped all morning.”

Richard went into the living room and picked up the television remote.

“Keep the volume down,” said Jen, following him. “I don’t want Dillon upset again.”

“Neither do I.” He switched on the television but did not need to change the channel. He could have been watching a disaster movie if not for the BBC News ticker running along the bottom of the screen.

It was all over. That was the way it felt. The amount of death on screen, the amount of destruction…

“Oh, God,” said Jen. “It’s even worse.”

A helicopter recorded the video—obvious from the high elevation—but this time it was not a view of London. It was New York. Richard spotted the Empire State Building towering in the background. The Big Apple burned. Central Park teemed with fleeing bodies so small they might have been ants. It was hard to see from such height, but the denizens of Manhattan were under obvious attack. Richard could see the ants colliding and dancing—predators and prey coming together in mortal harmony.