“They’re coming,” said Tox. “They’re back on the road.”
“Thanks for nothing, Rick,” said Tox. “Goddamn Harry Potter wannabe.”
Addy shook her head resignedly. “Hey, at least we got to see a magic show before we died.”
“I’d have preferred a lap dance,” said Smithy.
Mass planted his feet and stopped running. “Maria, you and the women keep going. Soon as the road bends, try to get out of sight.”
Maria thanked him and fled with the women. Once again, Mass stood shoulder to shoulder with his Urban Vampires, ready to do what they all knew needed to be done. Dying was part of the job.
The massive creature on the horizon seemed to sense their location. It turned slightly, massive eyes gazing in their direction like unlit spotlights. The number of demons multiplied, spilling out of the trees in their dozens. They gathered rapidly, filling the road and creating a wall of gnashing teeth and ripping claws. Then, as one, they let out a bloodcurdling screech.
Mass and the others covered their ears, trying to keep from being deafened. Perhaps it was intended to distract them, because at the same time the demons began their charge, rapidly closing the fifty metres of space left between them and their prey. Mass felt like a Roman legionary facing down hordes of barbarians – but Rome had fallen to ruin.
Mass forced himself to stand his ground. His bladder loosened and he only just caught it in time. No doubt he would piss himself soon. He looked left and right, wondering if his companions were experiencing the same terror and numbness in their veins that he was. It made him proud that none of them ran. They faced the monsters together.
The demons came in a deranged sprint. It was insane how much Mass hated them – far more than he’d ever hated the bastards who’d battered him as a kid on the estate. These were the monsters who had taken everything from him – his friends, Ravy, Gingerbread, and Vamps. Mass couldn’t believe he’d outlasted them all, and he would welcome his death if it meant seeing them again. He just wanted to take down as many demons as he could first.
“Fuck this!” Mass broke away from his friends and charged the incoming enemy. He heard Tox shout after him, but then, to his surprise, his companions followed his lead. Suddenly, the four of them were charging down a hundred demons. It was Mass’s proudest moment and a great way to die.
The world exploded. The sky turned red. A coppery scent grew into an unbearable stench.
Mass threw himself at a primate but missed as it flew backwards out of his grasp. A flaming hole had erupted in the side of its head. Confused, Mass recovered and swung his fists, but his next target slumped to the ground before he could even make contact. More demons fell, not one at a time but in twos and threes. The vile horde wavered, gaps opening up in the onrushing multitude as bodies hit the road. Mass stood like a statue, covered in bloody mist and pieces of meat. For a moment, he thought God had rained thunderbolts from the sky. Then he recognised the mocking chatter of rifle fire and the angry bark of shotguns.
“Soldiers,” said Smithy, putting a hand on Mass’s shoulder and yanking him out of the fray. “Mofos came out of nowhere like the shitting riders of Rohan.”
Mass looked. Twenty, maybe thirty soldiers had lined up across the road. Professional and fearless, they fired their shotguns and rifles as quickly as they could, and they reloaded proficiently without the slightest of fumbles. Some men, those dressed in military fatigues, were complete strangers, but others Mass knew well. He briefly made eye contact with Cullen and the two of them nodded.
The Urban Vampires had arrived – and they were packing heat.
7
General Thomas gave Colonel Cross a passing thought. Was he still out there, searching for that imbecilic thug with the ridiculous name, or was he dead in a ditch somewhere with a bullet in his head? No matter which, the troublesome colonel was out of the way. Either Tony would return alive and well, recommitted to what Thomas was trying to achieve – the liberation of Great Britain – or he would die out there and never be heard from again.
The enemy was on the ropes. Wickstaff had defeated a great number of their foe, but it was Thomas’s duty to mop up what remained. Only a fool would allow their enemy time to regroup. Not that Thomas was naive enough to consider a scattered enemy an easy prospect – the Yanks had learned that lesson in Vietnam. Sometimes, letting two amassed armies fight it out to the death was worth the risk. To the victor go the spoils, as they say. The demons – if he must call them that – were disorganised, and deadly because of it. Unlike humans, an isolated group of demons did not lose hope or seek safety from battle. Each would die happily if it meant butchering a human first. Portsmouth could not sit idly by and await a death by a thousand cuts. Every day, patrols discovered the bloody remains of an incautious soldier or foolhardy civilian. Recently, the demons had even been so bold as to attack a supply team returning from a supermarket distribution centre south of Oxford. Those demons had been quickly dispatched, but two good soldiers had lost their lives. If Portsmouth continued to operate with an enemy on its doorstep, a war of attrition would ensue. Losses on both sides would be constant and devastating. That was why Thomas would do what the German Confederation had done in the Middle East and Eastern Europe. Defence would turn to attack.
Time to hunt these bastards down once and for all.
In the forty-eight hours since Colonel Cross had departed, Thomas had been making preparations. Portsmouth was under martial law, and every
