He shook his head. “How did you survive what happened here, the bombs?”
“The castle had a dungeon. Seemed like a good place to be, so I threw myself down the steps just as the first bombs hit. Felt like the ground was going to swallow me up, but once it stopped I came back outside and everything was on fire. Can’t you feel how hot it was, even now?”
Tony shook his head. “I can’t feel anything.”
“Yeah, that’ll be because you’re dying. You Christian?”
“No. Fuck God.”
“Okay, no last rites for you, then, but can I say one thing?”
Tony looked at her. “Be my guest?”
“All is forgiven. God – or whoever was running the show – really dropped the ball by letting Hell invade the Earth, so believe me when I say there’s going to be an amnesty on damnation. Hell is out of business. There’s only one place still accepting lost souls now and that’s Heaven. I can’t tell you what it’s like up there, but I can tell you that this place isn’t all there is. There’s more, and I think you’ll be surprised by what you find.”
Tony wheezed. “I-I’ve killed a lot of people. Before all this… I killed… many.”
The woman put a hand on his thigh and squeezed playfully. “Amnesty, remember? You’re going to be just fine. I just watched you stagger up this hill with everything you’ve got. Only a decent man has that kind of determination. Now, rest and give in. You’ve fought your last battle, so no more struggling. Just lie back and let it take you.”
Tony couldn’t control his eyelids. They were sliding down, millimetre by millimetre. He wanted to yawn, but his lungs had stopped. The only thing he could feel now was his own thumping heartbeat. But even that eventually stopped. The strange thing was that another thumping had begun – a rhythmic, powerful beating of the wind. It was a sound Tony knew well from his years fighting other men’s wars.
It was a helicopter.
“Jesus Christ,” said the woman beside him. “Hold on a little longer, fella. I think the cavalry’s here.”
15
Mass moved beyond the gates, giving a hand signal for Cullen to split off with Fang 2 while he led Fang 1. Addy and Smithy were both in Mass’s team. Addy was the last member of the team he’d led out of Portsmouth on that doomed mission several weeks ago now. He couldn’t bear to be parted with her. Smithy, on the other hand, was Mass’s good luck charm. Since meeting the lad, they had survived certain death on several occasions. He was too good not to have around.
Twenty other men had been spread across the two teams, and Mass knew all of them. They were the last of the Urban Vampires, and they were about to do what they did best: saving the goddamn day.
It was early in the day, which made their mission harder. They couldn’t sneak in under the cover of darkness and retrieve General Thomas and his men. There was no choice but to fight. At least Wanstead had come through on the weaponry. Mass felt good about that.
The Benelli shotgun was a sight to behold – a semi-automatic with a handgun grip and collapsible stock. It held eight solid shot cartridges at a time, and was an absolute cannon. Mass felt his balls grow every time he fired it. To think the only gun he had ever held a year ago had been the odd antique passed around pubs between drug dealers. In addition, the other ten Vampires on his team had been kitted out with an assortment of combat rifles and less exotic shotguns.
They had set out an hour ago and had already made it halfway across the city, heading north and fighting for every inch. Fortunately, the demons were focused on assaulting the walls around the docks and only attacked Mass and his team sporadically. It still felt like the early waves of a larger assault. Something worse was coming.
Crimolok.
General Thomas had radioed in his position as being to the direct north of the city at Fort Widley. The old fortification was manned by a small group of guards, ready to send up flares if anything entered the city, so Thomas had likely gone there hoping to find allies and weapons. He would have found both. It was a smart move.
Smithy no longer sported a shotgun. He had swapped it for a matching pair of Sig handguns that he wielded like a maniac, popping off shots left and right before gleefully slamming in fresh clips. Mass would never have thought a person could have a natural talent for killing, but Smithy was some sort of prodigy. He made killing demons a performance. The other Vampires watched him in awe.
“How much further is this fort?” Smithy asked as he shoved both muzzles against a burnt man’s eyes and pulled the triggers. “Does it have a gift shop?”
Addy was looking around, searching for more targets, but they seemed to be in the clear for the moment. “It’s about another half a mile,” she answered. “You’ll see it soon. Big, ugly thing.”
“It’s defensible,” said Mass. “It was smart for Thomas to head there. If he decides to try and take us out, we won’t stand a chance.”
Smithy wiped demon eyeball goop from his face and frowned. “Why would he take us out? We’re coming to rescue him.”
“He wants me dead, and seeing a team of Urban Vampires sneaking through the ruins is going to give him a perfect excuse to start shooting.”
“It presents an opportunity for us too,” said Addy. “I say we kill the bastard as soon as we get a chance. With the chaos going on right now, we can get in and out before anyone knows what’s happening. We should make a plan.”
Mass replaced the cartridges in his shotgun
