Darren Shan - Demon Apocalypse

“It doesn’t matter,” Beranabus says gruffly. “Alive or dead, it makes no difference, not when an army of demons separates us from them. Finish your report, Sharmila.”

The Indian lady shrugs. “The rest should be obvious. Public shock, confusion and denial to begin with. We live in scientific, enlightened times. People do not believe in demons. Even when the film crews went in and the first pictures emerged, most refused to accept it. They thought the pictures were computer generated, the work of a prankster, maybe an especially cunning film producer trying to generate interest in their next movie. There was talk of Davida Haym faking her death a year earlier in order to set this up. Quite ironic, no? But as the days went by, realisation sunk in. There were too many confirmed deaths, a never-ending series of reports and no government denials.”

“Bless the governments,” Kernel snorts. “How did our great leaders respond?”

“Slowly,” Sharmila says. “We warned them of the threat of the Demonata many times in the past, even though Beranabus told us not to bother.”

“I’ve never met a politician who didn’t deserve to be tossed into a pit full of Kallin,” Beranabus grunts.

“Nobody heeded our warnings,” Sharmila continues. “Despite all the evidence we presented, and our predictions of what would happen if a prolonged invasion ever came to pass, we were treated as cranks. We have always had a number of supporters in various high-ranking corners of the globe, but not enough to make a difference.

“Most governments spent the initial week in a blind panic. First they had to confirm the reports were genuine—that took a few days. Then they debated the meaning of it, what the demons might want, how they could placate them, what their response should be if the demons refused to negotiate. A few acted quickly and sent troops in—mostly from nearby countries, who could see they were next on the agenda—but it was the second week before the war began for real.”

“War,” Beranabus murmurs, face crinkling. “Most humans know nothing of true warfare. They wage their silly territorial battles, kill each other ruthlessly and freely, and consider themselves experts on war and suffering. But the real war has always been ahead of them, unseen, unimagined. Enemies who can’t be killed by normal weapons, who have their base in an alternate universe, who are interested only in slaughtering every living being on the face of the planet.”

“They know about it now,” Sharmila says grimly. “They have seen the footage on television and the Internet. Hordes of soldiers firing bullets into demons, dropping bombs on them. The demons falling from the force of the bullets, shattered by the bombs. Then rising, piecing themselves back together. Coming on again. Unstoppable. Ripping the soldiers to shreds. They are still trying—or were, the last I heard—to send in more troops, to drop more destructive missiles. But they can see it is pointless. They realise now—too late—the manner of beasts they are dealing with. The human race has learnt a lot about war over the last three weeks. More than I wish they ever had to.”

“Have there been any nuclear retaliations?” Beranabus asks calmly.

“Nuclear?” Kernel and I shout at the same time.

“The politicians have resorted to nuclear assaults before,” Beranabus says. “They say they don’t build such bombs to use, but when the pressure builds, the fingers will come down on the buttons. Only a fool thinks otherwise.”

“No nuclear strikes yet,” Sharmila says. “There has been talk, and if not for the Disciples it might have happened already. But our voice has been heard at last and officials are knocking each other over in their haste to bring us on board as advisors. We said a nuclear attack would not stop the demons, that the tunnel is of magical origin and can only be closed magically. They did not like that. Some wanted to chance a nuclear blast anyway. But for the moment they are holding off. At least they were …”

This is crazy. We’re standing here, talking about nuclear bombs being dropped on Carcery Vale. It’s insane.

“We have to do something!” I shout. Beranabus, Sharmila and Kernel look at me, eyebrows raised. “We have to… to…”

Beranabus smiles cynically when I run out of words. “I wish you’d been able to finish. If you had a plan, I’d have loved to hear it. But of course you don’t. I don’t either. But let’s hear Sharmila out and, who knows, maybe one will fall together.” He turns his attention back to the Indian woman. “What have the Disciples been doing aside from advising?”

“Meera Flame led a small team in when we first realised what was happening,” Sharmila says.

“Meera,” I moan. “Is she…”

Sharmila sighs. “Most of us thought it was too soon. We did not know enough about what was going on. The general consensus was to wait a day or two, gather more information, then hit them hard. Meera rejected that plan. Dervish was her friend. She thought he might still be alive. She asked for volunteers. A few rallied to her side. They went in. Nobody has heard from them since.”

“And the rest?” Beranabus asks as I reel from the news of another friend’s almost certain death. “What did you do once you’d sized up the situation?”

“Not much more than Meera,” Sharmila says miserably. “We pinpointed the opening to the cave, and that was where we struck, but the demons had it guarded. Eight of our best went in, led by Shark, in the light of midday, hoping to take them by surprise. But they were ready and waiting. Two got out alive—Shark was one of them. The others…”

“That’s bad,” Beranabus grunts. “It would have been better if you’d waited for me. I know you couldn’t,” he says quickly as Sharmila starts to protest. “You did what would normally be the right thing. It’s usually best to strike early. But as you’ve observed, this is a most unique attack. The demons have been marshalled by a leader who understands the ways of human warfare. Such a leader wouldn’t make the mistake of leaving the cave unguarded. In this case…” He stops short of openly criticising Sharmila and the other Disciples.

“It has been damage limitation since then,” Sharmila says coldly, concluding her report. “We have done what we can to contain them. Ordered the grounding of all aircraft, the pulling out or destruction of boats. Established a watch to stop the demons spreading any further. But we are fighting a losing battle. Within a couple of weeks—if it has not already happened—the exodus will begin. Once they have complete control of the country, they will move on to the next. And the next. We will defy them. Shoot down the planes and boats they commandeer, as well as those demons capable of flight. Send soldiers to stall them so we are not rushing around madly all the time. But there are already far too many for us to deal with, and more crossing every day. Unless we can stop them at the source…”

Sharmila falls silent. Beranabus is chewing his right thumbnail, frowning.

“We could attack from their side,” Kernel suggests. “Cross universes, find the other end of the tunnel, hit them there.”

“They’ll be expecting that,” Beranabus mumbles. “They’ll have left a guard. Also, every demon within a million-world radius will be rushing to the tunnel, eager to squeeze through and get their claws on some humans before they’re all gone. We wouldn’t have a hope. We’re too late to do anything from that side. We stop them at Carcery Vale or nowhere.”

“Then Carcery Vale it is,” Kernel says and stands. “When do we go?”

“Yes,” I say, taking my place beside Kernel. “When?” I expect him to say something cutting, but he only looks at me calmly, then nods approvingly.