Demon Apocalypse

“Without a moment’s hesitation. Not because I’m incredibly brave, but because I’m terribly afraid.” I give a sickly laugh. “If I don’t let him kill me, it would mean fighting to survive in a world overrun by demons. The thought of that scares me more than death.”

Kernel chuckles. “Know something crazy? I believe you.” He offers his hand and I take it. “Good luck, Grubbs.”

“Good luck.”

“May we both die honourably,” he says.

“And take every damn demon down with us,” I add with a twisted grin.

Tooling up. Everybody arms themselves with guns, knives, axes—pretty much anything we can carry.

Demons can’t be killed by regular weapons, but we can invest the blades and bullets with magical powers.

“How many of the Disciples are capable of killing demons?” I ask Kernel, testing short swords for feel and weight.

“In this universe?” He pulls a face. “If it was a normal crossing… Sharmila, Shark, one or two others. But there’s more energy in the air because it’s a tu

One more Disciple arrives while we’re readying ourselves. An ancient, tiny woman who walks with the aid of a cane. The sight of her picking up a mace and swinging it over her head makes me smile. A few of the others grin too. But then she mutters a quick spell and a crop of seven-centimetre long blades grow out of the mace head, which glows with magical energy. Nobody doubts her after that.

Then it’s to the helicopters which Shark has arranged through his contacts in various armies. We’re going to fly in and set down as close to the cave entrance as we can. Three helicopters, five of us to each. I’m with Beranabus, Kernel, Shark and Sharmila—the core of the force. The pilot’s an ordinary human, as are the other two. Soldiers on loan from the forces currently engaged in hopeless warfare with the Demonata. Shark has told a few commanders of our plan. They’ve handed him control of their troops and will do whatever else they can to assist.

The helicopter rises smoothly, as if the ground is dropping away. I haven’t been in a helicopter before. It’s a curious sensation. Not as much of a blast as flying through the sky with Beranabus, but way more interesting than a plane.

“I never thought I’d be doing this,” Shark bellows over the noise of the whirring blades. He’s smiling. “How often does the chance come along to end a war? You see it all the time in films, but in real life wars are decided over a variety of fronts and battles. It’s possible to play an important role in victory, but only a limited part. To actually be charged with the task of going in and saving the world…” He whoops with joy.

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” Kernel remarks sarcastically.

“Damn straight I am,” he hollers. “Might as well—we’re going to die regardless.”

I turn my attention away from the battle-hungry Shark. He’s probably got the right attitude for a fight like this, but I find his gung-ho approach tasteless and disturbing. This isn’t a game. We’re not competing for a trophy. If we lose, we take humanity down with us. I don’t see how you can be anything but stone cold miserable when lumbered with a responsibility like that.

Looking down as we whizz along, closing in on Carcery Vale. We’re deep into Demonata territory now. This used to be my home. Not anymore. It’s theirs now. Abandoned cars. Burning buildings. Pools of blood smear the roads and fields. Slaughtered animals and humans everywhere, some cut up into bits and strewn about the place, others arranged in obscene patterns by the demons, either for their own amusement or to scare anyone who ventures into their realm.

I spot a few of the monsters messing with bodies on the ground. I don’t look closely enough to determine whether their victims are alive or dead. I turn my gaze away and pray for their sakes that they’re corpses.

Others are lounging in trees or in patches of shade, sheltering from the sun. Although stronger demons can move about during the day, they don’t like sunlight and aren’t as powerful as they are at night. The land would be teeming with lots more of the beasts if we were a few hours later in the day.

The outskirts of Carcery Vale. More of a visible demonic presence. Most of the buildings are ripped to pieces. Bodies scattered everywhere. We fly over my old school—dozens of children and teachers are impaled on spikes, grey and red, covered in feasting flies, slowly rotting.

For the first time I think about my friends. Until now I’ve been fixed on Dervish and Bill-E. But all the others will have fallen to the Demonata too. Frank, Mary, Leon, Sha

The air above the Vale is thick with planes and helicopters. Shark ordered the regular troops in ahead of us. They’ve been blanket-bombing the area for the past twenty minutes, most of their force aimed at the demons around the entrance to the cave, disrupting them, blowing up the bodies of the lesser demons. The effects are temporary—the demons will piece themselves back together once the shelling stops—but any minor advantage is a bonus.

Zoning in on the cave. I don’t recognise the area anymore. There used to be a forest here at the back of our house, stretching all the way to Carcery Vale and for many kilometres in other directions. Now it’s been firebombed into oblivion. The land is ash and tree stumps. Bare, scarred, dead. It resembles the face of an asteroid. Doesn’t belong to this world. Something from outer space or a bad dream.

We fly over the rubbly ruins of a large building. We’re several seconds past it before I realise— that wreck used to be my home! The wonderful three storey mansion has been reduced to a skeletal shell. I’m almost glad Dervish isn’t here to see it. He loved that house. The sight of it in this sorry state would bring tears to his eyes.

The pilot’s in constant contact with the other aircraft, snapping orders and directions, carefully manoeuvring his way through the fleet. If he’s scared, he doesn’t show it. I wish the fighting could be left to the professionals like him. But I guess ordinary people always get sucked into battles. It’s the nature of warfare.

“Like a scene out of hell, isn’t it?” Shark notes with relish, stroking the long, gleaming barrel of a machine gun hanging from his neck.

“Let us hope it is hell for the demons when we finish,” Sharmila says.

The helicopter stops advancing. Hovers in the air, the pilot waiting for the other two copters to join us. I stare at the ground. Hard to spot the cave entrance.

Bombs are going off all around, throwing up dirt, stones, bits of flesh and bones. I see stronger demons moving about freely, protected from the explosions by magic. They form a large circle, several demons deep. Pinpointing the centre of that circle, I finally locate the mouth of the cave. Just a small hole in the ground. Doesn’t look like anything special. Not the sort of place where you expect the future of the planet to be decided.

The second helicopter moves up alongside us, then the third. The Disciples are on their feet or knees by the open sides of the copters, clinging to straps, ready to jump as soon as they’re within safe distance of the ground. The elderly woman with the cane is sitting, legs dangling over the side, stroking the blades sticking out of her mace.

Our pilot looks back at Shark for confirmation. The ex-soldier pauses and casts an unusually sad eye around, swallowing hard, looking doubtful for the first time. For a moment I think he’s lost his thirst for battle. Beranabus thinks it too and opens his mouth to yell an order at the pilot. Then Shark raises his head, grins grimly and nods savagely. The pilot speaks rapidly into his mouthpiece, issuing urgent orders. The sky clears of planes. Helicopters packed with ground troops cluster around us. I can see the faces of some of the soldiers—underlying terror, overlaid by determination, much like the faces of those closer to me.