Free The Gates: An Apocalyptic Novel by Iain Rob Wright

the strange black stone found near the
body of Elizabeth Creasy and felt uneasy. Was a similar black stone responsible
for what was happening in New York? If so, then what would happen to the village
of Crapstone?
    ***
    Twenty minutes later Rick and Keith had taken a
seat around a small round table with a wobbly leg. They were joined by Sarah
who, as it turned out, was a member of The Warren’s kitchen staff. She was
twenty-seven, but lived with her parents in the village since divorcing her
cheating husband a year ago. Her job at the pub was temporary while she decided
what she wanted to do. Rick enjoyed her company, but it also meant he couldn’t quiz
his brother about why he’d turned up out of the blue. Had Marcy kicked him out?
They had always seemed so close—she was as pretentious as he was.
    “I hate it when things like this happen,” Sarah
said to them over their second round of drinks. “Whenever something terrible
happens on the news, I can’t help thinking about the children—how frightened
they must be. I imagine them getting taken into a room and told that their
daddies won’t be coming home, or that mummy has been hurt. It’s just so
horrible.”
    Rick sipped his beer, trying to pace himself. He
was a sloppy drunk, which was why he usually drank alone at home. That didn’t
concern his brother though; Keith was ready for his next cognac—added to Rick’s
tab—shortly after starting his last.
    “I still don’t understand what’s going on,” said
Rick. “Those monsters were attacking like an army.”
    Keith rolled his eyes.
    “No, he’s right,” said Sarah. “They were monsters.
All their skin had burned off, like they’d come straight out of Hell.”
    “Don’t be silly,” said Keith. “There’s no such thing
as Hell.”
    “There is,” said Rick, glancing at the television.
It had been running the same aerial shots of New York City for the last twenty minutes
now, and it was tough to endure. “I’m worried about the stone in Crapstone.
What if the same thing happens?”
    Nobody said anything, not even Keith. In fact, the
entire pub was silent, except for the sombre tones of the television news
reporters. No one knew what to say. Silence seemed the only fitting statement.
    It wasn’t until an hour later that anything new
happened.
    “Help me!”
    An injured woman staggered into the pub, her
cleavage exposed and covered in ragged claw marks. The side of her face was so badly
wounded that a section of her cheek was missing and revealed the teeth inside.
No sooner had the woman made it inside the pub than she collapsed in the middle
of the floor right in front of the bar. The businessman was the first to go to
her. He dropped down and lifted the woman’s head in his arms. “Somebody, call
an ambulance.”
    The barmaid was on it, pulling a cordless phone
from under the bar and making the call. Rick ran to help the businessman, but
didn’t know what to do. The ragged wounds on her bare chest looked as if a
sharp fork had dragged through warm, flesh-coloured butter. Blood didn’t squirt
out so much as continuously oozed.
    A coppery scent filled the bar.
    “Do you know First Aid?” the businessman asked Rick.
    “No, I don’t. We just need to keep her comfortable,
I think, until the ambulance arrives.”
    “It’s on its way,” the barmaid shouted from behind
the bar. “They said ten minutes.”
    The businessman shook his head. “I don’t think she
has that long.”
    “Let’s just hope for the best,” said Rick.
    “Oh God,” somebody cried out.
    Rick arched his neck to look around. “What is it?”
    It was Sarah. She was pointing at the television.
“Look!”
    The news showed new scenes of devastation, but not
of New York. Another city was under attack—London.
    The barmaid turned up the volume.
    “ Oxford Street has been cordoned off as disaster
strikes the nation’s capital. Just moments ago, as a large crowd gathered, the
unidentified black stone, located this