The soldier who had already agreed loyalty to Tony spoke up again. “What are you going to tell General Thomas if we go back?”
“That we carried out our orders to the letter and eliminated Mass and his followers.” He looked down at Pearson’s almost-headless corpse. “Unfortunately, a gunfight broke out and there were casualties. That’s war for you.”
The soldier nodded. “Pearson said our orders were to kill you only if you disobeyed orders. If General Thomas thinks Mass is dead, then…”
“Then he might just trust me again. Especially if I have you fine men backing me up.”
Mass groaned. “You’re committing suicide, mate. Soon as you step through the gates, these guys’ll rat you out. They ain’t worth shit.”
Tony sighed. “Perhaps you’re right, but I want to believe they’re good men. I want to give them the chance to prove me right. If I’m wrong, then at least I’ll die knowing I tried.”
Mass limped over to Tony and offered a handshake. “Like I said, it’s your funeral. Good luck, Tony. I hope our paths cross again.”
“I’m sure they will. Maybe I’m as unkillable as you.”
“You are both mortal,” said the strangely familiar man. “Mass would have died without my assistance.”
Tony nodded. “Yeah, thanks for that, pal.”
“Yeah, cheers, Rick,” said Mass.
Tony clapped his hands together. “Okay, we’ve probably blown our cover after all this shooting, so let’s strike camp and get a move on. We’ll have to march tired.” He turned to Mass. “Can you manage? You’re looking a little better.”
“I can move, slowly, but I’m getting stronger by the minute. We’ll keep to the fields and try to avoid a fight.”
“Not so easy these days, my friend. You have a safe journey.”
“You too, Tony.”
Tony pulled a face. “It’s not the journey I’m worried about. It’s what happens when I arrive.”
8
God’s wretched sun rises overhead as another beautiful slaughter commences. Crimolok’s legions never sleep. They feed only on flesh, and they are ravenous. Their minds burn with ferocious insanity, placed there by Crimolok’s ulcerating presence. They have just finished feasting on a mother and son, both having survived inside a long boat floating on a narrow river. Demons detest water, but with Crimolok’s insistence they had swum the river and boarded the boat. The mother’s startled shrieks had echoed off the concrete embankments for miles while monsters ate her child.
It was disappointing losing the humans on the road yesterday, but with their weapons and numbers, they must have come from the city. No doubt they have scurried back there like vermin. Their fates will come soon. There is no rush. No risk of failure. Crimolok will enjoy mankind’s last gasps, for he has spent an eternity in the deepest of hells. He has brought that hell with him, despoiling every inch of God’s creation. It would be a waste not to savour every moment.
Every drop of blood.
Dawn broke, lingered, and scurried away. The sun hung high in the sky. Assembled at Portsmouth’s gates was one of the largest gatherings of human beings left alive. There might be other populations surviving on the continent, or in America perhaps, but right here was the heart of civilisation. No empire had ever been so great as Great Britain, and it swelled Thomas’s chest with pride to ensure its ongoing legacy. This time, the empire would not shrink and fade, but it would grow and expand until it one day smothered the globe. That might be beyond the scope of his remaining years, but the foundations of that everlasting victory would be laid today. The rebirth of a nation.
Reports indicated that the demons were reforming and growing bold again, but they would crumble beneath the unrelenting force of Thomas’s army. He had designated his leaders, laid out his strategy, and assembled a force to be reckoned with. Now he just had to pull the pin and wait for the explosion.
Thomas climbed on top of an articulated lorry that blocked Portsmouth’s northern gate. A guard waited up there and handed him a megaphone. It hissed excitedly with feedback as he placed it to his dry lips. For a moment, he feared he couldn’t speak. A twinge of doubt struck his ribs so suddenly that he almost doubled over. Tens of thousands stood before him, waiting on his orders. What if he was doing the wrong thing? What if his time had come and gone and he was no longer the leader he thought himself to be?
I almost retired because of that populist tart. She had me believing I was past it, but what if she was right? What if I did the wrong thing getting rid of Amanda Wickstaff? No, my only option now is to succeed. Doubting myself is not helpful.
Thomas took a breath, focusing on the life inside his expanding lungs. He had been a great general long before he’d come to Portsmouth. These people needed him to be at his best and that was what he would give them. He was the only one who could do this, the only one who could lead them.
“People of Portsmouth, we are a family, and as a family, we must sacrifice and provide for one another. Today, we face our fears for the final time, knowing that nothing that can
